the pointing man _a burmese mystery_ by marjorie douie new york e.p. dutton & company contents i in which the destiny that plays with men moves the pieces on the board ii tells the story of a loss, and how it affected the rev. francis heath iii indicates a standpoint commonly supposed to represent the principles of the jesuit fathers iv introduces the reader to mrs. wilder in a secretive mood v craven joicey, the banker, finds that his memory is not to be trusted vi tells how atkins explains facts by people and not people by facts, and how hartley, head of the police, smells the scent of apple orchards growing in a fool's paradise vii finds the rev. francis heath reading george herbert's poems, and leaves him pledged to a possibly compromising silence viii shows how the cloak of darkness of one night hides many emotions, and mrs. wilder is frankly inquisitive ix mrs. wilder is presented in a melting mood, and draycott wilder is forced to recall the lines commencing "a fool there was" x in which craven joicey is overcome by a sudden indisposition, and hartley, without looking for him, finds the man he wanted xi shows how the "whisper from the dawn of life" enables coryndon to take the drifting threads between his fingers xii shows how a man may climb a hundred steps into a passionless peace, and return again to a world of small torments xiii puts forward the fact that a sudden friendship need not be based upon a sudden liking; and passes the night until dawn reveals a shameful secret xiv tells how shiraz, the punjabi, admitted the frailties of ordinary humanity, and how coryndon attended afternoon service, and considered the vexed question of temperament xv in which the furthering of a strange comradeship is continued, and a beggar from amritzar cries in the streets of mangadone xvi in which leh shin is breathed upon by a joss and experiences the terror of a man who touches the veil behind which the immortals dwell xvii tells how coryndon learns from the rev. francis heath what the rev. francis heath never told him xviii the rev. francis heath unlocks his door and shows what lies behind xix in which leh shin whispers a story into the ear of shiraz, the punjabi; the burden of which is: "have i found thee, o mine enemy?" xx craven joicey, the banker, is faced by a man with a whip in his hand, and coryndon finds a clue xxi demonstrates the persuasive power of a knife edge, and tells a story of a gold lacquer bowl xxii in which coryndon holds the last thread and draws it tight xxiii demonstrates the truth of the axiom that "the unexpected always happens" xxiv in which a wooden image points for the last time glossary the pointing man i in which the destiny that plays with men moves the pieces on the board dust lay thick along the road that led through the very heart of the native quarter of mangadone; dust raised into a misty haze which hung in the air and actually introduced a light undernote of red into the effect. dust, which covered the bare feet of the coolies, the velvet slippers of the burmese, which encroached everywhere and no one regarded, for presently, just at sundown, shouting watermen, carrying large bamboo vessels with great spouts, would come running along the road, casting the splashing water on all sides, and reduce the dry powder to temporary mud. the main street of the huge bazaar in mangadone was as busy a thoroughfare as any crowded lane of the city of london, and it blazed with colour and life as the evening air grew cool. there were shops where baskets were sold, shops apparently devoted only to the sale of mirrors, shops where tailors sat on the ground and worked at sewing machines; sweet stalls, food stalls, cafés, flanked by dusty tubs of plants and crowded with customers, who reclined on sofas and chairs set right into the street itself. nearer the river end of the street, the shops were more important, and business offices announced themselves on large placards inscribed in english, and in curling burmese characters like small worms hooping and arching themselves, and again in thick black letters which resembled tea leaves formed into the picturesque design of chinese writing, for mangadone was one of the most cosmopolitan ports of the east, and stood high in the commercial world as a place for trade. along the street a motley of colour took itself like a sea of shades and tints. green, crimson, lemon yellow, lapis-lazuli, royal purple, intermingled with the naked brown bodies of coolies clad only in loin-cloths, for every race and class emerged just before sunset. rich burmen clad in yards of stiff, rustling silk jostled the lean, spare chinamen and the madrassis who came to mangadone to make money out of the indolence of the natives of a place who cared to do little but smoke and laugh. poor burmen in red and yellow cottons, as content with life as their wealthy brethren, loitered and smoked with the little white-coated women with flower-decked heads, and they all flowed on with the tide and filled the air with a perpetual babel of sound. the great, high houses on either side of the street were dilapidated and gaunt, let out for the most part in flats and tenements. screaming children swarmed naked and entirely unconcerned upon every landing, and out on the verandas that gave publicity to the way of life in the native quarter. sometimes a rag of curtain covered the entrances to the houses, but just as often it did not. women washed the big brass and earthenware pots, cooked the food, and played with the children in the smoky darkness, or sat to watch the evening show of the street. at one corner of the upper end of the street was a curio and china shop owned by a stout and wealthy burman, mhtoon pah. the shop was one of the features of the place, and no globe-trotting tourist could pass through mangadone without buying a set of tea-cups, a dancing devil, a carpet, or a burmese gong, from mhtoon pah. a strange-looking effigy in tight breeches, with pointing yellow hands and a smiling yellow face, stood outside the shop, eternally asking people in wooden, dumb show, to go in and be robbed by the proprietor. he had stood there and pointed for so long that the green glaze of his coat was sun-blistered, but he invariably drew the attention of passing tourists, and acted as a sign-board. he pointed at a small door up a flight of steps, and behind the small door was a dark shop, smelling of sandal-wood and cassia, and strong with the burning fumes of joss-sticks. innumerable cardboard boxes full of japanese dolls, full of glass bracelets of all colours, full of ivory figures, and full of amber and jade ornaments, were piled in the shelves. silver bands, embossed in relief with the history of the gaudama--the lord buddha--stood under glass protection, and everything that the heart of the touring american or britisher could desire was to be had, at a price, in the curio shop of mhtoon pah. umbrellas of all colours from bussan; silk from shantung; carpets from mirzapore; silver peacocks, japanese embroideries, shell-trimmed bags from shan and cochin, all were there; and the wealth of mhtoon pah was great. everybody knew the curio dealer: he had beguiled and swindled each new arrival in mangadone, and his personality helped to make him a very definite figure in the place. he was a large man, his size accentuated by his full silk petticoat; a man with large feet, large hands and a round bullet head, set on a thick neck. he had a few sleek black hairs at the corners of his mouth, and his long, narrow eyes, with thick yellow whites and inky-black pupils, never expressed any emotion. clothed in strawberry-red silk and a white coat, with a crimson scarf knotted low over his forehead, he was very nearly as strange and wonderful a sight as his own shop of myriad wares, and his manner was at all times the manner of a grand duke. mhtoon pah was as well known as the pointing effigy outside, but, whereas the world in the street believed they knew what the wooden man pointed at, no one could ever tell what mhtoon pah saw, and no one knew except mhtoon pah himself. all day long mhtoon pah sat inside his shop on a low divan and smoked cheroots, and only when a customer was of sufficient importance did he ever rise to conduct a sale himself. he was assisted by a thin, eager boy, a native christian from ootacamund, who had followed several trades before he became the shop assistant of mhtoon pah. he was useful because he could speak english, and he had been dressing-boy to a married sahib who lived in a big house at the end of the cantonment, therefore he knew something of the ways of mem-sahibs; and he had taken a prize at the sunday school, therefore absalom was a boy of good character, and was known very nearly as well as mhtoon pah himself. it was a hot, stifling evening, the evening of july the th. the rains had lashed the country for days, and even the trees that grew in among the houses of paradise street were fresh and green, though one of the hot, burning breaks of blue sky and glaring sunlight had baked the road into indian-red dust once more, and the interior of mhtoon pah's curio shop was heavy with stale scents and dark shadows that crept out as the gloom of evening settled in upon it. mhtoon pah moved about looking at his goods, and touching them with careful hands. he hovered over an ivory lady carrying an umbrella, and looked long at a white marble buddha, who returned his look with an equally inscrutable regard. the buddha sat cross-legged, thinking for ever and ever about eternity, and mhtoon pah moved round in red velvet toe-slippers, pattering lightly as he went, for in spite of his bulk mhtoon pah had an almost soundless walk. having gone over everything and stood to count the silver bowls, he waited as though he was listening, and after a little the light creak of the staircase warned him that steps were coming towards the shop from the upper rooms. "absalom," he called, and the steps hurried, and after a moment's talk to which the boy listened carefully as though receiving directions, he told him to close the shop and place his chair at the top of the steps, as he desired to sit outside and look at the street. when the chair was placed, mhtoon pah took up his elevated position and smoked silently. the toil of the day was over, and he leaned his arm along the back of his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. he could hear absalom closing the shop behind him, and he turned his curious, expressionless eyes upon the boy as he passed down the steps and mingled with the crowd in the street. just opposite, a story-teller squatted on the ground in the centre of a group of men who laughed and clapped their hands, his flashing teeth and quick gesticulations adding to each point he made; it was still clear enough to see his alternating expression of assumed anger or amusement. it was clear enough to notice the coloured scarves and smiling faces of a bullock cart full of girls going slowly homewards, and it was clear enough to see and recognize the rev. francis heath, hurrying at speed between the crowd; clear enough to see the rev. francis stop for a moment to wish his old pupil absalom good evening, and then vanish quickly like a figure flashed on a screen by a cinematograph. lights came out in high windows and sounds of bagpipes and beating tom-toms began inside the open doors of a nautch house. an evil-looking house where green dragons curled up the fretted entrance, and where, overhead, faces peered from a balcony into the street. there was noise enough there to attract any amount of attention. smart carriages, with white-uniformed _syces_, hurried up, bearing stout, plethoric men from the wharf offices, and mhtoon pah saluted several of the sahibs, who reclined in comfort behind fine pairs of trotting horses. their time for passing having gone, and the street relieved of the disturbance, lamps were carried out and set upon tables and booths, but a few red streaks of evening tinted the sky, and faces that passed were still recognizable. a bay pony ridden by a lady almost at a gallop came so fast that she was up the street and round the corner in a twinkling. if mrs. wilder was dining out on the night of july th she was running things close; equally so if she was receiving guests. a flare of light from a window opposite fell across the face of the dancing man, who pointed at mhtoon pah, and appeared to make him offer his principal for sale, or introduce him to the street with an indicating finger. the gloom grew, calling out the lights into strength, but the concourse did not thin: it only gathered in numbers, and the long, moaning hoot of an out-going tramp filled the air as though with a wail of sorrow at departure. lascars in coal-begrimed tunics joined in with the rest, adding their voices to the babel, and round-hatted sailors from the royal indian marine ships mingled with them. all up and down the mangadone river lights came out. clear lights along the land, and wavering torch-lights in the water. ships' port-holes cleared themselves in the darkness, ships' lights gleamed green and red in high stars up in the crows'-nests, or at the shapeless bulk of dark bows, and white sheets of strong electric clearness lay over one or two landing-stages where craft was moored alongside and overtime work still continued. little sampans glided in and out like whispers, and small boats with crossed oars, rowed by one man, ferried to and fro, but it was late, and, gradually, all commercial traffic ceased. it was quite late now, an hour when european life had withdrawn to the cantonment. it was not an hour for sahibs on foot to be about, and yet it seemed that there was one who found the night air of july th hot and close, and desired to go towards the river for the sake of the breeze and the fresh air. he, too, like all the others, passed along paradise street, passing quickly, as the others had passed, his head bent and his eyes averted from the faces that looked up at him from easy chairs, from crowded doorsteps, or that leaned over balconies. he, also, whoever he was, had not mhtoon pah's leisure to regard the street, and he went on with a steady, quick walk which took him out on to the wharf, and from the wharf along a waste place where the tram lines ceased, and away from there towards a cluster of lights in a house close over the dark river itself. the stars came out overhead, and the southern cross leaned down; seen from the river over the twin towers of the cathedral, seen from the cathedral brooding over the native quarter, seen in paradise street not at all, and not in any way missed by the inhabitants, whose eyes were not upon the stars; seen again in the cantonment, over the massed trees of the park, and seen remarkably well from the wide veranda of mrs. wilder's bungalow, where the guests sat after a long dinner, remarking upon the heat and oppressiveness of the tropic night. the fire-flies danced over the trees like iridescent sparks hung on invisible gauze, and even came into the lighted drawing-room, to sparkle with less radiance against the plain white walls. fans whirred round and round like large tee-totums set near the ceiling, and even the electric light appeared to give out heat; no breeze stirred from the far-away river, no coolness came with the dark, no relief from the brooding, sultry heat. it was no hotter than many nights in any break in the rains, but the guests invited by mrs. wilder felt the languor of the air, and felt it more profoundly because their hostess herself was affected by it. mrs. wilder was a dark, handsome woman of thirty-five, usually full of life and animation, and her dinners were known to be entertainments in the real sense of the word. draycott wilder was no mate for her in appearance or manner, but draycott wilder was marked by the powers as a successful man. he took very little part in the social side of their married life, and sat in the shadow near the lighted door, listening while his guests talked. the party was in no way different to many others, and it would have ended and been forgotten by all concerned if it had not been for the fact that an unusual occurrence broke it up in dismay. mrs. wilder complained of the heat during dinner, and she had been pale, looking doubly so in her vivid green dress; her usual animation had vanished, and she talked with evident effort and seemed glad of the darkness of the veranda. suddenly one of those strange silences fell over everyone, silences that may be of a few seconds' duration, but that appear like hours. what they are connected with, no one can guess. the silence lasted for a second, and it was broken with sudden violence. "my god," said the voice of hartley, the head of the police, speaking in tones of alarm. "mrs. wilder has fainted!" she had fallen forward in her chair, and he had caught her as she fell. very soon the guests dispersed and the bungalow was still for the night. one or two waited to hear what the doctor had to say, and went away satisfied in the knowledge that the heat had been too much for mrs. wilder, and, but for that event, the dinner-party would have been forgotten after two days. hartley was the last to leave, and the sound of trotting hoofs grew faint along the road. by an hour after midnight nearly the whole white population can be presumed to be asleep; day wakes early in the east, and there are few who keep all-night hours, because morning calls men from their beds to their work, and even this hot, sultry night people lay on their beds and tried to sleep; but in the small bungalow where the rev. francis heath lived with a solitary sapper officer, the bed that he slept in was smooth and unstirred by restless tossing inside the mosquito net. the rev. francis was out, sitting by the bed of a dying parishioner. he watched the long hours through, dressed as he had been in the afternoon, in a grey flannel suit, his thin neck too long and too spare for his all-around collar, and as he watched sometimes and sometimes prayed, he too felt the pressure of the night. the woman he prayed beside was dying and quite unconscious of his presence. now and then, to relieve the strain, he got up and stood by the window, looking at the lights against the sky and thinking very definitely of something that troubled him and drew his lips into a tight, thin line. he was a young man of the type described usually as "zealous" and "earnest," and a light that was almost the light of fanaticism shone in his eyes. a dying parishioner was no more of a novelty to mr. heath, than one of mrs. wilder's dinner-parties was to her guests, and yet the woman on the bed appealed to his pity as few others had done in his experience. when the doctor came he nodded to the clergyman and just touched the hand on the quilt. he was in evening dress, and he explained that he had been detained owing to his hostess having been taken suddenly ill. "where is rydal himself?" he asked the question carelessly, dropping the pulseless wrist. "who can tell?" said the rev. francis heath. "he'd better keep out of the way," continued the doctor. "i believe there's a police warrant out for him. hartley spoke of it to-night. she will be gone before morning, and a good job for her." the throbbing hot night wore on, and july the th became july the th, and mangadone awoke to a fierce, tearing thunder-storm that boomed and crashed and wore itself out in torrents of heavy rain. ii tells the story of a loss, and how it affected the rev. francis heath half-way up a low hill rise on the far side of the mangadone cantonment was the bungalow of hartley, head of the police. it was a tidy, well-kept house, the house of a bachelor who had an eye to things himself and who was well served by competent servants. hartley had reached the age of forty without having married, and he was solid of build and entirely sensible and practical of mind. he was spoken of as "sound" and "capable," for it is thus we describe men with a word, and his mind was adjusted so as to give room for only one idea at a time. he was convinced that he was tactful to a fault, nothing had ever shaken him in this belief, and his personal courage was the courage of the british lion. hartley was popular and on friendly and confidential terms with everybody. mangadone, like most other places in the east, was as full of cliques as a book is of words, but hartley regarded them not at all. popularity was his weakness and his strength, and he swam in all waters and was invited everywhere. mrs. wilder, who knew exactly who to treat with distant condescension and who to ignore entirely, invariably included him in her intimate dinners, and the chief commissioner, also a bachelor, invited him frequently and discussed many topics with him as the wine circled. even craven joicey, the banker, who made very few acquaintances and fewer intimates, was friendly with hartley; one of those odd, unlikely friendships that no one understands. the week following upon the thunder-storm had been a week of grey skies over an acid-green world, and even hartley became conscious that there is something mournful about a tropical country without a sun in the sky as he sat in his writing-room. it was gloomy there, and the palm trees outside tossed and swayed, and the low mist wraiths down in the valley clung and folded like cotton-wool, hiding the town and covering it up to the very top spires of the cathedral. hartley was making out a report on a case of dacoity against a chinaman, but the light in the room was bad, and he pushed back his chair impatiently and shouted to the boy to bring a lamp. his tea was set out on a small lacquer table near his chair, and his fox-terrier watched him with imploring eyes, occasionally voicing his feelings in a stifled bark. the boy came in answer to his call, carrying the lamp in his hands, and put it down near hartley, who turned up the wick, and fell to his reading again; then, putting the report into a locked drawer, he drew his chair from the writing-table and poured out a cup of tea. he had every reason to suppose that his day's work was done, and that he could start off for the club when his tea was finished. the wind rattled the palm branches and came in gusts through the veranda, banging doors and shaking windows, and the evening grew dark early, with the comfortless darkness of rain overhead, when the wheels of a carriage sounded on the damp, sodden gravel outside. hartley got up and peered through the curtain that hung across the door. callers at such an hour upon such a day were not acceptable, and he muttered under his breath, feeling relieved, however, when he saw a fat and heavy figure in burmese clothing get out from the _gharry_. "if that is anyone to see me on business, say that this is neither the place nor the hour to come," he shouted to the boy, and returning to the tea-table, poured out a saucer of milk for the eager terrier, now divided between his duties as a dog and his feelings as an animal. the boy reappeared after a pause, bearing a message to the effect that mhtoon pah begged an immediate interview upon a subject so pressing that it could not wait. hartley listened to the message, swore under his breath, and looked sharply at mhtoon pah when he came into the room. usually the curio dealer had a smile and a suave, pleasant manner, but on this occasion all his suavity was gone, and his eyes, usually so inexpressive and secret, were lighted with a strange, wolfish look of anger and rage that was almost suggestive of insanity. he bowed before the head of the police and began to talk in broken, gasping words, waving his hands as he spoke. his story was confused and rambling, but what he told was to the effect that his boy, absalom, had disappeared and could not be found. "it was the night of the th of july, _thakin_, and i sent him forth upon a business. next morning he did not return. it was i who opened the shop, it was i who waited upon customers, and absalom was not there." "what inquiries have you made?" "all that may be made, _thakin_. his mother comes crying to my door, his brothers have searched everywhere. ah, that i had the body of the man who has done this thing, and held him in the sacred tank, to make food for the fishes." his dark eyes gleamed, and he showed his teeth like a dog. "nonsense, man," said hartley, quickly. "you seem to suppose that the boy is dead. what reason have you for imagining that there has been foul play?" "_seem_ to suppose, _thakin_?" mhtoon pah gasped again, like a drowning man. "and yet the _thakin_ knows the sewer city, the chinese quarter, the streets where men laugh horribly in the dark. houses there, _thakin_, that crawl with yellow men, who are devils, and who split a man as they would split a fowl--" he broke off, and waved his hands about wildly. hartley felt a little sick; there was something so hideous in the way mhtoon pah expressed himself that he recoiled a step and summoned his common sense to his aid. "who saw absalom last?" "many people must have seen him. i sat myself outside the shop at sunset to watch the street, and had sent absalom forth upon a business, a private business: he was a good boy. many saw him go out, but no one saw him return." "that is no use, mhtoon pah; you must give me some names. who saw the boy besides yourself?" mhtoon pah opened his mouth twice before any sound came, and he beat his hands together. "the padre sahib, going in a hurry, spoke a word to him; i saw that with my eyes." "mr. heath?" "yes, _thakin_, no other." "and besides mr. heath, was there anyone else who saw him?" mhtoon pah bowed himself double in his chair and rocked about. "the whole street saw him go, but none saw him return, neither will they. they took absalom into some dark place, and when his blood ran over the floor, and out under the doors, the chinamen got their little knives, the knives that have long tortoise-shell handles, and very sharp edges, and then--" "for god's sake stop talking like that," said hartley, abruptly. "there isn't a fragment of evidence to prove that the boy is murdered. i am sorry for you, mhtoon pah, but i warn you that if you let yourself think of things like that you will be in a lunatic asylum in a week." he took out a sheet of paper and made careful notes. the boy had been gone four to five days, and beyond the fact that the rev. francis heath had seen and spoken to him, no one else was named as having passed along paradise street. the clergyman's evidence was worth nothing at all, except to prove that the boy had left mhtoon pah's shop at the time mentioned, and mhtoon pah explained that the "private business" was to buy a gold lacquer bowl desired by mrs. wilder, who had come to the shop a day or two before and given the order. gold lacquer bowls were difficult to procure, and he had charged the boy to search for it in the morning and to buy it, if possible, from the opium dealer leh shin, who could be securely trusted to be half-drugged at an early hour. "it was the morning i spoke of, _thakin_," said the curio dealer, who had grown calmer. "but absalom did not return to his home that night. he may have gone to leh shin; he was a diligent boy, a good boy, always eager in the pursuit of his duty and advantage." "i am very sorry for you, mhtoon pah," said hartley again, "and i shall investigate the matter. i know leh shin, and i consider it quite unlikely that he has had anything to do with it." when mhtoon pah rattled away in the yellow _gharry_, hartley put the notes on one side. it was a police matter, and he could trust his staff to work the subject up carefully under his supervision, and going to the telephone, he communicated the principal facts to the head office, mentioning the name of leh shin and the story of the gold lacquer bowl, and giving instructions that leh shin was to be tactfully interrogated. when hartley hung up the receiver he took his hat and waterproof and went out into the warm, damp dusk of the evening. there was something that he did not like about the weather. it was heavy, oppressive, stifling, and though there was air in plenty, it was the stale air of a day that seemed never to have got out of bed, but to have lain in a close room behind the shut windows of heaven. he remembered the boy absalom well, and could recall his dark, eager face, bulging eyes and protuberant under-lip, and the idea of his having been decoyed off unto some place of horror haunted him. it was still on his mind when he walked into the club veranda and joined a group of men in the bar. joicey, the banker, was with them, silent, morose, and moody according to his wont, taking no particular notice of anything or anybody. fitzgibbon, a young irish barrister-at-law, was talking, and laughing and doing his best to keep the company amused, but he could get no response out of joicey. hartley was received with acclamations suited to his general reputation for popularity, and he stood talking for a little, glad to shake off his feeling of depression. when he saw mr. heath come in and go up the staircase to an upstairs room, he followed him with his eyes and decided to take the opportunity to speak to him. "what's the matter, joicey?" he asked, speaking to the banker. "you look as if you had fever." "i'm all right," joicey spoke absently. "it's this infernally stuffy weather, and the evenings." "i'm glad it's that," laughed fitzgibbon, "i thought that it might be me. i'm so broke that even my tea at _chota haziri_ is getting badly overdrawn." "dine with me on saturday," suggested hartley, "i've seen very little of you just lately." joicey looked up and nodded. "i'll come," he said, laconically, and hartley, finishing his drink, went up the staircase. the reading-room of the club was usually empty at that hour, and the great tables littered with papers, free to any studious reader. when hartley came in, the rev. francis heath had the place entirely to himself, and was sitting with a copy of the _saturday review_ in his hands. he did not hear hartley come in, and he started as his name was spoken, and putting down the _review_, looked at the head of the police with questioning eyes. "i've come to talk over something with you, heath," hartley began, drawing a chair close to the table. "can you remember anything at all of what you were doing on the evening of july the twenty-ninth?" the rev. francis heath dropped his paper, and stooped to pick it up; certainly he found the evening hot, for his face ran with trickles of perspiration. "july the twenty-ninth?" "yes, that's the date. i am particularly anxious to know if you remember it." mr. heath wiped his neck with his handkerchief. "i held service as usual at five o'clock." hartley looked at him; there was something undeniably strained in the clergyman's eyes and voice. "ah, but what i am after took place later." the rev. francis heath moistened his lips and stood up. "my memory is constantly at fault," he said, avoiding hartley's eyes and looking at the ground. "i would not like to make any specific statement without--without--reference to my note-book." hartley stared in astonishment. "this is only a small matter, heath. i was trying to get round to my point in the usual way, by giving no actual indication of what i wanted to know. you see, if you tell a man what you want, he sometimes imagines that what he did on another day is what really happened on the actual occasion, and that, as you can imagine, makes our job very difficult. i don't want to bother you, but as your name was mentioned to me in connection with a certain investigation, i wished to test the truth of my man's statement." heath stood in the same attitude, his face pale and his eyes steadily lowered. "it might be well for you to be more clear," he said, after a long pause. "did you go down paradise street just after sunset?" "i may have done so. i have several parishioners along the river bank." "why the devil is he talking like this and looking like this?" hartley asked himself, impatiently. "i'm not a cross-examining counsel," he said, with some sharpness. "as i told you before, heath, it is only a very small matter." the rev. francis heath gripped the back of his chair and a slight flush mounted to his face. "i resent your questions, mr. hartley. what i did or did not do on the evening of july the twenty-ninth can in no way affect you. i entirely refuse to be made to answer anything. you have no right to ask me, and i have no intention of replying." hartley put his hand out in dismay. "really, heath, your attitude is quite absurd. i have already told one man to-day that he was going mad; are you dreaming, man? i only want you to help me, and you talk as if i had accused you of something. there is nothing criminal in being seen in paradise street after sundown." mr. heath stood holding by the back of his chair, looking over hartley's head, his dark eyes burning and his face set. "come, then," said the police officer abruptly, "who did you see? did you, for instance, see the christian boy, absalom, mhtoon pah's assistant?" the rev. francis heath made no answer. "did you see him?" "i will not answer any further questions, but since you ask me, i did see the boy." "thank you, heath; that took some getting at. now will you tell me if you saw him again later: i am supposing that you went down the wharf and came back, shall i say, in an hour's time. did you see absalom again?" the clergyman stared out of the window, and his pause was of such intensely long duration that when he said the one word, "no," it fell like the splash of a stone dropped into a deep well. hartley looked at his sleeve-links for quite a long time. "good night, heath," he said, getting up, but the rev. francis heath made no reply. hartley went back to his bungalow with something to think about. he had always regarded heath as a difficult and rather violently religious man. they had never been friends, and he knew that they never could be friends, but he respected the man even without liking him. now he was quite convinced that heath, after some deliberation with his conscience, had lied to him, and it made him angry. he had admitted, with the greatest reluctance, that he had been through paradise street, and seen the boy, and his declaration that he had not seen him again did not ring with any real conviction. it made the whole question more interesting, but it made it unpleasant. if things came to light that called the inquiry into court, the rev. francis heath might live to learn that the law has a way of obliging men to speak. if hartley had ever been sure of anything in his life, he was sure that heath knew something of absalom, and knew where he had gone in search of the gold lacquer bowl that was desired by mrs. wilder. he made up his mind to see mrs. wilder and ask her about the order for the bowl; but he hardly thought of her, his mind was full of the mystery that attached itself to the question of the rector of st. jude's parish, and his fierce and angry refusal to talk reasonably. he threw open his windows and sat with the air playing on his face, and his thoughts circled round and round the central idea. absalom was missing, and the rev. francis heath had behaved in a way that led him to believe that he knew a great deal more than he cared to say, and hartley brooded over the subject until he grew drowsy and went upstairs to bed. iii indicates a standpoint commonly supposed to represent the principles of the jesuit fathers it was quite early the following morning when hartley set out to take a stroll down paradise street, and from there to the chinese quarter, where leh shin had a small shop in a colonnade running east and west. the houses here were very different to the houses in paradise street. the fronts were brightened with gilt, and green and red paint daubed the entrances. almost every third shop was a restaurant, and hartley did not care to think of the sort of food that was cooked and eaten within. immense lanterns, that turned into coloured moons by night, but they were pale and dim by day, hung on the cross-beams inside the houses. some half-way down the colonnade, and deep in the odorous gloom, leh shin worked at nothing in particular, and sold devils as mhtoon pah sold them, but without the same success. the door of his shop was closed, and hartley rapped upon it several times before he received an answer; then a bolt was shot back, and leh shin's long neck stretched itself out towards the officer. he was a thin, gaunt figure, lean as the plague, and his spare frame was clad in cheap black stuff that hung around him like the garments of death itself. hartley drew back a step, for the smell of _napi_ and onions is unpleasant even to the strongest of white men, and told leh shin to open the door wide as he wished to talk to him. leh shin, with many owlish blinkings of his narrow eyes, asked hartley to come inside. the street was not a good place for talking, and hartley followed him into the shop. it was very dark within, and a dim light fell from high skylight windows, giving the shop something of the suggestion of a well. counters blocked it, making entrance a matter of single file, and, in the deep gloom at the back, two candles burned before a huge, ferocious-looking figure depicted on rice-paper and stuck against the wall. it was hard to believe that it was day outside, so heavy was the darkness, and it was a few moments before hartley's eyes became accustomed to the sudden change. second-hand clothes hung on pegs around the room, and all kinds of articles were jumbled together regardless of their nature. on the floor was a litter of silk and silver goods, boxes, broken portmanteaux, ropes, baskets, and on the counter nearest the door a tiny silver cage of beautiful workmanship inhabited by a tiny golden bird with ruby eyes. at the back of the shop and near the yellow circle of light thrown by the candles, was a boy, naked to the waist, and immensely stout and heavy. his long plait of hair was twisted round and round on his shaven forehead, and he stood perfectly still, watching the officer out of small pig eyes. he was chewing something slowly, turning it about and about inside a small, narrow slit of a mouth, and his whole expression was cunning and evil. leh shin followed hartley's glance and saw the boy, and the sight of him seemed to recall him to actual life, for he spoke in words that sounded like stones knocking together and ordered him out of the shop. the boy looked at him oddly for a moment; then turned away, still munching, and lounged out of the room, stopping on the threshold of a back entrance to take one more look at hartley. as a rule hartley was not affected by the peculiarities of the people he dealt with, but leh shin's assistant impressed him unpleasantly. everything he did was offensive, and his whole suggestion loathsome. hartley was still thinking of him when he looked at leh shin, who stood blinking before him, awaiting his words patiently. "now, leh shin, i want to ask you a few questions. do you sell lacquer in this shop?" the chinaman indicated that he sold anything that anyone would buy. "do you happen to know that mhtoon pah was looking for a bowl of gold lacquer, and that he sent his boy absalom here to get it?" leh shin shook his head. he was a poor man, and he knew nothing. moreover, he knew nothing of july the twenty-ninth, he did not count days. he had not seen the boy absalom. "let me advise you to be truthful, leh shin," said hartley. "you may be called upon to give an account of yourself on the evening and night of july the twenty-ninth." leh shin looked stolidly at the mildewed clothes and tried to remember, but he failed to be explicit, and the greasy, obese creature, still chewing, was recalled to assist his master's memory. he spoke in a high chirping voice, and looked at hartley with angry eyes as he asserted that his master had been ill upon the evening mentioned and that he had closed the shop early, and that he himself had gone to the nautch house to witness a dance that had lasted until morning. "you can prove what you say, i suppose," said hartley, speaking to leh shin, "and satisfy me that the boy absalom was not here, and did not come here?" leh shin, moved to sudden life, protested that he could prove it, that he could call half hong kong street to prove it. "i don't want hong kong street. i want a creditable witness," said hartley, and he turned to go. "so far as i know, you are an honest dealer, leh shin, and i am quite ready to believe, if you can help me, that you were ill that night, but i must have a creditable witness." when he left the shop, leh shin looked at the fat, sodden boy, and the boy returned his look for a moment, but neither of them spoke, and a few minutes later the door was bolted from within, and they were once more alone in the shadows, with the rags, the broken portmanteaux, the relics of art, and the animal smell, and hartley was out in the street. he was pretty secure in the belief that leh shin had not seen the boy, and that he knew nothing of the gold lacquer bowl, but he also believed that mhtoon pah had been far too crafty to tell the chinaman that anyone particularly wanted such a treasure of art. mhtoon pah, or his emissary, would have priced everything in the shop down to the most maggot-eaten rag before he would have mentioned the subject of lacquer bowls. there was no mystery connected with the bowl, but there was something sickening about leh shin's shop, and something utterly horrible about his assistant. hartley wished he had not seen him, he wished that he had remained in ignorance of his personality. he thought of him in the sweating darkness he had left, and as he thought he remembered mhtoon pah's wild, extravagant fancies, and they grew real to his mind. it was next to impossible to discover what the truth was about leh shin's illness on the night of july the th, and it really did not bear very much upon the matter, unless there was no other clue to what had become of the boy. hartley returned to other matters and put the case on one side for the moment. on his way back for luncheon he looked in at mhtoon pah's shop. he had intended to pass, but the sight of the little wooden man ushering him up the steps made him turn and stop and then go in. mhtoon pah sat on his divan in the scented gloom, very different to the interior of leh shin's shop, and when he saw hartley he struggled to his feet and demanded news of absalom. "there is none yet," said hartley, sitting down. "now, mhtoon pah, are you quite sure that it was mr. heath that you saw that evening?" "i saw him with these eyes. i saw him pass, and he was going quickly. i read the walk of men and tell much by it. the reverend was in a great hurry. twice did he pull out his watch as he came along the street, and he pushed through the crowd like a rogue elephant going through a rice crop. i have seen the reverend walking before, and he walked slowly, he spoke with the _babus_ from the baptist mission, but this day," mhtoon pah flung his hands to the roof, "shall i forget it? this day he walked with speed, and when my little absalom salaamed before him, he hardly stopped, which is not the habit of the reverend." "did you see him come back? mr. heath, i mean?" mhtoon pah stood and looked curiously at hartley, and remained in a state of suspended animation for a second. "how could i see him come back?" he said, in a flat, expressionless voice. "i went to the pagoda, _thakin_. i am building a shrine there, and shall thereby acquire much merit. i did not see the reverend return. besides, he might not have come by the way of paradise street." "he might not." "it is not known," said mhtoon pah, shaking his head dubiously, and then rage seemed to flare up in him once more. "it is leh shin, the chinaman," he said, violently. "let it be known to you, _thakin_, they eat strange meats, they hold strange revels. i have heard things--" he lowered his voice. "i have been told of how they slay." "then keep the information to yourself, unless you can prove it," said hartley, firmly. "i want to hear nothing about it." he got up and looked around the shop. "i suppose you haven't got the lacquer bowl since?" "no, _thakin_, i have not got it, neither have i seen leh shin, an evil man. the lady sahib will have to wait; neither has she been here since, nor asked for the bowl." hartley walked down the steps; he was troubled by the thought, and the more he tried to work out some definite theory that left mr. heath outside the ring that he proposed to draw around his subject, the more he appeared on the horizon of his mind, always walking quickly and looking at his watch. through lunch he went over the facts and faced the heath question squarely, considering that if heath knew that the boy was in trouble, and had connived at his escape, he would be muzzled, but there was nothing to show that absalom had ever broken the law. his employer, mhtoon pah, was in despair at his disappearance, his record was blameless, and he had been entrusted with the deal in lacquer to be carried out the following morning. looking for absalom was like tracing a shadow that has passed along a street on soundless feet, and hartley felt an eager determination seize him to catch up with this flying wraith. still with the same idea in his mind, he drove along the principal roads in his buggy, directing his way towards the bungalow where the rector of st. jude's lived with atkins, the sapper. the house was draped in climbing and trailing creepers, and the grass grew into the red drive that curved in a half-circle from one rickety gate to another. he came up quietly on the soft, wet clay, and looked up at the house before he called for the bearer, and as he looked up he saw a face disappear quickly from behind a window. after a few minutes the boy came running down a flight of steps from the back, and hurried in to get a tray, which he held out for the customary card. "take that away," said hartley, "and tell the padré sahib that i must see him." "the padré sahib is out, sahib." the boy still held the tray like a collecting-plate. "out," said hartley, "nonsense. go and tell your master that my business is important." after a moment the boy returned again, the tray still in his hand. "gone out, sahib," he said, resolutely, and without waiting for any more hartley turned the pony's head and drove out slowly. twice in two days heath had lied, to his certain knowledge, and as he glanced back at the bungalow, a curtain in an upper window moved slightly as though it had been dropped in haste. just as he turned into the road he came face to face with atkins, heath's bungalow companion, and he pulled up short. "i've been trying to call on the padré," he said, carelessly, "but he was out." "out," said atkins, in a tone of surprise. "why, that is odd. he told me he was due at a meeting at half-past five, and that he wasn't going out until then. i suppose he changed his mind." "it looks like it," said hartley, dryly. "he hasn't been well these last few days," went on atkins, quickly, "said he felt the weather, and he certainly seems ill. i don't believe the poor devil sleeps at all. whenever i wake, i can see his light in the passage." "that is bad," hartley's voice grew sympathetic. "has he been long like this?" "not long," said atkins, who was constitutionally accurate. "i think it began about the night after the thunder-storm, but i can't say for certain." "well, i won't keep you." hartley touched the pony's quarters with his whip. "i'm sorry i missed heath, as i wanted to see him about something rather important." "i'll tell him," said atkins, cheerfully, "and probably he'll look you up at your own house." "will he, i wonder?" thought the police officer, and he set to work upon the treadmill of his thoughts again. there is nothing in the world so tantalizing, and so hard to bear, as the conviction that knowledge is just within reach and that it is deliberately withheld. heath stood between him and elucidation, and the more firmly the clergyman held his ground, and the more definitely he blocked the path, the more sure hartley became that he did so of set purpose. "but _why_, _why_?" he asked himself, as he drove through the cantonment towards mrs. wilder's bungalow. atkins got off his bicycle and handed it over to his boy as he arrived at the dreary entrance. "the padré sahib is out?" he said, in his brisk, matter-of-fact tones. "the padré sahib is upstairs," said the boy, with an immovable face; and atkins went up quickly. "hallo, heath, i met hartley just now, and he said you were out." heath looked up from a sheet of paper laid out on the writing-table before him. "i did not feel up to seeing hartley," he said, a little stiffly. "it is not a convenient hour for callers, so i availed myself of an excuse." "he told me to tell you that it was rather a pressing matter that brought him here, and i said that i would give you his message, and that you would probably go round to see him." "you said that, atkins?" his face was so drawn and unnatural that atkins looked at him in surprise. "i suppose i was right?" "if hartley wants to see me," said heath, in a loud, angry voice, "or if he wants to come bullying and blustering, he must write and make an appointment. i have every right to protect myself from a man who asks personal and most impertinent questions." "hartley, impertinent?" atkins' eyes grew round. "when i say impertinent, i mean not pertinent, or bearing upon any subject that i intend to discuss with him." the rev. francis heath got up and walked towards the window, turning his back upon the room. "i don't mix in social politics," said atkins, soothingly. "but at the same time, i can't understand you, heath. what the devil does hartley want to know?" the clergyman caught at the curtain and gripped it as he had gripped the back of his chair at the club. "never ask me that again, atkins," he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "never speak to me about this again." atkins retreated quickly from the room; there was something in the manner of the rev. francis heath that he did not like, and he registered a mental vow to let the subject drop, so far as he, a lieutenant in his majesty's royal engineers, was concerned, and never to allude to it, either for "fear or favour," again. iv introduces the reader to mrs. wilder in a secretive mood draycott wilder was a man who hoarded his passions and concentrated them upon a very few objects. his work came first, and his intense ambition, and after his work, his wife. she was the right sort of wife for a man who put worldly success first, and through the years of their marriage had helped him a great deal more than he ever admitted. clarice wilder was beautiful, and had a surface cleverness combined with a natural gift of tact that made her an admirable hostess. she could talk to anybody and send them away pleased and satisfied with themselves, and she had made the best of draycott for a good number of years. she had married him when marriage seemed a big thing and a wonderful thing, and her country home in devonshire a small, breathless place where nothing ever happened, and where life was one long sunday at home, and draycott, back from the east, had appeared as interesting as a white othello. for a time she received all she needed out of life, and she threw herself into her husband's promotion-hunger; understanding it, because she, too, wanted to reign, and it gave her an inexplicable feeling of respect for him, for clarice knew that had she been born a man, she, too, would have worked and schemed and pushed herself out into the front of the ranks. she combined with him as only an ambitious woman can combine, and she supplied all he lacked. it filled her mind, and she never awoke the jealousy that lay like a sleeping python in the heart of draycott wilder. it was when they were in india that clarice, for the first time, lost her grip and allowed her senses to get the better of her common sense, and she became for a brief time a woman with a very troublesome heart. hector copplestone, a young man newly come to the indian civil service, was sent to their punjaub station. he made mrs. wilder realize her own charm, he made her terribly conscious that she was older than him, he made her anxious and distracted and madly, idiotically in love with him. she forgot that there were other things in life, she put aside ambition for a stronger temptation, and she did not care what draycott thought or supposed. no one ever knew what happened, but everyone guessed that wilder had made trouble. they left india under the same cloud of silence, and they reappeared in mangadone to outside eyes the same couple who had pulled together for successful years of marriage; and if some whisper, for whispers carry far in the east, came after them, no one regarded it, and the copplestone incident was considered permanently closed. draycott wilder was the same silent man who was the despair of his dinner partners, and clarice had her old brilliancy and her old way of making men pleased with themselves; and though some people, chiefly young girls, described her as "hard," she represented a centre of attraction, and her one mad year was a thing of the past. among the men who went to the terraced house in its huge gardens, she always particularly welcomed hartley, the head of the police. he never demanded effort, and he had a good nature and a flow of small talk. nearly every woman liked hartley, though very few of them could have said why. he had fair, fluffy hair and a pink face; he was just weak enough to be easily influenced, and he fell platonically in love with every new woman he met without being in the least faithless to the others. mrs. wilder had a corner in her heart for him, and he, in return, looked upon mrs. wilder as a brilliant and lovely woman very much too good for draycott. he did not know that he took his ideas from her whenever she wished him to do so; mrs. wilder, like a clever conjurer, palmed her ideas like cards, and upheld the principle of free will while she did so, and if she had desired to impress hartley with fifty-two new notions he would have left her positive in his own mind that they were his own. thus, clarice wilder may be classed as that melodramatic type that goes about labelled "dangerous," only she had the wit to take off the label and to advertise herself under the guise of a harmless soothing mixture. the bungalow in which the wilders lived was an immense place, standing over a terraced garden beautifully planted with flowers. steps, covered with white marble, led from terrace to terrace, and down to a jade-green lake where water-lilies blossomed and pink lotus flowers floated. dark green trees plumed with shaded purple flowers accentuated the massed yellow of the golden laburnums. the topmost flight of steps led up to the house, and was flanked on either side with variegated laurel growing in sea-green pots, and the red avenue, that took its lengthy way from the main road, curved into a wide sweep outside the flower-hung veranda. hartley arrived at the house just as mrs. wilder was having tea alone in the big drawing-room, and she smiled up at him with her curious eyes, that were the colour of granite. without exactly knowing what her age was, hartley felt, somehow, that she looked younger than she was, and that she did not do so without some aid from "boxes," but he liked her none the less for that, and possibly admired her more. he sat down and asked her how she was, and, as he looked at her, he wondered to think that she had ever fainted. clearly, she was the last woman on earth who could be accused of victorian ways, and to see her in her white lace dress, dark, distinguished, and perfectly mistress of her emotions, was to be bewildered at the memory. she treated the question with scant ceremony, and remarked upon the fact that the night had been hot, and that everyone had felt it. "i've got an excellent reason for remembering the date," said hartley reflectively. "by the way, wasn't absalom, old mhtoon pah's assistant, once a dressing-boy or something in your establishment?" "he was, and then he went sick, and took to this other kind of work." "he was quite honest, i suppose?" "perfectly honest," said mrs. wilder, with a slight lift of her eyebrows, "and a nice little boy. i hope that question doesn't mean that you are professionally interested in his past?" she laughed carelessly. "i am quite prepared to stand up for absalom; he was the soul of integrity." hartley put down his cup on the table. "the boy has disappeared," he said, talking with interest, for the subject filled his mind. "but when, and how? i saw him quite lately." hartley's round, china-blue eyes fixed upon her. "can you tell me when you saw him?" "one night--evening, i should say--i was out riding and i passed him going towards the wharf, not towards the wharf exactly, but to the houses that lie out by the end of the tram lines." "what evening? i wish you could remember for me." "it was the night of my own dinner-party." "then that was july the twenty-ninth?" mrs. wilder looked at him, and bit her lip. "was it the twenty-ninth?" hartley repeated the question. "probably it was, if you say so. i told you just now that i had burma head. but where has absalom gone to?" hartley took up his cup again and stirred the spoon round and round. "forgive me for pelting you with questions, but did you see mr. heath that evening?" "now, what _are_ you trying to get out of me, mr. hartley? did mr. heath tell you that he had seen me?" hartley stared at his feet. "heath has got burma head, too, and won't tell me anything. it might help his memory if you were able to say whether you had seen him or not that evening." mrs. wilder's fine eyes glittered into a smile that was not exactly mirthful or pleasant. "i don't see that i can possibly say one way or another. i often do . . . i often do see him going about the native quarter when i ride through, but i do not write it down in my book, so it is quite impossible for me to say." "anyhow, you saw absalom?" "oh, yes, i saw the boy. what a persistent man you are, and you haven't told me a word yourself." "absalom was to have got a gold lacquer bowl that you ordered from mhtoon pah?" "quite correct," laughed mrs. wilder with more of her usual manner. "that old barabbas has never sent it to me yet, either. i ordered it a month ago. i love lacquer because it looks like nothing else, and particularly gold lacquer." "well, all i can tell you is that absalom had an order from mhtoon pah to get the bowl the next morning, if it was to be got, and he went away as usual the night of the twenty-ninth, and never appeared again. heath saw him, and you saw him, and that is pretty nearly all the evidence i can collect." "evidence?" mrs. wilder's voice had a piercing note in it. "yes, evidence. you see the only way to trace a man is to find out exactly who saw him last, and where." "ah, i see. you find out what everyone was doing, and where they were, and you piece the bits in. it's like a jig-saw, and how very interesting it must be." hartley laughed. "not what the other people were doing exactly, but where they were. it is something to know that you saw the boy, but i wish you could remember if you saw heath." mrs. wilder got up and walked to the window. "i do hope he will be found. did he take my lacquer bowl with him?" "he had not got it," said hartley, in his steady, matter-of-fact voice. "are you _worried_ about it?" she turned and looked across the room. "why should you be? if absalom has chosen to leave, i really don't see why he shouldn't be allowed to go in peace." "i don't know that he did _choose_ to leave; that is just the point." he was longing to ask her another question about heath, and yet he did not like to press her. "here are some callers," she remarked, and then, with a short laugh, "i wonder if they were out and about that evening. if you go on like this, mr. hartley, you will make yourself the most popular man in mangadone. take my advice and let absalom come back in his own way. perhaps he is looking for my bowl." she turned her head and glanced at some cards that the bearer had brought in on a tray. "show the ladies in, gulab." in a few minutes the room was full of voices and laughter, and mrs. wilder became unconscious of hartley. she remained so unconscious of him that he felt uncomfortable and began to wonder if he had offended her in any way. he looked at her from time to time, and when he got up to go she gave him her hand as though she was only just sure that he was really there. the disappearance of absalom was taking strange shapes in his mind, and he had so far come to the conclusion that heath knew something about absalom, and his visit to mrs. wilder added the puzzling fact to his mental arithmetic that mrs. wilder knew something about heath. it was one thing to corner heath, but heath standing behind mrs. wilder's protection, became formidable. yet it was not in the cantonment that hartley expected to find any clue to the vanished absalom: it was down in the native quarter. down there where the chinese eating-houses were beginning to fill, and where the night life was only just awaking from its slumber of the day, was where absalom, the christian boy, had last been seen, and it was there, if anywhere, that he must be searched for and found. what possible connection could there be between an upright, godly man who went his austere way along the high, cold path of duty, and a woman whose husband was madly grasping at the biggest prize of his profession? what link could bind life with life, when lives were divided by such yawning gulfs of space and class and race? to connect mrs. wilder with heath was almost as mad a piece of folly as to connect absalom with the clergyman, and yet, hartley argued, he had not set out to do it. something that had not begun with any act or question of his had brought about the junction of the ideas, and he felt like a man in a dark room trying to make his way to the window, and meeting with unrecognizable obstacles. the small tinkle of the church bell attracted his attention, and, following a sudden whim, he went into the tin building and sat down near the door. mr. heath did not look down the sparsely-filled church as he read the evening service, and he prayed with an almost violent fervour. certainly to-night the rev. francis heath was praying as though he was alone, and the odd imploring misery of his voice struck hartley.--"to perceive and know the things that we ought to do, and to have grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same." heath's voice had broken into a kind of sob, the sound that tells of strain and hysteria, but what was there in mangadone to make a respectable parson strained and hysterical? v craven joicey, the banker, finds that his memory is not to be trusted just as draycott wilder stood high in the eyes of the powers that govern the civil service of india, so, too, in his own way, was craven joicey, the banker, a man with a solid reputation. if you build a reputation solidly for the first half of a lifetime, it will last the latter half without much attention or care, and, contrariwise, a bad beginning is frequently stronger than any reformation, and stronger than integrity that comes too late. joicey had begun well, and had, as the saying goes, "made his way." he was a large, heavy man, representative in figure and slow and careful of speech. he kept the secrets of his bank, and he kept his own secrets, if he had any, and was a walking tomb for confidences not known as "tender." no one would have attempted to tell him their affairs of the heart, but almost anyone with money to invest would go direct to craven joicey. he had no wife, no child, and, as far as anyone knew, no kith or kin, and he had no intimate friends. he had one of those strange, shut faces; a mouth that told nothing, eyes that were nearly as expressionless as the eyes of mhtoon pah, and he had no restless movements. a plethoric man, joicey, a man who got up and sat down heavily, a man who looked at his business and not beyond it, and never troubled society. he probably knew that heath lived in mangadone, that was if heath banked with him; otherwise, he might easily not have known it. he knew of the wilders. he knew what draycott wilder owned, and he knew that mrs. wilder had a very small allowance of her own, paid quarterly through a devonshire bank, but more than this he neither knew nor wished to know of them, and he never went to their house. joicey had not "worn well"; there was no denying that sweating years of burmese rains and hot weathers had made him prematurely old. his thick hair was patched with white, and his face was flabby and yellow. craven joicey was one of those men, who, if he had died suddenly, would have made people remember that they always thought him unhealthy-looking. there was nothing, romantic, exciting, or interesting about him; his mind was a huge pass-book, and his brain a network of facts and figures. he played no games, went only seldom to the club, and knew no one in the place better than he knew hartley, which was little, but at any rate hartley dined once or twice in the year with him, and he occasionally dined in return with the head of the police. hartley was so occupied with his trouble of mind on the subject of absalom that he very nearly forgot that he had invited joicey to dinner the following saturday. the police had discovered nothing whatever, and he had received another visit at his house from the curio dealer. mhtoon pah, in a condition bordering upon frenzy, stated that when he had stood on his steps in the morning, intending to go to the pagoda to offer alms to the priests, he had noticed his wooden effigy and gone down to look closer at him. the yellow man pointed as was his wont, but over the pointing hand lay a rag soaked in blood. mhtoon pah, immense and splendid in his silk, had given forth wild noises as he produced the rag, noises that reminded hartley irresistibly of the trumpeting of elephants, but they were terrible to hear. "it is enough," he said, his face quivering. "this is the work of the chinamen. they slit his veins, _thakin_, they are doing it slowly. the _thakin_ can understand that absalom still lives, his blood is fresh and red, it is not dead blood that runs like treacle, it is living blood that spouts out hot, and that steams and smokes. _thakin_, _thakin_, i cry for vengeance." "i'm doing all i can, mhtoon pah," said hartley, desperately. "i can't go and arrest leh shin on suspicion, because there isn't a vestige of suspicion attached to the man." "not after this?" mhtoon pah pointed to the rag that lay loathsomely on the table. "that may be goat's blood, or dog's blood; we can't say it is absalom's," objected hartley. "leave the horrid thing there, mhtoon pah, and i will have it analysed later on." mhtoon pah gasped and beat his breast. "he was a good boy, he attended the mission with regularity, and they are doing terrible things. they wind wires around the finger-nails and the toe-nails until they turn black and drop off. you do not know these chinamen, _thakin_, as i know them. have you seen the assistant of leh shin?" hartley wished that he had not; he frequently wished that he had never seen that man. mhtoon pah bent near the head of the police and spoke in low, sibilant tones: "he is a butcher's mate, _thakin_. he is a slayer of flesh. he kills in the shambles. oh, it is true. i saw him slit the mouth of a dog with his knife for his own mirth--" "swine!" said hartley. "why he left there and went to live with leh shin is unknown. he has secrets. he knows the best mixtures of opium, he knows--" "i don't want to hear what he knows." "he knows where absalom is." "you only think that," said hartley, roughly. "it is a dangerous thing to make these assertions. it is only your idea, mhtoon pah." the burman groaned aloud and held the rag between his hands. "put that down," said hartley. mhtoon pah's very agony of desire to find the boy was almost disgusting, and he turned away from the sight. "there is no use your staying here, and no use your coming, unless there is more of this devil's work," he pointed to the blood-stained cloth. "leave the thing here, and i will see what the doctors have to say about it." "_thakin_, _thakin_," said mhtoon pah. "the time grows late. my night's rest is taken from me, and the chinaman, leh shin, walks the roads. i saw him from my place at sunset. i saw him go by like a cat that prowls when night falls and it grows dark. he passed by my wooden image of a dancing man, and he touched him as he passed--" he gave a despairing gesture with his heavy hands. "oh, absalom, absalom, my grief is heavy!" "he will be either found or accounted for," said hartley, with a decision and firmness he was far from feeling, and mhtoon pah, with bent head, went away out of the room. the rain that had held off all day began to come down in pitiless torrents, blown in by the wind, and fighting against bolts and bars. it ruffled the muddy waters of the river, ran along the kennels of the chinese quarter, drove the inhabitants of paradise street indoors and soused down over the cantonment gardens, and battered on the travelling carriage of craven joicey, that came along the road, a waterproof over the pony's back and another covering the _syce_, and joicey sat inside the small green box, holding the window-strings under his heavy arms. joicey was not a cheerful companion, and in his present mood fitzgibbon, the barrister, would have suited hartley better; but he had asked joicey, and joicey was on his way, thinking about bank business in all probability, thinking of money lent out at interest, thinking of careful ledgers and neat rows of figures, and certainly not in the least likely to be thinking of the chinese quarter, or of a person of so small account, financially, as absalom, the christian native. the river or the ships or the back lanes of mangadone might swallow a thousand absaloms and make no difference to the bank, and therefore none to craven joicey. absalom, that shadow of the night, had gone to heaven or hell, and left no bills behind, and it is by bills that some men's memories are recorded. he was only another grain of red dust blown about by the wind of fate, and though the rector of st. jude's might consider that, having been marked by the sign of the cross, he was in some way different from the rest, neither craven joicey nor clarice wilder could be expected to take very much heed of the fact. all stories of disappearance, from time immemorial, have held interest, and everyone has known of some case which has never been explained or accounted for. someone who got into a cab and never appeared again, and left the impression that he had driven over the edge of the world into space, for the cab, the cab driver, the horse, the vehicle and the passenger inside were lost from that moment; someone who went for a bicycle ride in england, and was found later selling old clothes in chicago; someone who went away by train, someone who went away by boat; the world is full of instances, and they are always tinged with the greatest mystery of all mysteries, because they foreshadow the ultimate mystery that awaits the soul of man. for this universal reason, it might be concluded that joicey might listen with attention to the story of absalom, though his lowly station and his total lack of the most necessary form of balance, very naturally made him merely a black cypher of no special account in the eyes of a man of figures. certainly craven joicey had not worn well. hartley noticed it as he stood taking off his scarf in the hall, and he noticed it again as the banker sat sipping a sherry and bitters under the strong light of the electric lamp. he looked fagged and tired, and though he cheered up a little as dinner went through, he relapsed into a heavy, silent mood again, as if he was dragged at by thoughts that had power over him. "there is nothing the matter with you, is there, joicey?" asked his host. "you don't seem to be up to the mark." "what mark?" said joicey, with a laugh. "up to your mark, hartley, or my own mark, or someone else's mark? the average mark in mangadone is low water. there have been a lot of defaulters this year, and even admitting that the place is rich, there is a good deal more insolvency about than i like or than the directors care for. it keeps me grinding and grinding, and wears the nerves." "by george," said hartley, "i should have said that my own job was about the most nerve-tattering of any. i had an interview with mhtoon pah this afternoon that shook me up a bit." "ah, i heard that his boy has disappeared." the door between the dining-and the drawing-room was thrown open, and dinner announced as joicey spoke, and the conversation took another turn. many things were bothering joicey--the financial year generally, a big commercial failure, the outlook for the rice crop--and as the meal wore on he grew more dreary, and a pessimism that is part of some men's minds tinged everything he touched. "did rydal's disappearance affect you at all, personally?" hartley asked, with some show of interest. "not personally, but it cost the bank close upon a quarter of a lakh." joicey drummed his square-topped fingers on the table. "i can't imagine how he managed to get away." hartley frowned. "i had all the landing-stages carefully watched, and the plague police warned. he must have gone before the warrant was out, that is, if he has ever left the country at all." joicey shrugged his heavy shoulders. "in any case, the man's not much use to us, and the money has gone. i'm not altogether sorry he got away." his eyes grew full of brooding shadows and he sat silent, still tapping the cloth with his fingers. "it's an odd coincidence," said hartley, and his face grew keen again. "mhtoon pah's boy, absalom, disappeared that same night. i wish you could tell me, joicey, if you saw heath that evening when you went down paradise street. it was the same evening that the bank laid their information against rydal, the twenty-ninth." joicey had just poured himself out a glass of port, and was raising it to his lips as hartley spoke, and the hand that held the glass jerked slightly, splashing a little of the wine on to the front of his white shirt. joicey did not set the glass back on to the table, he held it between him and the light, and eyed it, or, rather, it should be said that he watched his own hand, and when he saw that it was quite steady he set down the wine untasted. "paradise street? i never go down there. i wasn't in mangadone that night," his face was dead white with a sick, leprous whiteness. "if heath said he saw me, heath was wrong." "heath didn't say so," said hartley. "it was the policeman on duty at the corner who said that he had seen you." "i tell you i wasn't in the place," said joicey again. hartley coughed awkwardly. "well, if you weren't there, you weren't there," he said, pacifically. "and heath, what did heath say?" "i told you he said nothing, except that he had seen absalom. i can't understand this business, joicey; directly i ask the smallest question about that infernal night of july the twenty-ninth i am always met in just the same way." "i know nothing about it," said joicey, shortly. "i wasn't here and i don't know what heath was doing, so there's no use asking me questions about him." the banker relapsed into his former dull apathy, and leaned back in his chair. "i've had insomnia lately," he said, after a perceptible pause. "it plays the deuce with one's nerves. i believe i need a change. this cursed country gets into one's bones if one stays out too long. i've forgotten what england looks like and i've got over the desire to go back there, and so i rot through the rains and the steam and the tepid cold weather, and it isn't doing me any good at all." they walked into the drawing-room, hartley with his hand on joicey's shoulder. the banker sat for a little time making a visible effort to talk easily, but long before his usual hour for leaving he pulled out his watch and looked at it. "it may seem rude to clear off so soon, but i'm tired, hartley, and shall be much obliged if i may shout for my carriage." he looked tired enough to make any excuse of exhaustion or ill-health quite a valid one, and hartley was concerned for his friend. "don't overdo it, joicey," he said. "overdo what?" joicey got up with the heavy lift of an old, weary man, and yet there was not two years between him and hartley. "the insomnia," said hartley. "good night," replied joicey shortly, and closed the carriage-door behind him. he drove along the dark roads, his arms in the window-straps and his head bent forward. the head of the mangadone banking firm was suffering, if not from insomnia, from something that was heavier than the heaviest night of sleeplessness, and something that was darker than the dark road, and something that was deep as the brown waters that carried outgoing craft to sea. vi tells how atkins explains facts by people and not people by facts, and how hartley, head of the police, smells the scent of apple orchards growing in a fool's paradise social life went its way in mangadone much as it had before the th of july, but hartley was not allowed to rest and feel comfortable and easy for very long. mhtoon pah waylaid him in the dark when he was riding home from the club, and waited for him for hours in his bungalow. like his own shadow, mhtoon pah followed him and dogged his comings and goings, always with the same imploring tale, but never with any further evidence. leh shin was officially watched, and leh shin's assistant was also under the paternal eye of authority, but all that authority could discover about him was that he led a gay life, gambled and drugged himself, hung about evil houses, and had been seen loitering in the vicinity of the curio shop; but, as paradise street was an open thoroughfare, he had as much right to be there as any leprous beggar. hartley's peace of mind was soon shattered again, this time by a new element that hartley had not thought of, and so he was caught in another net without any previous warning. atkins, the rector of st. jude's bungalow companion, was a dry little man, adhering to simple facts, and neither a sensationalist nor an alarmist; therefore his words had weight. he was a small man, always dressed in clothes a little too small, with his whole mind given up to the subject of his profession; besides which he was religious, a non-smoker, a teetotaller, and particular upon these points. being but little in the habit of going into mangadone society, he seldom met hartley except at the club, and it was there that he ran him into a corner and asked for a word or two in private. hartley took him out into the dim green space where basket chairs were set at intervals, and drawing two well away from the others, sat down to listen. sweet scents were wafted up on the evening air, and drowsy, dark clouds followed the moonlike heavy wisps of black cotton-wool, drowning the light from time to time and then clearing off again; and all over the grass, glimmering groups of men in white clothes and women in trailing skirts filled the air with an indistinct murmur of sound. "it is understood at the outset," began atkins, clearing his throat with a crowing sound, "that what i have to say is said strictly in a private and confidential sense. i only say it because i am driven to do so." hartley's basket chair squeaked as he moved, but he said nothing, and atkins dropped his voice into an intimate tone and went on: "you came to see heath one day lately, and i told you he was ill. well, so he was, but there are illnesses of the mind as well as of the body, and heath was mind-sick. i am a light sleeper, hartley. i wake at a sound, and twice lately i have been awakened by sounds." "the _durwan_," suggested hartley. "not the _durwan_. if it had been, i would not have spoken to you about it. heath has been visited towards morning by a man, and it was the sound of voices that awoke me. it is no business of mine to pry or to talk, and i would say nothing if it were not that i admire and respect heath, and i believe that he is in some horrible difficulty, out of which he either will not, or cannot, extricate himself." "who was the man?" atkins ignored the question. "i admit that i listened, but i overheard almost nothing, except just the confused sounds of talking in low voices, but i heard heath say, 'i will not endure it, i am bearing too much already.' i think he spoke more to himself than to the man in his room, but it was a ghastly thing to hear, as he said it." "go on," said hartley. "tell me exactly what happened." "i heard the door on to the back veranda open, and i heard the sound of feet go along it--bare feet, mind you, hartley--and then i went to sleep. that was a week ago." "and something of the same nature has occurred since?" atkins dried his hands with his handkerchief. "i said something to heath at breakfast about having had a bad night, and he got up at once and left the table. after that nothing happened until last night. i had been out all day, and came home dog-tired. i turned in early and left heath reading a theological book in the veranda. i said, i remember, 'i'm absolutely beat, padré; i have had enough to-day to give me nine or ten hours without stirring,' and he looked up and said, 'don't complain of that, atkins; there are worse things than sound sleep.' it struck me then that he hadn't known what it was for weeks, he looked so gaunt and thin, and i thought again of that other night that we had neither of us spoken about." "heath never explained anything?" "no, i never asked him to." "what happened then?" hartley's voice was hardly above a whisper, and he leaned close to atkins to listen. "i slept for hours, fairly hogged it until it must have been two or three in the morning, judging by the light, and then i awoke suddenly, the way one wakes when there is some noise that is different to usual noises, and after a moment or two i heard the sound of voices, and i got out of bed and went very quietly into the veranda. heath's lamp was burning, his room is at the far end from mine, and i stood there, shivering like a leaf out of sheer jumps. i had a regular 'night attack' feeling over me. i heard a chair pushed back, and i heard heath say in a low voice 'if you come here again, or if you dog me again, i'll hand you over to the police,' and the man laughed. i can't describe his laugh; it was the most damnable thing i ever listened to, and i thought of running in, but something stopped me, god knows why. 'take your pay,' said heath; i heard him say it, and then i heard the door open again, and the same sound of feet." he shivered. "they stopped outside my room, and i caught the outline of a head, a huge head and enormous, heavy shoulders, and then he was gone." "why the devil didn't you raise the alarm?" hartley's voice was angry. "you've got a policeman on the road. why didn't you shout?" "because i was thinking of heath," said atkins a little stiffly. "he is the man we have both got to think about. some devil of a native is blackmailing him, and heath is one of the best and straightest men i know. not one item of all this mystery goes against him in my mind, but what i want you to do, is to have the bungalow watched." "i shall certainly do that," said hartley with decision. "and as for your opinion of heath--well, it strikes me as curious that a man of good character should be a mark for blackmail." "i explain facts by people, not people by facts," said atkins hotly. "and i have told you--" "i think it is only fair to say that you have told me something that lays heath under suspicion," said hartley, slowly. "he behaved very oddly, lately, when i asked him a simple question, and he chose to refuse to see me when i went to his house. all that was a small matter, but what you tell me now is serious." "serious for heath, and for that very reason i particularly want him protected. but as for suspicion, i know the man thoroughly, and that is quite absurd." atkins got up and terminated the interview. "it is absurd to talk of suspicion," he said again, irritably. "i hope you will drop that attitude, hartley. if i had imagined for a moment that you were likely to adopt it, i should have kept my mouth shut." he went away, his narrow shoulders humped, and his whole figure testifying to his annoyance, and hartley sat alone, watching the moonlight and thinking his own thoughts. he was interrupted by a woman's voice, and mrs. wilder sat down in the chair left vacant by atkins. "what are you pondering about, mr. hartley? are you seeing ghosts or moon spirits? you certainly give the idea that you are immensely preoccupied." "do i?" hartley laughed awkwardly. "well, as a matter of fact, i was not thinking of anything very pleasant." "can i help?"--her voice was very soft and alluring. "no one can, i am afraid." she touched his arm with a little intimate gesture, and her eyes shone in the moonlight. "how can you say that? if i were in any sort of fix, or in any sort of trouble, i would ask you to advise me, and to tell me what to do, before i would go to anyone else, even draycott, and why should you leave me outside your worries?" "you see, that's just it, they aren't exactly mine. if they were i would tell you, but i can't tell you, because what i was thinking about was connected entirely with someone else." mrs. wilder's eyes narrowed, and she lifted her slightly pointed nose a very little. "ah, now you make me inquisitive, and that is most unfair of you. don't tell me anything, mr. hartley, except just the name of the person concerned. i'm very safe, as you know. could you tell me the name, or would it be wrong of you?" "the name won't convey very much to you," said hartley, laughing. "i was thinking of the padré, heath. that doesn't give you much clue, does it?" it was too dark for him to see a look that sprang into mrs. wilder's eyes, or perhaps hartley might have found a considerable disparity between her look and her light words. "poor mr. heath, he is one of those terribly serious, conscientious people, who go about life making themselves wretched for the good of their souls. he ought to have lived in the middle ages. i won't ask you _why_ you are thinking about him"--she got up and lingered a little, and hartley rose also--"but you know that you should not think of anyone unless you want to make others think of them, too; it isn't at all safe. i shall have to think of mr. heath all the way home, and he is _such_ a gaunt, scraggy kind of thought." "i wish i could replace him with myself," said hartley, in a burst of admiration. mrs. wilder accepted his compliment graciously and walked across the grass to the drive, where her car panted almost noiselessly, as is the way of good cars, and he put her in with the manner of a jeweller putting a precious diamond pendant into a case. he watched the car disappear, and considered that some men are undeservedly lucky in this life. hartley was nearly forty, that dangerously sentimental age, and he began to wonder if, by chance, he had met clarice wilder years ago in a devonshire orchard, life might not have been a wonderful thing. he called her a "sweet woman" in his mind, and it was almost a pity that mrs. wilder did not know, because her sense of humour was subtle and acute, and she would have thoroughly enjoyed the description of herself. she could read hartley as quickly as she could read the telegrams in the _mangadone times_, and she could play upon him as she played upon her own grand piano. she had not asked any questions, and she knew nothing of what atkins had said about heath; but her face was set and tense as she drove towards her bungalow. she was certainly thinking very definitely, quite as definitely as hartley had been thinking as he watched the moonlight playing hide-and-seek with the shadows of the palm branches and the darkness of the trees, and her thoughts left no pleasant look upon her face or in her eyes; and yet hartley, on his way to the bungalow where he lived, was thinking of her in a white dress and a shady hat, with a fleecy blue and white sky overhead and the scent of apple-blossom in the air. the power of romance is strong in adolescence, but it is stronger still when the turnstile of years is reached and there is finality in the air. hartley was built for platonics; fate gave him the necessary touch of the commonplace that dispels romance and replaces it with a kind of deadly domesticity; and yet hartley was unaware of the fact. he had never thought of being "in love" with mrs. wilder, partly because he felt it would be "no use," and partly because she had never seemed to expect it from him, but as he walked along the road he began to find that her manner had of late altered considerably. she seemed to take an interest in him, and though she had always been his friend, her new attitude was charged with invisible electricity. so far as mrs. wilder was concerned, hartley was to her what a sitting hen would be to a sporting man. you couldn't shoot the confiding thing; but you might wring its neck if necessary, or push it out of the way with an impatient foot. she knew her power over him to a nicety, and she knew of his secret desire for "situations," because her instinct was never at fault; but she felt nothing more than contempt, slightly charged with pity towards him. hartley was a good-natured, idiotic man, and hartley had principles; clarice wilder had none herself, though she felt that they were definite factors in any game, but she also believed that principles were things that could be got over, or got at, by any woman who knew enough about life to manage such as hartley. all the same, it was not of hartley that she thought. she had been quite truthful when she said that he had suggested heath to her mind, and that she would have to consider his gaunt face and hollow cheeks during her drive. if he had sat on the vacant seat beside her, the rev. francis heath could hardly have been more clearly before her eyes, and could hardly have drawn her mind more strongly, and it was because of her thought of him that she preserved her steady look and strange eyes. a strong woman, a woman with character, a woman who once she saw her way, was able to follow it faithfully, wherever it twisted, wherever it wound, and wherever it eventually brought her. no one could picture her flinching or turning back along a road she had set out to follow; if it had run in blood, she would have gone on in bare feet, not picking her steps, and yet hartley dreamed of apple orchards and an eve in a white muslin dress. vii finds the rev. francis heath reading george herbert's poems, and leaves him pledged to a possibly compromising silence the reverend francis heath was sitting in his upstairs room, for of late he had avoided the veranda. it was the leisure hour of the day, the slow hour when the light wanes and it is too early to call for a lamp; the hour when memory or fear can both be poignant in tropical climates. the house was very still, atkins had gone to the club and the servants had all returned to their own quarters. outside, noises were many. birds, with ugly, tuneless notes that were not songs but cries, flitted in the trees, and the rumble of traffic on the road came up in the evening air, broken occasionally by the shrill persistence of an exhaust whistle or the clamour of a motor-horn, and above all other sounds the long-drawn, occasional hoot from a ship anchored in the river highway. there was noise, and to spare, outside, but within everything was still, except for the chittering of a nest of bats in the eaves, and the sudden, relaxing creak of bamboo chairs, that behave sometimes as though ghosts sat restlessly in their arms. the sunlight that fell into the garden and caught its green, turning it into flaming emerald, climbed in at mr. heath's window, and lay across his writing-table; it touched his shoulder and withdrew a little, touched the lines on his forehead for a moment, touched the open book before him, and fell away, followed by a shadow that grew deeper as it passed. it faded out of the garden like a memory that cannot be held back by human striving. the distances turned into shadowy blue, and from blue to purple, until only a few flecks of golden light across the pearl-silver told that it was gone eternally; that its hour was spent, for good or ill, and that mangadone had come one evening nearer to the end of measureless time; but the rev. francis heath did not regard its going. his face was sad with a terrible, tragic sadness that is the sadness of life and not death, and yet it was of death and not of life that he thought. a little book of george herbert's poems lay open before him and he had been reading it with a scholar's love of quaint phraseology: "i made a posy, while the days ran by; here will i smell my remnant out, and tie my life within this band. but time did beckon to the flowers, and they, by noon, most cunningly did steal away, and wither'd in my hand." he read the lines over and over again, and gave a deep, heart-broken sigh, bending his face between his hands, and bowing his shoulders as though under a heavy weight. his gaunt frame was thin and spare, his black alpaca coat hung on it like a sack, and his whole attitude spoke of sorrow. he might have been the presentment of an unwilling ghost, who stood with the ferryman's farthing under his palm, waiting to be taken across the cheerless, dark waters to a limbo of drifting souls. he took his hands from before his face and clasped them over the book, looking out of the window to the evening shadows, as if he tried to find peace in the very act of contemplation. the sad things he came in daily contact with had conquered his faith in life, though they had not succeeded in killing his trust in god's eventual plan of redemption; and his mind wandered in terrible places, places he had forced his way into, places he could never forget. he suffered from all a reformer's agony, an agony that is the small reflection of the great story of the mystic burden heavy as the sins of the whole world, and he tried, out of the simple, childlike fancy of the words he read, to grasp at a better mind. heath was one of those men who could not understand effortless faith; he was crushed by his own lack of success, and bowed down by his own failure. since he could not rout the enemy single-handed, he believed that the battle was against the hosts of the lord. he knew no leisure from the war of his own thoughts, and as he clasped his hands, his face grew tense and set, and his eyes haggard and terrible. for a moment he sat very still, and his eyes followed the lines written by a man who had the faith of a little child: "but time did beckon to the flowers, and they, by noon, most cunningly did steal away." heath had never gathered flowers, either as a lesson to himself or a gift for others; they hardly spoke of careless beauty to him, they were emblems of lightness and thoughtlessness, and heath had no time to stop and consider the lilies of the field. he moved suddenly like a man who is awakened from a thought heavier than sleep, and listened with a hunted look, the look of a man who is afraid of footsteps; he stood up, gathering his loose limbs together and watching the door. steps came up the staircase, steps that stumbled a little, and if heath had possessed mhtoon pah's art of reading the walk of his fellow creatures, he would have known that he might expect a woman and not a man. "mr. heath," a low voice called in the passage, and heath's tension relaxed, giving place to surprise. the voice was strange to him, and he passed his handkerchief over his face and walked to the door, just as his name was called again, in the same low, penetrating voice. "who wants me?" he asked, almost roughly, and then he saw a tall, dark woman standing at the top of the staircase. "mrs. wilder," he said in surprise, and she made a little imperious movement with her hand. "i did not call your servant, i came up, because i wanted to find you alone. you are alone?" "certainly, i am alone." "may i come in?" heath held the door open for her to pass, and she walked in, looking around the darkening room with hard, curious eyes. she took the chair he gave her, in silence, and sat down near the writing-table, and, feeling that she would speak after a time, heath took his own place again and waited. "i hardly know where to begin," she said, always speaking in the same low, intent voice. "do you recall the evening of the twenty-ninth?" an odd spasm caught heath's face, and he paused for a moment before he answered. "i do recall it." "perhaps you remember seeing me? i was riding along the road when i first passed you, and you were walking." "i remember that i did pass you then, and also that i saw you later." heath's sombre eyes were on her face, and his fingers touched a gold cross that hung from his watch-chain. "you passed me, and you passed absalom, the christian boy, and you have been questioned about absalom." "i have," he said heavily. "why do you ask?" mrs. wilder took a quick breath. "because i am afraid that you may be asked again. you understand, mr. heath, that i know it was the merest chance that brought you there that evening, but, as you were there, and as mr. hartley has got it into his head that you know something more than you have told him, i beg of you to bear in mind that if you mention my name you may get me into serious trouble. you would not do that willingly, i think?" "i certainly would not. what motive took you there is a question for your own conscience. it is not for me to press that question, mrs. wilder." she pressed her lips together tightly. "i went there to see an old friend who was in great trouble." "and yet you have to keep it secret?" "haven't we all our secrets, mr. heath?" her voice was raised a little. "will you pledge me your solemn word to keep this knowledge from anyone who asks?" she put her elbows on the table and drew closer to him. "i will respect your confidence," he said slowly. "but is it likely that hartley will ask me?" mrs. wilder made a gesture of denial. "i _think_ not, but who can tell? this thing has been like lead on my mind and will not let me rest. oh, mr. heath, if you knew what i have already paid, you would be sorry for me." "i am sorry," he said gently. "more sorry for you than you can tell. you, too, saw absalom, and spoke to him?" "he has nothing to do with what i came here about,"--her tone grew impatient. "i only wanted to make sure that i was safe with you. it was no little thing that drove me to come. i am a proud woman, mr. heath, and i do not usually ask favours, yet i ask you now--" "not a favour," he said, taking her up quickly. "god knows i have every reason to help you if i can. does hartley suspect you? does he question you? does he try to wring admissions out of you?" in the darkness heath's voice rang hard and, metallic, like the voice of a man whose thoughts return upon something that maddens him. "he has not done so, but he has asked me questions that made me frightened. it is a terrible thing to be afraid." "and joicey?" said heath in a quiet voice. "i saw joicey, but he did not stop to speak to me. has he, too, been interrogated?" "so far as i know, he has not. but this question presses only on me. what took you there is, i feel sure, easily accounted for, and what took mr. joicey there is not likely to be a matter of the smallest importance; it is _i_ who suffer, it is on me that all this weight lies. if the police begin investigations they come close upon the fact that i went there to meet a man whom my husband has forbidden me to meet. any little turn of evidence that involves me, any little accident that obliges me to admit it, and i am lost,"--her voice thrilled and pleaded. "it is you who are lost," he echoed dully. "i can understand how you feel. if i can ease your burden or lessen the anxiety you suffer from, you may depend upon me, mrs. wilder. this matter is a dark road where i, too, walk blind, not knowing the path i follow, but, at least, i can give you my word that under no circumstances shall i be led to mention your name. you can be sure of that, mrs. wilder. if i can add your trouble to my own burden i shall not feel its weight, but i would counsel you to be honest with your husband. tell him the truth." "i will," said mrs. wilder, with an acquiescence that came too quickly. "i assure you that i will, but even when i do, you see what a position the least publicity places me in?" heath got up and paced the floor with long, restless strides. "publicity. the open avowal of a hidden thing; the knowledge that the whole world judges and condemns, and does not understand." "that is what i feel." after all, he was more human than she had expected. clarice wilder had looked upon the rev. francis as a hermit, an ascetic, whose comprehension was limited; and her eyes grew keen as she watched his gaunt figure. "to be dragged down, to be accused, to be cast so low," he continued, in his sad, heavy voice, "so low that the lowest have cause to deride and to scorn." he stopped before her. "is it true that i can save you from that?" "it is true." she did not tell him that she had lied to draycott; it did not appear necessary; neither did she tell him that draycott's memory was long and sure and unerring. "then, if there is one man in all god's universe,"--heath cast out his arms as he spoke--"one man above all others whom you could appeal to, could trust most entirely, that man is myself. give me your burden, your distress of mind, and i will take them; i cannot say more--" "of course, it may never be necessary for you to--to avoid telling mr. hartley," broke in mrs. wilder quickly. heath was getting on her nerves, and she rose to her feet. "i cannot thank you sufficiently, and i fear that i have upset you, made you feel my own cares too profoundly,"--her voice grew almost tender. "i have never known such ready sympathy, but you feel too intensely, mr. heath. you make my little trouble your own, and you have made me very grateful. are you in any trouble yourself?" heath stopped for a moment, an outline against the light of the window. she thought he was going to speak, and she waited with an odd feeling of excitement to hear what was coming, when he suddenly retired back into his usual manner. a light was travelling up the staircase, casting great shadows before it, and when the boy came to the door of the padré sahib's room, he saw his master saying good-bye to a tall, dark lady who smiled at him and gave him her hand. "good night, mr. heath, i hardly know how to thank you sufficiently." she hurried down the staircase, and as she walked out, she met atkins coming in on his bicycle. he jumped off as he saw her, and spoke in surprise. "i have just been calling on the padré," replied mrs. wilder pleasantly, as he commented with ever-ready tactlessness upon her presence in the compound. "one of my servants is ill; a member of his community. by the way, do you think that mr. heath is quite well himself?" "indeed i do not think so. he overworks. i have a great admiration for heath." "he must be rather depressing in the rains," she said, with a careless laugh. "he positively gave me the shivers. i can hardly envy you boxed up there with him. i believe he sees ghosts, and i think they must be horrid ghosts or he couldn't look as he does." her car was waiting down the road, and atkins walked beside her and saw her get in. mrs. wilder was very charming to him; she leaned out and smiled at him again. "do take care of the padré," she called as she drove off. "there goes a sensible, good-looking woman," thought atkins, and he thought highly of mrs. wilder for her visit to heath. he said so to the rector of st. jude's as they dined together, remarking on the fact that very few women bothered about sick servants, and he was surprised at the cold lack of enthusiasm with which heath accepted his remark. "that was what she said?" "yes, and i call it unusual in a country where servants are treated like machines. i've never known mrs. wilder very well, but she is an interesting woman; don't you think so, heath?" "i don't know," said heath absently. "i never form definite opinions about people on a slight knowledge of them." atkins felt snubbed, but he only laughed good-naturedly, and heath relapsed into silence. mrs. wilder was dining out that night, and she looked so superbly handsome and so defiantly well that everyone remarked upon her; and even draycott wilder, who might have been supposed to be used to her beauty and her wit, watched her with his slow, following look. hartley was not at the dinner-party, but afterwards echoes of its success reached him, and a description of mrs. wilder herself that thrilled his romantic sense as he listened. hartley was worried about the padré, and he had warned the policeman to watch the compound at night; but all the watching in the world did not explain the cause of these visits. there was a connection somewhere and somehow between heath and the missing absalom, and hartley wondered if he could venture to speak to mrs. wilder again about the night of the th of july, and implore her to let him know if she had seen heath with absalom. it seemed, judging by what atkins had heard, that heath was paying for silence, and hartley disliked the idea of working up evidence against the padré. the more he thought of it the less he liked it, and yet his duty and his sense of responsibility would not let him rest. mrs. wilder had said that she had seen heath and absalom, and had then refused to say anything more, but hartley saw in her reserve a suggestion of further knowledge that could not be ignored or denied. mhtoon pah was quieter for the moment. he believed that leh shin was being cautiously tracked, and the pointing image had held no further traces of bloodshed upon his yellow hands. hartley had grown to loathe the grinning figure, and to loathe the whole tedious, difficult tragedy of the lost boy. if it had lain in the native quarter he could have found interest in the excitement of the chase, but if it ramified into the cantonment, hartley had no mind for it. he was a man first, a sociable, kindly man, and, later, an officer of the law. viii shows how the cloak of darkness of one night hides many emotions, and mrs. wilder is frankly inquisitive darkness brooded everywhere, but the gloom of night is a darkness that is impenetrable only to our eyes because we creatures of the hard glare of daylight cannot see in the strange clearness that brings out the stars. only in the houses of men real darkness has its habitation. under close roofs, confined within walls, shut into rooms, and lurking in corners: there, darkness may be found, and because man made it, it has its own special terror, as have all the creatures of man's hand. dark, menacing and noiseless, the shadows flock in as daylight wanes, filing up like heavy thoughts and sad thoughts, and casting a gloom with their coming that is not the blackness of earth's restful night. mrs. wilder paced her room with the steps of a woman whose heart drives sleep out with scorpion-whips of memory; and she went softly, for sound travels far at night, and draycott wilder, in the next room, was a light sleeper. she was thinking steadily, and she was trying to force her will across the distance into the stronghold of hartley's inner consciousness. night brought no more rest to mrs. draycott wilder than it did to craven joicey, the banker, but joicey did not sit in the dark. madness lies in the dark for some minds, and he had turned on the electric light, that showed his face yellow and weary. on the wall the lizards, awakened by the sudden glare, resumed their fly-catching, and scuttled with a dry, scurrying sound over the walls, breaking the silence with a perpetual "chuck-chuck" as they chased each other. joicey looked as though he was dreaming evil dreams, and nothing of his surroundings was real to him. the room became another room, the tables and chairs grew indistinct, the face of a small _gaudama_ on the mantel-piece became a living face that menaced him, and the "chuck-chuck" of the lizards, the rattle of dice falling on to a board at some remote distance miles and miles away, and yet strangely audible to his dull ears. still he sat there, and flashes of fancies came and went. sometimes he stood in an english garden, with a far-away sunlit glimpse of glittering waters, and a cuckoo crying in a wood of waving trees, and then he knew that he was a boy, and that he had forgotten everything that had happened since; and then, without warning, he was swept out of the garden and stood under eastern trees, lost in a wild place, with the haunting face of the image at his shoulder. the face altered. sometimes it was mhtoon pah's pointing man, and what he pointed at was never clear. the mistiness bothered him horribly. the _durwan_ outside played on a wistful little flute, thinking that his master was asleep; he heard it, and it did not concern him; he was dead to all outward things just then, and the flute only added to the mystery of the dream that spun itself in his brain. he wandered in a place so near actual things and yet so far from them, that the gigantic mistake of it all, and the consciousness that the inner life could at times conquer the outer life, made him fall away between the two conditions, lost and helpless. his head nodded forward, and his lower lip dropped, and yet his eyes were open, as he sat facing the small squatting buddha, whose changeless face changed only for him. the three little flute-notes tripped out after each other with no semblance at a tune, repeating and reiterating the sound in the dark outside, and joicey listened as though something of weight depended upon his hearing steadily. the sound was the one thing that made him know that he was real, and once it ceased, or he ceased to hear it, he would be across the gulf and terribly lost; a mind without a body, let loose in a world where there were no landmarks, no known roads, nothing but windy space, and he was afraid of that place, and feared terribly to go there. something shuffled on the stone veranda, another sound, and sound was of value to craven joicey, since it made a vital note in the circling numbness around him. he could hear whispering voices, and the thump of the _durwan's_ stick, as that musically-minded man walked round to the back of the house, where his lighted window showed that craven joicey did not sleep. again a voice whispered, and a low sound of discreet knocking followed. joicey sprang up and called out hoarsely: "who is it?" "sahib, sahib"--the _durwan's_ whine was apologetic. "is the sahib awake?" "who wants me?" "leh shin, the chinaman." joicey wiped his face with his handkerchief and pulled open the door with a violent movement. "come in," he said, trying to speak naturally. "what is it, leh shin?" the chinaman held a tweed hat in his hand and stole into the room like a shadow. "what now, leh shin?" joicey spoke in yunnanese with the fluency of long habit, and even though he was angry he kept his voice low as though he feared to be overheard. "the master of masters will speak for me," said the chinaman, standing before him. "all day the police stand near to my house, and at night they do not leave it. at one word from the master, whose speech is constructed of gold and precious metals, they can be withdrawn, and for that word i wait--" he made a quick gesture with his tweed cap. "you will gain nothing by coming to my house, you swine," said joicey, his eyes staring and his veins standing out on his forehead. "i will see what mr. hartley will do, but if you drag in my name or refer him to me you will do yourself no good, do you hear? no good." leh shin watched him passively and waited until he had finished. "i will swear the oath," he said, blinking his eyes. "i will not speak the name of the master, but my doors are locked, my house is a house for the water-rats, and until the big lord frees me i am a poor man." joicey sat down heavily on a low chair. "it shall be stopped," he said desperately. "i will see that there is no more of this police supervision; you may take my word for it." the chinaman stood still, moving one foot to the other. "in dreams the master has spoken these promises to me before. can i be sure that it is not in a dream that the master speaks again?" "i am awake," said joicey, bitterly. "mr. hartley is looking for the boy, and if the boy were found, all search would stop,"--he eyed the chinaman carefully, but the mask-like face did not change. "and the little boy? perhaps, ruler and king, the little boy is gone dead." "you ask me _that_, you devil?" "it is for the servant to ask," said leh shin, dropping his lids for a second. "now, get out," said joicey, between his clenched teeth. "and if you come here to me again, at night, i'll kill you." "the great one will not do that," said leh shin, placidly. "my assistant waits for me. it would be known as fire is known when the forest is dry. to-morrow or next day, if the police are gone, my little house will be open again." he spoke the words with deep emphasis. "get out," said joicey, turning away his head. leh shin looked at him with a sudden, oblique glance like the flash of a knife. "speak no more, lord of men and elephants; the _durwan_ is now outside the door, and he listens." "good-night," said joicey loudly, and he clicked off the light and went to bed. if the darkness was close in the large houses of the cantonment, it was shut into the very essence of itself in the curio shop in paradise street. it hid the carved devils from one another, it obliterated the stone monsters that no one ever bought, and which had grown to belong to the shop itself; it dropped its black veil over the green dragons, and the china ladies, and the silver bowls and the little ivories, hiding everything out of sight; but it did not hide the figure outside in the street. the little man, with his pointed headdress and short jacket, had the clear darkness all to himself. he was just as polite by night as he was by day, and he bowed and ushered imaginary buyers up the stone steps with the same perpetual civility, and the same unceasing smile, that bagged out his varnished cheeks into joviality. dark as it was inside the shop, it must have been darker along the rat-burrows of stairs, and the loft-like rooms near the roof, but either up above or down below, the scent of cassia and sandal-wood clung everywhere inside the curio shop, smelling strongest around the glass cases and bales of delicate silks. mhtoon pah's _durwan_ slept across the doorway, and was therefore the only object for the attention of the little man, and likewise, therefore, he did not point to his master, who came in, in the dead, heavy hours before dawn. he could not have been far; there was hardly any dust on his red velvet slippers, and he brushed what there was from them with a careful hand. as he placed his lamp on the floor, the light threw odd shadows up the walls, turning that of mhtoon pah himself into a grotesque and gigantic mass of darkness, and when he stooped and stood erect it jumped with a sudden living spring. mhtoon pah moved about the shop on light feet. he bent here and there to examine some of the objects closely, with the manner and gesture of a man who loves beautiful things for their own sakes as well as for the profit he hoped to gain from their sale. when he had twice made a tour of inspection, he placed an alabaster buddha in the centre of a carved table and sat down before it. the buddha was dead white, with a red chain around his neck, and on his head a gold cap with long, gem-set ears hanging to the shoulders, and mhtoon pah sat long in front of the figure, swaying a little and moving his lips soundlessly. he appeared like a man who is self-mesmerized by the flame of a candle, and his face worked with suppressed and violent emotion; at any moment it seemed as though he might break the silence with some awful, passion-tossed sound. suddenly, he stopped in his voiceless worship, and, leaning forward quickly, extinguished the lamp. if he had heard any sound, it was apparently from below, for he crouched on the ground with his head close to the teak boarding, and crawled with slow, noiseless care towards the door. a silk curtain covered the window, hiding the interior of the shop from the street, and, when he reached the low woodwork above which it hung, he twitched the curtain back with a sudden movement of his hand and raised himself slowly until his head was on a level with the glass. mhtoon pah grew suddenly rigid, and the thick black hair on his head seemed to bristle. pressed close against the window, with only a slender barrier of glass between them, was the face of leh shin, the chinaman. a ray of white moonlight fell across them both, and its clear radiance lighted up every feature of the curio dealer's face, changing its brown into a strange, ghastly pallor. for a moment they stood immovable, staring into each other's eyes, and the shadows behind mhtoon pah in the shop, and the shadows behind leh shin in the street, seemed to listen and wait with them, seemed to creep closer and enfold them, seemed to draw up and up on noiseless feet and hang suspended around them. the moment might have endured for years, so full was it of menace and passion, and then the man outside moved quickly and the moonlight flooded in across the face and shoulders of the burman. for a second longer he remained as though fascinated, and then mhtoon pah wrenched at the door and thundered back the heavy bolts. there were flecks of foam on his lips, and his eyes rolled as he dashed through the door and out down the steps, rending the air with cries of murder. he was too late, the chinaman had gone. when the street flocked out to see what the disturbance meant, mhtoon pah was crouching on his steps in a kind of fit. "i have seen the face of the slayer of absalom," he shrieked, when the crowd had carried him in, and recovered him to his senses. "is he a devil?" asked a young burman, in tones of joyful excitement. "a devil with iron claws has been seen several nights lately." "a chinese devil," groaned mhtoon pah, speaking through his clenched teeth. "one who shall yet be hanged for his crime." "ah! ah!" said the watchers. "he dreams that it is a man, but it is known that a devil has walked in paradise street, his jaws open. certainly he has eaten little absalom." dawn was breaking, the pale, still hour that is often the hour of death; and a cool breeze rippled in the date palms and in the flat green leaves of the rubber plants, and the festoons of succulent green growths that climbed up the houses of the cantonments, and dawn found the rev. francis heath sleeping quietly. he was lying with one arm under his head, and his worn face in almost child-like repose. wherever he was, sleep had carried him to a place of peace and refreshment. when he awoke he would have forgotten his dream, but for the moment the dream sufficed, and he rested in the circle of its charm. all the time that we are young and careless and happy, we are building retreats for memory that make harbours of rest in later years, when the storms come with force. all the old things that did not count, come back to calm and to restore. the school-room, where the light flickered on a special corner of the ceiling, telling the children to come out and play; the tapping of the laurels outside the church windows, and the musty smell of red rep cushions along the pew where the hours were very slow in passing; the white clover in the field behind the garden, got at easily through a hole in the privet hedge. the play of light and shadow over the hills of home, the dusk at nightfall, and the homely cawing of rooks. all the delicious things that went with the smell of ripe strawberries under nets, where thieving birds fluttered until the gardener let them free again; and the mystery of sparks flying up the chimney when the winter logs blazed. every simple joy is stored away in some lumber corner of the minds of men, and when sleep comes, sometimes the old things are taken out again. the rev. francis heath, like the rest of the world, had his own secret doorway that led back to wonderland, and it may have been that he was far away from mangadone in this child-world which is so hard to find again, as he slept, and the outside world grew from grey to green, and from green to misty gold. the sunlight flamed on the spire of the pagoda, it danced up the brown river and threw long shadows before its coming, those translucent shadows that no artist has ever yet been able to paint. it turned the mohur trees blood-red, and the grass to shining emerald green, and mangadone looked as though it had just come fresh from the hands of its creator. mhtoon pah, recovered from his fit, was in his shop early, and he himself went out to cleanse the effigy outside with a white duster, and to set his wares in order. it was a good day for sales, as a liner had come in and brought with it many rich americans, and mhtoon pah was glad to sell to such as they. his stock-in-trade was beautiful and attractive, and in the centre of the table, where the unset stones glittered and shone on white velvet, there stood a bowl, a gold lacquer bowl of perfect symmetry and very great beauty. he poised it on his hands once or twice and examined it carefully. as it was already sold it was not to remain in the curio shop, but mhtoon pah was a careful man, and he desired that mrs. wilder should fetch it herself; besides, he liked her car to stand outside his shop, and he liked her to come in and look at his goods. very few people who came in to look, went away without having bought several things they did not in the least want. mhtoon pah knew exactly how to lure by influence, and he knew that mrs. wilder could no more turn away from a grey-and-pink shot silk than eve could refuse the forbidden fruit. he spread out a sea-blue mandarin's coat, embroidered with peaches, and small, crafty touches of black here and there, and looked at it with the loving eye of a connoisseur. his whole shop was a fountain of colour, and he was not unworthy of it in his silk petticoat. a ray of sunlight fell in through the door and touched a few threads of gold in the coat as mhtoon pah hung it up to good advantage, and turned to see a customer come in. it was the rev. francis heath; and mhtoon pah's face fell. "reverends" were not good buyers, specially when they had not any wives, and mr. heath took no notice of the attractive display as he stood, black and forbidding, in the centre of the shop. "i have come here, mhtoon pah, to ask for news of absalom," he said, meeting his eyes forcefully. "where is he?" mhtoon pah bowed low, as befitted the dignity of his guest, who was, after all, a _hypongyi_, even though he wore no yellow robes. "it is unknown," he said, in a heavy voice. "the reverend himself might know, since the reverend saw my little absalom that night." "you _must_ have suspicions?" mhtoon pah's face worked violently. "leh shin," he whispered. "look there for what is left." heath retreated before his fury. "you yourself sent the boy there." "_wah! wah!_ i sent him and he did not return." "what are you talking about?" said the fresh, gay voice of mrs. wilder. "where is my lacquer bowl, mhtoon pah?" she came in, bright as the morning outside, and smiled at the rev. francis heath. "so you have got it for me." "i did not get it, lady sahib," said mhtoon pah. "it came here, how i know not. i found it outside my shop in the care of the wooden image when i went to dust his limbs this morning." mrs. wilder laughed. "in that case i shall not have to pay for it. but what do you mean, mhtoon pah?" "it is blood money," said mhtoon pah, with a wild gasp. "only one man knew of the bowl, only one man could have put it there. i shall tell hartley sahib; the _thakin_ will strike surely and swiftly." "he will do nothing of the kind," said mrs. wilder, with a quick look at heath. "give me my bowl, mhtoon pah; you are letting yourself dream foolish things. absalom"--she tapped the polished floor with her well-shaped foot--"will come back and explain everything himself, and then--whoever is responsible--will bear the penalty." "they have tied his head to his elbows, and set snakes to sting him," said mhtoon pah. "this have they done, and worse things, lady sahib." mrs. wilder shivered. "give me my bowl, you horrible old man. absalom is blacking boots in a new york hotel, weeks ago.--ah! what a coat! are you buying anything, mr. heath?" "i am going to the school," he answered slowly. "then let me drive you there. send me up the mandarin's coat, mhtoon pah, and i will haggle another day." heath followed her reluctantly down the steps. he wished she had not made a point of taking him in her motor, but he felt instinctively sorry for her, which fact, had she known it, would have surprised and affronted her. "will you come and dine with us one night?" she asked, looking at him with her fine eyes; "it would give us great pleasure, and i do not think you have met my husband." "i rarely do dine out," said heath, staring before him as the car backed round in the limited space of paradise street. "then make this an exception. i won't ask you to a function, just a quiet little family party." "you are very kind." he was still abstracted, and hardly seemed to hear her, and, when he got out and shut the door, she leaned from the window, smiling like weary royalty. "i will write and arrange an evening later on. it is a promise, mr. heath." "i will come," he replied, in the same preoccupied voice, as he raised his battered _topi_. "what has he been doing?" she asked herself, in surprise, and again and again she put the same question to herself, not only that morning, but often, later on, and with ever-increasing curiosity. ix mrs. wilder is presented in a melting mood, and draycott wilder is forced to recall the lines commencing "a fool there was" it was a bright morning with a high wind blowing and a breath of freshness in the air that has a charm to inspire a better outlook upon life. everywhere it made itself felt in mangadone, and like pippa in the poem, the wind passed along, leaving everything and everybody a little better for its coming. it passed through the open veranda of the huge hospital, and touched the fever patients with its cool breath; it hurried through the chinese quarter, blew along paradise street, dusting the gesticulating man, and went on up the river, pretending to make the brown water change its muddy mind and run backwards instead of forwards. it paid a little freakish attention to mrs. wilder's dark hair, and it cooled the back of hartley's neck, as they rode along together, by the way of a lake. they had met quite accidentally, and hartley, who had been vaguely wishing for an opportunity to speak to mrs. wilder, seized upon it and offered himself as her escort. she agreed with complimentary readiness, and they turned along a wooded road, where the shadows were deep and where hartley felt the gripping hands of romance loosen his heart-strings. mrs. wilder listened to him, or appeared to do so, which is much the same in effect, and hartley was not critical. she was a good listener, as women who have something else to think about often are; and so they rode along the twisting path, and the wind sang in the plumes of the bamboo trees, and hartley believed that it sang a romantic lyric of platonic admiration, exquisitely hinted at by a tactful man, and properly appreciated by a very beautiful woman. "by the way," she said carelessly, "have you found that wretched little absalom yet? what a bother he has been since he took it into his head to go off to america, or wherever it is he went to." "i am glad you mentioned him," said hartley, his face growing suddenly serious. "i have a question or two that i want very much to ask you." "a question or two? that sounds so very legal. really, mr. hartley, i believe you credit me with having absalom's body hanging up in one of my _almirahs_. honestly, don't you really believe that i had a hand in putting him out of the way?" she laughed her hard little laugh, and shot a look at him over her shoulder. "you do know something, some little thing it may be, but something that might help me." "about absalom, or about someone else?" "about whoever you saw him with." hartley pushed his pony alongside of hers, but her face revealed nothing, and was quite expressionless. "whoever i saw him with?" she echoed reflectively. "ah, but it is so long ago, mr. hartley, i can't even remember now whether i was out or not that evening." "you are only playing with me," said hartley a little irritably. "the policeman on duty at the cross-roads below paradise street saw you." her face became suddenly so drawn and startled that hartley regretted his words almost as he spoke them. "wait a minute, mr. hartley," she said, in a strained, hard voice. "you have to explain to me why you have asked your men questions connected with me." "i did not ask questions; i was told." she pulled up her pony, and, turning her head away from him, looked out silently over the dip of ground below them. hartley did not break her silence. he saw that he had come close to some deep emotion, and he watched her curiously, but mrs. wilder, even if she was conscious of his look, appeared quite indifferent to it. he could form no idea along what road her silent concentration led her; but he knew that she pursued an idea that was compelling and strong. he knew enough of her to know that even her silence was not the silence that arises out of lack of subject for talk, but that it meant something as definite and clear as though she spoke direct words to him. the head of the police would have given much at that moment to have been able to penetrate her thoughts, but he only stared at her with his blue eyes a little wider open than usual, and waited for her to speak. she looked before her steadily, but not with the eyes of a woman who dreams; mrs. wilder was thinking definitely, and while hartley waited, her mind travelled at speed across years and came to a halt at the moment where she now found herself, and from that moment she looked out forcefully into the future. usually, in the tragic instants of life there is very little time for thought before the need for action forces the will, with relentless hands. clarice wilder knew as well as she knew anything that her position was one of some peril, and that much more than she could weigh or measure at that moment lay beyond the next spoken word. she was telling herself to be careful, steadying her nerve and reining in a desire to pour out a flood of circumstantial evidence, calculated to convince the head of the police. if there is one thing more than another that the man or the woman driven against the ropes should avoid, it is prolixity; the snare that catches craft in its own net. clarice wilder desired to be overpowering, redundant and extreme in the wordy proof of her innocence of purpose that evening of july the th, but she held back and waited steadfastly until she was quite sure of herself again, and then she turned her head and glanced at hartley with a smile. "how silent you are," she said gently. hartley flushed and looked self-conscious. "to be quite candid, that was what i was thinking of you," he replied awkwardly. "what were we saying?" went on mrs. wilder. "oh, of course, i remember. you thought i could tell you something about poor mr. heath, didn't you? i only wish i could, but it was so long ago. i do remember the evening. it was very hot and i rode along by the river to get some fresh air," her eyes grew hazy. "i can remember thinking that mangadone looked as if it was a great ball of amber, with the sun shining through it, but as for being able to tell you what mr. heath was doing, or who he was with, it is impossible. you should have pinned me down to it the day you called on me, when this troublesome little boy first went off." she gathered up the reins, and hartley mounted reluctantly. "i am so sorry. i would love to be able to help you, but i cannot remember." if hartley had been asked on oath how it was that mrs. wilder had led him clean away from the subject under discussion, to something infinitely more satisfying and interesting, he could not have sworn to it. they loitered by the road and came slowly back to the bungalow, where they parted at the gate, and he watched her go in, hoping she might turn her head, but she did not, and hartley took his way towards his own house and thought very little of absalom or the rev. francis heath. one thing he did think of, and that was that mrs. wilder had looked at him earnestly, and said that she wished he was not "mixed up" in anything likely to bring uneasiness to the mind of the rector of st. jude's church. "mixed up" was a curious way of expressing his connection with the case, but hartley felt that he knew what she meant. he pulled at his short moustache and wished with all his heart that he really did know; but all the wishes in the world could not help him out of a professional dilemma. mrs. wilder had not looked round, though she very well knew that hartley was waiting and hoping that she would, and once she had turned the first bend she touched the pony with her heel and cantered up the hill, throwing the reins to the _syce_ who came in answer to her impatient call. "idiot," she said, as she shut the door of her room and flung her _topi_ on the bed, and she repeated the word several times with increasing animosity and vigour. she hated hartley at that moment, and felt under no further obligation to hide her real feelings; and then mrs. wilder sat down and thought hard. the mental power of exaggerating danger is limitless, and she could not deny that her fear was playing tricks with her nerves. she knew that she had done creditably under the strain of acute nervous tension, but she felt also that much more of the same thing would be unendurable. draycott came in to luncheon, and she was there to receive him, but even to his careless eye, clarice was oddly abstracted, and he glanced at her curiously, wondering what it was that occupied her mind and made her frown as she thought. she could not get away from the grip of her morning interview. try as she would, she could not shake it off. it caught her back in the middle of her talk, made her answer at random, and held her with a terrible power. she considered that there were a thousand other things she might have said or done, a hundred ways by which she might have appealed to hartley, and yet her common sense told her that the less she said on the subject the better it would be, if, in the end, the rev. francis heath was led into the awful pitfalls of cross-examination. anyone may forget and recall facts later, but to state facts that may be used as evidence is to stand handcuffed before inexorable justice, and mrs. wilder had left her hands free. "is anything the matter?" draycott jerked out the question as he got up to leave the room. "you seem rather silent." clarice laughed, and her laugh was slightly forced. "i went for a ride this morning, and met mr. hartley. he is the most exhausting man i ever met." "i hope you told him so," said wilder shortly. "he's about here frequently enough, even though he _does_ bore you." something in his voice made her eyes focus him very clearly and distinctly. "i have a very good mind to tell him," she said easily, "but he is blessed with a skin that would turn the edge of any ordinary hatchet; he would think i was merely being 'funny.'" "it's an odd fact," said draycott with a sneer in his eyes, "that however much a woman complains of a man's stupidity, she will let him hang about her, and make a grievance of it, until she sees fit to drop him. when that moment arrives she can make him let go, and lower away all right. just now hartley is hanging on quite perceptibly, and if it entertains you to slang him behind his back, i suppose you will slang him, but he won't drop off before you've done with him, clarice, if i know anything of your methods." her face flushed and she began to look angry. "mind you, i don't object to hartley. as you say, he's a fool, a silly, trusting ass, the sort of man who is child's-play to a girl of sixteen. if you must have a string of loafers to prove that your attractions outwear _anno domini_, i must accept hartley, and other hartleys, so long as you continue to play the same game. _hartleys_, i said, clarice." there was no doubt about the emphasis he laid upon the name. "you flatter mr. hartley considerably," she said, but her voice was conciliatory and her laugh nervous. "he represents a type; a type that some married men may be thankful continues to exist. god!" he broke out violently, "if he could hear you talk of him, it would be a lesson to the fool, but he won't hear you. no man ever does hear these things until the knowledge comes too late to be of any use to him. you have got to have your strings"--he shrugged his shoulders--"because your life isn't here, in this house; it is at the club, and at dinners and races and so on, and to be left to your husband is the beginning of the end. don't deny it, clarice, it's no earthly use. women like you have your own ideas of life, i suppose, and i ought to be thankful they're no worse." he stood by the door all the time he spoke, and his colourless face and pale eyes never altered. "you're talking absolute nonsense," said mrs. wilder, preserving an amiable tone. "we _have_ to entertain, draycott, and you can't round on me for what i have done for years. it has helped you on, and you know it." "i wasn't talking of that," he said drearily. "i was talking of you. you're getting old, for a woman, clarice, and when you're worried, as you are to-day, you show it; though how an imbecile like hartley got at you to the extent of making you worried, i don't pretend to guess." "old," she said angrily. "you aren't troubling to be particularly polite." "no, i'm damnably truthful; just because it makes me wonder at you all the more. you can go on smiling at any number of idiots, because you must have the applause, i suppose. you don't even believe in it--_now_." his allusion was definite, and mrs. wilder felt about in her mind for some way to change the conversation. quagmires are bad ground for walking, and she was in a hurry to reach _terra firma_ again. she came round the table and slipped her arm through his. "after all these years. draycott--be a little generous." if she had fought him, some deep, hidden anger in his cold heart would have flared up, but her gesture softened him and he patted her hand. "i know," he said slowly. "only i can't quite forget. i simply can't, clarice." she smiled at him and touched his face with a light hand. "shall i tell you why? because even if i am old--and thirty-six isn't so very dreadful--you are still in love with me." she went with him to the door and smiled as he drove away, smiled and waved as he reappeared round a distant bend, and watched him return her signal, and then she went back into the large drawing-room and her face grew grey and pinched, and she sat with her chin propped on her hands, thinking. she had proved that there are more fools in the world than those who go about disguised as heads of police, and had added another specimen to the general list, but she found no mirth in the idea as she considered it. x in which craven joicey is overcome by a sudden indisposition, and hartley, without looking for him, finds the man he wanted it seemed to hartley that fate had dealt very hardly with him. he was interested in the case of the boy absalom, and he felt that the possibility of clearing it up was well within reach, and then he found himself face to face with an unpleasant and painful duty. all his gregarious sociable nature cried out against any act that would cause a scandal in mangadone, the magnitude of which he could hardly gauge but only guess at; and yet, wherever he went, the thought haunted him. his feelings gave him no rest, and he remained inactive and listless for several days after his ride with mrs. wilder. if she had told him that she implored him personally to drop the case he could not have felt more certain that she desired him to do so. she worked indirectly upon his feelings, a much surer way with some natures than a direct appeal, and the thought brought something akin to misery into the mind and heart of the police officer. absalom had gone, leaving no visible footprint to indicate whither he had vanished, but the inexorable detail of circumstance after circumstance led on to a very definite conclusion. the wooden figure outside the curio dealer's shop pointed up his master's steps, and did no one any wrong, but the awful fixed finger of changeless fact indicated the creeper-covered bungalow of the rev. francis heath. hartley sat in his room, his elbows on the writing-table, and stared out before him. a sluicing shower had come up suddenly, obscuring all the brightness of the day, and the eaves of the veranda dripped mournfully with a sound like the patter of a thousand tiny feet; the patter sounded like the falling of tears, and he wondered if heath, too, listened to the light persistent noise, and read into it the footsteps of departing hopes and lost ideals, or merely all the terrible monotonous detail that preceded an act that was a crime. hartley had dealt considerably with criminal cases, but never with anything the least like the case of the boy absalom, and the speculations that came across his mind were new to him. he realized that a criminal of the class of the rev. francis heath is a criminal who is driven slowly, inch by inch, into action, and each inch given only at the cost of blood and tears. it was little short of ghastly to consider what heath must have gone through and suffered, and what he still must suffer, and must continue to suffer as he went along the dark loneliness of the awful road into which he had turned. people who have pity and to spare for the murdered body, or for the dupe who has suffered plunder, think very little of the agony of mind and the horror of the man who has held a good position, secure and honoured, and who falls into the bottomless abyss of crime and detection. hartley had never considered it before. he was on the side of law and order, and he was incapable of even dimly visualizing any condition of affairs that could force him into illegal action, and yet he felt in the darkness after some comprehension of the mind of the rector of st. jude's parish church. the rain passed over, and the veranda was crossed with strips of yellow sunlight, the pale washed sunlight of a wet evening, and still the drip from the eaves fell intermittently with its melancholy noise, so softly now, as hardly to be heard, and hartley got up, and, putting on his hat, walked across the scrunching wet gravel, and out on to the road, making his way towards the club. far away, gleams of light lay soft over the trees of the park, the green sad light that is only seen in damp atmospheres. there was no gladness in the day, only a sense of deficiency and sorrow, even in its lingering beauty; and the lake that reflected the trees and the sky was deadly still, with a brooding, waiting stillness. hartley stopped as he went towards the further gates of the park, and watched the glassy reflections with troubled eyes. no breeze touched the woods into movement, and the long, yellow bars of evening light were full of dim stillness. the very lifelessness of it affected hartley strangely. except where, here and there, a flash of the low sunset caught the water, the whole prospect was motionless, and he stood like a man spellbound by the mystery of its silence. hartley had chosen the less frequented road through the park, and there was no one in sight when he had stopped to look at the pale sheet of water with its mirrored reproduction of tree and sky. it held him strangely, and he felt a curious tension of his nerves, as though something was going to happen. the thought came, as such thoughts do come, out of nowhere in particular, and yet hartley waited with a sense of discomfort. when he turned away angry at his own momentary folly, he stooped and picked up a stone and threw it into the motionless beauty of the water, breaking it into a quick splash, marring the clearness, and confusing the straight, low band of gold cloud which broke under the widening circles. as he stooped, a man had come into sight, walking with a slow, heavy step, his eyes on the ground and his head bent. he came on with dragging feet and a dull, mechanical walk, the walk of a man who is tired in body and soul. he did not look at the lake, nor did he even see hartley, who turned towards him at once with sudden relief. when hartley hailed him cheerfully, joicey stopped dead and looked up, staring at him as though he were an apparition. he took off his hat and wiped his forehead. "where did you spring from, hartley?" he asked. "i did not see anyone just now." there was more irritation than warmth in his greeting of the police officer. "i was moonstruck by the edge of that confounded lake. it was so still that it got on my nerves." "nerves," said joicey abruptly. "there's too much talk of nerves altogether in these days." joicey, like all large men with loud voices, was able to give an impression of solidity that is very refreshing and reviving at times, but, otherwise, joicey was not looking entirely himself. he passed his handkerchief over his face again and laughed dully. "you're going to the club, i suppose?" "i was going there, but now i'll join you and have a walk, if i may. it's early for the club yet." he turned and walked on beside the banker, who appeared, if anything, less in the humour for conversation than was usual with him. they left the lake behind them, now a pallid gleam flecked with wavering light in a circle of deep shadows that reached out from the margin. "any news?" asked hartley without enthusiasm. "not that i have heard." silence fell again, and they walked out on to the road. pools of afternoon rain still lay here and there in the depressions, but joicey took no heed of them, and splashed on, staining his white trousers with liquid mud. "by the way," he said, clearing his throat as though his words stuck there, "have you heard anything more in connection with the disappearance of that boy you were talking of the other evening?" hartley did not reply for a moment, and just as he was about to speak, mrs. wilder's car passed, and mrs. wilder leaned forward to smile at the head of the police; a small buggy followed with some more friends of hartley's, and then another car, and the road was clear again. "i believe i am on the right track, but i don't like it, joicey. i'm damned if i do." "why not?" "it comes too close to home,"--hartley spoke with a jerk. "a hateful job--i thought i'd tell you--" he spoke in broken sentences, and his words affected the banker very perceptibly. "can't you drop it?" joicey came to a standstill, and his voice was lowered almost to a whisper. "i wish to heaven i could, but it's a question of duty,"--he could hardly see joicey's face in the gathering gloom. "i suppose you guess what i'm driving at, joicey, though how you guess, i don't know." "i think i'll say good night here, hartley,"--the banker's voice was unnatural and wavering. "i can't discuss it with you. it's got to be proved," he spoke more heatedly. "what have you got? only the word of a stinking native. i tell you it's monstrous." he stopped and clutched hartley's arm, and seemed as though he was staggering. "what has come over you, joicey; are you ill?" "i'll sit down here for a moment,"--joicey walked towards a low wall. "sometimes i get these attacks. i'm better after they are over. better, much better. leave me here to go back by myself, hartley. you need have no fear, i'm over it now; i'll rest for a little and then go my way quickly. believe me, i'd rather be alone." very reluctantly, hartley quitted him. he felt that joicey was ill, and might even be beginning the horrible phase of "breaking up," which comes on with such fatal speed in a tropical climate. he went back after he had gone a mile along the road, but joicey was no longer there. it was too late to think of going to the club, for the road that joicey and hartley had followed led away from the residential quarter of mangadone, and he disliked the idea of going back to his own bungalow and waiting through the dismal hour that lies across the evening between the time to come in and the time to dress for dinner. had there been a friendly house near, hartley would have gone in on the chance of finding someone at home, but as there was not, he made the best of existing circumstances and took his way along the road towards his own bungalow. he could not deny that his walk with joicey had only served to depress his spirits, and he was sorry to think that his friend was so obviously in bad health. the world seemed an uncomfortable place, full of gloomy surprises, and hartley wished that he had a wife to go back to. not a superb being like mrs. wilder, who was encircled by the halo of high romance, but just an ordinary wife, with a friendly smile and a way of talking about everyday things while she darned socks. somewhere in his domestic heart hartley considered sock-mending a beautiful and symbolic act, and yet he could not picture mrs. wilder occupied in such a fashion. a man with a wife to go back to is never at the same loose end as a man who has no need ever to be punctual for a solitary meal, and hartley walked quickly because he wanted to get clear of his depression, rather than for any reason that compelled him to be up to time. the gathering darkness drew out the flare over the city, and, here and there, lamps dotted the road, until, turning up a short cut, he was into the region of trams once more. the lighted cars, filled with gay burmese and soldiers from the british regiment, and european-clad, dark-skinned creatures of mixed races, looked cheerful and encouraged to better thoughts. hartley crossed the busy thoroughfare below the pagoda steps and went on quickly, for he recognized the outline of mhtoon pah on his way to burn amber candles before his newly-erected shrine. he was in no mood to talk to the curio dealer just then, and he avoided him carefully and plunged down a tree-bowered road that led to the bridge, and from the bridge to the hill-rise where his own gate stood open. it pleased him to see that lamps were lighted in the house, and he felt conscious that he was hungry, and would be glad of dinner; he made up his mind to do himself well and rout the tormenting thoughts that pursued him, and to-morrow he would see francis heath and have the whole thing put on paper once and for all. he even whistled as he came along the short drive and under the portico, where a night-scented flower smelt strong and sweet. his boy met him with the information that there was a sahib within waiting. a sahib who had evidently come to stay, for a strange-looking servant in the veranda rose and salaamed, and sat down again by his master's kit with the patience of a man who looks out upon eternity. hartley hardly glanced at the servant. visitors, tumbling from anywhere, were not altogether unusual occurrences. men on the way back from a shoot in the jungles of upper burma, men who were old school friends and were doing a leisurely tour to japan and america, men of his own profession who had leave to dispose of; all or any of these might arrive with a servant and a portmanteau. whoever it was, hartley was predisposed to give him a welcome. he had come just when he was wanted, and he hurried in, a light of pleasure in his blue eyes. near the lamp, a book of verses open on his knee, sat hartley's unexpected guest. he was slim, dark, and vital, but where his arresting note of vitality lay would have been hard to explain. no one can tell exactly what it is that marks one man as a courageous man, and another as a coward, and yet, without need of any test, these things may be known and judged beforehand. the man whose eyes followed the lines: "they say the lion and the lizard keep the courts where jamshyd gloried and drank deep"-- was as distinctive as he well could be, and yet his face was not expressive. his dark, narrow eyes were dull, and his finely-cut features small and perfect, rather than bold and strong; his long hands were the hands of a woman more than those of a man, and his figure was slight to boyishness. when hartley let his full joy express itself in husky, cheery words of surprise, his visitor said very little, but what he did say was spoken in a pleasant, low voice. "coryndon," said hartley again. "of all men on earth i wanted to see you most. you've done what you always do, come in the 'nick.'" coryndon smiled, a languid, half-amused gleam of mirth. "i am only passing through, my job is finished." "but you'll stay for a bit?" "you said just now that i was here in the 'nick'; if the nick is interesting, i'll see." "i'll go and arrange about your rooms," said hartley, and he appeared twice his normal size beside his guest, as a st. bernard might look standing by a greyhound. "we will talk afterwards." coryndon watched him go out without change of expression, and, sliding back into his chair, took up his book again. "they say the lion and the lizard keep the courts where jamshyd gloried and drank deep." coryndon leaned back and half closed his eyes; the words seemed potent, as with a spell, and he called up a vision of the forsaken palace where wild things lived and where revels were long forgotten--solitude and ruin that no one ever crossed to explore or to see--with the eyes of a man who can rebuild a mighty past. solitude in the halls and marble stairways, ruin of time in the fretted screens, and broken cisterns holding nothing but dry earth. nothing there now but the lion and the lizard, not even the ghost of a light footfall, or the tinkle of glass bangles on a rounded arm. coryndon had almost forgotten hartley when he came back, flushed and pleased, and full of a host's anxiety about his guest's welfare. "i hope you haven't been bored?" "no," said coryndon, touching the book, "i've been amusing myself in my own way," and he followed hartley out of the room. xi shows how the "whisper from the dawn of life" enables coryndon to take the drifting threads between his fingers very probably hartley believed that he knew "all about" coryndon; he knew at least, that the government of india looked upon him as the best man they had to unravel the most intricate case that murder or forgery, coining or fraud of any sort, could tangle into mysterious knots. coryndon had intuition and patience, and once he undertook a case he followed it through to the ultimate conclusion; and so it was that coryndon stood alone, a department in himself, possibly aided by the police and the shadower, but capable of discovering anything, once he bent his mind to the business of elucidation. beyond the fact that he had been born somewhere in a jungle clearing in upper burma, and that at ten years old he had gone to india to a school in the hills, then had vanished for years to reappear in the service of the government, his story was not known to anyone except himself. no one doubted that he had "a touch of the country" in his blood. it displayed itself in unmistakable physical traits, and his knowledge of its many tongues and languages was the knowledge that first made him realize that his future career lay in india. colonel coryndon, his father, died just as the boy was leaving school, and left him a little money; just enough to keep him from the iron yoke of clerkship, and to allow of his waiting for what he wanted. behind his dark eyes lived a brain that could concentrate with the grip of a vise upon any subject that interested him, and he puzzled his masters at his school. coryndon was a curious mixture of imagination and strong common sense; few realize that it is only the imaginative mind that can see behind the curtain that divides life from life, and discern motives. he saw everything with an almost terrible clearness. every detail of a room, every line in a face, every shop in a street he walked through, every man he spoke with, was registered in his indelible book of facts. this, in itself, is not much. men can learn the habit of observation as they can train their minds to remember dates or historical facts, but, in the case of coryndon, this art was inherent and his by birth. he started with it, and his later training of practising his odd capacity for recalling the smallest detail of every day that passed only intensified his power in this direction. with this qualification alone he could have been immensely useful as a secret agent, but in addition to this he had also his other gift, his intuition and power of altering his own point of view for that of another man, and seeing his subject through the eyes of everyone concerned in a question. his nervous vitality was great, and there were plenty of well-educated native subordinates who believed him gifted with occult forces, since his ways of getting at his astonishing conclusions were never explained to any living soul, because coryndon could not have explained them to himself. his identity was well known at headquarters, but beyond that limit it was carefully hidden from the lower branches of the executive, as too wide and too public recognition would have narrowed his sphere of action. as wesley declared the whole world to be his parish, so the whole of asia was coryndon's sphere of action, and only at headquarters was it ever known where he actually might be found, or what employment occupied his brain. he came like a rain-cloud blown up soundlessly on the east wind, and vanished like morning mists, and no one knew what he had learnt during his silent passing. men with voices like brass trumpets praised and encouraged him, and men who knew the dark byways of criminal investigation were hardly jealous of him. coryndon was a freak, an exception, a man who stood beyond competition, and was as sure as he was mysterious. he was "explained" in a dozen ways. his face, to begin with, made disguise easy, and the touch of the country did much for him in this respect. he had played behind his father's up-country bungalow with little burmese boys and talked in their speech before he knew any english; the bazaar was an open book to him, and the mind of the native, so some men said with a shade of contempt, not too far from his own to make understanding impossible. besides all this, there were those other years, after he left the school under the high snow ranges, when coryndon had vanished entirely, and of these years he never spoke. and yet, with all this, coryndon was unmistakably a "sahib," a man of unusual culture and brilliant ability. he had complete powers of self-control, and his one passion was his love of music, and though he never played for anyone else, men who had come upon him unawares had heard him playing to himself in a way that was as surprising as everything else about coryndon surprised and astonished. he had dreamed as a boy, and he still dreamed as a man. the subtle beauty of a line of verse led him into visionary habitations as fair as any ever disclosed to poet or artist. he could lose himself utterly in the lights and shadows of a passing day, while he watched for a doomed man at the entrance of a temple, or brooded over painted sores and cried to the rich for alms by a dusty roadside; a very different coryndon to the coryndon who looked at hartley across the white cloth of the round dinner-table. the truth about coryndon was that he read the souls of men. mhtoon pah had boasted to hartley that he read the walk of the world he looked at, but coryndon went much further; and as hartley talked about outward things, whilst the boy and the _khitmutghar_ flitted in and out behind them, carrying plates and dishes, his guest was considering him with a quiet and almost moonstruck gravity of mind. he knew just how far hartley could go, and he knew exactly what blocked him. hartley was tied into the close meshes of circumstance; he argued from without and worked inward, and coryndon had discovered the flaw in this process before he left his school. when they were alone at last, hartley pushed his chair closer to coryndon and leaned forward. "one moment." coryndon's voice was lowered slightly, and he strolled to the door. "boy," he called, and with amazing alacrity hartley's servant appeared. "tell my servant," he said, speaking in english, "that i want the cigar tin." "do you believe he was listening?" "i am sure of it." hartley flushed angrily, and he was about to speak when coryndon's man came into the room, salaaming on the threshold, carrying a black tin. "would you like a little stroll in the garden?" said coryndon. "it would be pleasant before we sit down," and hartley followed him out. "did you bring any cigars down?" hartley spoke for the sake of saying something, more than for any reasonable desire to know whether coryndon had done so or not, and his reply was a low, amused laugh. "in ten minutes shiraz will do a little juggling for your servants," he said placidly. "there are no cigars in the tin. i hope you didn't want one, hartley? he will probably tell them that i am a new arrival, picked up by him at bombay. whatever he tells them, they will find him amusing." a misty moonlight lighted the garden with a soft, yellow haze, and the harsh rattling of night beetles sounded unusually loud and noisy in the silence. "you said that you had just finished a job?" "i have, and now i am on leave. the powers have given me four months, and i am going to london to hear the wagner cycle. i promised myself that long ago, and unless something very special crops up to prevent me, i shall start in a week from now." they took another silent turn. "did your last job work out?" "yes. it took a long time, but i got back into touch with things i had begun to forget, and it was interesting. shall we go back into the house?" "come in here," said hartley, taking his way into the sitting-room. "i have some notes in my safe that i want you to look at. the truth is, coryndon, i'm tackling rather a nasty business, and if you can help me, i'll be eternally grateful to you. it has got on my nerves." coryndon bowed his head silently and drew up a chair near the table. all the time that hartley talked to him, he listened with close attention. the head of the police went into the whole subject at length, telling the story as it had happened, and leaving out, so far as he knew, no point that bore upon the question. first he told of the disappearance of the boy absalom, the grief and frantic despair of mhtoon pah, and his visit to hartley in the very room where they sat. "he was away from the curio shop that night, you say?" "yes, at the pagoda. he is building a shrine there. his statement to me was that he went away just after dark, and the boy had already left an hour before." coryndon said nothing, but waited for the rest of the story, and, bit by bit, hartley set it before him. "heath saw absalom, and admitted it to me," he said, pulling at his short, red moustache. "even then he showed a very curious amount of irritation, and refused to say anything further. then he lied to me when i went to the house, and there is atkins' testimony to the fact that he is paying a man to keep quiet." "has the man reappeared since?" "not since i had the house watched." coryndon's eyes narrowed and he moved his hands slightly. "next there is the very trifling evidence of mrs. wilder. it doesn't count for much, but it goes to prove that she knows something of heath which she won't give away. she knows something, or she wouldn't screen him. that is simple deduction." "quite simple." "now, with reference to joicey," went on hartley, with a frown. "i don't personally think that joicey knows or remembers whether he did see heath. my superintendent swears that he did go down paradise street on the night of the twenty-ninth, but joicey is ill, and he said he wasn't in mangadone then. he has been seedy for some time and may have mixed up dates." "you attach no importance to him?" "practically none." hartley leaned back in his chair and lighted a cheroot. coryndon touched the piece of silk rag with his hand. "this rag business is out of place, taken in connection with heath." "i don't accuse heath, coryndon, but i believe that he _knows_ where the boy went. the last thing that was told me by mhtoon pah was that the gold lacquer bowl that was ordered by mrs. wilder was found on the steps of the shop. though what that means, the devil only knows. mhtoon pah considers it likely that the chinaman, leh shin, put it there, but i have absolutely nothing to connect leh shin with the disappearance, and i have withdrawn the men who were watching the shop." "interesting," said coryndon slowly. "can you give me any opinion? i'm badly in need of help." coryndon shook his head, his hand still touching the stained rag idly. "i could give you none at all, on these facts." hartley looked at him with a fixed and imploring stare. "in a place like this, to be the chief mover, the actual incentive to disclosing god knows what, is simply horrible," he said in a rough, pained voice. "i've done my share of work, coryndon, and i've taken my own risks, but any cases i've had against white men haven't been against men like the padré." coryndon gave a little short sigh that had weariness in its sound, weariness or impatience. "what you have told me involves three principals, and a score of others." he was counting as he spoke. "any one of them may be the man you are looking for, only circumstances indicate one in particular. you are satisfied that you have got the line. i could not confidently say that you have, unless i had been working the case myself, and had followed up every clue throughout." hartley got up and paced the room, his hands deep in the pockets of his dinner jacket. "i am convinced that heath will have to be forced to speak, and, i may as well be honest with you--i don't like forcing him." coryndon was not watching his host, he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes on a little spiral of smoke that circled up from his cigarette. "i wish that damned little absalom had never been heard of, and that it was anybody's business but mine to find him, if he is to be found." if coryndon's finely-cut lips trembled into an instantaneous smile, it passed almost at once, and he looked quietly round at hartley, who still paced, looking like an overgrown schoolboy in a bad mood. "i wish i could help you, hartley, but i have not enough to go on. as you say, the case is unusual, and it makes it impossible for me to advise." he got up and stretched himself. "there is one thing i will do, if you wish it, and, from what you said, you may wish it; i will take over the whole thing--for my holiday, and the wagner cycle will have to wait." hartley came to a standstill before his guest. "you'll do that, coryndon?" "the case interests me," said coryndon, "otherwise, i should not suggest it." he paused for a moment and reflected. "i shall have to make your bungalow my headquarters; that is the simplest plan. any absences may be accounted for by shooting trips and that sort of thing. that part of it is straightforward enough, and i can see the people i want to see." "you shall have a free hand to do anything you like," said hartley. "and any help that i can give you." coryndon looked at him for a moment without replying. "thank you, hartley. our methods are different, as you know, but when i want you, i will tell you how you can help me." he walked across the room to where two tumblers and a decanter of whisky stood on a tray, and, pouring himself out a glass of soda water, sipped it slowly. "here are my notes," said hartley, in a voice of great relief. "they will be useful for reference." coryndon folded them up and put them in his pocket. "most of what is there is also in my official report." coryndon nodded his head, and, opening the piano, struck a light chord. after a moment he sat down and played softly, and the air he played came straight from the high rocks that guard the afghan frontier. like a breeze that springs up at evening, the little love-song lilted and whispered under his compelling fingers, and the "song of the broken heart" sang itself in the room of hartley, head of the police. where it carried coryndon no one could guess, but it carried hartley into a very rose-garden of sentimental fatuity, and when the music stopped he gave a deep grunting sigh of content. "i'll get some honest sleep to-night," he said as they parted, and ten minutes afterwards he was lying under his mosquito-curtains, oblivious to the world. coryndon's servant, shiraz, was squatting across the door that led into the veranda when his master came in, and he waited for his orders. he would have sat anywhere for weeks, and had done so, to await the doubtful coming of coryndon, whose times and seasons no man knew. when he was gone, coryndon took out the bulky packet of notes and extracted the piece of rag, which he locked carefully away in a dispatch-box. he then cleared a little space on the floor, and put the papers lightly over one another. setting a match to them, he watched them light up and curl into brittle tinder, and dissolve from that stage into a heap of charred ashes, which he gathered up with a careful hand and put into the soft earth of a fern-box outside his veranda door. this being done, he sat down and began to think steadily, letting the names drift through his brain, one by one, until they sorted themselves, and he felt for the most useful name to take first. "joicey, the banker, is a man of no importance," he murmured to himself, and again he said, "joicey the banker." it was nearly dawn when he got between the cool linen sheets, and was asleep almost as his dark head lay back against the soft white pillow. xii shows how a man may climb a hundred steps into a passionless peace, and return again to a world of small torments by the end of a week coryndon had slipped into the ways of mangadone, slipped in quietly and without causing much comment. he went to the club with hartley and made the acquaintance of nearly all his host's friends, and they, in return, gave him the casual notice accorded to a passing stranger who had no part or lot in their lives or interests. coryndon was very quiet and listened to everything; he listened to a great deal in the first three days, and fitzgibbon, a barrister, offered to take him round and show him the town. coryndon was "shown the town," but apparently he found a lasting joy in sight-seeing, and could witness the same sights repeatedly without failing interest. he climbed the steps to the pagoda, under the guidance of fitzgibbon, the first afternoon they met. "won't you come, too, hartley?" asked the barrister. "not if i know it. i've been there about sixty times. if coryndon wants to see it, i'm thankful to let him go there with you." fitzgibbon, who had a craze for borrowing anything that he was likely to want, had persuaded prescott, the junior partner in a rice firm, to lend him his car, and as he sat in the tonneau beside coryndon, he pointed out the places of interest. their way lay first through the residential quarter, and hartley's guest saw the entrance gate and gardens of draycott wilder's house. "the most interesting and certainly the best-looking woman in mangadone lives there, a mrs. wilder. hartley ought to have told you about her; he is rather favoured by the lady. her husband is a rising civilian. mrs. wilder has bought asia, and is wondering whether she'll buy europe next." coryndon hardly appeared impressed or even interested. "so she is a friend of hartley's?" he said carelessly. "i hadn't heard that." fitzgibbon laughed. "it's something to be a friend of mrs. wilder--that is, in mangadone." they sped on over the level road, and the car swung through the streets that led towards the open space before the temple. "that is the curio dealer's shop. don't get any of your stuff there. the man's a robber." "which shop?" asked coryndon patiently. "we're past it now, but it was the one with a dancing man outside of it, a funny little effigy." coryndon's eyes were turned to the pagoda, and he was evidently inattentive. "it strikes you, doesn't it?" asked fitzgibbon, in the tones of a gratified showman. "it always does strike people who haven't seen it before." "naturally, when one has not seen it before," echoed his companion, as the car drew up. coryndon stood for a moment looking at the entrance, and surveying the huge plaster dragons with their gaping mouths and vermilion-red tongues. they were ranged up a green slope, two on either side of the brown fretted roof that covered the steep tunnel that led up a flight of more than a hundred steps to the flat plateau, where the golden spire towered high over all, amid a crowd of lesser minarets. surrounded by baskets of roses and orchids, little silk-clothed burmese girls sat on the entrance steps, and sold their wares. fitzgibbon would have hurried on, but coryndon, in true tripper fashion, stopped and bought an armful of blossoms. "what am i to do with these things?" he asked helplessly. "oh, you'd better leave them before one of the _gaudamas_, and acquire merit. if you let them all plunder you like this, we'll never get to the top." flight after flight, the two men climbed slowly, and coryndon stood at intervals to watch the crowd that came up and down. the steps were so steep that the arch above them only disclosed descending feet, but coryndon watched the feet appear first and then the rest of the hurrying or loitering men and women, and he sat on a seat beside a little gathering of yellow-robed _hypongyis_ until fitzgibbon lost all patience. "there is a whole town of piety to see up at the top. come on, man; we have hours of it yet to get through. don't waste time over those stalls. every picture of the buddha story was made in birmingham." progressing a little faster, fitzgibbon piloted coryndon past a stall where yellow candles and bundles of joss-sticks in red paper cases were sold at a varying price. "i must get some of these," objected coryndon, who added a rupee's worth of incense and a white cheroot to his collection. when they passed through the last archway and gained the plateau, he looked round with eyes that spoke his keen interest. even though he had been there many times before, coryndon looked at the sight with eyes that grew shadowed by the dreaming soul that lived within him. twilight was gathering behind the trees; only the gold-laced spires of a thousand minarets caught the last light of the sun. on the plateau below the great pillar, that glimmered like a golden sword from base to bell-hung _htee_, lay what fitzgibbon had described as "a little town of piety." a village of shrines and pagodas, each built with seven roofs, open-fronted to disclose the holy place within; some large as a small chapel; some small, giving room only for the figure of the _gaudama_. here and there, the votive offerings had fallen into decay, and the gold-leaf covering the buddha was black and dilapidated by the passing of years, for there is no merit to be acquired in rebuilding or renovating a sacred place. from innumerable shrines, uncounted buddhas looked out with the same long, contemplative eyes; in bronze, in jade, in white and black marble, in grey stone and gilded ebony, the passionless face of the great peace looked out upon his children. near to where coryndon and the barrister stood together, in the peach-coloured evening light, a large shrine with a fretted roof was thronged with worshippers, and coryndon stood on the steps and looked in. the floor of black, polished marble dimly reflected the immense gold pillars that supported a lofty ceiling, lost entirely in the gloom, and before a blaze of candles and a floating veil of scented grey smoke a priest bowed himself, and prayed in a low, chanting voice. the face of the lord buddha behind the rails was lighted by the wind-blown flame of many tapers, so that it almost looked as though he smiled out of his far-away nirvana upon his kneeling worshippers, who could ask nothing of him, not even mercy, since the salvation of a man is in his own hands. before the rails, a settle with low gilt legs was covered with offerings of flowers, that added their scent to the heavy air, and on a small table a feast of cakes and sweets was placed, to be distributed later on among the poor. coryndon disposed of his burden of pink and white roses and little magenta prayer-flags, and lighted a bundle of joss-sticks, before they came out again and wandered on. as the daylight faded the lights from the shrines and the small booths grew stronger, and the rising night wind, coming in from the river, rang the silver bells around the spires, filling the whole air with tinkling sound, and the slow-moving crowd around them laughed and joked, like people at a fair. his eyes still full of dreams, coryndon followed with them, keeping one small packet of amber candles to light in honour of some other buddha in another shrine. "funny devils, these burmese," remarked the barrister. "they never clean up anything. look at the years of tallow collected under that spiked gate that is falling off its hinges. that black little buddha inside must once have been a popular favourite, but no one gives him anything now." they turned a corner past a booth where bottles full of pink and yellow fluid, and green leaves, wrapped around betel-nut, appeared to be the chief stock-in-trade, and a noise of hammering struck on their ears. here a new shrine was being erected and was all but completed. a few chinamen, who had been working at it, were putting their tools into canvas bags, preparatory to withdrawing like the remaining daylight. "this is mhtoon pah's edifice," said fitzgibbon, coming to a standstill. "he doesn't seem to have spared expense, either. shall we go in?" the shrine was not a very large one, and the entrance was like the entrance to a grotto at an exhibition. tiny facets of glass were crusted into grass-green cement, shining like a thousand eyes, and, seated on a vermilion lacquer daïs, a buddha, with heavy eyelids that hid his strange eyes, presided over an illumination of smoking flame. the smell of joss-sticks was heavy on the air, and the filigree cloak worn by the buddha was enriched with red and green glass that shone and glittered. "they say the caste-mark in his forehead is a real diamond," remarked the barrister. "i don't suppose it is, but at least it is a good imitation." coryndon was not listening to him; he had gone close to the marble rails, and was lighting his little bunch of yellow tapers. he lighted them one by one, and put each one down on the floor very slowly and carefully, and when he had finished he turned round. "mhtoon pah is the man who has the curio shop?" he asked. "the very same. it gives you some idea of his percentage on sales, what?" coryndon joined in his laugh, and they went out again into the street of sanctity. fitzgibbon was now getting exhausted, for his companion's desire to "do" the pagoda was apparently insatiable; and he asked interminable questions that the barrister was totally unable to answer. coryndon seemed to find something fresh and interesting around every corner. the white elephants delighted him, particularly where green creepers had grown round their trunks, giving them a realistic effect of enjoying a meal. the handles off very common english chests-of-drawers, that were set along a rail enclosing a sleeping buddha, pleased him like a child, as did the bits of looking-glass with "black and white whisky," or "apollinaris water," inscribed across their faces. "that sort of thing seems to attract them," explained fitzgibbon. "in one of the shrines there is a fancy biscuit-box at a buddha's feet. it has got 'huntley and palmer' on the top, and pictures of children and swans all around it. funny devils, i always say so." at length he had to drag coryndon away, almost by main force. "i'd like to have seen mhtoon pah," he objected. "he ought to be on view with his chapel." "shrine, coryndon. you can see him in his shop," and they began the descent down the steep steps. "look," said the barrister quickly, "there is mhtoon pah. no, not the man in white trousers, that's a chinaman with a pigtail under his hat; the fat old thing in the short silk _loongyi_ and crimson head-scarf." coryndon hardly glanced at him, as he passed with a scent of spice and sandal-wood in his garments; his attention had been attracted by a booth where men were eating curry. "it is a curious custom to sell food in a place like this," he remarked to the barrister. "it's part of the oriental mind," replied his guide. "no one understands it. no one ever will; so don't try and begin, or you'll wear yourself out." when they got back to the club it was already late, and the hall of the bar was crowded with men, standing together in groups, or sitting in long, uncompromising chairs under the impression that they were comfortable seats. "hullo, joicey," said the barrister, as he fell over his legs. "i'm dog-beat. been doing the pagoda with coryndon. do you know each other--?" he waved his hand by way of introduction, and coryndon took an empty chair beside the banker, who heaved himself up a little in his seat, and signalled to a small boy in white, who was scuffling with another small boy, also in white, and ordered some drinks. "i am new to it," explained coryndon, and his voice sounded tired, as though the pagoda had been a little too much for him. joicey did not reply; he was looking away, and coryndon followed his eyes. near the wide staircase, and just about to go up it, a man was standing, talking to a friend. he was dressed in an ill-cut suit of white, with a v-shaped inlet of black under his round collar; he held a _topi_ of an old pattern under his arm, and the light showed his face cadaverous and worn. joicey was holding the arm of his chair, and his under-lip trembled. "inexplicable," he muttered, and drank with a gulping sound. "what did you say?" asked coryndon politely. "say? did i say anything? i can't remember that i did." the banker's voice was irritable, and he still watched the clergyman. "what strikes me about the pagoda is the strong chinese element in the design. i am told that there are a lot of chinamen in mangadone. i should like to see their quarter." "hartley should be able to arrange that for you." joicey was evidently growing tired of coryndon's freshness and enthusiasm, and he passed his hand over his face, as though the damp heat of the night depressed his mind. "hartley is very busy," said coryndon, with the determination of a man who intends to see what he has come to see. "i don't like to be perpetually badgering him. could i go alone?" "you could," said joicey shortly. "i want to miss nothing." coryndon turned his head away and looked at the crowded room, fixing his gaze on a whirring fan that hung low on a brass rod, and when he looked round again, joicey had got up and was making his way out into the night. fitzgibbon was surrounded by several other men, and there was no sign of his friend hartley, so he got up and slipped out, standing hatless, until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. the strong lights from the veranda encroached some way into the gloom, and, here and there, a few people still sat around basket tables, enjoying the evening air. coryndon looked at them, with his head bent forward, a little like a cat just about to emerge through a door into a dark passage. for a little time, he stood there, watching and listening, and then he turned away and walked out along the footpath, as though in a hurry to get back to his bungalow. xiii puts forward the fact that a sudden friendship need not be based upon a sudden liking; and passes the night until dawn reveals a shameful secret some ten days after coryndon had taken up his quarters with hartley, he informed his host that he intended to disappear for a time, and that he would take his servant, shiraz, with him. he had been through every quarter of mangadone before he set out to commence operations, and the whole town lay clear as a map in his mind. hartley was dining out, "dining at the wilders'," he said casually, and he further informed coryndon that mrs. wilder had asked him to bring his friend, but no amount of persuasion could induce coryndon to forgo an evening by himself. he pointed out to hartley that he never went into society, and that he found it a strain on his mind when he required to think anything through, and, with a greater show of reluctance than he really felt, hartley conceded to his wish, and coryndon sat down to a solitary meal. he ate very sparingly and drank plain soda water, and whilst he sat at the table his long, yellow-white fingers played on the cloth, and his eyes followed the swaying punkah mat with an odd, intense light in their inscrutable depths. he had made hartley understand that he never talked over a case, and that he followed it out entirely according to his own ideas, and hartley honestly respected his reserve, making no effort to break it. "when the hands are full, something falls to the ground and is lost," coryndon murmured to himself as he got up and went to his room. "shiraz," he called, "shiraz," and the servant sprang like a shadow from the darkness in response to his master's summons. "to-night i go out." coryndon waved his hand. "to-morrow i go out, and of the third day--i cannot tell. let it be known to the servant people that, like all travelling sahibs, i wish to see the evil of the great city. i may return with the morning, but it may be that i shall be late." "_inshallah, huzoor_," murmured shiraz, bowing his head, "what is the will of the master?" "a rich man is marked among his kind; where he goes the eyes of all men turn to follow his steps, but the poor man is as a grain of sand in the dust-storm of a northern province. great are the blessings of the humble and needy of the earth, for like the wind in its passing, they are invisible to the eyes of men." shiraz made no response; he lowered the green chicks outside the doors and windows, and opened a small box, battered with age and wear. "the servant's box is permitted to remain in the room of the lord sahib," he said with a low chuckle. "when asked of my effrontery in this matter, i reply that the lord sahib is ignorant, that he minds not the dignity of his condition, and behold, it is never touched, though the leathern box of the master has been carefully searched by babu, the butler of hartley sahib, who knows all that lies folded therein." while he spoke he was busy unwrapping a collection of senah bundles, which he took out from beneath a roll of dusters and miscellaneous rubbish, carefully placed on the top. the box had no lock and was merely fastened with a bit of thick string, tied into a series of cunning knots. when he had finished unpacking, he laid a faded strip of brightly-coloured cotton on the bed, in company with a soiled jacket and a tattered silk head-scarf, and, as shiraz made these preparations, coryndon, with the aid of a few pigments in a tin box, altered his face beyond recognition. he wore his hair longer than that of the average man, and, taking his hair-brushes, he brushed it back from his temples and tied a coarse hank of black hair to it, and knotted it at the back of his head. he dressed quickly, his slight, spare form wound round the hips with a cotton _loongyi_, and he pulled on the coat over a thin, ragged vest, and sat down, while shiraz tied the handkerchief around his head. the art of make-up is, in itself, simple enough, but the very much more subtle art of expression is the gift of the very few. it was hard to believe that the slightly foreign-looking young man with oriental eyes could be the pock-marked, poverty-stricken burman who stood in his place. slipping on a light overcoat, he pulled a large, soft hat over his head, and walked out quickly through the veranda. "now, then, shiraz," he called out in a quick, ill-tempered voice. "come along with the lamp. hang it; you know what i mean, the _butti_. these infernal garden-paths are alive with snakes." shiraz hastened after him, cringing visibly, and swinging a hurricane lamp as he went. when they had got clear of the house and were near the gate, coryndon spoke to him in a low voice. "pull my boots off my feet." shiraz did as he was bidden and slipped his master's feet into the leather sandals which he carried under his wide belt. "now take the coat and hat, and in due time i shall return, though not by day. let it be known that to-morrow we take our journey of seven days; and it may be that to-morrow we shall do so." "_inshallah_," murmured shiraz, and returned to the house. by night the streets of mangadone were a sight that many legitimate trippers had turned out to witness. the trams were crowded and the native shops flared with light, for the night is cool and the day hot and stifling; therefore, by night a large proportion of the inhabitants of mangadone take their pleasure out of doors. in the berlin café the little tables were crowded with those strange anomalies, black men and women in european clothes. there had been a concert in the presentation hall, and the audience nearly all reassembled at the berlin café for light refreshments when the musical programme was concluded. paradise street was not behindhand in the matter of entertainment: there was a wedding festival in progress, and, at the modest café, a thick concourse of men talking and singing and enjoying life after their own fashion; only the house of mhtoon pah, the curio dealer, was dark, and it was before this house, close to the figure of the pointing man, that the weedy-looking burman who had come out of hartley's compound stopped for a moment or two. he did not appear to find anything to keep him there; the little man had nothing better to offer him than a closed door, and a closed door is a definite obstacle to anyone who is not a housebreaker, or the owner with a key in his pocket; so, at least, the burman seemed to think, for he passed on up the street towards the river end. from there to the colonnade where the chinese quarter began was a distance of half a by-street, and coryndon slid along, apologetically close to the wall. he avoided the policeman in his blue coat and high khaki turban, and his manner was generally inoffensive and harmless as he sneaked into the low entrance of leh shin's lesser curio shop. a large coloured lantern hung outside the inner room, and a couple of candles did honour to the infuriated joss who capered in colour on the wall. all the hidden vitality of the man seemed to live in every line of his lithe body as he looked in, but it subsided again as he entered, and he stared vacantly around him. there was no one in the shop but leh shin's assistant, who was finishing a meal of cold pork, and whose heavy shoulders worked with his jaws. he ceased both movements when coryndon entered, and continued again as he spoke, the flap of his tweed hat shaking like elephants' ears. he informed coryndon, who spoke to him in yunnanese, that leh shin was out, so that if he had anything to sell, he would arrange the details of the bargain, and if he wanted to buy, he could leave the price of the article with the trusted assistant of leh shin. it took coryndon some time to buy what he needed, which appeared to be nothing more interesting than a couple of old boxes. the burman needed these to pack a few goods in, as he meditated inhabiting the empty, rat-infested house next door but one to the shop of leh shin. upon hearing that they were to be neighbours, the assistant grew sulky and informed coryndon that trade was slack if he wished to sell anything, but his eyes grew crafty again when he was informed that his new acquaintance did not act for himself, but for a friend from madras, who having made much money out of a sahib, whose bearer he had been for some years, desired to open business in a small way with sweets and grain and such-like trifles, whereby to gain an honest living. the assistant glanced at the clock, when, after much haggling, the deal was concluded, and the burman knotted the remainder of his money in a small corner of his _loongyi_, and stood rubbing his elbows, looking at the chinaman, who appeared restless. "where shall i find leh shin?" the burman put the question suddenly. "in what house am i to seek him, assistant of the widower and the childless?" the boy leered and jerked his thumb towards the direction of the river. "closed to-night, follower of the way," he said with a smothered noise like a strangled laugh. "closed to-night. every door shut, every light hidden, and those who go and demand the dreams cannot pass in. i, only, know the password, since my master receives high persons." he spat on the floor. coryndon bowed his head in passive subjection. "none else know my quantity," he murmured. "these thieves in the lesser streets would mix me a poison and do me evil." the assistant scratched his head diligently and looked doubtfully at the burman. "and yet i cannot remember thy face." "i have been away up the big river. i have travelled far to that island, where i, with other innocent ones, suffered for no fault of mine." leh shin's assistant looked satisfied. if the burman were but lately returned from the convict settlement on the andaman islands, it was quite likely that he might not have been acquainted with him. to all appearances, the bargain being concluded, and leh shin being absent from the shop, there was nothing further to keep the customer, yet he made no sign of wishing to leave, and, after a little preamble, he invited the assistant to drink with him, since, he explained, he needed company and had taken a fancy to the chinese boy, who, in his turn, admitted to a liking for any man who was prepared to entertain him free of expense. leh shin's assistant could not leave the shop for another hour, so the burman, who did not appear inclined to wait so long, went out swiftly, and came back with a bottle of native spirit. fired by the fumes of the potent and burning alcohol, the chinaman became inquisitive, and wished to hear the details of the crime for which his new friend had so wrongfully suffered. he looked so evil, so greasy, and so utterly loathsome that he seemed to fascinate the burman, who rocked himself about and moaned as he related the story of his wrong. his words so excited the ghoulish interest of his listener that his bloated body quivered as he drank in the details. "and so ends the tale of his great evil; he that was my friend," said coryndon, rising from his heels as he finished his story. "the hour grows late and there is no comfort in the night, since i may not find oblivion." he passed his hand stupidly over his forehead. "my memory is lost, flapping like an owl in the sunlight; once the road to the house by the river lay before me as the lines upon my open palm, but now the way is no longer clear." "i have said that it is closed to-night, so none may enter. there is a password, but i alone know it, and i may not tell it, friend of an evil man." "there are other nights," whined the burman, "many of them in the passing of a year. when i have the knowledge of thee, then may i seek and find later." he rubbed his knees with an indescribable gesture of mean cringing. the chinese boy drank from the bottle and smacked his lips. "hear, then, thou convict," he said in a shrill hectoring voice. "by the way of paradise street, along the wharf and past the waste place where the tram-line ends and the houses stand far apart. of the houses of commerce, i do not speak; of the mat houses where the coringyhis live, i do not speak, but beyond them, open below to the water-snakes, and built above into a secret place, is the house we know of, but leh shin is not there for thee to-night, as i have already spoken." he felt in the pouch at his waist for a rank black cigar, which he pushed into his mouth and lighted with a sulphur match. "who fries the mud fish when he may eat roast duck?" he said, with a harsh cackle that made the burman start and stare at him. "_aie! aie!_ i do not understand thy words." the burman's face grew blank and he went to the door. "neither do you need to, son of a chained monkey," retorted the boy, full of strong liquor and arrogance. "but i tell thee, i and my mate, leh shin, hold more than money between the finger and the thumb,"--he pinched his forefinger against a mutilated thumb. "more than money, see, fool; thou understandest nothing, thy brain is left along with thy chains in the island which is known unto thee." "sleep well," said the burman. "sleep well, child of the heavens, i understand thee not at all," and with a limp shrug of his shoulders, he slid out of the narrow door into the night. coryndon gave one glance at the sky; the dawn was still far off, but in spite of this he ran up the deserted colonnade and walked quickly down paradise street, which was still awake and would be awake for hours. once clear of the lessening crowd and on to the wharf, he ran again; past the business houses, past the long quarter where the coringyhis and coolie-folk lived, and, lastly, with a slow, lurking step, to the close vicinity of a house standing alone upon high supports. he skirted round it, but to all appearances it was closed and empty, and he sat down behind a clump of rough elephant-grass and tucked his heels under him. his original idea, on coming out, had been merely to get into touch with leh shin, and make the way clear for his coming to the small, empty house close to the shop of the ineffectual curio dealer, and now he knew, through his fine, sharp instinct, that he was close upon the track of some mystery. it might have nothing to do with the disappearance of the christian boy, absalom, or it might be a thread from the hidden loom, but, in any case, coryndon determined to wait and see what was going to happen. he was well used to long waiting, and the oriental strain in his blood made it a matter of no effort with him. someone was hidden in the lonely house, some man who paid heavily for the privacy of the waterside opium den, and coryndon was determined to discover who that man was. the night was fair and clear, and the murmur of the tidal river gentle and soothing, and as he sat, well hidden by the clump of grass, he went over the events of the evening and thought of the face of leh shin's assistant. hartley had spoken of the bestial creature in tones of disgust, but hartley had not seen him to the same peculiar advantage. line by line, coryndon committed the face to his indelible memory, looking at it again in the dark, and brooding over it as a lover broods over the face of the woman he loves, but from very different motives. he was assured that no cruelty or wickedness that mortal brain could imagine would be beyond the act of this man, if opportunity offered, and he was attracted by the psychological interest offered to him in the study of such a mind. the ripples whispered below him, and, far away, he heard the chiming of a distant clock striking a single note, but he did not stir; he sat like a shadow, his eyes on the house, that rose black, silent, and, to all appearances, deserted, against the starry darkness of the sky. he had got his facts clear, so far as they went, and his mind wandered out with the wash of the water, and the mystery of the river flowed over him; the silent causeway leading to the sea, carrying the living on its bosom, and bearing the dead beneath its brown, sucking flow, full of its own life, and eternally restless as the sea tides ebbed and flowed, yet musical and wild and unchanged by the hand of man. coryndon loved moving waters, and he remembered that somewhere, miles away from mangadone, he had played along a river bank, little better than the small native children who played there now, and he saw the green jungle-clearing, the red road, and the roof of his father's bungalow, and he fancied he could hear the cry of the paddy-birds, and the voices of the water-men who came and went through the long, eventless days. even while he thought, he never moved his eyes from the house. suddenly a light glimmered for a moment behind a window, and he sat forward quickly, forgetting his dream, and becoming coryndon the tracker in the twinkling flash of a second. the inmates of the house were stirring at last, and coryndon lay flat behind his clump of grass and hardly breathed. he could hear a door open softly, and, though it was too dark to discern anything, he knew that there was a man on the veranda, and that the man slipped down the staircase, where he stood for a moment and peered about. he moved quietly up the path and watched it for a few minutes, and then slid back into the house again. coryndon could hear whispers and a low, growled response, and then another figure appeared, a sahib this time, by his white clothes. he used no particular caution, and came heavily down the staircase, that creaked under his weight, and took the track by which coryndon had come. silhouetted against the sky, coryndon saw the head and neck of a chinaman, and he turned his eyes from the man on the path to watch this outline intently; it was thin, spare and vulture-like. evidently leh shin was watching his departing guest with some anxiety, for he peered and craned and leaned out until coryndon cursed him from where he lay, not daring to move until he had gone. at last the silhouette was withdrawn and the chinaman went back into the house. he had hardly done so when coryndon was on his feet, running hard. he ran lightly and gained the road just as the man he followed turned the corner by wharf street and plodded on steadily. in the darkness of the night there are no shadows thrown, but this man had a shadow as faithful as the one he knew so well and that was his companion from sunrise to sunset, and close after him the poor, nameless burman followed step for step through the long path that ended at the house of joicey the banker. coryndon watched him go in, heard him curse the _durwan_, and then he ran once more, because the stars were growing pale and time was precious. he was weary and tired when he crept into the compound outside the sleeping bungalow on the hill-rise, and he stood at the gate and gave a low, clear cry, the cry of a waking bird, and a few minutes afterwards coryndon followed joicey's example and cursed the _durwan_, kicking him as he lay snoring on his blanket. "open the door, you swine," he said in the angry voice of a belated reveller, "and don't wake the house with that noise." even when he was in his room and delivered himself over to the ministrations of shiraz, he did not go to bed. he had something to think over. he knew that he had established the connection between joicey the banker and the spare, gaunt chinaman who kept a shop for miscellaneous wares in the dark colonnade beyond paradise street. joicey had a short memory: he had forgotten whether he had met the rev. francis heath on the night of the th of july, and had imagined that he was not there, that he was away from mangadone; and as coryndon dropped off to sleep, he felt entirely convinced that, if necessary, he could help joicey's memory very considerably. xiv tells how shiraz, the punjabi, admitted the frailties of ordinary humanity, and how coryndon attended afternoon service and considered the vexed question of temperament. the day following coryndon's vigil outside the lonely house by the river was dull and grey, with a woolly sky and a tepid stillness that hung like a tangible weight in the air. its drowsiness affected even the native quarter, but it in no way lessened the bustle of preparations for departure on the part of coryndon, who ordered shiraz to pack enough clothes for a short journey, and to hold himself in readiness to leave with his master shortly after sunrise the following day. his master also gave him leave to go to the bazaar and return at his own discretion, as he was going out with hartley sahib. it was about noon, when the sun had struggled clear of the heavy clouds, that shiraz found himself in the dark colonnade locking an empty house behind him with his own key, and, being a stately, red-bearded follower of the prophet, with a general appearance of wealth and dignity, he walked slowly until he came to the doorway of leh shin's shop. his step caused the chinaman to look up from the string bed where he lay, gaunt, yellow and unsavoury, his dark clothes contrasting with the flowing white garments of the venerable man who regarded him through his spectacles. "the hand of allah has led me to this place," said shiraz in his low, reflective tones. "i seek for a little prayer-mat and a few bowls of brass for my food; likewise, a bed for myself, and a bed of lesser value for my companion. hast thou these things, leh shin?" leh shin went into his back premises and returned with the bowls and the prayer-mat. "the bed for thyself, o haj, and the bed of lesser value for thy friend, i shall make shift to procure. presently i will send my assistant, the eyes of my encroaching age, to bring what you need." "it is well," said shiraz, who was seated on a low stool near the door, and who looked with contemplative eyes into the shop. leh shin huddled himself on to the string couch again, and the slow process of bargain-driving began. pice by pice they argued the question, and at last shiraz produced a handful of small coin, which passed from him to the chinaman. "i had already heard of thee," said leh shin, scratching his loose sleeves with his long, claw-like fingers. "but thy friend, the burman, who spoke beforehand of thy coming, and who still recalls the mixture of his opium pipe, i cannot remember." he hunched his shoulders. "yet even that is not strange. my house by the river is a house of many faces, yet all who dream wear the same face in the end," his voice crooned monotonously. "all in the end, from living in the world of visions, become the same." shiraz bowed his head with grave courtesy. "it was also told to me that you served a rich master and have stored up wealth." "the way of honesty is never the path to wealth," responded shiraz, in tones of reproof. "so it is written in the koran." leh shin accepted the ambiguous reply with an unmoved face. "thy friend is under the hand of devils?" he put the remark as an idle question. "he is tormented," replied shiraz, pulling at his beard. "he is much driven by thoughts of evil, committed, such is his dream, by another than himself; and yet the _sirkar_ hath said that the crime was his own. the ways of allah are veiled, and mah myo is without doubt no longer reasonable; yet he is my friend, and doth greatly profit thereby." "ah, ah," said the chinaman, placing a hubble-bubble before his guest, who condescended to shut the mouthpiece in under his long moustache, while he sat silently for nearly half an hour. "dost thou sell beautiful things, leh shin?" he asked. "i have a gift to bestow, and my mind troubles me. the lady sahib of my late master suffered misfortune. she was robbed by some unknown son of a jackal, and thereby lost jewels, the value of which was said to be great, though i know not of the value of such things." leh shin curled his bare toes on the edge of his bed and looked at them with a great appearance of interest. "was the thief taken, o son of a prophet?" "he was not. i have cried in the veranda, to see the lady sahib's sorrow, and i have also prayed and made many offerings at the mosque, but the thief escaped. now that my service with the lord sahib is finished, and as he has assisted my poverty with small gifts, i would like to make a present to the lady sahib. some trifling thing, costing a small sum in rupees, for her grief was indeed great, and it may avail to console her sorrow." "for which sorrow thou, also, wept in the veranda," added leh shin. "the lady sahib had many bowls of lacquer, some green, some red, some spotted like the back of a poison snake, but she lacked a golden bowl, and, should i be able to procure one for a moderate price, it would add greatly to her pleasure in remembering her servant, for, says not the wise one, 'a gift is a small thing, but the hand that holds it may not be raised to smite.'" shiraz, all the time he was speaking, had regarded the chinaman from behind his respectable gold-rimmed spectacles, and he noticed that leh shin did not seem to care for the subject of lacquer, for his face darkened and he stopped scratching. "i deal not in lacquer," he said quickly. "neither touch thou the accursed thing, o shiraz. leave it to mhtoon pah, who is a sorcerer and whose lies mount as high as the topmost pinnacle of the pagoda." the chinaman's lips drew back from his teeth, and he snarled like a dog. "i will not speak of him to thee, but i would that the face of mhtoon pah was under my heel, and his eyeballs under my thumbs." "yet this golden bowl has been in my thought," the voice of shiraz flowed on evenly. "and i said that here, in mangadone, i might find such an one. thou art sure that lacquer is accursed to thine eyes, leh shin? that thou hast not such a bowl by thee, neither that thy assistant, when he seeks the bed for myself and the lesser bed for my friend, could not look craftily into the shop of this merchant, and ask the price as he passeth, if so be that mhtoon pah has such a bowl to sell?" leh shin spat ferociously. "there was a bowl, a bowl such as you describe, o servant of kings, and i thought to procure it, for word was brought me that mhtoon pah had need of it, and i desired to hold it before him and withdraw it again, and to inspire his covetousness and rage and then to sell it from my own hand, but he leagues with devils and his power is great, for, behold, honourable haj, the bowl that was mine was lost by the man from the seas who was about to sell it to me. lost, in all truth, and after the lapse of many days, mhtoon pah had it in his shop, and sold it to the lady sahib." "the hands of a man of wealth are more than two," said shiraz oracularly. "nay, not so, for all thy learning, pilgrim from the shrine of mahomet. the hands of this merchant, at the time i speak, were as my hands, or thine," he held out his claws and snatched at the air as though it was his enemy's throat. "for his boy, his assistant, the christian absalom, who served him well, and whom mhtoon pah fed upon sweets from the vendor's stall, was suddenly taken from him, and has vanished, like the smoke of an opium pipe." shiraz expressed wonder, and agreed with leh shin that sorcery had been used, shaking his head gravely and at length rising to his feet. "the shadows lengthen and the hour of prayer draws near. it is time for the follower of the prophet to give a poor man's alms at the gate of the mosque, and to pray and praise," he said. "thy assistant tarries, leh shin; let him go forth with speed and place my purchase in thy keeping, since i met thee in a happy hour, and shall return upon the morrow from the _serai_, where it is allah's will that i pass the night in peace." walking with a slow, regular pace, he left the native quarter, and taking a tram, got out on the road below the bungalow where hartley's servant waited in the veranda. "thy sahib has cursed thy beard and thine age, and says that he will replace thee with a younger man if thy dealings in the bazaar are of such long duration." "peace, owl," said shiraz. "the sahib can no more travel without my assistance than a babe of one day without his mother. presently, when the sahib has drunk a peg, he will return to reason." "the sahib is not within; he has but now gone out once more, asking from my sahib for the loan of a prayer-book. doubtless, there is a _tamasha_ at the 'kerfedril,' and coryndon sahib goes thither to pray." "i shall place the buttons in his shirt, and recover an eight-anna piece from the floor, which the master dropped yesterday, to deliver to him when he shall return. seek to be honest in thy youth, my son, for in later life it will repay thee." hartley's boy had not been mistaken when he heard coryndon ask for a prayer-book and saw him go out on foot. the small persistent bell outside st. jude's church was ringing with desperate energy to collect any worshippers who might feel inclined to assemble there for evensong, and the worshippers when collected under the tin roof numbered nearly a dozen. it was a bare, barn-like church, for the wealth of the cantonment had flowed in the direction of the cathedral. the punkah mats flapped languidly, and the lower part of the church was dark, only the chancel being lighted with ungainly punkah-proof lamps, and the two altar candles that threw their gleam on a plain gold cross, guttered in the heat. a strip of cocoa-nut matting lay along the aisle, and the chancel and altar steps were covered in sad, faded red. the organist did not attend except on sundays or feast days, and the service was plain, conducted throughout by the rev. francis heath. coryndon took a seat about half-way up the nave, and when heath came into the church, he watched him with interest. he liked to watch a man, whom it was his business to study, without being disturbed, and heath's face in profile, as he knelt at the reading desk, or in full sight as he stood to read the lesson, attracted the fixed gaze of, at least, one member of the small congregation. there was no sermon and the service was short, and as he sat quietly in his place, coryndon wondered what frenzied moment of fear or despair could have driven this man into the company of joicey and mrs. draycott wilder, unconscious perhaps of their connection with him, but linked nevertheless by an invisible thread that wound around them all. beyond the fact that he had seen mrs. wilder, he had not taken her under the close observation of his mental microscope. she stood on one side until such time as he should have need to probe into her reasons for silence, and he wondered if hartley was right, and if, by chance, the earnest face of the clergyman, with its burning, stricken eyes, had appealed to her sympathy. could it be so, he asked himself once or twice, but the immediate question was the one that coryndon gave his mind to answer, and just then he was forming an impression of the rev. francis heath. he looked at his hands, at his thin neck, at the hollows in his cheeks and the emotional quiver at the corner of his mouth, and he knew the man was a fanatic, a civilized fanatic, but desperately and even horribly in earnest. a believer in torment, a man who held the vigorous faith that makes for martyrdom and can also pile wood for the fires that burn the bodies of others for the eventual welfare of their souls. unquestionably, the rev. francis heath was a man not to be judged by an average inch rule, and coryndon thought over him as he listened to his voice and watched his strained, tempest-tossed face. whether he was involved in the disappearance of absalom or not, he recognized that heath was a strong man, and that his ill-balanced force would need very little to make him a violent man. it surprised him less to think that hartley attached suspicion to the rector of st. jude's than it had at first, and he left the church with a very clear impression of the clergyman put carefully away beside his appreciation of leh shin's assistant. he had caught just a glimpse of the personality of the man, and was busy building it up bit by bit, working out his idea by first trying to fathom the temperament that dwelt in the spare body and drove and wore him hour after hour. the rev. francis heath had paid some chinaman to keep silence, but though he might pay a chinaman, he could do nothing with his own conscience, and it was with a hidden adversary that he wrestled day and night. coryndon's face was pitiless as the face of a vivisecting surgeon. had she known of his mission, mrs. wilder might have beaten her beautiful head on the stones under his feet, and she would have gained nothing whatever of concession or mercy. atkins and the barrister were dining with hartley that night, and as coryndon never cared to hurry over his dressing, he went at once to his room and called shiraz. "all is well, my master," said shiraz, in a low voice. "but it would be wise if the master were to curse his servant in a loud voice, since it is expected that he will do so, and the monkey-folk in the servants' quarter listen without, concealing their pleasure in the sahib's wrath." when the proceedings terminated and coryndon had accepted his servant's long excuse for his delay, the doors were closed, shiraz having first gone out to shake his fist at hartley's boy. "thus much have i discovered, lord sahib," said shiraz, when he had explained that the house was in readiness and the necessary furniture bought and stored temporarily at the shop of leh shin, the chinaman. "there is an old hate between these two men, he of the devil shop, and the chinaman, a hate as old as rust that eats into an iron bar." coryndon lay back in his chair and listened without remark. "among many lies told unto me, that is true; and again, among many lies, it is also true that he had not, neither did he ever possess, the gold lacquer bowl, on the subject of which my master bade me question him. he knows not how mhtoon pah found it, but he believes that it was through a sorcery he practised, for the man is as full of evil as the chatti lifted from the brink of the well is full of water." coryndon smiled and glanced at shiraz. "and you think so also, grandson of a tucktoo, for though you are old, your white hairs bring you no wisdom." "i am the sahib's servant, but who knoweth the ways of devils, since their footprints cannot be seen, neither upon the sand of the desert nor in the snows of the great hills?" "did he speak of absalom?" "he told me, protector of the poor, that the boy, though of christian caste, was to mhtoon pah as the apple of his eye, and that he fed him upon sweets from the vendor's stall. let it be said, for thy wisdom to unravel, that therefore leh shin felt mirth in his mind, knowing that the heart of his foe was wrung as the _dhobie_ wrings the soiled garment." shiraz fell silent and looked up from the floor at the face of his master, who got up and stretched himself. "is my bath ready, shiraz?" "all is prepared, though the _pani walla_, a worker of iniquity, steals the wood for his own burning; therefore, the water is not hot, and ill is done to the good name of hartley sahib's house." when he was dressed he strolled into the drawing-room, and sat down at the piano, playing softly until hartley came in. "shall you be away long, do you suppose?" he asked, looking with interest at coryndon's smooth, black head. "i may be, but it is impossible to tell. if i want you, i will send a message by shiraz." the dinner passed off without incident, and not once did coryndon open the secret door of his mind, to add to the strange store of facts he had gathered there. he wanted nothing from atkins, who knew less of the rev. francis heath than he did himself, and he had to sustain his rôle of ignorance of the country. the two men stayed late, and it seemed to coryndon that when men talk they do more than talk, they tell many things unconsciously. perhaps, if people realized, as coryndon realized, the value of restrained speech, we should know less of our neighbours' follies and weaknesses than we do. there was a noticeable absence of interest in what anyone else had to say. atkins had his own foible, fitzgibbon his, and hartley, who knew more of the ways of men, a more interesting, but not less egoistic platform from which he desired to speak. they seemed to stalk naked and unashamed before the eyes of the one man who never gave a definite opinion, and who never asserted his own theories or urged his own philosophy of life. coryndon listened because it amused him faintly, but he was glad when the party broke up and they left. what a planet of words it was, he thought, as he sat in his room and reflected over the day. words that ought to carry value and weight, but were treated like so many loose pebbles cast into void space; and he wondered as he thought of it; and from wondering at the wordy, noisy world in which he found himself, he went on to wonder at the greater silence that was so much more powerful than words. "the value of mystery," was the phrase that presented itself to his mind. during the evening, three men had enjoyed all the pleasure of self-betrayal, and, from the place where he stood, unable ever to express anything of his own nature in easy speech, he wondered at them, with almost childlike astonishment. fitzgibbon, garrulous and loose of tongue, atkins, precise and easily heated to wrath, conscious of some hidden fear that his dignity was not sufficiently respected, and hartley, who had something to say, but who oversaid it, losing grip because of his very insistence. not one of them understood the value of reserve, and all alike strove to proclaim themselves in speech, not knowing that speech is an unsound vehicle for the unwary, and that personality disowns it as a medium. out of the mouth of a man comes his own condemnation: let him prosper who remembers this truth. the value of mystery, the value of silence, and above all things, the supreme value of a tongue that is a servant and not a master; coryndon considered these values and wondered again at the garrulity of men. talk, the fluid, ineffectual force that fills the world with noise, that kills illusions and betrays every latent weakness; surely the high gods laughed when they put a tongue in the mouth of man. he pinched his lips together and his eyes lighted with a passing smile of mirth. "in burma, there are no clappers to the bells," he said to himself. "each man must strike hard before sound answers to his hand, and truly it is well to think of this at times." and, still amused by the fleeting memory of the evening, he went to bed and slept. xv in which the furthering of a strange comradeship is continued, and a beggar from amritzar cries in the streets of mangadone trade was slack in the shop of leh shin, the chinaman. he had sat in the odorous gloom and done little else than feel his arms and rub his legs, for the greater part of the day. his new acquaintance, shiraz, had taken over possession of his goods, scrutinizing them with care before he did so, in case the brass pots had been exchanged in the night for inferior pots of smaller circumference, and in the end he had departed into his own rat-burrow, two doors up the street, where his friend the burman was already established in a gloomy corner. leh shin heard of this through his assistant, who had followed the coolie into the house, and investigated the premises as he stood about, with offers of assistance for his excuse. "they have naught with them, save only a box that has no lock upon it, and also the boxes bought from thy shop, leh shin, but these are empty, for i looked closely, when they talked in the hither room, where they are minded to live. jewels, didst thou say? then that fox with the red beard has sold them and the money is stored in some place of security." "ah, ah," said the chinaman, his eyes dull and fixed. "and 'ah, ah' to thee," retorted the assistant, who found the response lacking in interest. "i would i knew where it was hidden." with a sudden change of manner he squatted near the ear of leh shin and talked in a soft whisper. "is not the time ripe, o wise old man, is not the hour come when thou mayst go to the house of the white sahib and demand a piece for closed lips?" he pursed up his small mouth and pointed at it. leh shin shook his head. "i am already paid, and i will not demand further, lest he, whom we know of, come no more. drive not the spent of strength; since the price is sufficient, i may not demand more, lest i sin in so doing." the assistant glared at him with angry eyes. "fool, and thrice fool," he muttered under his breath, but leh shin did not heed him, and did not even appear to hear what he said. for a long time the old chinaman seemed wrapped in his thought, and at last he got up, and leaving the shop, went towards the principal joss house that faced the river. coryndon had chosen the empty shop in the colonnade for two reasons. it was near leh shin, and near the strange assistant, who interested him nearly as much as leh shin himself, and also it had the additional advantage of being the last house in the block. a narrow alley full of refuse of every description lay between it and the next block, and the rickety house had doors that opened to the front, and to the side, and by way of a dark lane directly from the back, making ingress or egress a matter of wide choice. the shop front was shuttered, and left to the rats and cockroaches, and up a flight of decrepit and shaky stairs, shiraz had made what shift he could to provide comfort for his master in the least dilapidated room in the house. the walls were thin, and the plaster of the low ceiling was smoke-grimed and dirty. the "bed of lesser value" was stored away in the garret that lay beyond, and the prayer-mat was placed alongside the toil-worn wooden _charpoy_, that was at least fairly clean and had all four legs intact; and under this bed, the box that held a strange assortment of clothing was put safely away. at the bottom of another box, one of those bought by coryndon himself from leh sin's assistant, shiraz had laid a suit of tussore silk, a few shirts and collars, and anything that his master might require if he wished to revisit those "glimpses of the moon" in the cantonments; for shiraz neglected nothing, and had a genius for detail. a hurricane lamp, that threw impartial light upon all sides, stood on a round table, and lighted the small room, and at one corner coryndon sat, clad in his burmese _loongyi_ and white coat, thinking, his chin on his folded hands. he had taught himself to think without paper or pens, and to record his impressions with the same diligent care as though he wrote them upon paper. he could command his thoughts, and direct them towards one end and one issue, and he believed that notes were an abomination, and that, in his service, memory was the only safe recorder of progress. he was fully aware that he was hunting what might well be a cold line, and he thought persistently of leh shin, putting the other possible issues upon one side. hartley had allowed himself to be dominated by a predisposition to account for everything through heath, and coryndon warned himself against falling into the same snare with leh shin. he thought of the chinaman's shop, and he knew that it was built on the same plan as his own dwelling. there was no basement, and hardly any room beyond the open ground-floor apartment and the two upper rooms. nowhere, in fact, to conceal anything; and its thin walls could not contain a single cry for help or prayer for mercy. it was possible to have drugged the boy and smothered him as he lay unconscious, but unless the murderers had chosen this method, absalom could not have met his end in the chinaman's shop. there remained the house by the river to investigate, and there remained hours and days, and possibly weeks, of close watching, that might reveal some tiny clue, and for that coryndon was determined to wait and watch until it lay in the hollow of his palm. acting the part of a man more or less astray in his wits, he wandered out either late or early, with the vague, aimless step of a dreamer, and stood about, staring vacantly. leh shin's shop attracted him, and he would squat on the ground either just outside the narrow entrance, or just within, and, with flaccid, dropping mouth, stare at the hanging array of secondhand clothes, making himself a source of endless entertainment for the boy, who found him easy to annoy and distress, and consequently practised upon him with unwearying pleasure. "wise one, where are the jewels stolen by thy master?" he asked, throwing the dregs of his drink over the burman's bare feet. "jewels, jewels? nay, friend, jewels are for the rich; for the raj and the prince; i have never seen one to hold in my hand and to consider closely. as for the punjabi, he is no master of mine. i did him a service--nay, i have forgotten what the service was, as i forget all things, save only the guilt of the evil man, once my friend." "tell me once more thy story." the burman cowered down and whimpered. "since i put it into speech for thy ears, my trouble of mind has grown, like moonlight in the mist. i may not speak it again. they, yonder, would hear," he pointed at the clothes, that napped a little in the hot, heavy wind that came in strong with the scents and smells of the bazaar. "oh, oh," said the boy, with a crackling laugh. "i will tell them not to speak or stir. i have power over them, and they shall repeat nothing. tell me the story, fool, or i will drive thee from thy corner, and the children shall throw mud upon thee in the streets." again and again the drama was repeated, and as coryndon became part of the day's amusement to leh shin's assistant, he grew to know exactly what both the boy and his master did during the hours of the day. unknown and unsuspected, the burman went in and out as they went in and out. he appeared at the house by the river, he sat with his legs dangling over the drop from the colonnade into the streets, and he wore out the hours in idleness, the dust of the bazaar powdering his hair and griming his face, but behind his vacant eyes, his quick brain was alive and burning, and he felt after leh shin with invisible hands. coryndon was never at the mercy of one idea only, and he began to see, very soon after he had investigated the two houses--the ramshackle shop and the riverside den--that if he intended to progress he could not afford to sit in the street and drink in the café opposite leh shin's dwelling for an interminable space of weeks. he had limitless patience, but he was quick of action, and saw any flaw in his own system as soon as a flaw appeared. leh shin was suspicious, and took precautions when he went out at night, and this in itself made it dangerous to be continually upon his heels in a character he knew and could recognize. so long as there was anything to gain by remaining in his burmese clothing, coryndon used it, avoiding the chinaman and cultivating the society of his assistant, but he soon began to realize that if he were to follow as closely as he desired, he could not do so in his present disguise. all day he sat watching the crowded street, shivering, though the sun was warm, and breaking his silence with complaints that the fever was upon him, and that he was sick, and that he could not eat. he whimpered and whined so persistently that the assistant drove him off, for he feared infection, and fancied he might be sickening for the plague. "neither come thou hither, until thou art fully recovered," he added, "lest i use my force upon thee." if a certain beggar who had sat for a whole month outside the golden temple at amritzar was to become reincarnated in the person of the idiot burman, the burman must have a reason to offer to the inquisitive for his temporary absence. sickness is sudden and active in the streets of any bazaar, and when shiraz learnt that he was to keep within the house and report the various stages of the fever of his friend, he salaamed and drew out the battered box from under the bed, and folded away the _loongyi_ and coat with care. coryndon explained his plan of coming and going when the streets were silent, and when he could do so without being noticed. if he came in the daytime and asked for alms, shiraz was to open and call him in to receive food, but he would only do this in great emergency, as the beggar did not wish to establish any connection with the punjabi. if, on the other hand, it was a matter of necessity for the burman to reappear, shiraz was to walk along the street and bestow alms in the beggar's bowl; and on the first opportunity coryndon would return and make the necessary change. the first difficulty was to get out of the house, and to be in the street by twilight, when the close operation of watching would have to begin. "the doors of the merciful are ever open to the poor; yet there is great danger in going out by the way of the bazaar." "there is a closed door at the back that i have well prepared," said coryndon, pulling a bit of sacking over his bent shoulders. "remember that an oiled hinge opens like the mouth of a wise man." the addition of one to the brotherhood of vagrancy that is part of every eastern bazaar calls the attention of no one, and being a newcomer, coryndon contented himself with accepting a pitch in a district where alms were difficult to obtain and small in value, but his humility did not keep him there long, and he made a place for himself at the top of paradise street, in the shadow of an arched doorway, where a house with carved shutters and horseshoe windows was slowly mouldering through the first stages of decay. from here he could see down the colonnade, and also watch the shop of mhtoon pah, as he alternately cursed or blessed the passers, according to their gifts or their apathy. the heavy, slouching figure of the assistant went by to take up his master's place in the waterside house, and the beggar wasted no time in glancing after him. he knew his destination, and had no need to trouble about the ungainly, walloping creature, who kicked him as he passed. it was fresh, out in the street, and pleasant, and in spite of his musty rags and his hidden face, coryndon enjoyed the change of occupation. he saw the place much as it had been on the evening of july the th. mhtoon pah came out and sat on his chair, smoking a cheroot, and observing the street. in a good humour it would appear, for when the beggar cringed past and sent up his plea for assistance, the curio dealer felt in his pouched waist-sash and threw him a coin. "be it requited to thee in thy next life, o shrine-builder," murmured the beggar, and he squatted down on the ground a little further on. he saw shiraz come out and stand at the door, preparatory to setting forth to the mosque. saw him lock it carefully and proceed slowly and with great dignity through the crowd. he passed close to the beggar, but took no notice of him, lifting his garments lest they should touch him, and for this the beggar cursed him, to the entertainment of those who listened. blue shadows like wraiths of smoke enfolded the street at the far end, and the clatter and noise grew stronger as the houses filled after the day of toil. in one of the prosperous dwellings a gramophone was set near the window, and the song floated out over the street, the music-hall chorus from the merchant's house mingled in with the cry of vendors hawking late wares at cheap prices. a hundred years ago, except for the gramophone and an occasional _gharry_, the street might have been the same. the same amber light that held only a short while after sunset, the same blue misty shadows, the same concourse of colour and caste, the same talk of food, and the same idle, loitering and inquisitive crowd. coryndon watched it with eyes of love. half of his nature belonged to this place and was part of it. he understood their idleness, their small pleasures, their kindness and their cruelty; and though the dominance of the white race was strongest in him, he loved these half-brothers of his because he understood them. two young _hypongyi_ came past where he sat, and as they had nothing else to give, gave him their blessing and a look of pity. "he did ill in his former life," said the elder of the two. "the balance is adjusted thus, and only thus." "great is the justice of the law," replied the other, rubbing his shaven crown reflectively, and then some noise of music or laughter attracted them and they ran up the street to see what it might be, for they were young, and there was no reason why they should not enjoy simple pleasures. coryndon knew that leh shin would certainly go to the joss house that night, and he knew that upon these occasions the chinaman prayed long, and that it would be dark before he entered the place of worship. for another hour his time was free to watch the street, and without attaching any particular consequence to the fact, he saw mhtoon pah get up, rub his hands on his knees and lift his chair inside the door, which he closed with a noise of dragging chains and creaking bolts. slowly the last gleam withdrew, and the dust lost its effect of amber, and the trees grew dark, and little whispering winds clapped the palm leaves one on another with a dry, barking sound. children still screamed and played, and dogs yelped and offered to show fight, and still people on foot came and went, and the dusk drew down a veil and the greater noise subsided into a lower key. the beggar was no longer there, his place was empty and he had gone. xvi in which leh shin is breathed upon by a joss, and experiences the terror of a man who touches the veil behind which the immortals dwell. of all the savage desires that riot in the hearts of men, the lust of revenge is probably the strongest. civilization has done its best to control and curb wild impulse; but as long as a cruel wrong rankles, or a fierce longing to square an old account remains, there will be hands thrust out to take the naked sword of the lord into their own finite grasp, and there will be men who will be content to pay the price so that they may see the desire of their eyes. the oriental has above the white races an illimitable patience in awaiting his hour for retribution, for the heart of the east does not forget and can hold a purpose silently through the dust-blown, sunlit years, waiting for the dawn of the appointed day. when leh shin set out towards the joss house, he was repeating a procedure that had become constant with him of late. he knew that a joss was revengeful and terrible in matters of hate, therefore his prayer would be understood in the strange region of power where the great ones dwelt. his religion was a mixture of the teachings of buddha, confucius, and shinto, for long absence from his own country and constant association with the burmese and japanese had blended and confused the original belief that he had learnt in far-away canton. to this basis was added the grossest form of superstition, and the wildest fancies of a brain muddled with the fumes of opium, but the one thing clear to him was, that a joss, though an immortal being, was able to comprehend hatred. the gods punished terribly, slaying with plague and pestilence, destroying life by flood and years of famine, and so leh shin knew that they were very like men, taking full advantage of their fearful power and punishing the smallest neglect with the utmost rigour. he could appeal to a great invisible cruel brain and demand assistance for his own limited desire for revenge, knowing that it was an attribute of those whose help he sought, but he went in fear, with pricking nerves, because his belief was strong in the power of the monsters he worshipped. the joss house stood in a wide street near the river; a stone courtyard separated it from the thoroughfare, and the building itself was raised on a terrace, led up to by two shallow flights of steps. the roof was a marvel of sea-green mosaic, coiled over by dragons with flaming red tongues and staring glass eyes, each dragon a wonder of fretted fins and ivory teeth and claws. upon each of the three roofs was set relief mosaic, of beautiful workmanship, representing houses and ships and bridges, with tiny men and women, and little trees, all as small as a child's plaything, but complete, proportioned and entire. huge stone pillars covered with devils and crawling lizards supported the long portico that ran the full length of the building, and between each pillar an immense paper lantern gleamed like a dim moon. leh shin stood outside for a few moments and then plunged in, like a man who is not sure of his nerve and cannot afford to wait too long lest his determination to face what lay inside should fail him. on feast days the joss house was a gay place, full of lights and people crowding in and out, and there was no room for fear, for even a joss is not alarming in company with many men, but when leh shin went in, the place was deserted, and it seemed to him that the unseen power was terribly near in the darkness. it was a vast, lofty building inside, supported by gold pillars and black pillars, and in the centre near the door was a tank-shaped well where pots of flowering plants and palms were set with no particular eye to regularity or effect. as they shivered and rustled in the dark, they were full of a suggestion of the fear that made leh shin's heart as cold as a stone in a deep pool. raised on a jade plinth, a low round pillar stood directly in front of the rose-red curtains that were drawn across the sanctuary space, and on the top of the pillar a bronze jar held one scented stick, that burned slowly, like a winking, drowsy eye, its slow spiral of incense creeping up into the air and losing itself in the high arches of the pointed roof. between the pillar and the sanctuary itself, was a small table covered with an embroidered shawl, worked in spangles that glittered and shone, and beneath the table were a number of smooth stones. leh shin locked his hands together and passed up the aisle, close to where the palm trees rustled and stirred, and fear was upon him like that of a hungry dog. he crossed a line of light cast by some candles, and it seemed to him that the curtains moved as he approached. the joss house was apparently empty, and yet it did not seem empty. invisible eyes watched behind the carved screens that shut out the priests' houses on either side, invisible ears might easily catch the lowest whisper of his prayer. soundless impressions of moving things that had no shape haunted his consciousness, and he started in panic as his own shadow fell before him when he stepped across the burning candles and slid into the close alley between the table and the shrine. he bent down suddenly and, feeling on the cold marble of the floor, took up two of the stones and beat them together with the loud clapping noise which proclaimed a suppliant. bowed in the close space, he repeated his prayer the requisite number of times, and it seemed to leh shin that the joss heard and accepted: the joss who took visible shape in his mind, with a face half-human and half-bestial, and who capered with a drawn sword in his hand. over his head the heavy curtains swayed again, and the tittering noise from a nest of bats sounded like ghostly laughter. his prayer had drawn power to his aid, out of the unknown place where the gods live, and loosed it in response to his cry. he was only leh shin, a poor chinaman who kept a miserable shop in the native quarter and an opium den down where the river water choked and gurgled at night, but he felt that he had touched something in the terrible shadows, and once more he beat the stones together, his face pouring with sweat. as the noise echoed up again, the last candle fell dying into a yellow pool of melted wax, and went out with an expiring flicker; and leh shin beat his hands against the darkness that shut upon him like a wall. he sprang to his feet and ran, and as he went wings seemed to bear down behind him. there was terror alive in the joss house, and before that terror he fled panting and trembling, fearful that hands would close upon his black garments and drag him back, holding him until he went mad. as he made for the door he fancied he saw a shadowy form move in the gloom and clear his path, and it added the last touch of panic to his mind. he leaned against an outer pillar for support, and gradually the noise of the street drew him back again to reality and to the solid facts of life once more. he had been badly scared, for in some cases when nothing that can be expressed in words takes place, an infinitely greater thing, that no words can express, has occurred mentally. to leh shin's bewildered mind it was clear that he had actually felt a joss breathe upon him, and that he had heard its footsteps follow him across the marble floor; the joss who had shaken the curtains and extinguished the candles. still bewildered, leh shin crossed the courtyard and sat down on the kerb; his head swam and he felt along his legs with shaking hands. a belated fruit seller went by, and he bought a handful of dates, stuck on a small rod and looking like immense beetles, and as he ate his confidence in life gradually returned. the joss was at a safe distance in his house and there was the street to give courage to his heart; the street where men walked safe and secure, and where a worse fear than the fear of death did not prowl secretly. after a little while, he got up from the stifling dust and walked slowly on. the streets flared with lights and the gold letters painted large on signboards in huge chinese characters shone out, making a brave show. there were open restaurants where he could have gone in, and there were houses of entertainment, hung with paper lanterns, that invited passers with a sound of music, but leh shin continued his mechanical walk, having another purpose in his mind. he turned out of the lighted glare of the shops and struck along a back alley, where one street lamp gave the sole illumination, and stopping at a low, arched door cut deep in a wall, he knocked and was admitted. inside the entrance was another door heavily clamped with iron, which gave admission down a long, narrow passage to a room beyond. it was a small room, not unlike a prison, with heavy iron bars against the corridors, and it was quite bare of furniture except for two deal tables, around which a crowd of men stood playing for money with impassive faces and greedy, grasping hands. there was no mixture of race among the men who gambled; they were all chinese, most of them clad in indigo-blue trousers and tight vests, though some of them wore white shirts and rakish straw hats. the young men had close-clipped hair and looked like clever bull-terriers, but the older men wore long pigtails wound round their heads in black, rope-like coils. the noise of dominoes thrown out by the man who held the bank and the rattle of dice were almost the only sounds in the room. under one table there was a small shrine, where a diminutive joss presided over the fortunes of chance, but leh shin did not go to it as was his usual habit before he began to play. he even eyed it uneasily and kept at the further end of the room. he played with varying success for an hour, for two hours, and the third hour was running out before he shuffled off down the close passage, his scanty winnings tied in the corner of a rag stuffed into his belt, and was let out through the heavily barred doors into the street. the alley-way was deserted, and leh shin went down the kennel into the open place with the walk of a man who has something definite to do. a beggar, who had been sitting huddled under the wall of a house opposite, craned his neck out of the shadows, and followed him quickly. leh shin had passed this last hour deliberately, so as to bring himself to some appointed place neither earlier nor later than he desired to get there, and coryndon woke to the excitement of the chase again as he followed along the colonnade. it was easy to walk quickly under the roof that ran from the entrance down to the turn that led into paradise street, and leh shin did not even pause as he passed his own doorway but made on rapidly until he came out at the far end. the hour was very late, and the street silent. a drop in the temperature had driven the sleepers who usually preferred the open to the closeness of walls, within, and the whole double row of houses slept with gaping windows and open doors. mhtoon pah's curio shop was entirely closed. every window had outer shutters fastened, and no gleam of light showed anywhere, up or down the high narrow front. when leh shin stopped in front of the doorway the beggar sat down opposite to him a little further down the street, his head bowed on his bosom. he watched leh shin prowl carefully round and climb with monkey-like agility from the rails to the window-ledge, where he peered in through the shutters, raising a broken lath to see into the interior. coryndon watched him with intent interest. the night was moonless, he knew that if a match were struck in the interior of the shop it would shine through the raised lath, and it was for that sight that his eyes strained and ached with intense concentration. the patience of the chinaman made coryndon feel that he was watching for something definite to happen, and at length a yellow bar cut suddenly across the dark. coryndon's heart beat so loud that he feared its sound might be heard across the narrow street, and he gripped his hands together. the curio shop was no longer dark, for someone had come in with a lamp; coryndon crept forward, his eyes on the chinaman, who had slipped back on to the ground and had raced up the steps, beating against the door violently. "come out, father of lies, come out and speak with me. i have news of thy absalom." the beggar was at the foot of the steps now, close beside the dancing image, who smiled and called his attention to the rigid figure of leh shin. "so thou hast news for me, unclean one? of this shall the police hear full knowledge two hours after dawn. where hast thou hidden the body of the boy who was the light of mine eyes, who was ever eager and honest in business?" "thou knowest, traitor," said the chinaman, his voice hoarse with passion, "what is dark unto others is clear unto me. have i not the tale of thy years written in the book of my mind?" for a moment there was dead silence, and then a voice full of smooth malice and cruelty made answer to leh shin. "get thee to thy bed, fool." "i wait," leh shin's voice cracked and trembled, "and when the hour that is already written for thy destruction comes like the night-bat, it is _i_ who shall proclaim it to thee; thus i have demanded, and thus it shall fall out." "o fruitful boaster, o friend of many years, thy words cause me great mirth. get thee to thy kennel, lest i do indeed come forth and twist thy vulture's neck." a laugh of scorn was the only response to mhtoon pah's threat, and the chinaman turned and came down the steps. "alms, alms," whined a sleepy voice. "the poor are the children of the holy one. i am blind and i know not the faces of men. alms, alms, that thy merit may be written in the book." "ask of him that is in that house," said leh shin, pointing to the curio shop. "strike him with thy pestilence that his fatness fall from him and his bones melt, and i will give thee golden rewards." the secret passion of the words was so intense that the beggar was silenced, and leh shin passed on. he went from paradise street to a small burrow near the colonnade, and turned into a mean house where the paper lantern still burned in token that the owners were awake. it was quite clean inside, and divided into large cubicles. in each cubicle was a table, covered with oilcloth, at the head of which was placed a red lacquer pillow and a little glass lamp that gave the only light needed in the long, low room. on the tables lay burmen and chinamen, some rigid in drugged sleep, and some smoking immense pipes with small, cup-like receptacles that held the opium. the proprietor was alert and wakeful as he flitted about, an american cigarette between his lips, in this strange garden of sleep. "i am weary," said leh shin. "let me rest here." "it is great honour," replied the small, wizened old man, with the laugh. "what of thine own house by the river?" "my limbs fail me. to-night my assistant supplies the needs of those who ask, for i had a business." "and i trust thy business hath prospered with thee?" leh shin stretched himself out on a table near the door. "i await the hour of prosperity,"--he twisted a needle in the brown mass that was offered to him and held it over the lamp. "evil are the days of a life whilst an old grudge burns like hot charcoal in the heart." "it is even so," agreed the proprietor, and he hurried away from the noose of talk that leh shin would have cast around him. the beggar, having followed leh shin as far as the opium den, returned along the colonnade and knocked at the door of the house where shiraz waited anxiously for his master. "is my bath prepared, shiraz? i must wash before i sleep, and i shall sleep late." coryndon was weary. no one who has not watched through hours of strain and suspense knows the utter weariness of mind and body that follows upon the long effort of close attention, and he fell upon his bed in a huddled heap and slept for hour after hour, worn out in brain and body. xvii tells how coryndon learns from the rev. francis heath what the rev. francis heath never told him. when coryndon sat up in his bed, and recalled himself with a jerk from the drowsiness of night to the wakefulness of broad daylight, he called shiraz to give to him instructions. after dark, his master told him, he was going to return to the cantonments, and during his absence there were some matters which he had decided to leave unreservedly in the hands of shiraz. he was to cultivate his acquaintance with leh shin, the chinaman, worming his way into his confidence and encouraging him to speak fully of the old hatred that was still like live fire between him and the wealthy curio dealer. revenge may or may not take the shape and substance of the original wrong done, and the limited intelligence of the chinaman would suggest payment in the same coin, so it was necessary for coryndon to know the actual facts of the ancient grudge. further than this, shiraz was to go to the shop of mhtoon pah, and discover anything he could in the course of conversation with the burman. "mark well all that is said, that when i return it may be disclosed to mine eyes through thy spectacles," he concluded, tying the ragged ends of his head-scarf over his forehead. he went down the staircase with a slow, dragging step, leaning on the rail of the colonnade when he got out into the street, and halting, with a vacant stare, outside the shop of leh shin. "so thy devils have not yet caught thee and scalded thee with oil, or burned thee in quicklime?" jeered the boy, as he watched a coolie sweep out the shop. he was chewing a raw onion, and he swung his legs idly, for there was nothing to do, and, on the whole, he was glad to have the mad burman to bait for half an hour's entertainment. "the sickness is heavy upon me, my legs are loaded as with wet sand, and my mouth is parched like a rock in the desert," whined the burman plaintively. "nay, nay, not _thy_ legs, and _thy_ tongue. the legs and the mouth of the evil man, thy friend, o dolt." the burman shook his head stupidly. "the will of the holy ones is that i shall recover, and my friend has said that i shall go a journey. i go by the terrain this night at sunset." "whither doth he send thee, unclean one?" the burman smiled with a sudden look of cunning. "that is a word unspoken, and neither will i tell it. thy desire to know what concerns thee not is as great as thy fatness." with a doggedness that is often part of some forms of mania, the burman squatted in the dust, and under no provocation could he be induced to speak. after midday he indicated by lifting his fingers to his mouth that he intended to go in search of food; having worked leh shin's assistant into a state of perspiring wrath by the simple process of reiterating in pantomime that he was dumb. it must be admitted that coryndon got no small amount of pleasure out of his morning's entertainment, and he doubled himself up as though in pain as he dragged himself back to the house. the vanished beggar's tracks were entirely obliterated, and when the burman went off in a _gharry_ in company with shiraz, the whole street knew that he was being sent away on a secret mission of great importance. to know something that other people do not know is to be in some way their superior. it is a popular fallacy to believe that we all of us are gifted with special insight. the dullest bore believes it of himself, but when it comes to the possession of an absolute fact superiority becomes unmistakable, particularly in circumscribed localities, and leh shin's assistant remembered how the sudden dumbness of the crazy burman had irked his own soul. he told a little of what he professed to know, and having done so, refused to admit more, and so it was current in the bazaar that the friend of the rich punjabi was gone to receive money paid for jewels, and that the place of his destination was known only to leh shin's assistant, who, having sworn on oath, would by no means divulge the name of the place. even leh shin, who awoke late, appeared interested, and asked questions that made the gross, flabby boy think hard before he replied; and the mystery that attached itself to the departure of the burman lent an added interest to shiraz, who returned after the usual hour of prayer at the mosque, and paced slowly up the street, meditating upon a verse from the koran. the evening light softened and the shadows grew long, making the colonnade dark a full hour before the street outside was wrapped in the smoky gloom of twilight and the charcoal fires were lighted to cook the evening meal, and by the time that the first clear globes of electric light dotted paradise street coryndon was back in his room and dressed ready to go out to dinner. hartley received the wanderer with enthusiasm, and began at once by telling him that he had an invitation for him which was growing stale by long keeping. mrs. wilder was giving a very small party and both the head of the police and his friend were invited. "i accepted definitely for myself, and conditionally for you," said hartley cheerfully. "now i will ring up wilder and tell him that the prodigal has reappeared, and that you will come." coryndon submitted to the inevitable with a good grace; it was one of his best social qualifications, and arose from a keen sensitiveness that made it nearly impossible for him ever to disappoint anyone. he had hoped for a quiet evening, when he might expect to get to bed early and have time to think over every tiny detail of his time in the mangadone bazaar; but as this was not possible, he agreed with sufficient alacrity to deceive his kind host. his face was drawn and tired, and his eyes were heavy; he noticed this as he glanced into his glass, but after all it did not matter. his social importance was small, and for to-night he was nothing more than an adjunct of hartley, a mere postscript put in out of formal politeness. he was not going in order to please mrs. wilder--though, as she appeared on his mental list of names, she had her place in the structure that filled his mind--but to please hartley. any time would have done for mrs. wilder, she was but a cypher in the total, but if he had begged off to-night he would have had to hurt hartley. coryndon could never get away from the other man's point of view; it dogged him in great things and in small, and he was obliged to realize hartley's pleasure in seeing him, and his further pleasure in carrying him off to a house where he himself enjoyed life thoroughly. coryndon could as easily have disappointed a child, or been cruel to a small, wagging puppy as to hartley in his present mood. he knew that he would have to shut the door upon his dominating thought, unless something occurred to open it during the evening. women liked to play with fire, and he wondered if mrs. wilder would show any inclination to fiddle with gunpowder, but he hardly expected that she would, though she had played some part in the extensive drama that reached from heath's bungalow to the colonnade in the chinese quarter, leaving a gap between that his brain struggled with in vain. it was like the imaginable space between life and death, where both conditions existed, and one was the key to the other. something was lacking. one small master touch wanting to lay the whole thing bare of mystery. coryndon's weary eyes reflected the state of his mind. he felt like an inventor who is baffled for the lack of a tiny clue that makes the impossible natural and easy, or a composer who hears a refrain and cannot call it into birth in clear defiant chords. to think too much when thought cannot carry the mind over the limiting barrier is to spend substance on fruitless effort, and coryndon deliberately shut the door of his mind and put the key away before he started out with hartley. the night was clear as the two men went off together hatless through the soft moonlight. neither coryndon nor hartley talked much as they walked by a short cut across the park to the wilders' bungalow, a servant carrying a lantern going before them like a dim will-o'-the-wisp; the yellow lamplight paling into an ineffectual blur against the clear moonlight. "i think it is only ourselves," said hartley after a long pause. "you are looking a bit done, coryndon, so you'll be glad if it isn't a late night." coryndon agreed, and conversation flagged again. they crossed the road, turned up the avenue and were lost in the shadows of the trees, coming out again into a white bay of light outside the door. everyone, man or woman, who is endowed at birth with a sensitive nature is subject to occasional inrushes of detachment that without warning cut him off from realities for moments or hours, converting everyday matters into the consistency of dream-life. it was through this medium that coryndon saw mrs. wilder when he came into the large upstairs drawing-room. it would have annoyed her to know that she appeared indefinite and shadowy to his mind, just as it annoyed alice when she was told that she was only "something in the red king's dream," but coryndon could not help his sensations. mrs. wilder was smiling with her careless, easy, confident smile, and yet he saw only an unaccounted bit of the puzzle, that he could not fit in. she was dressed in the latest fashion, and talked with a kind of regal amiability, but nevertheless, she was not a real woman, a real hostess, or a positive entity; she was vague, and the touch of her floating personality added to the baffled sensation that drained coryndon's mind of concentrated force, and made him physically exhausted. wilder had something to say to hartley, and coryndon handed himself over like a coat or an umbrella to mrs. wilder, who, he knew, was placing a low valuation upon him, and was already a little impatient at his lack of vitality. she was calling him a bore, behind her fine, hard eyes, and having exhausted mangadone in a few sentences, wondered what sort of bore he really was. there were golf bores, fishing bores, and shooting bores, but coryndon hardly appeared to belong to any of those families, and she began to suspect him of "superiority," a type of bore aggressive to others of his cult. mrs. wilder did not tolerate a type to which she herself undoubtedly owned to some slight connection, and she gave up all effort to awaken interest in the slim, weary young man, who looked half-asleep. "mr. heath ought to be here directly," she said, in her loud, clear voice. "draycott, don't forget to ask him to say grace." if she had got up and taken coryndon by the shoulders and shaken him, the effect could not have been more marked and sudden. all the dull feeling of detachment cleared off at once, and he knew that his senses were sharp and acute; his bodily fatigue fell away, and as he moved in his chair his eyes turned towards the door. "i wish he would hurry," growled wilder, a prey to the pessimism of the half-hour before dinner. "he is inexcusably late as it is." as though his words had summoned the rev. francis heath, footsteps mounting the staircase followed wilder's remark, and the clergyman came into the room. immediately upon his coming, conversation became general, and a few moments later the party was seated round a small table kept for intimate gatherings, and placed in the centre of the large teak-panelled room. an arrangement of plumbago and maidenhair, and pale blue shaded candles casting a dim light, carried out the saxe blue effect that mrs. wilder had evolved with the assistance of a ladies' paper that dealt with "effective and original table decoration." in spite of mrs. wilder's efforts, assisted as they were by hartley, conversation flagged for the first two courses. heath was not exactly awkward, but he was conscious of the fact that he and hartley had had an unpleasant interview, buried by the passing of a few weeks, but by no means peaceful in its grave. there was just a suggestion of strain in his manner, and he was evidently carrying through a duty in being there at all, rather than out for pleasant society. coryndon observed him carefully, particularly when he talked to his hostess. if she was helping to screen him, the clergyman was too honest not to show some sign of gratitude either in his manner or in his deep-set eyes, and yet no such indication was evident. coryndon disassociated his mind from the history of the case, and saw austerity flavoured with a near approach to disapproval. judging by externals, the rev. francis heath held no very exalted opinion of his hostess. "she has done nothing for him," he said to himself. "if obligation exists, it is the other way round," and he proceeded to watch mrs. wilder's manner towards her clerical guest with heightening interest. usually she was very sure of herself, more especially so in her own house, and surrounded with the evidences of her husband's official rank. when mrs. wilder talked to the poor, insignificant padré who could be of no real social assistance to her, she changed her manner, the manner that she directed pointedly towards coryndon, and became quelled and softened. mrs. wilder, propitiatory and diffident, was, coryndon felt, mrs. wilder caught out somehow and somewhere; perhaps on the night of the th of july, and as he considered it, coryndon knew that the shoe was on a much smaller foot than hartley had measured for it, and that the secret understanding between heath and mrs. wilder was one-sided in its benefits. hartley had recounted the story of the fainting fit as a landmark by which he remembered where he was himself, and, adding this fact to what he observed, coryndon put mrs. wilder on one side and mentally drew a red-ink line under her total. he knew all he needed to know about her, and she had no further interest for his mind. he talked to her husband when once he had satisfied himself definitely, and as dinner wore on the atmosphere became more genial and less strained than when it had begun. "by the way," said wilder carelessly, "was it ever discovered how that fellow rydal got clear of the country?" he spoke to hartley, but heath, who had been talking across the table to coryndon, lost his place, stumbled and recovered himself with difficulty, and then lapsed into silence. hartley had a few things to say about rydal, but chief among them was the astounding fact that he had dodged the police, who were watching the wharves and jetties, and, so far as he knew, the man had never left mangadone. "do you suppose that he got away disguised?" "impossible," said hartley, with decision. "he was a big, fair englishman with blue eyes. nothing on earth could have made him look anything else. it was too risky to attempt that game." mrs. wilder was not interested in rydal, and she sprayed coryndon with light, pointless conversation, leaving heath to his meditations for the moment. hartley would have enjoyed a private talk with his hostess because he loved her platonically, and because it was impossible he was distrait and jerky, trying to appear cordial towards heath. it was one of those evenings that make everyone concerned wonder why they ever began it, and though coryndon was of all the invited guests the one who found least favour in the eyes of his hostess, he was the only one who felt glad that he had come, and was perfectly convinced that it had been worth it. the rev. francis heath rose early to take his leave; and there was a distinct impression of relief when he had gone. "that padré is like wet blotting-paper," said wilder, when he came back into the drawing-room. "no more duty invitations, clarice, or else wait until i am out in camp." "he is a bore," said mrs. wilder, throwing her late guest to the sharks without remorse. "but i suppose he can't help it. he may have something to worry him." she just indicated her point with a glance at hartley, who murmured incoherently and became interested in his drink. "parsons are all alike," said wilder, who fully believed that he stated an obvious fact. "i feel as if i ought to apologize for not going to church whenever i meet one." "he _is_ a bore," repeated mrs. wilder. "but he is finished with for the present." coryndon looked up. "i suppose one is inclined to mix up a man with his profession, as people often mix up nationalities with races, forgetting that they are absolutely apart. heath is not my idea of a clergyman." "and what is your idea?" asked mrs. wilder, with a smile that was slightly encouraging. "a man with less temperament," said coryndon slowly. "heath lacks a certain commonplace courage, because he feels things too much. he is not altogether honest with himself or his congregation, because he has the protective instinct over-developed. if i had a secret i should feel that it was perfectly safe with heath." a slow red stain showed itself on mrs. wilder's cheek, and she gave a hard, mechanical laugh. "are these the deductions of one evening? no wonder you are a silent man, mr. coryndon." if coryndon had been a cross-examining counsel instead of a guest at a dinner-party, he would have thanked mrs. wilder politely and told her that she might "step down." as it was, he assured her that he was only attracted by certain personalities, and that, usually speaking, he did not analyse his impressions. "he is a bore," said mrs. wilder, making the statement for the third time that evening, and thus disposing of heath definitely. "it wasn't up to the usual mark," said hartley, half-apologetically as he and coryndon walked home together. "i felt so awkward about meeting heath." he paused and looked at coryndon, longing to put a question to him, but not wishing to break their agreement as to silence. "tell me about rydal," said coryndon in the voice of a man who shifts a conversation adroitly. "i don't remember your having mentioned the case." hartley had not much to tell. the man had been in a position of responsibility in the mangadone bank, and joicey had given information against him the very day he absconded. rydal was married, and the cruel part of the story lay in the fact that he had deserted his wife on her deathbed, fully aware that she was dying. "she died the evening he left, or was supposed to have left. at all events, the evening he disappeared." "and the date?" coryndon's eyes were turned on hartley's face, and he heard him laugh. "you'll hardly believe it, but it happened, like everything else, on the twenty-ninth of july." "can your boy look after me for a few days?" coryndon asked quietly. "i was not able to bring my bearer with me, and i may have to be here for a little longer than i had expected." "of course he can." they walked into the bungalow together, and it surprised and distressed hartley to see how white and weary the face of his friend showed under the hanging lamp. "i ought not to have dragged you out," he said remorsefully. "i am very glad you did." there was so much sincerity in coryndon's tone that hartley was satisfied, and he saw him into his room before he went off, whistling to his dog and calling out a cheery "good night." xviii the rev. francis heath unlocks his door and shows what lies behind when coryndon made up his mind to any particular course of action and time pressed, he left nothing to chance. under ordinary circumstances, he was perfectly ready to wait and let things happen naturally; and so greatly did he adhere to this belief in chance that he always hesitated to make anything deliberately certain. had he felt that he could allow time to bring circumstance into his grasp, he would have preferred to do so, but, as he sat on the side of his bed, his _chota haziri_ untouched on a table at his elbow, he knew that every minute counted, and that he must come out of the shadow and deliberately face and force the position. if he could always have worked in the dark he would have done so, and no one ever guessed how unwillingly he disclosed himself. he was a shadow in the great structure of criminal investigation, and he came and went like a shadow. when it was possible he vanished out of his completed case before his agency was detected, and as he sat thinking, he wondered if hartley could not be trusted with the task that lay before him that day, but even as the thought came into his mind he decided against it. opportunity must be nailed like false coin to the counter, and there could be no question of leaving a meeting to the last moment of chance. he had to make sure of his man; that was the first step. during the course of an idle morning, coryndon wandered to the church, and saw that at . p.m. the rev. francis heath was holding service. after the service there would be a choir practice, and coryndon, having made a mental note of the hour, went back to luncheon with hartley. the afternoon sunlight was dreaming in the garden, and the drowsy air was full of the scent of flowers. coryndon had something to do, and he was wise enough to make no settled plan as to how he would do it, beforehand. he put away all thought of absalom and the other lives connected with the disappearance of the christian boy, and let his thoughts drift out, drawing in the light and colour of the world outside. yesterday has power over to-day; to-morrow even greater power, for to-morrow holds a gift or a whip, and coryndon knew this, thinking out his little philosophy of life. to be able to handle a situation which may require a strength that is above tact or diplomacy, he knew that all those yesterdays must give their store of gathered strength and knowledge. as there was no running water to watch, coryndon watched the shadows and the light playing hide-and-go-seek through the leaves, through his half-closed eyes. they made a pattern on the ground, and the pattern was faultless in its beauty. nature alone can do such things. he looked at the far-off trees of the park, green now, to turn into soft blue masses later on when the day waned, and the intrinsic value of blue as colour flitted over his fancy. the music that was part of his nature rippled and sang in obligato to his thoughts, and because he loved music he loved colour and knew the connection between sound and tint. colour, to its lightest, least value, was music, expressing itself in another way. hartley went out with his dog; went softly because he believed his friend slept, and coryndon did not stir. somewhere in the centre of things actual, hartley lived his cheerful, happy life, dreaming when he was lonely of the woman who darned his socks and smiled at him. in coryndon's life there was no woman either visionary or real, and he wondered why he was exempt from these natural dreams of a man. he was very humble about himself. he knew that he was only a tracker, a brain that carried a body, not a healthy animal body that controlled the greater part of a brain. he was given the power to grip motives and to read hearts, and beyond that he only lived in his fingers when he played. he had his dreams for company when he shut the door on the other half of his active brain, and he had his own thrills of excitement and intense joy when he found what he was seeking, but beyond this there was nothing, and he asked for nothing. blue shadows, and a drifting into peace, that was the end. he pulled himself together abruptly, for it was five o'clock, and time for him to start. when coryndon had drunk some tea, he started out on foot to st. jude's church. he knew that he would get there in time to find the rev. francis heath. the choir practice did not take very long, and as he walked into the church they were singing the last verses of a hymn. heath sat in one of the choir pews, a sombre figure in his black cassock, listening attentively. "happy birds that sing and fly round thy altars, o most high." the choir sang the "amen," and sang it false, because they were in a hurry to troop out of the church; the girls were whispering and collecting gloves and books, and the boys were already clattering off with an air of relief. heath spoke to the organist, making some suggestion in his grave, quiet voice, and when he turned, coryndon was standing in the chancel. "can i speak to you for a moment?" he asked easily. "come into the vestry," said heath quietly. "we shall be undisturbed there." he went down the chancel steps and opened a door at the side, waiting for coryndon to go in, and closing the door behind them. a table stood in the middle of the room with a few books and papers on it, and a square window lighted it from the western wall; there were only two chairs in the room, and heath put one of them near the table for his visitor, and took the other himself. he did not know what he expected coryndon to say; men very rarely came to him like this, but he felt that it was possible that he was in search of something true and definite. truth was in his eyes, and his dark, fine face was earnest as he bent forward and looked full at the clergyman. "what can i do for you?" heath put the question tentatively, conscious of a sudden quick tension in the atmosphere. coryndon's eyes fixed on him, like gripping hands, and he leaned a little over the table. "you can tell me how and when you got rydal out of the country." for a moment, it seemed to heath that the whole room rocked, and that blackness descended upon him in waves, blotting out the face of the man who asked the question, destroying his identity, and leaving him only the knowledge that the secret that he had guarded with all the strength of his soul was known, inexplicably, to hartley's friend. he tried to frame a reply, but his words faltered through dry lips, and his face was white and set. "why should you say that i helped rydal?" "because," coryndon's answer came quickly, "you told me so yourself last night at dinner." he heard coryndon speak again, very slowly, so that every word came clear into the confusion of his throbbing brain. "i knew from hartley that you were in paradise street on the evening of the twenty-ninth of july, and that you saw and spoke to absalom. i am concerned in the case of finding that boy or his murderer, and anything you can tell me may be of help to me in putting my facts together. i had to come to your confidence by a direct question. will you pardon me when you consider my motive? i am not concerned with rydal: my case is with absalom." he looked sympathetically at the worn, drawn face across the table, that was white and sick with recent fear. "tell me the events just as they came," he said gently. "you may be able to cast light on the matter." heath looked up, and his eyes expressed his silent acceptance of coryndon's honesty of purpose. "i will tell you, mr. coryndon. god knows that the case of this boy has haunted me night and day. he was my best pupil, and when hartley accused me by inference, of complicity, i suffered as i believe few men have had to suffer because i could not speak. i may not be able to assist you very far, but all i know you shall know if you will listen to me patiently." heath relapsed into silence for some little time, and when he spoke again it was with the manner of a man who gives all his facts accurately. he omitted no detail and he set the story of rydal before coryndon, plainly and clearly. rydal had been a clerk in the mangadone bank, and had been in the place for some years before he went home and returned with a wife. he was an honest and kindly young fellow and he worked hard. there was no flaw in his record, and heath believed that he was under the influence of a very genuine religious feeling. he frequently came to see heath, who knew his character thoroughly, and knew that he was weak in many respects. he talked enthusiastically of the girl he was going to marry, and heath saw him off on the liner when rydal got his leave and, full of glad anticipation, went away to bring out his wife. when the clergyman had reached this point in his story, he got up and paced the floor a couple of times, his monkish face sad and troubled, and his eyes full of the tragic revelations that had yet to be made. coryndon did not hurry the narrative. he was engaged in calling up the mental presentment of the young happy man. heath had described him as "fresh-looking," and had said that his manner was frank and always kindly; he was friendly to weakness, kindly to weakness, his virtues all tagged off into inefficient lack of grip; but he was honest and he found life good. that was how rydal had started, that was the rydal who had gripped heath's hand as he stood on the deck of the _worcestershire_ and thought of the girl whom he was going home to marry. "i still see him as i saw him then," said heath, with a catch in his voice. "he was so sure of all the good things of life, and he had managed to save enough to furnish the bungalow by the river. i had gone over it with him the day before he sailed, and his pride in it all was very touching." coryndon nodded his head, and heath took up the story again, standing with his hands on the back of the chair. "rydal came back at the end of three months, his wife with him. she was a pretty, silly creature, and her ideas of her social importance were out of all keeping with rydal's humble position in the bank. she dressed herself extravagantly, and began to entertain on a scale that was ridiculous considering their poverty. before their marriage, rydal had told me that it was a love match, and that she was as poor as he, as all her own people could do for her was to make a small allowance sufficient for her clothes." coryndon sat very still. heath had come to the point where the real interest began: he could see this on the sad face that turned towards the western window. "in the early hours of one morning towards the end of july," went on heath wearily, "i was awakened by rydal coming into my room. i could see at once that he was in desperate trouble, and he sat down near me and hid his face in his hands and cried like a child. there was enough in his story to account for his tears, god knows. his wife was ill, perhaps dying; he told me that first, but that i already knew, and then he made his confession to me. he had embezzled money from the bank and it could only be a matter of hours before a warrant was issued for his arrest. i must not dwell too long on these details, but they are all part of the story, and without them you could not understand my own place in what follows. it is sufficient to tell you that i returned at once with him, and his wife added her appeal to mine to make her husband agree to leave the country. if she lived, she could join him later, but if he was arrested before she died, she could only feel double torment and remorse. in the end we prevailed upon him to agree to go. the sin was not his morally"--heath's voice rose in passionate vindication of his act--"in my eyes, and, i believe, in the eyes of god, the man was not responsible. i grant you his criminal weakness, i grant you his fall from honour and honesty, but then and now i know that i did right. the one chance for his soul's welfare was the chance of escape. prison would have broken and destroyed him. a white man among native criminals. his life had been a good life, and an open, honest life up to the time that his wife's constant demand for what he could not give broke down the barriers and made him a felon." he wiped his face with his handkerchief and drew a deep breath. this was how he had argued the point with himself, and he still held to the validity of his argument. "that was early on the morning of july the twenty-ninth?" asked coryndon. "yes, that was the date. there was a small tramp in port, going to south america. i had once been of some little assistance to the captain, and i knew that he would do much to serve me. i went on board her at once, and saw him, disguising none of the facts or the risk it entailed, and he agreed willingly to assist rydal. he was to be at a certain point below the wharves that evening, and the _lady helen_ was to send a boat in to pick him up." "i understand," said coryndon, "the warrant was issued about noon the same day?" "as far as i know, joicey gave information against him just about then, but he had already left the bungalow. i went down paradise street to make my way out along the river bank at a little after six o'clock. i passed absalom in the street and spoke a word to the boy, but time was pressing and i did not dare to be late. it was of the utmost importance that there should be no hitch in any part of the plan, for the _lady helen_ could not delay over an hour. i got to the appointed place by the river just after twilight had come on--" "were you seen by anyone?" heath paused and thought for a moment. "i would like to deal entirely candidly with you, mr. coryndon, but, with your permission, i must avoid any mention of names. as it happened, i _was_ seen, but i believe that the person who saw me has no connection with either my own place in this story or the story itself so far as it affects absalom. i saw rydal go. he went in silence, an utterly broken-hearted and ruined man, and only ten months divided that day from the day that he stood on the deck of the _worcestershire_ filled with every hope the heart of a man knows. behind him, his wife lying near death in the little house his love had provided for her, and nothing lay before him but utter desolation. i watched the boat take him away into the darkness, and i saw the lights of the _lady helen_ quite clearly, and then i saw her move slowly off, and i knew that rydal was safe." he paused and stared into the darkness of the room, seeing the whole picture again, and feeling the awful misery of the broken man who had gone by the way of transgressors. the man who had once been light-hearted and happy, who had sung in his choir, and who had read the lessons for the rev. francis heath and helped him with his boys. coryndon's face showed his tense, close interest as the clergyman spoke again. "i was standing there for some time, how long i do not know, when i saw that i was not alone, and that i was being watched by a chinaman. i knew the boy by sight, and must have seen him before somewhere else. he was a large, repulsive creature, and appeared to have come from one of the houses near the river, where there are coringyhis and low-caste natives of india. at the time i remarked nothing, but when the boy saw that he had attracted my attention, he started into a run, and left me without speaking. the incident was so trifling that it hardly made me uneasy. no one had seen me actually with rydal--" "you are quite clear on that point? not even the other person you alluded to?" "i can be perfectly clear. i passed the other person going in the opposite direction, before i joined rydal. on the way back i saw absalom again, and he was with the chinaman whom i already mentioned; they did not notice me, and they were talking eagerly; my mind was overful of other things, and you will understand that i did not think of them then, but, as far as i remember, they went towards the fishermen's quarter on the river bank. i cannot be sure of this." coryndon did not stir; the gloom was deep now, and yet neither of the men thought of calling for lights. "and the chinaman?" heath flung out his arms with a violent gesture. "he had seen and recognized rydal, and he had the craftiness to realize that his knowledge was of value. next day everyone in mangadone knew that the hue and cry was out after the absconded clerk. he had betrayed his trust, cheated and defrauded his employers, and left his wife to die alone, for she died that night, and i was with her. that was the story in mangadone. it was known in the bazaar, and how or when it came to the ears of the chinaman i cannot tell you, but out of his knowledge he came to me, and i paid him to keep silence. he has come several times of late, and i will give him no more money. rydal is safe. i have heard from him, and the law will hardly catch him now. i know my complicity, i know my own danger, but i have never regretted it." again the surging flood of passion swept into heath's voice. "what is my life or my reputation set against the value of one living soul? rydal is working honestly, his penitence is no mere matter of protestation, his whole nature has been strengthened by the awful experience he has passed through. how it may appear to others i cannot say, and do not greatly care. in the eyes of god i am vindicated, and stand clear of blame." he towered gaunt against the light from the window behind him, and though coryndon could not see his face, he knew that it was lighted with a great rapture of self-denial and spiritual glory. "you need fear no further trouble from the boy," he said, rising to his feet. "i can tell you that definitely. i am neither a judge nor a bishop, mr. heath, but i can tell you honestly from my heart that i think you were justified." he went out into the darkness that had come black over the evening during the hour he had sat with heath, and as he walked back to the bungalow he thought of the man he had just left. there had been no need for coryndon to question him about mrs. wilder: her secret mission to the river interested him no further. heath had protected her and had kept silence where her name was concerned, and yet she chose to belittle him in her idle, insolent fashion. he thought of heath sitting by the bed of the dying woman, and he thought of him following the wake of the _lady helen_ down the dark river with sad, sorrowful eyes, and through the thought there came a strange thrill to his own soul, because he touched the hem of the garment of the everlasting mercy, hidden away, pushed out of life, and forgotten in garrulous hours full of idle chatter. yet mrs. wilder had announced with her regal finality no less than three times in the hearing of coryndon the previous evening that the rev. francis heath was "a bore." xix in which leh shin whispers a story into the ear of shiraz, the punjabi; the burden of which is: "have i found thee, o mine enemy?" a man with a grievance, however silent he may be by nature, is, generally speaking, voluble upon the subject of his wrongs, real or imaginary; but a man with a grudge is intrinsically different. an old grudge or an old hate are silent things, because they have deep roots and do not require attention, and it is only in flashes of sudden feeling, or when the means to the end is in view, that the man with a grudge reveals details and tells his story. shiraz paid several visits to, and spent some time in the shop of, leh shin before he arrived at what he wanted to know. he went also to mhtoon pah's shop, but came away without discovering anything. into the ears of hartley, head of the police, the burman raged and screamed his passionate hate, because he believed it promoted his object; but to the punjabi he was smooth and complaisant, and refused to be drawn into any admission. leh shin, the chinaman, was bazaar dust to his dignity, and he knew naught of him, save only that the man had an evil name earned by evil deeds, and shiraz, who was as crafty as mhtoon pah, saw that he had come to a "no thoroughfare" and turned his wits towards leh shin. little by little, and without any apparent motive, he worked the chinaman up to the point where silence is agony, and at last, as a river in flood crashes over the mud-banks, the whole tale of his wrongs came bursting through his closed mouth, and with the sweat pouring down his yellow face he out it into words. the meanest story receives something vital in its constitution when it is told with all the force and conviction of years of hatred behind the simple fact of expression, and the story that leh shin recounted to shiraz was a mean story. the chinaman had the true eastern capacity for remembering the least item in the long account that lay unsettled between himself and the burman. his memory was a safe in which the smallest fact connected with it was kept intact and his mind traversed an interminable road of detail. the two men had begun life as friends. the friendship between them dated back to the days when leh shin and mhtoon pah were small boys running together in the streets of mangadone, and no antipathy that is a first instinct has ever the depth of root given to the bitterness that can spring from a breach in long friendship, and leh shin and mhtoon pah hated as only old friends ever do hate. leh shin started in life with all the advantages that mhtoon pah lacked, and he appreciated the slavish friendship of the burman, which grew with years. mhtoon pah became a clerk on scanty pay in the employ of a rice firm, and leh shin, at his father's death, became sole owner of the house in paradise street; no insignificant heritage, as it was stocked with a store of things that increased in value with age, and in the guise of his greatest friend mhtoon pah was made welcome at the shop whenever he had time to go there. from his clerkship in the firm of rice merchants mhtoon pah, at the insistence of his friend, became part partner in the increasing destiny of the curio shop. he travelled for leh shin, and brought back wares and stores in days when railways were only just beginning to be heard of, and it was difficult and even dangerous to bring goods across the shan frontier. he had the control of a credit trust, though not of actual money, and for a time the partnership prospered. mhtoon pah was always conscious that he was a subordinate depending on the good will of his principal, and even as he ate with cunning into the heart of the fruit, the outside skin showed no trace of his ravages. leh shin's belief in his friend's integrity made him careless in the matter of looking into things for himself, and lulled into false security, he dreamed that he prospered; his dream being solidified by the accounts which he received from the burman. in the zenith of his affluence he married the daughter of a burman into whose house mhtoon pah had introduced him, and it was only after the wedding festivities that he became aware that he had supplanted the friend of his bosom in the affections of the smiling burmese girl. mhtoon pah was away on a journey, and on his return rejoiced in the subtle, flattering manner that he knew so well how to practise, and if he felt rancour, he hid it under a smile. marriage took the chinaman's attention from the shop, and mhtoon pah, still a subordinate in the presence of his master, was arrogant and filled with assurance in his dealings with others. interested friends warned the chinaman, but he would not listen to them. he believed in mhtoon pah and he had covered him with gifts. "was he not my friend, this monster of infamy?" he wailed, rocking himself on his bed. "o that i had seen his false heart, and torn it, smoking, from his ribs!" leh shin was secure in his summer of prosperity, and when his son was born he felt that there was no good thing left out of the pleasant ways of life. in the curio shop in paradise street mhtoon pah waxed fat and studied the table of returns, and in the garden of the house where leh shin lived in his fool's paradise, the chinaman loosed his hold upon the reins of authority. the first sign of the altered and averted faces of the gods was made known to leh shin when his wife dwindled and pined and died. "but that, o friend, was not the work of thine enemy," said shiraz, pulling at his beard reflectively. "even in thine anger, seek to follow the ways of justice." "how do i know it?" replied leh shin. "he ever held an evil wish towards me. her death was slow, like unto the approach of disaster. i know not whence it came, but my heart informs me that mhtoon pah designed it." quickly upon the death of his wife came the disappearance of his son. the boy had been playing in the garden, and the garden had been searched in vain for him. no trace of the child could be found, though mangadone was searched from end to end. "searched," cried the chinaman, "as the pocket of a coat. no corner left that was not peered into, no house that was not ransacked." the chinaman's voice quivered with passion, and his whole body shook and trembled. life flowed back into its accustomed current, and nearly a year passed before the next trouble came upon leh shin. mhtoon pah came back from a prolonged journey that had necessitated his going to hong-kong, and he came back with dismay in his face and a story of loss upon loss. he had compromised his master's credit to a heavy extent, and not only the gains he had made but the principal was swept away into an awful chasm where the grasping hands of creditors grabbed the whole of leh shin's patrimony, claiming it under papers signed by his hand. "it was then that light flowed in upon my darkness, and i saw the long prepared evil that was the work of one man's hand." leh shin rose upon his string bed and his voice was thin with rabid anger. "i caught him by the throat and would have stabbed him with my knife, but he, being a younger man than i, threw me off from him, and, when he made me answer, i saw my foe of many years stand to render his account to me. '_thou_, to call me thief,' said he, 'who robbed me of my wife and cheated me of my son.'" after that, poverty and ruin drove him slowly from his house outside mangadone to the shelter of the shop in paradise street, and from there, at length, to the burrow in the colonnade. the bitterness of his own fall was great enough in itself to harden the heart of any man, but it was doubled by the story of the years that followed. slowly, and without calling too evident attention to himself, mhtoon pah began to prosper. he opened a booth first, where he sat and cursed leh shin whenever he passed, saying loudly that he had ruined him and swindled him out of all his little store, that by hard work and attention to business he had collected. from the booth, just as leh shin left paradise street, mhtoon pah progressed to a small unpretentious shop, and a year later he moved again, as though inspired by a spirit of malice, into the very premises where leh shin had first employed him as a clerk. that day leh shin went to his joss and swore vengeance, though how his vengeance could be worked into fact was more than his opium-muddled brain could conceive. vengeance was his dream by night, his one concentrated thought by day, and he came no nearer to any hope of fulfilling it. mhtoon pah, wealthy and respected; mhtoon pah, the builder of shrines; mhtoon pah, who spoke with high sahibs and had the ear of the head of the police himself, and leh shin clad in ragged clothes, and only able to keep his hungry soul in his body by means of his opium traffic, how could he strike at his foe's prosperity? his hate glared out of his eyes as he panted, stopping to draw breath at the end of his account. had shiraz known the legend of the wise wolf who changed from man to beast, he might have supposed that some such change was taking place in leh shin. his trembling lips dribbled, his head jerked as though supported by wires, and his eyebrows twitched violently as though he had no control over their movements. he had forgotten shiraz and was thinking only of the tribulation he had suffered and of the man whose gross form inhabited his whole mental world. shaking like a leaf, he got off his bed and stood on the earth floor. "may he be eaten by mud-sores," he said savagely. "may he die by his own hand, and so, as is the teaching, be shut out of peace, and return to earth as a scorpion, to be crushed again into lesser life by a stone." "by the will of allah, who alone is great, there will be an end of thy troubles," said shiraz non-committally as he got up. "thou hast suffered much. be it requited to thee as thou wouldst have it fall in the hour that is already written; for no man may escape his destiny, though he be fleet of foot as the antlered stag." "son of a prophet, thy words are full of wisdom." "let it comfort thine affliction," said shiraz, with the air of a man making a gift. "yet i would hasten the end." he gave a strange, soundless laugh that startled shiraz, who looked at him sideways. "and mark this, o wise one, mine enemy hath already felt the first lash of the whip fall, even the whip that scourged my own body. he hath lost the boy whom he ever praised in the streets, and suffered much grief thereby. may his grief thrive and may it be added to until the weight is greater than he can bear." he swung up his hand with a stabbing movement. "i would rip him like a cushion of fine down. i would strike his face with my shoe as the _nats_ that he dreads caught his screaming soul." "peace, peace," said shiraz. "such words are ill for him who speaks, and ill alike for him who listens. in such a day as already the end is scored like a comet's tail across the sky, the end shall be, and not before that day. cease from thy clamour lest the street hear thee, and run to know the cause." he took leave of his friend and went slowly away to his own house, having achieved his master's mission, and feeling well satisfied with his afternoon's work. motive, the hidden spring of action, was made clear, and shiraz knew enough of his master's methods to realize that he had come upon a very definite piece of evidence against leh shin, the chinaman. from the point of view of shiraz the man was quite justified in killing absalom, since "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," appeared fair and reasonable to his mind. the burman had overreached leh shin, and now leh shin had begun the cycle again, and had smitten at the curio dealer through the curio dealer's boy, for whom he appeared to have a fanatical affection. according to shiraz, the house in paradise street stood a good chance of being burned to the ground. if this "accident" happened, shiraz would know exactly whose hand it was that lighted the match. it was all part of an organized scheme, and though he did not know how coryndon would bring the facts home, fitting each man with his share, like a second skin to his body, he felt satisfied that he had provided the lump of clay for the skilled potter to mould into shape. he took off his turban, and lay down on his carpet. the day was still hot, and the drowsy afternoon outside his closed windows blinked and stared through the hours, the glare intensifying the shadows under the trees and along the colonnade. the soda-water and lemonade sellers in their small booths drove a roaring trade as they packed the aquamarine-green bottles in blocks of dirty ice to keep the frizzling drink cool; and the cawing of marauding crows and the cackle of fowl blended with the shouting of drivers and sellers of wares, who heeded not the staring heat of the sun. after the emotion of telling his tale, leh shin slept in his own small box of darkness, and, in the rich curio shop in paradise street, mhtoon pah leaned on an embroidered pillow with closed eyes. the stream of life flowed slowly and softly through the hours when only the poor have need to work; soft as the current of a full tide that slides between wide banks, and soft as sleep, or fate, or the destiny which no man can hope to escape. xx craven joicey, the banker, is faced by a man with a whip in his hand, and coryndon finds a clue it is a matter of universal belief that a woman's most alluring quality is her mystery, and coryndon, no lover of women, was absorbed in the study of mystery without a woman. he had eliminated the woman. in his mind he cast mrs. wilder upon one side, as march throws february to the fag end of winter, and rushes on to meet the primrose girl bringing spring in her wake. he had dealt simultaneously with mrs. wilder's little part in the drama and the part of francis heath, priest in holy orders. how they had both stood the test of detection he did not trouble to analyse. "detection" is a nasty word, with a nasty sound in it, and no one likes it well enough to brood over all it exactly means. coryndon was sufficiently an observer of men and life to feel grateful to heath, because he had seen something for a short moment as he studied the clergyman that dwells afterwards in the mind, like a stream of moonlight lying over a tranquil sea. hidden things, in his experience, were seldom things of beauty, and yet he had come upon one fair place in the whole puzzling and tangled story collected round the disappearance of the christian boy absalom. mrs. wilder and heath were both accounted for and deleted from the list of names indelibly inscribed in his mental book; but one fact that was sufficiently weighty had been added to what was still involved in doubt: the fact that heath had seen the boy in company with leh shin's assistant. coryndon was subject to the ordinary prejudices of any man who makes human personality a study, and he was more than half disposed to go back to the bazaar and hear whatever evidence shiraz had been able to collect during his absence. two reasons prevented his doing this. one was that he would have to wait until it was dark enough to leave hartley's bungalow without being watched, and possibly followed, and the other that there was still one name on the list that required attention, and he began to feel that it required immediate attention. a toss of a coin lay between which course he should adopt first, and he sat very still to consider the thing carefully. in the service of which he was a member, he had learnt that much depends upon getting facts in their chronological order, and that if there is the least disunion in the fusing of events, deduction may hammer its head eternally against a stone wall. he did not know positively that leh shin had decoyed the boy away by means of his assistant, but he was inclined to believe that such was the case. the blood-stained rag looked like a piece of impudent bravado more than likely to have emanated from the brain of the young chinaman. his mental fingers opened to catch leh shin and lay hold on him, but they unclosed again, and coryndon felt about him in the darkness that separates mind from mind. he knew the pitfall that a too evident chain of circumstances digs for the unwary, and he fell back from his own conviction, testing each link of the chain, still uncertain and still doubtful of what course he should pursue. he had another object in view, an object that entailed a troublesome interview, and he turned his thoughts towards its possible issue. information might be at hand in the safe keeping of his servant shiraz, but he considered that he must argue his own conclusions apart from anything shiraz had discovered. narrowing his eyes and sitting forward on the edge of his bed, he thought out the whole progress of his scheme. coryndon was an essentially quiet man, but as he thought he struck his hands together and came to a sudden decision. if life offers a few exciting moments, the man who refuses them is no adventurer, and coryndon saw a chance for personal skill and definite action. he felt the call of excitement, the call that pits will against will and subtlety against force, and that is irresistible to the man of action. probably it was just that human touch that decided him. one course was easy; a mere matter of reassuming a disguise and slipping back into the life of the people, which was as natural to him as his own life. a tame ending, rounded off by hearing a story from shiraz, and laying the whole matter in the hands of hartley. the proof against the assistant was almost conclusive, and if shiraz had burrowed into the heart of the motive, it gave sufficient evidence to deliver over the case almost entire to the man who added the last word to the whole drama before the curtain fell. coryndon knew the full value of working from point to point, but beside this method he placed his own instinct, and his instinct pointed along a different road, a road that might lead nowhere, and yet it called to him as he sat on the side of his bed, as roads with indefinite endings have called men since the beginning of time. against his own trained judgment, he wavered and yielded, and at length took his white _topi_ from a peg on the wall and walked out slowly up the garden. it was three in the afternoon. just the hour when shiraz was lying on his mat asleep, and when leh shin slept, and mhtoon pah drowsed against his cushion from balsorah, each dreaming after his own fashion; and it was an hour when white men were sure to be in their bungalows. hartley was lying in a chair in the veranda, and all through mangadone men rested from toil and relaxed their brains after the morning's work. coryndon went out softly and slowly, and he walked under the hot burning sun that stared down at mangadone as though trying to stare it steadily into flame. white, mosque-like houses ached in the heat, chalk-white against the sky, and the flower-laden balconies, massed with bougainvillæa, caught the stare and cracked wherever there was sap enough left in the pillars and dry woodwork to respond to the fierce heat of a break in the rains. it was a long, hot walk to the bungalow where joicey lived, over the banking house itself, and the vast compound was arid and bare from three days of scorching drought. coryndon's feet sounded gritting on the red, hard drive that led to the cool of the porch. no one called at such an hour; it was unheard of in mangadone, where the day from two to five was sacred from interruption. a chaprassie stopped him on the avenue, and a bearer on the steps of the house itself. there were subordinates awake and alive in the bank, ready to answer questions on any subject, but coryndon held to his purpose. he did not want to see any of the lesser satellites; his business was with the manager, and he said that he must see him, if the manager was to be seen, or even if he was not, as his business would not keep. a young man with a smooth, affable manner appeared from within, and said he would give any message that coryndon had to leave with his principal, but coryndon shook his head and politely declined to explain himself or his business, beyond the fact that it was private and important. the young man shook his head doubtfully. "it doesn't happen to be a very good hour. we never disturb mr. joicey in the afternoons." "may i send in my card?" asked coryndon. "certainly, if you wish to do so." coryndon took a pencil out of his pocket, and, scribbling on the corner of his card, enclosed it in an envelope, and waited in the dark hall, where electric fans flew round like huge bats, the smooth-mannered young man keeping him courteous company. "mr. joicey rests at this time of day," he explained. "i hope you quite understand the difficulty." "i quite understand," replied coryndon, "but i think he will see me." there was a pause. the young man did not wish to contradict him, but he felt that he knew the ways and hours of the head of the firm very much better than a mere stranger arriving on foot just as the bank was due to close for the day. he wondered who coryndon was, and what his very pressing business could possibly be, but even in his wildest flights of fancy, and, with the thermometer at °, flights of fancy do not carry far, he never even dimly guessed at anything the least degree connected with the truth. the bearer came down the wide scenic stairway and said that his master would see mr. coryndon at once. the young man with the smooth manner faded off into dark shadows with an accentuation of impersonal civility, and coryndon walked up the echoing staircase by the front of the hall, down a corridor, down another flight of stairs, and into the private suite of rooms sacred to the use of the head of the banking firm, and used only in part by the celibate joicey. joicey was standing by a table, looking at coryndon's card and twisting it between his fingers. he recognized his visitor when he glanced at him, and showed some surprise. the room was in twilight, as all the outside chicks were down, and there was a lingering faint perfume of something sweet and cloying in the air. joicey looked sulky and irritated, and he motioned coryndon to a chair without seating himself. "well," he said brusquely, "what's this about rydal?" he pointed with a blunt finger to the card that he had thrown on to the table. "that," said coryndon, also indicating the card, "is merely a means towards an end. i have the good fortune to find you not only in your house, but able to receive me." the colour mounted to joicey's heavy face, and his temper rose with it. "then you mean to tell me--" he broke off and stared at coryndon, and gave a rough laugh. "you're hartley's globe-trotting acquaintance, aren't you? well, hartley happens to be a friend of mine, and it is just as well for you that he is. tell me your business, and i will overlook your intrusion on his account." something inside coryndon's brain tightened like a string of a violin tuned up to concert-pitch. "in one respect you are wrong," he said amiably, and without the smallest show of heat. "i am, as you say, hartley's friend, but i must disown any connection with globe-trotting, as you call it. i am in the secret service of the indian government." "oh, are you?" joicey tore up the card and threw it into a basket beside the writing-table. "it may interest you to know," went on coryndon easily, "that my visit to you is not altogether prompted by idle curiosity." he smiled reflectively. "no, i feel sure that you will not call it that." "fire ahead, then," said joicey, whose very evident resentment was by no means abated. "ask your question, if it is a question." "i am coming to that presently. before i do i want you to understand, mr. joicey, that, like you, i am a servant of the public, and i am at present employed in gathering together evidence that throws any light upon the doings of three people on the night of july the twenty-ninth." "then you are wasting valuable time," said joicey defiantly. "i was away from mangadone on that night." "i am quite aware that you told hartley so." coryndon's voice was perfectly even and level, but hot anger flamed up in the bloodshot eyes of craven joicey. "i put it to you that you made a mistake," went on coryndon, "and that in the interests of justice you will now be able to tell me that you remember where you were and what you were doing on that night." joicey thrust his hands deep into his pockets, his heavy shoulders bent, and his face dogged. "i am prepared to swear on oath that i was not in mangadone on the night of july the twenty-ninth." "not in mangadone, mr. joicey. mangadone proper ends at the tram lines; the district beyond is known as bhononie." coryndon could see that his shot told. there were yellow patches around joicey's eyes, and a purple shadow passed across his face, leaving it leaden. "unless i can complete my case by other means, you will be called as a witness to prove certain facts in connection with the disappearance of the boy absalom on the night of july the twenty-ninth." "who is going to call me?" the question was curt, and joicey's defiance was still strong, but there was a certain huskiness in his voice that betrayed a very definite fear. "leh shin, the chinaman, will call you. his neck will be inside a noose, mr. joicey, and he will need your evidence to save his life." "leh shin? that man would swear anything. his word is worthless against mine," said the banker, raising his voice noisily. "if that is another specimen of secret service bluff, it won't do. won't do, d'you hear?" coryndon tapped his fingers on the writing-table. "i can't agree with you in your conclusion that it 'won't do.' taken alone his statement may be worthless, but taken in connection with the fact that you are in the habit of visiting his opium den by the river, it would be difficult to persuade any judge that he was lying. i myself have seen you going in there and coming out." he watched joicey stare at him with blind rage; he watched him stagger and reach out groping hands for a chair, and he saw the huge defiance evaporate, leaving joicey a trembling mass of nerves. "it's a lie," he said, mumbling the words as though they were dry bread. "it's a damned, infernal lie!" a long silence followed upon his words, and joicey mopped his face with his handkerchief, breathing hard through his nose, his hands shaking as though he was caught by an ague fit. "i'm in a corner," he said at last; "you've got the whip-hand of me, coryndon, but when i said i was not in mangadone that night, i was speaking the truth." "you were splitting a hair," suggested coryndon. joicey drew his heavy eyebrows together in an angry frown. "let that question rest," he said, conquering his desire to break loose in a passion of rage. "you went down paradise street some time after sunset. will you tell me exactly whom you saw on your way to the river house?" craven joicey steadied his voice and thought carefully. "i passed heath, the parson, he was coming from the direction of the lower wharves, and was going towards rydal's bungalow. i remember that, because rydal was in, my mind at the time; i had heard that his wife was ill, probably dying, and just after i saw absalom." he paused for a moment and moistened his lips. "was he with anyone when you saw him?" "no, he was alone, and he was carrying a parcel. anyhow, that is all i can tell you about him that night." joicey looked up as though he considered that he had said enough. "and from there you went to the opium den," said coryndon relentlessly. the perspiration dripped from joicey's hair, and he took up the threads of the story once more. "i went there," he said, biting the words savagely. "i was sick at the time. i'd had a go of malaria and was as weak as a kitten. the place was empty, and only leh shin was in the house, and whether he gave me a stronger dose, or whether i was too seedy to stand my usual quantity, i can't tell you, but i overslept my time." he passed his hand over his face with a sideways look that was horrible in its shamefacedness. coryndon avoided looking at him in return, and waited patiently until he went on. "leh shin remained with me. he never leaves the house whilst i am inside," continued joicey. "i was there the night of the twenty-ninth and the day of the thirtieth. luckily it was a sunday and there was no fear of questions cropping up, and i only got out at nightfall when it was dark enough for me to go back without risk. since then," he said, rising to his feet and striking the writing-table with a clenched fist, "i have been driven close to madness. hartley was put on to the track of leh shin by the lying old burman, mhtoon pah, and leh shin's shop was watched and he himself threatened. god! what i've gone through." "thank you," said coryndon, pushing back his chair. "you have been of the very greatest assistance to me." joicey sat down again, a mere torment-racked mass, deprived of the help of his pretence, defenceless and helpless because his sin had found him out in the person of a slim, dark-faced man, who looked at him with burning pity in his eyes. the world jests at the abstract presentment of vice. from pulpits it appears clothed in attractive words and is spoken of as alluring; and, supported by the laughter of the idle and the stern belief of the righteous in its charms, man sees something gallant and forbidden in following its secret paths. the abstract view has the charm and attraction of an impressionist picture, but once the curtain is down, and the witness stands out with a terrible pointing finger, the laughter of the world dies into silence, and the testimony of the preacher that vice is provided with unearthly beauty becomes a false statement, and man is conscious only of the degradation of his own soul. coryndon left the room noiselessly and returned up the steps, along the corridor and down the stone flight that led into the subsiding heat of the late afternoon. the young man with the smooth, affable manner wheeled a bicycle out of a far corner, and smiled pleasantly at coryndon. "you saw the manager, and got what you wanted?" "i saw him, and got even more than i wanted," said coryndon, with conviction. things like this puzzled the dream side of his nature and left him exhausted. the gathering passion of rage in joicey's eyes had not touched him, but the memory of the big, bull-dog, defiant man huddled on the low chair, his arm over his face, was a memory that spoke of other things than what he had come there to discover; the terrible things that are behind life and that have power over it. he had to collect himself with definite force, as a child's attention is recalled to a lesson-book. "he has cleared leh shin," he said to himself, and at first exactly all that the words meant was not clear to his mind. joicey had cleared the chinaman of complicity, and had knocked the whole structure of carefully selected evidence away with a few words. coryndon was back in hartley's bungalow with this to consider; and it left him in a strange place, miles from any conclusion. he had sighted the end of his labours, seen the reward of his long secret watchfulness, and now they had withdrawn again beyond his grasp. heath had seen absalom with the chinaman's assistant. joicey, whose evidence marked a later hour than that of heath, had seen him alone, and the solitary figure of the small boy hurrying into the dark was the last record that indicated the way he had gone. nothing connected itself with the picture as coryndon sat brooding over it, and then gradually his mind cleared and the confusion of the destruction of his carefully worked-out plan departed from his brain like a wind-blown cloud. there was a link, and his sensitive fine fingers caught it suddenly, the very shock of contact sending the blood into his cheeks. the picture was clear now. absalom, a little white-clad figure, slim, eager and dutiful, hurried into the shadows of night, but coryndon was at his heels this time. the clue was so tiny, so infinitesimal, that it took the eye of a man trained to the last inch in the habit of seeing everything to notice it, but it did not escape coryndon. he joined hartley at tea in the sitting-room, with its semi-official air of being used for serious work, and hartley fulfilled his avocation by bringing coryndon back from strange places into the heart of sane humdrum existence. surely if some men are pillars, and others rockets, and more poets, professors and preachers, some are hand-rails, and only the man who has just been standing on a dizzy height looking sheer into the bottomless pit where nothing is safe and where life crumbles and fear is too close to the consciousness, knows the value and even the beauty of a hand-rail, and knows that there is no need to mock at its limitations. for a few minutes coryndon leant upon the moral support of hartley's cheery personality, and then he told him that he was going back to the bazaar that night, as circumstances led him to believe that he might find what he wanted there and there only. "that means that you have cleared heath?" hartley's voice was relieved. "heath is entirely exonerated." coryndon wandered to the piano, and he played the twilight into the garden, the bats out of the eaves, and he played the shadow of joicey's shame off his own soul until he was refreshed and renewed, and it was time for him to return to his disguise and slip out of the house. xxi demonstrates the persuasive power of a knife edge, and tells a story of a gold lacquer bowl the obese boy sat in leh shin's shop, fiddling sometimes with his ears and sometimes with the soles of his bare feet. he found life just a little dull, and had he been able to express himself as "bored," he would doubtless have done so. peeling small dry scales of skin off wear-hardened heels is not the most exciting occupation life affords, and the assistant wished more than once that his master would return from either the gambling den or the joss house and liberate him for the night. it was his night at the river house, and small opportunities for pilfering from the drugged sleepers made these occasions both amusing and profitable. on the whole he enjoyed the nights in the den, and they added considerably to his bank in a box secreted behind the joss who flamed and pranced on the wall. meanwhile, nothing was doing in the shop, and company there was none, unless the cockroaches and the lizards could be reckoned in that category. his master had been shaky and short of temper when he awoke from his afternoon sleep, and had struck his assistant over the head more than once in the course of an argument. unseen things ticked and rustled in dark corners, and the boy yawned loudly and stretched his arms, making himself more hideous as his contracted mouth opened to its full oval in his large round face. still nothing happened and no one came, and he returned to the closer examination of a blister that interested him. he probed it with a needle, and it indicated its connection with his foot by stinging as though he had burnt himself with a match. he was seated on a table bending over his horrible employment, half pastime, half primitive operation, the light of the lamp full upon him, when a sound of padding feet shook the floor and he looked up, his eyes full of the effort of listening attentively, and saw a face peering in at the door. for a moment he was startled, and then he swung his legs, which hung short of the floor, over the side of the table and laughed out loud. "so thou art back, mountain of wisdom?" he said jeeringly. "come within and tell me of thy journey." the burman crept in stealthily, looking around him. "aye, i am back. having done the business." curiosity leapt into the eyes of the chinaman, and he dropped his attitude of contempt. "what business?" he asked greedily. "before thy departure thou wast mute, stricken as a dumb man, neither wouldst thou speak in response to any question." the burman curled himself up on the floor and smiled complaisantly. "none the less, the business is done, o bowl of ghee, and i have returned." the assistant ignored the personal description, and adopted a manner calculated to ingratiate himself into the friendly confidence of the mad burman. he wriggled off the table and crouched on the floor a few inches off coryndon's face, and the contact being too close for human endurance, coryndon threw himself back into the corner and retired behind a mask of cunning obstinacy. "thy business, thy business," repeated the boy. "was it in the nature of the evil works of the bad man, thy friend?" he leered his encouragement, and fumbling at his belt took out a small coin. "here, i will give thee two annas if thou tell the whole story to my liking." the burman shook his head, but he appeared to be considering the offer slowly in his obtuse and stagnant brain. "give the money into mine own hand, that the reward be sure," he said, as though he toyed with the idea. "not so," replied the boy. "first the boiled rice and the salt, and afterwards the payment. thus is the way in honest dealings." the burman shut his mouth tightly and exhibited signs of a return to his former condition of dumbness that worked upon the assistant like gall. "then, if nothing less will content thee, take thy money," he said in frothy anger. "take it and speak low, for it may be that eavesdroppers are without in the street." he dropped the coin into the outstretched palm, but the burman did not begin his story. he got up and searched behind boxes and shook the rows of hanging garments. he was so secret and silent that the boy became exasperated and closed the narrow door into the street with a bang, pulling across a heavy chain. "let that content thee," he said irritably, chafing under the delay, and sitting down, a frowsy, horrible object, in the dim corner, he prepared to enjoy a further description out of the wild fantastic terrors of the madman's brain. surprise does not hover; its coming events are shadowless, and its spring is the spring of a tiger out of the dark, and surprise came upon leh shin's assistant as it has come upon men and nations since the world first spun in space. he looked upon the burman as a harmless lunatic, and he only half-believed that he had ever been guilty of the act that had ended in a term of imprisonment in the andaman islands, but in one moment he realized that it might all be true and that he himself was possibly singled out as the next victim. in one silent moment he found himself pinned in his corner, the burman squatting in front of him, a long knife which he had never seen before pointing at his throat with horrible, determined persistency. he opened his mouth and thought to cry out for help, but the burman leaned forward and warned him that if he did so, his last minute had inevitably come. "i am thy friend, thy good and honourable friend," he said pleasantly as he made play with the afghan dagger. "i do but make mirth for both myself and thee, and i have no thought to harm thee." the flesh of the gross body crept and crawled under the burman's look. fate had put the heart of a chicken in the huge frame of leh shin's assistant, and it beat now like pelting hail on a frozen road. he was close to a raw, naked fear, and it made him shameless as he gibbered and cowered before it. "i have no money," he said, bleating out the words. "all that i have is already paid to thee for thy tale." he whined and cringed and writhed in his close corner. "i have heard a strange tale," coryndon said, bending a little closer to him. "old now as stale fish that has lain in the dust of the street. it has been whispered in my ear that thou knowest how absalom came to his end." "i slew him in the house of a seaman," said the boy, in a quavering voice. "now take the point of thy knife from my throat, for it doth greatly inconvenience pleasant speech between thee and me." coryndon's watchful eye detected the lie before it announced itself in words, or so it seemed to the boy, who resigned himself to the mere paltry limitations of fact, and confessed that he and absalom had been friends and that he had never killed anything except a chicken, and once a dog that was too young to bite his hand. the details of the story came out at long intervals, with breaks of sweating terror between each one. pieced together, it was simple enough. in spite of the existing feud between their masters, leh shin's assistant and absalom had struck up a kind of friendship that was not unlike the friendship of any two boys in any quarter of the globe. they used special knocks upon the door, and when they passed as strangers in the streets they made masonic signs to one another, and they also gambled with european cards in off hours. the desire for money, so strong in the chinaman, grew gradually in the mind of the christian boy, whose descent to avernus was marked first by the sale of his sunday school prize-books, which he disposed of at the baptist mission shop, receiving several rupees in return. having once possessed himself of what was wealth to him, and having lost most of it in the gentlemanly vice of gambling, he began to need more, but being slow-witted he could think of no way better than robbing mhtoon pah, which suggestion the chinaman's assistant looked upon as both dangerous and weak, regarded in the light of a workable plan. it was inside his bullet-head that the idea of a plot that could not be discovered came into its first nebulous being. absalom found out that mhtoon pah was looking for a gold lacquer bowl, and through the agency of leh shin the bowl was eventually marked down as the property of a seaman who was lodging temporarily near the opium den by the river, one of leh shin's clients. the assistant had the good fortune to overhear the preliminaries of the sale, and he immediately saw his opportunity, as genius alone sees and recognizes chances. it was he who first told absalom that the bowl was located, and it was he who realized that chance was beckoning on the adventurer. it was arranged that absalom should inform mhtoon pah that the coveted treasure was to be had for a price, and it was also the part of mr. heath's best scholar, to obtain the money from mhtoon pah that was to be paid over to the seaman for the bowl. by this time absalom's gambling debts had become a serious question with him, and even a lifelong mortgage upon his weekly pay could hardly cover his liabilities. besides which, he had to live. that painful necessity which dogs the career of greater men than absalom. he appeared to have an almost childish trust in the craft and guile of his chinese friend, and set the whole matter before him. mhtoon pah was ready to pay two hundred rupees for the lacquer bowl, as he was already offered five hundred by mrs. wilder, and was content with the profit. two hundred rupees was a sum that was essentially worth some risk. to hand it over to a drunken seaman was against all moral precept. the sailor's ways were scandalous, his gain would go into evil hands. treated in this manner, even a sunday-school graduate could lull an uneasy conscience, and as far as coryndon could judge, absalom was not troubled by any warnings from that silent mentor. out of the brain of leh shin's assistant the great scheme had leapt full-grown, and it only required a little careful preparation to put it into action. the assistant knew the sailor, a lascar with a craving for drink, and he became friendly with him "out of hours," and learned his ways and the times when he was likely to be in the house where he lodged. the sailor, having come to know that value was attached to his bowl, guarded it with avaricious care when in a condition to do so; and leh shin, who trusted his assistant, through whom the news of the deal had first come to his ear, offered the man fifty rupees for what he had merely stolen from a shop in pekin. it took the assistant a full week to arrange events so that he and absalom could work together for the moral good of the sailor, and protect him from the snares of lucre, represented by a third of the money leh shin expected to receive. he dwelt with some pride upon the fact, and his vanity in this particular almost conquered his fear of the afghan blade that still nestled close to his bull neck. he had drunk in friendship with the sailor, dropping a drug into his cup, and waiting till his eyes grew dim and he fell forward in a heavy sleep. but even in the moment of achievement his wits were worth more than the wits of absalom, for he ran out of the house and established an alibi while the christian boy filched the bowl from beneath the bed of the intoxicated sailor. at a given hour he waited for absalom just where heath had stood after he had parted from rydal, and so chance played twice into his hands in one night. absalom, who appeared to have imbibed some rudimentary principles of honour among thieves, passed the boy his share, which was a hundred and twenty rupees, including his debts of honour, and having done so, sped away into the night, the bowl under his arm. "and that is all the story," said the boy, beating his hands on the floor, and returning from the momentary forgetfulness of the narrative to the immediate fear of the knife. "further than that, i know nothing. the hour is late and if i am not at the river house i shall feel the wrath of my master." "it is a poor tale, a paltry tale," said the burman, in tones of disgust. "one that hardly requites me for my patience in hearing it out." he slipped his knife back into his belt and got up from his heels with a leisurely movement. the boy, still on all fours, watched him closely, and the burman, his eye attracted by a bright tin kettle hanging among the other goods dependent from the ceiling, stood looking at it, and as he looked the boy dodged out with a rush, overturning a bale of goods, and tearing at the door like a mad dog, disappeared into the street. coryndon watched him go, and went back to his corner to wait until leh shin should return from either the gambling den or the joss house. he had something to say to leh shin, something that could not wait to be said, and he composed himself to the necessary patience that is part of all close, careful search, and while he waited, he turned over the evidence that had arisen from the little clue that joicey had given him. absalom had a parcel under his arm, and that parcel was the gold lacquer bowl that had passed from mhtoon pah's curio shop to mrs. wilder's writing-table. coryndon fiddled with his fingers in the dust of the floor, and took a blood-stained rag out of his pocket and spread it over his knee. here was another tangible piece of evidence brought by mhtoon pah to hartley. so the record of circumstance closed in. coryndon thought again. a lacquer bowl and a stained rag of silk, that was all. if he handed over the case to hartley and mhtoon pah was really guilty, other evidence would in all probability be found, and the whole mystery made clear. he leaned against the wall and watched the throbbing lamp-wick, fighting his passion for completed work and his conviction that only he could see it through to its ultimate conclusion. he knew that he was dealing with wits quite as crafty as his own, and argued the point from the other side. mhtoon pah had given the rag himself to hartley, and had sworn that the bowl was left on the steps of his shop. if no further proof was forthcoming, these two facts unsupported were almost worthless. unless a complete denial of his story could be set against it, hartley stood to be checkmated. coryndon had nearly decided against leh shin. he drew his knees up under his chin and came to a definite conclusion. he could not give up the case as it stood; he was absolved from any hint of professional jealousy, and he could count himself free to follow the evidence until it led him irrevocably to the spot where the whole detail was clear and definite. all the faces of the men who had figured in the drama floated across his mind, and he thought of the strange key that turned in the lock of one small trivial destiny, opening other doors as if by magic. absalom's life or death had no outward connection with the head of the mangadone banking firm, it had nothing in all its days to bring it into touch with rydal and rydal's tragedy--rydal whom coryndon had never seen. it lay apart, severed by race and every possible accident of birth or chance, from the successful wife of a successful civil servant, or an earnest, hard-working clergyman, and yet the great net of destiny had been spread on that night of the th of july, and every one of them had fallen into its meshes. all the immense problem of the plan that so decides the current of men's lives came over him, and he saw the limitless value of the insignificant in life. absalom was only a little floating piece of jetsam on the great waters that divided all these lives, yet he was the factor that had taken the place of the keystone in the arch; the pivot around which the force that guided and ruled the whole apparent chaos had moved. coryndon wandered a long way in his thoughts from the shop where he sat on the dusty floor, waiting for the return of leh shin. he was so still that the cockroaches and black-beetles crept out again and formed into marauding expeditions where the shadows of the hanging clothes fell dark. he turned himself from the pressure of his thought and closed his eyes, resting his brain in a quiet pool of untroubled silence. he knew the need and the art of absolute relaxation from the strain of thought, and though he did not sleep, he looked as though he slept, until he heard the sound of approaching feet and a hand pushed against the door. xxii in which coryndon holds the last thread and draws it tight when leh shin opened the shop door and pushed in his grey, gaunt face, he looked around as though wondering in a half-dreamy, half-detached abstraction where some object he had expected to see had gone. at length his eyes wandered to the burman, who sat on the ground eyeing him with a curiously intent and concentrated regard. "thine assistant hath gone to the river house," he said, answering the unspoken question. "he left me in charge of thy shop and thy goods." leh shin nodded silently and closed the door. when he turned, the burman beckoned to him with a studied suggestion of mystery. "what is thy message?" asked leh shin. he believed the burman to be afflicted with a madness, and his odd and persistent movement of his arm hardly conveyed anything to the drowsy, drugged brain of the chinaman. the burman made no reply, but beckoned again, pointing to the floor beside him in dumb show, and leh shin advanced slowly and took up his place on a grass mat a little distance off. silently, and very softly, the burman crept near to him, and putting his mouth close to his ear, talked in a rapid, hissing whisper. his words were low, but their effect upon leh shin was startling, for he recoiled as though touched by a hot needle. his hands clutched his clothes, and his whole frame stiffened. even when he drew away, he listened with avidity as the burman continued to pour forth his story. he had a friend in the household of hartley sahib, so he told leh shin, a friend who had sensitive ears and had heard much; had heard in fact the whole story of the stained rag, and of mhtoon pah's wild appeal for justice against the chinaman. "well for thee, leh shin, that i have a friend in the house of that _thakin_ who rules the police. but for him i should not have been informed of the plot against thy life, for, 'on this evidence,' saith he, 'assuredly they will hang the chinaman, and mhtoon pah is witness against him.'" "mhtoon pah, mhtoon pah!" said leh shin, and he needed to add no curses to the name, spoken as he said it. when coryndon had fully explained that his friend, who was in the service of hartley, had not only given him a circumstantial account of how the rag was to be used as final and conclusive evidence of leh shin's guilt, but that he had also stolen the rag out of hartley sahib's locked box, to be safely returned to him later, leh shin almost tore it from between coryndon's fingers. "nay, i cannot deliver it unto thee. my word is pledged. look closely at it, if thou wilt, but it may not leave my hand or i break my oath." he held it under the circle of lamplight, and the chinaman leaned over his shoulder to look at it. for a long time he examined it carefully, feeling its texture and touching it with light fingers. coryndon watched him with some interest. the chinaman was applying some definite test to the silk, known to himself. at last he turned his eyes on the burman, staring with a gaunt, fierce look that saw many things, and when he spoke his words grated and rattled and his voice was almost beyond his control. "see now, o servant of justice, i am learned in the matter of silks, and without doubt this comes surely from but one place." again he fell to touching the silk, and his crooked fingers shook as he explained that the fragment was one he could identify. it was not the product of the silk looms of burma, or shantung; it could not be procured even in japan. it was a rare and special product fashioned by certain lake-dwellers in the shan states, and so small was their output that it went to no market. "in one shop only in mangadone," he said; "nay, in one shop only in the whole world may such silk be found. thus, in his craft, hath mine enemy overreached himself." "thou art certain of this?" "as i am that the sun will rise." coryndon looked again at the silk, and sat silently thinking. "the piece is cut off roughly," he said, after a moment of reflection. "yet, could it be fitted into the space left in the roll, then thou art cleared, and hast just cause against mhtoon pah." "if thy madness comprehends so much, let it carry thee further still, o stricken and afflicted," said leh shin, imploring him with voice and gesture. "night after night have i stood outside his shop, but who may enter through a locked door? a breath, a shadow, or a flame, but not a man." he lay on the ground and dug his nails into the floor. "i know the shop from within and without, and i know that the lock opens with difficulty but to one key, the key that hangs on a chain around the neck of mhtoon pah." silence fell again as leh shin wrestled with the problem that confronted him. "what saidst thou?" said the burman, suddenly coming to life. "a key?" he gave a low, chuckling laugh and rocked about in his corner. "knowest thou of the story of shiraz, the punjabi?" "i have no mind for tales," said leh shin, striking at him with a futile blow of rage. "nay, restrain thy wrath, since thou hast spoken of a key. with a key that was made by sorcery, he was enabled to open the treasure-box of the lady sahib, and often hath he told me that all doors may be opened by it, large or small. it is not hard for me to take it from under his pillow while he sleeps." the chinaman's jaw dropped, and he cast up his hands in mute astonishment. if this was madness, sanity appeared only a doubtful blessing set beside it. he drew his own wits together, and leaning near the burman laid before him the rough outline of a plan. mhtoon pah's ways were known to him. usually he went to the pagoda after the shop was closed, and he returned from there late; it was impossible to be accurate as to the exact hour of his return. to risk detection was to shatter all chance of success, and it was necessary to make sure before attempting to break into the shop and identify the silk rag with the original roll, if that might be done. there was only one course open to the burman and leh shin, and that was to wait until there was a _pwé_ at the pagoda, which mhtoon pah would certainly attend, as his new shrine drew many curious gazers to the temple. it would also draw the inhabitants of paradise street out of the quarter, and leave the place practically deserted. for many reasons it was necessary to wait such an opportunity, though leh shin raved at the delay. it seemed to him that the whole plan was of his suggesting, and he did not realize that every vague question put by the burman led him step by step to the complicated scheme. "to-morrow i will send forth my assistant to bring me word of the next _pwé_, so that the night may be marked in my mind, and that i shall gain pleasure in considering the nearing downfall of my enemy." coryndon slipped off to his house. he was tired mentally and physically, but before he slept, he took a bundle of keys from his dispatch-box and tied them to the waist of his _loongyi_. in the morning there was a fresh surprise for leh shin. his assistant refused to leave the river house, and no persuasion would lure him out to look after his master's shop. he was afraid of something or someone, and he wept and entreated to be left where he was. leh shin beat him and tried to drive him out, to no purpose, and in the end he prevailed over his master, whose mind was occupied with other and more weighty affairs. like a black shadow, leh shin crept about the streets, and he questioned one and another as to the festivities to be held at the pagoda. everywhere he heard of mhtoon pah's shrine, and of the great holiness of the curio dealer. mhtoon pah was giving a feast at the pagoda with presents for the priests, and the night chosen was the night of the full moon. "art thou bidden?" asked one who remembered the day of leh shin's prosperity. "it is in my thoughts, friend, to make my peace," said leh shin, with an immovable face. "on the night when the moon is full, i am minded to do so." his words were carried back to mhtoon pah, who pondered over them, wondering what the chinaman meant, finding something sinister in the sound that added to his rage against his enemy. the day of the feast was dark and overcast, and the inhabitants of paradise street looked at the sky with great misgiving, but the curio dealer refused to be alarmed. "the night will be fine, for i have greatly propitiated the _nats_," he said with conviction, and he lolled and smoked in his chair at an earlier hour than was usual with him. even as he had said, the evening began to clear, and by sunset the heavy clouds were all dispersed. a red sunset unfolded itself in a scroll of fire across the sky, and mangadone looked as though it was illuminated by the flames of a conflagration. a strange evening, some said then, and many said after. even the pointing man lost his jaundice-yellow and seemed to blush as he pointed up the steps. he had nothing to blush for. his master was at the summit of his power. the _hypongyis_ lauded him openly in the streets, and he was giving a feast at the temple at which the poorest would not be forgotten. yet mhtoon pah was not altogether easy. his eyes rolled strangely from time to time, and it was remarked by several that he walked to the end of paradise street and looked down the colonnade of the chinese quarter, standing there in thought. old stories of the feud between him and leh shin were recalled in whispers and passed about. the red of the sunset died out into rose-pink, and the effect of colour in the very air faded and dwindled. people were already dressed out in gala clothing, and streaming towards the pagoda. the giver of the feast did not start with them. he sat in his chair, and then withdrew into his shop. a light travelled from thence to the upper story, and then with slow hesitation, mhtoon pah came out by the front of the house and locked the clamped padlock. he stood still for a few minutes, and then he gasped and shook his fist at the empty air, and he, too, took his way across the bridge and was lost in the shadows. still the stream from wharf street and the confluent streets flowed on up paradise street, and gradually only the maimed and the aged, or the impossibly youthful, were left behind, to hear of the wonders afterwards at secondhand, a secondhand likely to add rather than detract from what actually took place. even the colonnade was empty and silent. shiraz had gone with the crowd to see what might be seen, and leh shin's assistant, furtive and watchful, and in great terror of the burman's knife, was also in the throng that climbed the pagoda steps. the moon that was to have shone on mhtoon pah's feast rose in a yellow ring, and clouds came up, hazy, gaudy clouds that dimmed its light and made the shadows in the silent streets dense and heavy. usually there was a police guard at the corner where paradise street met the colonnade, but that night hartley considered the police would be more necessary in the neighbourhood of the pagoda. mhtoon pah did not think of this. his conscience was easy, he had propitiated the _nats_. the pagoda was one blaze of light, and a thousand candles flamed before every shrine; even the oldest and most neglected had its ring of light. small coloured lamps dotted the outlines of some of the booths, and the whole spectacle presented a moving mass of brilliant colour. sahibs had come there. hartley sahib had agreed to appear for half an hour, and he too looked at the crowd with curious, travelling eyes. coryndon might be among them, and probably was, he thought, but in any case there was little chance of his recognizing him if he were. mhtoon pah had not spared magnificent display, and the crowd told each other that it was indeed a night to remember in mangadone. whispering winds came out and rang the temple bells, but even when the breeze strengthened, the rain-clouds held off. it became a matter for compliment and congratulation, and mhtoon pah accepted his friends' flattery without pride. he was a good man, a benefactor, a shrine-builder who followed "the way" with zeal and fervour, and besides, he had propitiated _nats_; _nats_ who blew up storms, caused earthquakes and were evilly disposed towards men. mhtoon pah would have been at the point where a man's life touches sublimity, but for one thing. the words of leh shin echoed in his ears over all the applause and adulation. "it is in my thought, friend, to make my peace. on the night of the full moon i am minded to do so." the moon riding clear of clouds, shone out over the concourse of men and women. anywhere among them all might be leh shin, the needy chinaman, and gripping his large hands into fists, mhtoon pah watched for him and expected him, but watch as he might, he did not come, neither was there any sign of him among all the crowd of faces that passed and repassed before the new shrine. xxiii demonstrates the truth of the axiom that "the unexpected always happens" at the time when mhtoon pah was standing in the centre of a gazing group before the new shrine, and trying to forget that nothing except the news of leh shin's hanging would give him real satisfaction, the chinaman, accompanied by the burman, slipped up the channel of gloom under the colonnade and made his way into paradise street. the burman walked with an easy unconscious step, but leh shin crept close to the wall and started when he passed a sleeping form in a doorway. night fears and that trembling anxiety that comes when fulfilment is close at hand were upon him. he knew that the point in view was to effect an entrance into the curio shop, the threshold of which he had not crossed since his last black hour of misfortune had struck and he had gone out a beggar. everything in his life lay on the other side of the shop door; all his happy, prosperous, careless days, all the good years. every one of them was stored there just as surely as mhtoon pah's ivories and carved screens and silks were stored safe against the encroachment of damp and must. his old self might even be somewhere in the silent house, and it takes a special quality of courage for a man to return and walk through a doorway into the long past. for the first time for years he remembered how he had brought his little son into the shop, and how the child had laughed and crowed at the sight of amber and crystal chains. even mhtoon pah grew dim in his mind, and he dallied with the forgotten memories as he stood shaking in an archway watching the burman cross the street. insensibly the burman's mania had waned in the last few hours, and he had grown silent and preoccupied, a fact that escaped leh shin's notice. his owl eyes blinked with the strain of staring through the wavering light, and his memories strove with him as though in physical combat. mhtoon pah was no longer in the house, and instead of his shadow another influence seemed to brood there, something that called to leh shin, but not with the wild cry of hate. before the days of still greater affluence leh shin had lived there with his little burmese wife. the burman was on his knees, having some difficulty with the lock. he could see him fighting it, and at last he saw the jerk of his hand that told that the key had turned, and that the way was clear. leh shin dived out of the recess and ran, a flitting shadow, across the road. the door was open, but the burman for all his madness was not satisfied. there was a way out through the back by which they could emerge, and if the front door hung loose, careless eyes might easily be attracted to the fact. the pointing man was not there for nothing. almost everyone looked up the steps. even in his fury of impatience, leh shin saw the reason for caution, and agreed to open a window, and admit the burman after he had locked the door again. the moments were full of the tense agony of suspense, and he peered cautiously out from under the silk blind. a late passer-by went slowly up the street, and leh shin's heart beat a loud obbligato to the sound of his wooden pattens. by craning his neck as the man passed, he could just distinguish the burman crouching behind the wooden man, who blandly indicated the heavy padlock. the wooden man lied woodenly to the effect that all was well within the curio shop, and a few minutes later the burman swung himself over the balustrade and climbed with cat-like agility on to the window-ledge. the darkness of the room was heavy with scent, and leh shin stumbled over unknown things. coryndon struck a match and held it in the hollow of one palm as he opened the aperture in the dark lantern he carried, and lighted it. when he had done so he looked up, and taking no notice of the masses of beautiful things, he went quickly to the silk cupboard, opening it with another key on the ring. "leh shin," he said, speaking in a commanding whisper, "turn thyself into an ear, and listen for me while i search." leh shin nodded silently, half-stupidly it seemed, and went on tip-toes to the door that opened into the passage. all the power of the past was over him, and though he heard the burman's curt command he hardly seemed to understand what he meant. for a little time he stood at the door, hearing the rustling whisper of yards of silk torn down and glanced over and discarded, and then he wandered almost without knowing it up the staircase and through the rooms, until the sight of mhtoon pah's bed and some of mhtoon pah's clothing recalled his mind to the reason of his being there. he hurried down, his bare feet making no sound on the stairs, and looked into the shop again. the burman was seated on the floor, a width of silk over his knees; all the displaced rolls had been put back. he had worked swiftly and with the greatest care that no trace of his visit should be known later. leh shin slid out again. the passage was dark as pitch, but he knew every turn and twist of its windings, and he knew that it led down to the cellars below the house. he was awake and alert now as coryndon himself, and as he strained his ears he caught a sound. he listened again with horrible eagerness, looked back into the shop and saw the stooping head going over every yard of a roll of fine silk faithfully; and then he gripped the knife under his belt and, feeling along the wall with his free hand, followed along the corridor. once only he glanced round and then the darkness of the corridor swallowed him from sight. coryndon, busy with the silk made by the lake-dwellers spread over his knees, knew nothing of leh shin's disappearance. the fever of chase was in his blood, and he threw the flimsy yards through his hands. nothing, nothing, and again nothing, and again--he felt his heart swell with sudden, stifled excitement. under his hand was a three-cornered rent, a damaged piece where a patch rather larger than his palm had been roughly cut out. his usually steady hand shook as he put the stained rag over it and fitted it into the place. "leh shin," he called, as he rose, but he called softly. no sound answered his whisper, and he stiffened his body and listened. he had been wrong. there was a sound, but it did not come from inside the shop: it was the slow footstep of a heavy man pausing to find a key. coryndon listened no longer. he closed the door of the silk cupboard, bundled up the yards of silk in his arms and extinguishing the lamp darted behind a screen. it was a heavy carved teak screen, inset with silk panels embroidered with a long spray of hanging wistaria on a dark yellow ground. as he hid himself, he cursed his own stupidity. in the excitement of his desire to enter the curio shop, he had forgotten to hamper the lock with pebbles. after what seemed an age, the door opened slowly and mhtoon pah came in. something, he knew not what, had dragged him away from the pagoda, and dragged him back to his shop. his eyes looked mad and unnatural in the light of the lantern he held in his hand, and he shut the door and stood like a dog who scents danger, and stared round the room. he walked to the silk cupboard and looked in through the glass panes, but did not open it or discover that it was unlocked. he paced round the room, stopping before the screen, his eyes still reflecting his trouble of mind. from behind the screen, coryndon watched every stir he made; he saw the look on his face and noted mhtoon pah's smallest movement. there was no evidence of thieves, and yet suspicion made itself plain in every line of the curio dealer's body. at last, with a gasping sigh, he sat before the small figure of an alabaster gaudama and stared at it with unwinking eyes. "i shed no blood," he said, in a low rattling voice. "i shed no blood. my hands are clean." over and over he repeated the words, like an incantation, his voice rising and falling, until coryndon could have emerged from his hiding and taken him by the throat. the thought of coming out upon mhtoon pah crossed his mind, but his instinct held him back. he wondered desperately where leh shin had gone, and if he would come in upon the burman making his strange prayer. still mhtoon pah repeated the words and swayed to and fro before the image of the buddha, and the very moments seemed to pause and listen with coryndon. the shop was close and the air oppressive. little trickles of sweat ran down his neck and made channels in the stain on his skin, and still coryndon waited in tense suspense. for nearly ten minutes mhtoon pah continued to rock and mutter on the floor, and then he got up, and, taking his lantern, went out by the door into the passage. coryndon waited for the sound of a scuffle and a fall, but none came, and he was in the dark, surrounded by silence once more. without waiting to consider, he followed across the room and saw the swinging light go down the passage and disappear suddenly. it seemed to coryndon that mhtoon pah had disappeared, as though he had gone through the wall at the end of the passage, and he followed slowly. silence locked him in again, the dark, motionless silence of enclosed space. he did not dare to call out again to leh shin, and for all that he could tell, the chinaman might have been an arm's-reach away from him in the darkness, also waiting for some sudden thing to happen. the dark passage was an ante-chamber to some event: coryndon's tingling nerves told him that; and he steadied himself, holding in his imagination in a close, resolute grip. he had no way of judging the time that passed, but he guessed that it seemed longer to him than it possibly could have been; when from somewhere far below him, he heard a cry and the noise of several voices, all raised into indistinct clamour. "more than one man," he thought, as his heart beat quickly. "_more than two_," he added, in wonder as he strained in the effort of listening. the noise died out, and one low wail, continuous and plaintive, filled the blank of dark silence. coryndon felt for his matches, and knelt on the floor, feeling before him with his hands. the crying had ceased, and he touched the edge of a step. a long, steep flight began just under his hand. he leaned back and held the match-box in his hand, knowing that he could not venture the descent in the dark, and as he took out a match a new sound caught his ear. a man was running in the dark. he heard him stumble over the lower steps as he panted fiercely and he broke into a cry as he ran, a strange, mad, sobbing cry, and he still gasped and gave out his wordless wail as he tore past coryndon and on along the passage and into the shop. coryndon heard the door bang behind him, he heard the sound of some heavy thing being dragged before it. the footsteps and the voice were not those of leh shin, and coryndon knew that mhtoon pah had fled like a man pursued by devils, and had barricaded himself in. for a moment coryndon paused, and then lighted a match. close under his feet was the perilous edge of a staircase leading sheer down into a well-like depth of blackness. a thin scream came up to him, and without waiting to consider, he ran down quickly. at the bottom he found mhtoon pah's overturned lantern, and relighting it, he followed the intermittent call of fear that echoed through the damp, cavernous place he found himself in. a closed door stood at the end of a narrow passage, and from the further side of the door a stifled sound of terror came persistently. leh shin sat in a huddled heap against the door, and coryndon stooped over him, throwing the light from the lantern he carried upon him. "i looked into his eyes," said the chinaman, in a weak voice, "and once more he overcame me. his knife rent my arm, and i fell as though dead." coryndon supported him to his feet. his mind was working quickly. "canst thou stand by thyself?" he asked impatiently. the chinaman gave a nod of assent, and coryndon hammered on the door, throwing all his weight against it, until it cracked and fell inwards under the nervous force of his slight frame. what coryndon expected to see, he did not know. he was following his natural instinct when he threw aside the chase and capture of mhtoon pah and burst into the cellar-room. it was small and close, and smelt of the foul, fruity atmosphere of mildew. the ceiling was low, and crouching in one corner was a small boy, clad only in a loin-cloth, who stared at them and screamed with fear. "the chinamen, the chinamen!" he shrieked. "mhtoon pah, the chinamen." "absalom," the name came to coryndon's lips, as he stood staring at him. "my god, it must be absalom." he had spoken in english before he had time to think, and he turned to see if his self-betrayal had struck upon the confused brain of leh shin, but leh shin knew nothing and saw nothing but the face of the boy his enemy loved. he had placed the lamp on the floor and was feeling for his dagger, his eyes fascinated and his lips working soundlessly. coryndon caught him by the shoulder and snatched his knife from his hand. "fool," he said. "wouldst thou ruin all at the end? listen closely and attend to me. now is the moment to cry for the police. thine enemy is in a close net; show me swiftly the way by which i may go out of this house, and sit thou here and stir not, neither cry out nor speak until thou hearest the police. by the way i go out will i leave the door open, and some will enter there, and others at the front of the house." he turned to look at the boy, who pointed at the chinaman and continued to shriek for mhtoon pah. it was no moment for hesitation, though coryndon's thoughts went to the shop and the front door. by that door mhtoon pah might already have escaped, but even allowing for this, there was time to catch him again. he followed the way pointed out by the shaking hand of leh shin. "if thou fail in aught that i have told thee, or if the boy escape or suffer under thy hand, then is thine end also come," he said, as he stood for a moment in the aperture that led into a waste place at the back of the house; and then coryndon ran through the night. the rain had come on, teeming, relentless rain that fell in pitiless sheets out of a black sky. the roads ran with liquid mud and the stones cut coryndon's bare feet, but he ran on, his lungs aching and his throat dry. it is not easy to think with the blood hammering in the pulses and the breath coming short through gasping lungs, but coryndon kept his mind fixed upon one idea with steady determination. his object was to get into the house unnoticed, and to awake hartley without betraying himself to the servants. hartley's bungalow was closed for the night, and the _durwan_ slept rolled in a blanket in a corner of the veranda. coryndon held his sobbing breath and crept along the shadows, watching the man closely until the danger zone was passed, and then he ran on around the sharp angle of the house and dived into hartley's room. in the centre stood the bed, draped in the ghostly outlines of white mosquito-curtains, and coryndon walked lightly over the matted floor and shook the bed gently. hartley stirred but did not wake, and coryndon called his name and continued to call it in a low whisper. the head of the police stirred again and then sat up suddenly and answered coryndon in the same low undertone. "get into your clothes quickly, while i tell you what has happened," said coryndon, sitting low in the shadow of the bed, and while hartley dressed he told him the details shortly and clearly. the bungalow was still in darkness, and, with a candle in his hand to light him, hartley went into his office and rang up the paradise street police station. when he came back coryndon was standing looking through a corner of a raised chick. "the _durwan_ is awake," he said, without turning his head. "call him round to the front, otherwise he may see me." "come on, come on, man," said hartley impatiently, "there is no time to lose." coryndon turned and smiled at him. "this is where i go out of the case," he said. "i shall be back in time for breakfast to-morrow," and without waiting to argue the point he dived out into the waning darkness of the night, leaving hartley looking helplessly after him. xxiv in which a wooden image points for the last time before the burman left leh shin in charge of absalom, he had pinned the chinaman by the arms and spoken to him in strange, strong words that scorched clear across the chaos in his mind and made him understand a hidden thing. the fact that this man was not a mad convict, but a member of the great secret society who tracked the guilty, almost stunned the chinaman, who knew and understood the immense power of secret societies. mhtoon pah might be driving wildly along a road leading out of mangadone, and though one old chinaman and a mad burman could not stop him, the long arm of police law would grab and capture his gross body. leh shin sat quite still, content to rest and consider this. telegrams flashed messages under the great bidding of authority, men sprang armed from stations in every village, the close grip of fate was not more close than the grasp of the awakened machinery of justice, and in the centre of its power mhtoon pah was helpless as a fly in the web of a spider. "he travels fast, and fear is sitting on his shoulder, for he travels to his death," he repeated over and over, swaying backwards and forwards. he had an opium pellet hidden somewhere in his clothes, and he found it and turned it over his tongue; weariness and sleep conquered the pain, and leh shin sat with his head bent forward in heavy stupor. from this condition he awoke to lights and noises and the sound of a file working on iron. the police had come and hartley was bending over the boy, talking to him kindly and reassuring him as far as he could. upstairs, the heavy thud of blows on the outer door of the shop echoed through the house with steady, persistent sound. dawn had come in real earnest, and the street, but lately returned from the excitements of the feast at the pagoda, was thrilled by a new and much more satisfying sensation. three blue-coated, leather-belted policemen were on the top of the steps that led to the door of the curio shop, forcing it in. the heavy bolts held, and though the padlocked chain hung idle, the door resisted all their efforts. hartley was down in the cellars, and his way through to the shop was blocked . . . blocked by the inner door which was also closed from inside, and somewhere within was mhtoon pah. he was very silent in his shop. no amount of hammering called forth any response, and even when the door gave way and the bolt fell clattering to the ground, he did not spring out. people had sometimes wondered at the curious destiny of the wooden man. he had been there so long and had done his duty so faithfully. in rain or shine alike, he had always been in the street, eternally bowing the passers up the steps. americans had tried to buy him, and had wished to take him home to point at other free and enlightened citizens, but mhtoon pah refused all offers of money. the wooden man was faithful to him, and he in his turn was, in some way, faithful to the wooden man. he had been there when mhtoon pah was a clerk and had indicated his rise, he had seen him take over possession of the shop, and he had been witness to many trivial things, and now he stood, the crowd behind him, and pointed silently again. it seemed right for him to point, but it was grotesque that he still smiled and bent forward. the closed gates of the dawn opened and let in the sun, and the pale yellow light ventured across the threshold where the policemen hung back, and even the crowd in the street were silent. the light fell on a thousand small things that reflected its rays; it fell on a heavy carved box drawn across the further entrance, on the swinging glass doors of the open silk cupboard, on bowls of silver and bowls of brass, and it fell full on the thing that of all others drew the horrified eyes of the watchers. mhtoon pah, the wealthy curio dealer, the shrine builder, the friend of the powerful, hung from a beam across the centre of the low ceiling, and mhtoon pah was dead, strangled in a fine, silk scarf. fine, strong silk made only by certain lake-dwellers in a wild place just across the shan frontier. perhaps the destiny which shiraz believed a man may not escape, be he as fleet as a flying stag, had caught up with him, and it was not without reason that the image had pointed at something not there years ago, not there when youth was there, and hope and love, and when leh shin had lived and been happy there, but to come, certainly and surely to come. * * * * * hartley and coryndon sat long over their breakfast. coryndon's face was strained and tired, and heavy lines of fatigue were marked under his dark eyes. "the boy was not in a condition to give any lucid explanation when i brought him back," said hartley, "so i left him until we could both hear his story together." he called to his bearer and gave instructions for the boy to be brought in. coryndon nodded silently; his eyes lit up with interest and all his listlessness vanished as he watched the door. following hartley's bearer, a small, thin boy came into the room, dressed in a white suit, with a tight white pugaree folded round his head. he shrank nervously at every sound, and when he salaamed to hartley and coryndon his face worked as though he was going to burst into tears. "you have nothing to be afraid of," said hartley kindly. "just tell the whole truth, and explain how it was that you came to be shut up in the curio shop." the boy's eyes grew less terrified, and he began to speak in a low, mumbling voice. he began in the middle of the account, and hartley gently but firmly pushed him back to the beginning. "start with the story of the lacquer bowl," he said, talking very slowly and clearly. "we want to hear what happened about that first." the mention of the subject of lacquer threw absalom once more into a state of panic, but as his story progressed he became more sure of himself, and looked up, forgetting his fear in the excitement of having a really remarkable story to tell, that was listened to by sahibs with intent interest. in tearful, stumbling words he admitted that he and leh shin's assistant had been friends, and that those evil communications that corrupt not only good manners but good morals had worked with disastrous results upon him. with his brown knuckles to his protruding eyes, he admitted, further, that he had stolen the gold lacquer bowl from the drugged and drunken seaman, and that leh shin's assistant had plundered him of more than half his rightful share of the profit. what remained over, he protested, he intended to give to the "missen," testifying to the fact that his conscience was causing him uneasiness and that his natural superstition made him adopt means, not unknown to other financiers, of squaring things by a donation to a charitable object. he went on to explain that mhtoon pah had required him to come back late by an unfrequented alley, from where his master himself had admitted him into the basement of the shop. there was nothing altogether unusual about this, it appeared, as mhtoon pah was very strange in his ways at times. he cooked his own food for fear of poison, and was constantly suspecting some indefinite enemy of designs upon his life. what was unusual was the fact that he had been taken at once into the small cell, and that, once there, mhtoon pah had behaved like a madman. absalom could recall no coherent account of what the curio dealer had told him. he had spoken to him of murder, and told him that the chinamen in the quarter, headed by leh shin, were looking for him to kill him, and that, for his safety, he must remain hidden away. mhtoon pah told him that he would protect him, and that he would produce evidence to have leh shin hanged, and that once he was dead he would then emerge again, but not until then. he told him how chinamen killed their victims, and his fears and terrors communicated themselves to the boy, who delivered himself up to bondage without resistance. for weeks absalom dragged out a miserable existence, loose when mhtoon pah was in the shop, but chained to the wall whenever he went out, and only for an hour after midnight was the boy ever allowed to emerge into the dark, waste garden at the back of the house. the rest of the time was spent in the cell, and absalom broke into incoherent wailing as he called hartley and coryndon to witness that it had been a hard life. as the end of his story approached, absalom grew more dramatic and quoted the parting words of mhtoon pah before he went out to attend the _pwé_ at the pagoda. "i leave thee in fear," said he, "for thou art the apple of my eye, o absalom, and when i am gone some calamity may befall. from whence it comes i know not, but as men look at the heaped clouds behind the hills and say, 'lo, it will soon fall in rain,' so does my heart look out and observe darkness, and i am ill-satisfied to quit this house." his words rang in the mind of the boy, shut into the stifling darkness below the ground, and he remembered that he cried out for help, not once but over and over again, and that his cries were eventually answered by the voice of leh shin, who had called him a child of vipers and threatened to enter and break him against the wall as he would a plantain. after that absalom had refrained from crying out, and had waited silently expecting the door to open and admit leh shin and his last moment simultaneously. upon the silence came the sounds of scuffling and hoarse cries, and it seemed to absalom that leh shin had called out that he had already cut the heart from his ribs, and was about to force it down mhtoon pah's throat, and then nothing was very clear until voices and lights roused him from stupor to fresh terror and alarm. he knew that the door had been unlocked and that a light travelled in, held by a strange burman, and that his terror of leh shin had made him see things strangely, as though from a long way off; until, at the last, the police had come and knocked the chain off his leg, and someone had told him that his master was dead and had been found hanging in the shop. absalom's face quivered and he began to whimper. "and now my master is dead, and never in mangadone shall i find such another who will care for me and give me the pleasant life in paradise street." hartley handed the boy some money. "take him away," he said to the bearer. "you have told your story very well, absalom." he looked across at coryndon when the room was empty, but coryndon was fiddling with some crumbs at the edge of the table. "madness is the real explanation, i suppose," he said tentatively. "madness and obsession." "obsession," echoed coryndon. "that word explains almost every inexplicable act in life." he took up a knife and held it level on his palm. "there you have the normal condition, but once one end swings up you get genius and all the arts, or madness and crime and the obsession of one idea: one definite, over-mastering idea that drives every force harnessed to its car." he got up and stretched his arms, and walked out through the veranda into his room, where shiraz was folding his clothes and laying them in an open portmanteau. the old servant stood up and made a low salaam to his master. "when the sun is down the wise traveller hurries to the serai," coryndon said to him. "i leave to-night for madras, shiraz, and you with me." "the end of all things is just, huzoor," replied the old man, a strange light of reflection in his dim pebble-like eyes. "is it not written that none may rise so high, or plunge so deep, that he does not follow the hidden path to the hidden end? for like a wind that goes and returns never, or the shadow of a cloud passing over the desert, is the destiny of a man." glossary _almirah_ a press _babu_ a clerk _butti_ lamp _charpoy_ bed _chota haziri_ (little breakfast) early morning tea _dhobie_ washerman _durwan_ watchman _ghee_ butter _gharry_ cab _gaudama_ buddha _htee_ topmost pinnacle _hypongyi_ priests _inshallah, huzoor_ god give you fortune, prince _joss_ a god _khitmutghar_ footman _loongyi_ petticoat _napi_ rotten fish _nats_ tree spirits _pani walla_ water carrier _pwé_ feast _serai_ rest house _sirkar_ government _syce_ groom _tamasha_ a show _thakin_ master _topi_ hat burma, bhootan, afghanistan and the neighbouring countries*** this ebook was produced by les bowler from the edition. journals of travels in assam, burma, bhootan, afghanistan and the neighbouring countries by william griffith. arranged by john m'clelland. [sketch of william griffith: pf.jpg] contents. notice of the author from the proceedings of the linnaean society, and extracts from correspondence. chapter i proceeding with the assam deputation for the examination of the tea plant. ii journal of an excursion in the mishmee mountains. iii tea localities in the muttock districts, upper assam. iv journey from upper assam towards hookum. v journey from hookum to ava. vi botanical notes written in pencil, connected with the foregoing chapter. vii general report on the foregoing. viii notes on descending the irrawaddi from ava to rangoon, written in pencil. ix journey towards assam. x continuation of the same, with notes on the distribution of plants. xi journey from assam into bootan, with notes on the distribution of plants. xii continuation of the journey in bootan. xiii return of the mission from bootan, with meteorological observations, etc. xiv journey with the army of the indus, from loodianah to candahar. xv journey from candahar to cabul. xvi journey from cabul to bamean--the helmund and oxus rivers. xvii journey from cabul to jallalabad and peshawur. xviii journey from peshawur to pushut. xix on the reproductive organs of acotyledonous plants. xx journey from pushut to kuttoor and barowl in kaffiristan, and return to pushut and cabul. xxi journey from cabul to kohi-baba. xxii journey from peshawur to lahore. xxiii journey from lahore to simla. xxiv barometrical heights and latitudes of places visited throughout affghanistan. list of plates. i view from nunklow ii the village of nunklow iii captain mathie's cutcherry, the bootan hills, and himalaya iv the himalaya from rangagurrah v bramakhoond and faqueer's rock vi the mori-panee as it enters the khoond vii the deo-panee as it enters the khoond viii the valley of hookum ix meinkhoom x view from beesa xi view on the jheels xii the ok-klong rock xiii kullong bridge xiv tassgoung from upper kulong xv chindupjee xvi ghuznee xvii bamean idols xviii map of the khyber pass notice of william griffith, from the proceedings of the linnaean society, with a few extracts from his private correspondence. "william griffith, esq., the youngest son of the late thomas griffith, was born on the th of march , at his father's residence at ham common, near kingston-upon-thames, in the county of surrey. "he was educated for the medical profession, and completed his studies at the london university, where he became a pupil of prof. lindley, under whose able instructions, assisted by the zealous friendship of mr. r. h. solly, and in conjunction with two fellow pupils of great scientific promise, mr. slack and mr. valentine, he made rapid progress in the acquisition of botanical knowledge. the first public proofs that he gave of his abilities are contained in a microscopic delineation of the structure of the wood and an analysis of the flower of _phytocrene_ _gigantea_, in the third volume of dr. wallich's 'plantae asiaticae rariores'; and in a note on the development and structure of _targionia_ _hypophylla_, appended to m. de mirbel's dissertation on _marchantia_ _polymorpha_, both published in . so highly were his talents as an observer appreciated at this early period, that dr. wallich speaks of him as one "whose extraordinary talents and knowledge as a botanist, entitle him to the respect of all lovers of the science;" and m. de mirbel characterizes him as "jeune anglois, tres instruit, tres zele et fort bon observateur." "his note on _targionia_ is dated paris, april nd, , and in the month of may of the same year, having finished his studies at the london university with great distinction, he sailed from england for india, which was destined to be the scene of his future labours. he arrived at madras on the th of september, and immediately received his appointment as assistant-surgeon in the service of the east india company. "his first appointment in india was to the coast of tenasserim; but in the year he was attached to the bengal presidency, and was selected to form one of a deputation, consisting of dr. wallich and himself as botanists, and mr. macclelland as geologist, to visit and inspect the tea- forests (as they were called) of assam, and to make researches in the natural history of that almost unexplored district. "this mission was for mr. griffith the commencement of a series of journeys in pursuit of botanical knowledge, embracing nearly the whole extent of the east india company's extra-peninsular possessions, and adding large collections, in every branch of natural history, but especially botany, to those which, under the auspices of the indian government, had previously been formed. he next, under the directions of capt. jenkins, the commissioner, pushed his investigations to the utmost eastern limit of the company's territory, traversing the hitherto unexplored tracts in the neighbourhood of the mishmee mountains which lie between suddiya and ava. of the splendid collection of insects formed during this part of his tour some account has been given by mr. hope in the transactions of the entomological society and in the eighteenth volume of our own transactions. "his collection of plants was also largely increased on this remarkable journey, which was followed by a still more perilous expedition, commenced in february of the following year, from assam through the burmese dominions to ava, and down the irrawadi to rangoon, in the course of which he was reported to have been assassinated. the hardships through which he passed during the journey and his excessive application produced, soon after his arrival in calcutta, a severe attack of fever: on his recovery from which he was appointed surgeon to the embassy to bootan, then about to depart under the charge of the late major pemberton. he took this opportunity of revisiting the khasiya hills, among which he formed a most extensive collection; and having joined major pemberton at goalpara, traversed with him above miles of the bootan country, from which he returned to calcutta about the end of june . in november of the same year he joined the army of the indus in a scientific capacity, and penetrated, after the subjugation of cabool, beyond the hindoo khoosh into khorassan, from whence, as well as from affghanistan, he brought collections of great value and extent. during these arduous journeys his health had several times suffered most severely, and he was more than once reduced by fever to a state of extreme exhaustion; but up to this time the strength of his constitution enabled him to triumph over the attacks of disease, and the energy of his mind was so great, that the first days of convalescence found him again as actively employed as ever. "on his return to calcutta in august , after visiting simla and the nerbudda, he was appointed to the medical duties at malacca: but dr. wallich having proceeded to the cape for the re-establishment of his health, mr. griffith was recalled in august to take, during his absence, the superintendence of the botanic garden near calcutta, in conjunction with which he also discharged the duties of botanical professor in the medical college to the great advantage of the students. towards the end of dr. wallich resumed his functions at the botanic garden. in september mr. griffith married miss henderson, the sister of the wife of his brother, captain griffith, and on the th of december he quitted calcutta to return to malacca, where he arrived on the th of january in the present year. on the st of the same month he was attacked by hepatitis, and notwithstanding every attention on the part of the medical officer who had officiated during his absence, and who fortunately still remained, he gradually sunk under the attack, which terminated fatally on the th of february. "his constitution," says his attached friend, mr. macclelland, in a letter to dr. horsfield, "seemed for the last two or three years greatly shattered, his energies alone remaining unchanged. exposure during his former journeys and travels laid the seeds of his fatal malady in his constitution, while his anxiety about his pursuits and his zeal increased. he became care-worn and haggard in his looks, often complaining of anomalous symptoms, marked by an extreme rapidity of pulse, in consequence of which he had left off wine for some years past, and was obliged to observe great care and attention in his diet. in affghanistan he was very nearly carried off by fever, to which he had been subject in his former travels in assam. no government ever had a more devoted or zealous servant, and i impute much of the evil consequences to his health to his attempting more than the means at his disposal enabled him to accomplish with justice to himself." "the most important of mr. griffith's published memoirs are contained in the transactions of the linnaean society. previous to starting on his mission to assam, he communicated to the society the first two of a series of valuable papers on the development of the vegetable ovulum in _santalum_, _loranthus_, _viscum_, and some other plants, the anomalous structure of which appeared calculated to throw light on this still obscure and difficult subject. these papers are entitled as follows:-- . on the ovulum of _santalum album_. linn. trans. xviii. p. . . notes on the development of the ovulum of _loranthus_ and _viscum_; and on the mode of parasitism of these two genera. linn. trans. xviii. p. . . on the ovulum of _santalum_, _osyris_, _loranthus_ and _viscum_. linn. trans. xix. p. . "another memoir, or rather series of memoirs, "on the root-parasites, referred by authors to _rhizantheae_, and on various plants related to them," occupies the first place in the part of our transactions which is now in the press, with the exception of the portion relating to _balanophoreae_, unavoidably deferred to the next following part. in this memoir, as in those which preceded it, mr. griffith deals with some of the most obscure and difficult questions of vegetable physiology, on which his minute and elaborate researches into the singularly anomalous structure of the curious plants referred to will be found to have thrown much new and valuable light. "in india, on his return from his assamese journey, he published in the 'transactions of the agricultural society of calcutta,' a 'report on the tea-plant of upper assam,' which, although for reasons stated avowedly incomplete, contains a large amount of useful information on a subject which was then considered of great practical importance. he also published in the 'asiatic researches,' in the 'journal of the asiatic society of bengal,' and in the 'transactions of the medical and physical society of calcutta,' numerous valuable botanical papers; but the most important of his indian publications are contained in the 'calcutta journal of natural history,' edited jointly by mr. macclelland and himself. of these it may be sufficient at present to refer to his memoir "on _azolla_ and _salvinia_," two very remarkable plants which he has most elaborately illustrated, and in relation to which he has entered into some very curious speculations; and his still unfinished monograph of "the palms of british india," which promises to be a highly important contribution to our knowledge of a group hitherto almost a sealed book to european botanists. "but the great object of his life, that for which all his other labours were but a preparation, was the publication of a general scientific flora of india, a task of immense extent, labour and importance. to the acquisition of materials for this task, in the shape of collections, dissections, drawings and descriptions, made under the most favourable circumstances, he had devoted twelve years of unremitted exertion. his own collections, (not including those formed in cabool and the neighbouring countries) he estimated at species from the khasiya hills, from the tenasserim provinces, from the province of assam, from the himalaya range in the mishmee country, from the same great range in the country of bootan, from the neighbourhood of calcutta, and from the naga hills at the extreme east of upper assam, from the valley of hookhoong, the district of mogam, and from the tract of the irrawadi between mogam and ava. even after making large deductions from the sum-total of these numbers on account of the forms common to two or more of the collections, the amount of materials thus brought together by one man must be regarded as enormous. the time was approaching when he believed that he could render these vast collections subservient to the great end which he had in view. he had some time since issued an invitation to many eminent botanists in europe to co-operate with him in the elaboration of particular families; and he purposed after a few years' additional residence in india to return to england with all his materials, and to occupy himself in giving to the world the results of his unwearied labours. but this purpose was not destined to be fulfilled, his collections have passed by his directions into the hands of the east india company, and there can be no doubt, from the well-known liberality of the directors, which this society in particular has so often experienced, that they will be so disposed of by that enlightened body as to fulfil at once the demands of science and the last wishes of the faithful and devoted servant by whom they were formed. it is hoped too, that the most important of his unpublished materials, both in drawings and manuscripts, will be given to the world in a manner worthy of the author and of the rank in science which he filled."--_proceedings of the linnaean society_, no. xxv, . to the foregoing brief sketch which was read before the linnaean society at the anniversary meeting th may , it is scarcely necessary to make any addition. it is worthy of remark however, as showing how talents sometimes run in families, that mr. griffith was great grandson of jeremiah meyer, historical painter to george the second, and one of the founders of the royal academy. it is also but fair to state on the present occasion, that he was not himself the only member of the family who would appear to have inherited something of his grandfather's peculiar art, as we owe the transfer of the landscapes to stone, which add so much to the appearance of the following volume, to the talent and kindness of his sister. it may perhaps be acceptable in this place to afford a few extracts from the private letters of mr. griffith, especially those in which he adverts with a liberality of feeling to his contemporaries, no less honourable to himself than to the persons mentioned. the following notes addressed to his uncle, at various periods, exhibit the sentiments with which he regarded the late mr. bauer not merely as an artist, but original observer. * * * * * _from letters of mr. griffith, to mr. meyer_. _mergui_: _january th_, . "my last accounts of mr. bauer state him to have been in excellent health: he had just completed some more of his unrivalled drawings." * * * * * _suddya_: _december th_, . "pray give the compliments of the season to mr. bauer, to whom i look up with the greatest admiration: what a pity it is for science that such a life as his is not renewable _ad libitum_. tell him that i have a beautiful new genus allied to rafflesia, the flowers of which are about a span across, it is dioecious and icosandrous, and has an abominable smell. how i look back occasionally on my frequent and delightful visits to kew." * * * * * to mrs. h---. _serampore_, _calcutta_: _july nd_, . "i was aware of the departure of mr. bauer through the _athenaeum_, in which an excellent notice of him appeared. he certainly was a man to whom i looked up with constant admiration: he was incomparable in several respects, and i am happy to find, that his death was so characteristic of his most inoffensive and meritorious life. it is also very pleasing to me to find that he continued to think well of me. how i should have been able to delight him had he lived a few years longer." * * * * * _calcutta_: _june_, . "poor mr. bauer, we never shall see his like again, i have seen but few notices of his life, which assuredly is worthy of study. there is not a place i shall visit with better feelings than kew, it has so many pleasant associations even from my school-days." * * * * * _calcutta_: _december st_, . "mr. bauer is not half appreciated yet; he is considered a very great artist, but what is that to what he was? but he did not fight for his own hand, though he worked hard enough in all conscience. mr. bauer in fact preceded all in the train of discovery: he saw in , what others did not see till years after. for instance, the elongation of the pollens' inner membrane into a tube, the first step towards the _complete_ knowledge we now have of vegetable embryogeny. unfortunately, mr. bauer drew, but did not write, and when i recall to mind a remark of mr. brown, that it was a disadvantage to be able to draw, i always fancy he had bauer in his mind's eye; for had he been a writer and not a drawer, before , in great probability we should have known nearly as much of embryogeny as we do now. but he shut his portfolio, and folks went on believing the old fovivillose doctrine and bursting of the pollen, which, his observations of the pollens' inner membrane, would have destroyed at once. then with regard to orchideae and asclepiadeae, he was equally in advance: it would be a rich treat if some one would come forward and publish a selection from his drawings, without a word of letterpress." * * * * * _calcutta_: _february th_, . "mr. bauer's light is not yet set on the hill. really when i look back at his works i am lost in admiration, and always regret that he worked more for others than for himself, and that he did not use his pen as freely as he did his brush. when, in the name of all that is generous, will great men think that true greatness consist in endeavouring to make others more prominent than themselves?" for some years before his death, mr. griffith would appear to have had a presentiment that he would not be spared to complete the description of all his collections. on one occasion, when enumerating those who might contribute most efficiently to this object, in the event of its not being permitted to himself, he writes:-- "i cannot however refrain from paying my tribute of respect to mr. george bentham, the most industrious, perspicuous, and philosophical botanist who has systematically contributed to lessen the difficulties under which indian botanists have generally suffered. "there are a few others from whom the sincerity of friendship fully warrants me in expecting every possible assistance: of these dr. wight is already well known, and others are rising rapidly to fill, i hope, the highest botanical stations when these shall have been vacated by the leviathans who now occupy them. let not the cynic accuse me of partiality when i mention the names of william valentine, of decaisne, and c. m. lemann." he also delighted to speak and write in terms of the warmest regard of those to whom he was indebted for facilities in his pursuits. to lord auckland he invariably alluded in terms of the deepest gratitude--"under his lordship's patronage" he remarks on one occasion, "i have received such advantages as make me ashamed of the little i have done, and which are constantly holding up before me my deficiencies in many branches of enquiry connected with the physiology and distribution of plants." * * * * * the following letters are quoted chiefly for the additional information they afford on the subject of his travels and pursuits. his letters to botanists would of course be more important and interesting. * * * * * _suddyah_: _ th september_, . "i am anxiously awaiting the arrival of the cold weather, as on the st of november i hope to accompany ----- to ava, but in the meantime, i intend proceeding in search of the tea plant to the mishmee hills, especially about bramakoond, where it is reported to grow. if i find it there, i will endeavour to trace it up into the mountains, which form due east of this an amphitheatre of high rugged peaks." * * * * * _november st_, . "i here write from the foot of the 'dreaded' mishmee hills. i left suddyah on the th october, and have already been to bramakoond, where i spent three days. i miss you much; you would have been delighted with the place, which is nothing but rocks and hills. i am recruiting my resources for a movement into the interior of the hills, in which i shall follow wilcox's route, taking with me coolies, for whom i am collecting grain. i have already made considerable collections, chiefly however in botany, with a few stones and birds. i hope before my return to have seen coptis teeta in flower, and to have proved that the beese is different from that of nepal. i have already seen numbers of the mishmees who are civil people. i have however had great difficulties with the chief of the khond, who though apparently friendly, will, i fear, do all he can to hinder me from getting to ghaloom, with the gham of which place i wish to have a conference." * * * * * _noa dihing mookh_: _january th_, . "i have just returned from the trip to the lohit much sooner than i expected. i saw nothing of any consequence except rapids which are horrid things, and make one quite nervous. i made a beautiful collection on the mishmee mountains, of which more anon. many of the plants are very interesting. i was however worked very hard, all my people being sick: i had even to wash my own clothes, but i fear you will think i am grumbling: so good-bye." * * * * * _loodianah_: _ th december_, . "i arrived here in . days, notwithstanding some delays on the road, and have put up with cornet robinson, acting political agent. i am not pleased with the up-country, and would rather live in bengal, for i cannot abide sandy plains and a deficiency of vegetation. loodianah is a curious place, very striking to a stranger, the town is large, built under official direction, and consequently well arranged in comparison with native towns: there is much trade carried on in it, and it has the usual bustle of a large town. "capt. wade's house is well situated on a rising ground, and the demesne is a pretty one. otherwise the country is ugly enough, and very bare, yet it is here well wooded, in comparison with what i hear of ferozepore. along the face of the hill near the town, a nullah flows, abounding in fish, of which more anon. the rock pigeons, or grouse, are very abundant, and there are two species, one remarkable for the elongated side-feathers of the tail. both are beautiful birds, but very difficult of access. crows, kites, vultures, adjutants, herons, drongoles, sparrows, parrots, etc. remain as before, but most of the less common birds are different from those to the south; the most european are genuine starlings; and, to my memory of eight years back, identical with those of europe. i have already got thirty to forty species of fish. cyprinidae, are by far the most common; one loach, and one of macrognathus. "but as they are all from one water, viz. the neighbouring nullah, and the sutledge being five miles off, i shall put them all into bottles, and send them off before i leave this. the most edible fish, and one of the most common is the roh, but it is not the roh of bengal, and might well be called cyprinus ruber. burnes has given i think a drawing of it, which is faithful as to colour. all the forms will be familiar to you, but i hope there will be some new species. "i have made further arrangements, and such as will give you a good insight into the fish of the sutledge, as to the number of duplicates!--it is the safest plan for an ignoramus not to discriminate too nicely. i am to-day to get large specimens of the kalabans, rohi, etc. what a splendid fish the rohi is, both to look at and to eat. there are two or three species of the transparent _chandas_, and three or four perilamps, six or eight siluridae, besides the gwali, which is too large; of ophiocephalus two or three, exclusive of the sowli, but all ought to be examined, as there is no relying on native discrimination. there is a curious animal here burrowing like a mole, but more like a rat: of this i have not yet got a specimen, although they are very common. "i commence with a list of the fish of this place. i have only to mention that several species are confounded under the name bhoor, all the chandras under chunda begla, loaches under pote, all the perilamps except the chulwa, which may be from its flavour a _clupeia_, etc. the fact is, that the fishermen are aware of genera, but not of species, excepting when the distinctive marks are very strong. the fisherman enumerates forty species, but i have only twenty-six, i have promised him one rupee when he completes the list: native name. family. general size. . khaila, ) ( . . bhoor, ) ( mature. . rewa, ) cyprins, ( mature. . bangun, ) ( inches, called also kala bhans. . chund bigla, mature. . ditto ditto, ditto. . ditto ditto, ditto. . pote, loach, ditto. . mailoa, perilamps, ditto. . khurda, ditto trichopterus? . puttra, salurida, seers. . kuttoa, ditto, inches. . ghichila,) macrognathus( ditto. . bham, ) ( feet. . nunghree,) ( inches. . nowhan, ) cyprins, ( ditto. . pootea, ) ( inches. . seengh, silurida, inches. . bugarlea, ditto. . mootunna, nearly mature. . bardul, inches. . chilwa, perilamp,? mature. . nuwha, esox, ditto. . gwalee, ) silurus, ( maunds, . ruttgull,) ( nearly mature. . chundee clupeia, ditto ditto. * * * * * _candahar_: _may the nd_, . "we have seen three changes in the geological structure of the country. "the khojah omrah was chiefly clay slate, and we are now in another formation, which no one seems to know; but it must be different as the outlines of the hills are completely changed. we are now , feet above the sea. the climate is good, and would be delightful in a good house, but in tents the thermometer varies from to degrees and even degrees. "i have got a decent collection of plants, only amounting however to species. the flora continues quite european. i have some of singular interest. compositae, cruciferae, and gramineae form the bulk of the vegetation. all fish are very different from those below the ghats. i have five or six species of cyprinidae. one very inimitable fuscous loach. there are few birds, and fewer quadrupeds; in fact the country is at a minimum in both these respects." * * * * * _ghuzni_: _july th_, . "we have been gradually ascending since leaving candahar, and are here at an elevation of , feet. the same features continue. i have as yet not more than species. the mountains on every side, and indeed the whole face of the country, is still bare. mookloor, a district through which we passed, about seventy miles from this, is well cultivated and inhabited. there are few birds to be seen, and scarcely any insects, but there are numerous lizards. the thermometer varies in tents from to degrees." * * * * * _cabul_: _august th_, . "i am encamped close to baber's tomb, lulled by the sound of falling water, and cooled with the shade of poplar and sycamore trees, with abundance of delicious fruit, and altogether quite happy for the nonce. i have not yet seen the town which is a strange place, buried in gardens: but nothing can exceed the rich cultivation of the valley in which we are encamped. beautiful fields on every side, with streamlets, rich verdure, poplars, willows, and bold mountain scenery, which contrasts most favourably with the dreary barren tracts to which we have been accustomed. i go with the engineers to bamean in the course of a few days, when we shall cross ridges of , to , feet high. "i can only find three kinds of fish in this neighbourhood. i have been making some drawings, and collecting a few plants which continue to be entirely european." * * * * * _peshawur_: _november th_, . "i hope some day or other to turn out a real traveller. i am now in hopes of becoming a decent surveyor, and before many years have passed a decent meteorologist. i leave the army here, and shall part with it, particularly thomson and durand of the engineers, with regret. i start in a short time to travel up the indus with little before me but difficulties, however _a la renommee_. if i can do something unparalleled in the travelling way i shall be content for a year or two at least. "i have obtained some few specimens of fossil shells from the shingly beds of the khyber pass. they seem to be a spirifer with a very square base, quite different from the common species of the bolan pass, which is like a large cockle, and of which i have one beautiful specimen. how i regret not seeing bukkur, for with a few days' leisure, a number of fossils might be obtained. the older i grow the less content am i scientifically: would that i had received a mathematical education. i was much interested with some quotations from lyell's elements in a late _calcutta courier_, especially about the marine saurian from the gallepagos. what further proof can be wanted of the maritime and insular nature of the world during the reigns of the saurian reptiles? what more conclusive can be expected about the appearance of new species? this point would at once be settled if the formation of these islands can be proved not to have been contemporaneous with the continents. then the animal nature of chalk! "i am doing nothing in botany, but learning persian, and the use of the theodolite, with nothing but difficulties to look at all around. i begin to feel of such importance, (do not think me conceited in relation to my collections and information on geographical botany,) that i am not overpleased with the idea of facing dangers alone: however i suppose every thing is as usual exaggerated." * * * * * _bamean_: _august rd_, . "yesterday i crossed the hindoo-koosh by my former route, and this morning while out, i.e. trout fishing, was most agreeably interrupted by the post. the fishing was ended forthwith. indeed the sun in this country even at elevations of , feet is very hot, and has excoriated my hands, beautifully white as they were after my sickness, but not before i had caught barbels, evidently different from those of the other side of the range. i caught some trout yesterday evening, it is a most beautiful fish, i was particularly struck with the size of the eye, its prominence, and expressive pupil, in opposition to the sluggishness of the eyes of carps. "it is strange that botany has always been the most favoured of the natural sciences, it is strange that in spite of what all do say it is the least advanced of any. how can i reconcile my own splendid opportunities with those of more deserving naturalists in other branches? and i would willingly share them on the principle of common fairness with others, who i know would turn them to a better account. oreinus takes the worm greedily; in the helmund, , feet above the sea, it is abundant. it is the same species i think as that in the cabul river; but in the cabul river, barbus is the predominant fish: in the helmund it is the reverse. how can one account for the small elevation at which fish are found in the himalayan? i cannot imagine it is owing as some think to the relative impetuosity of the rivers, which after all is only an assumption. "this bamean valley is the strangest place imaginable, its barrenness and the variegated colours of the rocks convey the idea of its volcanic origin, and give it a look as if it had come out of the furnace. i cannot make out where the stones so universally found all over the slopes of the mountains, came from, for very generally they seem water-worn. i find no great peculiarity in the flora of this side of the range, except an abundance of odd-looking chenopodiaceous plants, probably resulting from the saline saturation of the soil. there is a very singular spring on the other side of the range, about , feet above the sea: the water very clear, with no remarkable taste, but every thing around is covered with a deposit of a highly ferruginous powder. i shall write next from the fossil locality, which is said to be about forty miles from this. i am as stout as ever, but by no means so strong." * * * * * _bamean_: _august st_, . "i am now out of the region of trees, excepting a poplar, of which i will send you a bit, as the same tree grows in much lower places. the want of rings in wood is by no means unusual in tropical vegetation. for the production of rings, some annual check to vegetation is required: their absence is particularly frequent in climbers. the walnut will not be a good instance, because even if you can get it from java, it is a tree that requires cold, and must consequently be found at considerable altitudes. your instances must be taken from subjects that can bear a great range of climate: you have some in the apricot, vine, etc. i will not fail in sending you what you want from cabul, and also from peshawur, in which almost the extremes of temperature can be contrasted. i will also get the woods of apricots, cherries, etc., at the highest elevations on my road back, as i hope to pass through the grand fruit country of affghanistan. no jungermannias are obtainable in this part, nor anywhere indeed, except towards the true himalayas. i do not remember having seen the pomegranate growing at cabul: the place is too cold for it. i think however, i can get some from khujjah, where snow lies in winter. i leave for the provinces early in october, and shall travel miles a day. i want to get to seharunpore, or days in advance of my time, as i must run up to mussoorie and fish in the dhoon. i shall be in calcutta in all february." * * * * _cabul_: _september th_, . "i despatch to-morrow the first of the bits of wood, the duplicates will be sent on the th or th: on this latter day i leave for peshawur, and right glad am i that the time has come at last. i will send you the same woods from peshawur, but shall scarcely be able to send you pomegranate from any thing like a cold place. "on receiving your specimens of vine, the following question occurred to me. if wood is a deposit from the leaves or fibres sent down from the leaves, how is the presence of wood to be accounted for in tendrils, which have no leaves, but yet which are evidently branches? the theory of the formation of wood, which considers it as above, is deemed ingenious, but it will not i think be found to be true. the bark evidently has a great deal to say to the matter. "i shall be most rejoiced at a remote prospect of again setting to work. i take no interest now in the vegetation of this country. i hope to be at loodianah _early_ in november; my present intention is to run up to simla, thence to mussoorie, and descend on seharunpore. if i do this, i shall only leave one point unfinished, and that is the hindoo-koosh proper, where however i shall have the advantage of major sanders of the engineers, who will pick up a few plants for me. i wish much to take notes of the vegetation about simla and mussoorie, this i can do at a bad season. i shall afterwards be able to compare the himalayan chain at very distant points." * * * * * _serampore_, -- . "i will send you to-morrow dissections of santalum if i can get a small bottle for them: under . inch lens you can easily open the pistillum of santalum having previously removed the perianth: it is a concial body; you must take care to get it out entire, especially at the base, then place it in water, and dissect off the ovula of which there are three or four, as per sketch. i shall not say what i see, as i want to have your original opinion unbiassed, etc.; but whenever you see the tubes with filaments adhering to their apices, pray mark attentively what takes place, both at the point and at the place where the tube leaves the ovulum; your matchless / would do the thing. try iodine with all such, after having examined them in water. "should you find any difficulty in dissecting away the ovula, light pressure under glass will relieve you. i shall be very anxious to know what your opinion is, particularly with regard to the tubes and all adhering filaments; the question now occupying botanists, being this, is the embryo derived directly from the boyau or is it derived from some parts of the ovulum? "i hope you can understand these sketches." * * * * * _peshawur_: _ th december_, . "what a shame it is that botanists should know nothing whatever of the formation and structure of wood! they look at a section of a piece of oak, and imagine they have discovered the secret, and write volumes on this imagination, yet they have been told over and over again, that nothing is to be learnt on such subjects without beginning at the commencement, which they are too idle to do. to name an abominable aster, is among them of much higher importance than to discover the cause of the growth of wood. medullary rays are most difficult, because they are very often deficient particularly in climbers. i am horridly idle, and yet what can i do without books; yet with regard to books, the more originality we possess, the less we require them? there is nothing to be got here except a few marsh plants coming into flower. one beautiful chara, which might disclose the secret, had i good glasses, it is a most graceful pellucid form, an undescribed duckweed, a floating marchantiaceae. would that i was settled with a ross on one hand, and a strongstein on the other, around my collections with good health and good spirits. tell ---- i have in view the division of the vegetable kingdom analagous to radiata, they include all the marchantiaceae, and are, to all intents and purposes, vegetable radiata." * * * * * _pushut_, _ st march beyond kooner_: _january th_, . "this will be a letter of odds and ends, you know i was to return to jallalabad; well i reached that place, but left the encampment and crossed the river, where an advance road making partly for the kooner expedition were employed, and having originally determined on going to kooner, i accompanied them two marches, when they were overtaken by the army, to avoid which, i halted one day, and on the next proceeded onwards by the north bank of the river, thus saving all the fords of this horrid river. i should call it beautiful at any other season. the road was bad, and the last one and a half mile into camp most difficult, the path winding round and over spurs of sharp limestone rocks which must have had abundance of silex in them they were so very hard. at the very worst part, my headman being in front, all of a sudden i heard three shots in quick succession with the usual hallooing, and then i was called on in advance, meeting my headman wounded: he has lost the two fore-fingers of his right hand. all i saw was three men scrambling up the face of the hill, on whom i opened a fire as soon as my guns came up, and had the pleasure of hitting one on the shield. "such a scene ensued! for when there are three or four on such occasions we may reasonably expect thirty or forty, and my object was to get out of the bad road, and so be close to camp. some of, or rather all, my people became dismayed, i had therefore to cheer, to point my double barrels, and in fact to enact a whole legion. one fellow tried to shoot me but his powder proved faithful, the others were wounded: however they kept in sight, and to make matters worse, in one place within twenty yards, six or seven of my loads were thrown; evening drawing on, and prospects disgusting, when at last having passed over one bad part and got down into a ravine, a number of people were seen closing down on us, but my man had run off to camp, and by shouts succeeded in calling five or six _sepahis_, part of the rear-guard, to our relief, and so we escaped bag and baggage, the rascals making off when the red coats appeared. i was sick at heart at the loss of poor abdool rozak's fingers: he is an arab with an english heart, bearing his loss most manfully, and when his fingers were removed expressed anxiety alone about me and my _sundoogs_ (collections). well then, where should i have been had i been assailed as abdool rozak was, i should have been unprepared, and if riding, my mare would certainly have jumped into the river beneath. thomson { a} said when he left me, g---, you are rash and abdool rozak is rash, take care or you will get into trouble. my moving about without a guard was imprudent, and i now return to jallalabad to get one, or if not successful to wait there until the spring and its floral excitements call me out: what i dislike is danger without any recompense, not a flower is to be had; with excitement it is nothing. i have now had two escapes, one from the buffalo in assam, and this, which is a greater one, because had not the army been delayed by accident at the ford, it would have been eight or ten miles in advance, and consequently there would have been no rear-guard at hand. "the country is disturbed, and one can only stir out in the valley itself close to camp, which is the more tantalizing as the mountains are accessible, and covered with forest. our halt here should put us in possession of much information respecting these forests. as it is, i shall leave probably as wise as i came, except in having ascertained that the change from the well-wooded himalaya mountains to those of the hindoo- koosh, without even a shrub five feet high, takes place to the east of this. my employment is surveying and collecting data for ascertaining the heights of the hills around. but wherever i turn, the question suggests itself, what business have i here collecting plants, with so many in calcutta demanding attention? how i am living! alone, without a table, chair, wine, or spirits, with a miserable beard, and in native clothes! but one thus saves much time; how unfortunate that mine now is not worth saving! "i have been reading swainson's volumes in lardner's cyclopaedia, in which there is a little to which severe critics may object, but a vast deal more that is beautifully sound. i am quite certain i never appreciated them before. how wonderful that no one before macleay and swainson thought that living beings were created on one plan. i have imbibed all the important parts with the hope of bringing them to bear on botany, which is in a shameful state. one talks of the typical nature of polypetalous or monopetalous plants; another ridicules the idea, because as he wisely says, some polypetalous plants are monopetalous, and vice versa!! he objects, in fact to what constitutes the great value of a character, _its mode of variation_. all swainson's propositions appear to me philosophical and highly probable, but none of the present generation have eyes young enough to bear such a flood of light as he has thrown upon them. there are faults i acknowledge, but a man who writes for money does not always write for fame; rapid writing and much more rapid publishing is a vast evil, but one which is too often unavoidable. i have four or five drawings of fish, one of the spotted carnivorous carp, the most carnivorous type of all except opsarion, and perhaps a new subgenus; { b} one of the sir-i-chushme and khyber _oreinus_, and a perilamp with two long cirrhi on the upper lip. i intend in my travels now i am alone, to stop at every fertile place. i am ascertaining the limit of the inferior snow in these latitudes, which i fancy will be , feet. is it not curious that here , feet above jallalabad we have had no snow, while at jallalabad there has been abundance. i attribute it to the narrowness of the valley at this place, and to the forest. when i glance at the subject of botanical geography, how astounding appears our ignorance! we have no data, except to determine the mere temperature and amount of rain yet men will persist in the rage for imperfect description of undescribed species, and pay no attention to what is one of the most important agents in preserving things as they are in our planet,--i.e. vegetation. on this point swainson is less happy than on others when he ascribes such importance to temperature, and points out the fact that countries in the same latitudes, and having the same temperatures, produce different animals." * * * * * _cabul_, _september th_, . "i am just on the eve of re-entering cabul from a visit to bamean, a singular place on the other side of the hindoo-koosh, celebrated for its idols and caves. it has amply repaid a march of miles and back again. i never saw a more singular place, and never enjoyed myself more: we crossed several high ridges between and , feet, but so poor is the flora that i have only added species to my catalogue, now amounting to species instead of , as i fully expected. but i must say i was as much pleased at the acquisition of a genuine _salmo_ in the bamean river (which is a tributary of the oxus,) as at any thing. "unfortunately we were so hurried, that i had only one afternoon and that an unfavourable one, for indulging in my fishing propensities: the chief fish seems to come very near the english trout, and so far as i can judge, is not found on this side the himalaya. the other fish of these rivers are a fine schizothorax or oreinus, allied to the _adoee_, a flat- headed siluroid, a loach, and a small cyprinus. this is a singular country, quite unlike any thing i have seen, and as distinct from the himalaya in its vegetation, etc. as can well be imagined. generally it is very barren, and after travelling over so much of the country i have yet seen only three parts of it decently cultivated. it is reported to be rich in minerals. "but it will never bear comparison with hindoostan. it is however capable of much improvement. it consists of a succession of barren valleys, divided from each other by barren ridges, and is generally deficient in the great fertilizer of all things--water. there is scarcely an indigenous tree in the whole country, and generally very few cultivated ones, except about cabul, although they have poplars and willows well suited to the climate. it has been subjected to so much misrule that the natives have become indifferent to its improvement, (if they ever felt alive to any such interest.) the zoology is very poor, quite at zero. there is a species of ibex, an _ovis_, and a _capra_, which from the frequency of their heads and horns about sacred places and gateways of towns, must be common; but i have never seen more than a portion of one fresh specimen of the sheep. furs are brought from the hindoo-koosh, but are all too mutilated to be of any use, except to a zoologist with antiquarian eyes: one jerboa. hares are rather common in some parts, and about here there is a lagomys. of birds there are but few, but as the vegetation is chiefly vernal, these creatures may perhaps be abundant. the game birds are quail, three species of partridge, a huge ptarmigan? pterocles of loodianah. the fauna is richest in saurian reptiles, and of these one might make a very good collection. i have only seen two snakes, and both are i believe lost." * * * * * _mirzapore_: _april th_, . "request --- to refrain from abusing compound microscopes. why should not compound and simple microscopes each have their merits? valentine, who is a great authority, and an unrivalled dissector, says, the simple lens must be suspended. i only wish i could dissect with a compound microscope: what things might not one get access to. the simple lens is quite useless with opaque objects; it only does for transmitted light. now dissections of opaque objects have been too much neglected. how odd it is that all improvements are ridiculed at first. "i enclose a bit of sphagnam, a curious moss, with curious incomplete spiral cells in the leaves. i dare say it will bear preservation in canada balsam. i have received a new microscope, a queer-looking thing, very portable; one object glass of a quarter inch focus, by ross; two eye- pieces magnifying linearly to times. i have put it up, but i am not well enough to decide on its merits. now that i have arranged all my things, i am literally frightened at the work i have to do. "i am quite annoyed at the idea that german artists make better microscopes than english. i was aware that the lenses were better, but otherwise i imagined that any comparison would be vastly in our favour. i am curious to know the price, and where to apply for one, as your account makes me quite ashamed of mine. who knows what a fine penetrating power of may not disclose. i am very much pleased with your idea of anointing cuts with nitrate of silver; this hint i will bear in mind. "i enclose the first list of fish, no. , not that it is of much use.--what nonsense it is to collect without knowledge. no. native name. family. remarks. kuggur, siluridae. soonnee, cyprinidae, back greenish, otherwise pearly-white. dhurra, cyprinidae, fins reddish, red spot on opercule, back greenish-brown. moogullee, " perilampoid, diaphanous, silvery, head reddish. peedur, " " like the preceding. moorr, " " ditto ditto. bhanghun, " " ditto ditto. kundura, " perilampus, back greenish, otherwise quite silvery. pullee, " " same as , , , . goolla ciprinidae. khunnuree, _percidae_, chanda of buchanan, diaphanous. sur-ri-rha, cyprinidae perilamp, silvery-green on back. gundhan, " perilampoid, same colours. mhukk, " " ditto ditto. ghurr, " " ditto ditto. dhoalee, ophiocephalus, colour brown, with usual marks and bars. ahaiha, siluridae, diaphanous, - irregular longish stripes. mhullee, silurus, silvery-blueish. mhoarree, cyprinidae, yellowish-green, fins reddish. seers. dhumpurra, " brownish-green, seers. pho-eikee, " perilampoid. putollee, cyprinidae, back and sides light-green. poapree, " back greenish-brown, sides greenish. shingra, siluridae, no stripes, lightly tinged with brown. dhimmurr, silurus. ghoa-gha, " back greenish, punctulate, head reddish. mokkhurr, opiocephalus. dhujjha, " thailla, cyprinidae, to seers. mhorakkee, " much like . singarhee, " much like , , , . logurr, siluridae, to faint punctulate longish lines. ghoje, not noted. tupree, " ghunghutt, perilampus. soourr, siluridae, diaphanous. faint punctulate lines. soonaree, cyprinidae. phunnee, " perilampoid. kutchoo, " much like the preceding. saisurr, " ditto ditto. coommee, " much like no. . saluree, " ditto ditto. shumsheer, " so called because of its voracity, (shumsheer a sabre.) ghora, " same as soonee. saboan, " same as the preceding. bhambhun, cyprinidae, same as dhurra. all the above from the indus, at shikarpore. no. family. river. remarks. cyprinidae, nari, small size, colour-silvery, except upper back, which is bluish-green. siluridae, mysore. ophiocephalus, " " " cyprinidae, " same as . " systomus. " a beautiful fish, bright green back, otherwise bright orange-red, fins stained with black colours; fugacious. cyprinidae, " " systomus, " back greenish, opercle orange spotted, one black spot near tail. percida chamda " perilampoid, " water of both these rivers, quiescent: bunded up. cyprinoid, dadur. " " same as . " systomus, " same as . cyprinoid, " " " " " " " same as . cobites, " cyprinoid, bolan, bluish-green, blue bars and dots. takes the fly. barbus? " intestines very long, much like naipoora. gonorhynchus? " " " probably a small specimen of . cyprinoid, " " gonorhyncus, gurmab, same as ? " " cyprinoid, " closely allied to the mahaseer. ditto mahaseer, " beautiful fish with yellow-brown back, golden sides. takes fly greedily. " gonorhynchoid, " " " silurida, " in bolan river, deep still water. cyprinoid, " in small streams. macrognathus, " tenacious of life, belly puffy, common throughout; a good deal like a gudgeon. loach, quettah. cyprinoides, " a beautiful silvery-leaden backed fish, with a streak of bright-red along the side. common, very like the preceding: of these quettah fish no. is the most common, the least so. cyprinus, curious, " not being a mountainous form. " " cyprinoides, lora, same mountain form, gonorhynchoid. " " loach, " ditto ditto ditto. " " perhaps same as the preceding. cyprinoides, " " " like the adoee. " " mountain form. " " large size for the genus. " " _note_.--probable number of species , deducting those supposed not different cyprinoid, urghundab. loach, " siluridae, " "i subjoin a list given me by a fisherman at shikarpore, with his divisions into large and small:-- large. small. dhumpurra, ghunghut. buree phookee, pedir. buree thaillee, soonnee. mhoarrhee, phokee. moukkur, mogullee. gundhan, dhimmur. singaree, ghoagar. * pulla, khuggur. seenra. mhorr. bhangun. ghurr. soourr. morakee. tupree. ghogee. phopree. thaillee. * pulla. punnotee. dhaiee. ghogura. (i send this list as all the specimens are not lost, and some are among the plants. most of the species are, i think, distinct, and when they have appeared to me not to be so, i have generally noted it on the spot. the mountain forms are very distinct, the mouth being under the snout, or head, the intestines long, peritoneum covered with a black pigment. these forms commence at dadur, feet above the sea: this stream abounds in rapids. gurmab is , feet. quettah, , feet. lora river, , feet. urghundab, , feet. these lists may be of some small use compared with burnes's collection. to a certain extent they may be useful as showing the preponderance, etc. of certain forms. you may rely on my distinctions between cyprinidae, siluridae, and percidae.) "to-morrow i will send the other list of specimens no. , which will i hope reach you; of all the fish in these parts, the sir-i-chushme and cabul river _oreinus_ travels farthest up. i have caught it at nearly , feet in the helmund river. then come loaches, and the beautiful trout-like opsarion; other cyprinidae ascend , or , feet, the mahaseer scarcely more. above that, come the genuine mountain forms. no. family. locality. remarks. cyprinidae, streams from a brown fish, with irregular oreinus? so-faid-koh, black spots. cyprinidae, " " " a sombre looking gudgeon-like fish, back blackish, sides yellowish, punctulate with groups of blackish spots. loach, " colours and patches obscure. perilamp, jallalabad river, usual silvery-bluish hues. cyprinidae,moun- tain form, schizothorax. cyprinidae, _poo_- " colours obscure, scales _teoides_, minute, dorsal spine very strong. cyprinidae, " a stout fish, of obscure colours, each scale with a transverse more or less wavy red line (like the nepoora of assam), mouth nepooroid, intestines very long, very thin, very frangible, packed in longish folds, peritoneum covered with a black pigment. herbiv. cyprinidae. peri- " back metallic bluish-brown, lampoid, otherwise silvery. cyprinoid, " " schizo- " thorax, " " " back greenish, fins reddish, snout elongated. " " " colours brownish, tinged with yellow; perhaps it is the same as the helmund and cabul species: intestines packed in a few folds, moderately long, . inches longer than body: diameter of body inches. peritoneum with the black pigment _carneo-herbivorous_. cyprinoid, " ophiocephalus, jheels, etc, bus- colour rather a rich brown, soollah, pectoral fins barred with chesnut. cyprinoid like a " back brownish: this colour bleak, schizo- limited to a narrowish line, thorax, otherwise entirely pearly. peritoneum covered with black pigment. intestines rather large, in or folds. cyprinoid. a nar- " a very pretty species, row deep fish. brownish back, marked faintly perilamp. an both longitudinally and opsarion? transversely with iridescent patches, abdominal fins reddish. cyprinoid, jheels, etc, bus- a handsome species allied to soollah, very the mahaseer; back black, common, otherwise yellowish, fins tinged with red, scales as it were bordered with dusky-black. intestines short. " " an oval, rather thick fish, of obscure colours. " schizo- " an elegant species, back thorax. obscurely brown, otherwise pearly. peritoneum black, covered with pigment. intestines very long and narrow. racoma nobilis{ c} lalpoor, cabul a stout fish, with a large river, head, not unlike a trout at first sight sides bluish silvery grey, back obscurely brown, remarkable for frequent irregular well-defined black spots, faintest in small specimens, fins tinged with reddish. head flat at top, with some spots. peritoneum with black pigment. intestines of large size, loaded with fat, short, not twice the length of the abdomen, cavity loaded with fat. as usual no caeca. a remarkable type: aspectu omnino carnivoris. loach, khyber range a very small and slender stream, from species, light brown, sir-i-chushme speckled and barred with spring, temper, brown, attracted degrees, from immediately by scraping up limestone rocks. the bed of the outlet of the spring. cyprinid, orei- same place, but back brown, with some noides, occurs down to iridescent hues, sides khyber ghat yellowish brown, dark spots stream. confined to back and sides, small but distinct; fins tinged with reddish. peritoneum loaded with black pigment. intestines in short loops across abdomen of intermediate size, as to length and diameter. air bladder small; very common. swarm in deepish pools under limestone rocks, takes bait, i.e. offal and worms with great avidity. like many other species, it is asserted to be the english trout: it rises to the surface. loach, same place com- shape subcylindrical, pale mon, greenish-brown, with very broad bars of brown, fins spotted with black, otherwise fuscescent; at root of tail a deep black bar. head depressed, in old specimens broad, closely spotted with black, snout attenuated, apex with cirrhi; upper jaw in the centre with a bony process not unlike an incisor tooth cyprinid, opsa- " a beautiful trout-like fish, rion back bluish-black, triangular bars of azure blackish, ending in a point towards glandular line, fins tinged with orange, tail tipped with black. peritoneum spotted slightly with black. " opsarion, " possibly young specimens of preceding, colours same but fainter." * * * * * _memorandum on return from afghanistan_. "as i considered on my arrival at peshawur in december , that a great deal remained to be done, i obtained permission to remain another season in affghanistan. i immediately mentioned my wishes of travelling to general avitabili, who strongly advised me not to attempt leaving peshawur in any novel direction, as the whole of his district was much disaffected. soon afterwards i heard of an expedition being on the point of leaving jallalabad for kooner, and i determined on joining it. i re- traversed the khybur pass alone, and arrived at jallalabad just in time to go in the advance. i was present at pushut, th january ; and on the return of the force i remained behind with captain macgregor. in february i accompanied captain macgregor to chugur-serai, and thence to otipore or chugur-serai-balu on the immediate frontier of kaffiristan, and through his influence i was enabled to remain there, and to increase my materials in an extremely interesting direction. i remained about otipore for some weeks, making arrangements for penetrating into kaffiristan and little cashgur, and in daily expectation of being joined by the late capt. e. connolly; all my plans, which first seemed to promise success, were completely frustrated by the disturbances which broke out in bajore, consequent on meer alum khan's absence at jallalabad. capt. connolly barely escaped with his life from the hands of the momauds. meer alum khan found on his return towards his government that he could not leave chugur-serai, and at last, circumstances threatened so much around otipore and chugur-serai, that meer alum khan insisted on my leaving otipore and on returning with him to jallalabad. i did not leave a moment too soon, for shortly after, syud hoshin turned otipore by crossing the hills to the north of deogul, and very soon possessed himself of otipore. meer alum and i reached jallalabad in safety, having been attacked once on the road. "i remained at jallalabad a few days, and was driven thence to khaggah by the necessity of obtaining medical aid. i reached khaggah in a high fever, and was confined to my bed for six weeks: during my severe illness, i experienced the greatest kindness and attention from dr. thomson and dr. andrew paton, of the h. c. european regt. "early in july i proceeded to cabul for change of air, and as soon as i recovered a little strength, started to join lieut. sturly, who was surveying on the toorkistan frontier. i met that officer at syghan the day he left to prosecute his surveys, which had been interrupted by the kamard disturbances: he was recalled to syghan, in consequence of heavier and more serious disturbance. "i returned to cabul, as i found it impossible to proceed beyond syghan, and then waited with impatience for a season that would enable me to cross the punjab without great risk to my still debilitated constitution. "my establishment of collectors consisted of unintelligent affghans, who were particularly prone to abrupt abscondings, and my supplies of materials and carriage very limited. "the botanical collection is as extensive as could be expected from the nature of the country and the climate. it is in excellent order, consisting of about species, and a great number of duplicates. this collection has been formed on the principles which have guided me on former travels. those principles i conceive to require the collection of every form in numbers, and in various localities, so that the geographical limits of each may be estimated, and the examination be open. they also require information as to habitat, locality, climate, whether the plants are gregarious or not, and whether they contribute to giving peculiar features to the country. i do not hesitate to say that this collection contains almost all the plants that existed in flower or fruit along the line of march of the army between cabul and syghan, about chugur-serai, otipore, and pushut, and in the neighbourhood of khaggah. "the extent over which it was formed is about , miles, and on the variety of geographical position a considerable part of its value depends. if the plants between cabul and peshawur are less rich, as my journeys between those cities always occurred at unfavourable seasons, the deficiency has been lessened by my friend dr. ritchie. "the ornithological portion of the collection, consists of about specimens, is in good order, and contains many objects of interest, valuable for throwing some light on the geographical distribution of birds. "to the fish of the various tracts i paid considerable attention, but owing to the difficulties of travelling and of climate, the collection has suffered severely. at shikarpore i made an extensive collection of the fish of the indus. i had collected most of the fish of the river, of the bolan pass, of the streams of quettah, and of the urghundab, near candahar, unfortunately i relied too much on the preservative powers of alcohol. subsequently i took the additional precaution of preserving skins separately; and it is to these which amount to about specimens, that the collections are chiefly limited. the collections contain the fish of the cabul river, between its source near sir-i-chushme, and peshawur, of the helmund at an altitude of , feet, of the bamean river, and of the chenab, ravee, and sutledge. "this collection is particularly interesting, as showing that while the plants, quadrupeds, and birds of the southern and northern declivities of the kohi-baba, the continuation of the hindoo-koosh, are much alike, yet that a total difference exists in their fish. "lord keane, and sir willoughby cotton, left me in complete possession of my own time, a great kindness due no doubt to the considerate instructions of lord auckland, but for which i was not the less grateful. "i always found sir alexander burnes very considerate and very willing to forward my views, and put me in possession of information. the late dr. lord also showed himself anxious to assist me in my duties, and very kindly asked me to join the mission to toorkistan, so suddenly put an end to by a suspected outbreak in kohistan. "to captain macgregor i was under great obligations during the whole time i continued in his district. through his influence i was enabled to remain at the outer borders of kaffiristan; and that deservedly warm respect which he was held in by all the chiefs, would, i am confident, have gained me access into kaffiristan, and towards cashgur, at any less unsettled period. i have seen captain macgregor in the closet and in the field, and i cannot sufficiently express the respect with which i have had cause to regard him in both situations. "captain sanders, of the bengal engineers, was always eager to swell my stock of materials, and during periods of occasional indisposition, i relied almost entirely on him. captain sanders had also made for me a collection of plants between candahar and herat, which, i regret to say, was nearly entirely destroyed in crossing one of the rivers on that route. "it is to dr. ritchie, of the bombay medical service, the companion of the justly celebrated major pottinger, during his return from herat via jhomunna, that the botanical collections are mostly indebted. dr. ritchie not only placed unreservedly at my disposal a very interesting collection made on that journey, but also a larger one made between peshbolak and peshawur. both these are of considerable value, the one shows that the affghan forms prevail as far as herat on both sides of the paropamisus, the other shows that affghanistan, even in its hottest parts, has a majority of european forms. to the contents of these collections, notes of the localities are also added, enhancing their value very considerably. i may be excused for adding, that dr. ritchie is acquainted with route surveying; in this and his knowledge of botany, he possesses two valuable requisitions of a traveller. "dr. grant, of the bombay medical service, formerly in medical charge of dr. lord's mission, liberally presented me with an excellent series of specimens from the valley of syghan. "while i am beyond measure indebted for zoological collections, to captain hay, of the european regiment." * * * * * "the following notes addressed to emanuel fernandez, plant collector at malacca, may perhaps be useful as containing instructions for the collection and transmission of plants and seeds. they are perhaps worthy of insertion on other grounds, as an example of the painstaking, and patient manner in which mr. griffith made his wishes known to the persons employed by him in his pursuits." * * * * * _to emanuel fernandez_. "i have received the open box of seeds, and the large case of plants, per _'tenasserim_.' the ebool seeds were coming up, the dried plants are in good order, and are of very good kinds. "before you put in the palms and fruits with other collections, you should see that they are quite dry, as otherwise they rot and injure the dried plants. when you send up more fruits, etc. put them into open rattan baskets, so that they may be aired. "i send a list of palms and _rotans_ wanted very much, and two more glazed cases for seeds: water the earth inside a day before closing the boxes and sending them off to singapore. whenever you get any good seeds, dry them, and put them in a letter, directed to me. seeds spoil by being kept, particularly if kept among wet fruits and dried plants. "if you can get flower-pots in malacca buy two or three dozen, and whenever you get seeds sow them in a pot, and keep them, until you have enough pots filled to occupy one of the cases, then put mould between the pots, and sow more seeds in this mould, fasten the lid down and send off the box to singapore." * * * * * _may th_, . "the cases of plants, etc. have arrived: the fresh plants were nearly all dead. "you planted them very well, and cleverly, but some how or other the lids of the boxes were nailed down, and so the plants died; because plants will not live without light. "some of the ebool seeds have sprouted, one lanjoot arrived alive, and also the pakoo galowe. "i will send soon two glazed cases, in which you may put plants as before, and seeds of palms, or any good plants: sow them in the same manner, and three or four days before the cases are despatched water the earth and plants moderately; then screw down the lid, when the plants, if they have rooted in the earth, will not die, because the glass admits light to them. but to be sure of the plants having rooted, you must keep the cases with you for three weeks, and if any plants are sickly, take them out and put in others. "i send a list: when your next despatch arrives, i will increase your pay. if you send plenty of seeds, etc. often, that is once a month or six weeks, i will keep you in my service even if i do not come back to malacca. "i also send a box with a large bottle in it of spirits of wine, this is for monkey cups (nepenthes). take the finest ones you can get of all sorts, and put them in the bottle, leaves and all, do not squeeze them into the bottle, then send it to me." * * * * * "i send two empty glazed cases for plants: when these reach you, fill them with moist earth and plant in them ripe fresh seeds of the following palms * * * you need not wait until you have obtained all, but such only as you can get at once; but remember when you have got ripe seeds of any kind to sow them in the case. take care the earth is not too wet. the seeds you sent, sown in an open box, came up, and we have now six or seven live ebools, etc. "send me up some ripe fruits and seeds of the epoo, those you sent were not ripe. if you can get any ripe ones, also sow some with the palm seeds." * * * * * _calcutta_: _march th_, . "when you prepare rotangs do not cut off the stalk of the leaf close to the stem, but six inches from it, and do not cut off the thorns, but tie all up in mats or gunny bags: at the same time send the leaves of each dried in paper like other plants and flowers, all with names written plainly in english and malay. "send live plants according as you receive boxes for them." * * * * * "whenever you find ripe fruits or seeds, dry them in the sun, and then send them to the post office for despatch in paper bags. sow palm seeds in open boxes as you did before, the ebool having come up." * * * * * _january_ _th_, . "the plants dried and living have been received, and do you great credit. the live plants particularly are in excellent order. i have sent two more cases, when they reach you, fill them as you have done before, and despatch them to me. i send some cards on which you can write the names plainly, and tie them on the specimens. i will also send you a pocket english dictionary, and make you a present of the english and portuguese one." private journals of wm. griffith, f.l.s. chapter i. _when proceeding with the assam deputation for the_ _examination of the tea plant_. _september_, _ _.--we arrived at pubna on the th of september, and left it on the following morning, pursuing the course of the pubna "karee," which is exceedingly tortuous and of about an average width of yards. on the evening of the th, we halted in the same river near its termination. this morning we reached the "beera," into which the pubna karee enters, and which at the mouth presents a vast expanse of water. among the jheels which occur on every side, we noticed in abundance the _tamarix dioica_. about noon we entered a narrow river, and in the evening a very narrow creek in which in two places we experienced a great difficulty in getting the boats along. we noticed _alpinia allughas_, _nymphaea pubescens_, _oxystelma esculentum_, _apluda aristata_, in abundance. up to this period the two most conspicuous grasses continue to be _saccharum spontaneum_, and _andropogon muricatus_. _sunday_, _ th_.--arrived at shiraz-gunge, about half-past a.m., from which place the people say jumalpore is a three days' journey. the country through which we proceeded after leaving shiraz-gunge is nothing but a net-work of rivers, several of vast size, and low islands, occupied almost exclusively by _saccharum spontaneum_, and in some places abounding in _typha elephantina_, in fruit. we halted at a small village in the evening, where we procured _centrostachys aquatica_. _september th_.--came in sight of distant very elevated land, which we suppose to be the kassiya hills. this morning ( th) the hills are very plain, and bear nearly due north. the country through which we passed yesterday presented no change whatever. _andropogon muricatus_ has now nearly left us; but the _saccharum_ reaches to a large size, and is incredibly abundant. the natives use it for thatching their huts. we were visited by a heavy squall in the evening. _ th_.--strong winds from an easterly direction. about noon we succeeded in reaching a creek, in which we are completely sheltered. during our route here, we were employed in examining a new species of _crotalaria_, and one of _mitrasacme_! in pools close to us are _damasonium indicum_, _nymphaea caerulea_, _myriophyllum_ _tetrandrum_, _polygonum rivulare_, and a species of _villarsia_, _v_. _cristata_. _ th_.--left the creek, and arrived at jumalpore about p.m.; the cantonment of which occupies the right-hand side of the burrampooter, along the bank of which the officers' houses are situated; indeed this is the only dry line about the place, as immediately inland there are nothing but jheels and rice fields. jumalpore is about . of a mile from the junction of the jenai with the burrampooter or rather from the point of exit of the former river. _ th_.--we left the cantonment about a.m., and proceeded down the burrampooter, which is a very uninteresting river, and appears more like a net-work of water and sand banks; opposite jumalpore, the banks are about a mile apart, but the distance between the extreme banks, leaving the island opposite the cantonment out of the question, is much more. during the dry weather this part of the river is passable, and indeed is in some places nothing but a dry bed of sand, so that people walk across it. during our stay at the above place we met with many interesting and new plants, among which a new species of _villarsia_ occupied the most prominent place. _cyperaceae_, _gramineae_, and aquatic _scrophularineae_ abound. _solanum spirale_ occurs in abundance, and the trees commence to be clothed with ferns. i observed only one _epiphytica orchidea_, probably an _aerides_. the banks consist hitherto of nothing but sand, covered with _saccharum_ _spontaneum_. _andropogon muricatus_ is scarcely to be met with. _ th_.--we left mymensing this morning, and proceeded down the burrampooter, the banks of which still present for the most part nothing but a succession of sandy banks covered with _saccharum spontaneum_. the stream is not very rapid, and the river, owing to the numerous islands and banks, does not present so imposing an appearance as the ganges. for the last week strong easterly winds have prevailed. _ th_.--we entered the mouth of the soormah, or, as the natives seem to call it, the barak. the water of this river or portion of the megna? is remarkably clear, compared with that of the ganges; as indeed is that of the burrampooter. _ th_.--some time after we entered the soormah we apparently left its channel, and up to this morning we have passed through a tract of jheels with a few clear and very deep channels. the villages are built on small eminences, and are entirely surrounded with water; they have the usual form, and those houses adjoining the water have fences of an _arundo_, which they tell us are intended to keep out the grass. we have since entering these jheels passed through and between immense beds of vegetation, formed principally of _oplismenus_ (panicum) _stagninus_, _leersia_? _aristata_, which by-the-bye is a distinct genus. _villarsia_ _cristata_, _nymphaealotus_, potamogeton, _azolla salvinii_, etc. etc. the only novel things we have met with are _ischaemum cuspidatum_, roxb. (sui generis,) and a small grass intermediate between panicum and chamaeraphis. the wild form of _oryza sativa_, _panicum interruptum_ and _leersia_? _ciliaris_, roxb. also occur; the two former in abundance. on the more dry tracts, that occasionally though very rarely occur, _andropogon muricatus_ appears. no _saccharum_ presented itself since the th. high ground was visible yesterday evening, apparently at a great distance. _october st_.--we have continued to pass through immense jheels: about a.m. we arrived at hubbe-gunge, a large native town, situated on the barak, which does not deserve the name of a river. the actual distance from this place to chattuc is about miles, and the high land in that direction was faintly visible for about hours in the morning. the ground to the eastward is losing the "jheel" character, and appears densely wooded, and to the s.e. rather high hills are visible. altogether this land of jheels is very remarkable, particularly on account of the great depth of the water, which except in one point has hitherto always exceeded feet, and yet the water has fallen in all probability two or three more. as the head quarters of tropical aquatic plants, it is well worthy of attention; the profusion of _leersia aristata_, roxb. is immense, but this is almost exceeded by _oplismenus stagninus_. _on the rd october_, we left the tract of jheels, and proceeded by small rivers, overhung with jungle and fine bamboos; on the th we re- entered the soorma and proceeded down it to chattuc, which is situated on the left bank of the river, and which we reached in the afternoon. during our passage down the river we had beautiful views of the mountains, which do not however strike one with an idea of great height. we could plainly distinguish two or three waterfalls shooting over scarped precipices. _churra punjee_, _october th_.--after a residence of days here, i wrote to mr. solly, stating nothing particular, except that bucklandia has coniferous tissue, and that podostemon will probably prove monocotyledonous and allied to pistiaceae. our stay here has proved a source of great delight, and accumulation of botanical and geological treasures. the cantonments of churra are at an elevation of feet above the sea, the native village being situated half way up the ascent which closes in the table-land on which the cantonment is situated towards the n. and w., and it is hence about feet higher. the country immediately adjoining the cantonment is flat, with here and there a rounded hillock, destitute of any covering but grasses and a few low, half shrubby plants. to the eastward there is a very deep and beautiful valley, the west side of which in particular is densely covered with jungle, but this does not contain any large trees. the opposite side, fronting our bungalow, runs nearly n. and s., presents a succession of ravines, and a most picturesque and varied surface. this valley, along the bottom of which as is usual a torrent runs, opens into the low country at terrya ghat, which is situated at the foot of the ascent to churra. directly to the south, and at a distance of about two miles from the cantonments, there is another valley likewise occupied below by a torrent fed by the moosmai falls. the commencement of all these valleys, that i have at least seen, is a sheer precipice, which often, and particularly at moosmai, assumes the form of a vast amphitheatre, over the brink of which cascades, especially at moosmai, fall in tolerable plenty. it is in these places that the immense depth of the sandstone is best seen; the depth of the valley of moosmai is, i am told, feet, the country above these precipices is generally level, and is in fact table-land. the most beautiful valley is at maamloo, a village to the westward of churra, and about five miles distant. the approach to churra is pretty enough, and gives the best view of the cantonment. the coal mines are to the westward, and close to churra. these i have not yet seen; the coal is of the very best description, it does not splinter, gives remarkably few ashes, affords an admirable fire and the best coke. water-courses are plenty about churra, but the body of water is at this season small, although it becomes considerable after a few hours rain; it is then that the great fall at moosmai becomes really beautiful, the water shooting over the precipice and falling into a bason about feet below. by a succession of these falls, although of more limited height, it at length reaches the bottom of the valley. it is only on the precipices about the fall that the chamaerops appears to grow; at the foot of a precipice a little to the right (going from churra,) a tree fern grows, which i have wallich's authority for stating to be polypod giganteum, a fern which occurred at mahadeb, and which i have seen in somewhat similar situations at mergui. all my excursions have been confined to this valley and to the water-courses immediately around churra; once only have i quitted the table-land and proceeded to maamloo, and yet in this very limited space the profusion of objects has been such as to enable me only to embrace a very limited proportion. the above excursion proved very rich. about half way to maamloo i discovered a solitary tree fern (_alsophila brunoniana_,) and to the left, and up the broken sides of the calcareous cliffs that occur here and between maamloo and moosmai, a group of several magnificent specimens, of which on the succeeding day we brought home three. we saw none above feet, although the specimen in the british museum from these hills measures . their axis is of small diameter, and is nearly cylindrical, the vascular fascicles being disposed in covered bundles, often assuming the form of a uu near the circumference of the very dense cellular tissue of which the axis is chiefly composed. towards the base it is enveloped in an oblique dense mass of intermottled rigid fibres (roots) which, as they are developed in the greatest extent, the nearer they approach the base, give the trunk a conical form. their growth is essentially endogenous, and will probably be found when examined aborigine to approximate to that of cycadeae, although these last are of a more exogenous than endogenous nature. nothing however is known of the growth of palms, cycadeae, or tree ferns. i have above alluded to the calcareous rocks or cliffs; these are of the same formation with those that occur so abundantly on the tenasserim coast, although they are much more rich in vegetation. these i first saw at terrya ghat; like those of burmah they abound in caves, and assume the most varied and picturesque forms; they appear to be the head quarters of cyrthandraceae, of which we found a noble species with the flower of a martynia growing among the tree-ferns. they are very rich in ferns and mosses, of which last near the tree-ferns i gathered four species of four genera without moving a foot. the cliffs in which, or at the foot of which the coal is found, bound the churra cantonments to the westward. these are chiefly calcareous. the entrance to churra lies between this and the precipice at moosmai. very few animals of any description are to be seen about churra. i have seen one small species of deer, about half as large again as the mouse-deer of mergui, and one young flying squirrel of a greyish black colour, with a very bushy tail. leopards are, they say, not uncommon. tigers do not generally come so high. of birds, i mean about churra, there are several species of hawks, and their old companions crows and swallows; but i have seen no sparrows, which is singular enough. there is one beautiful species of jay, with crimson-orange beak and legs, and a pretty king-fisher; but, except perhaps in the valleys, birds, i should say, are very scarce. with respect to shooting, scarcely any is to be had; wood- cocks are found in the dells about churra, but sparingly. i have seen only one snipe and one quail. regarding the natives, i have little to say. they are a stout-built, squat, big-legged hill tribe: the women in regard to shape being exactly like their mates; and as these are decidedly ugly--somewhat tartarish- looking people, very dirty, and chew pawn to profusion--they can scarcely be said to form a worthy portion of the gentler sex. they appear to be honest; but that is a quality which, from the example of their european lords, they are said to be losing fast. they have no written character; every thing being transmitted by tradition, and performed by the interchange of tokens. they drink like fish, and manufacture a bad kind of arrack, the pernicious effects of which were experienced by the european invalids when the sanatarium was in existence. they pay respect to their dead by the erection of a sort of kairns and large erect slabs of sandstone rounded off at the upper end: of these, i believe, they put up three or five to each friend, according to their means and, probably, rank. the churra people cultivate nothing but a little cotton, and perhaps a species of eleasine. they depend upon the plains for their support and supplies, and this is good management since rice at terrya ghat is sold at or seers a rupee. their hire is, considering the cheapness of their food, very expensive; a man being rated at four annas a day, a woman at three, and a boy at two. i should add, that they have no caste. the climate is certainly very cool and cold, the thermometer ranging from about to degrees in-doors at this time of the year. the rains are said to be the coldest part of the year; they are excessive, commencing in april and ceasing in october. it occasionally rains for fifteen or sixteen days in succession, and without intermission; and nine or ten inches have been known to fall in twenty-four hours. since we have been here, inclusive of this, we have had four days of wet weather, of which three were continued rain. both were ushered in by the sudden irruption of heavy mists from below, which soon spread over the country, obscuring every thing. these sudden irruptions occur during the partial breaking up of the rain, during which time the valleys are completely choked up with dense mists, the summits of the hills on the opposite side to that on which one stands being alone visible. after the rains were over, in the first instance, the plains, or rather the mass of haze hanging over them, presented a most curious spectacle. the coldest weather we have yet experienced was at maamloo, on the th, the thermometer at p.m. being at degrees. this is remarkable, as maamloo is rather below churra. there is however a good deal of wood round the place. { } with regard to botany, the chief vegetation about churra, as indeed is at once indicated by the appearance of the country, consists of grasses. along the water-courses, which intersect this portion of the country, _bucklandia populnea_, a species of ternstraemia, pandanus, eugenia, camellia, are found; while compositae, eriocaulon, and ferns abound in the same places. the vegetation of the valleys is very rich and very varied; and, an affinity is indicated with the botany of china by the existence of a species of illicum, i. khascanam, and several ternstroemiaceae. the great orders are grasses, ferns, compositae. during a trip to maamloo, a beautifully situated village on the brink of the table-land, we discovered abundance of the tree-fern _alsophila_ _brunoniana_, the highest of which measured feet. the appearance of the tree is that of a palm. the flora surrounding these tree-ferns we found to be exceedingly rich. among nepal ferns, i may mention _anisadenia_, _saxifraga ligulata_. _interior of the khasyah mountains_.--on the nd, we left for surureem; at which place we halted a day. bucklandia here occurs, of a very large size, perhaps or feet. it is a rugged-looking tree, many of the branches being decayed. there we observed the first _rhododendrum arboreum_. our next stage was to moflong; during our march thither, or rather mine, i had a fine view of the himalayas, but not upon the regular road to moflong. the european forms certainly increased in number between surureem and the above place. two great acquisitions occurred on the road; a new crawfurdia, and a podostemon which w. has named after me. this i found in the clear stream adjoining the bogapanee growing upon stones, and adhering to them very firmly. it is on the hills about the bogapanee that the firs first make their appearance, but do not attain to any great size. the valley of the bogapanee is exceedingly deep, and both the descent and ascent are very difficult. moflong is a bleak exposed village and the bungalow or residence for travellers very bad. the number of european forms we found to increase considerably about this place. the only woods that occur are of fir, but the trees are of no great size; their frequent occurrence, however, stamps a peculiar feature on the scenery. we here experienced nearly three days of continued rain, and, as the place is bleak, we were miserable enough. we left for myrung on the th, and the greater and all the first part of the long march was very uninteresting. at mumbree, however, there is a decided improvement, and the scenery is very good. one here notices the occurrence of woods--of oaks, etc., and their form reminded me somewhat of the woods of buckinghamshire. no woods of fir occur; all the trees occurring isolatedly. i should mention that the country between molee and moflong is quite peculiar in geological structure, abounding in cyanite, the masses of which are of very considerable size. i imagine that the vegetation farther on in this direction would be more rich in european forms than elsewhere, at least between churra and mingklow. myrung is certainly far superior in every point to any place that we have yet seen; and, as the climate is peculiarly fine and the bungalow good, the degree of enjoyment is as great as can be expected. the features of the country are similar to those of mumbree. the groves or woods are composed chiefly of oaks, intermixed with magnolias, which attain a very large size. these forests seem all to have a northern aspect. orchideae abound in these woods, and so far as herbaceous forms go, european vegetation is on the decrease. from the bungalow one has occasionally a remarkably fine view of the himalayas, mountains intercepted by large tracts of very high land, probably bootan. the coldest weather we have experienced here was when the thermometer sank to degrees; even in the middle of the day the sun is not oppressive. it is singular enough, that the first attempts, so to speak, at a fauna occur here. the woods abound with small birds. i shot one squirrel, with a very short tail and rounded head. red deer (the gyee of the burmese) occur, though rarely. two or three solitary snipes may be found during a day's excursion, and perhaps a brace of quail, which are nearly as large as english partridges. pheasants are reported to occur in the woods. i should add, that both here and at nunklow snipe of a very large description, and of the habits of the solitary snipe, are found in small numbers. they are very brown, as large as a wood-cock, and their cry is that of a common snipe. lieutenant townsend informs me, that these birds are a totally distinct species. lieutenant vetch tells me, that the khasiyas declare that they are the females of the wood-cock, in other words, wood-hens, and that in march wood-cocks abound in the places with these wood-hens. he likewise informs me, that the only difference he could ascertain to exist between these birds and wood-cocks, consists in their having very short and thick legs. i have seen two of this particular description, but have never shot any. [view from nunklow: p .jpg] after myrung one can speak much less in favour of these hills. nunklow is a pretty spot, and commands a really magnificent view of the himalayas, of the bootan mountains, and of the plains of assam. altogether this view is the finest which, in my limited experience, i have ever seen: i did not however like nunklow, nor do my wishes recur to it. { } the route thither is pretty enough, and not fatiguing. i may mention nunklow as the station of some fine trees, among which is a betula, two aesculi, oaks, etc. in abundance. the pine is in fine order, but not large. much more cultivation is carried on in this portion of the hills than elsewhere, and paddy is cultivated apparently to some extent. the temperature is much warmer, and the air by no means so bracing as that of myrung. perhaps at this place the flora resemble that of lower himalaya more than other places we have yet seen. the march from nunklow to nowgong is very long, and, as we started late, owing partly to mismanagement and partly to the want of coolies, we were most agreeably benighted in the jungle. the descent is very sudden and commences at nunklow; the valley, on the brink of which it is situated, being perhaps feet deep. it is in this valley or on its walls that the finest pines we have seen occur, but even here they do not attain a greater height than feet, and perhaps a diameter of a foot or a foot and a half. as mr. brown of the sillet light infantry informed me most correctly, many would make fine spars; but mr. cracroft's language in one of the journals of the asiatic society when describing these firs, seems rather overwrought. during our march i picked up a pretty species of sonerila. a small stream runs at the foot of the descent, by what name it goes i know not. near the bustapanee, flowing along a valley about two hours' walk from the last mentioned water. wallich discovered abundance of his favourite and really splendid polypodium wallichianum, which i may accuse with justice of being an additional reason for our benightment. the stream is really the only respectable river we have seen, or rather the second one that can be called a torrent, the other being the bogapanee. it boils along, and the body of water is great, even at the season of the year at which we passed it. it has forced enormous holes, frequently round, in the large masses of rock that form its bed, and then in and a few yards beyond the bridge of bamboos by which we crossed, it falls, they say, feet into a fine bason, which however is only partly visible from above. they who have been on the edges of this bason say that the fall is really fine; it certainly has not much of this when viewed from above, neither can it, i think, even in the rains come up to mr. cracroft's description. moosmai is, _apres_ _tout_ i will venture to say, the king of the falls between terrya ghat and ranee godown. on the farther side of this water, small trees of cycas first make their appearance, but we had no time now or rather then to examine any thing. as the shades of evening lengthened we quickened our paces, and at last when it became dark, came up with the coolies in a most rugged road, and when it was dark, after stumbling about a good deal, i made my way to the foot of the descent, and reached a small stream, where we made preparations for a halt, and where we passed the night, during which we were treated with a slight shower of rain. as the season was far advanced we all escaped, scot-free, from fever, and reached the bungalow called nowgong about o'clock next morning, where we spent the day. [the village of nunklow: p .jpg] from this time we were, i believe, all anxious to leave the hills, which had lost all their charms, although the vegetation was still more gigantic and interesting. but we were now confined to the road, which is very good, all digressions being prevented by the thickness of the jungles, and then in some places swarms of wild elephants. these animals appear most numerous about onswye, near which there is a marshy place literally trodden up by them, and their tracks were so fresh that no traces of wallich or his coolies could be identified, although they had preceded us only about half an hour. it was in this particular place that i gathered a solitary specimen of _butomus pygmaeus_. beyond nowgong, saul first comes into view, and many trees attain a considerable size. some fine ferns and two beautiful acanthaceae, i may mention, as collected about that place. we reached jyrung by an easy march the next day; every step adding only to a greater renewal of acquaintance with old faces, or at least old plain plants. between jyrung and the foot of the hills, we fell in with _henslowia glabra_ in fine flower: wallich took many fine specimens, all of which were males. this species is, as well as the former, liable to deceive one as to the sex of the plant; but all the seeming ovaries beginning to enlarge are due to insect bites or punctures. to conclude: at the foot of the hills we were embraced with _marlea begonifolia_, _bauhinia purpurea_, etc. almost exactly as at terrya ghat. between the foot of these really delightful hills and ranee godown, i fell in with one plant only, deserving of mention, _dischedia_ _rafflesiana_; this is worthy of notice, as our indian asclipiferous species have not hitherto been found, i believe north of moulmain, nor otherwhere than that peninsula and the archipelago. from ranee godown we had the pleasure of walking nineteen miles to gowahatty, which place we reached on the rd november. all i can say in its favour is, that it is very cold in the mornings, always at this season cool; that it is very pretty, being situated on the burrampooter, and surrounded with hills; that the women are good-looking, and the whole body of officers among the best. of its botanical riches i can only say, that in a short afternoon's excursion we found _cardiopterus harnulosa_, or rather saw it, and a species of apocynea in fruit, probably the same with one i have from tenasserim, and which is remarkable for the very many fleshy alae of its fruit. gowahatty is particularly known as the station for _cycas circinatis_, one fine specimen of which captain jenkins shewed us, and the height of which is perhaps or feet. it was dichotomous, but only once. the rings formed by the scars of the foot stalks, as well as those of the fruit stalks, were most distinct on the two branches only, and gave them a very rich and less elated appearance. the examination of this specimen only strengthens me in my opinion derived chiefly from examination of those in the botanic gardens, that these rings which certainly afford the age of each branch, one being added of either sort every year, are not to be distinguished in the stem below its division. so that after all, _brongniart_ is only half-wrong, although he is ignorant of the saving clause. i may add, that we were on the hills about thirty-eight days, of which seven and a half were rainy, a proportion of in . . _on the nd december_, our party left gowahatty for suddiya, on the morning of the th i proceeded in advance in captain matthie's express canoe for tezpoor, which place i reached on the evening of the th, and at which i met with a most kind reception from captain matthie, principal assistant to the agent to the governor general, and in civil charge of the district of durrung. tezpoor possesses many advantages over gowahatty, from which place it is about miles distant, that is, following the river. it is situated on the banks of what was once a portion of the burrampooter, but which is now nothing but a nullah, nearly dry at the present season. it is a completely new place, { } captain matthie having arrived here about a year since, at which time it was a complete jungle. some small hills run along the side of the nullah, on one of which captain matthie's house is situated. the clearings have already reached to a considerable extent, and there are two good roads for buggies. the great advantage it has over gowahatty consists in its freedom from fogs, which evidently hug the meekur hills on the opposite side of the burrampooter, bearing about e.s.e. from tezpoor. it is perhaps owing to the proximity of these hills that nowgong until a.m. appears completely enveloped in fog, while all round tezpoor it is completely clear. from this place the view of the himalayas and of the intervening bootan hills is very fine. the chain is of considerable extent, and presents three grand peaks, of which the most westerly one is the largest. they do not appear very distant, and are distinctly seen at this season at all times of the day. they are more soft and picturesque towards evening, at which time the different shades are better developed. the degrees of ascent of the bootan hills are well shewn; the hills forming the lowest range being of no considerable height. it is at once obvious, that the ascent into bootan from this place would occupy several days. [captain mathie's cutcherry: p .jpg] the view to the s. and s.s.w. is barren enough, and is completely flat; the country presenting nothing whatever but high grass, with an occasional peep of the river. that to the north is, owing to the himalayas, very striking and picturesque. cultivation is carried on to a great extent about tezpoor, and the district is populous, although few villages are to be seen, as they are all concealed among trees. paddy is the principal grain cultivated, and this is carried on in low places, which appear on a casual examination to have been originally beds of rivers. captain matthie however tells me, that many of these have abrupt terminations and commencements, such may have been old jheels. sursoo, opium, and sugar-cane are likewise cultivated, especially the former. the whole land indeed, with the exception of the rice-places and the evidently old beds of the burrampooter, are much more elevated than the land round gowahatty. both tezpoor and durrung are consequently less damp, and more healthy than the above-mentioned place. in fact, as a residence i would infinitely prefer tezpoor to gowahatty. with regard to the shikar, (shooting) both large and small game abound. tigers are frequent as well as bears. buffaloes are to be seen on the _churs_ (islands) in large herds. pea-fowl and jungle-fowl abound, as well as water-fowl; floricans and partridges, both black and red, are by no means unfrequent. _upper assam_, _jan_. _ th_.--we arrived at kujoo, a rather large village of singfos, and within half a day's journey of which the tea is found in its native state. this is the first singfo village i have as yet seen, and is situated on the skirts of a plain of small extent, and covered to all appearance by extensive grass jungles, among which trees are interspersed. the houses are not numerous, but they are of large size, and are raised in the burman fashion on piles from the ground. within one, many families are accommodated. the people themselves are fair, much like the burmese, but still quite distinct. the male dress resembles the burmese much; the female is more distinct, consisting chiefly of a sort of _gown_; and whilst tattooing is confined to the males in burma, it here appears to be indulged in chiefly by the ladies; all the legs i saw during the day, being ornamented with rings of tattoo. the men are a stout, rather fine race; free, easy, and independent, and great admirers of _grog_ in every form. during our journey hither, and indeed en route from kujoo ghat, we passed over a clay soil and through a dense jungle, comparable to which i have seen but little. our direction has been nearly south from the above place. the jungle consisted chiefly of trees, here and there large patches of bamboo or tobacco occurring: there was but little underwood. among the trees the most gigantic was a species of dipterocarpus, probably the same with that i have gathered on pator hill, mergui. we picked up likewise very large acorns with a depressed lamellated cap, and two fruits of castanea, one probably the same with that from myrung. but of all the vegetation, that of ferns is the most luxuriant and most varied. _jan_. _ th_.--this day we gave up to the examination of the tea in its native place. it occurs in a deep jungle to the south of the village, and at a distance of about three miles from it. our route thither lay through first a rather extensive grass jungle, then through a deep jungle. we crossed the deboru once on our route; it is a mean and insignificant stream. nothing particular presents itself in the jungle until you approach the tea, on which you come very suddenly. this plant is limited to a small extent, perhaps to yards square, the principal direction being n. and s. it grows in a part of the jungle where the soil is light and dryish, and throughout which, _ravinules_ are frequent, due, mac. tells me, to the effect of rain dropping from the heavy over-shadowing foliage on a light soil. in addition to this, small mounds occur about the roots of the large trees; but chiefly around bamboos, which are by no means unfrequent. this, however, is of common occurrence in all bamboo jungles. the underwood consists chiefly of rubeaceae, a small leea, cyrthandraceae and filices, _polypodium arboreum_, _angiopteris_ _orassipes_, and a large asplenium are common. among the arbuscles are a large leaved tetranthera, a myristica, anonaceae, _paederioidea_ _faetidissima_, foliis ternatis; stipulis apicee subulata, -fidis, etc. and among the forest trees are a vast dipterocarpus, the same we met with en route to kujoo, _dillenia speciosa_, etc. piper and chloranthus are likewise not uncommon. there is no peculiar feature connected with the existence of the tea in such a place, and in such a limited extent. we were fortunate enough to find it both in flower and fruit, owing to its site; its growth is tall and slender, and its crown at least that of the smaller, very small and ill developed. large trees are rare; in fact, they have been all cut down by the singfos, who are like all other natives excessively improvident. the largest we saw, and which wallich felled, was, including the crown, feet in length. small plants are very common, although bruce had already removed , . mac. thinks they grow chiefly on the margins of the ravinules or hollows. their leaves were all large, of a very dark green, and varying from four to eight inches in length. the pith of the tree felled was excentric, the greater development taking place as usual on the southern side; it was two and a half inches n., three and a half s.; but about feet above the base this excentricity was nearly doubled. the wood is very compact, and the tree apparently one of slow growth. the largest that bruce has seen, and which he felled last year, was cubits in length. the jungle was so thick that all general views as to its real extent, and the circumstances limiting it, must be very superficial. to the east the cessation of the lightness of the soil and of the hollows is very abrupt, and strongly influences the tea, only a few small straggles being visible in that direction. the jungle here was choked with grasses, and the large viscous acanthaceae of which we have elsewhere en route seen such abundance. the tree evidently, even in its large state, owes little gratitude to the sun, at least for direct rays, none of which i should think ever reach it. the singfos however say, that it will only thrive in the shade. we halted after gathering a crop of leaves under a fine dillenia, which was loaded with its fruit. here the singfos demonstrated the mode in which the tea is prepared among them. i must premise, however, that they use none but young leaves. they roasted or rather semi-roasted the leaves in a large iron vessel, which must be quite clean, stirring them up and rolling them in the hands during the roasting. when duly roasted, they expose them to the sun for three days; some to the dew alternately with the sun. it is then finally packed into bamboo chungas, into which it is tightly rammed. the ground on which it occurs is somewhat raised above the plain adjoining the village, as we passed over two hillocks on our route to the tea, and the descent did not evidently counterbalance the ascent. _jan_. _ th_.--we arrived at kujoo-doo this afternoon, having passed through a great extent of jungle, which i am sorry to say presented the usual features. we crossed the deboro once during our march, and several tributary streams which, as may be supposed, from the size of the _larger_ recipient river, are excessively insignificant. the soil throughout, a good part seemed to be of clay. the only plants of interest we found were two bambusae in flower, and two species of meniscium, and a _polypodium venulis_ tertiariis simplicibus. a _sarcopyramis sonerilae_ was also found, but rather past flowering, and an acrostichum? or lomaria? we did not observe any ravinules or hollows, although mounds were by no means uncommon. _jan_. _ th_.--we proceeded in a southerly direction, and after marching for nearly seven hours arrived at, and encamped on, a largish plain, on which paddy had been extensively cultivated. the whole route lay through a vast and deep jungle, the road running partly on the side of an old bund: part of our road was through very wet ground, part through rather dry elevated woods, bamboos of two species occurred abundantly. we saw several vast specimens of dipterocarpus, one which had been cut down measured from the base to first branch feet. ferns still continue in excess. i gathered another species of _sarcopyramis_; a _goodyera_, _chrysobaphus roxburghii_ in flower, but rare; and an apostasia not in flower. _jan th_.--we reached negrigam early in the forenoon although we did not leave our ground before a.m. the road to the village was pretty good. negrigam is a largish village on the north bank of the booree dihing, which is here a considerable though not deep stream. this bank is at the site of the village very high. the population seemed to be considerable. to the south, large ranges of hills were visible, the first of which were close enough to admit of one's distinguishing them to be wooded to the top. the inner ranges were lofty. we had some difficulty in ascertaining where the tea was located, the accounts being rather contradictory. at length we proceeded up the bed of a small river, maumoo, which runs into the booree dihing close to the village: after wading along in the waters for two hours we arrived at a khet where we encamped. the direction being from negrigam n.w. along the banks of this stream. the pavia i first observed at silam mookh, was abundant, and some of the specimens were very fine, the largest was a handsome, very shady tree, of perhaps thirty feet high. the only plant of interest was _gnetum scandens_. on a high land bank i gathered a species of polytrichum, and one of bartramia. _january th_.--this morning we crossed the small streamlet maumoo, ascended its rather high bank, and within a few yards from it came upon the tea: which as we advanced farther into the jungle increased in abundance; in fact within a very few yards, several plants might be observed. the plant was both in flower and ripe fruit, in one instance the seeds had germinated while attached to the parent shrub. no large trees were found, the generality being six or seven feet high; all above this height being straggling, slender, unhandsome shrubs: the leaves upon the whole were, i think, smaller than those of the kujoo plants. with respect to the plants with which it is here associated, i may observe that they were nearly the same with those of the kujoo jungle, but here there was nevertheless one striking difference, that the jungle was by no means so dark in consequence of the smaller size of the jungle trees. the underwood consisted chiefly of ferns, among which _polipodium unitum_ was very common, and a lycopodium. bamboos occurred here and there, although by no means so extensively as at kujoo. _chrysobaphus roxburghii_, and a new _dicksonia_, _d_. _griffithiana_, wall. were the plants of the greatest interest. with regard to the limits of the tea, it is by all accounts of no very great extent; but this is a point upon which it is difficult to say any thing decisive, in consequence of the thickness of the jungle. the space on which we found it may be said to be an elbow of the land, nearly surrounded by the manmoo river, on the opposite side of which, where we were encamped, it is reported not to grow. within this space the greater part consists of a gentle elevation or rather large mound. on this it is very abundant, as likewise along its sides, where the soil is looser, less sandy, and yellow (mcclell.); along the base of this i think it is less common, and the soil is here more sandy, and much darker (mcclell.) we partly ascertained that it was limited to the west, in which direction we soon lost sight of it. to the south and eastward of the elbow of land it is most common, but here it is, as i have said above, stopped by the river. the greatest diameter of the stem of any plant that i saw in this place, might be two or three inches, certainly not more. _nadowar_, _feb_. _ th_.--our route from this village, at which we were encamped, to the tea locality in the neighbouring forest, lay for the first time partly over paddy fields, the remainder over high ground covered with the usual grasses, with here and there a low strip; all was excessively wet. we next traversed a considerable tract of tree jungle, perhaps for nearly a mile; this was a drier and higher soil than the rice ground. on the northern flank of this, and close to the edge of the jungle we came to the tea, situated on a low strip of ground. this plant here occupies an extremely limited space, and its greatest, and indeed almost only extent, is from south to north. it is in one spot excessively thick, and many of the plants had attained a considerable size, but the largest had been cut down, when it was visited by people from suddiya in search of tea some short time ago. it had just passed flowering; all the plants looked well, better i think than those of kujoo. the soil was very much like that of the kujoo and negrigam jungles, and was remarkable for its great dryness and looseness, in spite of the long continued and heavy rains. that near the surface was dark brown, below yellow brown, and the deeper it was examined the more yellow it seemed to become. we satisfied ourselves that its depth extended lower than two feet from the surface. the space the plant occupies in any numbers certainly does not exceed forty yards in length, by twenty- five in breadth. about fifty yards to the north several plants occurred, but the soil here was of a much darker tint, although it appeared to be nearly as dry as the other. the accompanying diagram may give some idea of its situation. _february th_.--we arrived at rangagurrah, the capital of the muttack country, and the residence of the burra-seena puttee, or bengmara. our route thither occupied us, inclusive of the day spent in examining the tea at noadwar, five days. during the three first, we passed through a low country admirably, and almost exclusively, adapted for rice cultivation, and consequently abounding in wild wading birds and water- fowl. as we approached rangagurrah the ground became higher, in addition to which it is better drained. we crossed about two miles from rangagurrah a small rivulet, a tributary of the deboro; no plants but one of much interest was detected _en route_. that one was a fine forest tree affecting damp low places, apparently very limited in extent. it is a new genus, belonging to hamemelideae, and we have called it _sedgwickia_ _cerasifolia_. on our arrival at rangagurrah we were met by the burra- seena puttee, 'big warrior,' who escorted us to the houses he had caused to be erected for us, and which were at a little distance from the village itself. during our association with him or with his country, he was remarkably attentive and civil, and as he is an independent man he pleased me much. on the -- feb. we reached tingrei, a poor village about ten miles to the s.e. of rangagurrah, situated on the west bank of the rivulet of the same name, another tributary of the deboroo. on the same morning as the march was very short, we proceeded to examine the tea, and the following day was likewise given up to another examination. the tea here may be characterised as dwarf, no stems that i saw exceeding fifteen feet in height; it had just passed flowering. it occurs in great abundance, and to much greater extent than in any of the places at which we had previously examined it. but here it is neither limited by peculiarity of soil or such slight elevation as the place affords; it grows indiscriminately on the higher ground where the soil is of a brownish yellow, and on which it attains a larger size than elsewhere, or on clumps occurring in low raviny ground and associated with fine bamboos. this ground was intersected by a very tortuous dry nullah bed, on the banks of which tea was very abundant. on either side of the jungle in which it is found, extensive clearings occur, so that it is impossible to say what its original extent may have been; i am inclined to think, however that its limit was with the commencement of a small clearing running to the n.w. of a village situated on the west bank of the tingrei, and that not much has been cut down. [the himalaya from rangagurrah: p .jpg] the extent may be roughly estimated as follows, reckoning from the entrance into the jungle in a south easterly direction: the one in fact of our route from the village to the tea. s.e. yards, after which it disappears, but shews itself again sparingly about yards further on, and in the same direction. to the s. of this i found none, its direction being totally changed; its general direction being now, n.w. or n.n.w. in which, and in about yards from the place at which it ceased towards the south, it becomes very abundant, and continues so in a w.n.w. course for about yards. thence it appears to be interrupted for the space of or yards. it then recommences a course n. by w. for about yards, when it is terminated by cultivated ground to the east, and low raviny ground to the west. yards to the north, and close to a small village, it is very abundant, and at least its stumps with numerous shoots, occupy almost the whole of a small clearing bounded on the n.e. by the rivulet tingrei. it may be supposed to extend for a little distance into the contiguous jungle to the n.w. on the whole, it may be said to occupy a narrow strip of jungle, extending from the village tingrei in a s.e. direction about a . of a mile. i consider the plants here as finer than in any of the other tea jungles, the crown being much better developed owing at least in some parts to the less denseness of the jungle. the fact of the shoots appearing from the bases of the stems which had been cut down in the small clearing above mentioned, gave us good opportunities of seeing the effects of exposure to the sun. this they seemed to bear well, but the shoots were rather too much elongated, and the leaves had too much of a yellow tint to indicate that such was their natural situation. no part of the soil on which tea was found was like the soil of nadowar or manmoo; still, although stiffer than the others, it was characterised by a certain lightness. the superstratum was very light, and brownish black, the remainder yellowish brown, the yellow tints as well as the stiffness increasing downwards. the soil was here deeper than in any of the other sites. many parts of the ground were excessively low, and very probably inundated during the rains. from the fact of its occurring in such abundance in the small clearing to the n.w. of the village, i am induced to suppose that it had at some period extended down the large clearing which runs yards to the south of the above village. the associated vegetation presented no peculiarities; several plants, with which we had not previously met, occurred. one, a stauntonia, was found, which may be supposed from analogy to indicate a certain coldness of climate. but on the other hand, it was associated with so many tropical forms that not much reliance can be placed on this isolated fact. on the th we returned to rangagurrah, where the elephants and dowaniers (_drivers_) were dismissed. on the th we commenced returning by the deboroo, the descent of which occupied two days and a half. here let me express my opinion that in cases like ours, where a set of men are deputed to examine countries, time spent on rivers is absolutely thrown away. of course in many instances such must be the case, but where it is avoidable, marching, and especially returning by a different route, should be adopted. rangagurrah, be it known, is only two days' march from suddiyah in a direct line, yet we have been a month proceeding by the circuitous line of rivers between these places. chapter ii. _journal of a trip to the mishmee mountains_, _from the_ _debouching of the lohit to about ten miles east of_ _the ghalooms_. _lat_. _ degrees ' to degrees '_ _n_.; _long_. _ degrees ' to degrees ' e_. i left suddiya on the morning of the th october , and halted at noa dihing mookh, (river mouth) a place abounding in fish, and promising excellent sport both in fly and live-bait fishing. the temperature of the noa dihing, an indolent stream flowing over a flat, sandy plain, was degrees; that of the b. pooter, which falls in large volume rapidly from the mountains, was degrees. fish congregate in vast numbers at the junction of rivers of different temperatures, and are there more easily captured than in other situations, a fact that ought to be borne in mind, whether for the mere object of sport or the more practical purpose of fisheries in india. the following day ( th) we passed choonpoora, where the rapids commence, and where stones first appear; one rapid, a little above choonpoora, is severe. there is a severe one also at toranee mookh, on which the copper temple is situated; and one at tingalee mookh, on which lattow is situated. the river now commences to be more subdivided; there is but little sand deposited alone, but vast beds of sand and stones occur together. the banks are clothed with jungle, and are occasionally skirted with tall grasses, but the _churs_ or islands disappear it may be said with the sands, and are only formed in lower and more distant parts from the mountains, where the velocity of the current is less. temperature at a.m. degrees, p.m. degrees, (water of b. pooter . ,) p.m. degrees. buffaloes abundant, but i only saw a few. the most interesting plants were a cyclocodon, liriodendron, sanicula: species were collected. _oct_. _ th_.--reached karam mookh, about noon. rapids much increased, some very severe, especially that opposite karam mookh, which we crossed without accident, although as we crossed a confluence of two rapids, the water in the middle being much agitated; it was a wonder that no canoes were upset. the bed of the river is still more divided, the spots between the streams being for the most part entirely composed of stones. the lowest temperature of the b. pooter was degrees. a severe but short rapid occurs at karam mookh itself, the fall being very great, but the body of water small. the water of this river is beautifully clear. its temperature at the mookh degrees. the jungle extends down to both edges of the water, and the stream is not divided into branches. my guide in the evening disgusted me by asking how many days i intended to stop at the koond before my return to suddiya, when i had engaged him expressly to go into the mishmee hills, and not merely to brama koond, as the above question implied. but such is the way in which our best designs depending on native agency are often tampered with. thermometer at p.m. degrees. species of conaria grow abundantly on the banks! _oct_. _ th_.--we are still in the karam river. reached about noon the kamptee village, palampan, or rather its ghat. this karam river is tortuous, generally shallow, with a more or less stony bed; it is nothing more in fact than a succession of rapids, between each of which the slope is very gentle, so that one makes good progress. temperature at a.m. degrees in the canoe; but in the hut in which i slept, it is as low as degrees. the dews are very heavy, and the jungle, as before, comes down to the edges of the water, but scarcely affords any marked feature. _kydia calycina_ is common, as is likewise a large mimoseous tree. there is apparently very little diminution in the volume of water, though several minor streams were passed between this and the mookh. liriodendron is becoming more frequent. the views of the mountains are very varied; and that of the koond defile or chasm, very beautiful; water- falls seem to be distinctly visible down one hill or mountain, in particular. the finest view however is on the lohit, opposite dyaroo mookh, at which place the three huge, ever snowy peaks, characteristic of the mishmee portion of the mountains, are distinctly seen. left the ghat for the village which is situate on the dea-soon or simaree, which flows into the tenga-panee, and which is said now to carry off so much water from the karam that this river ceases a short distance above this place to become navigable for boats like mine. the path we pursued ran in a s.e. or s.s.e. direction for about a mile; it is good, and leads through a thick jungle: the village contains probably fifteen houses. the gohain, or _chief_, is a most respectable-looking man, and of very fair complexion. his people are for the most part stout. the women also of very fair complexion, with their hair tied in a large knot on the top of the head, in a peculiar way, putting one in mind of fat norman damsels. temperature in the boat to-day degrees, the sky beautifully clear. the b. pooter seems still the only river, the temperature of which is always below that of the air. one interesting elaeocarpus occurred--petal. viridibus apice dentatis; calice griseo viridi, _vix valvato_. i may remark, that the aestivation of kydia is scarcely valvate. i saw a, to me, new kingfisher and wood-pecker. the black and white kingfisher, _dalcedo rudus_, is not found on the b. pooter beyond the termination of the sand banks. _oct_. _ th_--temperature in my hut at . a.m. is degrees, outside it is . degrees, that of the river water degrees. we left about , and proceeded up the karam, which presented nothing singular. the volume of water is now less, and rapids are more frequent: heavy snow is visible from a little above palampan ghat, where the river bends to the northward; and a little further on a fine view of the koond occurs. the chasm is bounded in the rear by the fine rugged peak so distinctly seen from suddiya due east. about , we reached the ghat, beyond which boats, except of the smallest description, cannot pass; and about , started for the mishmee village jing-sha, situated on the karam. our course was along the bed of the river, and nearly due east. formerly boats were able to reach the ghat of the village, but the water has become shallower, owing, they say, to a larger portion being carried off by the dea-soon, which runs into the tenga-panee. we reached the village ghat about four in the afternoon, but our people arrived very little before six o'clock. the march was tedious and difficult, owing to the numerous stones which are strewed in the way: and the necessity for crossing the river was so frequent, that all idea of shoes was quite out of the question. to increase the difficulty, the stones in the bed of river are very slippery, and as we crossed rapids, it frequently required some care to prevent our falling. we were met by the gam, or chief, before any signs of the village there were visible. the population is small; the people fair, but begrimed with dirt; the dress consists of a loose jacket without sleeves. the primary article of clothing is indeed so scanty, that the less one says about it the better. the women are decently clothed, and have generally enormous calves, certainly bigger than those of the men: their favourite ornament seems to be a band of silver, broadest across their forehead, which encircles their head. this village is close to the hills, and within a day's journey of the koond, at least for a mishmee. one assamese slave is among the inhabitants, who was sold when a boy. a few of the men have singfo dhaos or swords, others miserable knives, and some the usual spear so general with the tribes on this frontier. but in general the weapons of these people are most insignificant. the view of the hills is not fine from this place; it is too close to see any of great height, and they soon disappear to the westward. in the evening that of the koond, which bears e.n.e. by n. is fine, particularly one mountain, which is known at once by its numerous cascades or appearances of water-falls, which, although they appear like streaks of white to the eye, are distinctly visible through a telescope. the bed of the karam is almost entirely stony, and the immediate banks are clothed with grass. the jungle is of the usual thick description. the gam, whose name is jingsha, is a respectable looking man, fair in his dealings, and willing to oblige. they all have tobacco pipes. _oct_. _ th_.--halted to enable the people to bring up the baggage, and we shall in all probability have to halt to-morrow. i paid a visit to the gam's house, jingshi; it is to the s.e. of the ghat, and about a mile and a half distant from it. the houses are all detached, and almost buried in jungle. jingsha's house is a good one, very long, and well built; he has only about five skulls. { } _mont_ was handed round to the mishmees in large bamboo cups. from our encampment, abundance of clearances for cultivation are visible on the hills. those to n., s., s.e. are of some extent, and belong to a mishmee gam, tapa. some fine timber trees exist on the road to the village, and a very large ficus: no particular plants occur except a chloranthus, fructibus albis, which is also common towards palampan. thermometer at noon, in imperfect shade, degrees. _oct_. _ th_.--the temperature of the air at . a.m. was . degrees. that of water, degrees. i was obliged to halt again to enable the rice to be brought up. to-day we gathered on the banks of the karam, a tree in fruit, fol. alterna, impari-pinnata, stipulis caducis. cymi compositi dichotomi; calyce minuto, dentato, reflexo; corolla coriacea, viridi, rotata; stamina , hypogyna, gynobasi, maxima; carpellis , aggregatis, , , fecundalis, globosis, atro-cyaneis, baccatis; stylis lateralibus; semen , exalbumosum arbuscula mediocris; one chrysobalanea? one ochnacea? yesterday they brought me a beautiful snake, collo gracillimo, colore pulchre fusco, maculis aterrimis, capite magno; { } has all the appearance of being venomous. to-day we passed another place for catching fish: the water is prevented from escaping, (except at the place where the current is naturally most violent,) by a dam composed of bamboos, supported by triangles, from the centre of which hang heavy stones: the fish are prevented passing down except at the above spot, and here they are received on a platform of bamboo: the stream is so strong through this point, that when once the fish have passed down they are unable to return. one of these fish-traps on a larger scale exists below palampan. the karam debuts from the hills a little to the s. of east of jingsha ghat: the chasm is very distinct. temperature at p.m. degrees, at sunset degrees, p.m. degrees. _oct_. _ st_.--left the ghat about , and proceeded over the same difficult ground down the karam until we arrived at laee mookh. this occupied about an hour; our course thence lay up the laee, which runs nearly due east. the bed of the river throughout the lower part of its course is or yards across: the journey was as difficult as that on the karam. towards p.m. we were close to the hills, and the river became contracted, not exceeding or yards across. it is here only that large rock masses are to be found, but the boulders are in no case immense. we arrived at the place of our encampment about p.m., the porters coming up much later. the march was in every respect most fatiguing. temperature about a.m. degrees, outside degrees. water degrees. temperature of laee at sunset degrees. of the air degrees. _oct_. _ nd_.--cloudy: during the night we were much annoyed by heavy gusts of wind sweeping down the river. left our encampment at . , and struck into the jungle, the porters still continuing along the course of the river; after crossing some rising ground we reached a path, which is tolerably good. our course lay about n.e.; we crossed over some low hills, and after marching for about an hour and a quarter, came upon the koond chasm, or great defile; of which, however, from the thickness of the jungle, we had no view. we then descended a very steep, but not very high hill, and came upon the koond; of which nothing is at first seen but large masses of rock strewed in every direction. we were accompanied by a number of jingsha gam's people, and in the evening we were visited by tapan gam himself, with a train of followers. this man assumes the sovereignty of the koond. we encamped immediately under the faqueer's rock, which is known to the mishmees by the name "taihloo maplampoo." the south bank is wooded to its brink, but not very densely: it is excessively steep, and in many places almost perpendicular. the strata composing it is partly limestone, lying at an angle of degrees, and in many places at a greater one. the scenery is picturesque and bold: on either side of the river are hills rising abruptly to the height of a few hundred feet, but the hills are continued longer on the north side. from the rock the river seems to run w.n.w. for a quarter of a mile, and then bends to the s.w. the breadth of the bed is a good hundred yards, but the stream at this season is confined to the fifty yards near the south bank, the remainder being occupied by rocks in situ, or boulders and sand: the edge of the n. bank is occupied by stunted _saccharum_. the appearance of the water is characteristic, of a greyish green tinge, giving the impression of great depth. it is only here and there that it is white with foam, its general course being rather gentle. it is in various places encroached upon more or less by the rocks forming its bed, some of which are quite perpendicular. a little to the west of the faqueer's rock there is an immense mass of rock in the bed of the river, between which and the south bank there is now very little water and no current. the rocks are generally naked; here and there they are partially clothed with gramineae, and a cyperaceous-looking plant, something like an eriophorum. the river, a short distance beyond the deo- panee, takes a bend to the north; at the point where it bends there is a considerable rapid. [bramakhoond and faqueer's rock: p .jpg] the faqueer's rock itself is a loose mass of rugged outline, about feet high: access to its summit is difficult to anybody but a mishmee; it is, however, by no means impracticable. the path by which it may be gained, leads from the eastward. at the summit is an insulated, rounded, rugged mass of rock, on which the faqueers sit. it is however the descent by the path to the east which is difficult, and people generally choose another path to the west. this rock is clothed with ferns epiphytical orchideae, an arundo, and a few stunted trees are very common at its summit. between it and the hill is another much smaller mass, and the intervening spaces are occupied by angular masses of rock. these spaces both lead westward to that corner of the river into which the deo- panee falls. eastward they lead to the margin of the bank. the north face of the faqueer's rock is excavated into a hollow of the deo dowar. it has no resemblance to a gothic ruin, which form is, i believe, peculiar to calcareous rocks. it is this rock which, by its eastern extremity projecting into the water, forms the reservoirs into which the deo-panee falls, or rather at this season runs; the place resembles merely a sort of bay. the water-mark of floods visible on some of the rocks, is probably eight feet above that of this time of the year. the reservoir is completed by a projection from the rocks forming the south bank, but it is almost entirely abstracted from the stream. the south bank immediately beyond this is extremely precipitous, and very high. the faqueer's rock is three-peaked; two peaks can only be seen from the deo-panee, the third is the low one to the west, the middle is the highest, and is perforated: the eastern represents a sugar-loaf appearance. two distinct streams run into the reservoirs, the bed of one forms the second defile before alluded to: this is very insignificant. the other occupies the corner of the bay, and can only be seen from a low station on the sand beneath: it is an attempt at a small water-fall. _oct_. _ rd_.--to-day i have been employed in collecting plants. nearly due east of the koond, and at a distance of about yards, the face of the hill is perpendicular, and in some places overhanging; its extremity juts out into the stream, which here flows with great violence; the banks are occupied by masses of rock strewed in every direction, resulting from a landslip of great size: some of these masses are enormous. the greater portion of the slip is clothed with herbage and trees, so that it is of some age, or standing; but in one place over the river it is clean, as if fresh formed, and white-looking much like chalk. this cliff in many parts is a dripping well, particularly in one extremity where a good deal of water falls. it is clothed with the eriophorum, which hangs down in long tufts; the moist parts with an adiantum much like a. c. veneris, a beautiful pteris, a pothos or arum foliis pulchre nigro tinctis, and some mosses; b. speciosa out of flower, and some hepaticae, ruta albiflora, etc. between this and the deo-panee a small stream enters the lohit: following this up to some height, one arrives at a pretty water-fall; here it is inaccessible in this direction, but by following a branch of the stream to the west, one may arrive at the summit of the hill, from which however no view is to be obtained. the summit is ridge-like, and excessively sharp; the descent on either side almost precipitous. i found several fine ferns up this hill; at its base an acer and fine equisetum. [the mori-panee as it enters the khoond: p .jpg] the koond is apparently formed by the deo-panee and mori-panee. in the rains it must be a rather striking object, now however it is at this season, lost amidst the fine surrounding scenery. how the faqueer's rock and the rock between it and the mori-panee were detached, is difficult to say. it is evident, however, that formerly the two rivers were not united to form the koond as at present, but that they had each their own channels when the faqueer's rock must have stood between them. in fact both channels, in which water has flowed, still remain. my broken thermometer pointed out the low temperature of the lohit water, and degrees was the point at which water boiled in two experiments. all attempts at passing along the river on this side would be vain, owing to a cliff which is totally impracticable. the mishmees know of no rivulet called the mtee; probably this has been mistaken for the mishmee name for water, _mchee_. the way wilcox went i am at a loss to ascertain; as he could not have passed the koond, he must have gone above it; although the hills are said to be impracticable for loaded coolies. _oct_. _ th_.--the koond is obviously little frequented. i left sometime after the coolies, pursuing the path leading to ghaloom's, which extends to the eastward. an hour and a quarter brought me again to the laee-panee, and three hours and a half to laee mookh: from this place to jingsha ghat is scarcely an hour's walk. the day's journey occupied about five hours inclusive of stoppages: the distance is probably about twelve miles. i came to the determination of returning, owing to the known difficulty of the route pursued by wilcox, and the impossibility of making a collection of grain. the tapan gam, or lord of the koond, particularly insisted on the impossibility of ordinary coolies going this way, and as he offered men to bring up grain from the plains, i at once acceded to his proposal of making a granary in his village. this man had no delicacy in asking for presents: he at once said, "you must give gold, silver, and every thing in the calendar of presents to the deo," meaning himself. as i found it impracticable to satisfy him, i sent him off with a small present, promising more when he should have amassed the grain. his brother, a tall, stout, and much more useful man, (as he does not refuse to carry loads,) on seeing me rub salt on a bird's skin, remarked, "what poor devils we are! bird's skins with salt supply the sahibs with food, while we can't get a morsel." they promised to take me all over the country, and to be my slaves, if i would point out to them where salt is to be found. [the deo-panee as it enters the khoond: p .jpg] i saw nothing particular in the woods. i picked up the fruit of a magnolia and castanea, and observed an arborescent leea. some of the timber is fine. a large acrotirchea abounds between laee and the koond, as well as chloranthus. near the laee a climber, the base of whose stem is elephantopoid and enormous considering the slender stem, is abundant. i could not get any of the leaves. at the koond, buddleia neemda, a prunus, etc. occur. caelogyne polleniis obovatis, faciebus incumbentibus complanates materie pulverea, mediocri. dundoons are rather troublesome; they are flies, and nearly as large as an ordinary house fly: their proboscis is large, and leaves spots of extravasated blood where they bite, nearly of the size of an ordinary pin's head. _oct_. _ th_.--my people brought me in a beautiful snake, _coluber_ _porphyraceus_, ventre albo, caeterum pulchre coccineo-badio, capite lineis nigris tribus quarum centralis brevior, dorso lineis nigris duabus postea gradatim evanescentibus, lineis circularibus minus conspicuis, iridibus carneis. { a} _oct_. _ th_.--yesterday evening two elephants arrived with grain, so that i have every prospect of being fairly on my way in a day or two. nothing worth seeing has occurred, except a man who by some accident had the lobe of his ear torn, and had the fragments stitched together with silver wire. _oct_. _ st_.--halted at the laee-panee, and gathered an oberonea, and specimens of fish. { b} _nov_. _ st_.--dirty weather; rain looking much as if it were going to continue for several days. there is a small drupaceous fruit found here and at beesa, the singfo name of which is let-tan-shee; it is the produce of a large tree probably the fruit of a chrysobalanus, testibus stylo _laterali_, stam, perigynis: cotyledonibus crispatis. the flavour is acid, rather pleasant, and somewhat terebinthinaceous. _nov_. _ nd_.--i thought it best to set off, although it was raining heavily. our course lay in an e. direction up the karam for about two hours, when it diverged: it thence after passing through some heavy jungle continued up the steep bed of the now dry dailoom; it next diverged again about p.m., when we ascended a small hill; it continued thence through heavy jungle chiefly bamboo, until we descended in an oblique manner on the laee-panee, about a mile up which we found our halting place. the whole march occupied, including a few halts, seven hours; and as the pace was pretty good for six full hours, i compute the distance to be about fifteen miles. hill flora recommenced in the bamboo jungle; two fine species of impatiens and several urticeae making their appearance; _camellia axillaris_ and some fine acanthacea: the best plant was a species of aristolochea. the latter part of the day was fine, and the elephants with grain from suddiyah arrived. _nov_. _ rd_.--passed the forenoon in ascending the hill opposite our encampment: it is of no great height, but like all the others very steep. to the n.w. of this has occurred a large slip, but long previous to this time; on it two or three phaeniceous palms may be found. pandanus still occurs. the hill was barren of botany, excepting a few ferns towards base. _nov_. _ th_.--left laee-panee at . a.m., and reached the encampment at . p.m. our course diverged almost immediately from the last encampment, and we ascended for some time up the bed of a torrent. the first hill we ascended occupied an hour, and the remainder of the day's journey consisted of ascents and descents along the most difficult path imaginable. all the hills are very steep, and the paths when they wind round these, are very difficult; a slip would cause a dangerous fall. about p.m. we reached two or three houses constituting a village. from this, one has a fine view of the plains, and of the b. pooter near its exit from the hills: it is much intersected by islets covered with jungle. leeches are not very numerous. dundoons or sand flies very annoying. i have gathered plenty of plants, especially ferns. wallichia continues; _wulfenia obliqua_, and a companula were the best. at our halting place i found the fruits of _sedgwickia_ in abundance. passed two or three streams. found the flowers of a large loranthus, or rather its very large flowers on the ground. they are eaten by the natives, but the acidity is unpleasant, owing to its being mixed with a bitter; the flowers are two inches long: tubo angulato, basi-coccinescenti, laminis viridibus interstibus carneis, coccineo lineatis praesenti transverse, antheris syngenesis. _sarcocordalis_, common. _nov_. _ th_.--left at half-past , and reached extensive _kheties_ (cultivated fields) with dispersed houses at about p.m. this place is called dilling. our route consisted of the same fatiguing marching: we passed over some hills, from which we had fine views. the first gave us a fine sight of the patkaye mountains, { } s.e. of upper assam, which reach apparently a great height. the second, of the plains of assam. the exact summits of all the hills are covered with a coarse spicate saccharum. on one we met with a melampyracea. the botany is improving greatly; two species of viola, two fine cyrthandraceae occurring. i also noticed sedgwickia again, and got abundance of ferns, a buddleia, and a fine amaranthacea. halted on a cleared ground immediately under the red mountain so plainly seen from jingsha. there is now no appearance of water-falls on it, but there are several white spots owing to slips: the brink or brim of this hill is woody, but there is a considerable space covered only with short grass. the strata are inclined at an angle of degrees. i here got two or three fine mosses. all the mishmees have the idea, that on some hills at least rain is caused by striking trees of a certain size with large stones, some hills are again free from this charm; it was ridiculous to hear them call out not to throw stones whenever we approached one of these rainy hills. the people appear to get dirtier the farther we advance. i saw plenty of snow on two high peaks, and had a peep of the lohit beyond brahma koond. wallichia continues, as well as bambusa, saccharum megala. the kheties are either of rice or cynosurus or zea. tobacco is not cultivated, but left to take care of itself. buddleia neemda and wild plantain continue, the latter is probably a distinct species; leaves subtis glauco niveis. pandanus continues. the name of the red mountain before alluded to, is thu-ma- thaya, the rivulet at its base is tus-soo-muchee. tus-soo dee-ling is the name of the place; a large mountain bearing n.n.e., is sun-jong-thaya. it is obvious that dee-ling must be of some extent, as my site does not agree with that of wilcox. the view to the e. is entirely limited to thu-ma-thaya, and to the n.n.e., by sun-jong-thaya; no b. pooter is visible, nor is ghaloom's house. the snow collects on the thu-ma-thaya this month: the clearings for cultivation on the declivities of thu-ma-thaya are called chim-bra: the houses, although at great distances from the village, are called _yeu_. _nov_. _ th_.--we arrived at our halting place after a march of seven hours, over a most difficult and fatiguing road: we skirted throughout the whole time the base of the huge thu-ma-thaya; i never saw a worse road, if road it may be called--part of it lay over places where a false step or slip would be very dangerous, if not fatal. we came suddenly on the b. pooter; but as the place was not a good one for crossing, we prepared to go a little higher up the stream, and though the distance we had to go was not above yards, yet as the river side was impracticable, it became necessary to ascend and descend by a most difficult path where a slip would have precipitated one into the river sixty or seventy feet below. what rendered this passage most difficult and dangerous, was the jungle which, while it caused you to stoop, at the same time concealed your footing. it is one of the characteristics of mishmees, that they sooner risk their necks than take the trouble of cutting down underwood. we have scarcely passed thu-ma-thaya, so that the distance we have travelled in a direct line from deeling must be very small. the stream of the lohit is not forty yards broad, but the bed is about sixty. it has the appearance of great depth, and roars along amidst rocks in some places in fine style. i here picked up some small branches of an elm, very like u. virgata: the tree was too late to reach fruit. i also gathered a fine acanthacea, and some good ferns. the north bank of the lohit here has the same structure as the south at the koond, and is perpendicular. the water of the lohit is certainly much cooler than any of the mountain streams. vast blocks of rock, of many sorts, lie strewed on the south side; one in particular is quartzose, remarkable for the indentations on its surface. i here gathered some mosses, and a good marchantiacea, very nearly allied to octoskepos, but culiculate. pandanus still continues, as also marlea, wallichia, caryota, and pentaptera. passed several streams, and a pretty fall, the water falling down a cliff almost perpendicular, about feet high. the mishmees use the fibres and _reti_ of caryota as an ornament to their baskets, from which it likewise keeps the rain. wild plantain continues. our encampment is on a fine bed of sand. _nov_. _ th_.--rain throughout the night at intervals, and sharp cold in the morning; we left at a.m. and arrived at our encampment about p.m. the first part of our march was very difficult, it in fact consisted of crossing a precipice overhanging the lohit; the difficulty was increased by the slipperiness occasioned by the rain; no one could pass some of the places unless aided by ratans fixed to trees, etc. we came to the sung river about noon, but were delayed some time in building a bridge. this river appears to me to be in some places fordable, but the mishmees say that it is not; the water is beautifully clear. the first cane suspended bridge occurs here; i did not fancy it, although i observed the mishmees cross, the passage taking barely half a minute. _throughout the whole time_ the mishmees use their legs and arms, to accelerate or determine their progress; the inclination caused by the weight is slight. i preferred one of our own erection, about yards distant from it. the height is not great over the river, and the width is perhaps thirty yards. the bourra crossed after some delay; we were then obliged to make two halts: we followed the sung down to its mouth, which is barely yards: its bed is rocky; at its junction there is a large bay formed, on the n. side of which is a fine sand bank. the lohit there runs nearly n. and s., and is excessively violent in its course, certainly ten miles an hour. the scenery is pretty, but no hills of great height are seen to any extent. this is the most romantic spot i have seen in my course of travels as yet. we forded the bay about its centre, and encamped on the sand: the path we are to follow is said to be above, and very difficult. we here gathered some fine ferns and a bleteoid orchidea. a gentianacea likewise occurred. the tapan gam, on my inquiring, said, that wilcox passed by the upper path, the lohit at that time running under the cliff which forms one side of the bay. { } the course of the river, he says, has since changed by the occurrence of a large slip, principally of mica slate. _nov_. _ th_.--the commencement of our march to-day was up a hill, the ascent, as in all the other cases, being very steep. from its summit we could see dilling in a horizontal distance extremely near. we then proceeded skirting the hill, and descended subsequently to the _o_. rivulet, which is of no size. we then ascended another considerable height, and found ourselves on the site of ghaloom's old dwelling. the situation was delightful; to the n.e., a high range was visible, which is covered with snow, the pines on the lower parts of the ridge standing out, in fine relief. to the n. was a noble peak bare at its summit, on which snow rests during some months, its centre being prettily marked out with numerous patches of cultivation. to the n. again the tid-ding might be seen foaming along the valleys; the hills are evidently improving in height and magnificence of scenery. we reached this at o'clock, our march having lasted five hours. we thence descended crossing a small stream at the base of the hill, on which ghaloom's former house stood, called the dhaloom basee. i thence proceeded over some nasty swampy ground with a few low elevations until we reached ghaloom's, which we did about p.m. a small spot was allotted to us some distance from the village, on which we erected our huts. ghaloom changed his residence to this place, owing to the death of two of his people, which was attributed to the unhealthiness of the former site; but as might be expected from the nature of the place he has chosen, he has suffered very severely from fever since his removal. as soon as our huts were built, ghaloom and his brother khosha visited us, preceded by the hind quarter of a pig. their appearance is somewhat better than the ordinary run of mishmees, but they are just as dirty. khosha is a little man, with a mahogany-coloured wrinkled face. great attention was paid by their attendants to all they said, and khosha himself is evidently the demosthenes of the mishmees. when interrupted, he commanded silence in an authoritative way. krisong was not present. khosha declares that rooling, the mezhoo chief, is nobody, and that wilcox gave him his present unknown to them. the acquisitions in botany consisted of some fine cyrtandraceae, a cymbidium, and some ferns. one of these cyrtandraceae is very singular: the runners are long, producing one stem with a very small terminal leaf, and a very large flower. afterwards this leaf enlarges, becomes a large cordate begonioid one, bearing from its bosom apparently one or two siliquae; pandanus bambusa continue. the fine quercus is common, _megala_, _podomolia_, triumfetta, siegesbeckia. cynoglossum, callicarpa, urena, rottlera and several other low tropical forms continue. the cymbidioid has pollena , incumbentia postice aliquoties minore, glandula nulla? _nov_. _ th_.--halted. went to the suspension bridge over the lohit, which is about yards across, or double the length of the one we crossed on the th. the passage by mishmees takes two, or two minutes and a half, requiring continued exertion the whole time, both by hands and feet, as above described. both banks are very steep, yet the natives are so confident of safety, that of this bridge only one cane is trustworthy. bathed in the river, which is very cold and deep, but comparatively quiet. _nov_. _ th_.--went to the lohit, gathered cymbidium giganteum, two or three ferns, and a rafflesia in its several stages. i have not however yet seen the perfectly expanded flower, the natives do not know it, although it must be a sufficiently striking object, the alabastri before expansion are about the size of an orange. went to ghaloom's house, which is of great length, built of bamboos, raised high from the ground, divided into about twelve compartments, and containing men, women, and children. _nov_. _ th_.--left for khosha gams; crossed the lohit on a raft, and left its banks at noon. followed the river for some distance, and then diverged towards the n.w. and reached khosha at p.m., the march owing to the heat was very fatiguing. found very few plants; noticed a flower of a ternstroemiacea nearly allied to the genus camellia, cor. rotat. lacin. reflexis, albis fauce carnea. stam. , epipet. anther. erectis- apice dehiscent, and of a large hibiscus; the caelogyne of the koond was also found. two species of castaneae occur in these woods, one with very stout thorns to its cupula, and not eatable fruit; the other has long slender prickles, and its fruit about the size of an acorn, is eatable, and not at all disagreeable. on all the hills of any height with grassy tops compositae are among the most striking forms. areca parva continues, pentaptera, and fici continue. saccharum megala very abundant and fine. cupuliferae are becoming more abundant. the roofs of the houses which are built of bamboo, are covered with the leaves of the marantaceous genus--capitulis densis lateralibus _culmis_ i-foliosis. buddleia n'eemda and callicarpa continue. want of means forms the only limit to the number of wives of a mishmee. a rich man who has at his disposal numerous cattle, etc, will give _mithuns_; { } but the wife appears to bring with her slaves, etc. as a return. a poor man will get a wife for a pig. whatever the number of wives may be, each will have a separate khetee, (field) and each khetee has a separate granary. all the wives live in the same house; in fact, one house forms the village. theft is punished by a fine inflicted by a meeting of all the gams; if the fine is not paid, or the offender refuses to pay, he is slain in a general attack. murder is punished in the same way, but by a heavier fine: adultery against the consent of the husband, or at least elopement, is punished by death; if with the consent of the husband, the delinquent is fined. there appears to be no regular law of succession: the favourite son succeeding without reference to age. _nov_. _ th_.--i went out for plants, and descended to the paeen rivulet, which is of small size: followed up its course some way, and then returned over a low hill to khosha's. the guide who was some distance behind, came up with a rafflesia bud. i returned with him, and saw it to perfection; he likewise succeeded in tracing the roots to a gigantic cissus, the fruit of which i have before observed is eatable, and not unlike a greengage. i returned home loaded with this undescribed genus: i found likewise a fine buddleia, and menispermum, with some rare compositae, among which was an arborescent eupatorium and a gigantic thistle, a prunus in flower and fruit, and a neat liparis, calamus, tree- fern, tupistra, pandanus, were likewise observed, and a beautiful viburnum, corol sterilibus, phyllis, foliis niveis carneo venosis: petal fertil calyptratis, deciduis, intus caeruleo tinctis: staminibus cyaneis, ovariis pallide caeruleis, stigmatib. carnosis. _nov_. _ th_.--opposite khosha's, or rather his granaries to the e. is a high mountain excessively steep, only partially clothed with trees, and with stunted ones at its summit, which in december and the colder months is covered with snow: this they call thaya-thro. khosha positively refuses to take me any farther into the interior, and krisong begs that i won't come and see him. it is obvious that they are under great fear of other tribes. khosha says, he should be attacked by all the mishoos or mizhoos, were he to conduct me any farther now, and that very probably the lamas would attack him likewise. he says the only chance of success in penetrating to lama, is to send previously a present of salt, (about a seer) to all the chiefs, and request their leave, without which preparatory donation, they would cut up any messengers he might send. he offers to do this at any time, and to let me know the result. he declined taking me to the chibong gam, a few days' journey up the diree, although the man is a relation of his own, and a deboro mishmee. it is obvious that there is no chance of getting further at present, nor would it be fair even if one could bribe them. he says no reliance whatever is to be placed on rooling, the mizhoo who deceived wilcox, and whom he represents to be an underhand person. i tried to overcome his scruples by assuring him that i only wanted to go as far as rooling, but he declines taking me. he says i may go any where to the west of this, but to the north he dare not conduct me. i shall therefore go to premsong to-morrow, and if that is not a favourable place, return forthwith to ghaloom's, and thence to deeling to botanise on thuma-thaya. _nov_. _ th_.--proceeded to premsong's, which we reached in less than two hours. our march was in a westerly direction across a hill of some elevation: the remainder of it was over kheties and level ground. the plants evidently increase in interest as we advance in the interior, compositae and labiatae being most numerous. a large tree occurs not uncommonly, which is either a birch or a prunus, most probably from the venation of its leaves, the latter; the bark is exactly like that of a birch. close to premsong's i gathered a clematis, valerian and a fine botrychium, a carex and a cuscuta. the mountain on the base of which premsong's house is situated, is a very high one; it is the one that is so striking from ghaloom's old site: it is named laimplan-thaya; its summit, which is a high peak, is very rugged, partially clothed with vegetation, in which, as in all the others of the same height autumnal tints are very distinct. thai-ka-thaya is a smaller peak to the s.s.w. of premsong's house. one of my mishmee dowaniers tells me that the mishmee (coptis) teeta khosha gave me last evening, is cultivated near his native place; its flower buds are just forming and are enclosed in ovate concave squamae. the leaves are of a lively green, not unlike those of some ferns, but at once to be distinguished by the venation; it is very evident that the mishmees know nothing about the period of its flowering, as they told me it flowered in the rains, at the same time as the _dhak_ flowers in assam; the radicles are numerous, tawny yellowish, the rhizomata are rugged tortuous, the bark and pith are of yellow orange colour, the woody system gamboge: this is the same in the petioles: it tinges the saliva yellow. it is a pure intense bitter of some permanence, but without aroma: it is dried over the fire, the drying being repeated three times. judging from it in its fresh state, the test of its being recently and well dried is the permanence of the colors. the _bee_ flowers during the rains: its flower, (_on dit_) is white and small; they pretend that it is very dangerous to touch, causing great irritation; both coptis teeta, and bee, are found on high hills on which there is now snow; one of them, the ummpanee or moochee, is accessible from hence in three days. the mishmee name for the teeta, is _yoatzhee_; of bee, _th'wee_; _ghe_- _on_ is the mishmee name for the smelling root, which the assamese call gertheon. the smell of this is a compound of valeriana and pastinaca; it is decidedly aromatic, and not at all disagreeable, it is white inside and abounds in pith, but has scarcely any taste. yesterday evening i visited khosha's house, which is of immense length, and considerably longer, though not so high from the ground as ghaloom's: it is divided into upwards of twenty apartments, on the right hand side of the passage are ranged the skulls of the cattle khosha has killed, including deer and pigs; on the other side are the domestic utensils, the centre of the floor is occupied by a square earthen space for fire-place: the bamboos, of which the floor is composed being cut away. from the centre of each room over the fire-place, hangs a square ratan sort of tray, from which they hang their meat or any thing requiring smoke; their cooking utensils are, i believe, confined to one square stone vessel, which appears to answer its purpose remarkably well. the women appear to have no shame; they expose their breasts openly, which from their dirty habits by no means correspond with the exalted character of the sex. on hills to the n.e. of khosha's first residence, forests are very visible, descending far down the sides. on an open spot a little distance from premsong's, there is a fine view of the course of the lohit, and of the more remote (now) snowy ranges. the hills beyond this exactly answer to wilcox's description, being very high, and all descending as it were unbroken to the lohit. went out for about two hours over a tolerably level portion of the hill, covered with artemesia; found abundance of interesting plants, crawfurdia campanulacea, a clematis, acer, prunus, camellia axillaris, cyathea, myrica, rhus, sedgwickia, polygala, galium: and a beautiful very fragrant climbing composita. great part of the side of the hill is covered with a small hard bamboo, which forms excellent walking sticks. an urticea foliis peltatis, was among the novelties. the paeen panee forms the nearest ravine. the polygonum, paniculis densissimis, is a certain indication of some elevation. i observed calamus, and torenia asiatica. there is likewise a large mimoseous plant, which we found in fruit. _nov_. _ th_.--spent the greater part of the day attempting to reach the summit of laim-planj-thaya, but my guide did not know the way. we ascended for upwards of four hours, slowly of course, but were still a long way from its summit. the face of the mountain is entirely occupied by woods, with but little underwood. found abundance of plants, chiefly ferns, only saw orchideae, of which were in flower. the novelties were a polygonatum, camellia, and quercus lamellata. i observed no less than araliaceae, of which i succeeded in getting : an acer, probably that from brahma koond: and several _incertae_. near premsong's the varnish tree was shewn to me, it is obviously a species of rhus. the assamese name of the varnish plant is _ahametta gas_. i took specimens of it in fruit. they obtain the juice by ringing, and the only two specimens i observed were evidently well drained: no preparation is required for the varnish; and it is applied one day, the next day is hard; it has a fine polish, and is of an intense black. it is the same probably with two small trees i had previously seen in capt. charlton's garden at suddyah. kydia continues; a fine palm, caudex - -pedali; it probably belongs to the genus wallichia? camellia is only found towards the top; the polygonatum also does not descend far. i saw also species of an undescribed bucklandia, likewise one specimen which had been damaged: the capituli pluriflori. towards the middle a small bamboo becomes plentiful; the lower joints, from which no branches proceed, are armed with a verticillus of spines. i did not observe pandanus, but it is used for constructing large mats: megala continues, but not up the hill. _nov_. _ th_.--attempted to ascend laim-planj-thaya by the paeen rivulet which proceeds from the centre, but after proceeding about half an hour we found our progress effectually stopped by a water-fall, the sides of the stream being so precipitous as to render all idea of clambering over, or proceeding round ridiculous. gathered two or three rare ferns, and a pretty lobelia. on our return through the open grassy parts near premsong's, we found a fine choripetalum and crawfurdia campanulacea, beautifully in flower; the flower is rose-coloured. anthistiria arundinacea, the same sambucus found at suddya, solanum dentatum, a kydia and torenia continue. _nov_. _ th_.--left and returned to khosha's, as we were all out of rice, and it was impossible to get anything in premsong's absence. the march on return occupied us about two hours, but the path was so excessively slippery, owing to the grass not being cut away on either side and to the dry weather and heat, that our progress was very slow. noticed lactuca exalata and a rottlera on the road; more snow has fallen on the hills e.n.e. the descent on returning, owing to the slippery state of the roads, was more fatiguing than the ascent. hedychium angustifolium i also observed on the road. i have as yet observed the following grains used by the mishmees. st, oriza, rice; variety of this called _ahoo da_; nd, a species of eleusine, _bobosa_; rd, zea mays, _gorm_ dan; th, panicum panicula nutanti, densa clavata. th, _konee_, chenapodium sp. panicula simili. the mishmee names are as follow: _dan-khai_ rice; _khai hoo_, _bobosa_, _mdo_.-_zea_, _or maize_, _ma-bon-konee-yo_ chenopodium; _thenna_, a kind of polygonum; _hubra-aloo_, _ghee-kuchoo-shoom_, sweet potato; _gaihwan_, plantain; _puhee_ _dhoonhwa_, tobacco. they likewise cultivate sesamum. _nov_. _ th_.--found more of the rafflesiacea on low hills along the paeen; it was attached to the roots of the same species of cissus, on which it was found before. { } i also gathered a euonymus and a fine engelhardtia. the hairs of the fruits of engelhardtia create a disagreeable itching. all the mishmees decline shewing me the road a foot in advance of this place. i tried every way i could think of, to overcome their objections, but to no purpose. they have so little regard for truth, that one cannot rely much on what they say: i begin to think that it is all owing to the tapan gam, who i suspected was insincere in his professions. _nov_. _ th_.--yesterday evening premsong arrived, he is a man about , the best looking of all the gams: but has rather a cunning jewish face. the brandy i gave him made him at first wonderfully obliging, for he seemed disposed to enter into my views. this morning however he came with khosha and tapan, by whom it was at once obvious that he has been overruled; not only will he not take me to the lama _dais_ (plains,) but he won't even shew me the road to truesong's, a digaroo, whose village is only distant about five days' journey. premsong i know wishes to go, induced by the promise of rs. but he is afraid of incurring the displeasure of khosha, etc. i shall therefore return towards deeling, and devote a few days to botanising on thuma-thaya. _nov_. _ th_.--returned to ghaloom's: gathered the martynia, finely in flower, and observed the rafflesiacea along the banks of the lohit. _nov_. _ st_.--halted at ghaloom's, the rafflesiacea is found all about, anth. bilocular, apice poro-gemino dehiscent, pollen simplex, materie viscosa cohaerenti, ovula antitropa, tegumento unico. made every arrangement with premsong. according to this gam we are to go up the diree, and then cross over high mountains, leaving the lohit entirely. he says the lamas wear trowsers, socks and shoes, and that they dress their hair _a la mode chinoise_; their houses are built on posts, and raised from the ground: they erect forts like the chinese, and have plenty of fire-locks. they have also abundance of cattle, consisting of about seven kinds, but no _mithuns_; and three sorts of horses, which alone they use as beasts of burden. their staple food is ahoodan. the _mithun_ of the mishmees appears to me intermediate to a certain degree between the bison and the wild bull; their head is very fine, and as well as the horns that of a bull, but their neck and body have, so to say, the same awkward conformation as those of the buffalo. i have not seen a large living one; the largest head i saw was three feet from tip to tip of the horns, the diameter of the forehead being probably about one-third of the above. _nov_. _ nd_.--returned to loong mockh. i cannot reconcile wilcox's description of ghaloom's old site with the reality, because the scenery is decidedly fine, embracing the tidding, and the (in comparison with the near surrounding hills) gigantic laim-planj-thaya, which from this presents the appearance of a vast cone with a peaked summit. premsong's village is obviously at a considerable elevation. found another acrostichum, a bolbophyllum, a rare aristolochia foliis palmatis, lobis, subtus glaucis; sapor peracerbus, floribus _siphonicis_. the huttaya i have not seen: it occurs at a greater distance in the mountains than i have been. in addition to the plants i have gathered, asplenium nidus it very common. tradescantia and camelina both occur; ricinus also occurs, the mishmees do not however put it to any use; melica latifolia is common on some of the hills. anthistiria arundinacea occurs in abundance. likewise a small areca and chloranthus. it is at ghaloom's old site that these hills commence putting on an interesting appearance, those previously seen, excepting however thuma- thaya, being entirely covered with tree jungle; but beyond this site, the lower spaces unoccupied by jungle become much more numerous. the mishmee word for bitter, is _khar_. query--why should not the name of the plant coptis teeta, be changed to coptis amara, although the species of the genus coptis are probably all bitter? sauraussa and bombax both occur at ghaloom's, as well as pentaptera; sesamum is used for oil. i should have mentioned the top of the hill, surmounted in going immediately from loong panee towards ghaloom's, is occupied almost entirely by a species of fraxinus. on my arrival at ghaloom's on the th, i found that the coolies had played me the same trick as they had done previously, though not to such an extent. instead of each man having days' provisions, scarcely one had more than or : as they had days' given them in addition to that they would require on the road, it is obvious they must have thrown much away. were all the gams disposed to take one to lama, it could not be done with assamese coolies and, above all, seerings or ahooms are the very worst; and although often good sized men, they are very deficient in strength. nagas and mishmees are the best, then kamptees. i gave before leaving a packet of salt to premsong, according i suppose to their own custom of proceeding. yesterday he went to roomling, krisong's eldest son, and gained his consent. i mention this to shew how active he is. he is a friend of the dupha's, { } and to my surprise, told me he saw capt. hannay at hookhoom, who gave him a jacket, and tried to induce him to shew him the road to suddiya. he is certainly the best of all the gams, and appears to be very liberal. _nov_. _ rd_.--arrived at deeling after a tedious march of hours: we did not traverse the two cliffs near the lohit, but pursued a longer, but more commodious cattle path: our mishmees, however, preferred the shorter one. gathered sabia, martynioidea, alsophila, menispermum at paeen in fine flower. at ghaloom's old site a large euphorbia fol obovatis, ramis angulato-alatis occurs, and cymbydium giganteum in fine flower. _en_ _route_ hither i noticed the following; bauhinia, hoya, urtica gigas, mucuna, curculigo, panax, foliis supra-decompositis, dalbergia, laurus, abroma, lactuca exaltata, uncaria, siegesbeckia, megala, _podo-molee_, and a species subscandent of bamboo, internodiis vix cylindricis, gracilibus; this is of great use where it occurs, in assisting one's ascent and descent. _nov_. _ th_.--left about for thuma-thaya: we first descended the dissoo ravine, then up a very steep hill, the top of which was cultivated, then descended and crossed another stream, the remainder of our march consisting almost entirely of an uninterrupted steep ascent: during our progress we gained partial views of the plains and the naga hills, but on crossing a high ridge on which i observed betula populus? rhododendrum arboreum, the view to the east and west was very fine. that to the w. embracing the greater part of the plains about suddiya and the abor hills, stretching along to s.w. the more distant naga hills. the lohit could be traced for an immense way, the dihong, dibong, digaroo, dihing were all partially visible. to the n.e. thegri-thaya was finely seen, then some rugged peaks among which laim-planj was conspicuous. it embraced the course of the lohit, at least its right bank, ridge surmounting ridge: the loftier ones tipped with snow; and lastly it was closed by a huge wall, all covered with snow, especially its peaks, stretching away to the n. from this we descended to yen, where, as usual, i took up my quarters in a granary. during the latter portion of the journey, i gathered a passiflora? lobelia two species, a scitaminea, spiraea, and a curious aromatic plant, pedunculis bracteae adnatis, bracteis, coloratis, petal videis. codonopsis, etc. dicksonia, stipitibus atris canaliculatis, frondibus amplis, pedalibus; in fine fructification; this is the same with the manmoo plant. i observed likewise an arborescent sambucus, a bonnaya, a huge begonia: coix was seen cultivated. _nov_. _ th_.--spent the day in botanising. gathered adamia, some fine ferns, a bamboo, spiculis dense congestis, bracteis scariosis interspersis, and schizosfachyum, nees ab e. etc. another and much finer species of the fumariaceous genus, i found on laim- planj, deutzia, a rare quercus, a fine species of antonia, (br.) in fruit, a bartramia, trematodon, neckera, etc., noticed a fruit something similar to that of combretum, allis maximis, minimis: cotyledonibus haemisphaericis. saurauja, prunus: species of aralia, castanea, quercus, etc. a species of panicum is here cultivated; the assamese know it by the name cheena, species of polygonatum, including that from laim-planj, one foliis carnosis oppositis. species of begonia, making altogether six. the amaranthacea of deeling is here found extensively, it often assumes the form of a climber of considerable size. musa farinosa grows to a great size, to feet. bambusa in flower has stems about two inches in diameter. sterculia flowers were observed on the ground. in the afternoon it rained slightly. this is the coldest place i have visited on these hills: in the evening and earlier parts of the night there is a very cold draught down thuma-thaya. the anthistiria found on the more elevated portions of these hills, is probably different from that of the plains. urticea are here found in abundance. _nov_. _ th_.--this morning the atmosphere being beautifully transparent, very high land plentifully sprinkled with snow was visible to the n.w. by w., and to the n.w. a slight peep of the himalayas was gained. started at , and commenced the ascent; we arrived at our halting place at . . the greater part of the march was a steep ascent through dry woods, the ground being very slippery owing to the leaves. bucklandia occurs in abundance and of a large size, and attains a much greater height than sedgwickia: found many interesting plants and a small conifera, probably an araucaria or a taxus. i continued the ascent until about , but the scene had totally changed; the whole face of the mountain on the s. side being entirely destitute of trees, and in many places quite naked. the ascent was not very difficult, and occupied a little more than an hour. this acclivity is chiefly occupied by graminea, all past flowering, all adhering very firmly to the rock, which is quartzose and greyish blue outside, excessively angular: gentianeae : a beautiful campanula, hypericum, viburnum, spiraea, bryum neckera, pteris, scabiosa, some compositae, one or two vaccinioidea, and a curious shrubby rubiacea evidently a serissa, were observed. the top, which represents a ridge, is partially wooded, the trees being the continuation or rather termination of the jungle that covers the whole northern face of the mountain. here i saw bucklandia, a pomacea, crawfurdia, deutzia, cynaroidea, viburna , some ferns. brachymeum, neckera, lichens several: a caryophyllea and a berberis. all these were somewhat stunted. the various views were beautiful, embracing a complete panorama, but unfortunately obscured towards lama by trees. the lohit was seen extensively from the koond to ghaloom's, and to the plains to an immense distance. the whole range of abor hills and a great portion of the naga, some of which appeared very high, were likewise seen: to the s.e. high ridges not far distant and covered with snow, limited the view; slight snow was visible on the peak seen from suddiya. the descent was very tedious owing to the excessive slipperiness of the grass: it was dangerous, because a slip would have frequently dashed you to pieces, and in all cases would have hurt one severely. _nov_. _ th_.--descended to yen: near our halting place we gathered a fine pomacea arborea in fruit: a symplocos, and observed wallichioideae and calamus. the plants of the greatest interest gathered were an acer, an epilobium, a hoya grandiflora, eurya, hypericum, a fine arundo, bucklandia: cotoneaster microphylla, a sabia, coriaria, abelia? a rare dipodous orchidea of the same genus as a dwarf plant of the cossiya hills. rhododendron, scandesent eleodendron. the ascent for the greater part is a steep wooded ridge; the first change indicated or induced by elevation is the diminution of the size in the trees, and the frequent occurrence of a betulus? out of flower. proceeding onward one comes to a ridge, the s.e. declivity of which is nearly naked, the opposite being wooded with shrubs, viburnum, conaria, mespilus, pomacea, rhododendron, rubiacea serissa, cupulifera and some compositae occur. then arbutus vaccinium; nardus: filix cano-tomentosa, lycopodium; dicranum atratum; one or two hypna, a bryum, and neckera fusca. descending slightly from thence the ridge is observed to be wooded on both sides; it is at the termination of this that we halted. the ascent is continued up a rock, and the whole of the mountain is, excepting the ravines, covered with graminea, cyperacea, filix cano-tomentosa, etc. but the ericoidea are not so fine. the grasses of the summit are two andropogons: an arundo festucoidea, panicum, isachne, nardus ceasing below, it is towards this that crepis? and campanula are common. the ceratostemmata are found towards the summit, none descend any distance, except one of roxburgh's; they are all generally epiphytes. orchidea become more common towards the halting place; beyond this i observed only two past flowering, one habenaria, and a malaxidea; the others are two caelogyne, a dipodious orchidea, labelli ungue sigmoideo very common, a bolbophyllum, and a few ditto epiphytes out of flower, one terrestrial bletioidea is common in some places. at our halting place, i observed an arborescent araliacea, a cissus, an acanthacea and a laurinea. a little below, pandanus occurs here and there, and attains a large size, the largest in fact i have ever seen. castanea occurs about half way up, it is that species with rigid compound spines to the cupula. i gathered also a fine geastrum, but the specimens are lost. bucklandia occurs extensively; it is a distinct species owing to its many flowered capitula; sedgwickia comes into play towards yen, where bucklandia appears to become scarce: a large vitex floribus roseo-purpureis is the most conspicuous tree of all, it ceases towards the summit; cyathea i observed only above half way. camellia axillaris occurs below, but i missed the laim-planj plant. i may here observe that almost all plants with red flowers, at least in this quarter, are acid: the assamese always appear to expect this, the proofs are loranthus, ceratostemma, and begonia, in which red is generally a predominant colour. antrophyllum i noticed about yen; towards yen, i diverged from the path to visit the place whence the stones are procured, which the mishmees use as flints for striking lights: this stone is found on the s. western face of the mountain: the stones or noduli are frequently sub-crystalline, and are imbedded in a sort of micaceous frangible rock: they are very common, of very different sizes, with glassy fracture; the best are hard; the bad easily frangible, their weight is great. the inclination of this bed is considerable; overlying it at an inclination of degrees, is the grey quartzose rock which forms the chief part, and perhaps nearly the whole, of the mountain. the mishmee name for the noduli is _mpladung_. in the jungle at yen occurs a huge palm evidently caryota, foliis maximis supra decompositis; the diameter of the trunk is . to feet. it is said to die after flowering: the natives use the central lax structures as food. the yen gam promises to send me specimens to-morrow. the palms i have hitherto seen are wallichia, one or two calami: wallichioidia trunco - pedali, and a phaenicoidea, but this i only saw at the foot of the mountains near laee panee, and the small areca common about negrogam. the name of the large palm in assamese is _bura sawar_. all the plants common to these and the cossiya mountains, with one or two exceptions, flower much earlier here, those being all past flowering which i gathered in flower on the cossiya hills in november last. this is owing to the greater cold, and the consequent necessity for the plants flowering at an earlier and warmer period. a species of ruminant, or, according to the native account, a species of pachydermata called the _gan pohoo_, occurs on thuma-thaya. at the summit of the mountain the ground was in one place rooted up, the mishmees said, by this animal, which they describe as a large hog, but which i should rather take to be a kind of deer. _nov_. _ th_.--returned to deeling. at the commencement of the principal descent we gathered betula and another cupulifera, both moderately sized trees. anthestina arundinacea, is about this place very common, and an andropogon, culmis ramosis which i had previously brought from the abor hills. about half way down by a present of _kanee_ (opium), i succeeded in getting the arborescent vitex, which is the most striking tree of all when in flower. lost sight altogether of bucklandia, nor did i observe sedgwickia. gathered at the foot of thuma- thaya a caelogyne in flower, allied to c. gardneriana; alsophila is common towards the base. in the evening the yen gam came up according to his promise with the gigantic palm, with male inflorescence, it is a caryota; he likewise brought sarcocordalis, rafflesiacea, and a curious pubescent piper. he also added the female flowers of another palm, which, according to him, is another species of _sawar_, or caryota: the inflorescence is of an orange yellow. a tree with the habit of pterospermum occurs on thuma- thaya, low down habenaria uniflora on rocks in the dirsoo panee, or river; kydia occurs about yen, but not higher. _nov_. _ th_.--reached laee panee after a march of five hours; and without assamese coolies, it might be done in three. i noticed below deeling, but still at a considerable elevation, crawfurdia campanu lacea, adamea, engelhardtia, vitex speciosa, and magnolia in the order in which they are thus given, quercus, cupulis echinatis occurs comparatively low down, castanea ferox still lower, dracaena comes into view towards the base. at the village first reached in the ascent there is a meliaceous azedarach looking tree. at our old halting place, and which is near deeling, another _ahum-metta ghas_ was shewn me. this attains, i am told, a large size: it is not very unlike in habit a melanorrhaea, and its young leaves are tinged with red, the mature ones are coriaceous. i have not seen it in flower; the juice, at least from small branches, is not very abundant, and at first is of a whitish colour; it is, _on dit_, after drying that it assumes the black tint; at any rate it is excessively acrid, for one of my servants who cut it incautiously, had his face spoilt for a time: the swelling even after four days had elapsed was considerable. with this as well as the rhus they dye the strings of the simple fibres of _sawar_, which they all wear below the knee: if not properly dried these strings cause some inflammation: the strings are ornamental, light, and when worn in small numbers graceful, but when dozens are employed, and all the upper ones loose, they deform the figure much; some of the women, perhaps anxious to restrain the protuberance of their calves, tie two or three lightly across the calf. at nohun, near deeling, cocoloba aculeata, _baccis_ cyaneis occurs here the same as at mumbree in the cossiya hills, and at suddiya. _nov_. _ th_.--halted. put all the grain into the tapan gam's hands, amounting to maunds. in the evening received as a present a long sword from premsong. found a fine impatiens and a shrub coming into flower, calyce aestiv. valvato? stamen , connectivo ultra antheras longe producto, ovarium adnatum, foliis oppositis, exstipulatis. meyenia coccinea, finely in flower. an arborescent urticea (baehmeria?) foliis subtus candidis is common. _dec_. _ st_.--reached the tapan gam's after a sharp march of four hours. we are not yet quite at the foot of the hills. gathered _en route_ new acanthaceae, not previously met with on this trip, among which is a beautiful eranthemum. at laee panee one of my people brought me a fine aristolochia, very nearly allied to that from ghaloom's, but at once distinct by its ferruginous pubescence, antrophyum, and a polypodium not before met with were among the acquisitions. the tapan gam has behaved very handsomely for a mishmee, having killed a hog, and given five kuchoos of beautiful rice, and feasted my people. found two snakes, which inhabit the inside of bamboos. color superne brunneo-cinereus, margines squamarum nigri, gula nigra, fascicula subtus antea alba, postice lutescens. noticed jenkinsia near laee panee, and some gigantic specimens of pentaptera, the hool-look of the assamese, the timber of which is used for large canoes; and lagerstraemia grandiflora occurs on the banks of the kussin panee. chapter iii. _revisits the tea localities in the singphoo and muttack_ _districts_, _upper assam_. _dec_. _ nd_.--returned to jingsha via kussin panee, or river, and karam panee, the march being a tolerably easy one. found along the steep banks of the former a fine meniscium, frondibus - pedalibus, and an arborescent polypodium, caudice - pedali, partibus novellis densissime ferrugineo-tomentosis; frondibus subtus glauco-albidis. the caudex is altogether similar in structure to that of alsophyla, equally furnished with strong black bristly radicles towards its base. _dec_. _ rd_.--left for husa gam's about , and arrived at the village which is on the kampai of the singfos, tup-pai of the mishmees about . p.m. the first part of our march was to the e. up the karam, we then traversed for a long way heavy jungle in a s. direction, and then came on the dry bed of the kampai, up which we ascended to the village. found a ruellioidea, _cyananthus_, _mihi_. _oom_ of the assamese, with which the kamptees dye their black blue cloths. noticed an arborescent araliacea inermis, foliis supra decomposita; panicule patentissima. the husa gam treated us very handsomely forming a striking contrast with the mishmees; he declares positively that no tea exists in this direction; i shall therefore proceed direct from luttora to beesa. roxburghia occurred on the route. the village is on the left bank of the river: the direction from jingsha's being about n.w. _dec_. _ th_.--reached luttora after an easy march of three hours and a half, for the most part along an excellent path. we passed the following villages _en route_ chibong, wakon, mtarm, and mcyompsan: three of which are of some size; none however so large as nsas. this is the largest singfo village i have seen, and probably contains people. this village and all the others are situated on high ground, the ascent from the kampai being probably feet. the country consists of level, apparently good soil, with here and there broadish ravines in which bamboos are abundant. cultivation is common, and of considerable extent. on a similar eminence is situate luttora, and it has been well chosen, for on both sides that i approached it, the ascent is steep and capable of being easily defended; the south side is bounded by the ponlong panee, which runs into the tenga panee. if any ascent it is an easy one, and must be to the westward; to the north, there is a small stream, but neither this, ponlong or tenga are any thing but mere rills, which may be easily leaped over in the dry seasons. our route from nsas was to the w. of south. no stockades appear to exist in this quarter. luttora is not so large as nsas; formerly the luttora gam was the chief of all this soil, but he has been partly deserted by two bodies of men who have respectively chosen nsas and htan-tsantan. the gam visited me in the evening at our halting place on the ponlong; he is a large, coarse, heavy-looking man, nearly blind, and excessively dirty. he proposed of himself to me, to become the company's ryott in accordance with the wish, he said, of the dupha gam; but when i told him he ought to send or go to the suddiya sahib, or political agent, he said he wanted to see the dupha first: he was accompanied by a very loquacious oldish man, who had just returned from hook-hoom, to which place he had gone with the dupha. they left apparently not much pleased at my being empty handed. _dec_. _ th_.--left at . , reached the muttack panee about . , having come through much heavy bamboo jungle; we then ascended the dry bed of the muttack, and ascended after some time the minaboom. this was most tedious, as we continued along the ridge for two hours; we then commenced our descent, but did not reach the meera panee much before p.m. down this we came here, and then along some curious chasms in the sandstone, and encamped about . the difference of soil between the minaboom and the mishmee hills is most obvious; on the n.e. declivity there is much soil; but on the opposite side little but rounded stones which supply the place of soil, and in places we saw nothing but sandstone conglomerate? or indurated soil with many boulders imbedded in it, and a blackish greasy clay slate; while on the mishmees, on the contrary, all is rock, hard and harsh to the touch; or where loose stones do occur on the face of the hills, they are all angular. the vegetation of sandstone is likewise far more varied; and that of the meera panee district, abounds in ferns, among which is polypodium wallichianum. the tree-fern of kujing i observed in the muttack, sedgwickia in minaboom, two magnoliaceae, one bracteis persistent, induratis, and a dipterocarpus. the chief vegetation of the ridge consists of grasses, among which bamboo holds a conspicuous place. a begonia was common along the muttack. the meera panee would well repay a halt of two or three days. at our halting place we met four burmese, despatched by the maum, { } who has arrived at beesa on a visit to the luttora gam. _dec_. _ th_.--reached beesa after a sharp march of six hours. our course lay at first down the meera panee; here i observed more of the polypodium wallichianum, which is common throughout the singfo hill country, and appears to be used as grog, at least the juice of the petioles. we then diverged to the westward through heavy jungle, and the remainder of our march consisted of uninteresting dense jungle, water- courses, and excessively low places. observed sabia in some of the jungles; the only interesting plants gathered were an impatiens and two or three acanthaceae. about . p.m. we came on the noa dihing, which is now nearly dry, the water having flowed into the kamroop. no boat, not even a dak boat, can come near beesa. it is obvious that this river here never presented any depth, both banks being very low; the bed consists of small hard boulders. _dec_. _ th_, _ th_.--halted at beesa. _dec_. _ th_.--started for the naga village, at some distance, and _dec_. _ th_.--left for kujoo or khoonlong, which we reached about , after a march of five hours. at , we arrived at dhoompsan or thoompsa, a large village with extensive cultivation. the remainder of our march was through heavy jungle, many parts of which were very low, and crowded with a fierce calamus. the higher parts abound in a dipterocarpus, and two castaneae. i found many fine ferns, all of which however we collected last year. chrysobaphus, not uncommon. apostasia rare. _dec_. _ th_.--visited the tea in the old locality at nigroo. no steps have been taken towards clearing the jungles, except perhaps of tea. the gam tells me, that the order for clearing was given to shroo, dompshan, and kumongyon, gams of three villages near the spot. noticed dicksonia _en route_, so that we must have passed it last year. aesculus also occurs here. _dec_. _ th_.--arrived at kugoodoo after an easy march of two hours and a half. at , went to see the tea which lies to the s.s.w. of the village, and about ten minutes' walk to the w. of the path leading to negrogam, and which for the most part runs along an old bund road. after diverging from this road we passed through some low jungle, which is always characterised by calamus zalaccoideus; and then after traversing for a short time some rather higher ground, came on the tea. this patch is never under water; there is no peculiarity of vegetation connected with it. it runs about n. and s. for perhaps yards by to in breadth. the gam had cleared the jungle of all, except the larger trees and the low _herbaceous underwood_, so that a _coup d'oeil_ was at once obtained, and gave sufficient evidence of the abundance of the plants, many of which were of considerable size, and all bore evidence of having been mutilated. they were for the most part loaded with flowers, and are the finest i have seen in the singfo country. young buds were very common, nor can i reconcile this with the statement made by the gam, that no young leaves will be obtainable for four months. from the clearing, the plants are exposed to moderate sun; it is perhaps to this that the great abundance of flowers is to be attributed. the soil, now quite dry at the surface, is of a cinereous grey; about a foot below it is brown, which passes, as you proceed, into deeper yellow; about four feet deep, it passes into sand. no ravines exist, and mounds only do about a few of the larger trees. the soil as usual is light, friable, easily reduced to powder, and has a very slight tendency to stiffness. _dec_. _ th_.--left for the muttack: our course lay through dense jungle, principally of bamboo, and along the paths of wild elephants; these beasts are here very common. we halted after a march of seven hours on a small bank of the deboro; the only plant of interest was my cyananthus in flower. _dec_. _ th_.--continued through similar jungle along the deboro; bamboo more frequent. about p.m. we left the undulating hillocks, and the jungle became more open. at , we reached muttack, but had still to traverse a considerable distance before we halted at kolea panee. we crossed the deboro _en route_; no particular plant was met with. i shot two large serpents, _pythons_; one , and the other feet long. the kolea panee is of some width, but is fordable. _dec_. _ th_.--after marching for about seven hours, halted at a small village. the country passed over was, like most of this part of muttack, open, consisting of a rather high plain covered with grasses, t. sperata, saccharum, and erianthus, with here and there very swampy ravines; the soil is almost entirely sandy, light at the surface; the yellow tint increasing with the depth, which is considerable. crossed the deboro by a rude wooden bridge. i found no particular plants _en route_. _dec_. _ th_.--reached rangagurrah, after a march of about an hour: and halted for the day. _dec_. _ th_.--started to visit sedgwickia at the wood, where we found it in february last. reached the spot, which is at least ten miles from rangagurrah, in two hours and a half. the trees had evidently not flowered last year; many of the buds were of some size, and such contained flower buds, each capitula being in addition enveloped in three bracteae densely beset with brown hair. the natives assured me, it will flower about april, or at the sowing of _halee_. when we before found it, the buds were all leaf buds, which at once accounts for the non-appearance of flowers. gathered sabia in the sedgwickia wood. the major { } arrived before i got back. _dec_. _ th_.--revisited the tea locality of tingrei, which we reached after a five hours' march. the portion of it formerly cleared is now quite clean: all the plants, and they are very abundant, have a shrubby shady appearance; the branches being numerous, so that the first aspect is favourable. but one soon detects an evident coarseness in the leaves, the tint of which is likewise much too yellow; altogether their appearance is totally unlike that of teas growing in their natural shade. that part, and the more extensive one which we first visited in february last, is now clearing; almost all the large trees have been felled, and all the underwood removed. the branches, etc. are piled in heaps and set fire to, much to the detriment of the plants: all the tea trees likewise have been felled. my conviction is, that the tea will not flourish in open sunshine; at any rate, subjection to this should be gradual. further, that cutting the main stem is detrimental, not only inducing long shoots, but most probably weakening the flavour of the leaves. it appears to me to be highly desirable, that an intelligent superintendent should reside on the spot, and that he should at least be a good practical gardener, with some knowledge of the science also. _dec_. _ th_.--reached suddiya. the country passed through was, for the first two days, of the same description as before; i.e. rather high grassy plains with belts of jungle, and intervening low very swampy ravines. the soil precisely the same as that of the tea localities. the last march was, with the exception of chykwar, through low damp dense jungle. * * * * * _extract from the author's letter to captain f_. _jenkins_, _commissioner of assam_, _regarding the mishmees_. _december_, _ _. { } "i had thus become acquainted with all the influential chiefs near our frontier, and by all i was received in a friendly and hospitable manner. in accordance with my original intentions, my attention was in the first place directed towards ascertaining whether the tea exists in this direction or not, and, as i have already informed you, i have every reason to think that the plant is unknown on these hills. from what i have seen of the tea on the plains, i am disposed to believe that the comparative want of soil, due to the great inclination of all the eminences, is an insuperable objection to its existence. "as i before observed to you, during my stay at jingsha, my curiosity had been excited by reports of an incursion of a considerable force of lamas into the mishmee country. it hence became, having once established a footing in the country, a matter of paramount importance to proceed farther into the interior, and, if possible, to effect a junction with these highly interesting people; but all my attempts to gain this point proved completely futile; no bribes, no promises would induce any of the chiefs to give me guides, even to the first mishmee village belonging to the mezhoo tribe. i was hence compelled to content myself for the present, with obtaining as much information as possible relative to the above report, and i at length succeeded in gaining the following certainly rather meagre account. "the quarrel, as usual, originated about a marriage settlement between two chiefs of the mezhoo and taeen tribes: it soon ended in both parties coming to blows. the mezhoo chief, rooling, to enable him at once to overpower his enemies, and to strike at once at the root of their power, called in the assistance of the lamas. from this country a force of seventy men armed with matchlocks made an invasion, and, as was to be expected, the taeen mishmees were beaten at every point and lost about twenty men. the affair seems to have come to a close about september last, when the lamas returned to their own country. where it occurred i could gain no precise information, but it must have been several days' journey in advance of the villages i visited. "it was owing to the unsettled state of the country, resulting from this feud, that i could gain no guides from the digaroos, without whose assistance in this most difficult country, i need scarcely say, that all attempts to advance would have been made in vain. these people very plausibly said, if we give you guides, who is to protect us from the vengeance of the mezhoos when you are gone, and who is to insure us from a second invasion of the lamas? another thing to be considered is, the influence even then exercised over the mishmees near our boundaries by the singphos connected with the dupha gam; but from the renewal of the intercourse with our frontier station, there is every reason for believing that this influence is ere this nearly destroyed. "the natives of this portion of the range are divided into two tribes, taeen or digaroo and mezhoo, these last tracing their descent from the _dibong_ mishmees, who are always known by the term crop-haired. the mezhoo, however, like the taeens, preserve their hair, wearing it generally tied in a knot on the crown of their head. the appearance of both tribes is the same, but the language of the mezhoos is very distinct. they are perhaps the more powerful of the two; but their most influential chiefs reside at a considerable distance from the lower ranges. the only mezhoos i met with are those at _deeling-yen_, a small village opposite _deeling_, but at a much higher elevation, and _tapan_. i need scarcely add that it was owing to the opposition of this tribe that captain wilcox failed in reaching _lama_. the digaroos are ruled by three influential chiefs, who are brothers drisong, khosha, and ghaloom: of these, drisong is the eldest and the most powerful, but he resides far in the interior. primsong is from a distant stock, and as the three brothers mentioned above are all passed the prime of life, there is but little doubt that he will soon become by far the most influential chief of his tribe. both tribes appear to intermarry. the mishmees are a small, active, hardy race, with the tartar cast of features; they are excessively dirty, and have not the reputation of being honest, although, so far as i know, they are belied in this respect. like other hill people, they are famous for the muscular development of their legs:--in this last point the women have generally the inferiority. they have no written language. their clothing is inferior; it is, however, made of cotton, and is of their own manufacture;--that of the men consists of a mere jacket and an apology for a _dhoti_,--that of the women is more copious, and at any rate quite decent: they are very fond of ornaments, especially beads, the quantities of which they wear is very often quite astonishing. they appear to me certainly superior to the abors, of whom, however, i have seen but few. both sexes drink liquor, but they did not seem to me to be so addicted to it as is generally the case with hill tribes:--their usual drink is a fermented liquor made from rice called _mont'h_: this, however, is far inferior to that of the singphos, which is really a pleasant drink. "_religion_. of their religion i could get no satisfactory information--every thing is ascribed to supernatural agency. their invocations to their deity are frequent, and seem generally to be made with the view of filling their own stomachs with animal food. they live in a very promiscuous manner, one hundred being occasionally accommodated in a single house. their laws appear to be simple,--all grave crimes being judged by an assembly of gams, who are on such occasions summoned from considerable distances. all crimes, including murder, are punished by fines: but if the amount is not forthcoming, the offender is cut up by the company assembled. but the crime of adultery, provided it be committed against the consent of the husband, is punished by death; and this severity may perhaps be necessary if we take into account the way in which they live. "the men always go armed with knives, lama swords, or singpho _dhaos_ and lances; and most of them carry cross-bows--the arrows for these are short, made of bamboo, and on all serious occasions are invariably poisoned with _bee_. when on fighting expeditions, they use shields, made of leather, which are covered towards the centre with the quills of the porcupine. their lances are made use of only for thrusting: the shafts are made either from the wood of the lawn (_caryota urens_) or that of another species of palm _juice_--they are tipped with an iron spike, and are of great use in the ascent of hills. the lance heads are of their own manufacture, and of very soft iron. they have latterly become acquainted with fire-arms, and the chiefs have mostly each a firelock of _lama_ construction. "with _lama_ they carry on an annual trade, which apparently takes place on the borders of either country. in this case _mishmee-teeta_, is the staple article of the mishmees, and for it they obtain _dhaos_ or straight long swords of excellent metal and often of great length; copper pots of strong, but rough make, flints and steel, or rather steel alone, which are really very neat and good; warm woollen caps, coarse loose parti-colored woollen cloths, huge glass beads, generally white or blue, various kinds of cattle, in which _lama_ is represented as abounding, and salts. i cannot say whether the lamas furnish flints with the steel implements for striking light; the stone generally used for this purpose by the mishmees is the nodular production from _thumathaya_,--and this, although rather frangible, answers its purpose very well; with the singphos they barter elephants' teeth, (these animals being found in the lower ranges,) for slaves, dhaws, and buffaloes. "with the khamtees they appear to have little trade, although there is a route to the proper country of this people along the _ghaloom panee_, or _ghaloom thee_ of wilcox's chart; this route is from the great height of the hills to be crossed, only available during the hot months. "with the inhabitants of the plains they carry on an annual trade, which is now renewed after an interruption of two years, exchanging cloths, lama swords, spears, _mishmee-teeta_, _bee_, which is in very great request, and _gertheana_, much esteemed by the natives for its peculiar and rather pleasant smell, for money, (to which they begin to attach great value), cloths, salt and beads: when a sufficient sum of money is procured, they lay it out in buffaloes and the country cattle." * * * * * the following is a list of collections of plants from the mishmee hills to the extreme east, upper assam. _dicotyledones_. _dicotyledones_. (ligulatae, ) ericineae, composi- (cynaraceae, ) verbenaceae, tae, (corymbiferae, ) boragineae, labiatae, valerianeae, gesneriaceae, dipsaceae, acanthaceae, caprifoliaceae, scrophularineae, rubiaceae, solaneae, apocyneae, ) convolvulaceae, asclepiadeae, ) primulaceae, gentianeae, myrsineae, oleinae, escalloniaceae? jasmineae, malvaceae, campanulaceae, cruciferae, lobeliaceae, polygaleae, vacciniaceae, violaceae, passifloreae, begoniaceae, modeccoideae, umbelliferae, samydeae, araliaceae, ampelideae, leea, rhamneae, balsamineae, celastrineae, sileneae, amaranthaceae, aurantiaceae, polygoneae, meliaceae, chenopodeae, sapindaceae, plantagineae, acerineae, urticeae, malpighiaceae, ulmaceae, hypericineae, euphorbiaceae, ternstroemiaceae, scepaceae, symplocineae, stilagineae, ebenaceae, myriceae, (rhus, ) juglandeae, terebin- (buchanania, ) cupuliferae, thaceae, (phlebochiton, ) betulaceae, (sabia, ) salicineae, zanthoxyleae, laurineae, conareae, hamamelideae, trygophylleae, thymeleae, rutaceae, santalaceae, ranunculaceae, loranthaceae, fumariaceae, proteaceae, myristiceae, elaeagneae, anonaceae, aristolochiae, magnoliaceae, combretaceae, berberideae, chlorantheae, lardizabaleae, piperaceae, menispermeae, coniferae, rosaceae, incertae, leguminosae, unarranged, philadelpheae, ditto, saxifrageae, --- melastomaceae, onagrariae, --- myrtaceae, cucurbitaceae, _monocotyledones_ _acotyledones_ smilacineae, dioscoreae, pteris, peliosantheae, blechnum, tupistraceae, dicksonia, commelineae, davallia, tacceae, lindsaea, aroideae, asplenium scitamineae, allantodioides, orchideae, aspidium, apostaceae, nephrodium, palmae, cyatheae, cyperaceae, trichomanes, gramineae, hymenophyllum, --- gleichenia, angiopteris, --- botrychium, _acotyledones_ lygodium, lycopodium, acrostichum, tinesipteris ceterach, equisetum, grammitis, --- polypodium, pleopeltis, monocotyledones, niphobolus, dicotyledones, cheilanthes, mosses unarranged, about adiantum, ---- vittaria, total, lomaria, ---- n.b.--the plants enumerated above, were transmitted to the india house in , together with former collections made _in the tenasserim_ provinces. chapter iv. _journey from upper assam towards hookhoom_, _ava_, _and_ _rangoon_, _lat_. _ degrees ' to degrees ' n_., _long_. _ degrees to degrees ' e_. we left suddiya on the th of february , and reached kedding on the th; stayed there one day, and reached kamroop putar, where i found major white and lieut. bigge on the th. the jungle to this place was similar to the usual jungle of the singpho country, very generally low, and intersected by ravines. we crossed _en route_ the karam river, the noa dihing, or dihing branch of the booree dihing, on which the beesa's old village was situated; and lastly the kamroop. kamroop putar is close to the naga hills; it is a cultivated rice tract, on the river kamroop. this river is fordable, with frequent rapids. the only curious things about it are the petroleum wells, which are confined to three situations. the wells are most numerous towards the summits of the range; and the place where they occur is free from shrubs. the petroleum is of all colours, from green to bluish white; this last is the strongest, partaking of the character of naphtha, it looks like bluish or greyish clay and water. the vegetation of the open places in which the wells are found, consists of grass, stellaria, hypericum, polygonum, cyperaceae, mazus rugosus, plantago media, etc., all of which are found on the plains. one of the wells is found on the putar, or cultivated ground; the petroleum in this is grey. the kamroop river above this putar, strikes off to the eastward, and the kamteechick, a tributary, falls into it from the south; this last is a good deal the smaller; the banks of the kamroop are in many places precipitous. about two miles from the putar, a fine seam of excellent coal has been exposed by a slip: { } the beds are at an inclination of degrees, and their direction is, i think, nearly the same with that of the left bank of the river in which they occur; immediately over the seam there is a small ravine, where three of the veins are still farther exposed. caricea, a new dicranum, alsophila ferruginea, polytrichum aloides, bartramea subulosa, and jungermanniae are common near this spot. left kamroop on the th, and proceeded in a s.w. direction for twelve miles, when we halted on the darap kha, at the foot of the naga hills, opposite nearly to beesala. nothing of interest occurred. _feb_. _ st_.--commenced the ascent, and after marching about ten miles, halted in a valley near a stream. temperature degrees. water boiled at . degrees, giving an altitude of about degrees, or feet above suddiya. the road was very winding, the path good, except towards the base of the hills: the soil sandy, in places indurated, and resting on sandstone; but there is not yet sufficient elevation to ensure much change in vegetation. found kaulfussia { a} below in abundance, observed castanea and a quercus; three species of begonia, and three or four species of acanthacea. in other respects the jungle resembles that of the singpho territory. dicksonia is abundant. dipterocarpus of large size occurs. caught two innocuous snakes at the halting place. { b} _feb_. _ nd_.--the distance of the march is about miles, and we halted after crossing the darap panee; some parts of the route were difficult, at least for elephants. no particular features of vegetation yet appears. the summit of the higher hills looks pretty. tree jungle considerable, open places with low grass, is the surrounding feature of vegetation. the hill first surmounted from the halting place is covered with a camellia or _bunfullup_, (i.e. bitter tea) of the assamese. the fruit has loculicidal dehiscence. in habit it is like that of the tea, but the buds are covered with imbricate scales. at the summit of the hill, it attained a height of or feet. begoniacea, urticaceae, acanthaceae, filices, are the most common. _feb_. _ rd_.--halted to enable the elephants to come up; they arrived about a.m. temperature of the air degrees, water boiled at degrees, altitude feet. the darap is a considerable stream, but is fordable at the heads of the rapids. fish abound, especially _bookhar_, a kind of barbel, { c} which reaches a good size. clay slate appears to be here the most common rock, and forms in many places the very precipitous banks of the river. alsophila ferruginea, areca, calami, fici., pentaptera, laurineae, myristiceae continue. kaulfussia assamica, is common along the lower base of the hills. _feb_. _ rd_.--started at , and after a march of five hours, reached the halting place on the kamtee-chick, some distance above the place at which we descended to its bed. distance miles, direction s.s.e.; crossed one hill of considerable elevation, certainly feet above the halting place, which we find by the temperature of boiling water to be feet above the sea. the tops of these hills continue comparatively open, and have a very pretty appearance. the trees, however, have not assumed a northern character; their trunks are covered with epiphytes. the kamtee-chick is a small stream fordable at the rapids, the extreme banks are not more than or yards. no peculiarity of vegetation as yet occurs; the fruit of a quercus continues common, as well as that of castanea ferox. i met with that of a magnolia; tree ferns, calami, musa, areca, and the usual sub-tropical trees continue; acanthaceae are most common, gordonea plentiful on the open places on the hills, sauraufa two species, byttneria, etc. etc. altogether, i am disappointed in the vegetation, which, although rich, is not varied. wallichia continues common. a begonia with pointed leaves, and a smilacineous plant are the most interesting, and a large quercoid polypodium, the lacineae of which are deciduous; and these i found in abundance on the mishmee hills, although i did not succeed in getting an entire frond. _feb_. _ th_.--marched about ten miles all the way up the bed of the kamtee-chick, now a complete mountain stream, the general direction being s.s.e. traversed in places heavy jungle, but for the most part we ascended the bed of the river. the only very interesting plant was podostemon, apparently griffithianum, which covers the rocks on the bed of the river. the usual plants continue, viz. scitamineae, phrynium capitatum, tradescantia, paederia and isophylla, pothos or species, ixora , leea, which occasionally becomes arborescent. cissus or , panax ditto, pierardia sapida, elaeocarpus, smilax, areca, calami or , asplenium nidus, fici several, pentaptera, cupuliferae, the latter rare; bauheniae , acanthaceae, one of which attains the size of a large shrub, guttiferae , phlebochiton, rottlera, millingtonia simplicifolia, inga, wallichia, pentaptera, malvacea, and acanthacea convallariae flore. i observed pandanus to be common, (one sterculia was yesterday observed). equisetae , the larger being the plant of the plains. erythrina, lagerstraemia grandiflora. chondospermum, polypodium, acrostichoides ferrugineum, and the fruit of cedrela toona, megala. choranthus was not seen. _feb_. _ th_.--proceeded about yards up the kamchick, then crossed the tukkaka, and commenced the ascent of a high hill, certainly feet above the elevation of our last halting place on the kamchick: the lower portion is covered with tree jungle, the upper portion of the mountain is open, covered with a tall saccharum and an andropogon, among which are mixed several compositae, and an ajuga. among the grass, occur trees scattered here and there, chiefly of a gordonia. from the summit we had a pretty view of the kamchick valley, closed in to the s.w. by a high and distant wall, being part of the patkaye range. all the hills have the same features, but it is odd that their highest points are thickly clothed with tree jungle. observed kydia, alstonia, _eurya_, triumfetta, celtis, engelhardtia, rhus, rottlera, loranthus, callicarpa and dicksonia all at a high elevation, but this latter is scarce. no pines visible. _dhak_, fici, musa farinacea, bambusae continue. compositae are common on the clearings. a mimosa occurs on the summit, and andrachne, -foliata. thence we descended for a short distance, and halted at the foot of the patkaye near the stream. direction s.s.e. distance four miles. elevation feet. temperature degrees. boiling point, . degrees. all the trees have a stunted appearance. _feb_. _ th_.--halted. _feb_. _ th_.--to-day ascended a hill to the w. of our camp, certainly feet above it; its features are the same, porana alata. bignonia, a leguminous tree, a ditto mimosa. panax, lobelia zeylanica, artemisia, cordia. panicum curvatum, anthistina arundinacea. panicum _plicatoides_, smithea, hypericum of the plains, and potentilla, sida, and plantago all plain plants, are found at the summit. to the s.w. of our camp are the remains of a stockade, which was destroyed by fire, it is said, last year. the only interesting plants gathered were a cyrtandracea, aeschynanthus confertus mihi, a dendrobium, and a fine hedychium, beautifully scented, occurring as an epiphyte. of ficus several species are common. on the large mountain to the n.e., either birch or larches are visible, their elevation being probably feet above that of our camp. the party halted until the rd march; i had one day's capital fishing in the kamtee-chick with a running line. _march nd_.--a havildar arrived, bearing a letter from dr. bayfield, { } stating that he would be with the major in two or three days. _march rd_.--capt. hannay and i started in advance; we crossed a low hill, then a torrent, after which we commenced a very steep ascent. this ascent, with one or two exceptions, continued the whole way to the top of the patkaye range, which must be feet above our halting place. the features continued the same. the patkaye are covered with dry tree jungle on the northern side. the place, whence the descent begins, is not well defined: at first winding through damp tree jungle. after a march of four hours we descended to a small stream, the ramyoom, which forms the british boundary; this we followed for some distance through the wettest, rankest jungle i ever saw: thence we ascended a low hill, and the remainder of our march was for the most part a continued descent through dry open tree jungle, until we again descended into the damp zone. we reached water as night was setting in, and bivouacked in the bed of the stream. the former vegetation continued until we reached the dry forest covering the upper parts of the patkaye, and here the forms indicating elevation increased. polygonatum, ceratostemma, bryum sollyanum, and a ternstroemiacea occurred, epiphytical orchideae are common, but were almost all out of flower. owing to the thickness of the jungle, and the height of the trees, we could not ascertain what the trees were; but from the absence of fruit, etc. on the ground, i am inclined to think that they are not cupuliferae. _betee bans_, (of the natives) a kind of bamboo, perhaps the same as the genus schizostachyum, n. ab. e. is common all over the summit, and descends to a considerable distance, especially on the southern side. on this side the prevalence of interesting forms was much more evident. along the kamyoom i gathered an acer, an arbutus, a daphne. polypodium arboreum ferrugineum was likewise here very common. succulent urticeae, acanthaceae swarmed: a huge calamus was likewise conspicuous. on this side there is plenty of the bamboo called _deo_ _bans_, articulis spinarum verticillis armatis, habitu b. bacciferae. among the trees on the descent, magnoliaceae occur; the petals of one i picked up were light yellow, tinged with brown in the centre. a species of viola occurred low down. i believe it is v. serpens. on both sides, but especially the south ceratostemma variegatum occurs; this is common still lower down the kamyoom. the trees along this portion of the boundary nullah, are covered with masses of pendulous neckera and hypna. on the summit i observed two species of panax, a fruitescent or arbusculous composita, asplenum nidus, laurineae, etc. the direction of the day's journey was about s.s.e. the distance miles. _march th_.--we reached almost immediately the real kamyoom, down which our route laid; we halted in its bed at , after a march most fatiguing from crossing and recrossing the stream, of about ten miles: general direction e.s.e. the features of this torrent are precisely the same as those of the kamteechick, but sedgewickia is common. i gathered a stauntonia, ceratostemma variegatum, and some fine ferns, and two or three begoniaceae, magnoliaceae three species occur, among which is liriodendron; cupiliferae are common, especially quercus cupulis lamellatis, nuce depressa; a viburnum likewise occurred. the stream is small; the banks in many places precipitous. in one place great portion of the base of a hill had been laid waste by a torrent coming apparently from the naked rocks; trees and soil were strewed in every direction. clay-slate is common. i should have mentioned that dicksonia occurs at feet, as well as (camellia) _bunfullup_, after that the former ceases. the two saurauja of suddiya continue up to feet of elevation; on the first ascent i observed a large thistle, but out of flower. no cultivation was passed after surmounting the first ascent; we passed the remains of a stockade on the th, in which some singphos had on a previous inroad stockaded themselves. the hills are generally covered with tree jungle, except occasionally on the north side where they have probably at some early period, been cleared for cultivation. to this may be added the curious appearance of the trees indicating having been lopped. equisetum continues in the bed of the river. nothing like a pine was observed. _march th_.--proceeded in an e.s.e. direction towards kamyoom for a distance of four miles, where we met dr. bayfield. as we found from him that it was impossible to go on, as there were no rice coolies, etc. to be obtained, we returned to our halting place; where i remained chiefly from supposing that the meewoon will start less objections when he sees that i am in his territory without coolies, etc. fished in the afternoon. the bookhar, or large barbel already mentioned, still continues; but there is another species still more common, of a longer form, ventral fins reddish, mouth small, nose gibbous rough; { } it takes a fly greedily, and is perhaps a more game fish than the other. all the birds inhabiting the water-courses of the north side of the patkaye continue. barking deer are heard occasionally. gathered one fine bleteoidia orchidea, racemis erectis oblongis, sepalis petalisque fusco-luteis, arcte reflexis, labello albido, odore forti mellis. engelhardtia occurs here, pentaptera, wallichia, calamus, saccharum, etc. _march th_.--to-day the meewoon arrived, accompanied by perhaps people chiefly armed with spears; he was preceded by two gilt chattas. he made no objections to my remaining, and really appeared very good-natured. the first thing he did, however, was to seize a shillelagh, and thwack most heartily some of his coolies who remained to see our conference. he did not stay ten minutes. _march th_.--to-day i examined superficially the ovary and young fruit of ceratostemma variegatum, roxb. the placenta which is very green, is - rayed. the substance of the walls of the ovary which is thick and white, projects towards the axis not only between the lobes, but also opposite to each; so that the fruit is really -celled, but of the cells are spurious. the production opposite the placentae necessarily divides the ovula of one placenta into two parcels, and these are they that have no adhesion with the axis. at present i can say nothing about the relative site of the lobes of the placentae, otherwise there is nothing remarkable, beyond the production of the ovary opposite the lobes of the placentae. _march th_.--yesterday evening bayfield returned alone, leaving hannay on the patkaye, unable to come on or retreat, owing to his having no coolies. it was decided, that there was no other step left me to follow than going on to ava, and i thus am enabled to obey the letter of government, relative to my going to ava, which reached me on the th by the havildar. the meewoon can give me no assistance towards returning, although he will spare me a few men to carry me on to mogam. for the last three days i have been indisposed. altitude by the therm. temp. degrees, at which water boils. _march th_.--left and proceeded down the kamyoom, or properly kam-mai- roan, according to bayfield, in an e.s.e. direction for about seven miles, when we reached the previous halting place of dr. bayfield. we passed before arriving at this a small putar on which were some remains of old habitations; on it limes abound, and these are a sure test of inhabitation at some previous period. the vegetation continues precisely the same as that of the namtucheek, even to podostemon griffithianum, which i to-day observed for the first time. _march th_.--proceeded on, still keeping for the chief part of our march along the kammiroan. we left this very soon, and crossed some low hills on which the jungles presented the same features. we left the village kammiroan to our right. we did not see it, but i believe it consists of only two houses. passed through one khet, the first cultivated ground we saw after leaving that on the kamchick; then we came on to a few more putars, in which limes continue abundant. on these i find no less than three species of rubus; in those parts on which rice has been cultivated a pretty fringed hypericum likewise occurs, and these are the most interesting plants that have presented themselves. our course improved much yesterday; it extended e. by s., and was rather less than seven miles. halted at kha-thung-kyoun, where the meewoon had halted, and where the dupha gam had remained some time previous. the same vegetation occurs, engelhardtia, gleichenia _major_ longe scandens, equisetum both species, euphorbiacea nereifolia, dicksonia rare, scleria vaginis alatis, plantago media, zizania ciliaris, melastoma malabathrica, lycium arenarum, duchesnia indica, mazus rugosus, the suddiya viburnum, millingtonia pinnata, pentaptera, erythrina; an arboreous eugenia fol. magnis, abovatis, is however new, and polypodium wallichianum which occurred to-day growing on clay-slate. but considering the elevation at which we still remain to be tolerably high, the products both of the vegetable and animal kingdom are comparatively uninteresting. there are more epiphytical orchideae on the south sides of these hills, than the north. musci and hepaticae are common, but do not embrace a great amount of species. machantia asamica is common. another new tree i found is probably a careya or barringtonia; the young inflorescence is nearly globular, and clothed with imbricated scales. sedgewickia has disappeared. no tea was seen. there is but little doubt that on hills, the ranges of which rise gradually, the acclimatization of low plants may take place to such a degree, that such plants may be found at high elevations; can they however so far become acclimated, as to preponderate? i expected of course to find the same plants on both sides of the hills, but i did not expect to find rottlerae, fici, tree-ferns, etc., at an elevation of feet and upwards. the fish of the streams continue the same, as well as the birds. the ouzel, white and black, long-tailed jay, white-headed redstart, red-rumped ditto, all continue. water wagtails were seen to-day. this bird is uncommon in hill water-courses; one snipe was seen yesterday. ooloocks (hylobates agilis), continue as in assam. with regard to fish, both species of barbel occur; { } the most killing bait for the large one, or bookhar of the assamese, is the green fucus, which is common, adhering to all the stones in these hill-streams: it is difficult to fix it on the hook. the line should be a running one, and not leaded, and the bait may be thrown as a fly. to it the largest fish rise most greedily; plenty of time must be allowed them to swallow before one strikes, otherwise no fish will be caught. all the same palms continue except calami, areca, and wallichiana. balsamineae are uncommon. there is one however, although rare, probably the same as the bright crimson-flowered one of the meerep panee. urticeae have diminished; the suddiya viola occurred yesterday, the asplenium, fronde lanceolat. continues common. _march th_.--halted. water boiled degrees. temp. and degrees. elevation feet. _march th_.--left the meewoon about , and proceeded about yards up the khathing. thence we struck off, and commenced the ascent, which continued without intermission for some hours, the whole way lying through heavy tree jungle. ascent in some places very steep. on reaching the summit, or nearly so, the jungle became more open, and the route continued along the ridge. we then descended for feet, and halted on an open grassy spot where we ascertained the altitude to be feet. boiling point degrees. temperature of the air degrees. the vegetation increased in interest; i noticed near the khathing, buddleia neemda, pladera justicioidea, which continues however all along even to feet. thunbergia coccinea, chondrospermum, dicksonia; near and on the summit magnoliae and two or three cupuliferae, daphne strutheoloides, nobis, gymnostomum involutum, berberis pinnata, the same as the khasiya one, but scarce. laurinea arborea, bambusa monogynia, rubus moluccanus: frutex ruscordeus, loranthus, anthistiria arundinacea, melastoma, cyathea, compositae, conyzoideae two or three, correas one, hedychium, eurya, gleichenia, hermannia, lycopodium ceranium, hoya teretifolia, acanthaceae two or three, bucklandia. we thence descended, and after a longish march reached the natkaw kyown, and finally halted on the khusse kyown. during this portion i gathered some very interesting plants, a new ceratostemma, adamia, two or three orchideae, a beautiful large flowered cyrtandracea, the same daphne, an umbellifera. vaccineaceae, four species of begoniae, a viburnum. crawfurdia and polypodium wallichianum, which roofed in our shed; musci increased as well as succulent urticeae in shady places. smilacinae were common, especially one at elevations of from to feet inflorescentia cernua. the features are the same, the drier woods crowning the ridges. on the trees of these, orchideae and filices are common, as well as in low parts in which acanthaceae abound. i saw no _betee-bhans_ nor deo-bhans, (peculiar bamboos). of the above, ceratostemma, daphane, smilacinae, cyathea, some of the begoniae, the large flowered cyrtandraceae, umbelliferae are sure indications of considerable elevation. the course was nearly south. distance about miles. thermometer in boiling water degrees. temperature of the air . degrees. halting place, . _march th_.--started before breakfast, and reached the khusee kyoung without any material descent. thence we continued descending on the whole considerably until we reached namthuga, at a.m. thence the descent increased. halted on kullack boom. general direction s.; distance miles. noticed areca up to feet, as well as cheilosandra obovata, bletea melleodora, and begonia palmata as high as feet. at namthuga a sambucus, probably s. ebulus, a mimosa, pothos decursiva, hedychium, urtica urens, gleichenia major, tradescanthia panicularis. between this and kullack boom acanthaceae are the most common; paederia triphylla appears near the boom, together with arum viviparum. black pheasants were likewise heard on our route. on the open halting place, grasses preponderate. anthestiria arundinacea, arbusculous gordonia, and saurauja, a laurinea, styrax, etc. aesculus asamicus is common, and profusely in flower, and pteris as on thuma-thaya; musa glauca made its appearance. from this open space an extensive view is obtained of hookhoom valley, bounding which occurs a range of hills stretching e.s.e. and w.n.w. these in the centre present a gap in which a river is seen running s. the view to the e. is impeded by the trees on that face of the hill. the valley is as usual one mass of jungle, with here and there clear patches occurring, especially to the w. of s., but whether from cultivation or not, i am unable to say. the namlunai river is visible; winding excessively, especially to the e.s.e., it appears a considerable stream with much sand: it passes out towards the gap above alluded to, winding round the corner of the hills. during the th, my attention was particularly directed towards tea, which was said positively to exist. i obtained some of the bitter sort, or _bunfullup_, but the plant which was pointed out to me as tea certainly was not, although resembling it a good deal. there is no reason for supposing, that it exists on these hills, and if tea is brought hence, it is i should think a spurious preparation. the soil is in many places yellow, in many brick-dust coloured. if the tea existed in abundance, i must have seen it. the hills which confine the valley, at least those which are obvious outliers of the patkaye range, are characterised by conical peaks, and there is a bluff rock of good elevation to the w.s.w. . s. [valley of hookhoom: p .jpg] _march th_.--boiled water at degrees fahr. thermometer in the air degrees. elevation . commenced the descent, which continued without interruption to the loon-karankha, where we breakfasted. the bed of this, which is a mere mountain torrent, is of sandstone. here ceratostemma variegatum is very common, and has larger, broader and more obovate leaves, than before observed; polypodium wallichianum, a begonia and orchideae are common on its boulders. continued our course at first up a considerable ascent, thence it was nearly an uniform descent. crossed the namtuwa, along which our course lay for a short time. the latter part was through low wet jungle, along small water-courses, till we reached the panglai kha, along which we continued for some time. reached our halting place on the namtuseek about p.m. general direction e.s.e.; distance about ten miles. noticed podostemon griffithianum, on rocks on the namtuwa. my collector gathered one daphne, acanthus solanacea occurred very abundantly, corinfundib. lab super postico, infer reflexo, laciniis bifidis. low down observed the usual dipterocarpus, uncaria and kaulfussia asamica, dracaena. mesua ferrea occurred during the first part of the march. noticed the tracks of a rhinoceros. at p.m. water boiled at degrees. temperature degrees. elevation feet. the most interesting plants were an arum, an undescribed ceratostemma, and a celastrinea. the collection formed between this place and suddiya now amount to about species. the vegetation of the lower portions is the same, or nearly so, on either side of the hills; but i did not observe near this the polypodium ferrugineum arboreum, although there is a small arborescent species of this genus. on either side, the lower ranges are clothed with heavy wet tree jungle, the under-shrubs consisting of acanthaceae, rubiaceae, filices, aroideae, and urticeae; kaulfussia does not ascend so high on this side. acanthacea solanacea appears peculiar to this side, although there is a species of the genus on the kammiroan. the plants indicating the greatest elevation are acer, ceratostemma miniatum, and angulatum, vacciniaceae; daphne, particularly the patkaye one, and d. struthioloides, most of the smilacineae, berberis, etc. etc. bucklandia crawfurdii, begoniae, some viburnia, cyathea, etc. of ceratostemma (gay lussacium?) several, perhaps not less than seven species occur; all have the same habit, and the same depot of nourishment in the thick portion near the _collet_. no coniferae exist, although the elevation is more than sufficient to determine their appearance. in orchideae the flora is certainly very rich, but few species are in flower (_memo_. to compare these elevational plants with those from the mishmee hills, on which, speaking from memory, they are more abundant.) _march th_.--left at half-past , and arrived (after halting about one hour and a half) at p.m. the road was very circuitous, for the first part e. by s., subsequently for some time n.n.e., and even n.e.; the general direction is perhaps e.; the distance certainly miles. the greater part of the route lay through heavy but dryish tree jungle; but during the latter half, and especially towards nempean, putars or cultivated fields increased in number, and extent. we crossed one stream only. the soil is yellow and deep, occasionally inclining to brick-red; it is apparently much the same as that of muttack. the low spots were uncommon. we saw only two paths diverging from ours; one of these led to bone, which is about two miles from our path, in a south direction, and at no great distance from the namtuseek. the features of the country and its productions are much the same as those of upper assam, indeed strikingly so. during the earlier part of our march we observed a fine shorea in abundance; it had a noble straight stem, but the leaves were too small for saul. the only new plants i found were styrax floribus odoris, ligno albo close grained, arbor mediocris, a baeobotrys, two goodyerae, a laurinea, sparganium! tabernaemontana fructibus magnis, edulibus, fol. obovatis, and a species of shorea. i noticed the following plants in the following order from namtuseek: dicksonia, areca, calamus, bambusa, speculis pubescentibus, deformatis, a species of phrynium, pladera justicioides, chrysobaphus roxburghii, phyllanthus, embilica, a species of wendlandia common in places that appeared to have been formerly cleared; gnetum lepidotum, celastrinea _foliis leguminosarum_, bombax (inerme) saccharum megala, imperata cylindica, anthistiria arundinacea, ingae sp., sauraujae sp. entada, gleichenia, hermannia, blechnum orientale, baeobotrys, meniscium -phyllum, sonerila, acanthus leucostachys, diplazium of kujoo, _podomolee_, saccharum foliis apice spiraliter tortis, osbeckia, rottlera, lygodium, rubus moluccanus, centotheca, zizania ciliaris, viola asamica, potamogeton nutans, foliis linearibus, limnophila, pontederia dilatata, lobelia zeylanica, hypericum venustum. panax foliis supra decompositis spinosis, callicarpae spec, duchesnea indica, combretum, melica latifolia, magus rugosus, vandellia peduncularis, villarsia pumila, artocarpus integrifolius, piper, lagerstraemia grandiflora, roxb. dillenia speciosa, spathodea. all these exist in assam. the birds are the same. as for instance, common maina, doves, the picus of low swampy places, and the _lark_ of the plains of assam. squirrel, ventre ferrugineo. black pheasant, _phasianus leucomelanus_, laurineae, acanthaceae, rubiacea and filices, are common in the jungles. the putars are clothed with the same grasses as in assam. imperata cylindrica, anthistiria arundinacea, megala in low places with alpinea allughas, in those lately under cultivation, the campanula of the b. pooter occurs, together with hypericum, gnaphalium, poa and carex. from the frequent occurrence of these putars, i should say that the capabilities of the country, at least the latter half of our march, improves as far as regards _halee_ cultivation. throughout the march nothing occurred to shew that this part of the valley is inhabited. we passed, however, an old and extensive burying ground of the singphos. of the putars only small portions were cultivated, and the crops did not appear to be very good. nempean, which is a stockaded village, is about a quarter of a mile from the encampment of the meewoon, and about s.e., and within yards to the n.n.e. is a similar stockaded village called tubone. both these villages are on the right bank of the namturoon, which is a large stream, as big nearly as the noa dihing at beesa. b. measured it, and finds its extreme bed to be yards broad. the volume of water is considerable, the rapids are moderate; it is navigable for largish canoes. on this bank, _i.e_. right, there is an extensive plain running nearly n. and s.; no part of it seems to be cultivated. the scenery is precisely the same as that of upper assam, viz. open, flat, intersected by belts of jungle. with the exception of the w. and the points between this and south, hills are visible, some of considerable height. to the s.e. there is a fine peak, which reminds one much of the mishmee peak, so remarkable at suddiya. it is in this direction that the hills are highest. no tea is reported to exist here. b. met with it on his road hither, and shewed me the specimen; there is no difference between this and the assam specimens in appearance, neither are the leaves at all smaller. as a new route has been cut out i cannot visit it, but shall wait until i arrive at meinkhoom. the chykwar mulberry occurs, and to a larger size than i have seen it in assam. the singphos, however, as they have no silkworms, do not make use of it; i have seen some little cultivation on the tooroon belonging to bon: kanee or opium formed portion of it. thermometer in shade at p.m. degrees. _march st_.-- a.m. thermometer degrees. yesterday at p.m. degrees! under a decently covered shed. boiled water at . fahr. thermometer degrees, which gives feet of elevation. started at , and arrived at kidding on the saxsai, a small stream which now falls into the tooroon. distance about four miles and a half from nempean: general direction about s.s.e. the road runs along the tooroon s., and a little to the w. of s.; it then diverges up the saxsai, which runs nearly w. and e. near the mouth of the saxsai, and about yards above, there is another small stream, the jinnip kha. both these are on the left bank of the river. on the opposite side, and about a quarter of a mile, is a village, which like all the rest is stockaded. kidding is larger than either tubone or nempean; it is on the left bank of the saxsai. rapids are common in the tooroon, but are not of any severity. the vegetation remains in a remarkable degree similar to that of assam. the lohit campanula is very common in the stony beds of either river. brahminy ducks seen at nempean, and the ravenous geese of kamroop putar. fished in the tooroon, and had excellent sport, killing in the afternoon twenty fishes, average weight half pound; some weighing nearly two pounds. three species occurred, and all were taken with flies; the smallest are a good deal like the _boal_ of assam. the large-mouthed, trout-like cyprinida { a} occurs, and to a larger size than in the noa dihing. the third is the _chikrum_ of the singphos; it is a thick, very powerful fish, a good deal resembling the roach: one of two pounds, measures about a foot in length. outline ovate lanceolate, head small, mouth with four filaments; eyes very large, fins reddish, first ray of the dorsal large spinous. it affects deep water, particularly at the edges of the streams running into such places. { b} it takes a fly greedily even in quite still water; but as it has a small mouth, the smaller the flies the better. black hackle is better for it than small grey midges. on being hooked it rushes off with violence, frequently leaping out of the water. it is a much more game fish than the bookhar: the largest i took with flies; with worms i took only one small one. with regard to the bookhar, it is strange if it is not found in the streams running through this valley, as in the kammaroan it occurs in abundance. black and white kingfisher, _alcedo rudis_, snippets, curlews of the b. pooter, with chesnutish back occur in the valley, together with toucans: and ravens occur as in assam. at the village of kidding there are silkworms fed. _march nd_.--started at p.m., reached shelling khet on the prong prongkha in about two hours; it is distant about seven miles. the village is now deserted. the nullah is small, with a very slow stream; direction from kidding nearly s.e. it was at this place that bayfield got his specimen of tea, but on enquiry we found that it was brought from some distance; it is said to grow on a low range of hills. we started after breakfast, and reached culleyang, on the same nullah, about o'clock. total distance thirteen miles; direction s.s.e. path very winding. the country traversed is much less open than that of nempean, but few putars occurred; and the whole tract is covered either with tree or megala jungle. water boiled at shelling khet at . fahr. temp. of the air . degrees. elevation feet. noticed but very little clearing for cultivation, neither did the putars appear to have been lately under cultivation. culleyang is a village containing about eight houses; it is not stockaded, and has the usual slovenly appearance of singpho villages. the natives keep silkworms, which they feed on the chykwar or assam morus, which they cultivate. i noticed likewise kanee, or opium, and urtica nivea, which they use for nets; acanthaceae, indigofera, and peach trees. close to the village are the burying places of two singphos. these have the usual structure of the cemeteries of the tribe, the graves being covered by a high conical thatched roof. i find from bayfield, that they first dry their dead, preserving them in odd shaped coffins, until the drying process is completed. they then burn the body, afterwards collecting the ashes, which are finally deposited in the mounds over which the conical sheds are erected. between the village and the graves i saw one of these coffins which, if it contained a full-grown man, must have admitted the remains in a mutilated shape; and close to this were the bones of a corpse lately burnt. to-day i shot the beautiful yellow and black crested bird we first saw on the cossiya hills, _parus sultaneus_, and two handsome birds, _orioles_, or _pastor traillii_, quite new to me, blackish and bright crimson, probably allied to the shrikes. of fishes, cyprinus falcata, or _nepoora_ of the assamese, together with the sentooree { } of the assamese, both occur. of plants, we noticed stauntonia, vitis, cissampelos, butomus pygmaeus, dicksonia, hedychia , croton malvaefolium of suddiya, xanthium indicum; cheilosandra ferruginea, pothos scandens decursiva, etc., liriodendrum, kydia. ficus elastica? asplenium nidus, conyza graveolens, south of the old clearings. lemna, valisneria, azolla, aesculus asamicus in abundance. limes in profusion near culleyang; paederia faetida and the other species, naravelia, hiraea, phrynium dichotomum, gaertnera, and carallia lucida. new plants, ophioglossum, carex, gnetum sp. nov. choripetalum, and two _incerta_. noticed pladera justicioides during the first part of the march, and the small squirrel of kujoodoo. six a.m. temperature . . water boiled at degrees fahr. p.m. temperature of the air . altitude feet. _march rd_.--started at a.m. and reached lamoom about , where we breakfasted. reached tsilone, the dupha's village, at noon. general direction s.w. distance about ten miles. lamoom is a small _un_stockaded village on the moneekha. tsilone is a moderate sized singpho village on the right bank of the nam tunail. the river is of considerable size, with scarcely any rapids: stream slow. the village is situated on a rather high bank. the country continues the same, perhaps a little more open, at least putars are of frequent occurrence, although they are all narrow. observed cryptolepis, celastrus _leguminoideus_ cuscuta uncaria racemis pendulis. of birds the smaller maina, common house sparrow, blue jay, and the larger grey tern occur. we halted on a sandbank about one mile and a half higher up to the south of tsilone. new plants, the campanula of chykwar, ditto lysimachia, dopatrium, jasminum, rhamnea, pothos, lasia, riccia, etc. _march th_.--thermometer degrees. boiling point . altitude feet. after a long and hot march of seven hours we reached meinkhoon; general direction -- distance miles. during the first two hours we marched along the bed and banks of the nam tenai, subsequently over grassy plains intersected by belts of jungle. country much more open than that we saw yesterday. to the w. low ranges of hills, about one-third of a mile distant, occurred throughout the day. we passed two or three small nullahs, in one of which i observed lumps of lignite. the nam tenai continued a large river, extreme breadth varying from to yards. we crossed at once, about half a mile from our encampment, deepest part of the ford four feet; its banks are either thickly wooded or covered with kagara jungle. the day's march was very uninteresting. i observed a few mango trees, a mucuna, laurineae are common, as well as a wendlandia in open grassy places. sagittariae sp. was the only novelty. noticed the hoopoe bird, _upapa capensis_. [meinkhoom: p .jpg] _march th_.--meinkhoon is situated on a very small nullah, the eedeekha. the village which is large and well stockaded, is divided into two by this nullah. the population of both cannot, including children, be less than . they belong to the meerep tribe. the women wear the _putsoe_ somewhat like those of burma, which seems to me quite new in singpho women; and is not the fashion with those in assam. to the s.w. there is a group of somewhat decayed shan pagodas, and a poonghie house, around which are planted mango trees and a beautiful arboreous bauhinia, b. rhododendriflora mihi, ovariis binis! around the village is an extensive plain, and to the s.e. one or two more pagodas. this bauhinia has flowers . inches across, calyx spathaceus, petalis, sub-conformibus, obovatis, repandis laete purpureis, vexillo coccineo- purpureo, colore saturate venoso, carinae petalis distantibus, odor copaivae! stam. declinata, cum petalis, alternantia. ovaria ! anticum posticumque, longe stipetata, difformia superiore minore, aborticate, ambobus vexillo oppositis! stylus ruber pallide; stigma capitatum. one b. variegata, w. roxb. fl. indic. vol. ii. p. , quamvis auctor de ovario antico silet. two snakes were captured, approaching in shape to the green snake of the coromandel coast. under surface throughout bright gamboge colour; upper surface throughout, excepting about a span or less of the back of the neck, bright ochraceous brown. the space above alluded to is in one faintly, in the other strongly variegated with black and white. irides, gamboge-coloured. _march th_.--visited the amber mines, which are situated on a range of low hills, perhaps feet above the plain of meinkhoon, from which they bear s.w. the distance of the pits now worked is about six miles, of which three are passed in traversing the plain, and three in the low hills which it is requisite to cross. these are thickly covered with tree jungle. the first pits, which are old, occur about one mile within the hills. those now worked occupy the brow of a low hill, and on this spot they are very numerous; the pits are square, about four feet in diameter, and of very variable depth; steps, or rather holes, are cut in two of the faces of the square by which the workmen ascend and descend. the instruments used are wooden-lipped with iron crowbars, by which the soil is displaced; this answers but very imperfectly for a pickaxe: small wooden shovels, baskets for carrying up the soil, etc., buckets of bark to draw up the water, bamboos, the base of the rhizoma forming a hook for drawing up the baskets, and the madras lever for drawing up heavy loads. the soil throughout the upper portion, and indeed for a depth of to feet, is red and clayish, and appears to inclose but small pieces of lignite; the remainder consists of greyish slate clay increasing in density as the pits do in depth: in this occur strata of lignite very imperfectly formed, which gives the grey mineral a slaty fracture, and among this the amber is found. { } the deepest pit was about feet, and the workmen had then come to water. all the amber i saw, except a few pieces, occurred as very small irregular deposits, and in no great abundance. the searching occupies but little time, as they look only among the lignite, which is at once obvious. no precautions are taken to prevent accidents from the falling in of the sides of the pits, which are in many places very close to each other (within two feet): but the soil is very tenacious. we could not obtain any fine specimens; indeed at first the workmen denied having any at all, and told mr. b. that they had been working for six years without success. they appear to have no index to favourable spots, but having once found a good pit they of course dig as many as possible as near and close together as they can. the most numerous occur at the highest part of the hill now worked. the article is much prized for ornaments by the chinese and singphos, but is never of much value; five rupees being a good price for a first-rate pair of earrings. meinkhoon is visited by parties of chinese for the purpose of procuring this article. there are at present here a lupai sooba and a few men, from a place three or four days' journey beyond the irrawaddi, waiting for amber. these men are much like the chinese, whose dress they almost wear: they squat like them, and wear their hair like them; shoes, stockings, pantaloons, jackets, tunic. they are armed chiefly with firelocks, in the use of which at yards two of the men were expert enough. they talk the singpho language. the vegetation of the plains, proceeding to the mines, is unchanged. noticed apluda, a phyllanthus, cacalia, poa, etc. that of the hills is the same as that of the low ranges before traversed. the only new plants were a celtis? a krameria (the celtis is the boolla of upper assam,) ventilago, quercus or castanea, compositae, etc. in the damp places a largish loxotis, two or three begoniae, ditto urticeae occur. i noticed among and around the pits a species of bambusa, celtis, kydia calycina, clerodendrum infortunatum, calamus, areca, dicksonia, ficus, pentaptera, and rottlera. pladera has ceased to appear. last night a sort of alarm occurred, and in consequence, this evening, the head cooly gave his orders to his men in the following terms: "watch to-night well." nobody answering him, he continued, "do you hear what i say?" then addressed himself to them in the most obscene terms, which habit and uncivilized life seem to have adapted to common conversation amongst these people without any breach of modesty or decorum; and amongst the assamese such expressions likewise form not an uncommon mode of familiar salutation. _march th_.--left about , and proceeded over the meinkhoon plain in an easterly direction, in which the highest hills visible from the village lay. we continued east for some time, our course subsequently becoming more and more south. on reaching the nempyokha, we proceeded up its bed for about two miles, the course occasionally becoming west. we reached wollaboom at . . general direction s.e.; distance thirteen miles. the greater part of the country traversed consisted of low plains, splendidly adapted for _halee_ cultivation. no villages were passed. saw two paths, one leading to the n., one to the s. not far from meinkhoon; of these the n. one leads to the hills, the s. to a singpho village. and we passed burial places of some antiquity, and considerable extent. new plants; a loranthus floribus viridibus, petalis reflexis. zizyphoidea, and an arborescent bignonia foliis cordatis oppositis, integris, basi bi-glandulosis, paniculis racemiformibus, solitariis et axillaribus vel terminalibus et aggregatis. marlea sporobolus, castanea edulis, pteris dimediata, etc., occurred. noticed the tracks of a tiger, of elks, and the peewit or curlew. woollaboom is rather a large village on the nempyokha, which is here scarcely yards broad; it is of no depth, and has not much stream. the villagers are meereps, but seem to bear a small proportion to their assamese slaves. it is not stockaded, but was so formerly. the souba, like a hero and a general, has erected a small stockade for himself near his house, out of which he might be with ease forced by a long spear, or a spear-head fastened to a bamboo. he is an enemy of the duphas, indeed almost all appear to be so. whatever events the return of this gam to assam may cause, it appears obvious to me, that the feuds in hookhoom will not cease but with his death. so much is he hated, that b. informs me that his destruction is meditated directly the meewoon retires to mogam. water boiled at degrees fahr. elevat. feet. list of plants observed in hookhoom, which occur likewise in assam. eclipta floribus albis, dactylon. pogonatherum crinitum, cardamine. verbena chamaedrys? sisymbrium. phlebochiton extensum, gaertnera. ehretia arenarum, phrynium capitatum. erythrinae, sp. ----- dichotomum. trematodon sabulosum, hiraea. marchantia asamica, naravalia. euphorbiacea nerifolia, liriodendrum. adelia nereifolia, roxb. paederia foetida, and another. spilanthus, azolla. convolvulus flore albo, lemna. mimosa sudiyensis-stipulis am- conyza graveolens, plis foliaceis, on clearings. vandellia pedunculata, asplenium nidus. bonnayae sp. fol. spathulatis ficus elastica. floribus saturate caeruleis, kydia calycina. cordia of suddiya, pothos scandens. ricinus communis, (see journal, croton malvaefolium. p. .) hedychium. buddleia neemda, hedychim, bracteis obtusis, apice reflexis, concavis. urtica gigas, plantago media, dicksonia. cotula, species, phlogacanthus, _major_. coladium nympheaefolium, vitis. millingtonia pinnata, butomus pygmaeus. uricariae sp. cissampelos. saccharum spontaneum, stauntonia. eleusine indica, apludae sp. cynoglossum canescens, clerodendrum infortunatum. aesculus asamicus, vandellia pedunculata. cynodon, mangifera indica. ardisia fol. obovatis, umbellis briedelia. nutanti-pendulis, on the hills. marlea. cheilosandra. pteris dimidiata. loxotis major. centotheca. bauhinia variegata. castanea edulis. cacalia rosea. sporobolus. chapter v. _continues the journey from hookhoom valley_; _lat_. _ _ _degrees ' n_., _long_. _ degrees ' e_., _towards ava_. _march th_.--started at . a.m., and arrived at a halting place at . p.m. general direction nearly south. distance miles. throughout the first part we followed the kampyet, on the left bank of which wulloboom is situated. we thence diverged into jungle. the remainder of the time was occupied in crossing low hills, with here and there a small plain. we halted on a nullah, which discharges itself into the mogam river. in the kampyet i saw abundance of bookhar fish: these indeed actually swarm. the country throughout was uninteresting, although in the tree jungle clothing the small hills we crossed there are noble timber trees. i saw one of the finest fici, i ever saw. the botany of these hills was very interesting; for instance, a conifera taxoidea occurred, a new cyrtandracea, ditto acanthaceae , begoniae , tankervillia speciosa, a species of bletea, etc. etc. i also observed lindsaea, and pteris in abundance. hymenophyllum, davallia atrata, diplazium, begonia malabarica? bambusa spiculis hispidis, hypni sp. spinivenio prop. dicranum glaucum, etc. etc. a fine alpinia occurred near wulloboom. we observed no other signs of population than an old burial ground, near where you strike off into the hills. _march th_.--marched in a southerly direction from . to . p.m., inclusive of a halt of two hours nearly: distance fifteen miles. country, etc. continue the same. crossed same nullahs _en route_, before we reached the mogam river at a.m. our course continued down it for yards; we then crossed into the jungle, and traversed a low rising ground: subsequently we descended on the bed of the river. the jungle was for the most part dry. fish abound in the mogam river; in one place i never saw such swarms of bookhar, thousands must have been congregated. the river is of no great size, the extreme banks being at our halting place about yards distant. no rapids occur here, and the stream is in general gentle. noticed the shorea, which is the _foung bein_ of the burmese. some occurred of gigantic size. it is strange, but a considerable change has occurred in the flora since we left hookhoom. thus, jonesia and peronema, jack? or at least one of the involucrate vitices occurred, as well as a large byttneria? fructibus echinatissimis. a climbing species of strychnos, a diospyros, a sapindacea, were the principal new plants. dicksonia and polypodium wallichianum continue. slackia of cuttackboom has white infundibuliform bilabiate flowers, tubo brevi, deorsum leniter curvato, lobo medio labii inferioris reliquis minore, lab. super. intus biplicato, plicis sursum convergentibus, stam. quinto valde rudimentario, antheris apice cohaerentibus. the new cyrthandracea of yesterday is suigeneris, ramondiae affinis. of this there are three species, two of which i have not seen in flower. calycis laciniae lineari-subulatae. cor. rotata, subregularis stam. , subsessilia connectivis amplis, quinto minimo dentiformi. stylus declinatus, stigma subsimplex, capsula (per junior) siliquosa. herbae vel suffrutices, hispidae, habitu peculiari. folia alterna! vel summa sparsa vel ob approximationem sub-opposita: intervenia areolata, areolis piliferis, pilis basi bulbosis. inflorescentia axillaris, cymosa, dichotoma. the tankervellia (or pharus?) has sepala pet. conformia extus alba, intus fusco-brunnea, labellum cucullatum, breve, calcaratum; intus inconspicue bilamellatum; extus albidum margines versus exceptis qua uti intus fusco- sanguineum, fauce saturatiore. columnae albae clavale sursum subulata. anthera fere immersa, rostellum integrum ut in omnibus glandula orbotis pollinia . a.m.--temperature . . _march th_.--marched for about thirteen miles along the bed of the river, and a more uninteresting march i never had. we breakfasted about four miles from our halting place at the granary of the meewoon. the bed of the river continues wider, and more sandy: the water being in general shallow. the only acquisitions met with to-day are grislea, an arborescent capparidea, and a pretty grewia. of birds, i noticed the avocet, or curved-billed plover, the grey kingfisher, the green pigeon, and the snake-bird, plutus levalliantia. the plants occupying the banks and the bed of the river are the same, viz. ehretia, saccharum spontaneum, spirale; _kagara_, erythrina, ficus, gnaphalia, podomolee, bombax. of fish, cyprinus falcata, and _nepoora mas_, occur in this river. temperature at . a.m. l. water boils at . _march st_.--continued our march down the mogaung river, passing through a most uninteresting, inhospitable-looking tract. general direction s.e., distance fourteen miles. the river is not much enlarged: it is still shallow, and much spread out, and impeded by fallen trees and stumps; it is navigable for small boats up to the meewoon's granary. noticed aesculus in flower. of birds, saw the grey and black-bellied tern. the botanical novelties are an arborescent salix, a ditto cordia floribus suave odoratis, phyllanthus embelica. saw some cultivation on low hills to the s.e. and e. inhabited by kukheens. st april. temperature . water . altitude. _april st_.--started at . . leaving almost directly the mogaung river we traversed extensive open plains, halting for breakfast on the wampama kioung. this we crossed, continuing through open plains until we came to patches of jungle consisting of trees, and quite dry. we subsequently traversed more open plains until we reached the mogaung river, on the opposite (right) bank of which camein is situated. these plains were in many places quite free from trees; they are, except towards the south, quite surrounded with low hills, the highest of which are to the e., and among these, shewe down gyee, from which the nam tenai rises, is pre-eminent, looking as if it were feet high, and upwards. the hills although generally wooded are in many places quite naked; and as the natives say, this is not owing to previous cultivations, i suppose that they are spots naturally occupied entirely by gramineae. the plains slope towards the hills on either side. they are covered with gramineae; among which imperata, occasionally podomolee and saccharum, anthistiria arundinacea, a tall rottboelia, and andropogon occur; and in the more open spaces a curious rottboellioidea, glumis ciliatis, is common. in addition a polygala, a crucifera with bracteae and white flowers, an acanthacea, prenanthes? centranthera tetrastachys are met with. the trees are quite different from those of hookhoom; the principal one is a nauclea; bombax, wendlandiae sp., a rhamnea, phyllanthus, and bignonia cordifolia occur; the nauclea giving a character to the scenery. the botany of the patches of jungle is varied. strychnos nux-vomica is common; congea tomentosa, engelhardtia, etc. bauhinia arborea, and costus also occur. teak occurred to-day for the first time, but not in abundance, neither were the specimens fine: it was past flowering, it occurred only between the patches of jungle among grass. i should have mentioned, that throughout the first portion of the plains traversed, a dioceous dwarf phoenix was not rare, as well as an herpestes. a beautiful rose occurs on the banks of nullahs, and at camein, on the mogaung river: it has large white flowers, involucrate; smell sweet like that of a jonquil. the general direction of the march was s.s.e. distance fourteen miles. camein consists of two stockaded villages: the smaller one being situated on a small hill on the endaw kioung, which comes from near the serpentine mines, and falls into the mogaung river here; this has about twelve houses: the one below about twenty, the inhabitants are shans chiefly, and appear numerous and healthy. assamese slaves are not uncommon. observed the large blue kingfisher of the tenasserim coast, _alcedo_ _sinensis_. the day's botany was very interesting, more so than that of any other days, excepting two on the higher ranges of the naga hills. the crucifera is highly interesting. in the woods alstonia and elephantopus; salvinia is common in marshes. _april nd_.--left at a.m., proceeding over the low hill to the w. of lower camein; our course continued traversing low ranges and small intermediate plains, which we skirted. at noon we reached the tsee een nullah, where we found a large party of shan chinese, returning from the mines; they had but few ponies, and still fewer mules. their dress, appearance, habits, etc. are those of the lower orders of chinese. after leaving this our course continued over similar country, until we reached the endaw kioung at p.m., which we crossed, halting on its left bank; it is a stream of much strength and a broad bed, but shallow. we saw some cultivation on low hills to the w.n.w., and could distinguish two or three houses; it is a small village inhabited by meereps. the vegetation of the valleys or plains continues the same, but in addition to the rottboelleoidea minor, is a curious andropogon, and on the skirts of the hills a large anthistiria; some of the finest specimens of teak also occurred. bamboo in abundance; otherwise the trees are, with a few exceptions, completely changed. a fine arborescent wendlandia, bignonia indica? fructibus siliquo-formibus spiraliter tortis, arborea, kydia, eurya arborea, and many other fine trees occurred, but these i leave until my return. on one plain i noticed a cycas, caudice simplici vel dichotomo, and the phoenix of yesterday. in the endaw kioung two species of potamogeton, azolla, and pistia, villarsia and ceratophyllum occur. _april rd_.-- . a.m. therm. . water boiled at . elevation feet. continued our journey over similar country, marching from half-past to p.m., including an hour's halt. distance fifteen miles: general direction s.s.w. passed many streamlets, and continued for some time close to the endaw, which is still a largish river, apparently deep, with a sluggish stream. the plains continue, but of much narrower diameter. met many shan chinese and two parties of mogaung people returning from the mines. the most interesting plants of to-day are a santalacea, a climbing species, racemis subpendulis, of citrus--citrus scandens, cardiopteris of which i found old fruit alone, a new roydsia, r. parviflora mihi. the vegetation of the plains continues unchanged, a dillenia with small yellow flowers is common on their skirts, bignonia cordata occurs as a large tree; no one has seen teak. there is something peculiar in the appearance of the trees of the plains, especially of the nauclea; they look scraggy. i picked up the flowers of an arborescent hibiscus, and the fruit of lagertraemia grandiflora. halted on an old rice khet, near a pool of tolerably clear water. bignonia cordata has sweet smelling flowers, lab. medio labii inferioris bicristato. is it not rather a viticea, owing to the absence of the th stamen? phlebochiton, sambucus, butomus pygmaeus. many portions of the hills are covered with plantains in immense numbers, (not musa glauca). on hills bounding to the south, one or two spots of cultivation belonging to a village in the interior occur. the shans wear curious sandals made of a sort of hemp, at least those who do not wear the usual chinese shoes. _ th_.-- . a.m. temperature . . water boiled at . elevation as before. _april th_.--continued our course through exactly the same kind of country, the plains becoming much narrower. reached the path leading to keouk seik after five hours' marching, and up to this our course was nearly the same with that of yesterday, between w.s.w. and s.w. we did not see the village; several (seven or eight) houses are visible on the hill, which here extends north and south, and along which runs a nullah, the kam theem. from this place our course continued almost entirely over low hills not exceeding feet above us, until we halted on the margin of a plain bounded to the w. by the boom, which runs n. and s., the direction being w.n.w. distance seventeen miles. on our march we met several parties of shans, burmese, and singphos. the path from the village to this is much better, and much more frequented than any of the other parts. most of the parties were loaded with serpentine. noticed _en route_, both on the plains and on the hills, teak; in the latter situations many of the specimens were very fine. another noble dipterocarpea arborea was observed. i observed drymaria, vallaris solanacea, and a spathodia, which is common on the plains. teak is remarkable for the smoothness and peculiar appearance of its bark, so that it seems to have had it stripped off. gathered on the hills ulmus and hyalostemma, the petals of which are united into a tri-partite corolla, a cyrtandracea in fruit, and an olacinea, floribus tri-sepalis, appendicibus apice fimbriatis, stam. , sepalis oppositis, racemis erectis. _april th_.--reached the mines after a march of about four hours; our course was winding, continuing through jungle and small patches of plain, until we reached the base of that part of the kuwa boom which we were to cross, and which bore n.w. from the place at which we slept. the ascent was steep in some places, it bore in a n.n.w. direction, principally through a bamboo jungle. from a clear space half way up, we had a fine and pretty view of the hills and plains, especially to the s. and s.e. in the former direction, and distant about fifteen miles, we saw on our return, the endaw gyee, but we could not estimate its size or figure; it is evidently however a large sheet of water; the natives say, several miles across. from the summit, we likewise had a fine view of the country to the e.; very few plains were visible in this direction. nearly due east, and about thirty miles off, was visible shewe down gyee, and this will make camein nearly due east also, or e. by s. the descent passed through similar jungle, that at the foot being damp. the course continued in a direction varying from s. to w., or rather between these points, through damp jungle. we then ascended another steep hill, but not exceeding or feet in height; descending from this, and passing through low tree and then bamboo jungle, we reached the mines. the road was, up to the base of kuwa boom on the w. side, very good, thence it was in general bad; wet, slippery, much impeded by blocks of serpentine, and foliated limestone (bayfield) crossing several streams, mountain torrents, the principal one being sapya khioung. this takes its name from a spring of water of alkaline properties, which bubbles up sparingly from under its rocky bed, and which must be covered during the rains. the water is clear, of a pure alkaline taste, and is used by the natives as soap. the mines occupy a valley of a somewhat semi-circular form, bounded on all sides by hills clothed with trees, none being of very great height. the valley passes off to the n. into a ravine, down which the small stream that percolates the valley escapes, and in this at about a coss distant other pits occur. the surface of the valley apparently at one time consisted of low rounded hillocks; it is now much broken, and choked up with the earth and stones that have been thrown up by excavating. the stone is found in the form of more or less rounded boulders imbedded with others, such as quartz, etc. in brickish-yellow or nearly orange clay. the boulders vary much in size. there is no regularity in the pits, which are dug indiscriminately; some have the form of ditches, none exceed feet in depth. they are dug all over the valley, as well as on the base of the hill bounding it to the w. and n.w. we could not obtain any good specimens, nor is there any thing in the spot that repays the visit. no machinery is used, the larger blocks are broken by fire. but that they are of importance in the light of increasing the revenue, is evident, from the fact that b. counted, since we left camein, , people on their return, of whom about were shan chinese. the loads carried away are in some cases very heavy; the larger pieces are carried on bamboo frames by from two to five men, the lesser on a stout piece of bamboo lashed to and supported on two cross or forked bamboos, the stouter joint resting on the bearer's neck, the handles of the forks being carried in his hands. the most obvious advantage of this is the ease with which the load may be taken off, when the bearer is fatigued. the revenue yielded last year, b. tells me, was viss of silver, or about , rupees. the length of the valley from e. to w. is about three quarters of a mile; its breadth varies from to yards. on our return we boiled water at the soap spring, which is about feet above the mines, temp. of the air . . . p.m. of boiling water . elevation feet. and on the top of kuwa boom, which is crossed at a comparatively low place, at . p.m. temp. of the air , of boiling water . elevation feet. i can say nothing as to the peculiar features of the vegetation, in the woods towards kuwa boom. i gathered three aurantiaceae; the olacinea of yesterday is common, a large arborescent artocarpus fructibus oblongis sub-informibus, sub-acidulis, . uncialibus; teak rarely; tonabea, noble specimens occur; on the kuwa boom, a large gordonia arborea, two arborescent myrtacea, large mangoes, bamboo, a morinda; magnoliaecea occurs on its western face, as well as the conifera toxoidea before gathered. dicksonia and pladera justicioidea both occur. dianella nemorosa, etc. the serpentine is carried from keoukseik in boats down the endaw kioung, thence to camein, and from whence it goes to mogam, which is probably the principal mart. calamus spioris petiolorum uncialibus verticillatis occurs in abundance in all the damp jungle. we returned in the afternoon to our halting place of yesterday, from which the mines are distant ten miles, four of which occur from the side of kuwa boom to the west. the endaw gyee is situated on a plain, but it is enclosed by hills on every side except the s.e. those to the south are very high. _april th_.--returned, diverging from the path to the village keoukseik. noticed liriodendron, aesculus, achyranthis aspera, vallaris solanacea, etc. the village is situated to the s. of the road to the mines; it is close to the nam teen, and on a small elevation; it is stockaded. the number of houses is about sixteen; of inhabitants, including children, : all the houses, except two, being small. the merchants, etc. employed about the mines, halt on the nam theen, which is up to this point navigable for small boats. thermometer . . a.m. temp. of boiling water . _april th_.--reached camein at noon: halted on the th at our former hut on the endaw kioung. the additional plants noticed are duchesnia indica, common in wet places; a bamboo, paniculis (culmis) nutantibus aphyllis, amplus. pandanus; curculigo pumila, floribus sub-solitarius ante folia, vel. partitis; a careya, dillenia, arborea floribus numerosis parvis luteis. aeschynomena, anthistiria arundinacea, composita arborea, - pedalis. another species of anthistiria, common on the margins of hills during the march. fir trees are reported to exist on _lioe peik_, which bears south from kioukseik. volcanic hills reported to exist near the endaw gyee, but no salt rock occurs. this mineral is said to be found three days' march from kioukseik on the nam theen. the revenue said to accrue from the serpentine mines, is probably highly exaggerated; and the supply of the stone is said to be diminishing yearly. casually found on the nam toroon, a sterculia arborea, florib-masculis clavato, infundibul. coccineis, pubescentibus: a sophora, floribus albidis pallidissima ceruleo tinctis, of which the flowers alone were seen; prenanthis flosentis citrinis, a polygala and hypericum were likewise found. _april th_.--left camein at , and reached mogoung at p.m. after a march of at least twenty-five miles. the course at first was nearly due east, until we reached the nam pong, but subsequently it became more southerly. camein bears from this about s.s.e. the country traversed was the same, generally comparatively open, that is to say, grassy plains with rhamnea, nauclea, bombax, etc. for some distance the path extended through shady woods. no villages, nor any signs of such were observed _en route_. we passed many streamlets particularly during the latter half of the march. our original intention was to have come to mogoung by water, and with this view bayfield told the man sent by the myoowook to procure two or three canoes. at a.m. the havildar came up to our hut, and said that the headman of the village was disputing violently about our taking the boats. bayfield proceeded down to the river side, where the yua thugee was very insolent, and he and his followers drew their _dhaos_ (swords) on bayfield, who slightly pushed the thugee. it ended in our going by land. we had previously heard of the rebellion at ava: the thugee's behaviour evidently arose partly from this. i did not observe the dispute, as i remained near the stockade. noticed a lonicera in low places, and the viola of suddiya on the plains, a cardiopteris, kempferia, curcuma, a bambusa vaginis collo barbatis, a scandent strychnos, an aerides, ardisiae , some acanthaceae, loxotis major, urticeae or , santalacea as before, tetrantherae, davallia atrata, asplenium fronde simplici, etc. etc. _april th_.--we halt, and hear a report of the death of mr. kincaid, and that a burmese army is _en route_ here. the whole country is most unsettled, all the singphos and khukeens being in open rebellion. it appears that thurrawaddi is meeting with success in his summons for men. no resistance shewn to his authority hitherto except by one myoowoon. our myoowoon has absented himself, and the myoowook determined on surrender. bayfield under all circumstances, and failing authentic intelligence of mr. kincaid, resolves on remaining here. mogam is a rather pretty town, situated on the right bank of the mogoung river, at the confluence of a river yards broad, the water of which spreads out, in some places, to a considerable breadth and depth. the country is however low, flooded in the rains, and surrounded by hills, except in the direction of shewe down gyee. in many places it is only covered with grass. the town is large, and was formerly stockaded, the remains of the timber stockade being still visible. it contains about houses, about , inhabitants, mostly shans. the houses are generally raised, in many cases like those of the kampties, the chopper coming low down, shaped like a turtle's back. there is a very distinct opening or chasm in the hills between s. d. gyee and a low range to the north, but no river makes its exit there. sunday, th. _april th_.--halted up to this date, waiting for information especially regarding the army at tsenbo. in this place two fragrant dipterocarpeae are found; as also bixa, tamarindus, and carthamus, which last is cultivated and used both for food and dyeing. about the poongie houses some remarkable fici occur, the trunk being divided so low down as to give the idea of a group of several trees. the roots in addition are made to spread over the conical mounds, thrown up at their bases. a race of wild-looking short men, called lupai khakoos, inhabit this vicinity, wearing a jacket, and dark-blue cloth with an ornamented border, worn with the ends overlapping in front. they wear garters of the suwa. their hair is worn either long or cropped, and a beard is also occasionally worn by the elders. in this place very few regular chinese are to be found, and the few that are here seen, are ultra-provincials; none are acquainted with the manufacture of tea. this article is procurable here, but at a high rate; it is sold in flat cakes of some diameter; it is black, coarse, with scarcely any smell, and in taste not much superior to the assamese article; tickals weight sells for . . all the blue cloths of the shans are dyed, bayfield informs me, with ruellia, or jungle indigo. it is with these people that the only trade seems to be carried on, and this is limited to amber and serpentine. they are very dirty, and excessively penurious, but industrious. owing to their habits and extreme penury, there is no outlet for our manufactures in this direction; so that i fully agree with hannay's statement, that rupees worth of british goods would be unabsorbed for some years. rosa is common, also a rumex; a sisymbroid plant also occurs. among the trees, all which are stunted, gmelina arborea occurs. there are some assamese slaves here among the people, one of them is said to be a relation of chundra kant, the suddiya chief: slaves are held in very small estimation with the burmese. thus bayfield asked his writer, who such a one standing near him was, whether a shan or singpho? the man answered, "my lord, it is not a man; it is a waidalee." altogether, mogoung is an uninteresting place; the surrounding plains are barren-looking, and inhospitable, and clothed with grass. here and there a ragged nauclea, careya, etc. is visible with gmelina arborea. the undershrubs are chiefly a rhamnoidea, and a phyllanthus. rosa is common; rumex and nasturtium are both met with. news arrived yesterday evening to the effect, that the king is drowned, the heir-apparent in the palace: and that colonel burney is with thurrawadi!!! my collections up to this place amount to species. _april th_.--left at , and halted after having gone about four miles. the river continues the same as above; it is a good deal impeded by trees, and much more so by sandbanks. _april th_.--reached tapaw in the afternoon; our progress is, however, very slow the stream being slight, but the river is much improved; being less spread out, owing to its greater proximity to the low hills: often very deep, generally clothed with jungle to the water's edge. on the hills near tapaw are some khukeens of the thampraw tribe, and on these hills bitter tea is reported to be found. this the khukeens bring down for sale. _april st_.--continued our course, performing about twelve miles between and , inclusive of one hour's halt. at some distance from tapaw and thence throughout the day, here and there occur rapids, which are much worse, from the stream being impeded by large rocks. in some places it is divided, in others, compressed between hills, and here it is very deep. _april rd_.--arrived at the irrawaddi. the mogoung river is very uninteresting; the stream being generally slow, sandbanks very abundant, as well as stumps of sunken trees. at its mouth it is deep, and about seventy yards across. the banks are either overgrown with trees or else grassy; the grasses being arundo and saccharum. on the steep banks of the hills where these descend into the river, ferns are common together with an amaryllidea out of flower. cadaba is common, as well as a large mimosea. rosa continues; as also aesculus. on the road by which the chinese branch off from tapaw to the irrawaddi, i gathered an arborescent apocynea foliis suboppositis, and a homalineous tree, floribus tetrameris; salix is common all down the river. teak only occurs occasionally. in one place i gathered lonicera heterophylla, a fragrant valeriana? and jonesia in abundance; this last being here apparently quite wild. adelia nereifolia, a ficus, ehretia arenarum, and the usual sandy plants occur on the banks. pistia, salvinia and azolla are common. the irrawaddi opposite the entrance of the mogoung river, is yards across. it is a noble stream; has risen a good deal, and presents one unbroken sheet of water. the banks are by no means high, and are grassed to the brink. the water is cold and clouded; its temperature is . degrees, that of air in a boat . . we reached tsenbo about o'clock, having passed five or six villages, mostly small, and inhabited by shans. tsenbo numbers about houses, but these as throughout burma, as far as we have seen, are small; it is situated on a low hill on the left bank. both banks are hilly, especially the right. the river has risen enormously during a halt here--many feet. in one hour we found it to rise about inches. at this place i gathered a fine blue vanda, and a curious tree habitu thespiae: stigmatibus . between this and the entrance to the narrow defile kioukdweng, which is about . miles distant, three villages occur. this entrance is well marked, the river becoming suddenly contracted from to less than yards. we halted about . p.m. at lemar. noticed four or five villages between lemar and the village at the entrance of the defile. all these villages are inhabited by poans, a distinct hill tribe. passed through two fearful places, one in particular where the whole body of water rushes through a _gate_, formed by huge rocks not yards wide. _april th_.--continued our course, and arrived at bamoo about . p.m.; the greater part of the journey extended through the kioukdweng, or defile, in which some terrific places occur, one in particular known by two rocks which are called the elephant and cow. passed several small villages before we made our exit from the k. dweng: all inhabited by poans. between this and bamoo the country along the river is truly magnificent, and is well inhabited. the largest village contains about houses; at least seven or eight occur, between the points above noted. the kioukdweng is a remarkable and an awful object. the greatest breadth of the river while confined within this defile does not exceed yards, and in all the bad places it is contracted to within , occasionally . from the enormous rise of the river, which, last night alone amounted to an increase of ten feet, the passage is one continued scene of anxiety. in the places above referred to the river rushes by with great velocity, while the return waters caused on either side by the surrounding rocks, occasion violent eddies and whirlpools, so as to render the boat unmanageable, and if upset the best swimmer could not live in these places. the rocks are serpentine and grey limestone, presenting angular masses which project into the stream; the former in all places within high-water mark is of a dark-brown colour. micaceous slate? likewise occurs, although rarely. the depth is of course enormous, in the low state of the river, when bayfield passed up, in many places no bottom was found, at or even fathoms, and at this season the water had no doubt risen feet higher. some idea of the rise that has taken place may be formed from the fact, that in places where, when bayfield passed up, the stream did not exceed yards in width, it was now ; and of course a rise of feet in the open river, would determine one of at least within the k. dweng. after passing the elephant and cow, which have the usual resemblance implied by their fanciful names, the river widens and becomes tranquil. the whole of this kioukdweng is truly remarkable, and in many places very picturesque. the vegetation is, i imagine, similar to that of the low hills about mogoung; but so dangerous was the passage, that i had but few opportunities of going ashore. the hills are thinly wooded, and all bear many impressions of former clearings; but the spots now under cultivation are certainly few. besides, we must bear in mind, that the spots cultivated generally throughout thinly populated parts of india are deserted after the first crop, so that a very limited population may clear a great extent of ground. bayfield tells me, and i consider his authority as excellent, that the population is almost entirely limited to the villages seen during the passage. these do not exceed twelve, and they are all small. none of the hills exceed feet in height (apparently,) they do not present any very peculiar features. below the maximum high-water mark the vegetation is all stunted, at least that of the rocks; a tufted graminea is the most common. adelia nereifolia (roxb.), a celastrinea, a curious rubiacea, which i also have from moulmain, two myrtaceae, a rungia, are the most common. i did not observe podocarpus. in the occasionally sandy spots campanula, the usual compositae, panica three. eleusine, clenopodium, and atriplex are common, a stemodia, and asclepiadea likewise occur. one clematis carpellis imberbibus, and the lonicera are met with. no mosses appear to occur. one remarkable tree, _belhoe_ of assam, feet high, cortice albido, foliis orbato, panculis (fructus) pendulis, occurs: it has the appearance of an amentaceous tree. _april th_.--we have remained at bamoo; nothing appears to have been settled below, and the river is reported to be unsafe. it has fallen at least three feet since our arrival. bayfield measured the left channel yesterday; it is nearly yards wide. bamoo is situated on the left bank, along which its principal street runs. the town is a very narrow one, the breadth averaging about yards; its extent is considerable, but it scarcely contains houses, and of these are chinese, and only has one good street, _i.e_. as to length. neither are the houses at all good or large, so that the population cannot be established at more than . i allude only to those within the stockade; out of this, and close to bamoo are two or three small villages. the stockade is of timber, _pangaed_, or fenced outside for about yards; it has just been completely repaired, as an attack is expected from the khukeens. the chinamen live all together, in a street of low houses built of unbaked bricks; these are not comparable to the houses at moulmain. there is but little trade now going on. within the stockade and without, low swampy ravines occur, that cannot be but injurious to the healthiness of the town. the myoowoon spends all his money in pagodas, none of which are worth seeing: all the roads and bridges he leaves to take care of themselves. the _inferior caked tea_, sugarcandy, silk dresses, straw hats, and caps are procurable, but at a high price. pork is plentiful, and the bazaar is well supplied with fish. it is a much more busy place than mogoung, as well as considerably larger. the chief export trade with the chinese is cotton; the revenue however by no means equals that of the mogoung district. the country around is nearly flat; on one side of the stockade there is an extensive marsh well adapted for paddy. otherwise the ground is dry, and tolerably well drained; it appears to have been formerly wooded; at present the environs are occupied by undershrubs. i have observed no peculiar botanical feature. among the undershrubs are phyllanthae , apocynea arborescens, gelonium, combretum, strychnos, vitex, melastoma. when i say undershrubs, i mean that such is their present appearance. the only new plant is an elegant capparis, subscandens, floribus albis, odoratis demum filamentisque purpureo-roseis. about old pagodas, pladera of moulmain, a labiata, stemodia, and andropogon occur. the cultivated plants are those of the coast, hyperanthera moringa, bixa orellana, calotropis gigantea, artocarpus integrifolia, a phyllanthus, cordia myxa, carica papaya, citrus medica, plantains, a large and coarse custard apple, mango, zyziphus, cocos, taliera, agati. the climate is dry and sultry, the diurnal range of the thermometer being from to degrees. at this season, viz. at . a.m. from to ; p.m. from to . north winds are common, daily commencing from that quarter, or terminating there. they are not accompanied by much rain, although the weather is unsettled. _may nd_.--a khukeen whom bayfield sent for tea returned, bringing with him many specimens out of flower. the striking difference between this and the tea i have hitherto seen, consists in the smallness and finer texture of the leaves. for although a few of the specimens had leaves measuring six by three inches, yet the generality, and these were mature, measured from four to three, by two to three. as both entire and serrated leaves occur, the finer texture was more remarkable. the bitterness, as well as the peculiar flavour were most evident. young leaves were abundant. the khukeens make no use of the tea. the chinese here talk of this as the jungle tea, and affirm that it cannot be manufactured into a good article. they talk of the valuable sorts as being very numerous, and all as having small leaves. neither here nor at mogoung are there any real chinamen, nor is there any body who understands the process of manufacturing tea. the caked tea is not made to adhere by the serum of sheep's blood, it adheres owing to being thus packed before it is dry. the plain around bamoo is intersected by ravines, which afford good paddy cultivation; no large trees occur within . miles of the town. at this distance a large dipterocarpea is common. in the underwood around the town, a dipterocarpus, arbuscula, foliis maximis, oblongo-cordatis, gordonia, lagerstraemia parviflora, elodea, nauclea; leguminosae , gelonia, combretum, jasminum occur. in the marshes ammannia rotundifolia, cyrilla, azolla, marsilea, and salvinia, serpicula, ceratophyllum; a campanula _arenosa_ reaches thus far. every day indecent sights occur in the river, owing to the women bathing without clothes, and either with or near the men. they appear to be indifferent to the concealment of their person, breasts, and hoc genus omne, being freely exposed. they swim very well, and in a curious way. they make their escape by squatting down in the water, unfolding their cloth, and springing up behind it. as for the men, they appear to take a pride in exposing every part of their bodies. no gazers-on occur among these people, such not being the fashion. the shan tarooks who trade with this place use oxen in addition to other beasts of burden; the breed appears good, resembling the smaller kind of india. the irrawaddi here is between the extreme banks a little less than . miles broad; the channel on which bamo is situated is the largest, and is yards across. two other channels exist, of which the west is the smallest, and carries off least water. the river is a good deal sub-divided by sandbanks, but is, compared with the burrumpooter a confined river. since our arrival here it has sunk several (say five or six) feet, and no longer looks the noble river it did on our arrival. the sandbanks when they do exist are either naked, or clothed with partial and not gigantic grassy vegetation. i have not seen any thing comparable to the churs of the b. pooter in this respect. the temperature of the river is not particularly low, and is much higher now than during the rise. from bamoo the opening of the kioukdweng is not conspicuous, nobody unacquainted with the course of the river would imagine that it passes through the range of hills to the n. and nne. the highest hills visible are to the east. they are within a day's journey, and are clothed to their summits. some appear feet high. low hills inhabited by wild khukeens, are visible nearly all around, except perhaps due west. the wild fierce nature of these people is attended with a great extent of mischief, quite unchecked, without eliciting even precautionary measures on the part of the burmese government. there are a few angles in the bamoo stockade, and these exist because a straight line cannot be preserved; and large torches are placed out on levers for illuminating the enemy, and loop-holes are cut through the timbers; watch-houses are likewise placed at certain points. there are two rows of _pangahs_ or fences outside, but not the singpho pangahs. notwithstanding all this the river face is quite defenceless. the soil is dry and sandy, and cultivation is carried on principally on the churs. pumpkins and gourds are abundant; yams, (dioscorea,) not very good. rice is sold at the usual price, a basket full for a rupee. the town is dirty, and not kept in any order. _may th_.--we left bamoo, and in three hours reached kounglaun, a rather large village on the left bank, containing houses, many of which are respectable, better indeed than any in bamoo. it contains many small ruined pagodas. a gigantic tree grows within the stockade, which is a very poor one. punica granatum, and beloe, were the only plants of interest observed in the neighbourhood. we passed several (six or seven) villages, none except one with more than thirty houses; the one alluded to had sixty. all the houses continue small. the river is here much subdivided, and in many places shallow; sandbanks are common. vegetation of banks is almost entirely gramineae, and coarse strong-smelling compositae. the grasses are different from those previously met with, except the arundo. rosa continues; salix is common. between koungloung and tsenkan, which is on the same bank, and close to the entrance to the kioukdweng, three villages are met with; but none of any size. tsenkan is prettily situated on a high bank, or rather low hill. the houses are about in number, all poor and small. the stockade is a miserable affair. there are some good poonghie houses, and a very pretty group of pagodas on a small rock. the country is jungly; just above the town a nullah enters the irrawaddi: it is down this that large quantities of teak is brought, from hills two days' journey to the eastward; some large rafts were seen, but although some of the timbers were stout, none were of any great size. i gathered a pretty hippocrateaceous plant in the jungles, as well as a combretum; a vitex, an amyridea, etc. phrynium dichotomum occurs here; rosa continues; jatropha is cultivated. _may th_.--started at a.m., and entered the kioukdweng almost immediately. we halted about , at tsenbo. noticed aesculus, sisymbrium, campanula, adelia nereifolia, dillania speciosa, the usual compositae, and largish dipterocarpeae. the river is a good deal narrowed, but never less than yards across, and as there are no rocks in any direction to impede the stream, the water flows but slowly and very placidly. almost all the rocks forming the hills are grey carbonate of lime. these hills are covered to high-water mark, with scanty somewhat stunted trees, the most of which have no foliage. the scenery is by no means so bold as in the upper k. dweng, although just above tsenbo, there is a noble cliff, feet high, and almost perpendicular; under its ledges we observed great numbers of bees' nests. the rock when exposed is rather greyish black, and in many places reddish. serpentine occurs, but is not common. a good deal of lime is prepared in this kioukdweng, and some portions of it in the rugged serrated appearance, remind one of the limestone cliffs on the coast. above tsenbo and nearly opposite the cliff, is a small village of eight houses. tsenbo numbers fifteen; it is on the left bank, and is a miserable place. here we were left by our escort which accompanied us from tsenkan, and the thogee refused positively to give us two or three men to row. although master of a miserable hole, he had made preparations for defence, and had set on foot a custom house. we saw a good many boats passing up, all evidently containing families moving away from their villages. in this kioukdweng a fine palm exists, which i have never seen before. caudex - pedalis, crassa, petiolorum basibus processibus vestitis, frondibus pinnatis, pedalibus, pinnis ensifornibus to . pedalibus, subtus glaucis, diametro . uncialibus, basi valde obliquis, bilobis! lobo inferiore maximo, decurrenti, uninervi: floribus in spadicibus nutanti-curvatis, amplis, basi spathaceis spicato-paniculatis. florib. masculis polyandris. petiol. bases cretosae, intus processubus atris, subulatis, longissimis robustis quasi panicillatis. habitus quodammodo wallichiae. hab. in umbrosissimis. an arbuscula anonacea, floribus dioicis, mas. corollae petalis apice valvatim cohaerentibus, basi apertis, potius distantibus, ovariis (faem) pedicellatis, also occurred. fructus elliptico-oblongus, subuncialis, hinc a basi ad styli punctum linea tenui exsculptus, unilocularis, unisporus. endocarp, ac testa viscoso-gelatinosa. testa ac tegumen intera membr. chartacea. albumen copiosum hinc et suturae fructus oppositae, profundius exarat. sectione transversa-reniformi. carnoso albumeni germen secus sulcum affixium. embryo in axi albuminis, radicul super. cotyledones foliaceae, albae, amplae, curvat seminis sequentes: suturae placental, oppositae. ejusdem generis cum menispermea: in sylvis singfoensibus cum wallichia: vide icones. arrived at kioukgyee at p.m. waited on and dined with the meewoon, who is a gentlemanly, spare, lively man with grey hair. dinner was good, and clean. preserved dried jujubes from china, as well as some preserved by himself were very good. kioukgyee is on the right bank of the river, which is here undivided by islands, and about yards broad. just above the town there are some rocks. the number of houses is about eighty-five, most of them arranged in a broad street running along the river, and the best that i have seen for some time. the village is surrounded by a new and wretched stockade, the outskirts being fenced or _pangaed_; the people are on the qui vive, and the whole village seems to be in a constant state of alarm. all the jungle immediately adjoining the town is cut down; many of the houses are unroofed, and all the gates are guarded. visited this morning the lines occupied by the attacking force; these were not yards from the village, and occupied the skirts of the jungle: trees had been felled and earth thrown up, but not in such a manner as to obstruct in any way tolerably brave men. we saw none of the slain, we may therefore doubt if there were any, but it was evident from platters, etc. strewed about, that the flight of the robbers had been very precipitate. we passed some little distance above this, a holy island, the numberless small pagodas on which, had a very pretty effect. close to these there was a small village, sheweygyoo, which had been just burnt down by the kioukgyee people, for giving assistance to the robbers; this as well as two other contiguous villages before occupied a good extent of the left bank, and numbered probably houses. most of the inhabitants have retreated up the river. _may th_.--reached katha at p.m. throughout the day saw little of interest. what we did see, gave evident tokens of disturbances,: villages deserted; dogs starved, howling piteously; canoes without owners. at one village a few miles below kioukgit, our arrival caused much excitement, and a gun was fired off as a signal of alarm on our approach. _may th_.--katha is on the right bank of the irrawaddi; it is situated on an eminence, and commands a fine view of a fine reach of the river; the situation indeed is excellent. it contains nearly houses, but these are not of the better description. to the west is a fine chain of hills, the lowest ranges of which are distant about one mile and a half; the highest peaks are perhaps feet. no signs of alarm or disturbances are here visible, although part of the force that invested kioukgit came from this village. we here learn the agreeable news that the country below is quiet, and that no robbers now infested the road. the thogee is a fine looking young man; very polite. this village boasts of some pretty pagodas, well grouped, and a very fine _kiown_, the workmanship of which astonished me, particularly the carving; it is built of teak, the posts being very stout, and very numerous. several merchant boats left before us, apparently anxious for our escort. behind the town is a large plain used for the cultivation of paddy. otherwise the jungle comes close to the houses, although the larger trees have been felled for firewood, etc.: the woods are dry, and tolerably open. in the morning i went out towards the hills; the chief timber trees are a fine dipterocarpus, and a hopea; pentapetes likewise occurs; terminalia chebula. gathered a fine arum, somewhat like a. campanulatum. an arboreous gardenia, as at mergui; myrtacea, vitex, bauhinia of yesterday; randia, andropogon aciculare; some stunted bamboos were likewise observed. altogether katha is the prettiest place i have yet seen. the river opposite it is confined to one bed, about yards broad. _may th_.--left at a.m., and reached the mouth of the shwe lee at p.m.; the distance according to b. being sixteen miles. passed a few villages, but none of any size; the houses of all continue of the same description. the river presents the same features. salix continues. sandbanks occupied by annual compositae occur, two polygona, campanula, a ranunculus, much like that of suddiya, a labiata, paronychia, two spermacoces; bombax occurs just below katha; salix and rosa continue. shwe lee is a considerable river, at the mouth between and yards broad; but one-third of this is unoccupied by water, and the stream is not deep, although of the ordinary strength. above, it narrows considerably. . p.m. temperature of the air degrees. of irrawaddi degrees. _may th_.--tsa-gaiya. this is a mean village on the left bank, about eighteen miles from katha; it is close to a low range of hills, and occupies part of a plain, which is adapted for paddy cultivation. near the village to the north, is a small _jeel_, covered to a great extent with a large scirpus, jussiaea, azolla, salvinia, etc. water-fruits are abundant; round this paddy is cultivated, and they appear to cut it at this time. low ground near the jeel is covered with a low, handsome stravadium or barringtonia, as well as a xanthophyllum, resembling exceedingly in appearance a leguminosa: the wood is hard. calamus is also common. a handsome nauclea occurs, and on the grassy margins of the plain a small euphrasia is common. during our stage i observed large quantities of bombax, and a tree apparently the beloe of assam; the banks were either grassy or wooded, especially on the right bank, which is skirted entirely by hills of the same barren looking description. the grasses are all small compared with those of assam. _may th_.--reached tagoung late in the evening at . : distance thirty-two miles. the river continues the same; the hills on the left bank are much broken into ravines: all continue clothed with the same stunted vegetation. _may th_.--tagoung is a miserable village on the left bank; it occupies a rocky eminence, and contains less than houses. it is the most inferior village i have yet seen, the streets being dreadfully dirty and the houses very mean. we visited an old pagoda, about a mile from the town, which is surrounded by an antique wall, much obscured by jungle, and more resembling a bund. on our route hither we landed at thigan, a village containing about forty houses, and prettily situated at the foot of a hill of micaceous sandstone, on the right bank. at this place are the remains of a fort built by the chinese, of slabs of the rock forming the hill. similar remains exist at myadoung, on the opposite bank, as i learn from mr. bayfield. i gathered a sida, capparis, prionitis, gnaphalium, and a xanthoxylia petiolis alatis armata; an adiantum grows between the slabs composing the wall. at tsenkan i observed an agave, a different cactus, a fleshy euphorbia; and an ananassa is common all about. about tagoung the botany is varied, and interesting. i gathered about fifteen plants that had not occurred before, two poae, two andropogons, a zanthoxylum, and an olax. the most interesting is an apocynea, floribus infundibulifor. lamina reflexa, fauce squamis dentatis , serie duplici dispositis, interioribus petalis oppositis et majoribus, antheris, in conum stigma omnino coadunatis. cotton cultivated here; plants taller than usual. the villages around are all forsaken owing to one of them having been attacked by khukeens, and two men carried off. hence the population at tagoung, although usually scanty, is now much increased from adjoining places. a small river falls into the irrawaddi immediately above tagoung. _may th_.--reached male about p.m. passed _en route_ a few villages, none of any size or importance. the river varies in width, _i.e_. the channel, from to yards. the banks are either alluvial or rocky; and there are hills on the right bank skirting the river; those on the left, are more distant and higher. borassus commences to be common; it is a taller, and more slender tree than that of coromandel, and the trunk is not covered with the persistent bases of the petioles. the village of tsebainago is opposite to male, and appears nearly of the same size. both are situated close to the mouth of the third kioukdweng. male contains houses, all small; it is a place of no trade. to the north is a hill forming the river bank, and covered with pagodas; it is the prettiest place we observed after katha. the soil has now put on the dry sterile appearance of the coromandel coast, all the trees of which, except the figs, are common; and often render the banks very pretty. tectona of hamilton is very common; it is a tree not exceeding in height feet, much resembling in habit the more valuable species; the flowers are blueish, particularly the villi; the leaves have the same excessive rough feel. two other verbenaceae, a curious capparidea, caule laxo, foliis lineari-oblongis, basi hastato-cordatis, and a ximenia are common. on the banks stravadium, and an arboreous butea, a combretum, are common. low stunted bamboos likewise prevail; and all the bushes are prickly. nyctanthes is cultivated. the rocks as well as those forming the kioukdweng, are of coarse sandstone, here and there affording nourishment to abortive compositae, stunted grasses, mollugo, etc. left male, and entered immediately the last kioukdweng on descending, or the first defile on ascending against the stream. this is a pretty passage, and moreover has no dangerous places; the hills are low, lower than those of the two former passes, consisting of sandstone partially clothed with the same scanty vegetation, presenting the same barren appearance. olax, fici, leguminosa, stunted bamboos, hippocrateacea, mimosa, and stravadium, occur. celsia on sandy spots, together with campanula, but this last is becoming rare. adelia nereifolia continues. an arundo occurs on the naked rocks; cassia fistula, tectona hamiltoniana are also present. we are much impeded by south-west winds; and owing to this and the slowness of the stream, we were compelled to remain some time at thee-ha- dau. we there had excellent opportunities of seeing the fish, which are so very tame as to come up to the sides of the boat, and even to allow themselves to be handled. the faqueers of the place call them together; but i think they are not much disposed to come from mere calling, for they seem to require more substantial proofs of being wanted, in the shape of food: they are found in still water in a small bay, which is closed up still more from the influence of the stream by a round island, constructed superficially on a rocky base, and on which pagodas are built. they resemble a good deal the gooroa mas of assam, but have no large teeth as this has. they are very greedy, of a blueish grey colour, occasionally inclining to red; the feelers are in some forked: they have no scales. we continued our course when the wind lulled; halted to dine on a sandbank, and proceeded on afterwards, until we reached kabuct about . p.m. on the sandbank where we dined i gathered a crotalaria, campanula, cleome, a graminea, polygonum, cyperaceae, and a dentelloidea. the villages seen were all small. _may th_.--left kabuct before . halted to breakfast on a steep bank, finding it impossible to proceed against the south-west winds, which have now become prevalent. at this place, which is hilly, i gathered gmelina villosa, an anonacea, calyce sepalis, cor. tripetala, pet. patentissimis, margine revolutis, luteis. a carissa, grewia, malpighiacea samaris, -alatis, alis dorsalibus abbreviatis, a curious graminea, a green orchidea, terrestris, bulbosa, flore ante folia evoluta, a diospyros, polygala, plectranthus, rungia, pladera, etc. halted at movo, owing to the wind. this is a very pretty village; of no great size, and of no importance. a delightful tope formed by mango, fig, and garcinia, or xanthochymus, the dense shade of which is most agreeable; averrhoa, aegle marmelos is cultivated here; borassus is common, trunks of which are often of very irregular diameter. low grassy places occur running along the back of the village, with abundance of a combretum fruticosum; and a nullah at either end of the village presents many trees on its banks, particularly a very large and handsome myrtacea, hemarthria compressa. stravadium racemis longe pendulis. we were compelled to put into mala on the right bank, about a mile above tsengoo, by a severe storm from the north-west. this village consists of about forty houses, many pagodas, and has a good many potteries, and some fine trees. it is at the entrance of the kioukdweng. observed jatropha curcas, and vitex negrendo. in the evening we proceeded to tsenbou. _may th_.--left tsenbou, and breakfasted at nbat kiown-wa. just above this are several villages, two of which number nearly seventy houses each. this is the most populous part i have seen. to the east of this are the ruby mines in the shan hills; and to the south-east low hills from which the marble is procured, from which they make the idols. the river features continue the same; namely, low hills close to the right bank, and more distant as well as higher ones on the left. on the shan hills to the east, teak forests occur; on those to the west, tea also grows. in polong tea districts also occur; but the tea is very coarse, and said not to be drinkable. hemarthria, and hoya viridiflora were found. here i found solanum, tribulus, a mimosa, lime trees, carissa, mimusops, stemodia ruderalis now appear. the most interesting is a small diffuse caryoplylleous-looking plant, with white campanulate flowers; it is probably a frankeniacea. on the pagodas an aristella grows. certain features prevail in the vegetation similar to those of the coromandel coast. fig trees often surrounded at base with brick-work; this never lasts long, the roots tearing up the masonry in every direction. the exit from this rd kioukdweng is very pretty. tsengru with its numerous white pagodas; the noble river expanded into a broad bay; the eastern hills are very beautiful, and the marble hills which form a background to tsenbou are no less so. the banks towards the exit from the defile are sloping, often covered with grass. the palmyra trees and fig trees have a very pleasing effect. at kiougyoung there is a large brick fort, built by alompras. the village contains about houses: no large village is passed between this and kubuct. halted above sheemnaga to look at gaudama's foot, a piece of workmanship contained in a pagoda; it is a very large foot, with a central circular impression. this is about a mile below endawka. sheemnaga never contained more than houses, i counted upwards of , and although extensive traces of fire, and of new houses existed, i should reckon it to have contained only about . at the pagoda i gathered a curious rutaceous-looking decandrous thorny tree, with foliis bijugis. reached mengoon about p.m. landed at the commencement of the sandstone hills, which in some places assume the form of cliffs: texture very loose. they are full of holes, and abound with blue rock pigeons. gathered a murraya. trichodesma indicus and compositae, asclepiadea, calotropis gigantea, and a curious arenariod-looking plant. _may th_.--mengoon boasts of a huge unfinished pagoda, consisting as it now stands of an immense square brick mass, surrounded by four fine broad raised terraces; it would have been, had it been finished, upwards of feet high. the dome was to have been with angular sides. height feet; the basement, as may be supposed, is immense. the plan or model of it was first built in a small adjoining grove to the south, by the grandfather of the present king. the whole kingdom must have been occupied in its erection. the entrance to it is guarded by two huge griffins. several large bells lie close to it. the country around is hilly; the hills low, raviny, and clothed with stunted vegetation. beautiful topes exist along the river bank, between this and the cliffs before alluded to; consisting chiefly of fine mango trees, noble fici likewise occur. about mengoon, jatropha curcas is common. gymnemea, calatropis gigantea, and argemone abound. we found a pergularia, lippia, zyzyphus, and one or two small euphorbiaceae. the soil is dry, sandy, and barren. we reached ava about o'clock. _may st_.--went to tsegai on an excursion: the hills in this vicinity are low, none exceeding or feet, dry and barren, chiefly composed of grey carbonate of lime, and in some places kancha occurs. pagodas are very numerous, but none are very large, or bearing the stamp of great age. a fine view of country is however afforded: large plains are seen to the east of the city, and between the hills and the river two large jheels are visible from the hills. the vegetation almost entirely consists of low stunted, very ramous shrubs, and these are generally thorny. not a tree visible except bombax and tamarindus, but this last is planted. a large subarboreous cactus, spinosus, ramis angulis, is common. noticed four species of capparis, and the following plants, barleria, prionitis, tamarindus, aegle, zizyphus, cocos; borassus, bixa, cordia, punica, ricinus, melia azederak; citrus cassia, near houses and on the hills; euphorbia , ximenia, cleome, boerhaavia, adhatode, cassia sennoidea, sidae, andropogon, a lax linaria common on old pagodas; calanchoe, sedum, pommereulla, vinca rosea, tectona hamiltoniana, but not of such size as at male. bambusa stunted and rare, blepharacanthus, polygala, labiatae , aeruae, sp. fici one or two, an alstonia, celosia mollugo, solani sp. stemodia, combretum, heliotropium indicum, and the euphorbiacea of mengwong. it will at once be seen that the vegetation has some similarity with that of the carnatic, for in addition i found asplenium radiatum, and limonea monophylla, a carissa, ximenia, flacourtia, etc. etc. ava is a fine town, surrounded with an excellent brick wall: the streets are wide, and kept clean; the houses are regular, and as trees are interspersed, a pleasing effect is produced. the appearance is much improved by a lattice before each house. the houses also are of a superior description, a few only are of brick. the fort is surrounded by an additional wall, and a broad but shallow ditch. the palace is a handsome, irregular, gilt edifice; but its precincts are not kept so clean as they might be. the shwottoo is a handsome hall. the town altogether conveys an idea of importance. the river is about yards broad opposite the residency; but above, it is encroached on by a sandbank. boats are numerous, and opposite tsegain there is a busy ferry, especially now the king is at tsegain. this is a much preferable place, and rendered much more pleasing by its superb tamarind trees, with their most elegant foliage and sculptured trunks. the plants cultivated about ava are palmyra, cocoa (rare). tamarinds abound; carica papaya, punica granatum; mangoes, which are of good description; cordia, plantains, aegle marmelos. the country is flat, and destitute of trees to the south and southwest. the whole of this is cultivated during the rains, chiefly for gram, tobacco, capsicum, and a melilotus. at present the plains are barren, the low places being almost exclusively occupied by a combretum; the rest give a new polygonum, lippia, or compositae, and a curious dwarf grass. on the walls linaria is common. noticed near one of the gates, cryptostegia grandiflora; the waste places and banks are occupied by argemone, mollugineae three, xanthium, dentella, and low annual compositae. _may th_.--visited tsegain in the evening, and returned to ava on the following morning. _may th_.--noticed phoenix sylvestris. the euphorbia is common; it is not a cactus, but a species of this genus, ramis complanatis, is found though not common; as well as an agave or aloe, but this is a doubtful native. poinciana pulcherrima, both red and yellow, rhus? sp. arbuscula, vallaris solanacea. a small lycopodium, gmelina asiatica? the additional madras plants are, cissus quadrangularis. there is likewise another fleshy species fol. phyllis, sarcostemma viminale, indigofera, kalanchoe laciniata is common; so is the white cyperacea on barren spots! i met with sarcostemma ciliatum; wall.? petalis extus viridescent, intus ciliisque purpuro sanguinies, but it is rare. cardiospermum pubescens is certainly distinct, the flowers are twice as large as those of c. halicacabum, fructibus inflatis vix alatis, ovalibus, dehiscentia septicida, septis axi adnatis, persistentibus. semin. solitarii centro loculi affixis, pisiparvi magnitudine, atris. note.--where any discrepancy occurs with regard to the native names in the preceding journal, it is requested that such may be corrected from the report to govt. chapter vii. p. . [the view from beesa: p .jpg] chapter vi. _botanical notes connected with the foregoing journal_. (_february th_.--the finest view of the hills from upper assam is obtained on a reach or turn of the river just above palankar, the river bending to the nne. snow is plentifully seen on one back range from the sugar-loaf peak. another reach shortly after presents a fine view of the burrampooter chasm, terminated by the rugged peak so distinctly seen from suddiyah, due east. this view might be chosen, as a general characteristic of the scenery of upper assam. it embraces the mishmee mountains to the left, the higher peaks of which are covered with perpetual snow. these lie to the nne. of beesa. to the east, is the continuation of the himalaya, to the south-east and south, the patkaye, and naga ranges; the whole forming a panorama, rarely if any where surpassed in beauty. temperature. of the river at a.m. degrees _musa_. many flowers from the axil of a bract; no bractioles interspersed, hence we may expect racemose or spicate partial inflorescences. the perianth is unilateral, cleft, the two smaller segments, which are intermediate, being internal, or belonging to a different series. within this petaloid perianth is a membranous one, together with a boat-shaped bracteolate body, entire. the stamens are five, evidently opposite to the segments of the petaloid perianth, staminibus adnatis, the sixth is not developed, but is rudimentary, and exceedly minute, opposite to the bracteoid body. the carpella three, alternate as they ought to be with the last series of stamina, and hence they are opposed to the larger and outer segments of the petaloid perianth, but this last point deserves further examination. the base of the bracteoid sepal is filled with a gelatinous, sweet, transparent, unicoloured . fluid. i am unaware whether this explanation has occurred to any body else. it is curious as compared with scitamineae, in which the posticous stamen is alone fully developed. pl. . fig. . _a_. bracteoid body, _b_. sterile stamen, c.c.c. outer series, d.d. inner ditto. the fact of the outer smaller laciniae belonging to a second series is not very apparent, but is corroborated by the evidently internal situation of the bracteoid scale, and by the evidently elevated lines visible in the inner. (_april rd_, _ _.--on march towards the serpentine mines) the face of the perianth, corresponds to these smaller laciniae. _april th_.--thunbergia grandiflora has the pedicels of its flowers twisted, or not twisted, according to the situation of the flowers. thus if the flower be so situated that the raceme has the direction of the axis, or in other words is erect, the pedicel is straight, but if the raceme, as generally happens, be pendulous, the twisting of the pedicel is resorted to, to secure the flower that situation which it would have, were the raceme erect. the above is obvious in flowers which from elongation of the axis of inflorescence, have fasciculate or aggregate flowers. an obvious inference is, that the twisting of the pedicel is not of generic, nor of specific importance; and that it is capable of being produced artificially. this resupination is not uncommon in the order; it is most evident in thunbergia coccinea, in which the racemes are always pendulous. there is nothing, at least in this species, in the situation of the genitalia to account for the resupination. pedicelli demum apicem infra articulati, the inflorescence of this order is always centrifugal, the partial axis being invariably as well indeed as the general, disposed to dichotomy. hence the very common presence of three bracteae to each flower, the central one presenting the leaf from whose axil the partial branch springs. stipulae--if the analogy of these be difficult to ascertain, the structure and functions would appear to be as of leaves, in addition to the function of protection. in most cases they are certainly not double organs; in naucleaceae they are apparently so. can this be explained by supposing them to form a bud with four scales, the scales instead of being imbricate, being on one plane. stipellae of leguminosae are certainly single; these being all probably stipulate plants, are to be considered as having terminal buds, the buds being either totally, or partially protected by the stipulae. the difficult nature of ochreae of polygoneae is certainly to be acknowledged, but they are similar to those of costus, and hence not stipulae, but an extension of the margin of the vaginate petiole, from which veins are prolonged into it; the functions of these are not stomatose, since they are membranous, the veins being the only green parts. i see no reason why the stipulae of rosae are not to be considered as belonging to, or dilatations of the petiole. they have no distinct vascular fascicles to indicate a distinct origin. and further, in lowea no stipulae exist. _jonesia_: pedicellis apice articulatis, basi bracteolatis, ideoque infloresc. magis composita esse debet; laciniis anticis? corollae? perianth compositum, binatum praebentibus, emarginatio et situs stam ti rudiment. staminis laciniis alternatis? basi in annulum, seriem indicantem coalit. { } the situation of the stamens is somewhat obscure, the two lowermost however alternate with the segments, the two intermediate being sometimes sub-opposite. of course if they be opposed, the perianth will be referrible to a calyx if not to a corolla. _lepidostachys_ or scepa. fruit dicarpillary, stigmata four, hence they are placentary not costoid. bilocular, loculis dispermis, ovula pend; abortiv. semiunceum, testa vix arillus obsacuit clause lutescens carnosa et ab nuclei inter adhaeren. rad. sup. embryo junior viridis. stipulae cad. gemmam oblegent. _homalineae_, calycis; laciniae , petal , glandulae totidem sepalis oppositae. connat; stamin , petal opposita; styli . ovar non ext. arbor magna. foliis alternis stipulatis, paniculae racemoso-axillares, flores minut. viridescent. pet. et sep. fimbriat. aestiv. imbricat. _clematis_ has semina pendula. the stipulae of ficus obviously belong not to the leaves, their insertion taking place . a line above that of the petiole. hence they belong as obviously to the elongation of the axis above the leaf; their coloration is curious, especially as they are green when young. their vernation is conduplicate and plicate. _combretum_ presents several points in common with rhamneae; valvate calyx, and tendency to want of petals; to elaeagneae in calyx and furfuraceous scales; a decandrous rhamneae would differ but little in flowers from combretum. _my idea_ of the origin of stigmata is proved to be correct by a phyllanthus, the carpella of which are ovuliferous below, the upper part being fleshy, the stigmata are two to each, obviously corresponding to the placentary inflexions, while the sinus terminating the dorsal suture is totally naked; it is this which should bear the stigma if lindley's view were correct. the true place of moringa seems to be near xanthophyllum with which genus it has some remarkable points of resemblance, witness the papilionaceous corolla; unilocular stamina, their situation, ovary, placentation, and lastly glandulation. to this lindley has made an approximation by placing the order near violarieae. its chief difference from polygaleae, is habit, foliation, and the perigynous insertion of corolla and stamina, and consequent union of the sepals. as in xanthophyllum there is no albumen. (an additional xanthop. which until to-day i have always taken for a leguminosa.) _tamarindus_ cal partitus, sepals , superiorib. connatis. pet. , vexillo, sepalo postico composit; opposit; stamen tria; sepalis , inferior opposita. stylus aestivation deflexus. pedicelli apice articulat. folii petiol. basi articulat. stipulae minimae stipellae. in jonesia, there are no petals. humboldtia comes near tamarindus, through h. brunonis, which agrees in calyx and petals. thorns of prionites, what are they? they are axillary, and yet buds are produced between them and the axis. they have no connection with the leaves. were it not for the buds above alluded to, i should say that they were abortive branches (bearing one pair of leaves) reduced to spines. _olacineae_. certainly in habit, corolla, etc. olacineae are allied to aurantiaceae, but they are nearer akin to santalaceae. the processes are indubitably modified stamina, with a great tendency to irregularity; in one species from tagoung only three fertile, and five sterile stamina were observed: the three fertile generally, but not invariably, alternate with the petals. to santalaceae they approach in processes, valvate corolla, and placentation, also to loranthaceae. eight stamina thus accounted for; when two opposed to petals, belong to outer series--also single one. in punica, the structure of the ovaria is highly curious. we find the bottom of the tube is occupied by two cells, partially filled with ovula, which are attached both to the axis and to the base, as well as to the lower part of the outer paries of each cell; so far, it does not depart from the order, for in aplexus the placentation is tolerably similar. above these two, are - cells, filled with ovula, which are attached entirely to the outer wall of each cell, but the placentae however would seem to have an obvious connexion with the axis, although this is very doubtful. the formation of the stigma decidedly indicates a binary formation of carpella. if these upper cells are constantly, and the base of the ovary is as constantly two celled, then the explanation is sufficiently obvious, though different from that given by lindley. { } first, we have in the bottom from which the mere structure of an ovary is deduced, the normal dicarpellary structure, and there is in addition a tendency in excess toward a parietal placentation. the anomalous formation arises first from parietal placentae being produced to the axis, and from spurious growth from the sides of the ovary also meeting in the axis, by which the ovula are divided into four bundles. lindley's view seems to be questionable, because as in all cases the styles and stigmata are more permanent than ovaries, there should be as many styles, etc. as ovaries. nd, because according to this view the placental suture of the carpella would be turned from the axis, (look at pomaceae,) although his view of pomaceae being right would indicate an additional affinity with mespilus, etc. which it does in habit and abbreviated lateral branches. are all myrtaceae dicarpellar? the true nature of the case is pointed out in the instance cited by lindley of a permanent variety of apple, which has cells and styles! with regard to nicotiana and nolana; have these one or two rows of carpella? tectona. arbores, trunco crasso, cito ramoso, cortice albido, laevi, tenui. folia siliceo-aspera, inflorescent dichotoma. calyx aestiv. valvat. cor infundibul, subregularis laciniis, rotundatis, demum reflexis aestivat. laciniis super , omnino exterior, facies barbato-villosa. antherae longit dehiscent, stylus stigma simplex. pubescentia stellata. modo asclepiadeae, corolla rotata. gmelina villosa. lab. super. aestivat. omnino exterior fl. axi fere paralleli, pedicell apice bibracteolat. cal. minim. dentat. cor. infundibul campanul. bilab; partit. stigma bilabiat-lab infer longiore. aroideum. radix maxime napiformis, undique radiculas exserens, et superne e centro spadicem. spadix pedunculum -uncial terminans, basi squamis magnis membranaceis, lineari-oblongis stipatus sursum in corpus fungoiden, capitatum, maximum, purpureo-sanguineum, superficie rugose dilatata. ovar bilocul, diovulat. medio antheras bipoross confertissimas, sessiles, numerosas, basi ovaria distantiora gerens. ovaria fusco-purp, stylus elongatus clavatus, stigma clavato, capitat. odor-floris praeserti marcescentis pessimus. katha in sylvis aridis. the fruit of lagerstramia grandiflora can, i think, be explained by assuming it to consist of several carpella, which by not becoming united near the axis, leave an irregular shaped space in the centre; the placentae are fleshy, the ovule inserted all around. this view does not take into consideration the situation of the stigmata. the deeper sulci visible externally correspond to the inflexions of the carpellary leaves; in addition to this, the centre of the dorsum of each of these is marked with a line. { }) chapter vii. _report to the government of india_, _ th july_, _ _. in the following report, i have divided the marches into series, corresponding with the countries through which they were made, reserving a table of the whole for a subsequent part. these series will be as follows-- . from sadiya to beesa lacoom. . from beesa lacoom to namtusseek. . from namtuseek to wullabhoom. . from wullabhoom to mogoung. . from mogoung to ava. i. from sadiya to beesa lacoom. country traversed belonging to the british government, and forming part of the south-east extremity of the valley of assam. . from sadiya to the noa dihing river mouth or mookh. direction east. distance miles performed in boat, the course lying up the burrumpootur. . from noa dihing mookh to rangagurrah on the noa dihing. direction sse. distance miles, course lying along the dry bed of the noa dihing. . from rangagurrah to moodoa mookh, on the same river. direction south- east, the distance being miles. { a} . from moodoa mookh to kidding. direction south, the distance miles, course south-east, along the bed of the noa dihing as far as wakhet, thence diverging to ssw. through heavy jungle. . from kidding to namroop puthar. direction, nearly south, the distance being miles, course lying through very heavy jungle, crosses the karam panee, { b} which here is not fordable, and another considerable feeder of the booree dihing, and lastly up the namroop. . from namroop puthar to beesa lacoom. direction southwest, the distance miles, the course extending at first over low hills and difficult ground, thence through heavy jungle intersected by narrow plains, lastly chiefly along the banks of the darap panee. _nature of the country_.--it will be seen that with the exception of the three first marches, and part of the fourth, the country is occupied by the heavy jungle so prevalent in these parts. the chief difficulties our party experienced arose from the limited manner in which the jungle had been cut for their passage. _rivers_.--the only one not fordable in the above route, is the karam panee, but this does not hold good either above or below the place i crossed. they all discharge much water during the rains, and even in the dry season are navigable for small canoes. _villages_.--these are as follows:-- . _digalo gohain goung_.--on the right bank of the noa dihing it is inhabited by kamptees lately settled in our territory, and is a respectable village. the noa dihing here ceases to be navigable even for small canoes. . _wakhet_.--this is a new but wretched village, inhabited by singphos. wakhet gam was an adherent of the duphas, and is by all account one of the worst-disposed singpho chiefs. he is said even at this period still to traffic occasionally in slaves. . _kidding_.--a temporary village, containing about houses, inhabited by nagas, now naturalised to the plains. . _namroop puthar_.--so called from a plain on the left bank of the namroop. the village, which is a mean and despicable one, is on the opposite bank. . _beesa lacoom_.--is situated on the right bank of the darap panee, which is fordable at the heads of the rapids. it contains small houses. the gam is, i believe, an uncle of the beesa gam, and exercises exclusive control over the tribe of beesa nagas. this influence he appeared to exercise to our disadvantage. he is a discontented man, and his behaviour to our party was very unsatisfactory. _population_. { } --this is scanty enough, particularly when we consider that the houses in the above villages are much smaller than in the better sort of singpho villages. with the exception of the kamptee village the average number of people to each house cannot exceed five. another small singpho village exists on the namroop, about miles from namroop puthar, and not far from the site of the coal mine. _capabilities of the country_.--these are of the usual description. the soil is productive enough, but the labour of clearing the drier spots is excessive. excellent rice grounds exist in abundance between beesa lacoom and namroop puthar, but the cultivation of this, as well as of all the other necessaries, is limited to the quantity absolutely required. scarcities of grain are of frequent, indeed almost of annual, occurrence; and this is chiefly owing to the pernicious influence of opium or kanee, to which all our singphos are immoderately attached. of the _mineral_ _productions_, coal and petroleum were the only ones we met with. _the coal occupies_ the greater portion of a precipitous part of the sandstone composing the left bank of the river namroop. three large veins have been completely exposed by the cutting away of the bank. the coal is i believe of good quality. the river immediately under the veins is very deep, and were it not for the rapids which intervene between the site of the mineral and the booree dihing, it would be difficult to conceive a spot affording similar facilities for the transmission of the mineral. i must however, observe, that even in the dry season the river is navigable for small canoes as far as the site alluded to. during the rains no difficulty whatever would be experienced in the carriage, as rafts might be made on the spot. no use is made of the coal by the natives, nor did they seem to be aware of its nature. of _the petroleum_ { } no use whatever is made, although we have ample experience from its universal use by the burmese, that it is a valuable product both as affording light, and preserving in a very great degree all wooden structures from rot and insects. the springs occur in four different places, all close to the puthar: of these three occur on the low hill which bounds the puthar to the southern side, and one on the puthar itself, at the foot of the range alluded to. the springs are either solitary, as in that of the puthar, or grouped, a number together; the discharge varies extremely from a thin greenish aqueous fluid to a bluish grey opaque one, of rather a thick consistence: the quantity poured out by these latter springs is very considerable. on the surface of all, but especially on these last, an oleaginous, highly inflammable fluid collects in the form of a thin film. the jungle surrounding the springs ceases abruptly, the ground around, and among them, being covered with stunted grass and a few small herbaceous plants. elephants and large deer are frequent visitors to the springs; of the former, the tracts are frequent, and they are sometimes shot here by the natives. _vegetable products_.--the jungles afford several kinds of bamboo, some of which are of value; generally speaking the trees are not large, with the exception of a gigantic dipterocarpus, wood-oil or dammar tree; of this particular tree i have seen specimens measuring feet from the base to the first branch. the wood is of no value, nor have i seen any use made in assam of the resinous secretion, which is in great vogue on the tenasserim coast for the construction of torches, etc. ii. from beesa lacoom to namtusseek. country traversed forming parts of the naga range of hills, and of the southern boundary of the valley of assam: the northern side is subject to british, the southern to burmese control. st. stage.--_halting place_ in the jungle, at an elevation of feet above the sea. direction sse. distance miles, course over low hills covered with dense jungle. nd. _darap panee_.--altitude feet. direction sse. distance miles, passed over some difficult places; crossed the darap twice before we reached the halting place, course through very heavy jungle, except on the summits of the higher hills, which are tolerably open. rd. _namtusseek_, { } or tusseek panee, altitude feet. direction sse. distance miles, country more open: summit of the hills covered with grass and scattered trees. the highest hill surmounted was certainly feet above our halting place. th. namtusseek, or tusseek panee, altitude (not observed). direction sse. distance miles, course almost entirely up the bed of the river over boulders, occasionally skirting the stream through heavy and wet jungle. th. _yoomsan nullah_, near the foot of the patkaye. alt. feet; direction sse. distance miles. course for a short time along the bed of the namtusseek, until we crossed a small stream, the tukkakha: then ascended a mountain, about feet high; on reaching the summit we descended until we reached the halting place. th. _nam-maroan_, or maroan-kha. { a} alt. feet. direction ese. distance miles. ascended until we reached the summit of the patkaye; the ascent was in some places very steep, and owing to the unsettled state of the weather, very difficult. reached the boundary nullah, along which we proceeded for some time; we then commenced the descent, which was steep, and continued so, until we reached the nam-maroan. the extreme elevation we reached was rather more than feet. { b} th. _nam-maroan_.--altitude estimated feet. direction ese. distance miles, course along the bed of the stream; ground difficult, and much impeded by boulders. th. _nam-maroan_.--altitude not taken. direction ese. distance miles. course the same, but of a less difficult nature. th. _khathung khioung_. { c}--altitude feet. direction e. by s. distance miles, course continues along the nam-maroan, the whole way: ground much less difficult. passed close to a singpho village of two houses; some puthars which bore traces of having once been cultivated and inhabited occurred on this march. th. _khussee-khioung_.--altitude . direction e. by s. distance miles, left almost immediately the khathung kioung, and commenced ascending. ascent in some places very steep and difficult, and continued until we had reached an elevation of feet. the descent then commenced, and continued until we reached the khussee-khioung, passing along for some distance the natkaw-khioung. the descent was occasionally difficult, owing to broken ground; tree jungle occurred almost throughout the whole distance. th. kuttack bhoom. { d}--altitude . general direction s. distance miles. left the khussee-khioung, but reached it again before long. continued to descend considerably, until we reached the nam-thuga, thence the descent increased considerably. halted on an open grassy spot, from which an extensive view of the valley of hookhoom is obtained. th. _namtusseek_.--altitude feet. general direction ese. distance miles. descended from kuttack bhoom, until we reached the loonkharankha, then ascended considerably. the descent then recommenced, until we reached the namtusseek. heavy jungle occurred throughout. path occasionally difficult, becoming as we approached the base of the range very wet. we crossed several small mountain streams. _general features of the hills_.--the prevailing formation appears to be sandstone, and connected with this we have rounded summits, not attaining a great elevation, and a considerable depth of soil. the lower ranges are throughout covered with heavy tree jungle. this becomes excessively thick and wet along the water courses, which are of frequent occurrence towards the base of the range, both on the northern and southern sides. but from an elevation of feet to that of yoomsan, a great change for the better takes place on the northern face, the hills being covered with clay, and generally not very high grass jungle, among which trees are scattered. this character is particularly evident along both sides of the valley drained by the namtusseek of the northern side. the patkaye is wooded to its summit; the jungle on the south side being much more humid than that on the northern. indeed on this face of the range, with the exception of the puthars on the nam-maroan, scarcely more than two open spots exist, and both of these are of small extent. of these one exists at an elevation of feet, and one at kuttack bhoom. the paths although very often steep, are easy enough for coolies, except during wet weather, when they become very slippery. with some degree of preparation the worst places might be made passable for lightly loaded elephants, and this would be facilitated by the soft nature of most of the rocks. the most difficult marches are those which lie along the beds of the streams, and these, it has been seen, are far the most numerous; they are particularly difficult for elephants, the boulders affording a very precarious footing to these weighty animals. the difficulty is much increased by rain, when even coolies find considerable difficulty in making any progress. several elephants accompanied major white as far as the darap panee, and a small suwaree elephant, loaded with a light tent, succeeded in reaching yoomsan. the southern side of the range is decidedly of a more difficult nature than the northern, and it is in addition of greater extent: the highest point traversed is feet above the level of the sea. the range might be traversed by a lightly loaded active native in six days. _streams_.--these all partake of the usual nature of mountain torrents; they are all fordable during the cold weather, the principal ones being crossed at the heads of the rapids. the boundary nullah is a mere streamlet: it runs between two ridges of the patkaye: its course being about ese. and wnw. owing to the frequency of the streams and their mountainous nature, i should imagine that this route is impracticable during the rains. _villages_.--not a single village or house exists directly on the route. one small naga village is visible from the namtusseek below yoomsan, and a detached hut is visible here and there on a high mountain close to, and ne. of yoomsan. on the burmese side there is, as i have mentioned before, a village consisting of two houses close to the route. this village has lately been established by some singphos from nimbrung, several marches to the eastward. _population_.--i certainly did not see nagas throughout the time passed in traversing these hills, although i am satisfied that every man within a reasonable distance came into camp in the hopes of sharing in the extensive distribution of presents. from the appearance of the country about yoomsan, and the valley of the namtusseek, i am inclined to think that the population was at one time considerable. the openness of the country, which is as i have previously said chiefly clothed with grass, and the peculiar and generally imperfect aspect of the trees, can only be accounted for, by supposing the country to have been extensively cleared, particularly when it is remembered that the highest portions of the range are thickly wooded. but allowing this supposition to be correct, it is no proof, that the total population has been on the decline, for we must take into account, the wandering nature of all hill tribes. in forming an opinion of a hill population, which in all times and places has, in this country at least, been found scanty, we must take care not to confound the temporary huts, erected in khets, for the purpose of protecting the cultivation, with actually inhabited houses; to the former description i think the detached houses mentioned as being visible from yoomsan are to be referred. the nagas, at least the men, for i saw no women, are a small, active, large-legged race, with tartar faces. they are divided into very many tribes, each of which has some peculiarity of costume. those i saw were decidedly inferior to any of the other hill tribes with which i am acquainted. their clothing is miserable, the chief protection consisting of a number of rings, made of rattan, which encircle the abdomen. they are as usual excessively dirty, and much attached to the use of tobacco and ardent spirits. their wants are few, but even these are miserably supplied. they entertain an unbounded fear of the singphos, who appear to make any use of them they think proper. their only weapons are spears, singpho dhas and battle axes. the singphos cannot be considered otherwise than as encroachers. invasions of these restless marauders appear not to have been uncommon up to a late date. the remains of two stockades, in which they had entrenched themselves were extant, one close to yoomsan, the other on the s. face of the patkaye. i have before said that the puthars on the nam- maroan bore evidence of having been inhabited, and apparently to some extent. but even during the stay of major white on these hills, an irruption of singphos from nimbrung had taken place, and had totally unsettled the peace of the native inhabitants. such things must be expected to occur, particularly when it is well known that the burmese, the only power to which they are subjects, can exercise no authority over the singphos in any one direction, except when they have a large armed force in the valley of hookhoom. _of the capabilities_ of the country it would be vain to attempt giving an opinion. scarcely any cultivation was passed on the route. the soil is generally deep, more or less yellow, and somewhat clayey; the hollows having a thin superstratum of black mould. taking the deserted state of the country into account, this part of the naga range is of little importance, except as forming portion of a most natural and well defined boundary, compared with other portions of the same range to the westward. _products_.--the principal mineral product is salt, an article which is procured abundantly in some other more available points of the range. we saw one small spring on the namtusseek, from which supplies had been lately taken. _vegetable products_.--fine timber trees occur here and there. oaks, magnolias and chesnuts occur not uncommonly, the magnolias being of these in this range the most characteristic of elevation. the horse chesnut of assam, (osculus asamicus mihi) occurs on both sides of the range, but does not ascend further than , feet. no fir trees exist on the route, nor is it probable that they exist on the range in this direction. one of the most interesting plants is a new species of tea, which i believe to be a genuine thea; it is called bun fullup, or jungle tea, by the assamese, in contra-distinction to the true tea plant, which is called fullup. this species makes its appearance at an elevation of about , feet, and is met with as high up as , feet. it attains the size of a tree of feet in height; it is used only as a medicine. no real tea exists on this route; several plants were pointed out to me as tea, but all were spurious instances. the higher portions of the ranges have a flora approaching in many instances to that of northern latitudes. as examples of this, it will be sufficient to allude, in addition to the trees mentioned above, to the existence of two species of daphne, one of barberry, several species of a genus nearly allied to the whortle berries, a violet, and several species of smilacineae, to which order the lily of the valley belongs. in concluding this part of my report, i may perhaps be permitted to advert to the question of the possibility of transporting a body of armed men into the burmese dominions by this route. although there is nothing in the nature of this portion of the boundary which would render this operation very difficult, yet considering the state of the adjoining parts of upper assam, and that of hookhoom, it becomes almost impracticable. i allude to the extreme difficulty of procuring grain in upper assam, in which, at least around sadiya, annual scarcities are by no means uncommon, and to the utter impossibility of drawing any supplies from hookhoom in its present miserable state. all the necessary supplies would require to be drawn from lower assam, and for the transport of these the scanty population of this extremity of the valley would by no means be sufficient. bearing on this point it must be remembered, that from the st of april to the st november, these hills cannot be traversed except by their native inhabitants, without incurring great risk from the usual severe form of jungle fever. iii. from namtusseek to wullaboom. country traversed subject to burmese authority, forming greater portion of the valley of hookhoong, or the paeendweng. march . _from namtusseek to nhempean_.--direction e. distance miles, crossed the namtusseek, then passed through heavy tree jungle, and subsequently over extensive grassy plains. . _from nhempean to nidding_.--direction sse. distance . miles, course along the namtoroan, thence up the saxsaikha. . _from nidding to kulleyang_.--direction sse. distance miles, country covered either with tree or high grass jungle. passed a deserted village, thilling khet. . _from kulleyang to isilone_.--direction sw. distance miles, country rather more open. puthars are of common occurrence; passed a small village, damoon. . _from tsilone to meinkhoong_.--distance miles, course at first along the namtunai, { a} country open, consisting of grassy plains; several nullahs occur. . _from meinkhoon to wullabhoom_.--direction se. distance miles. course over plains intersected by tree jungle, subsequently up the bed of the nempyo-kha. _nature of the country_.--the valley of hookhoong, or as the burmese call it, in allusion to its amber mines, paeendweng, is of small extent. its greatest diameter is in the direction of e. to w., { b} its southern termination being within a few miles from wullabhoom. it is surrounded on all sides by hills, the highest of which are towards the ne. and e.; none however would appear to exceed feet in height; and from their appearance, i imagine they are wooded to their summits. the lowest hills are those which form the southern boundary, and these scarcely deserve the name. from kuttack-bhoom a fine view of the valley is obtained; it is here very narrow, and does not i should think exceed miles in breadth. the features of the country are in a striking degree similar to those of upper assam, that is, it presents a plain surface intersected frequently by belts of jungle, the parts at the base of the boundary hills being exclusively occupied by heavy jungle. the general elevation of the plain above the sea may be estimated at about feet, so that it is several hundred feet above the level of sadiya. but although this is the case, the valley of hookhoom undergoes the same changes during the rainy season as assam, the greater part being during that period under water. _of the climate_ it is perhaps presumptuous to give any opinion; it is however by no means so cold as that of upper assam. in april the daily range of the thermometer was very considerable, from degrees to degrees. the rains set in later than on the northern side of the patkaye, and they are said to be much less severe. _the rivers_ are numerous, the principal one is the namtunai, { } which subsequently assumes the name of kyeendweng. this is in the places i saw it a large, generally deep and sluggish stream, varying in breadth from to yards. the next in size is the namtoroan, which has more of the character of a mountain stream; it is of considerable breadth (opposite nhempean it is yards across,) and presents numerous rapids. both of these rivers are navigable for boats of some size. the other rivers are small and insignificant; all fall into the namtoroan or namtunai. _villages_.--of these the following were passed on the route:-- . _nhempean_, on the right bank of the namtoroan, is situated on an extensive open grassy plain, it is stockaded: it contains about houses, the river is here navigable for middling sized canoes. . _tubone_, on the same bank, but lower down, and within quarter of a mile of nhempean, it is of about the same size, and similarly stockaded. . _nidding_, on the left bank of the saxsai-kha, about three-quarters of a mile above its junction with the namtoroan: it is a stockaded village, and about the same size. . _calleyang_, on the prong-kha contains about houses: it is not stockaded. . _lamoon_, on the moneekha, is a very small village, containing four or five houses: it is not stockaded. . _tsilone_, on the left bank of the namtunai. this is the dupha gam's village: it is of the ordinary size, and is stockaded in the usual manner. . _meinkhoon_, on the cadeekha, by which it is intersected; it consists of two stockades, separated by the above stream; and contains about houses, none of which are however large. it is here that the first pagodas (poongye houses) occur. the village is situated on an open grassy plain of considerable extent. . _wullabhoom_, on the right bank of the nemokapy, an insignificant stream. this village is not stockaded; it contains about houses, of which several are of the singpho structure. the gam of this village was in expectation of an attack from the dupha people, and had in consequence erected a small square stockade for his own use; he had however built it so small that he might easily be dislodged by means of a long spear. in addition to these, there is a village called _bone_, on the namtoroan; the path leading to this is crossed soon after leaving namtusseek, and another stockaded village, on the right bank of the namtoroan, a little below the mouth of the saxsai-kha. none of the above villages are situated on strong positions. the stockades are as usual of bamboo, and are but weak defences; the space between the stockade and the outer palisades is covered with short pointed bamboos, placed obliquely in the ground: these are called panjahs by the assamese; they inflict very troublesome wounds, and are universally employed by the singphos. the interiors of the stockades are dirty, the houses are built without order, and generally fill the stockade completely, so that the people inside might be burnt out with the greatest ease. the average number of houses in each of the above villages, may be estimated at about , of these the largest occur at wullaboom. they are built on muchowns, and resemble in all respects those of our assam singphos. they are generally thatched with grass (imperata cylindrica. { } ) the larger kinds have invariably one end unenclosed; under this portico, which is usually of some size, all the domestic operations are carried on. the dupha gam's is not distinguished above the rest in any one way. _population_.--no country inhabited by sets of petty chieftains belonging to different tribes, which are generally at enmity with each other, can be populous; it is therefore with considerable surprise that i find it stated that the number of houses in the north and eastern sides of the valley is estimated at not less than , which at the rate of men to one house, which is, considering the great size of very many singpho houses, rather underrated, would make the population of these portions of the valley amount to , souls. the part of the valley which i have traversed, and during which route miles of ground were passed over, does not present a single sign which, in the absence of direct evidence, would lead one to suppose that it contained a considerable population. during the before mentioned marches, i saw only four paths, crossing or diverging from that which we followed. of these, one _leads_, as i have mentioned, to bone, one to the hills on the ne., one to a singpho village, some miles to the south of our track, and the fourth diverged from the path leading to the amber mines through the village of a chief called tharapown hhoung. the population on the above route of miles, would at the rate of men to one house, and houses to each village, amount only to , but i think that , or , would be a fairer estimate. from kuttack-bhoom, as i have mentioned, a great portion of the valley is distinctly seen, and nothing meets the eye but jungle, broken here and there by the waters of the namtunai: not a clearing is even visible; instead of a population of , , as has been stated i should imagine that the whole valley of hookhoom does not contain more than , . the above population consists almost entirely of singphos and their assamese slaves, and these last form a considerable portion. this was particularly evident at wulla-khoon, where they certainly out-numbered their masters. the singphos of hookhoong resemble exactly those located in assam: they are however less given to opium eating. they are of the same indolent habits, and content themselves with cultivating sufficient grain to keep themselves from starving. the women wear the thumein, or burmese dress, a costume which is entirely unknown among the singphos of assam. the most superior men i saw belonged to the lupai tribe, from the east of the irrawaddi; they had come to meinkhoon for the purpose of procuring amber. in manners and dress they resembled the shan-chinese, they were provided with firelocks, in the use of which they were certainly adroit. the usual weapons of the hookhoong singphos are dhas and spears. i saw very few muskets. the behaviour of these people was throughout civil, and perhaps friendly. their hatred of the burmese is excessive, the visits of the armed forces of this nation being most harassing and oppressive. they are sub-divided into tribes, among whom there is but little unanimity. the dupha gam is much disliked, as he is considered the cause of the visit of the burmese. his power has been much exaggerated; he is not capable of bringing men into the field. so unpopular was he, that it was reported to mr. bayfield, that he was to be cut off immediately the burmese force had left the valley. in giving the foregoing low estimate of the population of the valley, i believe i have taken into consideration every circumstance of importance. the occurrence of several old burial places on the route, some of which are of considerable extent, might be considered by some as a proof, that the population has undergone a decrease; but i conceive that it is sufficiently accounted for by the wandering habits of the people. _capabilities_.--the greater part of the valley is well adapted for the cultivation of rice, and as the soil is generally rich, approaching in external characters to that of some parts of upper assam, particularly muttack, it is capable of supporting a large population. _products_.--of the mineral productions, the most remarkable is amber, for which the valley of hookhoong has been long famous, and from the existence of which it derives its burmese name. the mines are situated in low, wooded hills, from which they are distant between five and six miles; of this distance the first three miles traverse the plain on which meinkhoong is situated. the pits now worked give occupation to about a dozen people; they occur on the brow of a hill: they are square, and of various depth, the deepest being about feet, the diameter not exceeding three feet; the workmen ascending and descending by placing their feet in holes made in two faces of the square. no props are used to prevent the sides of the pits from falling in, the tenacity of the soil rendering this precaution unnecessary. the instruments used, are small wooden shovels, a wooden crow-bar tipped with iron for displacing the soil or breaking the rocks, baskets for removing the substances so displaced, buckets made of the bark of trees { } for removing the water which is met with in the deepest pits, and rude levers similar to those used in madras for the purposes of irrigation, for carrying the soil, etc. from the pits to the surface; these however are only used in the deeper pits, a hooked bamboo answering the purpose in the shallower ones. the soil throughout the upper portion, and indeed for a depth of from to feet, is clayey and red: the remainder consists of a greyish-black carbonaceous earth, increasing in density with the depth, and being very hard at a depth of feet. the amber occurs in both these, the clue to its existence being the presence of small masses of lignite. the searching occupies but very little time, as the presence of the lignite is readily ascertained; all i saw dug out occurred as small irregular deposits; it did not appear to be abundant. the people appear to have no guide for the selections of favourable spots on which to commence their operations; but having once met with a good pit, they dig other pits all around, and often within a distance of two feet from the first one sunk. i could not succeed in procuring a single fine specimen; indeed the workmen denied having found any of value during the last six years! it is an article in great request among the chinese and singphos; at the pits, however, it is not high priced, and a first rate pair of ear-rings are procurable at meinkhoong for tickals; in assam rupees are occasionally given. meinkhoong is annually visited by parties of shan- chinese, for the purpose of procuring this mineral; the caravan at the time i passed this village had returned, and i believe was met by mr. bayfield. there was a small party of lupai singphos from the east of the irrawaddi, consisting of a tsonba and six or seven followers still waiting for a supply. the spot occupied by pits is considerable, but three-fourths of these are no longer worked. compared with the serpentine mines, they are but of small value. both _coal and salt_ exist in the valley; the only indication of the existence of the former i saw, was a mass of lignite in the bed of a nullah between tsilone and meinkhoong. _vegetable products_.--fine timber trees, { } which belong to the same genus as the saul, occur between nhempean and namtusseek, and elsewhere towards the foot of the hills surrounding the valley. the mulberry of upper assam occurs likewise, and the leaves supply with food a species of silkworm. from the silk a coarse species of cloth is manufactured, but the use of this appears to be very limited. tea appears to be of uncommon occurrence. the only specimens i saw were given me by mr. bayfield, they were procured from low hills some distance from shellingket. on this subject mr. bayfield made very frequent and minute enquiries, and the result appears to be that the plant is of rare occurrence; none exists towards or about the amber mines. the room of upper assam (ruellia indigofera mihi) is in use for dyeing cloths, but not so much so as in assam. the cultivated plants are of the ordinary kind; and the produce is just sufficient to meet the wants of the inhabitants. owing to the presence of the myoowoon's force, rice was scarce during my visit; the price was seven tickals a basket, each of which contains about days' supply for one man. the domestic animals are of the ordinary description: fowls forming the only poultry. but on this subject it is unnecessary to enlarge, as the habits and manners of the people are precisely the same as those of the assamese singphos. iv. from wullabhoom to mogoung. country traversed forming considerable portion of the mogoung valley, throughout subject to burmese authority. march . _halted_ on a small stream, a tributary of the mogoung river.--direction nearly s. distance miles, course at first along the namphyet, thence over low hills, forming part of the s. boundary of the valley of hookhoong. . _halted_ on the mogoung river.--direction s. distance miles, over similar low hills until we reached the mogoung river after a march of four hours, soon descending into its bed, which we followed. . _mogoung_ river.--direction s. distance miles, course along the bed of the river. . _mogoung_ river.---direction se. distance miles, course continued along the bed of the river. . _kamein_.--direction sse. distance miles: on starting left the mogoung river: course throughout over fine open high plains intersected by belts of jungle. . _from kamein to mogoung_.--direction sse. distance miles, course over high open plains and dry woods. many nullahs occurred on the route: crossed the mogoung river opposite to kamein. _nature of the country_.--the low hills which are passed before reaching the mogoung river, are covered with tree jungle, but they afford scarcely any thing of interest; they are here and there intersected by small plains, covered with the usual grasses. { } the country traversed while following the mogoung river, is most uninteresting, the road following almost entirely the sandy bed of the river, the banks of which are either covered with grass or tree jungle. on leaving this most tortuous river, the face of the country improved and became very picturesque, presenting almost exclusively fine high, and rather extensive plains covered with grass, and partially with trees, while here and there they are intersected by strips of dry tree jungle. low hills are visible frequently, especially to the eastward. _villages and towns_. . _kamein_, on the right bank of the mogoung river, at the junction of the endaw-khioung, consists of two stockades, one on a small hill the other at the foot. both together contain about houses. the inhabitants are shans. it is a place of some consequence, as it is on the route from mogoung to the serpentine mines. from kamein, shewe down gyee, a conspicuous mountain, so called, bears east. . _mogoung_, on the right bank of the river of the same name, just below the junction to the namyeen khioung, contains rather fewer than houses. although it contains so few houses it is a place of considerable extent. it is surrounded by the remains of a timber stockade, similar in construction to those of burmah proper. the houses are mostly small, and i speak within bounds when i say, that there is not a single one that bears the stamp of respectability. there is a bazaar, but nothing good is procurable in it. tea and sugar-candy are rare and high priced. pork is plentiful. mogoung is situated in a plain of some extent, this plain is surrounded in almost every direction by hills, all of which, with the exception of shewe down gyee, are low: the nearest of these are about three miles off. the inhabitants are mostly shans, there are some assamese, the chief of whom is a relation of chundra kant, the ex-rajah of assam. the best street in the town, though one of small extent, is that occupied by the resident chinese, none of whom however are natives of china proper. of this people i should say there are barely in mogoung, and, judging from their houses, none of which are of brick, i should say they are very inferior to their fellow-countrymen residing in bamo. during our stay in mogoung, which was protracted owing to the disturbed state of the country, the population was much increased by shan-chinese returning from the serpentine mines; and as there was a considerable number of boats engaged by them for the transportation of the serpentine, the town looked busier than it otherwise would have done. the mogoung, river is here about yards broad, but it is much subdivided by sand banks: it is navigable for moderate sized boats a considerable distance above the town. in the upper part of the course this river abounds with fish to an unprecedented degree; of these the most numerous is the bokhar of assam, and of this i have seen shoals of immense extent. the namyeen is a small and shallow stream. although from the extent of the stockade mogoung has evidently in former periods (during the shan dynasty) been of extent and consequence, it is at present a mean and paltry town. it derives any little consequence it possesses from being the rendezvous of the shan-chinese, who flock here annually for procuring serpentine. the most valuable product of the mogoung district is the serpentine; the mines producing which, we visited from kamein. the marches are as follows, . _from kamein to endawkhioung_.--direction ssw. distance miles, course over low hills covered with jungle, with intervening grassy valleys of small extent; crossed the isee een nullah. . _halted on a plain_, on a patch of ground lately under cultivation. direction ssw. distance miles. course over a similar tract of country; continued for some time close to the endawkhioung; crossed several nullahs. . _halted in the jungle_.--direction wnw. distance miles. country the same: we changed our course on reaching the path which leads to kionkseik, a singpho village, diverging to the n.; halted within a short distance of kuwa bhoom. . _reached the mines_.--direction wnw. distance miles, course over small plains and through jungle until we reached kuwa bhoom, which we ascended in a wnw. direction, extreme altitude attained , feet. the descent was steep, varied by one or two steep ascents of some hundred feet in height. on nearing the base of the range we continued through heavy and wet jungle, until we arrived at the mines. these celebrated serpentine { } mines occupy a valley of somewhat semi- circular form, and bounded on all sides by thickly wooded hills of no great height. to the north the valley passes off into a ravine, down which a small streamlet that drains the valley escapes, and along this, at a distance of two or three miles, another spot of ground affording serpentine is said to occur. the valley is small: its greatest diameter, which is from e. to w. being about three-quarters of a mile, and its smallest breadth varying from to or yards. the whole of the valley, which appears formerly to have been occupied by rounded hillocks, presents a confused appearance, being dug up in every direction, and in the most indiscriminate way; no steps being taken to remove the earth, etc. that have been thrown up in various places during the excavations. nothing in fact like a pit or a shaft exists, nor is there any thing to repay one for the tediousness of the march from kamein. the stone is found in the form of more or less rounded boulders mixed with other boulders of various rocks and sizes imbedded in brick-coloured yellow or nearly orange-coloured clay, which forms the soil of the valley, and which is of considerable depth. the excavations vary much in form, some resembling trenches; none exceed feet in depth. the workmen have no mark by which to distinguish at sight the serpentine from the other boulders; to effect this, fracture is resorted to, and this they accomplish, i believe, by means of fire. i did not see the manner in which they work, or the tools they employ, all the shans having left for kamein, as the season had already been over for some days. no good specimens were procurable. the workmen reside in the valley, drawing their supplies from kioukseik. on our road to the mines we met daily, and especially on the last march, parties of shan-chinese, burmese, and a few singphos on their return. of these in all mr. bayfield counted about , , of whom about were shan-chinese: these were accompanied by ponies, which they ordinarily use as beasts of burden. the larger blocks of stone were carried by four or five men, on bamboo frames; the smaller, but which still are of considerable size, on ingenious frames which rest on the nape of the coolies' neck; the frame has two long arms which the bearer grasps in his hand, and which enables him to relieve himself of his burden, and re-assume it without much sacrifice of labour, as he props his load against a tree, which is then raised by the legs of the frame some height from the ground. the valley we visited affords i believe the greatest quantity of the stone, which is said to be annually diminishing, neither are pieces of the finest sort so often procurable as they were formerly wont to be. the path to the mines is on the whole good; it is choked up here and there by jungle, and the occurrence of one or two marshy places contribute to render it more difficult. it bears ample evidences of being a great thoroughfare. the greater part of the stone procured is removed in the large masses, to kioukseik, and thence by water by the aid of the endawkhioung to mogoung. at this place duties are levied upon it. hence almost the whole is taken to topo by water. from this place the shan-chinese carry it to their own country on ponies. from the stone various ornaments are made; from the inferior kind, bangles, cups, etc. and from the superior, which is found in small portions generally within the larger masses, rings, etc. the stone is, i am informed by mr. bayfield, cut by means of twisted copper wire. the price of the inferior kind is high. it is from these mines that the province of mogoung derives its importance; so much so, that its revenue is said to exceed that of any other burman province. the sum derived from the serpentine alone is stated to be occasionally as high as , rs. per annum. owing to the avidity with which this product is sought after by the chinese, it is highly desirable to ascertain whether it exists in assam, which indeed is probably the case. i believe it is reported to exist near beesa; at any rate, blood-stone is found in this extremity of the valley of assam, and this, in chinese eyes, is of considerable value. if the serpentine is found, specimens should be sent to mogoung. as the shan-chinese are reported to be a most penurious race, a small reduction in the price below that of the burmese, would suffice to divert the current of the trade into assam. another interesting product, although of no value, exists in the shape of an alkaline spring on the sapiya khioung, which hence derives its name. the water of this spring bubbles up sparingly and quietly from under the rocky bed of the above mountain torrent, it is quite clear, of a decided and pure alkaline taste: it is used by the natives for the purpose of washing, and it answers this remarkably well. of this interesting spring mr. bayfield took specimens for analysis. salt is procurable within a distance of three or four days from kioukseik. _vegetable products_.--teak, and some of it is of a fine description, occurs both on the route between the mogoung river and kamein, as well as between kamein and the serpentine mines. the natives do not however appear to cut it, probably owing to the want of water carriage. fine timber trees, nearly allied to the saul, likewise occur on the road to the mines. i met with the tea but once. this occurred among the low hills dividing the mogoung district from the valley of hookhoong, close to the dupai- beng-kheoung, or tea tree nullah. there was no difference in the specimens brought to me from the plant of assam, with the exception that the leaves were even larger than in the plant alluded to; it did not occur in abundance. it exists i believe, in another place on this route, and among the same hills, but i did not succeed in procuring specimens. throughout both routes scarcely any cultivation was seen. between the mogoung river and mogoung town considerable portions of some low hills to the east, presented the appearance of clearings. it must however be observed, that the appearance of clearings is a most fallacious ground on which to form an estimate of the population; st, owing to the habits of a nomadic population; ndly, because a spot once cleared, keeps up the appearance of a clearing for a long time; and rdly, because some particular spots are, from some local cause or other, exclusively inhabited by grasses, the prevalence of which will at a little distance always give one the idea of cultivation. _population_.--this in the somewhat extensive tract of the mogoung district traversed, is very scanty. that of mogoung and suburbs may be estimated at about , , and that of kamein at . in addition to these places, i have to mention a small singpho village of three or four houses, seen on a range of hills during our first march towards the mines, and bearing about wnw., and kioukseik. this latter place we visited on our return from the mines, it is a stockaded village, containing houses, and about souls. it is situated about yards from a small stream, the nam teen: it is inhabited by singphos: it is about a mile from the divergence of the road to the mines, and bears from this spot nearly due south. during the season of operations at the mines it is a place of some consequence, as all the necessary supplies of grain are procured from it. at the time of our visit, there was a good sized bazaar along the nam teen, which was likewise a good deal crowded by boats. the neighbouring hills are inhabited here and there by kukkeens, the most troublesome perhaps of all mountainous tribes; but there are some other villages about the lake, called the endawgyee. we had an opportunity of viewing from a distance the above lake on our return from the mines. from an open spot on the eastern face of kuwa bhoom, it bore nearly due south, and was estimated as being miles distant. we could not distinguish its outline, but we saw enough to satisfy us that it was a large body of water. it is situated in an extensive plain near a range of hills, part of which form portion of its banks. from the same spot we could see shewe down gyee, the large range from which the namtunai takes its course, bearing nearly due east, and at an estimated distance of miles; the situation of the mines is therefore nearly due east from kamein. v. from mogoung to ava. the whole of the distance between the two above places was performed by water. the time occupied in descending the mogoung river was three days. this river is exceedingly tortuous, generally a good deal subdivided, and its channels are in many places shallow. the chief obstacle it presents to navigation consists in rapids, which commence below tapan, and continue for some distance; these rapids are not severe, but are rendered difficult by the presence of rocks, many of large size. these rapids commence immediately the river in its course approaches some low ranges of hills. boats of considerable size however manage to reach mogoung; they ascend the severer rapids in channels made along the sides of the river, by removing and piling up on either side the boulders which form great part of the bed of the river in these places. the descent is managed in the same way, the speed of the boat being retarded by the crew exerting their united force in an opposite direction. on leaving the proximity of the hills, the river resumes its natural and rather slow character, and towards its mouth there is scarcely any stream at all. the channels are much impeded by stumps of trees. the country through which the mogoung river passes is very uninteresting, and almost exclusively jungle, either tree or high grass. only one village, tapan, is met with; this is small, and is situated on the right bank; with the exception of its river face it is stockaded. at this place the shan-chinese leave the river, striking off in an e. direction towards the irrawaddi, which they reach in one day. we observed a small kukkeen village on some hills near tapan; with these exceptions no sign of inhabitants occurred until we reached the irrawaddi. on the hills above alluded to, the bitter tea is reported to exist. the mogoung river at its mouth is about yards across. the irrawaddi even at the mouth of the mogoung river, and at a distance of nearly miles from the sea, keeps up its magnificent character. at this point it is or , yards across; when we reached it, it had risen considerably, and the appearance of this vast sheet of water was really grand. its characters are very different from the ganges and burrumpooter, its waters being much more confined to one bed, and comparatively speaking becoming seldom spread out. generally speaking it is deep and the stream is not violent. it appears to me to afford every facility for navigation; in one or two places troublesome shallows are met with, and in several places the channel near the banks is impeded by rocks. it is only in the upper defile, or kioukdweng, that the navigation is during the rises of the river dangerous, and at times impracticable. on our reaching tsenbo, which is about miles below the junction of the mogoung river with the irrawaddi, the river continued to rise in a most rapid degree, mr. bayfield ascertaining by measurement that it rose inches an hour. we were consequently compelled to push on, as we were informed that the next day the defile would be impassable. the kioukdweng alluded to commences about two miles below tsenbo, the river becoming constricted from to yards. the rush of water was great, and was rendered fierce by rocks which exist in the midst of the river. still further within the defile the difficulties were increased; at one place the whole of the enormous body of water rushes through a passage, and it is the only one, certainly not exceeding yards in width. the passage of this was really fearful, for on clearing it we were encountered by strong eddies, backwaters and whirlpools, which rendered the boat nearly unmanageable. these scenes continued, varied every now and then by an expanded and consequently more tranquil stream, until a gorge is passed, well known by the name of the "elephant and cow," two rocks which are fancifully supposed to resemble the above named animals; the defile then becomes much wider, and the waters flow in a tranquil and rather sluggish manner. the depth of the river in this defile is, as may be supposed, immense; mr. bayfield ascertained during his passage up, at a season when the waters were low, that in many places no bottom was to be found at a depth of fathoms. the necessity of this enormous depth is at once evident, and is pointed out by the configuration of the banks, which are in many places sheer precipices. two other defiles exist between bamo and ava, of these the middle or second is the shortest, in both the stream flows sluggishly, and there is no impediment whatever to navigation. in these the depth is great, but owing to their greater width, much less so than in the upper. the temperature of the waters of the irrawaddi is as usually obtains, except during the rises of the river caused by the melting of snow, when it is higher than usual. _tributaries of the irrawaddi between mogoung river and_ _ava_. the number of tributaries even to rangoon is unprecedentedly small: this tends to increase the astonishment with which one regards this magnificent river. the rivers that fall into the irrawaddi within the above distance are, st. the mogoung river. nd. tapien khioung, above bamo. rd. shewe lee khioung. these are about the same size, and only discharge a considerable quantity of water during the rainy season. the shewe lee at its mouth, is between and yards wide, but only an inconsiderable portion of this is occupied by water, and this to no depth. the great branch from which the irrawaddi derives its vast supply of water still remains to be discovered, and will probably be found to be the shoomaee kha. it is evident, at any rate, that the great body of water comes from the eastward, for between the mogoung river and borkhamtee, in which country captain wilcox visited the irrawaddi, and where it was found to be of no great size, no considerable branch finds its way from the westward: neither are the hills which intervene between these points, of such height as to afford large supplies of water. on the whole it is, i think, probable, that the irrawaddi is an outlet for some great river, which drains an extensive tract of country; for it appears to me that if all its waters are poured in by mountain streams, a tract of country extensive beyond all analogy, will be required for the supply of such a vast body of water. in addition to the above three rivers, few nullahs exist, but these are scarcely worthy of consideration. _nature of the country_.--from the mouth of the mogoung river nearly to tsenbo the country is flat, and the banks wooded or covered with grass to the brink. the range of hills which form the upper kioukdweng there commence, and continue for a distance of or miles, during the whole of which they form the banks of the river. these hills are scantily covered with trees, most of which are in addition stunted. the vegetation within the maximum high water mark consists of a few scraggy shrubs. the rocks composing these hills are principally serpentine, which within the influence of the water is of a dark sombre brown colour. limestone occurs occasionally. from this kioukdweng to the second, the entrance of which (coming from above) is at tsenkan, the features of the country are of the ordinary alluvial description, and the river is a good deal spread out and subdivided by islands, covered with moderate sized grasses. on leaving the second kioukdweng the same scenery occurs, the banks are generally tolerably high, often gravelly or clayey. about tsagaiya, a few miles below the mouth of the shewe lee, low hills approach the river, and they continue along one or both banks { } at variable distance until one reaches ava. these hills are all covered with a partial and stunted vegetation, chiefly of thorny shrubs, and present uniformly a rugged raviny and barren appearance. the scenery of the river is in many places highly picturesque, and in the upper kioukdweng and portion of the second, where there is a remarkable cliff of about , feet in height, bold and even grand. _villages and towns_.--these although numerous compared with the almost deserted tracts hitherto passed, are by no means so much so as to give an idea of even a moderate population. from the mouth of the mogoung river to the kioukdweng there are several villages, but all are small, mean, and insignificant. strange to say, they are defenceless, although the neighbouring kukkeens are dangerous and cruel neighbours. nothing can be more calculated to shew the weakness of the burmese government than the fact, that the most mischievous and frequent aggressions of these hill tribes always go unpunished, although a short time after an attack the very band by whom it has been made will enter even large towns to make purchases, perhaps with money the produce of their robberies. the upper kioukdweng has a very scanty population, consisting of a distinct race of people called phoons: who are sub-divided into two tribes, the greater and lesser phoons. about villages occur in this defile, and mr. bayfield says that the population is almost entirely confined to the banks of the river: all these villages are small. between the defile and bamo a good number of villages occur, the largest of which does not contain more than houses, the generality are small and mean. bamo, which is a place of celebrity, and is perhaps the third town in burmah, is situated on the left bank of the river, which is here, including the two islands which subdivide it into three channels, about a mile and a quarter in width; the channel on which bamo is situated is the principal one. the town occupies rather a high bank of yellow clay, along which it extends for rather more than a mile, its extreme breadth being perhaps yards. it is surrounded by a timber stockade, the outer palisades being well pangoed; the defences had just undergone repair owing to an expected attack from the kukkeens. it contains within the stockade rather less than houses, (the precise number was ascertained personally by mr. bayfield,) and including the suburbs, which consist of two small villages at the northern end, one at the southern, and one occupied by assamese at the eastern, it contains about houses. these are generally of the usual poor and mean description; indeed, not even excepting the governor's house, there is not a good burman or shan house in the place. one street which occupies a portion of the river bank, is inhabited by chinese, and contains about houses; these are built of unburnt brick, and have a peculiar blueish appearance; none are of any size. the best building in bamo is the chinese place of worship. those occupied by the burmese have the usual form. the country adjoining bamo is flat, dry, and i should think unproductive; it is intersected by low swampy ravines, one or two of which extend into the town. to the south there is an extensive marsh, partially used for rice-cultivation. the population of bamo including the suburbs, may be estimated at about , of whom or are chinese. the governor is a bigoted burman, of disagreeable manners; he expends much money in the erection of pagodas, while he leaves the streets, roads and bridges by which the ravines are passed, in a ruinous and disgraceful state. the bazaar of bamo is generally well supplied: british piece goods and woollen cloths are procurable, but at a high price: the show of chinese manufactures is much better, particularly on the arrival of a caravan; considerable quantities of tea are likewise brought in the shape of flat cakes, of the size of a dessert plate, and about two inches thick. this tea is of the black sort, and although very inferior to the chinese case teas, is a far better article than that of pollong. in addition to this, warm jackets lined with fur, straw hats, silk robes, skull-caps, and sugar-candy are procurable; pork of course is plentiful, and is excessively fat; grain, vegetables and fish are plentiful. on the whole bamo is a busy and rather flourishing place: it derives its consequence entirely from its being a great emporium of trade with the chinese, who come here annually in large numbers; for the accommodation of these people and their caravans, two or three squares, fenced in with bamboos, are allotted. the principal article of burmese export is cotton, and this i believe is produced for the most part lower down the irrawaddi. the climate of bamo is in april dry and sultry: the range of the thermometer being from degrees or degrees to degrees or degrees. north-westers are of common occurrence in this month, and are frequently of extreme severity. i saw very little cultivation about bamo, some of the ravines alluded to had lately been under rice-culture; the chief part of the cultivation for vegetables, etc. is confined to the sandy islands, which occur here and there. of the numerous villages passed between bamo and ava not one deserves especial notice, nor is there one, with the exception of umeerapoora, the former capital, which contains houses. shewegyoo, which formerly occupied a considerable extent of the left bank near the south opening of the second kioukdweng had been burnt by the orders of the monein myoowoon, on account of their having supplied troops to the emissaries of the tharawaddi. kioukgyee, the residence of the above governor, had a short time before our arrival been invested by a force in the interest of the tharawaddi, but had been repulsed. the governor was to proceed with the whole population, amounting to several hundred souls, to bamo, to join his forces with those of the bamo governor. this part of the country was most unsettled and almost deserted. on reaching katha the state of the country was more tranquil, all the people below this point having espoused the cause of the tharawaddi. katha contains houses, and has a rather respectable bazaar; it is well situated, and has the most eligible site in my opinion, of all the towns hitherto seen. the most remarkable object is a noble kioung, or mosque, built by the head- man of the place; this is one of the finest now existing in burma. the only other large place is sheenmaga, about a day's journey from ava. this is said to contain , houses. an extensive fire had lately occurred here. i counted houses, and judging from the extent of the ruins, i should say it might probably have numbered between and . there are several villages contiguous to this, and i think that the district immediately contiguous is more populous than any part hitherto seen. during the above portion of the journey our halts were as follows:-- . tapaw. . mogoung river. . mogoung river. . lemar, in the upper kioukdweng. . bamo. . tsenkan. . kioukgyee. . katha. . tsagaya. . tagoung. . male, at the entrance of the lower kioukdweng. . kabuet, in the lower kioukdweng. . male. . menghoon. . ava. this distance down the irrawaddi may, in a fast boat, be performed in ten days, but owing to the disturbed state of the country we were compelled to avail ourselves of the first opportunity that offered to enable us to reach ava; in addition the proper number of boatmen was not procurable, everybody being afraid of approaching the capital even a few miles. the chief product i saw was teak, of this there were large rafts at tsenkan and elsewhere. this tree seems to abound in the hills forming the ne. boundaries of burmah. i did not, however, see any of large size. tea is found on hills to the east of bamo, and at a distance of one day's journey from that place. through the kindness of mr. bayfield, i was enabled to procure specimens; the leaves were decidedly less coarse, as well as smaller, than those of the assamese plants, and they occurred both serrated and entire. no use is made of the wild plants in this direction, and the chinese at bamo, asserted that it was good for nothing. it must be remembered, however, that none of them had seen the plant cultivated in china. indeed the only real chinaman we saw, was one at kioukgyee, serving the myoowoon as a carpenter: this man had been to england twice, and talked a little english. cotton is, i was informed, extensively cultivated. but the most valuable product is the ruby, which is procured from hills to the eastward of tsenbo, and which are, i believe, visible from the opposite town, mala. from the same place and to the se., low hills are visible, from which all the marble in extensive use for the carving of images, is obtained; this marble has been pronounced by competent authority to be of first-rate quality. _population_.--this must be considered as scanty. from a list of towns and villages, observed by captain hannay, between ava and mogoung inclusive, i estimated the population at , souls, but from this one- third at least must be deducted. in this estimate of the number of houses, captain hannay was probably guided, either by the burmese census, or by the statement of the writer who accompanied him. from the numbers given by this officer, in almost every case one-third, and occasionally one-half, or even more, must be deducted: as instances, i may cite his statement of the number of houses in bamo and katha. in almost every case mr. bayfield counted all the houses, and in all doubtful cases, i counted them also at his request, so that i am enabled to speak with great confidence on this point. as a collateral proof of the scanty population of this extensive portion of the burmese territory, i may allude to the fact that bamo, the third place in burmah, and the emporium of great part of an extensive chinese trade, contains only even at the rate of seven souls to each house, which is two too many, , inhabitants. the capital may be adduced as an additional instance; for including the extensive suburbs, no one estimated it as having a larger population than , . it must be remembered also, that there is no doubt, but that the banks of the irrawaddi are more populous than any other portion of the kingdom. throughout the above rather long journey, we were treated, with one exception, tolerably well; indeed our delays arose from the unwillingness, real or pretended, of the authorities to forward us on while the country remained so unsettled. the headman of kamein on our first arrival was extremely civil, but on our return after he had received news of the revolt of the tharawaddi, he behaved with great insolence, and actually drew his dha on mr. bayfield. it must be remembered however that he had been brought to task by the mogoung authorities for having, as it was said, accepted of a douceur for allowing us to proceed to the serpentine mines. the general idea entertained by the people through whose countries we passed, was, that we had been sent to report upon the country prior to its being taken under british protection. of the existence of this idea, mr. bayfield met with some striking proofs. on reaching katha our troubles ceased, and these, excepting at kamein and mogoung, only arose from the evident wish of the natives to keep at a distance from us, and not to interfere in one way or the other. at mogoung i consider it probable that we should have been detained had it not been for the firm conduct of mr. bayfield, and his great knowledge of the burmese character. at this place the authority of the myoowoon, who was absent in hookhoong, was totally disregarded, and his brother the myoowoah, was in confinement, the shan matgyee having espoused the cause of the prince tharawaddi. _conclusion_.--for the brief and rapid manner in which i have run through this last section of my report, as well as for having forsaken the arrangement adopted in the previous sections, i trust i shall be excused. in the first place, this portion of the route had been previously travelled over by captain hannay and by mr. bayfield, by whom much additional information will be laid before government; and in the second place, i would advert to the hurried nature of this part of our journey, and to the disturbed state of the country. for similar reasons i have only drawn up this account to the period of my reaching ava. it will be at once seen that the information might have been much more extensive, especially as regards the revenues of the districts, but i abstained from interfering with subjects which were in every respect within the province of mr. bayfield; and the minute and accurate manner in which this officer performed the duties consigned to him, reconciled me at once to the secondary nature of the objects which were left for my examination. i subjoin a tabular view of the marches, this will not agree entirely with those given in the body of the report, as one or two of those were unavoidably short. i give the table to shew the shortest period in which the journey could be accomplished by an european without constantly overfatiguing himself. if the total distance be compared with an estimate made from charts, all of which however are imperfect so far as the country between meinkhoong and beesa is concerned, the tortuousness of our course will be at once evident. marches. miles from sadya to noa dehing mookh, to rangagurreh, to moodoa mookh, to kidding, to namroop puthar, to beesa lacoom, to halting place in the hills, to darap panee, to the namtuseek, namtuseek, to the boundary nullah, to the namaroan, namaroan, to khathung khioung, to khussee khioung, to kuttack bhoom, to namtuseek, to nhempean, to kulleyang, to tsilone, to meinkhoong, to wullabhoom, to halting place towards the mogoung river, mogoung river, ditto ditto, ditto ditto, kamein, { } mogoung, --- total number of miles, the remaining distance performed in boats may be thus estimated down the mogoung river to the irrawaddi, from the confluence of the mogoung river down the irrawaddi to ava, --- --- allowing twelve days for the performance of this last portion, which however is too short a time, the entire distance may be performed in forty days. chapter viii. _notes made on descending the irrawaddi from ava to_ _rangoon_. _ th may_.--i left ava and halted about two miles above menboo. _ th may_.--continuing the journey, the country appears flat with occasionally low hills as about kioukloloing, no large villages occur; the river is sub-divided by churs; no large grasses to be seen, and the vegetation is arid. bombax is the chief tree: mudar and zizyphus occur: guilandina, crotolaria a large acanthacea, and a jasminioides shrub are the most common plants: borassus is abundant: fici occur about villages. the banks are generally sandy, not high. yandebo. this is a wretched village; barren plains bounded to the east by barren rather elevated hills; base jungly. observed the tree under which the treaty was signed with the burmese at the close of the late war. it is an ordinary mango, near a pagoda on a plain with two large fig trees. i counted to-day boats sailing up between this and our halting place of yesterday, mostly large praows. the banks present few trees, are flat, barren, and from being occasionally overflowed, adapted to paddy. halted at meengian, which is a middling sized village on the left bank, about a mile below tarof myoo. _ th may_.--i made an excursion into the country which is dry, barren, and sandy, with a descent towards the banks of the river. zizyphus, acacia, euphorbia feet high, calotropis, capparis , etc., occur all the same as before, only one ehretiacea appears to be new. hares are very common. likewise red and painted partridges, and quail. carthamus and tobacco are cultivated, specially the latter at meengian. the most common tree here, is urticea procera? which has always a peculiar appearance. the country towards pukoko becomes prettier, the left bank wooded, and the ground sloped very gradually up to kionksouk, which is barren, and , feet high at least, with the slopes covered with jungle. _ st may_.--passed pagam, a straggling town of some size, famous for its numerous old pagodas of all sorts. the surface of the country is raviny, and the vegetation continues precisely the same. below pagam, the range of low hills becomes very barren: altogether the country is very uninteresting. the low range of hills on the right bank is nearly destitute of vegetation. the hills present a curious appearance of ridges, sometimes looking like walls. the country continues the same. halted opposite yowa. _june st_.--a low range of hillocks here occurs on the left bank, and as in other places, consisting of sandstone with stunted and scanty vegetation. tselow is a large place on the left bank, the river is here much spread out, with large sand banks. the hills on the right bank present the same features; passed pukangnai, a large village on the left bank. passed pukkoko, pagam, tselow, etc., the hills about this last place abound with prionites. strong wind prevails. _june nd_.--yeanangeown a.m. the country continues exactly similar to that already observed--hillocks intersected by ravines, loose sandstone, very barren in appearance. vegetation is the same, but more stunted; fossil wood is common, especially in the bottom of ravines. { } of fossils very few were seen, but more are to be procured by digging. the most common trees are zizyphus, acacia, and a capparis: the most common grass aristida. arrived at yeanangeown, a busy place judging from the number of boats. wind less strong. at p.m. stopped at wengma-thoat, where zizyphus is extremely common. euphorbia seems rather disappearing. the plants met with at the halting place six miles above yeanang, were euphorbia, olax, zizyphus, mimosa, carissa, ximenia, prionites, calotropis, gymnema, capparis pandurata et altera species arborea, murraya rare, gossypium frutex - -petal, xanthophyllum blue, petiolis alatis of tagoung, sidae sp. on the right bank flat churs continue covered with a small saccharum. vegetation more abundant and greener than before. ficus again occurs and stravadium occasionally. passed p.m. memboo at a large village on right bank, containing perhaps houses. the river below this runs between two ranges of low hills, similar in every respect to those already passed. a kukkeen woman was observed, who appeared to have a blue face, looking perfectly frightful. _june rd_.--maguay. reached this place at p.m. it is on the left bank. it is a place of some importance. many boats lying in the stream. the country, is of the same dry, arid description: the banks of the river are however lower than previously observed. passed esthaiya, a small village on the right bank, at a.m. adelia nereifolia continues common in some places. dhebalar, meemgoon, two villages nearly opposite, neither of these villages large. ficus and bombax are common; no euphorbia was observed. we are now evidently getting within the influence of the monsoon, as the vegetation is more green. passed mellun, a village on the right bank. the hills on either side of the river are higher and better wooded than before observed, and the river itself is not more than yards broad. observed gold washers below meegyoung-yea, where they find gold, silver, and rubies by washing the sands. here bombax is very common on the right bank. passed thembounwa, a village on the left bank. the country presents the same ridges of singular hills formed of veins of slaty, tabular, brown rock, this is very conspicuous at thembounwa. the hills on the left bank above meeaday are very barren; the banks rocky. halted at khayoo, just above meeaday, at p.m. _june th_.--passed teiyet myoo, a village on the right bank, which seems to have some cotton trade; the houses along the bank are wretched in appearance. meeaday was passed during a squall, i was thus prevented from making any observation on it. teiyet is the largest place i have seen. the country we are now passing is very slightly undulated, soil light and sandy. fine tamarind trees occur, also terminalia. in addition to the usual plants a lagerstraemia occurs, which attains the size of a middling tree, and a frutescent hypericum, aristolochia, and hedyotis occur. strong south wind prevails so that we can make no progress whatever, i therefore went into the jungle and found stravadium, a fine bignonia foliis pinnatis, floribus maximis, fere spitham. infundibulif. subbilabiat. lacinus crispatis: one or two acanthaceae, two gramineae, two vandelliae, bonnaya, herpestes, monniera, rumex, dentella, three or four cyperaceae, ammannia, crotalaria on sand banks, triga in woods and bauhinia, dioscoria, a pretty herbaceous perennial ardisia, etc. we have not made two miles since breakfasting at teiyet, about four hours ago. convolvulus pileatus and dwarf bamboo are common on the low hills. the lagerstraemia has petals none, or minute squamiform. reached caman myoo, a village on the right bank, at p.m. _june th_.--many boats are here, owing to there being an excellent place of anchorage in still water, protected by an island, but there are not many houses in the village. below, the river again becomes confined between hills, but above this it expands. these hills are rather bare: no euphorbia exists, and the whole vegetation is changed. now passing hills, chiefly covered with bamboos. bignonia crispa occurs, and a scilloid plant out of flower is common. aroideum, similar to that of katha, is common, a new species is likewise found, but it is a roxburghia, and rare. stravadium has very minute stipules, the habit and gemmation is that of ternstraemiaceae, and it perhaps connects this order with myrtaceae; punica from this is certainly distinct, owing praeter alia to its valvate calyx. soneratia belongs i suspect to lythrarieae, connecting it with myrtaceae. the roxburghia above alluded to, is a distinct genus. planta quam juniorem tantum vidi vex spithamaea. radices plurimae filiformes, cortice crassa, tenacissima obfibras foliiformas ad vaginam redacta, superiora petiolique purpureo-brunnei, vernatione involutiva, flores solitarii in axillis foliorum et vaginarum, albi carneo tincti. pedicellis subtereti apice, articulatis, monoicis. perianth sub-companulat, -sepalum, sepalis lanceolato-oblongis a medio reflexis, estivat imbricat. stam. . sepalis alterna, filam subanth. magna, subsagittat, connectivo magno supra in apiculum longum product, et inter loculos in carinam (carneam) purpuream, loculi angustissimi, viridis, alabastrus lutescens. pollen viridescens. faemin flos, infimus, unum tantum vidi sepala longiora herbacea, stam. . ovarium compressum, fol. carpell () { }, stylus conicus, ovar viridis, stigma sub-simplex. char. gen. flores monoici per. , sepalum, stam. . arrived at prome on the left bank, the stockade seemed to be out of repair: the water front of the stockade is about yards in length: it extends about yards back from the river, and beyond the hill on which are pagodas: opposite the pagodas it is of brick, and beyond this a long line of houses or huts extends; there is no appearance of improvement going on. the hills on the opposite side present the same features, trees just commencing to leaf; every thing indicates a temporary sterility caused by the long hot season. above this place we passed a village extending yards along the river. cocoa trees thrive well here, and are not uncommon. borassus continues. shwe doung, miles from prome, is as large as prome itself: the country beyond this expands; no hills were seen near this part of the river; some way below palmyras are common; bombax, ficus, and tamarind are the chief trees. passed reedan, a straggling place on the left bank. a range of hills occur, extending close along the right bank, and which, as well as the distant ones, are wooded to the summit, as the hills are on the malay coast. passed thengyee, a village on the right bank. hills at this place approach close to the river for a short way, but soon cease. they are covered with teak, scarped, and many images are carved in the recesses of the rock, apparently sandstone. thengyee, just below this, seems to be a great place for boat-building. halted at talownmo at . p.m. _june th_.--at this place there are no hills near the river, which is sub-divided by islands. painted partridge continues. kioungee; palmyra trees continue in plenty. talipat never seen dead, but with its inflorescence. passed meavion and runaown. palmyras here occur: great numbers of boats passing up and down. traffic considerable. moneu, a village on the left bank, at which many boats were observed. the river banks throughout are today flat and alluvial, and those of the islands are covered with moderate sized grasses; extreme banks jungly. palmyras continue. halted at thendan, on left bank. _june th_.--the country here has the usual alluvial features; few villages are seen, but as the river is sub-divided, one must not judge from this and the consequent barren appearance, that the country is less populated than above. stravadium is common in the woods: on the banks, noticed acrostichum difforme; epiphytical orchideae are common. urticea fructibus late obcordatis. passed tharawa, a village on the left bank, and theenmaga myoo on the right bank, which seems a large place; here pandanus commences. palmyras were seen, together with a few areca. at p.m. i saw at zulone myoo, for the first time during the descent, a crocodile, which is an indication of our approach to the coast. a bombax is now common on some of the islands, the banks are now generally grassy. this bombax is apparently the same as that of assam; the river here resembles the b. pootur about chykwar. halted at a small village about six miles above donai-byoo near dollong. _june th_.--donai-byoo, a.m. this is a large place, on the right bank, having a good many boats. niown sheedouk on the left bank, three miles below donai-byoo, is likewise a large place. tides exist here, and their influence extends upwards as far as zulone, that is to say, the stream is much diminished during the flood. entered rangoon river at p.m.: it is here not more than yards broad. nioungdoa is a middling sized village, situated about a mile from the mouth or entrance, at which were observed plenty of boats. the banks of the river are here grassy; tall saccharum and arundo occur, but not so large as those of assam. the river a small way below the mouth is not more than yards wide. bombax and ficus are the most common trees: lagerstraemia grandiflora forms a little tree jungle: butea likewise occurs. passed tsamaloukde, a small village on the right bank. _june th_.--halted at this morning at a small village on the left bank. the features of the country now become paludosal. acanthus ilicifolius, cynometra acacisides, cyperaceae, soneralia acida, avicennia, stravadium, croton malvaefolium are very common, creni sp. caesalpinia, and a leguminous tree, fructibus -spermis, drupaceis, webera, premna, cissi sp. potius _vitis_, clerodendri sp. heritiera fomes, flagellaria indica, hibisci species populneae affinis, arundo, ambrosinia species. country open, low, and quite flat, admirable for rice cultivation. crinoid giganteum, excaecaria, agallocha, no rhizophores, ipomaea floribus maximis, hypocrateriform, albis, foliis cordatis. soneratia apetala less common, but becomes more so as we approach rangoon, it is an elegant tree with pendulous branchlets. heritiera is very common and conspicuous when in flower, it is then of a yellow brown tint; acrostichum aureum, calamus, and lomaria scandens occur. chapter ix. _journal towards assam and to bootan--contains notes on_ _distribution of plants_. left calcutta a second time on the st august , arrived at serampore on the st september, and spent the day with the voights. _september rd_.--continue on the hooghly: paddy cultivation prevails and crotalaria juncea; this last is sown broadcast in low places, but not quite so low as paddy. bengallees are but slovenly husbandmen; grass, etc. collected by them in small cocks, and covered with a small thatch, which answers its purpose as well as a narrow brimmed hat would answer that of an umbrella. broken earthenware not unfrequently visible in the banks, in some places at the depth of - feet. unsettled weather, with gusts of strong wind from the s. and sse. thermometer degrees '. the usual calcutta birds continue, jackdaw-like crow, falco pondicherainus, two common mainas, ardea indica, and the white one. came on the ganges about noon; on passing chobda had the horror of seeing the bodies of burning hindoos, the friends who are present at these funeral rites turning them about with sticks, so as to give each side its share of fire. the women bathe in their ordinary dresses: these though ample are of fine cotton fabric, so that when wet more of the shape is disclosed than is deemed desirable in europe, but exposure of person has no repugnant effect on asiatics. the matabangah is a small, very tortuous, stream, not exceeding yards in breadth: the banks are low, either wooded to the edge or covered with grass, such as cynodon. excellent pasturage prevails, as indicated by the number of cows. _monday th_.--wind se. there are not many villages in the vicinity of the river; passed yesterday kranighat, where there is a toll, from which officers on duty are exempt; but as no precautions seem to be taken to keep the river clear, no toll whatever should be taken: although the latter is high, the receipts must be very small. passed arskally about noon, the banks are composed occasionally of pure sand, and the country becomes more open, with very little jungle, much indigo cultivation occurs. thermometer degrees '. _tuesday_, _ th_.--wind sw. the country continues the same as before. at p.m., we reached krishnapoor. _wednesday_, _ th_.-- a.m. we left the matabangah river and entered a less tortuous nullah. the country continues the same. much indigo cultivation still occurs. we saw yesterday evening a large herd of cows swim across the matabangah; they were led by a bull, who kept turning round every now and then to see whether his convoy was near him. today i saw a rustic returning from his labours, with his plough thrown easily across his shoulders; to a strong englishman the feat of walking home with such a plough, cattle, and all would not be very difficult. indigo is cut about a foot from the ground, then tied in bundles. water for steeping it in is raised from the rivers by something like chair-buckets, only the buckets are represented by flat pieces of wood, the whole is turned on an axle by the tread of men; the water is carried upon an inclined narrow plane; the machine answers its purpose very well, and the natives work it with great dexterity. at p.m., we came on a stream yards wide, down which we proceeded. _thursday_, _ th_.--the country continues much the same. of birds the black and white peewit is not uncommon;--cormorants, etc. also occur. p.m. thermometer degrees. _friday_, _ th_.--the country is more low and more sub-divided by rivers than before. abundance of indigo. pumps also used, as before observed, for raising water. passed moodoo kully at p.m., and left its river for a small nullah. indigo abundant on all sides throughout the day's journey. _saturday_, _ th_.--continue in this nullah. country wooded. phaenix sylvestris very abundant: areca catechu also becoming abundant. a good deal of cultivation occurs, mottled chiefly with sugar-cane and vegetables. the habits of the black and white kingfisher, alcedo rudis, are different from those of the other indian species: it never perches, choosing rather the ground to rest upon: it builds in banks: takes its prey by striking it from a height of feet or thereabouts, previously fluttering or hovering over it. the size and figure of this bird when resting on the ground, resembles the two common indian terns. palms, contrary to what might be supposed from the nature of these plants, can put forth additional buds;--this is exemplified in phaenix sylvestris, the stems of which are deeply and alternately notched by the natives for procuring toddy. when this is carried to a great extent, the tree either dies or a new apex is formed laterally. the old notches, as might be expected, at length, become much obliterated. it is from the study of such palms that much light will be thrown on the growth of monocotyledonous stems. the vegetation of jheels is now obviously commencing. pistia stratioles, nymphaea, potamogeton, potamochloa, oplismenus stagninus, and villarsia occur. reached furreedpore at p.m. _sunday_, _ th_.--came on the paddo, an immense stream . miles wide, with a very strong current, about a mile to the east of furreedpore. lagerstraemia regina here occurs. _monday_, _ th_.--the country is become much lower since leaving furreedpore, and is inundated during the height of the rains. the peculiar vegetation of jheels predominant; that of the jungle continues much the same. plhugoor continues plentiful. no palmyras. mangoes plentiful, but small. passed a deserted roman catholic chapel, and priest's house. white-winged long-nailed water-hens becoming plentiful. _tuesday_, _ th_.--the country abounds more in jheels: in many places nothing is visible but water, in which huge plains of floating grasses occur. the villages are very numerous, and occupy in fact almost every spot of ground not subject ordinarily to inundation. damasonium indicum, nymphaea pubescens occur in profusion. the grass which exists in such vast quantities is, i believe, oplismenus stagninus. the water of these jheels is clear, black when deep, which it often is to a great extent. _wednesday_, _ th_.--reached dacca about p.m.: it is a large and populous place. the numerous grass of the jheels is sown there: it is the red bearded _dhan_ or paddy grass: of this vast quantities are cut for fodder, for, the whole face of the country being overflowed, it follows that the cattle are throughout the rains kept in stalls. _thursday_, _ th_.--left about noon, and proceeded down the dacca river about miles, then diverged into a narrow creek running nearly south. along this were observed fine specimens of tamarind trees. stravadium in abundance. sonninia scandens, and mango, both in abundance. passed at p.m. neerangunge, a large native town, and below it luckepoor. a vast expanse of water appeared near this, viz., the megna. a good deal of native shipping occurs, consisting of brigs: great quantities of rice being exported from both places. pelicans i observed here to roost in trees. [view in the jheels: p .jpg] friday, th.--in the midst of jheels: the whole face of the country is covered with water several feet deep. vast quantities of oplismenus stagninus still occur. _saturday_, _ th_.--still in jheels. the same features continue. the country is still very populous, all the more elevated spots having villages. oplismenus stagninus still prevails in vast quantities. _sunday_, _ th_.--jheels in every direction:--nothing indeed seen but water, with occasional grassy or reedy, and elevated spots occupied by villages:--here and there a round-headed tree springing apparently out of the water. hills visible to the east. cormorants, ciconia nudiceps, paddy-birds, the common white ones with black feet, are abundant, and associate in flocks: there is one very nearly allied to this, which is solitary, having black feet with yellow toes. the boats of this district are very simple, something like a bengal _dingy_ reversed, but they are sharp in the bows and ought to be fast; their only mode of progression is to be pushed along by means of poles. there appears to be a great number of mussulmans, who would here seem to form the majority of the population. strong winds from the south interrupt our progress. _monday_, _ th_.--delayed by bad weather. _tuesday_, _ th_.--continued to pass through same kind of country, but less jheelly. the cook boat was left behind on the th in a squall, and has not come up yet, so that i dine with the boatmen. the black and white long-toed water-hen continues plentiful: when alarmed by kites, etc. it pursues them uttering a low mournful scream, until it has succeeded in getting its enemy off to some distance; it then returns, i suppose to its young; otherwise its cry is something like the mewing of a cat, or rather a low hollow moan. the hills are plainly visible to- day, lying towards the north. the males of the white and black water-hen have tails something like those of a pheasant. there are two other species: one that is found on the tenasserim coast; the other is much larger,--the size, of a large domestic fowl: one of the sexes, has red wattles on its head. the white and black one is far the most common; it feeds apparently, in flocks: the maulmain one is the least common. these with ardea indica, the white, black-toed, yellow-beaked ardea, ciconia nudiceps a small brown _chat_?, pica vagabunda, are the birds of the jheels or rather the dry spots in them. i saw yesterday a flock of the black ibis, flying _in a_ _triangle_ (>) _without a base_, the party was headed by one of the white paddy-birds! villages have become very numerous, and the population abundant and flourishing. the cattle are, as i have said, stalled and fed with paddy grass, quantities of boats being employed for its conveyance. oplismenus stagninus appears less common about here. _thursday_, _ st_.--still among jheels; our progress is necessarily very slow; we are indeed scarcely moving, there being no tracking ground: jheels occur in every direction, although the hills are not miles distant. pelicans with white and black marked wings occur, together with the slate-colored eagle with white tail, barred at tip with black; it is common in the low wooded places surrounded by jheels. black-bellied tern occurs, but not that of assam. _friday_, _ nd_.--arundo and two species of saccharum occur, among which s. spontaneum, is very common and of large size. we reached the soorma river about o'clock, or miles above mr. inglis's house. i arrived at chattuc on the st, which place i left for pundoa the following day. there are no mountains of this name as would seem from the habitat of some plants given in roxburgh's flora indica. the mountains therein called pundoa are the khasya or cossiah range; pundoa, is the name of a village called by the natives puddoa. the jheels are for a great part under cultivation. the paddy cultivation is of two kinds; it is either sown in the jheels just at the commencement of the inundation, or it is sown on higher portions, and then transplanted into the jheels. jarool, lagerstraemia regina is the chief timber, it comes from kachar; it is a dear and not a durable wood. dalbergia bracteata, first appears, on low hills about chattuc; there is also a grimmia here on the river banks. porpoises are often seen in the soorma; alligators or crocodiles, very rarely. jheels continue nearly to the foot of the mountains; these last are not wooded more than half way up; the remaining wood being confined to ravines, the ridges appearing as if covered with grass. here and there, scarped amphitheatres are visible, down which many fine cascades may be seen to fall. arrived at mr. inglis's bungalow at pundoa about p.m., and here regulated my thermometers; temperature of boiling water taken with the large thermometer . degrees, by means of the one in wooden case . degrees, temperature of the air . degrees, red case thermometer indicated the boiling point at degrees!! nor would the mercury rise higher. _saturday_, _ rd_.--commenced the ascent, from terya ghat. up to which point the country is perfectly flat low and wet, covered for a great part with gigantic sacchara; among which partridges are common. osbeckia nepalensis, marlea begonifolia, gouania, bignonia indica, a panax, byttneria, hedysarum gyrans, pueraia, mimosa stipulacea, a very large rottboellia, bauheniae , bombax, tetranthera arborea, grewia sepiaria may all be observed. on the terya river among stones, and where it is a pure mountain stream eugenia salicifolia, as in the upper kioukdweng, between terya and the foot of the hills occurs; alstonia, ophioxylon, trophis aspera, urtica naucleiflora, varecae sp. impatiens in abundance, oranges in groves occur; at the foot cryptophragmium venustum; rather higher, argostemma, and neckera are common; aeschynanthus fulgens, jack and sooparee commonly cultivated. then oxalis sensitiva, a small tender lycopodium; pine-apples, pogonatherum crinitum; gordonia soon commences, probably at feet. polytrichum aloides appears on banks with gordonia; eurya commences above the first cascade. choripetalum, modecca, sonerila about two-thirds up to mahadeb, and commelina, c. bengalensis, and anatherum muricatum continue to mahadeb, as also andropogon acicularis, the impatiens, etc. no change takes place, in fact the vegetation being all tropical. up to this place thick tree jungle continues; the ridges sometimes are covered with grass, either saccharum, anthistiria arundinacea or manisuris; scarcely any oaks occur. euonymus occurs at mahadeb. beyond mahadeb the scene becomes changed especially after surmounting the first ridge, the face of the hills is covered with grasses, interspersed with rocks; the clumps of wooded vegetation being small, irregular, and composed of barren looking stunted trees. above this ridge the country puts on the appearance of a table land. at mahadeb, staurogyne, ruellia neesiana, and cryptophragmium are common, a little above these is a species of zalacca; impatiens bracteata is very common from near the foot to beyond mahadeb; but it becomes small and disappears before moosmai is reached. cymbidium bambusifolium commences feet above mahadeb. linum trigynum commences at mahadeb; scutellaria a little above, but i have found this at the foot. dianella is found , feet above mahadeb, as also camellia candata; plantago, and eriocaulon sp. appear about feet above mahadeb; and continue to churra. randia, the common one, is found up to , feet. cinchona gratissima appears at moosmai. the first viburnum, also occurs here. impatiens graminifolia a little lower. salomonia, which appears half way to mahadeb, continues to moosmai and churra, but is stunted. vaccinium, ceratostemma, crotalaria hoveoides, gnaphalia appear towards moosmai. wendlandia at moosmai. ruellia persicaefolia straggles a little lower than these. smithia commences at moosmai; pandanus also; this is excessively common on hills to the left, towards the caves. dipsacus commences above moosmai. _monday_, _ th_.--churra is situated in a plain surrounded in every direction by low rounded hills, except to the e. and se., on which side there is a deep ravine, the whole plateau rising considerably towards the north, in the direction of churra itself. ravines exist here and there; it is along these, and the water-courses, that the only woody vegetation is to be found. the rest of the surface is clothed with grasses, of which a number of species exist, they are chiefly andropogoneae. two or three osbeckias exist; a tradescantia (t. septem clavata) covers certain patches with its bright blue flowers. three species of impatiens, two with bright pink flowers are common. spathoglottis, and anthogonum occur on the flat rocks, which frequently prevail; arundinaria is seen every where as well as a smithia? with lotus-like blossoms. with regard to birds, the motacilla or water-wagtails are seen at churra and at pundoa, are generally of yellow colour in place of white. the woody vegetation consists of berberis, viburnum, bucklandia, cleyera floribus fragrantis, petalis sepalis oppositis, myrsine and many others, too numerous indeed to mention. the woods, towards churra, assume that rounded and very determinate form, which is seen so commonly in some parts of england, bucks for instance. none of the trees arrive to any great size. the generality are low, rounded, and stunted. it is in these, that quercus, viburnum, and pandanus may be seen growing side by side. _october th_.--took the height of the station, which i make to be , feet; temperature degrees; water boiled at degrees; in the small metal thermometer degrees! centigrade degrees; large metal . degrees; wooden scale degrees. _october th_.--left for surureem. on the first height on which the village is situated, a potentilla is to be found, and this becomes more abundant as we continue to ascend. the next european form that appears, is fragaria, the height of which may be estimated at , feet, this too becomes more common as we ascend; caryota may be seen, or at least, a palm tree, in ravines as high as , feet; daucus appears at , feet in grassy plains; prunella at about the same, gerardia at , feet; gaultheria and an impatiens with very small yellow flowers at , feet, as well as othonna. with the exception of these, the vegetation is much the same as that about churra: but the balsams of that place disappear almost towards surureem, as well as the tradescantia -clavata. plants which are not in flower about churra, are found towards surureem in perfection. after the first considerable ascent is surmounted, and which is probably , feet, the country becomes more barren, the grass more scanty and less luxuriant. spathoglottis, and anthogonium disappear; xyris continues in abundance, likewise eriocaulons, especially the middling- sized one; bucklandia becomes more common and more developed; a frutescent salix commences at , feet, as well as a gramen avenaceum vel bromoideum. surureem is a small village, feet above the rude bungalow, provided for the few travellers who pass this way; close to it is to be found zanthoxylum and hemiphragma, which last commences at moosmai. the simple leaved rubus of churra, petalis minutis carneis, has ceased; a trifoliate one foliis cordato-rotundatis, existing instead. most of the grasses continue, but all are comparatively of small stature. two new andropogonoids make their appearance: of compositae, a tussilaginoid and a stout senecionidea, the former not uncommon about churra, but out of flower. salomonia ceased. the height of surureem i calculate at , feet; temperature degrees fahr.; of centigrade degrees; water boiled at . degrees of centigrade; degrees fahr., wooden scale; . degrees large metal; small ditto . degrees! temperature of the air at p.m., degrees. _october th_.--temperature a.m., . degrees. left for moflong. there is a considerable rise at first, then the country is tolerably level until one reaches the kala panee, the descent to this is about or feet, thence the rise is great, with a corresponding descent to the boga panee, which i estimate at , feet, and which is certainly , feet below the highest ground passed on this side of the kala panee. after crossing this torrent, by means of a miserably unsteady wooden bridge, the ascent is very steep for about , feet, thence there is a small descent to moflong, which i find to be , feet. most of the plants continue. tradescantia and commelina become much less common towards the kala panee, as well as the impatiens of churra, but their place is supplied by others. along yards of the kala panee, upwards of four species may be met with. polygonum (bistorta) becomes more common on the higher ground between surureem and kala panee, thence diminishing in size and frequency. polygonum rheoides becomes abundant towards a height of , feet, when pyrus, an apple-like species, and spiraeas make their appearance at , feet. on the kala panee, bucklandia re-appears, but thence would seem to cease: on the brow of the ascent from this, pedicularis appears in abundance among grasses, with it _sphacele_? at the same height, which cannot be less than , feet, carduus or cnicus, appears. solidago commences in the valley of the kala panee, but becomes more abundant at higher elevations. sanguisorba appears at , feet, but in small quantities, and at this height anisadenia recommences. epilobium appears at , feet, continues at the same elevation to moflong, where it is common. on the descent to the boga panee, an european form of euphorbia appears at , feet with viola patrinia and a galium asperum. hieracium appears at about the same height. cuscuta is very common from to , feet, continuing even to moflong; the scales of this genus are, it appears to me, mere appendages of the filaments, and not due to non-development or suppression of parts. erythrina, which is found about churra, is seen on the road to kala panee, apparently quite wild; altitude , feet: it recommences at moflong, where it is common about villages, but never exceeds the size of a small tree. commelina bengalensis? continues throughout here and there, and may be found even about moflong. the most striking change occurs, however, in the pines, which, although of small stature, exist in abundance on the north side of the boga panee; so far as may be judged of by the naked eye, they disappear on this side, about a mile to the westward, very few cross the torrent, and few indeed are found feet above its bed on the south side. i took the height of the bed of this torrent. temperature of the air degrees; water boiled at degrees; which gives the height about , feet. between surureem and the boga panee, many new plants occur; grasses continue, as also at moflong, the prevailing feature. the principal new ones occur on the descent, consisting of two large andropogons, one closely allied to a. schaeranthus and a tall anthistiria habitu a. arundinacea; a beautiful saccharum occurs here and there, especially before reaching the kala panee and the gramina bromoidea, which is the only really european form. on the kala panee, scarcely any podostemon griffithia; except a few small ones, very few signs or appearance of fresh plants. along the boga panee, among the wet rocks which form its banks, a fine parnassia; a trailing arbutoidea; a very european looking quercus; anesadenia pubescens, a circaea, campanulae , aeschynomene, crotalaria, a serissa?; this last continuing to moflong, a fine osbeckia, and gnaphalium aereonitus may likewise be found. on the ascent, few new plants occur; rhinanthoidea, osbeckia nepalensis, and capitata, conyzoidea, dipsacus, gnaphalium foliis linearibus, crotolaria hoveoides, colutoidea, pteris (aquilina.) scutellaria, potentilla, smilax occur at , feet with plantago, fragaria and artemisia, as well as lower down. the most striking plant is a delphinium, which, at about , feet, occurs stunted; this is common about moflong. agrimonia range from , to , feet, where they are very common, hypericum three sorts occur, h. myrtifolium commences, about churra, re- occurs here and there on the road to moflong, about which it is very common. h. ovalifolium, is more elevational, scarcely descending below , feet; h. japonicum is found from towards mahadeb to moflong; h. fimbriatum foliis decussatis, scarcely below , feet; leucas galea brunneo villosa on grassy hills is common towards boga panee, and continues as high as moflong. quercus commences about mahadeb: a new species occurs on the edge of woods towards the kala panee; altitude , feet; it nearly commences with two rhododendra, which, at least the arborescent one, arrives at perfection on the kala panee. viburna continue; salix (fruticose) commences about , feet, continues here and there to moflong. buddleia neemda is found about churra, but not commonly; and soon disappears. b. -alata commences beyond the churra punjee, and continues as far as moflong. thibaudia buxifolia becomes less common beyond , feet; other forms of ericineae appear in places about , feet, gaultheria continuing as far as moflong. eurya species alterum, commences about the same elevation, continuing to moflong. three species of spiraea are found between surureem and moflong, none perhaps below , feet; prunella occurs about the same height, continuing as far as moflong. on crossing the boga panee, the country becomes perhaps more undulated and much more barren, scarcely any arborescent vegetation is to be seen, the little woody vegetation consisting of stunted shrubs. immediately around moflong, the country is excessively bare, not a tree is to be seen, even the sides of ravines being clothed with stunted shrubs. berberis asiatica, viburna, spiraea _bella_? eurya _camellifolia_, betula _corylifolia_. to the north, fine woods are seen, and to the east, fir woods, the nearest being about miles off. the village is small and wretchedly dirty, the paths being the worst of all i have seen on these hills. the houses and the adjoining fields are surrounded with hedges of colquhounia, erythrina, buddlaea. in waste places colquhounia _micrantha_, cysticapnos, verbesina, pteris, davallia, etc. are to be found, as well as codonopsis viridiflora. the hills are covered with low grass, almost a sward. on this, potentilla, agrimonia, geranium as well as in fields, pisoideum floribus cyaneis, campanula, aster disco azureo may be found; on low spots a very small parnassia, and a still smaller ischaemum. ranunculus, one species, but this is uncommon; delphinium is common in thickets, etc. the only cultivation is potatoes, a few years since introduced, and which answers admirably, some turnips and glycine tuberosa. cattle, goats and pigs abundant. on the whole this is to be considered as the place where the peculiar vegetation of churra, arrives at its boundary, for although many of the plants of the plains are to be found, they are all in a dwarf state. noticed a hoopoo, but birds in general are not frequent. chapter x. _continues the journey towards assam and bootan_. the annexed table of the distributions of plants in relation to altitudes of the khasyah mountains may render the subject of the preceding observations more clear and distinct. the dotted line along the left hand margin represents the elevation of the mountains, the greater height of which is something better than , feet. [gradient surureem to moflong: g .jpg] _october th_.--visited the fir wood, which is about three miles to the eastward; the road runs over the same _downey_ ground. the first plant that appears is a boreal euphorbia, allied to that previously mentioned. a sanguisorba of large stature occurs in low wet places. epilobum not uncommon. the pines appear first straggling, and they only form a wood in one place, and even there not of much extent; none are of any size. musci lichens and fungi abound in the wood, as also circaea and herminium? osbeckia nepalensis, hedychia , a small goodyera, tricyrtis hedera, polygonum, polypodium, gaultheria, viburnum, thibaudiacea fructibus gratis, subacidis. eurya, valeriana, quercus, may likewise be found. salix occurs on the skirts in low places. the hills around are clothed with grasses, among which is a large airoidea; in the low valleys between these, intersected with small water-courses, three species of juncus, a curious umbellifera fistulosa, and mentha verticillata, occur. another hypericum is likewise found in lately cleared places. some cultivation occurs about the place on the slopes of hills, chiefly of a digitaria, sown broadcast, and tied up in bundles when nearly ripe; together with glycine tuberosa, and coix lacryme. to the eastward the hills become more rocky, affording little vegetation, the chief plant is an othonnoidea; another herminioidea, and a habenariod, both out of flower, may be found, the former on hills, the latter in low places; a tall campanula was among the new plants, and an umbellifera with curious foliage. the height of this ridge is , feet, the temperature being degrees, and water boiling at . degrees. took the elevation of moflong bungalow. temperature of the air degrees; water boiled at . degrees; this gives , feet. there are several high rounded hills about this place, (one to the south of the boga panee,) the generality of which are more elevated than those on the northern side; the most conspicuous is the hill near moleem, the north face of which is wooded, and which is at least , feet above moflong. p.m. temperature . degrees. p.m. degrees. _october th_.--rain as usual in the morning. thermometer at a.m., . degrees. _october th_.--a fine bracing cold morning, with the thermometer at . degrees. a.m. left for myrung. the march to syung is uninteresting, passing over precisely the same country as that about moflong, with vegetation much the same. a tall carduaceous tree with pink flowers was found in the swampy bottoms of the valleys. about syung, a seneciois tree foliis angustissimus. it is about this place that the sides of the ravines become clothed with forest, and from this northward, pines increase in abundance. anthistiria speculis villosissimis continues here and there; a good deal of cultivation passed on the road, especially under syung to the south, where there is a large valley. the chief cultivation appears to be coix, glycine, and some rice, but the produce seemed very small. at the foot of syung on the north side, large tufts of juncus occur, and on the first ascent another species of valeriana foliis radicalibus reniformi cordatus occurs. urena lobale was noticed as high as , feet. between syung and myrung, especially about nungbree, parnassia recurs, with another species of epilobium, xyris, juncus, the senecioneoe, etc.; a new impatiens occurs towards myrung. generally speaking, the plants are much the same as those about moflong; but several new compositae occur. the road leaves nungbree to the right, leaving the most interesting parts of the march behind. altogether not more than additional plants occurred in a journey of hours. many parts are wet and marshy, and there is an absence of all tree vegetation, until one reaches syung. this makes the first part of the way somewhat tedious. at syung an elaeagnus occurs; colquhounia as usual in hedges; styrax occurs at foot of the hill the altitude of which is , feet. an anemone is common on road sides, especially on this side of syung; a new potentilla occurs; and the only boragineous plant hitherto seen by me on these hills, a cynoglossum closely allied to c. canescens. the altitude of syung is , feet. the temperature being degrees, and water boiling at degrees. myrung p.m. thermometer degrees. _october th_.--myrung a.m. temp. degrees fahr.; noon degrees; p.m. temp. degrees; temp. p.m. . degrees. weather unsettled, showery, and very cloudy, a very fine view is had of bootan and the himalayas from this place, particularly about a.m. when the atmosphere is clear, the durrung peaks being most magnificent. the vegetation of the hills about here is much the same as about moflong. the woods are fine, composed chiefly of oaks; a magnolia, which is a very large tree, likewise occurs together with gordonia, an occasional pinus, myrica integrifolia. the most curious tree is one which with the true appearance of an elaeagnus, seems to be a loranthus, the first arborescent species yet found, although, as one or two other exceptions occur to parasitism, there is no reason why there should not be a terrestrial arborescent species, as well as a fruticose one. the wood to the east of the bungalow, which clothes a deep and steep ravine, has a very rich flora; a dryish ridge on the other side of its torrent abounds with orchideae, and presents an arborescent gaultheria. the ridge in question may be recognised by its large rocks which are covered with epiphytes mosses, etc. in this wood pothos flammea is very common, climbing up the trees as well as hanging in festoons. the marshes which are frequented by a few snipe, present grasses, the usual cyperaceae, xyris, occurs but is not common; panicum stagninum? eriocaulon spe. fluitans? burmannia rungioidea floribus carneis magnis, senecionides, ammannia rotundifolia, sphagnum, carduacea floribus roseis, limnophilae sp. mentha verticillata, and the others previously found in similar situations. _goldfussia_ so common about churra, recurs here, but rarely. the wood abounds with several species of birds, among which a green _bulbul_ is the most common, then the fan-tailed parus, with its coquettish airs; judging from the voice there is a species of bucco. both species of phaenicornis, yellow and crimson, described in gould's century as male and female, and the black edolius are found. the only animals are two species of squirrel, and a genet, of which i shot one, but although it fell from a height of feet or so, i could not succeed in securing it; it is a lengthy animal, black and grey, with a long tail, climbing trees with great facility. the ring-dove of churra continues. the weather during the four days i stayed at myrung was unsettled; fine usually in the morning, but cloudy and showery in the evening; the range of the thermometer from degrees, at . a.m. to degrees in the afternoon in an open verandah. the place, however, is not a cheerful one, for the aspect on every side except to the e. and ne. is dreary, marshes and the usual bleak grassy hills being alone visible. my favourite spot in this direction would be the nungbree hill, the altitude of which, at least of that part over which the road to the village runs, is , , (or probably , ,) temperature of the air being **, and water boiling at . degrees. there is a beautiful and very extensive wood at nungbree, the largest i have yet seen; it consists, at least at the skirts, principally of oaks; a large pyrus is also not uncommon. eurya, and an arborescent buddleia likewise occur. [the ok-klong rock: p .jpg] at this place plectranthus azureus makes its appearance, otherwise the vegetation is that of myrung; the most remarkable plant is a huge sarcocordalis, parasitic on the roots of a large climbing cissus cortice suberosa, foliis quinatis, on the wet parts of the wood, especially towards the mountain foot, mosses abound, chiefly the pendent hypna and neckerae. on the th, i went to a celebrated rock called kullung, bearing about nw. from myrung, from the heights surrounding which it is visible; the road runs off from the nunklow nearly opposite monei, near to which village one passes; the village is of no great size, and as well as others in this direction is inhabited chiefly by blacksmiths, the iron being procured from the sand washed down the mountain torrents; the sound of their anvils when beaten is very soft and musical, not unlike that of a sheep bell. the road to the rock is very circuitous; it finally ceases, and for an hour one traverses ridges on which no path exists, having the usual vegetation. the rock is certainly a vast mass, forming a precipice of feet to the westward, on which side it is nearly bare of vegetation, gradually shelving to the east, and covered with tree-jungle, among which huge mosses are to be found. at its foot some fine fir trees occur, one at its very base measured nine feet in circumference, but had no great height. the forest consists of oaks, pines, panax, erythrina eurya, gordonia. the base of the rock is covered with mosses, hepaticae, a didymocarpus, caelogyne and some other epiphylical orchideae, among others bolbophyllum cylindraceum. all these continue to its apex, except the mosses and hepaticae, which are gained by clambering, and proceeding up fissures clothed with grasses. the apex is rounded, presenting here and there patches of grass, aira, and nardus, together with a few stunted shrubs--viburnum, another rhododendron, and didymocarpus common, caelogyne in profusion, bolbophyllum cylindraceum in abundance, mosses, lichens, an allium also in abundance on the slopes, stellaria in the woods towards the middle. the view to the westward in particular was pretty, embracing a fine well- wooded undulated valley, with several villages and a stream of some size. the plains of assam and the huge brahmapoutra were likewise seen, but not very clearly. the distance from myrung to the kullung rock is certainly not less than eight miles, the time it took was hours. the altitude of the rock is , feet, temperature degrees, water boiling at . . wild hog are found round its base. { } _october th_.--i left for moleem, the march is long and fatiguing; the road leaves the moflong road at about four miles from the village of that name, continuing over similar barren hills, clothed with scanty grass. on reaching morung firs become common, but they are small. the view of moleem, from this direction is remarkably pretty; the country being better wooded, especially with young firs, and the effect being much increased by the quantities of large boulders that occur strewn in every direction. the boga panee is here a contemptible stream, not knee deep. moleem is a place of some size on the left bank of the river, occupying the side of a hill of considerable height. thermometer p.m. degrees. _october th_.--temp. a.m. degrees, at p.m. . degrees, water boiled at degrees, altitude , feet, or perhaps rather more. walked towards nogandree; between this and a stream resembling the boga panee there is a pretty valley, the eminences generally well-wooded with young firs. pretty and eligible sheltered sites might here be chosen for a sanatarium. the vegetation is the same as that of moflong--delphinium, ranunculus, anemone, potentilla, tricyrtis, codonopsis, lilium giganteum, spiraeaceae, viola, pyrus, galium, carduus, viburna. the woods are not very frequent, they consist, when not exclusively of pines, chiefly of oaks and chesnuts. underwood almost entirely of acanthaceae. rhus bucki-amelam is common here, an oxalis occurs in very shady places with fleshy leaves, it is so large that it is scarcely referrible to o. corniculata. berberis asiatica is very common. p.m. thermometer degrees, p.m. . degrees. _october th_.-- a.m. . degrees (sic). ascended the chillong hill, which is among the highest portion of this range, it is said that from this both the plains of bengal and of assam may be seen, not because it overtops all the intermediate ground, but because that happens in some places to be rather low; the termination of the st elevation above churra, is seen to be very abrupt, but nothing can be seen beyond the elevated plateau of this part towards the south. to the east and west the view has the usual appearance--grassy valleys and hills--with a great disproportion of jungle. the summit is gained after an easy march of two hours; the ascent is gradual. the highest ridge is naked of trees, but to the north the slope is in one portion covered with heavy tree-jungle, in which the underwood is as thick as i have ever seen it: it consists of an acanthaceous plant; the forest itself of oaks, chesnuts and rhododendron arboreum, which last is common on the highest margin. a few pines occur, but scarcely above the middle of the hill. to the north very high ground is visible, as likewise from myrung, and between this and chillong is an elevated plateau which appears to me likewise very eligible for the sites of european residences. but many places about moleem are so, especially towards nonkreem; and it is much to be regretted that some situation in this part of the range had not been selected for the site of a sanatarium instead of churra. the rhododendra were covered with mosses and other epiphytes, among which otochilus occurred. bambusae, fici sp. andropogon, gaylussacia, etc. occur about the wood. the vegetation of the grassy hills was precisely the same, aroidea, erianthus, tofieldioidea, parnassia nana _potius_ _collina_, sphacelioidea, osbeckia, arbutoideae, etc. i got scarcely a single new plant; the best was a fine large neckera, sect. dendroidea. the temperature being degrees: water boiled at degrees, making the altitude , feet. no view of any particular beauty was obtained, nor did any thing occur to repay me for the trouble and fatigue of the journey. about moleem an osmundoid is common enough, but not in _flower_: the northern forms are ranunculus, anemone, parnassia, pyrus, pinus, viola, galium, campanula, clematis, of which an additional species occurs, bromoideae, etc. etc., as at moflong. i took the height of this place again; the mean of the three thermometers gave , feet, the temperature being at degrees: water boiling at degrees, . degrees, degrees. it must, however, be remembered that my residence is not feet above the bed of the boga panee, so that it would be easy to attain an elevation of , feet in the village itself. _october th_.--i returned to churra to send away my collections and to consult with major lister as to the routes proposed for me by capt. jenkins, viz. through the garrows, or through the cacharees. nothing particular occurred en route. i met with hydrangea exaltata along a torrent flowing into the main-feeder of the boga panee, and two other araliaceae. the highest ground crossed is towards the ravine of the boga panee, and from this a good view of moflong is obtained, and also of the himalayas in clear weather. coelogyne wallichiana was commencing to flower; this plant occurs in profusion in some rocky spots about moflong. the only additional thing i remarked was, that luculia scarcely reaches the kala panee. on my return to churra, a change was observed in the character of the vegetation, all the tradescantias had ceased, as well as most of the impatientes, and eriocaulons. the grasses had become more withered, and the general tint was brown. no kites (falco milvus) are to be observed out of churra. the plants which were particularly conspicuous about churra, were past flowering in the interior; thus osbeckia nepalensis? was not to be met with in flower in the interior, while it is in profusion about the station. the same may be said of other instances. after all churra presents the richest flora of any other place in the khasyah hills, because there is a greater extent of wood near it, than is found in any other locality, much greater _altitudes_ and deeper descents in its ravines, and it is as it were the transit point between a tropical or sub-tropical, and a temperate vegetation. i have no doubt, that within a circle of three miles of churra, , species might be found in one year. the principal plants pointing out the tropical nature of the vegetation are pandanus, which is almost limited to the limestone formation, on which it is excessively abundant, chamaerops martiana? which from its affecting particularly the walls of the amphitheatres so conspicuous about moosmai, mamloo and surureem, and the depths of whose sides is probably at mamloo , feet, might have been better named. i have never seen it on any other places. the alsophila brunoniana is likewise apparently confined to the limestone hills, while the tree fern, polypodium, is found on sandstone, as well as impatiens, tradescantia, commelineae, eriocauloneae, xyres, almost all the grasses, melastomaceae, almost all the leguminosae and the preponderance of tropical rubiaceae, which are, however, few, scitamineae, epiphytical orchideae, urena labiata, etc. etc. on the _ rd_ i went to mamloo, which is about four miles to the west of churra. to this place the limestone ridge, extending from churra, nearly approaches: its vegetation is not rich but always stunted: rocky amphitheatres are very remarkable at mamloo, they are of excessive depth; their walls being generally perpendicular, often somewhat overhanging. the manner of their formation is now to be seen in the amphitheatre immediately contiguous to the village, although it appears to be very slow. it is thus, bodies of water falling from the edge of the table land, seem to undermine the sandstone below, producing land slips, which occur in this manner year after year. since , the edge of the moosmai fall has receded at least feet, and ample evidence remains of the recession to take place next rains. this simple undermining will suffice for the formation of ravines, which are formed by their sides merely slipping down without being carried away, this last only occurring in the immediate vicinity of the strength of the torrent. all the different stages may be easily seen. the edge of the table land i take to have been originally at mahadeb. the time that has elapsed between the falling of the first cataract over its edge, and the formation of the edge over which the waters at present fall, must be immense, since that edge has now receded several miles. allowing the annual recess to be feet, and the distance miles; the time occupied would be , years: that the time has been great, is proved by the sides of these places being clothed with large tree-jungle to the base of the scarp. _october th_.--i went in search of the fossil marine beach, (found during our first visit in ,) but passed it, and my journey ended at the site of the jasper beds: this occupies a ridge where roads strike off leading to the orange villages, so called from the groves of orange trees by which they are surrounded, and from which they derive their name. from this spot, villages are seen occupying sheltered situations, none much above , feet in elevation. luckily i was accompanied, (although going down i was unconscious of it,) by a boy who had been with mcclelland when he originally discovered the fossil remains, so i recommenced the ascent, after digging in many places without any success. the site is scarcely , feet below mamloo, which is , feet; it is below the ridge along which the road is visible from the village, and is about yards farther from it than the second square stone erection. one would imagine that one was passing through rocks presenting nothing interesting: the rocks are in many places very hard, particularly when they have been long exposed to the atmosphere, in which case they are less red than when sheltered by vegetation, when they are soft and of a reddish colour: the fossils are by no means frequent, the cylindric _tubes_ appear to occupy the outer or rather upper surface of the sandstone, in the interior of which medusae or cyrtomae are most frequent, accompanied by shells, some of large size, the largest bivalves resembling _scolloped oysters_; the next in size looking like oblong cockles: for only in one position did i see a conglomeration of minute shells; this occurred above the others and nearer the jungle. i brought away with me, two boxes full. owing to my presuming that i should meet with water near, i omitted the precaution of taking some with me, so i could not ascertain exactly the height of the place. all the fossils are easily friable. { } from the jasper, which is scarce , feet in elevation, the following plants occurred nearly in succession--holmskioldia, this is scarcely found above , feet; porana in abundance, gradually diminishing above; callicarpa arborea abundant, continuing to about , ; triumfetta, urena lobata, arundo the same as above, melica latifolia, panicum plicatum, and one or two other species; a polygonum, andropogon, small commeline, leea, erythrina are very close to the spot, and the only churra plant, except the arundo and wendlandia is a labiata, geniosporum? so is composita arborea; indeed the vegetation is almost decidedly tropical. the following plants are then seen--tetranthera, flemingia as at mahadeb, vitis, drymaria, panicum eleusinoides, eurya, panax foliis decompositis inermis, pogonatherum crenitum, wallichia, which occur before one has gained an ascent of , feet: osbeckia nepalensis descends to this but in small quantities; then i remarked bidens, aetheilema, caricineae, rottlera, didymocarpus, begonia, cheilanthes dealbata, stemodia ruderalis? scutellaria, impatiens bracteata, rungiae sp. sida, elephantopus sp. and bambusa, gordonii occurring there at an elevation of about , feet. then centotheca lappacea, deeringia, panicum _centrum_, gouania, caryophyllus, which last occurs on all the chain of himalayas, and which i have seen as high as , feet in the mishmee mountains, latitude degrees. panax foliis palmatim partitis, clerodendrum nutans, ficus feruginea and f. hispida, foliis cordatis, serrato-dentatis: then saurauja micrantha; before , feet were reached. there oxyspora sp. paniculis cernius ramis ascendentibus, frutex, croton of old, ruellia persicaefolia appeared, and about , feet, the st quercus appeared. here, as at mahadeb, ruellia neesiana became common, and linum trigynum, uncinia, etc. grasses commence to preponderate at about , feet, but not the grasses of churra. holcus, airoides, etc. not being found, but panica varia, and rottboellia which ceases above this. at the raised marine fossil beach, a queer cephalanthus? legumenosa arbuscula fol. pinnatis impari (pongamiae) legumenibus secus suturam quamque alatis, mangifera indici, anthistiria arundinacea are found, and an arbusculous mimosa, but unarmed. shortly above this, holcus, andropogons, etc., begin to preponderate, and thence the vegetation is nearly that of churra. the woods of mamloo consist of bucklandia, oaks, chesnuts, panax, hyalostemma, eurya, and oleineoe; epiphytes are very common. the most remarkable tree is one foliis alternis bistipulat; corymbis denis, calycibus hinc fissis, petalis -albis, antherae sinuosae columna terminans, et ovarium et stigma occultantes? fructibus pendulis stipilatis ovato oblongis, carpellis -latere marginatus. this has some affinities apparently with sterculiaceae; the flowers are perhaps polygamous. here cypripedium insigne, venustum, and various other fine orchideae may be found. the only bird i saw was a bucco, which in voice resembled the green one of the plains. the elevation of mamloo is , , the temperature being at a.m. degrees. the large metal thermometer rose at the boiling point to . degrees: wooden one to . degrees: centigrade . degrees: small metal degrees. one of the most curious places about churra is situated over the ridge in which the coal is found; on surmounting this, which is steep and perhaps feet high, one soon commences to descend gradually until you come to a water-course; on proceeding along this a short way you come to a precipice. the water falling over this, has cut a deep well in the limestone: the road to the bottom is precipitous and dangerous. on reaching the water-course again no signs of the well are observable, access to this is gained by subterranean passages, of which two, now dry, exist. the scene inside is very striking; you stand on the rugged bottom of the well which is or feet deep, the part above corresponding to the fall, being of about the same depth; the water now escapes through a chasm below the bed of the well, the other fissures or passages being above, and probably now rarely letting off the water. after a severe fall of rain the scene must be grand. _november th_.--nonkreem . a.m., thermometer degrees: hoarfrost. marched hither from surureem. vegetation the same until you reach the boga panee, when delphinium, anemone, and ranunculus make their appearance. on the high ridges before reaching boga panee, found an astragalus; at nonkreem, a scrophularia. nonkreem is a curious place, the village of no great size in a valley: the sides of the valley are covered with boulders; those at the entrance from churra of huge size, and thrown together with great confusion. pines at this place occur of some size, but they are distinctly limited in this direction to the granitic formation. the downs have now assumed a withered wintry appearance. nonkreem is a great place for iron; this is found in coarse red sandstone, or it may be fine granite, forming precipices; this is scraped or pushed down by iron rods, it is then washed by a stream turned off on to it: the stream is dammed up, and the irony particles by their weight fall to the bottom: they are very heavy, of a dull blackish appearance. all the streams are of a whitish colour, and the rocks are covered with caelogyne wallichiana. the elevation of nonkreem is , feet, the temperature of the air being degrees. the large thermometer indicated boiling water degrees: centigrade . degrees: wooden degrees: small degrees. in the nonkreem jheel, alisma, villarsia! and potamogeton occur. _november th_.--the march to suneassa continues over high downs, the vegetation being precisely as before, viz. cnicus, carduus, prunella pedicularis, gaultheria, gnaphalia, bromoid acroideum, tussilaginoid andropogon, sphacelia daucas, hypericum, hedychium, polygonum rheoides, smithia but rare, tradescantia clavigera, parnassia collina, pteris aquilina, euphorbia, dipsacus, salix, osbeckia capitata, aethionnia, eriocaulon, knoxia cordata, and campanula. in short, the higher ridges have the vegetation of those between the kala and boga panee, the less elevated, that of surureem. along the watercourses pyrus, betula, corylifoliae, and eurya. as one approaches suneassa the ravines become wooded, and the aspect of country more diversified. the woods consist of a castanea, oaks, rhododendron arboreum and r. punctatum, panax, eurya, thebaudiaceae variae, no less than or of these, one is a gaylussacia; saccharum megala makes its appearance at suneassa. this is a small straggling village, on the brow of the ravine of the same name; it is like moflong, each house being hidden by hedges composed as usual of buddleia, colquhounii, solanum spirale? erythrina, ficus, and rhus. sugarcane, but of poor quality, is here cultivated, as well as capsicum, but this is also of inferior quality; the houses are worse than usual. near this place several nunklow plants appear, as plectranthus caeruleus, labiata foliis verticillatis of suddya. its elevation is , feet, the temperature being in the air, degrees. big thermometer boiling point ditto degrees: wooden ditto degrees: small degrees: centigrade ditto degrees. pines occur here and there towards suneassa, but of no size and no abundance. _november th_.--left suneassa and proceeded down the ravine which is probably , to , feet deep. the scenery is very pretty, the sides being much wooded; the woods open, consisting chiefly of pines, which are of moderate size, gordonia, castanea, and quercus: mimosea occurs, also saurauja. the grasses are as before, except that the anthisteria of nunklow appears, with volkameria, verbena primulacae, and osbeckia capitate, foliis lineari oblongis, floribus carneis. towards the foot, the scenery still improves. the woods consist of pines and a quercus foliis castaneae cupulis echinatis, arbor mediocris; the slopes as well as the valley are cultivated chiefly for rice, this last often assuming the terrace fashion. the river is of considerable width, to yards, but of no depth: two here flow together, and at the end of the valley a still larger stream not fordable in the rains, at least where i crossed, meets it. on the streams at the base of the suneassa acclivity, salix, ligustrum, ficus frutex humelis, and a fine indigofera occur. moving thence along the valley the vegetation becomes tropical, although pines descend nearly to its level. pontederia the small one of bengal, ditto sagittaria vandelliae, poae , apluda, cyperaceae, saccharum megala, and spontaneum, elytrophorus, ammannia, erianthus, cnicus! artemisia as before, arundo exalum, cirsium, carduus! scitamineae , panicum curvatum, setaria glauca, swertia angustifolia! volkameriae sp., ranunculus hirsutoideus! zizania ciliaris. those marked with (!) have probably straggled down. the cultivation is chiefly of rice, eleusine, coix, and the edible seeded labiata. grasses abound; in addition to those above several new ones occur, rottboellia exallata, anthisteria of nunklow, arundinaceae, andropogones several, saccharum fusco-rubum, species might certainly be collected. fine pines occur on the other ascent from its base to apex. here also occurs phoenix pumile, which as well as the rottboellia, which i think i have seen in the mogoung valley (during the journey to ava), and buddleia neemda. the ascent gained, the country appears level, covered with the usual grasses. the ravines are well wooded, but few pines occur, although they may be seen here and there. the woods appear the same as those of churra. pandanus sp. altera? occurs. in one ravine gathered a new thebaudiaceae allied to t. variegata, differing in its short greenish flowers and its smoothness. [gradient nonkreem to amwee: g .jpg] amwee is situated on an undulated plain or table land; the undulations are gentle, separated by marshy tracts: no steep ravines occur, the face of the undulations is covered with grasses, among which are seen most of the churra plants, the sides are covered with fine woods with defined edges, consisting chiefly of oaks, chesnuts and bucklandia. the aspect of the country is pretty, resembling some woodland scenery in the south of england; close to amwee is a fine stream yards wide, this winds through the valley, and on its upper part fine cascades occur. no fish are to be found besides those of churra. the river is crossed by a stone bridge consisting of pillars of single slabs of large size, one measuring feet in length by from to in breadth. the temperature varies from to during the day in an open verandah. fogs are not so common, nor is the rain so heavy as at churra. the space being much greater, and the country more level, it would be better as a sanatarium than churra, besides which, its access is as easy, it being reached in one day from jynteapore. there is, however, a toorai about jynteapore, which is unhealthy. its altitude is , feet, or nearly below churra. the vegetation is nearly the same as about churra, some new castaneae and an elaeocarpus occur, and pandanus of large size in the woods. epiphytical orchideae abound; nepenthes occurs here. altitude from three observations , feet: st observation , : nd , : rd , . _november th_.--joowye: this is north from amwee, and about miles distant. two valleys have to be descended, one rather steep. the country alters immediately after the st ascent, the woods nearly disappearing except in the more favoured spots. pines soon commence. in the second valley, the stream of which is large, and of which pretty views are to be obtained, the pines reach on the south side to the bank of the stream, on the north scarcely any are to be seen. in the woods about amwee, eugenia is very common: noticed on the route lonicera. joowye is the largest village i have seen, it is of great extent but straggling; near its entrance is a breast-work now nearly complete. the houses are of a better description than those generally met with. they are surrounded by wood, especially fine bamboos, in habit not unlike b. baccifera. they are also surrounded by excellent timber palings. the people are different from khasyas proper--perhaps they are not so fine a race. their features approach more to those of bengallees, particularly the women, who dress their hair like those of assam, indeed the dress generally of both sexes assimilates to that of assamese, although their language seems to be bengallee. in the wood surrounding this place curious features of vegetation occur, and beautiful lanes and pathways. one may see a beech now naked of leaves, standing out in graceful relief close to the elegant foliage of a bamboo. bamboos surround all the houses--sugarcane, kuchoos, mustard, hemp, musa, ricinus were observed. the plants are beech, which is common and of large size. pyrus of moleem, pinus rare, marlea begonifolia! betula corylifolia common. verbena chamaedrys, rubi or , tetrantherae? rubia cordifolia, morus, cerasus, panax species, gleicheniae , eurya, juncus, ranunculus, viola, verbesina of moflong, sida, clematis _pubescens_, caricineae, myrica, gordonia, polygonum , among them rheoides engeldhaardtii common, viburna , wendlandia, osbeckia capitata and nepalensis. the grasses chiefly andropogons; mussaenda, bucklandia, saurauja, hiraea, dipsacus rare, camellia oleifolia, and c. axillaris, begonia laciniata, ficus, vitis, sonerila, plectranthus azureus, randia, mephitidia, psychotria, galium, clerodendrum infortunatum, pyrus or crab, fragaria, potentilla, urena lobata. the diversified nature of the vegetation, both tropical and temperate, is at once evident. the altitude is , feet--temperature of the air degrees; large thermometer boiling point . degrees: wooden ditto . : centigrade ditto degrees: small ditto . degrees. the higher ground about the place is about , feet: joowye being situated in a hollow. viola and peristrophe occur. _november th_.--the march to nurtung occupies about hours. the country is level, or merely undulated, with no considerable descent, the steepest being that to the river on which nurtung is situated. the vegetation continues the same, the trees except in the ravines almost exclusively pines, those on the ravines consisting of oaks, rhododendra, betula corylifolia, betula moroides, solidago, verbena, primulaceae, othonna, occur; anthistiriae, _both_ those of nunklow are common, rottboellia manisuris in low valleys: here and there phoenix pumila is common. the country just before nurtung is uninteresting, scarcely any thing but grass being visible in some directions. indeed it falls off on leaving joowye. rhinanthus, corolla infundibulif. subbilabiat. lobis , superioribus minoribus, stam. ascendent. stigmati inclusi decurvo. _november th_.--nurtung is a large place for these hills, perhaps next in extent to joowye, it occupies principally both sides of a sufficiently sheltered hill. the lanes adjacent to the place are narrow, often very wet, and always very dirty. the gardens are enclosed with wooden palings and are screened still further by bamboos. the houses, at least the better order, are still better than even those of joowye. the exterior is of the same construction as all khasya houses, but the lawns and the comparative cleanliness of the front makes them look much better. the market, which took place to-day, is outside the village and close to our bungalow: it is well attended, but the amount of persons could not exceed to , and these form a considerable amount of all the persons capable of bearing burdens from the neighbouring villages. the luxuries exhibited are all khasyan, consisting of stinking fish, some other things of dubious appearance and still more dubious odour, millet and the inferior grains, and the fashionable articles of khasya clothing and the adjuncts to that abominable habit pawn eating. there was plenty of noise, but still order prevailed: no other rupees than the _rajah's_ were taken, and even pice were refused. iron implements of husbandry of native manufacture were vended, in short all the various luxuries or necessaries of a khasya are obtainable. this place bears evidence of having been ruled over by some chief pretending to hindooism. this is observable in the large fig trees in some of the buildings, in most of the houses in the presence of some brahmins, in the tanks, and in a sacred lake. at any rate it is attended with bad effects, and to see a khasya attempting the formalities of a rigid hindoo is ridiculously absurd. it must be a wealthy place, many of the natives are well off; and i saw a _lady_ of a decidedly superior nature to the khasya women, clad in snow white, reclining in oriental fashion on a platform. the _vegetation_ of this place forms a curious melange around our huts: rhus bucki ameli, two artimiseae, anthistiria arundinacia, pteris aquilina, callicarpa _lilacina_, eurya, bombax, osbeckia nepalensis and linearis, marlea begonifolia, pyrus, pinus, urticia fructibus aurantiaceus capitulatis, polygonum rheoides, rubi , swertia angustifolia, polygonum globuliferum, valerianae, cacalia, randia, gnaphalia nervosa, and g. revoluta, smilax, plectranthus azureus, trichosanthes, leea, tradescantia clavigera, geniosporum, _butea_, hypericum, knoxia cordata, rice cultivation. along the path to the village are to be found, carduus, myrica crotalaria, _hacyoides_, cariceneae, panicum curvatum, arundo, mentha verticillata, cyperaecae usual, zizania ciliaris, panax, wendlandia _salvinia_, isachne bigeniculata, betula corylifolia common, pontedera, tetranthera, erythrina, celtis, salix, buddleia, gordonia, calamus abundant, juncus, arum macrophyllum, cordiaceae, urena lobata, cynoglossum canescens, bambusa, verbesinea, _lavinia_, magnolia of myrung, camellia oleifolia, gualtheria. about the village, porana, musa, verbena, xanthophyllum, xyris, urtica herophylla, sambucus, etc. the cultivation consists of rice, millet, soflong? pumpkins and tobacco; guavas and oranges, are also to be seen. daphne cannabina occurs here, as well as loxotis obliqua, the cardaminum, plantago, and martynia. from a fresh observation and taking the mean, i find the elevation of nurtung to be , feet. on enquiry i find that rulung is one march off, that the country is similar, and that pines grow there to a large size. from this place to koppilee river it is said to be nine marches. a fuqueer from cutch said several, six to ten--and as the distance is nearly fifty miles and the ground difficult, he was probably right. you then come to the meekir country. to get into tooly ram's country would require at least nine days, but with loaded people probably twelve or fifteen. the station between rulung and the koppilee is hush koorah. thermometer varies here from to in the sun, in shade from to . _november th_.--left for the borpanee. the country traversed is easy, consisting chiefly of undulations covered with grassy vegetation. there are no steep ascents nor descents; and the only obstacle is the borpanee. the march is of about six hours' duration. butea suffruticosa is very common about nurtung, but ceases soon after leaving its environs. all the valleys near this place are cultivated: the ground being now inundated in proportion. dipsacus valeriana continued, and a short distance from nurtung pines become very common. thence the country became more undulated and scarcely a tree was met with: hedysarum gyrans commenced shortly after leaving nurtung: a sure sign of decreasing elevation. the country subsequently improved, being more diversified with wood: firs became abundant, callicarpa arborea commenced. about nonkreen, a small village to the east, close to our path the trees became mostly different. kydia appeared, a tree like the mango, and some others unknown to me. bauhinia, randia, phyllanthus embelica, and a stunted arboreous symplocos, anthistiria arundinacea common, with chesnuts (castaneae). close to this, gordonia, pines of some size, anthistiria arundinacea and cassioides. the grasses continued the same, but two new andropogons and a small rottboellia appear; holcus, airoides, etc. of churra have ceased: the other are sacchara and various andropogons. on approaching a considerable descent the woods became open, consisting at first entirely of pines, betula of joowye, etc. then of pines, quercus castaneoides which attains a large size. it was here that the pines became large, one felled measured sixty-nine feet to the first branch, most are straight, the greatest diameter not two feet. gordonia occurred here of large size, the woods are really delightful, reminding one much of england. here myrica occurs but rarely, lematula, flemingia, elephantopus, vanda, quercus callicarpifolius commences, biophytum appears a short distance hence. also, liriodendron, dipterocarpus, bambusa, pinus but of smaller size, engelhaardtia, dioscorea, castanea, quercus callicarpa, which is very common. here bombax appears somewhat lower, with it castanea, kydia, gordonia. no pines now occur except on the neighbouring heights. the descent to the borpanee is not great, say feet; on its banks thunbergia grandiflora commences, but the castanea castaneoides of large size, camellia oleifolia, daphne cannabina, rhododendron punctatum variety. engenia wallichii (which commences), quercus castaneoides, etc. may be found along its banks. this is a large stream, not fordable at any time, nor passable in the rains; both banks are high, rocks of course break the stream, which is gentle at the points crossed. breadth is to yards, the elevation of its bed is , feet, water boiling at . degrees: temperature degrees. the ascent of the north bank is great, on surmounting it one returns to grassy undulations, the vegetation of which is the same as before, rottboellia of suniassa as well as manisuroides here occur. the village madan is very small, the people, of course, as they have scarcely ever seen a white face, very polite and obliging: it is situated on a hill, but is still below the north bank of the river. its altitude is , feet--temperature of the air degrees: boiling water degrees. [gradient nurtung to madan: g .jpg] the birds, as well as those of the nurtung river, are the water-ouzel, the greyish-blue water-chat, the red and black ditto with a white head- top, and the black bird, _durn-durns_ or bird producing that cry occurs, but not in great numbers. pea-fowl at madan. elephants are abundant, especially towards the descent to the borpanee. _fly wheel_ (?) insect is here common at kokreen, a small village close to nonkreen. equisetum occurs along the boga panee as well as a new species of podostemon, p. fronde profunde lobato, lobis liniaribus simplicibus vel lobatis saxis arcti adpressis, floribus marginalibus distiches. polygala occurs at , feet and continues higher. _november th_.--the march to mengtung occupies about six hours, it is by no means difficult, and the only ascent of any length is that before descending on nungtung. throughout the st part, all the bottoms of the valleys are cultivated, thence all is jungle, either of high grass or of trees. near madan, arundinaria bambusifolia may be found, although at an elevation of , feet, volkameria is common. the same grasses continue. in the rice field butomus lanceolatus, herpestes, jussaeia, juncus, eriocaulon, zizana ciliaris. we then came after traversing such low swampy ground for sometime to a wood composed of quercus castaneoidea, of large size; its bark is thick and somewhat corky, its diameter three feet. quercus callicarpifolius appeared soon after, with polygala linearis, scitamineae are common in the valley. in similar low places, impatiens graminifolia of churra was seen, and hedysarum gyrans. oolooks { } and parrots are both found: cnicus floribus roseis, gerardia, apluda, senecio pubescens, were found in similar spots. after traversing a low valley with gentle undulations presenting the usual grasses, we came to a wood presenting many tropical features. oaks and chesnuts still continuing to be the usual trees. much underwood, consisting of acanthaceae, laurineae, anonaceae, rubiaceae, among which poederia triphylla and mephitidia were common. centothca sp., sarcopyramis, garcinia, triumfetta were observed. thence we came to pines. then a low valley, the altitude of the stream of which was , feet, the thermometer being in the air degrees, boiling point . degrees. then a wood. in it castanea ferruginea continued common, quercus dalbergioides, daphne cannabina, acanthus leucostachyus ( st appearance), oxyspora and polypodium wallichii were found; ascending a few feet, say , randia microphyllum, aneilema aspera, and pines appeared in the woods, with straight trunks and high branches, occasioned by the abortion of the lower branches, sometimes dichotomously forked, bark grey, and scaley, branches horizontal, approximated; cones inclining towards the axis. the descent occasioned a loss of pines, oaks and chesnuts continuing, orthopogon, pederia triphyllum. this wood was of great extent, the path running along the precipitous or steep edge of a very wet water-course. castanea ferruginea very common, cyrtandracea. begonia malabarica, achyranthes, tradescantia flagellifera, phlogacanthus, acanthaceae, sarcopyramis, magnolia, eupatorium arboreum, laurineae, gleichenia minor. pinus subsequently appears but is rare, eurya. daphne involucrata, gaultheria arborescens, knoxia cordata, polypodium arborescens, thibaudia, viburni sp., vareca, leucas galea brunacea. then still gradually ascending, open woods occurred. pines, q. castaneoides. thence the ascent is still through open woods of pines. castanea, quercus castaneoides and callicarpifolia, polygala here appears, knoxia linearis, flemingia, aeschynomene. on the top no pines. oaks, chesnuts, and gordoniae appear. thence a second but small ascent, pines re-appear with birch, scutellaria, erythrina, melica latifolia, epiphytes common, especially on gordoniae. the altitude of the summit before descending on nungtung was , feet: thermometer degrees, boiling point degrees. the altitude of nungtung is , feet, temp. degrees. big therm. in boiling water . degrees, ditto wooden degrees, small ditto degrees, centigrade . degrees. [gradient madan to nungtung: g .jpg] nungtung is a small village not containing more than houses; these are on michaowns, { } and are built entirely of bamboos. the doors of curious construction, consisting of bamboos strung longitudinally over a transverse one, so that they can be only opened by pushing on one side. the pigs have similar doors to their houses and appear well acquainted with the mode of ingress and egress. tobacco flourishes here. here also i saw sesamum and ricinus, sure signs of increasing temperature, labiata edulis. the first part of the march lay through an oak and chesnut wood; then through the valley which is under rice cultivation; then through part of an oak and fir wood; i then turned off to nne. traversing undulated hills entirely covered with grass; here and there an oak and chesnut wood occurred; this continued until p.m., when the path joined the great road as it is called, but which is nearly as bad as the nungtung one. the marching was very disagreeable, owing to the path being choked up with grass, particularly in the swampy valley just before onkreem. in this valley wild elephants were first seen. after leaving the halting or resting place under a large oak (q. castaneoides) at onkreem, the path improved and is only rendered bad by the swarms of elephants, by which animals we were disturbed twice; it continued until p.m., over undulated ground becoming lower and lower until we arrived at the large valley of onswye, which is even now at this advanced period of the season, the middle of november, considerably swampy. oaks and chesnuts continued, but pines ceased about half way between onkreem and onswye. [gradient nungtung to onkreem: g .jpg] [gradient journey towards assam and bootan: g .jpg] [gradient from onkreem to onkreem: g .jpg] [gradient journey towards bootan: g .jpg] [gradient descent into assam: g .jpg] onswye is a small village, seated on a low hill, and entirely hidden by trees: the access to it is pretty. its elevation is , feet, temperature degrees. water boils at . of centigrade, small ther. . degrees, big ditto . degrees, wooden ditto degrees: taking degrees as the mean. it is a lalung village. these people have distinct habits and language from their neighbours: their dress is like that of the khasyahs. they approach to hindoos in not eating cows. they inhabit the lower northern ranges of these hills, but do not extend further east, nor into the plains at the foot, and are far less civilized than the khasyahs. they have religious houses or places of worship, deo-ghurs, in one of which i slept, having it first cleansed, and the deity appeased by some most villainous music, and a procession of men with knives. at this village carica, ficus elastica, ficus cordifolius, ricinus, artocarpus intigrifol, tamarind, guava, musa, solanum melongena, tobacco, etc., are cultivated. caryophyllea scandens, desmochaeta, plumbago, plectranthus azureus, phlebochiton, cassia tora, orthopogon, adhatoda, mangifera, croton malvaefol, hastingsia, torenia asiatica, caricinea, leea, prunus! congea! antidesma, rottleria, clerodendron nutans, calamus, xanthochymus. mesua ferrea, garcinia cowa, leea arbuscula, dalhousia, roxburghia, are found on the ascent which is moderate and pretty. the heavy tree or bamboo jungle does not begin until you attain or , feet, up to that, the ridges present the former grasses. rottboellia, andropogons, erianthus, saccharum, anthistiria, and the trees are scattered consisting of arborescent leguminosae, sterculia, cedrela, semicarpus continues to the tree jungle, but rarely. the road to the village runs through heavy woods, the plants forming which i have already mentioned, it is in good order. the village is a lalung one. at dullagong, which is situated in the plains of assam, at the foot of the range the temperature being degrees, . a.m., water boiled at . degrees in the large thermometer. centigrade, and above the boiling point in the wooden. . degrees in the small metal thermometer. between this and goba, the path is generally through grass or tree jungle. i noticed exacum, careya, butea arborea, ficus, cinchona, kydia, saccharum megala fuscum masus, spathodea, alstonia, bombax, semicarpus! aegle marmelos, emblica, panax, elephantopus, and lagerstraemia reginae succeeds about goba: and between this and dhumria, the country being low and highly cultivated, presents generally the appearance of one sheet of rice. in this march i observed one or two instances of the absolute enclosure of dicotyledonous trunks by fici. this enclosure arises entirely from the excessive tendency to cohesion between the roots and radicles of some of the species of this genus. with these, an expert gardener might produce any form he likes; the tendency exists in all to throwing out additional roots; in few only to excess. in the generality it is limited to the trunk and often to its base. nobody can understand this genus who cannot study it from living specimens. cardiopterus is very common along the foot of these hills: it abounds with milky juice, and in habit and some other points approaches nearer to chenopodiaceae than sapindaceae. _december th_.--returned from jeypore, whither i had been to report on the caoutchouc trees. { } these trees appear to be limited to the belt of jungle or toorai which commences towards the foot of the aka and duphla hills, and which in the part in which i examined them is about miles wide. they are said to be found likewise among the neighbouring villages, but i saw no instance of this. they occur solitarily, or at most in groups of two or three. they appear to be more frequent towards the immediate base of the hills, and to prefer the drier parts of those humid and dense forests called toorai. they are frequently of vast size, and by this as well as their dense head, may be at once recognised even at a distance of a few miles. some idea of their size may be formed from the following measurements of a large one: circumference of main trunk, feet ditto, including the supports, " ditto, of space covered by crown branches, " height, ditto ditto, to " the roots spread out in every direction on reaching the ground; the larger running along the surface, their upper portion being uncovered: occasionally they assume the form of buttresses, but never to such a marked degree as occurs in some other trees, such as the simool, herietiera, etc. the supports are only thrown out towards the base of the principal branches, not as in the banian at indefinite distances. the trunk is a compound one, formed entirely by the mutual cohesion of roots; not as in almost all other trees by the growth of parts in an ascending direction. its aspect is picturesque and varied, occasionally putting on the appearance of sculpture. it is, i think, doubtful whether this as well as some other species of the genus are not to be considered as genuine parasites, at any rate they generally cause the destruction of the tree on which they originally grew. if this be the case the parasitism is the reverse of that which occurs in cuscuta, in which the plantule draws its first nourishment from the earth, relinquishing this when sufficiently developed to enable it to draw its supply from other plants. i may here observe, that parasites are common on the peepul, contrary to the statement of m. decandolle. the destruction of the foster-mother takes place by the mutual interlacement of the roots, which descending irregularly, form at first a strong net-work, subsequently becoming a cylindric binding, in the strongest possible way to the trunk, and preventing all lateral distinction. the hollow occupied by the trunk when dead may become filled up, when this has passed away, by other roots. the adhesion of the roots commences by abrasion of the bark, the union subsequently becomes of the most intimate kind. the supports are perfectly cylindrical; they become conical only towards the earth, on approaching which they divide into roots: they are strictly descending growths, and as such, under ordinary circumstances, they never produce leaves, etc. roots likewise issue from every section of the bark of sufficient depth to reach the outer layer of wood, with the outer fibres of which they are obviously continuous. to such an extent is this carried, that transverse sections of young supports assume the appearance of coarse paint-brushes or tails. the lenticells, which are very numerous, have nothing whatever to do with their production; if the bark remains entire, no roots are thrown out except by division of the apex. the branches ascend obliquely, the outermost running nearly horizontally. the juice is obtained from the larger; that from young parts is less thick: an exposed semi-denuded root, is selected for transverse incisions through the bark, from which alone the juice flows, a small hole is made in the ground immediately beneath the incised parts into which a leaf, generally of phrynium capitatum is placed: it is collected in this simple manner in a very clean state, far more so than that which can be collected from the tree in any other situation. on issuing, it is of a very rich pure white; if good, of the consistence of cream: its excellence is known by the degree of consistence, and by the quantity of caoutchouc it contains. this is ascertained by rubbing a few drops up in the palm of the hand, which causes the watery juice to separate (probably by evaporation) from the caoutchouc which remains in the form of small, oblong, or round portions; and by kneading this in the hand, and striking it sharply once or twice with the fist it acquires elasticity, so that an additional test of excellence is at once pointed out. many incisions are made in one tree, the juice flows rapidly at first, at the rate of sixty drops a minute from an ordinary incision, but this soon becomes so much diminished that it dwindles to eight. the bleeding is continued for two or three days, when it ceases spontaneously by the formation of a layer of caoutchouc over the wound; and it is to the commencement of this that the rapid diminution in the number of drops is perhaps to be attributed. the quantity obtained from one tree has not exactly been ascertained; by some it is stated to be as much as four or five maunds, while others say that a moderate tree will only yield one gurrah full, or about ten seers. from the slowness with which it flows, i should consider half a maund to be a fair average for each bleeding. the juice is, however, said to flow faster at night, but this demands verification. the operation is repeated at the end of eighteen or twenty days. in seven miles of jungle we observed eighty trees, by far the greater portion of which were of large size. lieutenant vetch has made a calculation, (on the assumption that they are equally plentiful throughout chardowar,) that the number in this district alone is --- trees. i calculate the number to be about , . there is no reason for supposing that they are not equally abundant throughout noadwar, nor in fact on any line where toorai prevails between goalpara and bishnath; beyond this, however, the increase in latitude may occasion their decrease both in number and size. on the southern side of the valley there is every reason to believe it to be equally common. the general geographic range may hence be said to be in latitude degrees, to . degrees in longitude. it has been stated by mr. royle that it does not extend beyond pundua, jynteapoor, and churra punjee, but on no other authority than that it had not been found elsewhere. taking the number of trees at , , and the produce of each from four bleedings at two maunds, the annual supply that may be obtained from durrung may be estimated at , maunds of the caoutchouc itself, assuming dr. roxburgh's proportion of one to three to be nearly correct. some idea may be formed of the extent to which it is procurable, when from the mere outskirts of the forest, maunds of juice may be collected in one month. on the excellence of the assam product as compared with that of america, it does not become me to pronounce. if strength, elasticity, clearness, and perfect freedom from viscidity, be tests of excellence, then this product may be considered as equal to any other. it has been pronounced by persons in calcutta to be excellent, but no details have been entered into except by mr. bell, who objects to its snapping: if by this we are to understand snapping on being pulled too much, in contradistinction to breaking, it only proves its excellence. it is declared to be inferior to the american by mr. mccosh, evidently on examination of the worst possible specimens. the size of the trees as they generally occur in the limits above alluded to, entirely precludes all idea of any great liability to be destroyed by the extraction of juice, the amount of which must be so minute, compared to that of the whole tree. still it may be considered desirable for the security of the tree to limit the bleedings to the cold months, and this is rendered more necessary by the inferiority of the juice during the season of active vegetation. and if it be possible to limit the number of bleedings of each tree to four or five during the above period, i consider that the present , stock cannot fail to be kept up. but to venture on still larger supplies, to meet the demand for this most useful article, a demand to which limits can scarcely be assigned, the formation of plantations should be encouraged, the sites chosen to be near the villages bordering on the line of the natural distribution of the tree. propagation by cuttings or layers cannot fail to be of easy and rapid application; and if we consider that the tree is the most valuable receptacle of the lac insect, there is every reason to suppose that the natives will readily enter into such views. the jungle in which the tree occurs is of the usual heavy description, presenting in fact no one feature in particular. the trees are all of a tropical nature, except towards the foot of the hills, when two species of chesnut and one of alder begin to shew themselves. chapter xi. _journey from assam towards bootan_. left gowahatti on the st and halted at ameengong ghat. _december nd_, _ _.--left at twelve and proceeded to hazoo, which is nearly due west of ameengong, and distant thirteen miles. road, through grassy plains; much cultivation throughout the greater part. passed several villages, and forded one stream. hazoo is at the foot of some low hills, on one of which is a temple of great sanctity with the booteahs. the hills above this, as well as between this and ameengong, abound with cycas, many of which were once dichotomous; on these hills a fleshy euphorbia likewise occurs, a sure indication of barren soil. pea- fowl abound. the light-blue jay figured in hardwickii, sterna, haliaetus pondicerianus, chat, butcher-bird, edolius, plovers, hoopoe, and ardea indica, were met with. _december rd_.--hazoo, a large village, extending nearly north and south, all the houses surrounded by trees. areca bamboos, ficus elastica, f. indicoides, f. religiosa, sapotea (mimusops) arborea, erythrina. country to the east very jheely, and one huge expanse of paddy cultivation. fine loranthus, hingtstha repens. _december th_.--nolbaree, seventeen miles nearly, n. by w., throughout the latter half of the way, the country consisted of highly cultivated plains, intersected by bamboo jungles, etc. villages very abundant, surrounded by trees, especially bamboos. the hedges are made of a dwarf pandanus. crossed four streams, two not fordable. grallatores and water-birds innumerable throughout, but especially after passing the borolia, bec ouvert or anastomus coromandelianus, pelicans, water-hens, divers, ibis bengala, cigoines (ardea pavonia) syras, mangoe-bird, large king-fisher, hawks abundant, of which we observed five species; this is, generally speaking, one of the richest parts of assam i have hitherto seen. _december th_.--dum dummia, distance ten miles, direction north, country very open, in parts less cultivated than before, scarcely any jungle towards dum; this is a straggling place on the banks of a small stream called noa nuddee. the bamboo continues common, as well as pandanus, pterocarpus marsupium, bombax, diospyros ebenum, which are the most common trees. villages are very numerous, but as usual, entirely concealed from view by jungle. _december st_.--up to this morning we remained at dum dummia, and had the booteas alone been consulted, we should have remained there till to- morrow. it is a very uninteresting place, the country consisting of one extensive plain, diversified only by trees wherever there are villages. there is a good deal of cultivation, chiefly however, of rice; some sugarcane is visible, but it is of inferior quality, and evidently not sufficiently watered. sursoo is considerably cultivated. the river noa nuddee is about seventy yards wide, with a stream of three miles an hour; it is full of sand-banks and of quicksands, and is crossed with great difficulty on elephants; by men it is easily fordable. the only shooting about the place is floriken, which are very abundant, ten or twelve being seen in one day. we left for hazareegoung, a bootea-assam village to the north. we passed through a similar open country not much cultivated, but overrun with grassy vegetation. the path was of the ordinary description, and not kept at all cleared: crossed a small stream twice, with a pebbly bed and sub-rapids, a sure indication of approaching the hills. these, in their lower portion, have a very barren appearance, but this may arise from the cultivated patches: land-slips are of very frequent occurrence. the grasses of the enormous plains, so prevalent every where in this direction, are kagaia, megala, vollookher, saccharum spontaneum, this is soft grass, and affords an excellent cover for game, cymbopogon hirsutum, which is more common than the c. arundinaceum, erianthus, airoides, rottboellia exaltata, arundo, (?) anatherum muricatum, apluda, trizania cilearis, is common in the old rice khets. among these occur a tall knoxia, plectranthus sudyensis, and p. uncinatus. i observed vareca, grislea, about dum dummia. elytrophorus is common in rice khets. towards hazareegoung we came on a high plain, covered principally with s. spontaneum. among this occurred lactuioides, premna herbacea, grewia, with here and there pterygodium. i observe here bootea bamboo baskets made water-proof by caoutchouc; this is a practice much adopted by the booteas: and the trees are here. the large coloured stipulae are peculiar to the young shoots cultivated, they are often a span long. the young fruit is enveloped by three large coloured scales, which originate from the annuliform base; this is hence a peduncle, not a bracte, as i before supposed. january st, .--halted. _january nd_.--marched to ghoorgoung, a small village, eight miles from hazareegoung and nearly due north. we crossed similar grassy tracts: the country gradually rising as we approached the hills. very little cultivation occurred. crossed the mutunga, now dry, but the breadth testifies to its being a large stream in the rains, as the boulders do to its being a violent one. the same plants continue; small jungle or wood composed of simool. trophis aspera, cassia fistula, bauhinia, butea scandens, byttneria, underwood of eranthemum, and another acanthacea. about this place cnicus and arundinaria occur, and a small santalaceous or olacineous plant, with the habit of a polygala. merops apiaster is very common. _january rd_.--to dewangeri, distance eight miles. our route hither lay for the greater portion up the bed of the durunga, the stream of which makes its exit about one mile to the west of ghoorgoung. after ascending its bed for some time, the ascent becomes steep, for perhaps or , feet, when we reached a portion of dewangeri, but two or three hundred feet below the ridge on which the village is situated. the hills bounding the watercourse are very steep, many quite perpendicular, owing to having been cut away; generally they are of decomposed granite as at dacanara, in some parts of conglomerate. the torrent contains but little water, and very few fish, the banks are wooded tolerably well, as soon as the lower barren ranges are past. at the base cassia fistula, leguminous trees, artemisia, simool, spathodea, bignonia indica, sterculia, caesalpinea, phlogacanthus thyrsiflorus, paederia faetida, eugenia, rhamnea, croton malvaefoliis are found among the usual grasses, which form the chief vegetation. these continue along the sandy bed for some time, but afterwards the usual small andropogons usurp their place. anthistiria arundinacea continue longest; with some of the large saccharum, rubus moluccanus soon appears, with melica latifolia, and a species of rhus. _leptospartion_ is very common up to , feet, pandanus - feet, but soon ceases; the higher precipices abound with an elegant palm tree, habitu cocos. fleshy urticeae and aroideum become common at feet, along the shaded watery banks, and continue so long as shade and humidity are found. equisetum commences at feet, arundo, saurauja, pentaptera, which last ascends to , feet, as does dillenia speciosa, castaneae feorox commences at feet. between this and the choky, polypodium, wallichianum arboreum, davallia grandis, oxyspora, musci, goodyera, and composita arborea are found. at the choky, the elevation of which is feet, oesculus begins. wallichia,* oeschynanthus, urtica gigas,* derngia,* govania,* anthistiria arundinacea, alstonea, angiopteris, are found. grislea is found as high as , feet. ficus obliquissima is found at feet, and ficus altera species as high as feet. at , feet rubi sp., panax, cordia, are found, and on the steep ascent, hastingsia,* gordonia, eurya, corisanthera, griffithia. at one place the jack fruits, ficus elastica, compositi arborea, panax altera species. dewangeri occupies a ridge feet above our halting place, the elevation of which is , feet. the view to the north is confined to a ravine of , feet deep, at the bottom of which runs a considerable mountain torrent: to the sw. plains are visible, to the east and west the view is hilly. the village itself is a poor one, containing perhaps sixty houses, but these are divided into three or four groups; the houses, with the exception of three or four stone and lime ones, are of the usual build, viz. of bamboo, and raised on muchauns. filth and dirt abound every where, and the places immediately contiguous to the huts are furnished plentifully with various ordures. along the ridge three or four temples occur, these are of the boodhistical form: they are composed entirely of slate, are white-washed; none are of any size, and the workmanship is rude in the extreme; on each face of the square basement, slabs of slate with inscriptions are visible, and in one instance many of these are ranged along a longish wall. the pagodas are surrounded with long banners, with inscriptions fastened longitudinally to bamboos. on the west side of this the view is remarkably pretty, embracing all the temples, part of the village, and the rajah's house. the hills adjoining being considerably diversified and remarkable, and for india over picturesquely wooded. the pucka houses are ungainly structures, the height being out of all proportion to the width, the walls are very thick, and composed of slate slabs, the roof is choppered with projecting eaves, the windows are very narrow. each has three stories, the middle one being occupied by the owner, this is divided into several rude compartments, each of which has one or two balconies. the steps are rude and awkward, consisting of notches cut into large blocks. the cooking is carried on, on the ground floor, much to the edification of the residents above. dirt abounds in every direction. the doors are rudely constructed of wood. _january th_.--to-day was occupied by moving up into the village, in which we occupy a pucka house. _january th_.--visited the sooba or rajah, his house is very picturesque, reminding me much of the pictures of swiss cottages: it is white-washed, with a red belt. the interior is capacious; the state room has hangings, which are decorated with native pictures on cloth. at the east end is a recess in which are some well-executed chinese statues, the chief figure is of large dimensions, and is intended to represent the durmah rajah, whose statue is supposed to give infallibility. two bells were suspended, one from the centre, the other from the balcony, the tongues of which were long, of ivory, and moved by a string. the rajah received us in state, amidst discordant sounds of horns, pipes, and drums; his followers for the most part were badly clothed, the few decent looking persons being only decent externally. he was seated on a raised dais and was well dressed. he is a stout chinese looking man, about years old, and his deportment was certainly easy and dignified. the meeting was very friendly, but it is evident that we shall be delayed here at least seven days. the central room in the rajah's house is used as a guard house! arms were fixed round the walls, but they seemed to consist chiefly of spears, swords, and bucklers. _january th_.--i walked this morning to a village, a mile to the west, in which there is a picturesque pucka house of religion. what pleased me especially was a specimen of a juniper, of extreme elegance, with drooping branches. the house itself was of the usual form, and one end was occupied as usual by an ornamental window and balcony. i noticed in addition ulmus and quercus. the vegetation hitherto seen about this, consists of mango trees, several species of fig, among which were ficus indica, elastica, terminalioides, papyrifera, etc. two with cordate leaves occur. ulmus, quercus, bombax, juniperus and pinus, both cultivated. aralia or panax, four or five species, croton malvaefolium, justicia, adhatoda, peristrophe, amaranthaceae, artemisia, urtica urens? and heterophylla, pogostemon, triumfetta, (these occupy the old cleared spots,) castaneae sp.? artocarpus integrifolium, erythrina, sambucus ebulus, rubi, three species, solanum farinaceum, engeldhaardtia, pandanus, leptospartion, calamus, nauclea, euphorbia carnosa, foliis ligulatis, artocarpus chaplasha, the fruit of which is eaten, phlebochiton extensus, sedgwickia cerasifolia, callicarpa arborea, porana, randia, sugarcane, citrons, tobacco. the fauna contains two or three squirrels, one of which is the small one of upper assam, trocheloideus, the lesser edolius or drongo minor. mainas, two kinds, carrion crows, bucco, muscipeta flammea, and one or two other species, parus, two or three species, kites, large tailor-birds, sparrows. the black-bird of the torrents, and the usual water-birds, black pheasants; bulbuls very common, bucco barbatus, parroquets, barking deer. the temperature being degrees ', water boiled at degrees. the mean of two observations accordingly gives the altitude as , feet above the sea. the number of houses is about , but these form two or three detached villages. the population is considerable, and there is no want of children. the people are stout and very fair, with ruddy cheeks, but abominably dirty. some of the men are six feet in stature. we had one opportunity of witnessing their practice with the bow, but only two or three of the dozen candidates were decent shots. the mark was a very small one, and the distance steps, but none hit it during the time we looked on, nor even the circular patch of branches, on which the slab of wood of this form was placed. the practice was accompanied with the usual proportion of noise and gesticulations. there is very little cultivation on the hills around, so that this people are, at least about here, evidently dependent on the plains for their supplies. the cattle are a good breed, and totally different from those of the plains. ponies and mules are by no means uncommon; there are likewise pigs and fowls, both of which are abundant, and of fine description. _january th_.--every thing leads me to conclude that the booteas are the dirtiest race in existence, and if accounts be true, they are equally deficient in delicacy. although much beyond other mountain tribes inhabiting either side of the assam valley, in the structure of their houses, in their clothing, in their language, and probably in their religion, they are inferior to them in other points. thus their looms are perhaps really primitive, and of the most simple construction; neither in their weapons of defence are they at all superior. on the th i ascended a peak to the eastward, and certainly , feet above the village: on the summit of this, where there were the remains of an old clearing, i observed pyrus, acer, rhus, tetrantherae, three or four species, bigonia species picta, carex, composita arborea, pteris aquilina, kydia zyziphifolia, saurauja, eurya, maesa panax, artemisia, hedyotis scandens, callicarpa arborea, camellia, caelogyne, oberonia, otochilus fuscescens, ficus, cinnamomum, aeschynanthus, pholidota, cyrtandra, piper, citrus, corysanthera, hypoxis, tupistra, bambusa. sanicula appeared at , feet with bartramea spectabilis, and a small ophiorhiza, acer at , feet, as likewise rhopala; at , feet, costus and abroma, thunbergia grandiflora. _january th_.--i find that large quantities of mungista or madder are sent to the plains from this, where the plant is very common; it is exchanged for ill preserved salt-fish, one bundle of madder for one fish. this fish is of an abominable odour, and probably tends to increase the natural savour of the booteas, which, considering their total unacquaintance with soap, is sufficiently strong. p. tells me that the kampo country is situated north of this, and that it may be reached by a kampo, in twenty-six days. the language of the people we are now among, is distinct from that of assam, as will be observed from the names given to the common grains cultivated in both countries, their principal grain is barley, which is of a fine description; very little cultivation being carried on here, the people drawing all their supplies from the plains. the following is a list of grains cultivated: those marked * are cerealea:-- _assam_. _bootea_. * lalkonee dhan, yungra, )panici sp. * legaid ditto, ditto, ) _boot_, tel, hnam, a sesamum. _cultivation_ in upper assam, braime, (polygonum fago- (pyrum, grains (very large. * bhobosa, khongpo, eleusine sp. * goomdam, peihnam, zea mays. gellei-ma, linjee, phaseoli sp. [gradient bootan: g .jpg] the palm from the cliffs on the road hither is evidently a species of phaenix, pinnulis inferioribus spiniformibus reticula copiosa, pinnulis liniaribus acuminatissimus, apicem versus canaliculatis reticulo copioso, the height must be about that of a moderate areca. no specimens of the trunk, none of flowers and seeds have been brought to me. the temples here have a good deal of the burmese shape, but the dome is more like that of a mussulman mosque. _january nd_.--yesterday evening mr. blake's khidmutgar died rather suddenly, he had been ailing for some days, but apparently not serious; his indisposition was owing to over-loading the stomach with radishes, etc. in which all partook too freely during the protracted halt, thus causing a good deal of sickness. this place is so straggling that it is difficult to make a guess at the number of the houses, the greater number of the people are temporary residents and mostly are natives of kampo,{ a} they are more dirty than the booteas, and seem to have an especial predilection for begging. when wishing to be very gracious they bow and gesticulate awkwardly, shewing their tongue at the same time. their principal dress is coarse woollen clothes, and in lieu of turbans they wear caps or hats. their beasts of burden are principally asses, which are perhaps, from bad treatment, undersized: they likewise use goats, and largish animals between goats and sheep in appearance; of these we saw one male only, it had _once_ _spiral_ horns. even a little black kid was not exempt from carrying its share, this was ornamented by woollen tassels of a red colour, fastened through a hole in the ear. pemberton tells me, that most of these people come hither with the view of going to hazoo, a place of pilgrimage in assam; some remain here as a security for the return of their brethren in three months, the period during which leave is granted by our friend the rajah of this place. their language is totally different from that of the booteas. the day before yesterday an edict against catching fish, being taken off as i supposed it would be on shewing the rajah some flies, blake and i went down, and repeated our visit yesterday; the bed of the river at the debouchment of the path leading towards tongsa, is elevated , feet, ( . . ), { b} it is of no great size, and is generally fordable; the fish are almost exclusively bookhar. { c} i saw one or two sentooreahs, { d} and caught a long thin bola, { a} beautifully banded with purplish-blue. the bookhars as usual take a fly well, especially red hackles; the largest was caught by blake, and must have weighed nearly three pounds. very little worth noticing occurred in the vegetation. sedgwickia is common and of very large size, , feet above the river, as well as tree ferns. equisetum occurs in the bed of the river; in some places at the same level a species of ranunculus, aroidea, succulent urticeae were common; along the edges or in the small churs, that have established themselves here and there, and which are covered with the usual sacchara, but of smaller size; erythrina, leptospartion, sambucus, boehmeria tomentosa, kydia calycina, grislea, tupistra, leea occurred, ficus elastica is not uncommon, one specimen presented itself, which had sprung up on another tree, fifty feet from the ground; this it had destroyed, and the appearance was singular enough. the juice is used for water-proofing bamboo vessels. the general rocks are slate, and this was the only one we saw _in situ_; the vegetation is rather barren. near the bed of this river, which is called the deo panee, i found a curious menispermous genus, columnea, clypeae perianthia uncialata, ore integeriuscula, a myrtacea, uncaria, abroma augusta, etc. on ascending, murraya exotica, magnoliaceae, paederia faetida, and bignonia, occurred at low elevations, lobelia baccata, wulfenia obliqua, costus, chloranthus, justicea orchidiflora below feet, eurya occurred scarcely below , feet with millingtonia simplicifolia. the cattle here are really noble, particularly the bulls; they are much like the mishmee methuns, but are distinct, { b} they are very quiet. _january rd_.--left at twelve, and arrived late at rydang on a nullah, distant eight miles. passed no villages, but passed a bridge erecting over the deo nuddee, at which place a lam gooroo or high priest was employed: vegetation continued the same, and only two new plants occurred, a stemodia with large yellow flowers, and a begonia, with branched stems. rydang is , feet above the sea ( . . .) { } _january th_.--started early in the morning, (at a.m.) the coolies mostly leaving at daylight. yet although the distance was only eleven miles, we did not reach till p.m. and many of the coolies did not arrive till late at night. the fact is the ascent was nearly uninterrupted during the day, the highest point traversed being about , feet. we then descended slightly to khegumpe, our halting place, the altitude of which is , feet ( . ,) at the highest point fahr. thermometer stood at degrees at p.m. the first part of the road lay over grassy sparingly-forested hills, until we reached , feet. here or a little below this the change in the vegetation commenced, the first elevational plants being serissoid; gaultheria, and rhododendron commenced at about , feet on dry rocky eminences, which it always prefers. on the st eminence, feet above rydang or , feet above the sea, quercus, castanea, sedgwickia, polypodium wallichii, lobelia, pyramidalis, composita arborea, gordonia, pteris aquilina, anthistiria, gramen airoides, callicarpa arborea, artemisia, tephrosia, flemingia, govania, and these continued up to , feet. we here met with kampo tartars with their laden sheep, the children being generally placed cradle-fashion on the top of the loads, each in its own basket. itea macrophylla occurred at , feet, with clematis, hastingsia, bignonia, euphorbiacea, briedleia. at , feet kydia zyziphifolia, rhopala, composita arborea, hypericum,* triumfetta, smilax, indigofera.* at , feet, the same with panax, wendlandia, myrtacea arborea, l. melica latifolia. at , feet, hedychium, gaultheria, habenaria, serissoides, gnaphalium, gordonia, here very abundant, covered with lichens and epiphytical orchidea, phyllanthus, emblica. at , feet, rhododendron arborea, eugenia, l. gaultheria arborea, echinanthus, bambusa, microphylla.* the same trees continue. at , feet, hedychium, briedleia, pyrus, ficus,* and rhododendron in flower, gordonia, itea macrophylla, pteris aquilina, osbeckia nepalensis, artemisia major, airoides, flemingia. at , feet, myrica, callicarpa arborea, verbenaceae, buddlaeoid,* ardisia, maesa, panax, piper, styrax, camellia,* polygonum rhaeoides, cyrthandra common, mimosa arborea, betula,* ficus, foliis cordatis hispidis, kydia calycina, inga, rubus moluccanus. anisadenia, begonia, otochilus latifolius, tussilaginoides, neckerae, urtica, gaylussacia, lobelia, panax, aeschynanthus venosus of churra,* lycopodium of surureem,* smilax ruscoideus,* liparis, rhododendron arboreum verum, bucklandia of vast size. hoya fusca, ophiopogno, viola, hymenophyllum, croton heterophyllum, convallaria oppositifolia, plectranthus roylii, begonia picta, isachne, cerastium, spiraea, hedera, hypericum, peliosanthes, carex gracilis rupium, which commenced at , feet, bambusa microphylla. the forests here were damp and tropical so far as herbaceous underwoods were concerned, the trees were loaded with mosses chiefly pendulous neckerae and hypnea, as well as the rocks, epiphytes were common. we then continued along ridges about the same elevation, ranunculus, hemiphragma, thibaudia buxifolia, polygonum rheoides, pyrus indica. gnaphalium common, pteris aquilina, airoides, artemisia on sunny spots, gaultheria, galium of churra, arundo. the trees were about this all scraggy, but of picturesque appearance. choripetalum, panax, laurineae,* piper, cissus, photinia and gleichenia major, thibaudia myrtifolia,* potentilla, calophyllum,* hydrangea arbuscula,* thalictrum majus,* crawfurdia speciosa,* macrocapnos,* daphne papyrifera.* our march now wound round a huge hill with rocky head, lowering several hundred feet above us, the road being narrow, rocky, overhanging vast precipices. all the trees were scraggy, stunted with tufted grasses. here about dipsacus of churra occurred, buddleia, phlomoides, lonicera, rosa, _jubrung_, cheilanthes dealbata of brahmakund, asparagus, urticea arborea floribus faem. capitulatis aurantiaces, spiraea bella, hymenopogon, saxifraga ligularis,* on the rocks primula,* in the crevices, with hydrocotyla, thalictrum renatum, umbelliferae,* scirpus, stemodia, compositae, hypericum, didymocarpus contortus of oklong, erianthus, gymnostomum, all these on the bare rocks. along the path, codonopsis, cnicus, valeriana, hardwickia, lobelia. hence we passed along nearly at the same elevation through romantic paths, the vegetation being european, and comparatively open: the trees covered with moss, with grassy swards here and there: the scenery was beautiful, the descent hence to khegumpa was gradual and easy, along similar paths. noticed the following trees, etc. in the following order: tetranthera, gaultheria arborea, tradescantia cordifolia,* acer, polygala, deutzia, tradescantia, jasminum triphyllum, plectranthus azureus, macrocapnos, rubia cordifolia,* cucurbitacae cissampeloid, then forests of rhododendron, on the paths swertia, potentilla, fragaria, alnus acer folius palmatum lobatis oppositis, porana. this day i gathered about species, the march was really delightful. the plants marked thus * indicate elevation. madder is furnished by both rubia munjista and r. cordifolia, these species are quite distinct, the latter affecting greater elevations than the former, scarcely descending below , feet. scarcely any water occurred on the route; from just above khegumpa, a beautiful valley is seen to the left, with a good deal of cultivation. no large villages were seen. [gradient rydang to khegumpa: g .jpg] _january th_.--khegumpa. this is a pretty place; but the whole country has a wintry appearance from the trees having mostly deciduous leaves; it is a small village, not containing twelve houses. pagodas with the inscription-bearing walls occur as usual; on a small hill rising from just below the village, a large house with out-houses belonging to a lam gooroo, is the prettiest bit of architecture i have yet seen. we put up in a small house, of the usual poor construction, capable of containing four or six people, the roofs are of wood, the planks being kept down by stones. the evening was very cold, but the thermometer did not fall below degrees. here a solitary specimen of pinus was seen. a beautiful tree, with pendulous leaves and cones, which resemble those of abies, occurred. rhododendron is common here. around the hut i observed lobelia, rumex, quercus, ranunculus, plantago, leucas ciliata, gnaphalia, rubus, urtica urentior, rubi , pteris aquilina, geranium, galium, artemisia major, fragariae, betula? ramis pendulis, foliis lineari lanceolatis, _jubrung_, phlomoides, in flower, spiraea bella, tetranthera, daucus, gleichenia major, oxalis corniculata, dipsacus. the trees were covered with lichens; the only cultivated plants i saw, and of these only straggling individuals, were tobacco and bhobosa. in a wood at the base of the hill on which the lam gooroo's house is situated, saurauja hispida, and s. arborea,* woodwardia,* rubia cordifolia, oaks, spiraea bella, decomposita, stemodia, cerasus, curculigo, pogonatherum,* carduus, polygonum rheoides, panax, bucklandia, berberis asiatica and porana, occurred. our march, after passing this hill, commenced by a descent through a damp wood of oaks, eurya. here swertiae occurred on banks. clematis verbesina, gordonia, erythrina, myrica. thence we passed along a ridge, the forests being stunted and wintry, abounding with rhododendron and oaks. myrica, and pendulous lichens occurred in abundance, but grasses predominate, chiefly airoid and andropogons. from this to the right was seen a beautiful valley with a moderate-sized village and picturesque houses, with considerable and very clever cultivation. thence we crossed to the other side of the ridge, descending a little and then continuing through forests of oak, consisting of a species found on the khasyah hills, and approaching q. robur: as all the leaves had fallen, the whole appearance was that of winter. here i shot the jay figured in royle's work: continuing to descend very gradually, i observed epilobium,* neckera, fissidens, brachymenium, nerioideum in fruit and half buried in the fallen leaves; a pretty gentiana, ruta albiflora, potentilla. after passing along this for some way we commenced a sharp descent. at about , ft. vitex simplex, occurred. indigofera re-appeared, with saccharum rubro nitens of churra, the other grasses being andropogons, - , and orthopogon, hedychium, gordonia soon re-appeared: to the east, cultivation was visible, and to the north, pines were visible in every direction stretching away far below us to a considerable torrent. about one-third of the way down this steep ravine, at the bottom of which a torrent was heard roaring, wendlandia, spiraea bella, hedychium, gaultheria arborea, aspera rhododendron, pteris aquilina, artemisia, saurauja hispida, indigofera, eurya, mimosa arborea, maesa angustifolia of yesterday; osbeckia nepalensis, viburnum, tetranthera, ficus, gleichenia minor, crawfurdia speciosa, polygonum rheoides, were found. hitherto the woods had been dry, or rather so, but on turning to the east, we came into damp woods presenting many tropical features, along which we continued descending gradually for some time: at the commencement in this, callicarpa arborea, a weeping beech, dipsacus verbesina, and the alnus, of thumathaya occurred, arbutoideus, hydrangea, urtica heterophylla, neuropeltoid aromatica. then below we came on piper, deeringia, cerasus, sanicula, cyrtandracea, cheilosandra gracilis, and fleshy urticeae. underwood, herbaceous forms of acanthaceae, ferns, as davallia, asplenium, all more or less succulent. darea, glycine, buchanania, saurauja ferruginea, thalictrum majus, pothos, etc. hypericum, begonia, panax terebinthaceus, magnoliacae, garciniae, valeriana cordifolia.* passing on at the same elevation, we suddenly rounded a ridge, and in one moment came on dry, sunny, rocky, grassy ground, the trees being exclusively rhododendron, oaks and a few gordonias with airoid, andropogons, pteris aquilina: we then came on the brink of the ridge up to which pinus longifolia ascends; the elevation of this was , feet ( . . .) { } from this all around pinus is visible in profusion; we then dipped to the south, this face being occupied by thick forest, having rhododendrons on the skirts. from the above spot saleeka was visible, with a fine grove of pines, it is , feet, at least above this. the descent was steep, we soon came on callicarpa arborea, celtis megala, pogostemon, stemodia grandiflora; this was about , feet, where a clearing had been commenced: close to this i observed martynia, pteris, composita arborea, desmodium vestilum, flemingia, and gathered at , feet a verbenaceous shrub, looking like a plumbago, and a boehmeria; continuing, without descending much, i came on pinus, rhododendron, gaultheria. loranthus was here a common parasite on pinus, oaks occurred but the species was changed; this had small leaves, white underneath; and descending we continued through pine woods, artemisia minor, together with the usual grasses and aspideium macrosomum. here we travelled along a hill just above a ravine. either side of this was covered with grasses and pines, the ravine being crowded with oaks, etc. panax, and composita arborea occurred. a little below this, hastingsia, common, desmodium hispidisum, artemisia minor, briedelia, mimosa, and several compositae: we continued descending very steeply, and observed holcus elegans, melica latifolia, erianthus apludoid circium. at , feet, came on scutellaria; pines had ceased, but on the opposite side of the nullah, they descended lower. knoxia scandens, kydia calycina, hastingsia, hedyotis linearis, ficus pedunculis radiciformibus pendulis, leguminous trees as dalbergia, triumfetta; boehmeria, asparagus, buchanania again, solanum, -dentat., urtica urens,--l. ( . . .) { } the altitude of the bed of the cameon nullah is here, , feet, its banks are formed by hills cut away and hence precipitous, those to the east are covered with pines, oaks descend to this. here arundo karka, leptospartion, erythrina, artemisia major, solanum farinaceum, black pheasants of which i shot a male. ficus dumooriya, grislea, rhamnoid scandens, pandanus, boehmeria torrentum, urtica pendula, barleria prionites of dgin, sida cuneifolia, dalbergioid. thence we ascended feet or thereabouts, and descended to another and larger torrent. anonaceae, phlogacanthus thyrsifloris here occurred. the bed of this stream is to yards wide, but the volume of water is inconsiderable. the hills forming the opposite bank are lofty, not under to , feet; their bases and the nullah above alluded to have the vegetation of dgin, otherwise they are clothed with the usual grasses and noble pines. the brown bird with crooked bill was heard here. at feet above the torrent menispermum, bidens albiflora, megala, leptospartion, verbenacea, plumbaginea, mucuna, desmodium hispidum and ficus were seen as before: phyllanthus, emblica, and grislea occurred at feet: grewia at , feet: and osbeckia linearis occurred at , feet in rocky places; with poa, cynosuroides of churra, and bassia at , feet, with emblica, labiata sudyensis, osbeckia nepalensis, ficus. on rounding the ridge to the east, which is feet above this place _sassee_, we came on a forest of oak, rhododendron, viburnum, pothos pinnatus. _january th_.--sassee. our coolies left us here, they are not very good ones, not equal to khasyah, they are however merry, and whistle or sing when tired, their feet are generally naked, but occasionally they wear leathern sandals. thermometer degrees: water boiled at . degrees: altitude , feet. about this place i first met with thlaspi bursa pastoris, malva rotundifolia also occurs, ligustrum, adhatoda! euphorbia ramis -gonis, foliis? in spinis abeuntibus! bambusa, urtica urentior, geranium, rumex of khegumpa, pancratium or crinum! peristropha triflora, holcus elegans, pteris aquilina both artemisias, panicum cynosuroides! stemodium ruderalis! callicarpa arborea! cerasus, pyrus indica and malus, barleria prionitis! ervum, hedychium coronarioides! in wet places, buchanania, peperomia, moschosma! dendrobium! thibaudia myrtifolia, gordonia, dioscorcae! tetrantheroid arbor magna, pinus longifolia, quercus, -sp. rhus, citrus also is found. thus the mixture of forms is nearly excessive, those marked ! thus indicate usually low elevations. rubia cordifolum. the whole four leaves of this plant are petiolate, but one pair is perhaps always unequal, one occasionally abortive, i look upon this as a proof that the so-called stipulae of stellatae are real leaves. there is this difference then between rubiaceae and stellatae, the one has covered buds, the other not. the development of the lamine before the petiole is particularly conspicuous in this plant. buck-wheat with trisulcate seeds, and cannabis sativa are found here; barley is cultivated. _january th_.--sassee: temperature degrees, big metal thermometer. tomato found here; leptospartion ascends woody ravines as far as this; of birds, the larger dove is abundant; verbena officinalis. _january th_.--on walls about this a lobelia, and stemodia ruderalis occurred. sassee is a ruined village, said once to have been large, now containing not more than five or six houses, an equal number being in ruins. _january th_.--commenced to descend almost immediately, until we reached the giri nuddee, we then ascended again , feet, and continued over excessively precipitous rocky ground, until we reached the nullah again. the same vegetation continued until we had descended some hundred feet. pinus, quercus, rhododendron, viburnum, indigofera, osbeckia nepalensis, desmodium, gaultheria arborea, rubus, deltoidifolius, conyza, saurauja ferruginea, crawfurdia speciosa, labiata sudyensis, dipsacus occurs but is rare, gordonia, rubus idaeus, gleichenia minor, pendulous lichens, galium asparagus, engeldhaardtia, smilax. the descent was steep. thibaudia myrtifolia, peperomia, stemodia grandis, airoid, otochilus linearis. at feet composita arborea, and penduliflora, polygonum rheoides, flemingia, and a cleared spot with zea mays. feet pteris aquilina, rubus moluccanus, aspidium polypodioides, lygodium, aspidium macrosorum, moschosma, mimosa arborea, millet, cerasus, hedyotis, plectranthus, roylia, knoxia scandens, ruta albiflora, rottlera, commenced at feet. stemodia, hovenia, cerastium, -ovulatum, carex. [gradient khegumpa to sassee: g .jpg] carex, kydia, jujubifolia, randia, hovenia, occurred at feet, with rhopala, panax, ficus obliqua. then shady jungle commenced, underwood of ferns, acanthaceae, urticeae, andropogons, stemodia secunda occurred at feet. { a} hastingsia, pogostemon, kydia calycina, glypea, curculigo, feet, with clematis cana, cerasus, quercus robur, this came down a ridge. rhus acidissima. scleria, lycopodia, maesa, sterculia balanghas, and kydia jujubifolia, at feet. { a} phlomoides, acanthacea specicosa, pothos pinnatus, choulmoogrum, malpighiacea, at , feet. { a} buchanania, magnolia, achyranthes, murraya exotica, sedgwickia, urtica gigas, chloranthus inconspicuus, peliosanthes, phaenix pygmaea, hedysarum acenaciferum, at , feet. { a} the altitude of the bed here is , feet ( . . : of woollaston, . . ) { b} and along its banks cissus, woodwardia, megala, polygonum rheoides, mimosa arborea, curculigo, woodwardia, andropogon fuscum, conaria, potentilla, rumex, rubia cordifolia, drymaria, and begonia occurred. the ascent was steep, leading over several land slips, the same vegetation continuing. oaks, pines, rhododendrons occupying the more exposed faces, and the usual humid jungle characterising aspects not so much exposed. pinus longifolia strays down to within feet of the nullah. we passed a pretty cascade discharging a considerable body of water: here at feet { a} above the nullah, i observed crotalaria juncea, the betula of thumathaya, quercus lanatus, leea crispa, panax terebinthaceus, indigofera, scutellaria, clematis, cana, panax altera, mimosa, porana, arundo karka, flemingia, conyza, aspidium macrosomum. at feet, { a} itea macrophylla, ficus, composita arborea. the woods are dry, but little occurring underneath the trees, except the usual grasses, andropogons and airoides. at feet, { a} thibaudia myrtifolia, triumfetta mollis, composita penduliflora, lysimachia, pinus, rhododendron. the ground now became excessively rocky, the road winding along at the same elevation, not more than a foot wide. at feet, { a} desmodium vestilum, artemisia, acanthacea lurida, gentiana, as before. gordonia, bambusa, microphylla, arum viviparum, tussilaginoid, wendlandia, thibaudia, _variegatoides_, and a myrtifolia; sedum, rocks strewn in every direction covered with sedum and epiphylical orchideae. on rounding a ridge with a north-east aspect we came without altering our elevation, on a humid jungle. pothos pinnatus and red, ferns, acanthaceae, choripetalum, calamus, acrostichea, blakea, grammitis decurrens, moschosma. we descended through similar jungle with pandanus also occurring until we again changed our aspect, when the oak woods, etc. reverted with rhododendron and thibaudia myrtifolia; again changing, we returned to an intermediate jungle, gradually assuming all the humid characters of those places passed before. here i observed tupistra, asplenium nidus, at feet above the bed of a nullah. rottleria, mimosa arborea, crawfurdia, speciosa, zanthoxzlon triphyllum. along the bed of this nullah, crawfurdia speciosa, potentilla, choripetalum, eurya, ranunculus, cardamina, juncus! oxyspora, saurauja hispida, occurred; some in a sort of marsh, with thibaudia variegatoides. the places along which torrents formerly flowed were occupied by typha elephantina, kujara, megala, arunda, the alnus of bhailseeree, artemisia major, rubus deltoidifolia, (corysanthera hispida with juncus;) here anthistiria arundinacea, artemisia minor, bucco grandis (bird), polygonum rheoides, baehmeria torrentum, gaultheria deflexa, indigofera, oaks, gordonia, holcus elegans, conaria nepalensis in flower, and erythrina occurred along the bed, up which we proceeded about a mile. we then ascended among pines and oaks, callicarpa arborea, and others, ascending up the humid ravines, which in the rains give exit to torrents--at feet noticed a different pinus, which is observed in abundance on a mountain on the opposite side, up which it ascends or , feet. callicarpa azurea, buddleia neemda, eugenia, serissoides, and the saccharum of churra, occurred here. the ascent was continual but gradual, rounding the almost precipitous face of the hill, the path was stony, often loose and frequently not above a foot wide, with a precipice lowering above and yawning beneath. the vegetation had, with the exception of the pines, oaks, and rhododendrons, all been burnt, so that the ascent was uninteresting. as we neared the summit it became bitterly cold, a strong biting wind nearly cutting us in two: we reached bailfa, which is on the summit but sheltered, at p.m. conaria occurs at the top! being more advanced in flower than below; in one instance with young capsules. i noticed pogonatherum, didymocarpus contortus, serissoides, gaultheria fruticosa, polytrichum fuscum, gathered at , feet, previously: at , - , feet above the nullah, indigofera reaches the top. in a sheltered place here i found a beautiful gaultheria; a small campanula occurs on the rocks at from , feet upwards. bailfa or _bulphai_.--this place is , feet above the level of the sea, yet on the east and south are mountains towering far above it. snow is said to fall in february, but sparingly--the hills around are bleak, thinly vegetated, except those on the south of the geerea, which are more wooded. there are only a few houses. turnips and barley are cultivated here, and in these fields may be found a cruciferous annual, and probably a small species of lamium. the chief cultivation is visible in the valleys below. buckwheat is among the number. _january th_.--to-day i sallied out a few hundred yards to the west, on turning over the ridge, the south side of which is so bleak, thinly covered with q. lanata and rhododendrons, i found myself in a thick shady jungle, the chief tree being a species of oak, widely different from q. lanata. the trees and shrubs are loaded with mosses, especially pendulous neckerae, daltoniae, hypne; hookeria, fissidens, etc. occurred on the ground. i imagine, i gathered twenty-five species of mosses here. ferns were likewise abundant; i noticed daphne papyracea, berberis asiatica, conyza nivea, smilax ruscoides, oeschynanthus venosus, hedera, ophiopogon linearis, o. latifolius, cymbidium viridiflorium, ardisia crenata, carex, piper! clematis, gordonia, spiraea decomposita, composita volkamerifolia, cissus, smilax, bambusa microphylla, viburna, as before. gaylussacia serrata and microphylla, the former in fruit. thibaudia lanceolata, buxifolia, gaultheria of yesterday. on the exposed face santalacea, gentiana, hypericum decussatum of moflong, leucas ciliata, ischaemum pygmaeum, on rhododendron, loranthus obovatus. the mosses of this side were brachymenium, tortula, famaria, trichostomum, neckerae, polytrichum fuscum, zygodon? dendrobium and otochilus, occur here. a stray and small abies occurs on the ridge itself. about the village of bailfa, occur urtica urens, artemisia major, saccharum aristatum, rubus triphyllus, senecio scandens, rumex, chickweed, stemodia ruderailis, lactucoidea murorum, carduus, phlomoides, rubus deltoidifolies, achyranthoid, densa. _january th_.--thermometer at a.m. degrees. the houses here are roofed with split bamboos, and they are tied on by rattans, a precaution rendered necessary by the boisterous winds which prevail. the place is very cold; the thermometer varying from degrees to degrees; mean temperature of the day degrees. in the barley fields i noticed fumariae sp., potentilla and cynoglossum. erythrina ascends to this! pyrus malus and spiraea bella occur. _january st_.--our march this day commenced with an ascent of a ridge lying to the north-east of our halting place, this occupied us some time, and at last we reached a pagoda, visible from bailfa, and which is nearly , feet above that place. thence we descended about a hundred feet, through a well-wooded situation. emerging thence at about the same elevation, we crossed barren bleak downs; the ravines being alone wooded, and hence the woods had that rounded, defined appearance, so remarkable in some parts of the khasya hills. thence the descent was continued to roongdong, the march is an easy one, about seven miles. the first new plant that occurred was an allium on rocks, but it had been dried up by the fires which had bared the surface of the hill of every thing, except the trees and stouter shrubs, capable of resisting its action. toward the pagoda, on the summit of the ridge, pendulous lichens were abundant, epiphytes were common, consisting chiefly of orchideae, with the gay lussacias, rhododendron punctata, hymenopogon parasiticus, orthodon, tussilaginoid, alnus occurred at , feet. the other vegetation continued. at , feet, a new quercus appeared, this, which has in its young state, leaves much like those of the holly, and may therefore be called q. _elicifolia_! andropogon, viburnum caerulium, neckera, bambusa microphylla, fragaria, potentilla, conyza nivea, scabiosa spiraea decomposita, gillenioides, smilax ruscoideus, hyperica of moflong, campanula, swertia, dipsacus. at , feet, epilobium, rosa, vaccinium cyaneum! rhododendron coccineum, tetranthera. at , feet, abies pendulifolia, hemiphragma. at the pagoda, and about it, grimmia was found on rocks, with the usual pendulous neckerae, q. ilecifolia, vibura, hypericum. abies brunoniana, a large solitary tree, with pendulous branches, tetranthera, laurineae, smilax gaultherifolia, ilex, on the wooded side of the ridge. ferns and mosses were abundant, ilex! daphne papyracea. eurya, panax rhododendrifolia, rhododendron arborea, minus et majus. the tree of thumathaya foliis ad apicem ramorum aggregatis, petiolis colorat., celastrinea euryifolia, tetranthera another species without leaves. in the more moist places a small urticeae, lonicera as before, on the exposed side stunted q. ilecifolia, dipsacus, gnaphalia, vaccinium cyaneum, and gramineae, hemiphragma, potentilla, campanula, tussilaginoides. long tailed grey monkeys. the ridge we crossed, runs up into a bleak ridge on which are houses, and which cannot be under , feet high, about the descent through the wood, which did not extend many hundred yards. i noticed galium, valeriana, crawfurdia fasciculata, sphaeropteris betula corylifolia, hypericum, spiraea gillenioides, rubus cordifolius, senecio scandens, juncus effusoideus, in wet places, rhododendron majus, coming into flower, (flower white) cerastium bacciferum, arborea, canescens, cissus, rubus moluccanus, elaeagnus, rubus potentillifolia, plantago, ligustrum, berberis pinnata and asiatica, which last is generally covered with lichens. xanthoxylum, lilium giganteum! polytrichium fuscescens, trichostomum anielangioides, pohlia, on walls and rocks, adoxa! in wet places under banks, with a fleshy urticea: about this was observed the brick-red and black bird. { } along the naked ridge and on the downs, which had a most wintry appearance, and where it was bitterly cold, the lycopodium of surureem was found, also vaccinium cyaneum, gnaphalium, pteris aquelina stunted, hypericum of moflong, swertia stunted, hemiphragma. the defined woods are formed of oaks and stray abies pendulifolia, panax rhododendrifolia, berberis asiatica, and b. pinnata. mespilus microphyllus, rhododendron minus, and r. arborea, (euphorbia, and juncus on the swards.) eurya, gaultheria arborea, stauntonia. from this ridge a village near benka is visible, as well as a large stream, the goomrea, and several villages. the one we now inhabit, being the best looking and occupying a deep valley, is surrounded with much terrace cultivation. descending still farther we left the downs, first coming into the scraggy woods of oaks, rhododendron, quercus, chiefly q. robur. about here we met abundance of people going to hazoo from kampo; they were accompanied with asses chiefly carrying burdens of one maund weight; few goats; one yak was seen of a black colour; a low compact animal, much resembling, except in the absence of a hump, the bison: it was not a handsome specimen. we also passed a village to the left, containing about twenty houses, here a nai gooroo, or person of rank, resides, and here i also got fruit-bearing specimens of abies pendula. noticed, as i descended, pyrus, cerasus, magnoliacea, gaultheria arborea and frutex, pteris aquelina, quercus sclerophylla of bulphai, viburnum caerulescens and angustifola! rhododendron minus, ilex! aspid. nidus, gordonia, q. lanata, woodwardia, rubia albiflora, gleichenia major, pyrus indica. then we came to a pretty temple built like a house, with a fine specimen of cypress pendula, altitude of the place , feet. from this a fine view of roondong is obtained. still descending a short distance came to another temple, with a dome of the ordinary form, and a large square terraced basement, and inscribed slabs in the recesses. hence the ascent was very steep. erythrinum, buddleia! indigofera! spiraea bella, artemisia major! polygonum rheoides! rubus deltoidens! curculigo, conaria nepalensis, thalictrum majus! asparagus, jubrung! oxalis corniculata, clematis cana, eurya ferruginea! santalacea australas, pyrus malus! elaeocarpus! maesa salicifolia. we then crossed a small torrent, and ascended about feet to roongdong; noticed stemodia grandiflora! spiraea bella, conaria, erythrium, elaeagnus spinosus, salix? buds with velvet or woolly hairs, martynia! hedera! citrus! woodwardia. the transitions of the flora were this day well shewn. the plants which indicated the greatest elevation are, vaccinium, abies brunoniana, saxifraga, or adoxa, q. ilecifolia, rhododendron formosum, r. arboreum majus, sphaeropteris, ilex, eurya acuminata? panax rhododendrofol., berb. pinnata and b. asiatica, mespilus, microphylla, juncus. the occurrence of the urticea at such elevation is curious, the proofs of the wonderful effects of humidity, and non-exposure were particularly shewn, between the exposed south face of the bulphai mountain, and the north-east face which was wooded. from scarcity of grass, horses were here seen to feed on boughs so high as to be obliged to stand on stones, to get at their food. they are likewise fed on maize and tares; the poultry is of a large brood. the cocks are atrociously noisy, two in particular had such lengthened, cracked or quavering voices, that they were quite a nuisance. we put up in the house of the dumpa or head man. it is situated on the top of a stony, and a bitter cold place, exposed to the four winds of heaven. house very large, and our host a little man with great airs, and a red coat or wrapper of coarse english cloth, drinks intensely. during our stay at this place he invited pemberton and blake to shoot pigeons; the poor man thought that they would not be able to hit them, on finding out his mistake, he put an end to the sport. atriplex is cultivated here, mooreesa of assam, hempstee of the booteas, though seeds are used as well as the leaves. the loads of salt brought down by the tibetans on asses are packed up neatly in coarse cloths, and weigh upwards of forty seers each. [gradient bulphai to roongdong: g .jpg] _february st_.--our march commenced by descending gradually at first, then very rapidly to the dimree nuddee: crossing this at the junction of two streams, we ascended a little and then kept along the side of the ridge forming the right bank of the nuddee, until we came over the monass: thence proceeding about one and a half mile, we reached tassgong or benka which is situated on this river, and about , feet above it. this we crossed by a suspension bridge. but little interesting botany occurred to-day: chenopodium sp. occurs in fields at roongdong. the terrace cultivation here had just yielded a crop of rice, and was now planted with wheat. agriculture would appear to be at a low ebb, and if the country is populous, the people must be half-starved. water was abundant throughout the route: the monass is a large stream, but not generally very deep, although from its rapidity it must discharge even at this season a great body of water. composita penduliflora descends to the dimree, the altitude of which is about , feet, so in fact did most of the plants found about roongdong. pyrus continues half- way, rhododendron to the bottom. hovenia at an altitude of , feet, randia--as also tetranthera oleosa, and a new flemingia. at , feet, _jubrung_ occurs.--clematis cana, luculiae sp., conyzoidea nivea, kydia calycina, mimosa arborea, began at , feet: gaultheria, arborea, gordonia, descend to the bottom: crawfurdia speciosa, oxyspora, aspidium, macrostomium, and polypodioides, saurauja hispida, hypericum, spiraea bella, gillenioinis, quercus, rubus, and viburnum caerulescens. a tree yielding lac, which had lately been cut, and meliaceae, rhus triphyllum. hence some snow was visible on a lofty ridge above our heads, at least , feet, the snow descending a considerable way down ravines. of birds, bulbuls and bucco, were here observed. at --- feet, leguminosa arborea, loranthus scurrula, kydia wendlandia, celtis, osbeckia nepalensis, a vitex, grislea, pteris aquilina, indigofera! acanthacea caerulea. at --- feet, triumfetta mollis, composita arborea, pterospermum, fructibus -valvibus, valvis lobatibus, sem. alatis. santalacea australasica, here a large shrub. at the nullah, fici sp., saccharum megala, verbenacia? foliis apice craso lobatis. on the opposite side, pinus longifolia, to within feet of the nullah, phlebochiton extensus! solanum farinaceum! achyranthes densa! a plumbaginacea which is a paederioid rubiacea, and another ficus, hastingsia, bassia, labiata sudyensis, grislea, very common, emblica, ficus obliquus were found along the road, after crossing the nullah. the ridge of the mountain was rocky, barren, covered chiefly with grasses, the butea of nurtung, artemisia minor, umbelliferae, desmodium vestilum, kalanchoe, also occurred. at the few houses below our path, we saw plantains! and bamboos as well as mangoes! the terraces here are fronted with stones: lemna occurred in water; linaria on rocks; conaria and a fleshy euphorbia, this last, about villages. the occurrence of plantains and mangoes here is curious, and a sure sign of mild climate, as kalanchoe is of dryness; nothing could well exceed the barrenness of the road, from crossing dumria to benka. benka is a straggling place, built on a ridge overhanging the monass, and on exceedingly rugged ground, the north face of the ridge being nearly equally steep; the southern face, contains about fifty houses, all of which are small and a few in ruins. the only large house is the rajah's, which is said to be of chinese construction. this day the rajah paid us a visit; a tent was pitched for his reception on the open ground before our house, consisting of a small silken pall, with two high silken parti-coloured kunnauts. he arrived about eleven, preceded and succeeded by followers amounting to less than a hundred. on reaching the ground, he was carried or shuffled off his horse and deposited in the tent amid most terrific screechings. he took an immense time to arrange for our admission. we found him seated on a shabby throne, with a head priest, a coarse looking man, on his right, on a less elevated seat. brass cups, etc. were arranged before him. our chairs occupied the left; a present of fruits, onions, etc., the floor. the meeting was friendly, and he promised us coolies in two days. he is a youngish man with a square face, and was well dressed. after we had taken leave, he feasted his attendants and the spectators with salt-fish and rice. he departed about p.m. the procession was as follows, both going and returning-- a large, black, shaggy dog led by a chain. a drum and drummer; a gong with a melodious sound; a clarionet played by an old and accomplished musician, rivalling in its strains that beautiful instrument the bagpipe; a man bearing a wooden painted slab on a pole, on this was an inscription; a banner looking like a composition of rags; a white flaglet; fifteen matchlockmen; fifteen bowmen; the dompa of roongdong; five horses and one mule led. the household; natchees; guitar; sundries. personal attendants, looking like yeomen of the guard in red cloth dresses, variegated with yellow; the rajah wearing a chinese copper hat. lastly, the priests, of whom there were about six. these were the best clothed and best mounted, and evinced satisfactory tokens of being corporeally well off. their dress consisted of a sombre jacket with no sleeves, with either a yellow or red silk back, over this is a sombre scarf. they are great beggars, and the headman was well pleased with a present of four rupees. in return, he gave p. two, b. and myself each one paper of salt, similar to those given to the lookers-on. the ponies were all poor, excepting two or three of the rajah's own, which were handsomely equipped; these had their tails raised on end, exactly like hobby-horses. in addition to this, each was supplied with supernumerary yak tails, one on either side. the whole people collected did not amount to more than . the arms, at least were wretched, consisted of culverins, which went off with an enormous report, and matchlocks with short rests, like the end of a pitchfork. the bows were long and good. the helmets were worn on the head when going and coming, but were allowed to sling on the back while resting here; they are rude iron things, like bowls, but covered for some way up the sides with cloth in a most unbecoming way. dirt and noise were predominant; the dancing women, evidently not what they should be, had clean faces, but horridly dirty feet, and were very plain. the dancing was poor, consisting chiefly of ungraceful motions of the hands and forearms; the singing pleasing, harmonious but monotonous. a peculiar kind of spirit called _chonghoons_ is in great requisition: this liquor is pleasant, perfectly clear like whiskey and water, with a small matter of malt in it. fumaria is found here much more advanced than that at bulphai, drymaria ovata. they cultivate one sort of legume, perhaps more; mangoes, jacks and pomegranates; all these trees bear fruit towards the end of the hot weather. a young mango tree was observed with opposite leaves, uppermost pair one abortive nearly: thus the mariam of burma, may probably present the normal form of foliation. _adoee_ fish { } found in the monass. bheirs, papia, tobacco, banyan, of these last, poor specimens may be seen here. the place is miserably poor, and as it is reckoned one of some importance, its condition shows the barrenness of the country. the rajah's house is a large one, apparently consisting of a quadrangle with an elevated story. news arrived yesterday to the effect that tumults still prevailed: the deb it was said had been deposed by treachery: that a new one had been permanently appointed: but that the usurper did not wish us to come on. tongsa, however, said that after we have come so far, we should advance, and that we may settle our plans at his place. _february th_.--left: descended immediately from the town to the bridge over the monass. the descent is steep but winding, the face of the hill being nearly precipitous. close to the river we passed a small field of cajanus, used for feeding the lac insect. the bridge is a suspension one, the chains, one on either side, being of iron in square links; the curve is considerable, in the form of the letter v, the sides being of mat. hence it is difficult to cross, and this is increased by the bridge swinging about considerably: it is seventy yards in span, and about thirty above the monass. the monass is , feet below benka, it is a large river, the banks being about eighty yards apart, but this space is not generally filled with water. its violence is extreme. we continued along this river some time, gradually rising from its bed until we ascended nearly , feet. we continued at this elevation until we reached nulka, to which place we descended a little. the whole march was through a barren, rocky, burnt-up country. the monass was in sight nearly the whole distance. passed two villages, both small, one on the right and one on the left bank of the river. no change in vegetation occurred except that we came upon pines, p. longifolia about a mile and a half from nulka, coming into flower. i am almost inclined to think this is different from the khasya species, kurrimia, indigofera pulchra, desmodium, buddleia sp., were the only plants of a novel nature that occurred. the hills are chiefly clothed with andropogoneous grasses, very little cultivation was observed, but there seemed to be more on high hills to the east. [gradient benka to nulka: g .jpg] chapter xii. _continuation of the journey in bootan_. the following table affords the result of observations made with the view to determine the relation between temperature and altitude, in these parts. difference of difference of value in height of temperature elevation degrees of temperature benka and monass, degrees fahr. , feet feet benka and nulka, = = - / benka and khumna, = , = - khumna and nulka, = , = - monass and nulka, = = - monass and khumna, = , = - ---------- ) - ---------- mean value of degrees of fahr. as indicated on the barometer - second series of observation benka and monass, degrees fahr. , - feet - feet benka and nulka, = - = - benka and khumna, = , - = - khumna and nulka, = , - = - monass and nulka, = - = - monass and khumna, = , - = - ---------- ) - ---------- - the monass is called goongree by the booteas; its bed is very much inclined, and tranquil pools are of rare occurrence: it is not fordable in any place, although many of the rapids are not very deep. the singular bridge is said to be of chinese construction, and that it serves the purpose of a chief thoroughfare, is a proof of the extremely small population of the country. onions grow at nulka, plantains, sugarcane, tobacco. bheirs are common. weeping cypress occurs, but stunted. the entrance to this village on the north-side, is through a square building, the ceiling of which is painted, and the walls decorated with figures of deities, white and red. [koollong bridge: p .jpg] _february th_.--we descended immediately to the monass, keeping along its banks throughout the greater part of the march; rising however, over one or two spurs that dip into it. this river varies a good deal in width, its bed, however, is generally confined, and the stream fierce; occasionally, however it spreads out and becomes here and there more placid. we continued along its banks, crossing one or two small streams until o'clock, when we reached a large torrent, the koollong, up which we proceeded three or four hundred yards, but at some height above its bed. we crossed this by a wooden bridge of similar construction with that over the deo panee, and the idea of which is ingenious. it is nearly fifty yards wide, and about twenty above the torrent. it is in a bad state, and unprovided with railings throughout the central level part. the houses into which the inclined supporting beams are fixed are strong, and built on rock. the fastenings are altogether of cane, and the whole presenting the appearance given in the annexed drawing. hence we ascended a black, rocky, burnt-up mountain until we reached khumna, the ascent amounted to nearly , feet, and occupied more than an hour. but little of interest occurred, in fact i never saw a more barren country. we passed a small village of two or three houses, and two good patches of rice cultivation, one just below nulka, one at ghoomkhume, the small village just alluded to. pinus longifolia descends nearly to the bed of the monass, which below nulka is about , feet above the level of the sea. along this i noticed hiraea, eugenia, vitis, jasminum, paederia foetida, ficus, loranthus, scurrula, desmodium, aerides, vanda, flacourtia, kalanchoe, leguminosa, _vanillidora of solani mookh_, ceanothus, bergera, dischidia bengalensis, leguminous trees, euphorbia, bassia, cheilanthes of brahmakoond common, coccoloba cyanea. in rice khets at ghoomkurrah, i found lemna, cardamine, rumex of khejumpa, cirsium decurrens, gnaphalia, datura, simool in flowers; spathoidea, oxalis coriculata, cannabis, verbesina. i observed water-ouzels, bucco, water-wagtails, bulbuls, ordinary and yellow-rumped. [gradient nulka to khumna: g .jpg] passed cotton cultivation in two places, one close to the monass, and one to the koollong, both equally bad, and observed begonia edule, which they call sheemptsee, and which they eat. the road to-day was generally good, overhanging in one place the monass at a height of forty yards above, and below scarped precipices. the road here was constructed or supported artificially. distance six miles. _february th_.--to phoollong. left at . a.m., and immediately commenced ascending. the ascent was at first steep, then gradually wound round the khumna mountain, which was most barren throughout. the ascent continued but very gradually until we came near phoollong, to which we descended, and then ascended about , feet. about half-way, and when we had ascended perhaps , feet, we came on new vegetation, oaks, rhododendra, etc. as before, and this continued improving in denseness until we reached the village. the distance is five miles, ascent about , feet, but so gradual, that one would not imagine it more than feet. at khumna, i noticed pinus longifolia, pyrus malus, achyranthes dense, cirrus, urtica urens, tobacco, musa, datura, artemisia major. hogs are fed here in large circular platters made of stone scooped out. commencing the ascent, i observed ficus cordata of bhamru, rhus pendula, indigofera _elatior_, conaria, pteris aquilina, cerasus commenced at , feet. then desmodium vestilum, artemisia minor, conyza laculia, rubus deltifolius, labiata sudyensis, acanth. caerulescens. quercus robur commenced at about , feet, but stunted flemingia secunda, then gaultheria arborea, gnaphalium nivea. here there was a high ridge to the right, crowned with a wood of q. robur, all the leaves of which had fallen. myrica, rhododendron, jubrung, didymocarpus contortus on rocks, cnicus, clematis cana, polygonum rheoides. at a village here, which contained ten houses, observed cupressus pendula, citrus, wheat, bambusa, then juncus. primula of the khasya hills. q. robur abundant, composita penduliflora, saurauja hispida, equisetum, rubus caesius, alnus of thumathaya, elaeagnus spinosus, e. macrophyllus , feet: plantago, coriaria, erythrina, rhus acidum, cerastium coenum, dipsacus, viburnum microphyllum, rubia cordifolia, barleria, tetranthera oleosa, hedera, gentiana, myrsine, blasia, fleshy urticea, q. robur, gordonia, adamia, neckera jungermannoides and laeta, primula in abundance, acorus, calamus, scirpus kysoor of churra, gram. latifolia, andropogonoides of suniassa. coming on a well-wooded ravine close to phoollong, the first i have seen since leaving balphai, found quercus , castanea, gordonia, spiraea decomposita, and s. bella, hydrangea, rhododendron, thalictrum, quercus, curculigo, viburnum caerulescens, indigofera elatior, gnaphalium niveum, sempervivum on rocks, panicum eleusinoides, thibaudia myrtifolia, swertia major, alnus as before, rubus moluccanus, salix lanata, primula simsii, phlomoides, orthodon. throughout the march we observed many detached houses on the mountains forming the right bank of the koollong, and much cultivation, all of the terrace sort. passed one village beneath us about feet, containing twelve houses, and the one mentioned above; as usual, ruined houses occur. cattle furnished with litters of leaves; a curious low was heard, like that of an elephant. booteas work their own cotton, much of which is cultivated along the rivers at low elevations. higher land, certainly to , feet high, was visible to the north side: on this a good deal of snow was visible. [gradient khumna to phoollong: g .jpg} _february th_.--towards the morning it commenced to rain; snow has fallen on both sides the koollong: it has fallen on the road we came by yesterday, and on the hills above to within feet of us, or in some places to the level of this. exemption in favour of this place is to be attributed to local causes. the trees in the neighbourhood are completely covered with it, and it is said to have fallen here twice during the night, the bootea houses are ill calculated for rain, they leak all around as indeed might be expected, from the nature of the roofs, which consist of boards, kept _in situ_ by stones. it would be curious to ascertain the temperature under which snow does not fall, and if possible the temperature here and among the snow. in the morning, sleet with a few flakes of snow fell also, but only occasionally. snow continued to fall throughout the day, and steadily too: it commenced slightly: as the cold increased it ceased to melt on reaching the ground, and at length all around was a sheet of white. the variations of the thermometer were considerable and frequent, the wind blowing pretty steadily from the south-east. at a.m. degrees snow commencing. at . a.m. degrees south-east wind. at . a.m. degrees wind from the north, snow rather heavy. at . a.m. degrees south-east. at noon degrees ditto. at . p.m. degrees ditto. at . p.m. degrees ditto. at p.m. degrees ditto. at p.m. degrees ditto. at p.m. degrees ditto. fine moonlight night. view to the north beautiful; every thing silvered with snow; the deep and black ravine of the koollong is particularly conspicuous, and on some cultivated spots the pendulous cypress with its sombre head and branches covered with snow, was also remarkable, altogether a beautiful scene. larch-like firs were visible feet over the road leading to this from khumna. _february th_.--fine sunny morning: thermometer at a.m. degrees: at a.m. degrees. hills around covered with snow. high ridge to south plainly visible, a good deal of snow visible. went out at noon over to the south-east, in which direction a pine wood was visible; this i ascertained to consist of pinus or abies pendula, which has much the habit of a larch. the altitude of this above phoollong is certainly , feet; snow covered the ground in all sheltered spots. the woods here are formed chiefly of q. robur, q. ilecifolia also occurs here and there, gordonia, cerasus, rhododendron minus. mosses and jungermanniae abound, and were in high perfection owing to being saturated with moisture. polytrichum, neckera, brachymenium, dicranum, weissiae, fissidens, hypnum, didymodon, diastoma, orthodon, were found in perfection. the only new plants were a campanula and a chimaphila, which last was found at , feet. berberis asiatica scarcely occurs below , feet, hedera. the birds seen were the jay, barbet, red-and-black-headed, variegated short-wing, large ditto of khegumpa, orange-breasted trochilus, brown fringilla, green woodpecker, black pheasant, and small squirrel of assam was also found. from the fir wood, tassyassee was distinctly visible, bearing nearly due south, distance or miles. koollong was also seen: all the high ground between that and bulphai was covered with snow. the high range to the south is, i think, the same as that which runs up behind from the pagoda above bulphai. a few plants of the assam indigo, ruellia indigofera, are kept here, and preserved with care, but stunted and obviously unsuited to the climate. montario, our taxidermist, says that it is the fourth plant he knows from which indigo is procured. first, indigofera--second, the custard apple, _shereefa_--third, a climbing plant used in java, etc. probably marsdenia tinctoria--fourth,--? _february th_.--fine weather: thermometer at a.m. degrees. started at a.m., and reached tassyassee at p.m.; the distance being nine miles. we continued throughout nearly at the same elevation, rounding the hill on which koollong is placed. about three miles from this we descended about feet to a nullah, which we crossed over by means of planks, thence we ascended about the same height, and continued at nearly our former level until we descended to the koollong, which we crossed by the usual form of wooden bridge. thence we ascended feet to the village, which is chiefly constituted by the rajah's house, a very large edifice. the koollong is still a considerable stream, but appears to be fordable, at least in the present season. the vegetation continued the same almost throughout. in ascending from the nullah above mentioned, we came on plenty of pinus longifolia, and on getting still nearer tassyassee the abies pendula became more and more common, until it forms on the opposite bank of the koollong opposite this, a large wood; pinus longifolia disappearing. the hills continue openly wooded, the woods consisting of oaks, chiefly q. robur and rhododendrons. in the ravines which are thickly wooded, oaks, chesnuts, cerasus, rhododendron arborea, mosses; panax two or three species, among which is a new one, _p_. _aesculifolia_, arbor parva armati, foliis digitatis, paniculis nutantibus. hydrangea, viburnum caerulescens, and microphyllum, galium, ferns abundant, bucklandia likewise occurred here and there! tetranthera, valeriana, scabiosa, conaria, holcus elegans. in the broken ground before reaching this, gaultheria nummularifolia, primula minor, in crevices of rocks. in some places erythrina was very common, gentiana, dipsacus, sedum and didymocarpus contortus on rocks, saccharum aristatum, salix lanata, woodwardia, primula minor, which grows in shade on the khasya hills, is found here in sunny wet places. the scenery in some places is very romantic, and occasionally grand; the valley of the koollong being closed far to the north by a high ridge and beautiful peaks, all heavily snowed. the rajah's house is visible from a considerable distance. as we approached, some parts were rugged and bold. water abundant throughout. [gradient phoollong to tassangsee: g .jpg] _february th_.--went out at p.m.; descending to, and crossed the koollong, then ascending along its banks for about a mile. the bridge over this is about thirty yards wide, abutting from two houses of ordinary structure, built on solid rocks: the river is underneath the bridge apparently of great depth; above it is a succession of rapids, it is even at this, the driest season, a considerable river. the path leads in a winding direction either over rice cultivation or on precipitous banks. i noticed berberis asiatica, pinnata, a pomacea spinosa, foliis spathulatis, stauntonia latifolia, hedera, gaultheria two or three, thebaudiaceae, artemisia major, erythrina, primula stuartii in abundance, juncus, alnus, myrsina, prunella in grassy spots, rumex of khegumpa, daphne papyracae, peperomia quadrifolium, spiraea bella, viola, ophiopogon linearifol., hypericum, smilax, elaeagnus, conaria, lonicera villosa, epilobium sericeum, a common plant in all watery places, cardamina swertia, viburnum microphyllum. rhododendrum arborea and minor, leucas ciliata, thistles, pteris aquilina, neckerae, osbeckia capitata of churra, oaks, catharinea, xyris, gordonia, fragaria, potentilla two, festucoidea, cupressus pendula. the greatest acquisitions were a beautiful pink farinaceous ascapous primula, and a new genus of hamamelideae. this plant i have long known, and called _betula corylifolia_, as i had only seen it in fruit, and not examined it; it is found on the khasya hills at elevations of between , and , feet. it will be worth dedicating it to some distinguished geologist, thereby associating his name with that of bucklandia and sedgwickii. no fly-fishing is to be had in this stream, nor indeed in any at such elevations. the adoee is found, but always keeps at the bottom, the structure of its mouth pointing out its grovelling habits. the bookhar does not, i think, ascend more than , feet. water-ouzels, white-fronted sylvia occur. observed for the first time the religious vertical revolving cylinders, these revolve by the action of water, which runs on the cogs of the wheel by means of hollowed out trunks of trees. flour mills are common here, the grindstone revolves on another by means of vertical spokes, which are set in motion by a horizontal wheel, and moved by a stream let on it in the same way. funaria heygrometrina abounds in the larch wood here. this is a very cold place, although feet below phoollong: it is much colder than that place: thermometer at a.m. degrees. snow still remains on the height around; heavy snow on the lofty ridge to the north; strong south-east winds prevail here. [tassgong from the koollong: p .jpg] _february th_.--tassyassy, which is also called tassangsee, is a small place apparently consisting of one large house, belonging to the soobah, and some religious edifices, the other houses belonging to it are scattered about among the adjoining cultivation. the soobah we have just learnt is absent at tongsa, so we have no opportunity of comparing his rank with that of the tassgong man. his house is however, much larger; it is situated on a promontory formed by the debouching of a considerable sized torrent into the koollong. the bridge is at the foot of this hill, which is about feet high: the house is accessible to the north and west only. half-way up a high hill to the north-west is a fort! and between the foot of this hill and the rajah's house there is a wall with a tower at the north-west end, and a house at the south-east. in the afternoon the weather threatened snow, but it ended in very slight rain. _february th_.--thermometer at a.m. degrees: at p.m. degrees: cloudy. observed conyza nivea, composita penduliflora, agrimonia, stemodia grandiflora, a species of alopecurus in inundated rice fields, fragaria, in the wood, arenaria, gymnostomum on the terraces. an arabis in cornfields with a viola, probably v. patrinia, gaultheria deflexa and gerardia of churra. the fir woods are comparatively bare of mosses and lichens. shot an alauda, a fringilla, and a curious climber with the tail of a woodpecker, at least so far as regards the pointing of the feathers, plumage of yunx, and beak of certhia. fine cypresses were seen opposite tassangsee. _february th_.--left tassangsee, diverging from the koollong at that place, and following the nullah, which falls into that river below the soobah's house. the march was a generally, continued, gradual ascent; we crossed two considerable streams by means of rude wooden bridges, and the whole march was a wet splashy one, owing to the abundance of water. snow became plentiful towards the latter end. the direction was west, the distance about seven miles. we passed two or three deserted villages. we commenced ascending through woods of stunted oaks, rhododendrons, gaultheria arborea. the chief under-shrubs being daphne papyracae, gaultheria fruticosa, primula stuartii, lycopodium of surureem, thibaudia myrtifolia continue, the alnus of beesa occurred plentifully along the bed of the nullah. spiraea decomposita, valeriana simplicifolia, conaria, scabiosa, fragaria, potentilla, geranium, artemisia major, spiraea bella, hedera, viburnum caerulescens, q. robur, crawfurdia speciosa also occurred. ascending, the oaks and rhododendrons became more developed the latter being the smaller species, bambusa microphylla, gordonia, sphoeropteris, antrophyum trichomanes, oxalis major! commenced. larches on the opposite side, saccharum aristatum, gillenioides, gleichenia major, hemiphragma, abies brunonis commence. at , feet smilax ruscoides, senecio scandens, lilium giganteum. the rhododendrons here are large, forming with oaks, open woods, mosses and lichens, very abundant. here we came on snow, with it commenced eurya acuminata, rhododendron formosa, majus, rhododendron fruticosa on ruins, pyrus malus, dipsacus. at , feet, q. ilecifolia, q. glauca, dalibarda, bambusa very common, sphagnum abundant, rhododendron formosa, majus, quercus ilecifolia larger and more common at , feet, gaultheria nummulariodes very abundant, daltonia, lomaria of khegumpa, gaultheria flexuosa, thibaudia acida, tetranthera nuda, lycopodium of surureem, primula stuartii, hyperici sp., also _h_. _moflongensis_, are found up to , feet, with hemiphragma, elaeagnus spinosus, microphyllum, juncus, alnus of beesa, saccharum aristatum. the village is a ruined one apparently, and never contained more than four or five houses, situated on an open spot, surrounded by woods. this spot is covered with sward, a fine q. ilecifolia occurs about the centre of the village. its altitude is , feet. the vegetation is the same, abies pendula, oaks, rhododendron formosa, majus, the other has disappeared, bambusa microphylla, thibaudia acida, primula stuartii, juncus. [gradient tassangsee to sanah: g .jpg] _february th_.--we started very early; the coolies were all off by . a.m. our march was first over undulating ground, either sward or through green lanes. we then commenced ascending a steep hill visible from sanah, the face of which was covered with sward; at the top of this, snow lay rather thick, especially in the woods. the ascent continued, soon becoming very steep, snow laying heavily on the path, until we reached the summit of the second ridge; thence we descended a little, soon ascending again very steeply until we surmounted the highest ridge. the descent from this was at first most steep, the path running in zig- zags, and being in many places very difficult. about , feet below, we came on sward, with wood on the right, along which we descended, diverging subsequently through a thick wood, until we reached sward again. here the coolies who had come up had halted, refusing to go on, as it was already dusk. learning that pemberton and b. had gone on, i hurried on likewise, expecting that the coolies would follow, and continued along the swardy ridge, the path running occasionally between patches of wood, the descent being gradual; the path then struck off into wood, and the descent became rapid. i continued onward, until it was quite dark, and finding it impossible to proceed, and meeting with no signs of b. and p., i determined on returning. i reached the coolies about eight, covered with mud, the path in the wood being very difficult and excessively slippery. i had nothing but broken crusts to eat; i procured some sherry however, and my bedding being up, i was glad to take shelter for the night under the trees. next morning on overtaking p. and b., i found that they had remained all night in the wood without any thing to eat, and without bedding, and that no habitation was near. we reached the village about . on the th, fatigued and dispirited. nothing was at hand, and we had no meal until p.m. except some tea, and an egg or two. many of the coolies came up late on the th, and some have not yet arrived ( th.) the distance was fifteen miles, to the halting place about twelve. the amount of ascent about , feet, and descent , feet, the road being difficult and very slippery: snow was heavy throughout, and the elevations between and , feet; icicles were frequent. the trees were all covered with frost, and the aspect was wintry in the extreme; luckily there was no wind, and no snow fell. the summit of the ridge was , feet high. no views were obtained throughout the th and th; the weather being cloudy and very disagreeable. no bad effects were experienced from the rarefaction of the air; we all suffered of course from colds owing to exposure at night, at an elevation of nearly , feet; the servants bore it tolerably well. at sanah, the altitude of which is , feet, (pemb.) i observed quercus ilecifolia, on it neckerae, anhymenium, senecio scandens, rhododendron arboreum, majus, juncus effusus, swertia, pendulous lichens, dipsacus, artemisia major, primula stuartii, berberis asiatica, bambusa microphylla, lycopodium of surureem, orthotrichum! at , feet, smilax ruscoideus, senecio scandens, woods of oak and rhododendrons, the ground and the trees covered with mosses. gnaphalium, daphne papyrif., mespilus microphyllus! gaultheria nummularioides, spiraea gillenioides, and s. bella, hypericum, gnaphalium lanceolatum, trivenum, sambucus! but withered, tetranthera nuda of bulphai, abies brunonis which is probably a podocarpus. at , feet, tussilaginoides of churra, primula stuartii common on swards with swertiae, etc. as before, funaria and weissia templetonia common, sphaeropterus! quercus ilecifolia, abies pendula, rhododendron arboreum, majus! dalibarda, rubus, ilex dipyrena! rhododendron undulatum! at , feet, the road running along, and above a ravine, rocky ground to the right, eurya acuminata! composita penduliflora. thibaudia rotundifolia, and in a swampy sward a small dwarfed very narrow-leaved bamboo, primula stuartii, gnaphalium densiflorum, swertia monocotyledonea, prunella in the woods, salix lanata, and panax rhododendrifolia. just above this, , feet, the first abies cedroides appeared, soon becoming very common, and extending up to , feet, its habit is like that of a cedar, and it is a tall handsome tree, rubia* cordifolia! geranium scandens, baptisioides. crossing a nullah, we commenced a steep ascent, thibaudacae rotundifolia, abies cedroides, lomaria of khegumpa, crawfurdia speciosa, andropogon, gaultheria nummulacifol. ilex, epibolium vaccinium cyaneum! here a sward commenced with vegetation as before, the summit of this ascent was , feet. here ilex, daphne papyracae, rhododendron, scleria, lomaria of khegumpa! primula pulcherrima! spiraea bella, gnaphalium trivenium, rubus moluccanus, thibaudia, ericinea orbiculens, spiraea decomposita, gaultheria, nummulariod., scutellaria prunella, gaultheria flexuosa, scandent composita, cerastium bacciferum. the trees covered with mosses, neckerae, dicranum, daltoniae, abies pendula ceased, its limits visible below. hence the ascent was gradual at first: snow became heavy at , feet. hemiphragma, rhododendron abundant. at , feet, much the same vegetation, abies densa commenced, cedroides ceased. woods entirely of a. densa, with a small baccate-like deciduous leaved tree. hydrangea! spiraeacea! urticeae?! pedicularis elatior. at , feet, some trees all covered with frost; snow very heavy, quite crisp, juncus niveus, cerastium inflatum! bamboos, other plants of , feet, continue. old cretins! at , feet, thermometer degrees, the same trees, scarcely any thing but abies, arenoid, dicranum macrocarpus, orthotrichum, lichen pendulum atratum. thence we descended a little, soon to re-ascend. at the same elevation parnassia, epilobium monus, gnaphalium densiflor., vaccinium pumilum, gentiana, polygonum(?) at , feet, icicles were common, and snow, very heavy. woods of some abies, a species of rose very abundant, a shrub of four feet high; other plants continue as before. from this to the summit the ascent was very steep; abies continues. rhododendron(?) very common, with rose, parnassia, saxifraga, composita arenoid, gentiana, polygonum(?), pedicularis dwarfed, triticoides, aroides. many pines dead as if blasted. summit nearly bare of trees, which appear confined to slopes, rhododendron very common, umbellifera crassa, figured in royle, lilium unifloria. at , feet, after descent, commenced hymenophyllum, xyris on rocks, pyrus at , feet, rhododendron ellipticum common, summit strewed with rocks, rhododendron pumilum. at , feet, the spilus microphyllus, polygonum, as well as on ascent gaultheria nummularioid., swards abounding with gramen nardoides(?), dipsacus minor, epilobium parnassia, swertia, umbelliferae, primula scapigerc. floribus in globum densum, pedalis, habenariae herminioid. at the halting place , feet, berberis ilecifolia, daphne papyracae, thibaudia myrtifolia, baptisia, dipsacus, major, swertim pedicularis, andropogones, ilex dipyrena, rumex of khegumpa, betula, euonymus cornets, abies cedroides, and brunonis, geranium scandens, pyrus, hypericum moflongensis, hemiphragma, mespilus microphyllus, panax rhododendrifol., rhododendron obovatum. at , feet, rhododendron arborea, majus, abies cupressoides, gaultheria nummularioides flexuosa, thibaudiacea rotundifolia, primula stuartii, stunted juncus. at , feet, q. ilecifolia, rhododendron undulatum, primula pulcherrima, tetranthera nuda, chimaphiliae! andropogons, rhododendron arbor, majus, common, which varies much in size of leaves, dalibarda, smilax ruscoideus. at , feet, berberis pinnata, asiatica, buddlaea purpurea; eurya acuminata. at , feet, gnaphalium trivenium, baptisia, spiraea, (gillenioid) bella, artemisia major. , feet, rhododend. minus arborea, leucas ciliata, and woods of q. robur, as usual deciduous. [gradient sanah to linge: g .jpg] all the plants above , feet, had perished, not a single one being found in flower. the descent was so hurried, that it was impossible to note down more plants; and the same applies to the descent to this from the halting place. starvation being to be added to discomfort. of rhododendrons, the species observed, may be characterized as follows:-- _floribus in racemis umbelliformibus_. . r. _arboreum_, arboreum, foliis oblongo obovatis, subtus argenteis. . r. _ferrugineum_, arboreum, foliis obovatis, supra rugosis, subtus ferrugineis.--no. . . r. ----- fruticosum, foliis oblongis, subtus ferruginea lepidotis.--no. . . r. _ellipticum_, fruticosum, foliis ellipticis.--no. . . r. ----- fruticosum, foliis ellipticis basi cordatis subtus glaucus reticulatis.--no. . . r. ----- fruticosum, foliis lanceolato oblongis, sub-obovatis, subtus punctatis.--no. . . r. _undulatum_, fruticosum, foliis elongati lanceolatis, undulatis subtus reticulatis.--no. . _floribus solitariis_. . r. _microphyllum_, fruticosum, lotum ferrugineo lepidotum, foliis lanceolatis parvis. _february th_.--snow has fallen during the night all around, but not within , feet of us: this will make the snow line here about , feet, the village being , _supra marem_. mildness of climate would appear to be indicated by the abundance of rice cultivation round this place, chiefly, however, about , feet below. in every direction ranges of to , feet are visible: villages are very common, especially so in a hollow on the western side of the ravine of the kooree, in which i counted sixteen or eighteen; one containing between thirty and forty houses. the space alluded to is one sheet of cultivation, chiefly rice and wheat. linge itself is an ordinarily sized village, containing about twelve houses. the wooded tracts cease for the most part, about , feet above this. the face of the country, where uncultivated, being clothed with harsh andropogoneous grasses, salix pendula, thuja pendula, pyrus malus, erythrina, quercus, juncus effusus, porana of churra, plantago, barleria, polygonium rheoides, stellaria media, rubus deltifoliis, cnicus, rhodod. arboreum minus, but rare, smithea occurs also. _february th_.--our march commenced by a steep descent on the south face of the hill, the coolies proceeding by a more direct one to the north, but which was said to be difficult. we continued descending in a westerly direction, until we came in sight of the kooree river which flows along the ravine, and which is a large stream, one-third less than the monass. we then turned to the north following the river, the path running up, about feet above it. we then came to another ravine, and descended to the torrent, which we crossed by a rude wooden bridge: then followed again the kooree, to the bed of which we descended, and along which we continued for some time. we then ascended where the banks were of such a nature as not to allow a path, descending again here and there. then we came on the khoomun, a large torrent, which we crossed by a wooden bridge about yards above its bed; re-descended to the kooree, reached its bridge; and thence descending rather steeply, and for about one and a half mile to ling-ling, or lengloon, which is plainly visible from the bridge over the kooree. after turning to the north along the kooree, and indeed after passing the cultivation below linge, which chiefly occupies a sort of plateau, we passed through a most miserable country, the hills being rocky, nearly destitute of trees, and chiefly clothed with the usual coarse andropogoneous grasses, especially lemon-grass, occurred between linge and lengloon. at , feet, observed desmodium, santalacea australasia, gaultheria arborea, indigofera, as before, clematis cana, acanthacea caerulescens, pteris aquilina, viburnum caerulescens, oxyspora, panicum eleusinoides, anthistiria, conyza, ficus cordifoliis of bhamree, labiata suddiensis, corearia, rhus pendula, airoides major, flemingia secunda and major. at , feet, desmodium vestilum, stunted, q. robur, dipsacus, epilobium, elaeagnus microphyllus, spinosus. at , feet, sedum, campanula, osbeckia capitata, citrus in villages, emblica, artemisia minor. at , feet, paederia cyanea, lemon-grass, panax, terebinthaceus, pinus longifolia, here and there, ficus obliqua, grislea, cirsium. at the bed of the torrent , feet, bassia. over the kooree, euphorbia antiqorum, a sure sign of aridity. didymocarpea contorta, d. canescens, which differs from the other in being hirsute, menispermum, holcus elegans. along its bed, sedum of phoollong, eugenia, achyranthis, ingoides arborea, aspidium polypodioides, briedleia obovata; desmodium of nulka! arundo, buddlaea neemdoides, jasminum of benka, composita, involucri squamis ciliatis. rice fields, in these gnaphalium aureum, phleoides of tassangsee, but in full flower, lysimachia majus, rugosus, oxalis comiculata, hieracioid, composita, lactucoid purpureseus, ammannia, bidens alba, drymaria. then along the wooded banks, wendlandia, _pomacea_? mimosa arborea, camunium, butea suffruticosa, pterospermum of bhamree, luculia, ulmus, as before, pinus longifolia, rottlera, melica latifolia, young plants of q. robur on rocks, along with it goodyera articulata, urticoid rhombifolia, carnosa; on rocks up khoomun, orthotrichum corcalypta. at the bridge over this, a myrtaceous tree and the simool occur. the plants occur during the ascent, as in the descent. water-wagtails, blackbirds, tomtits, were observed, as also white-pated and white-rumped water-chats. _february th_.--ling-ling or lengloon. _february th_.--to-day we visited the soobah, who is a young man, certainly not more than twenty years old, with a good humoured countenance. the meeting was cordial but unattended with any state, and judging from appearances only, this soobah is inferior to the others we have seen, and especially to him of tassgong. no armed men were present, and the whole bystanders scarcely amounted to . it was agreed that we remain here until the baggage, now in the rear, arrives. tonsa is, we hear, only four or five days journey from this. the meeting took place in an open plot of ground below the soobah's house and on the skirts of the village, the ground was matted and a space enclosed with mats: we sat in the open air; the soobah under a silken canopy. altogether he seemed a person of no pretensions, crowds, speaking comparatively, of priests attended as usual, they were the slickest looking of the whole, and the greatest beggars. a hideous party of _nachnees_ were in attendance, and ready to perform any more pleasing duties they might be required; they were however so ugly, that not much self-denial was required in declining their offers. they were dressed in red, with abundance of cumbrous silver ornaments, and dirty leggings; one was additionally ornamented with incipient goitre. sugarcane (but stunted), almonds, or peach, oranges, castor-oil, datura, pear, simool, may be found here. oranges are poor enough, the pear no better. pinus longifolia, cupressus pendula, are almost the only trees: the hills being barren, covered with coarse grasses. _february rd_.--marched to tumashoo: our march commenced with a steep ascent, but which may be avoided by going through the village, it commenced and continued throughout in the direction of linge, opposite to which place we found ourselves on our arrival, but on the right bank of the river. the highest part reached, before we descended to this village, was , feet, or about the height of linge. the march was nearly six miles, it was easy, the road being throughout excellent and apparently more frequented than any we had hitherto seen. generally we moved along through open rhododendron woods, frequently very much stunted, at , feet. these were intermixed with quercus tomentosa. the only spot well wooded, occurred in the ravines, giving exit to small streams. the first ascent from leng-leng, gave the same vegetation, scarcely any trees being visible. tradescantia clavijera of churra on rocks, galium of churra, santalacea, desmodium vestilum, indigofera canescens, artemisia major and minor, oxyspora, luculia, conaria, sambucus in wet places, lobelia pyramidalis, spiraea bella and decomposita, thalictrum majus, gaultheria fruticosa, woodwardia, saurauja hispida, rhododendron minus, and lemon-grass, occurred in the order of ascent. turning hence along the ridge at the same elevation, gaultheria arborea, quercus tomentosa, rhododendron minus, hedychium, holcus elegans, leucas ciliata. in wet wooded spots gaultheria duplexa, bucklandia, viburnum caerulescens, polyg. rheoides, erythrina, gordonia, porana, neuropeltis aromatica, catharinea, thibaudia myrtifolia, in open massy woods of rhododendron minus and quercus tomentosa, rosa, cnicus, pyrus, gleichenia major, agrimonia occurred at the same elevations. from one spot seven villages were visible, on opposite bank of kooree and between linge and the khoomun. a few stunted p. longifolia: one or two of abies pendula, occurred feet above the highest point of the former: at , feet, woods of the deciduous q. robur, were observable. on the descent at , feet, mimosa spinosa, primula stuartii, rhus, juncus, and others, as before. we passed several villages, some containing twenty or thirty houses, and on halting found ourselves towards the edge of the cultivated tract alluded to, as seen from linge. cattle are here kept in farm yards which are well littered with straw; as in other places they are noosed round the horns: they are fed, while tied up, on straw of a coarse and unnutritious description, which they do not seem to fancy much. pigeons abound, but they are of no use as they cannot be caught; they may help to feed the sparrow-hawks, which are generally found about the villages, and which are very bold. _february th_.--left at a.m. after the usual trouble about coolies and ponies. we ascended at first about , feet, passing over sward with woods of p. longifolia on either side, crossing the ridge through a hollow, we then commenced a steep descent to the west, until we reached a water-course, the elevation of which is about feet below that of tumashoo. we then struck off, again to ascend, and continued to do so until we attained , feet, from which point we descended gradually at first, then abruptly to our _mokan_. the direction was nearly west, the distance miles, the march pretty easy, as the road was good, and the ascent gradual. up to the ravine and indeed throughout, nothing new occurred in the vegetation. the hill up which we ascended to again descend, was bare, covered with the usual coarse grasses, campanula linearis and c. cana, foliis undulatis, desmodium vestilum, santalacea. in the ravine gordonia, photinia, pothos flammea and another species, maesa, polygonum rheoides, ficus of bhamree, and in the khets hieraceoid, gnaphalium aureum, ajuga, and veronica occurred. up the first ascent and at about , feet, there was a field of peas, in very luxuriant condition. our road lay through open dry woods of oaks, either q. robur or q. tomentosa, principally the latter, rhododendron minus, and pinus longifolia preponderated in some places, but few trees of abies pendula occurred. the march was so far interesting as establishing nearly the limits of q. robur, q. tomentosa and q. ilecifolia, which last only commenced, and then in a small state, at , feet, i should say that q. tomentosa was to it the next indication, as well as q. glauca. but it must be understood that only full grown trees are now considered. mosses were common in the woods on reaching to , feet, principally dicrana, hypna, orthotricha, pendulous lichens frequent; about , feet, primula stuartii in its old situations between to , feet, hypericum of moflong, , feet. we crossed several small water-courses, along these, the dry woods ceased, and the usual humid jungle made its appearance; mosses very numerous. [gradient longloon to tumashoo: g .jpg] the above plants continued throughout, after reaching an altitude of , feet, the woods consisting of oaks and rhododendrons. the route for the most part wound along the course of the kooree, but considerably above, we left this track about p.m. on the river turning to the southward. linge was in sight nearly the whole day; we have been six days (including a halt) performing what might with ease be done in one, for there probably is a road in a direct line between this part and the opposite bank of kooree. the small-crested finch, and red-beaked and red-legged fare occurred, the former is a noisy bird, inhabiting chiefly woods of q. robur, the flock were loth to leave one particular spot, so that we obtained five specimens: the finch occurred at , feet. various temples and walls were passed en route, and a few villages, with one exception of average small size, were visible in various directions. _february th_.--our route hence continued for some time at about the same level, when we descended rather rapidly, until we reached a considerable stream, the oongar, which is crossed by the ordinary wooden bridge; about yards further, it is again crossed by means of a rude bridge, and the remainder of the march is a steep, long, and unmitigated ascent. i reached the tent about p.m.; we passed one village situated near the larger bridge, with this exception the country seemed uninhabited: very little cultivation was visible in any direction. the vegetation was the same, for the most part, the drier faces of the hills being covered, i.e. at about the level of oongar, with oaks and rhododendrons, the wet ravines being more densely, and more variously wooded. on sward about oongar, i noticed a pedicularis, artemisia major, stellaria angustifolia, berberis pinnata in woods at the same elevation, plantago, crawfurdia speciosa, rubus deltoideus, alnus of beesa, otochilus, gordonia, lilium giganteum, bucklandia. in one spot near this place mosses were very abundant. on one rock i gathered, weissioides, orthodon, pohlia, brachymenium bryoides, weissia, bartramioides, didymodon, daphne papyrifera, and eurya acuminata, this being about the lowest elevation at which i have seen this plant. in cultivated spots crucifera, ervum, and at a temple about a mile from oongar, cupressus pendula, and a juniper, arbor parva, of aspect scraggy, trunco laevi, cannabis, cerastium canum in cultivated places. the most common oak was q. robur. the jay, larger brachypodium, which always goes in large flocks, orange-breasted trochilus and blackbird, were likewise seen, as well as the brown finch, which was seen feeding on rhododendron minus. on rocky ground i procured a really fine acanthus, leaves all flesh-coloured, subscandens, spic. maximis lanato-ciliatis, tetrastich. on this the black cattle appear to be fed, as large bundles were brought in at oongar. in the woody ravines panax curcasifolia was common, in these i noticed cerastium scandens, elaeagnus, clematis, tetrantheroidea habitu, sedgewickiae! orthotrichum pumulum! phlomoides, and in wet spots are epilobium. the descent shewed nothing remarkable: towards the nullah i noticed engelhaardtia, tree fern, and gaultheria deflexa. obtained a beautiful woodpecker at , feet, with the chesnut-pated lesser tomtit, yunx, and speckled brachypodium in woods here; this last has the habit and manners of the crooked bill of dgin. the wood between the two bridges was very pretty and open; the trees covered with mosses. the ascent shewed nothing remarkable until , feet had been surmounted, the plants forming the vegetation below this were q. robur, rhododendron minus in abundance, thibaudia myrtifolia, gaultheria arborea, saurauja hispida uncommon, viburnum caerulescens, conyza nivea, oxyspora towards the base with paper plant, and bambusa microphylla. about , feet, a daltonia, d. hypnoides, was found in abundance both on rocks and trees. the change takes place about the situation of a spacious open sward; here the jungle is thick, the trees consisting principally of q. glauca, which is a noble tree, with immense lamellated acorns, pendulous lichens are here common, hymenopogon parasiticus, lomaria of khegumpa! berberis asiatica! hemiphragma, gaultheria nummulareoides, panax rhododendrifol. at , feet, rhododendron majus appears, the wood preserving the umbrageous humid aspect, eurya acuminata, hydrangea, and about this snow commenced sparingly, but soon became thick. at , feet, rhododendron undulata, tetrantheroides baccis nigris. at , feet, rhododendron ferrugineum. the evening now became so misty that it was impossible to discern any thing; in addition, it was snowing: these circumstances added to fatigue made me press on for the halting place, before coming to which i passed through heavy snow. _pemee_, where we put up, is a miserable hut, is upwards of , feet above the sea, situated on an open sward, now densely covered with snow, the accommodations being of course very miserable. icicles of large size were seen here; and we had nothing but snow for water. _february th_.--leaving this, we commenced a long and at last very steep ascent, the snow increasing in thickness as we increased our elevation, the march commenced with undulations, but soon passed off into an excessively steep ascent, in some parts indeed precipitous. we crossed at twelve and a half p.m. the pass of rodoola, on which are some slabs, with mystic characters, but even here the ascent did not terminate, but continued, although very gradually for perhaps two miles more. before coming to the summit, a small hut is passed. the descent was at first very rapid, then we proceeded along the side of the mountain for a long way, at nearly the same level through woods of abies densa. on recommencing the descent, swardy patches commenced, surrounded by fir woods, these increased in frequency. at length we reached extensive fir woods, from whence a valley was visible, percolated by a large stream to which we descended over open country with beautiful patches of firs, and at length over extensive swards. i reached the village at p.m., after a march of nearly nine hours, the direction was west, the distance eighteen miles. the road was very bad; in one place our ponies escaped with difficulty, the road having apparently fallen in, and the only footing being afforded by the thickness of the snow: one pony was saved by placing branches under him. the highest portion of the pass near the peak was good enough. snow was heavy on the road, until we descended into the open fir-wooded country, it became scanty at , feet. the day was gloomy and misty, for a moment, the sun appeared while i stood on the summit, disclosing deep ravines, one formed by the valley in which we now are, surrounded in every direction by equally high land, as that on which i stood, and certainly not under , feet. nothing visible but dense forests of firs. the highest point crossed was , feet, estimating the summit to be feet above the pass itself, which is so narrow as scarcely to admit of the passage of a loaded mule. in the open spot around the hut, tofieldioid, which continues as high as , feet, cerastium inflatum, labiata species, conecis, which, as on dhonglaila, continues up to , feet, dipsacus, prunella, gaultheria nummularioides, pteris aquilina, stunted, juncus niveus, gnaphalium. no firs were visible, but the trees were so covered with snow, that i was not able to distinguish them. at , feet, along an open ridge, spiraea belloides, buddlaea, b. purpurasae, khasyanae affinis, andropogones, mespilus microphyllus, hydrangea, taxus, swertia, gnaphalium, thibaudia orbicularis commences, continuing up to , feet, brachymenium bryoides, bambusa very common, forming frequently the chief bulk of the forest, even up to , feet, acer arbuscula foliis palmatum lobatis!! pyrus arbor magna fol. obovat. serratis subtus albus, fructibus cerasi magnitudinum. at , feet, composita penduliflora! hemiphragma, lobelioides, brachymenium bryoides, rhododendron minus ferrugineum, arboreum vel arbuscula, rhododendron obovatum, foliis subtus albus, rhododendron hispidum, rosa microphylla, bambusa, spiraea of former ascent. at , feet, polygonum, rheum, hydrangea! spiraea belloides, hydrangea, betuloides. at , feet, abies densa, but sparingly, rhododendron ellipticum, foliis basi cordatis, hypericum, rhododendron microphyllum. at , feet, no firs: nothing almost but rhododendrons, r. ellipticum, and r. ellipticum foliis basi cordatis. at , feet, vaccinium, foliis ovatis spinuloso-dentatis, atratus fructex pygmaeus repens. towards the pass, the face of the mountain became more and more rugged, the vegetation more scanty, consisting of nothing but rhododendrons. at , feet, eriogonum minus, polygonum, rheum, rhodod. microphyllum and ellipticum foliis basi cordatis. about the pass, trichostomum, _xyris_, abies densa, one small plant, rosa, eriogonum minus, rhododendron microphyllum and ellipticum foliis basi cordatis. on the more level ridge between this pass and the summit, rhododendrons still were most frequent, triticoides umbellifera of royle, eriogonum majus, woods of abies densa occurred a little below the path, gentiana maxima, -pedalis folliculis bipollicaribus, lilium uniflorum, potentilla common between this and , feet, rosa microphyllum, juniperus, epilobium minus of dhonglaila, rheum. large black crow, pedicularis, saxifraga, umbellifera alia, compositae, spiraea. at the summit, no woody vegetation was visible, except rhododendrons; the firs being confined below. the descent at first through rhododendron, then for a long time entirely through vast woods of abies densa, most of the larger trees of this are apparently blasted, it has a tabular form, and very sombre appearance, and can be recognized even at great distances by its black columnar palm- like appearance. at , feet, acer sterculiacea, rosa microphylla, ribes, which ceases below , feet, it is confined to the a. densa woods. at , feet, saxifraga, two species on moist banks, a. densa woods, small umbellifera. the sward commences at about , feet, and is common at , feet. it is clothed principally with the small bamboo noticed in similar places above sanah. berberis spathulata commences. it is with this sward that a new fir, with a larch-like look, which i call temporarily abies spinulosa, commences, and continues down to the nullah, becoming more abundant as a. densa becomes less abundant, and finally usurping its place entirely. rhododendron microphyllum continues to , feet, at which point baptisoidea commences. the vegetation hence to bhoomlungtung consists entirely of abies spinulosa, intermixed with a species very like abies pendula, this appears at about , feet. the sward consists of small grasses, juncus niveus, gnaphalium, hypericum of mollong, suffrutex incertus. juncus effusus at , feet, with prinsepia utilis. the marked indicators of great elevation are a. densa, polygonum, rheum! eriogona! rhododendron microphyllum, ellipticum, and ellipticum foliis basi cordatis, epilobium, triticoides, holcoides, umbellifera of royle, saxifragae, ribes, juniperus. the most marked peculiarity is the comparative absence of a. densa on the east side of the mountain, and its excessive abundance on the west. this valley may be justly called the valley of pines, for in no direction is any forest to be seen but those composed of pines. the change indeed is extraordinary, in other respects as indicated by the presence of a new rosa and prinsepia utilis. another peculiarity is the appearance for the first time of a. spinulosa. the range of which is between to , feet; this is a beautiful tree, and disposed in beautiful groups. the valley altogether is a beautiful one, and actually repays one for the trouble endured in getting access to it. the temperature in crossing the ridge was below that on dhonglaila, and below the freezing point at times. no inconvenience was felt by us from the elevation, but many of our servants suffered probably as much from fright as cold. _february th_.--halted. _february th_.--this valley is certainly the prettiest place we have yet seen, the left bank is particularly level, but neither are of much breadth, the hills adjacent present rounded grassy patches, interspersed with beautiful groves of pines. the level space, as well as the more favourable sites on the slopes of the hills, are occupied by wheat cultivation, which is carried on in a more workman-like manner, than any of the previous cultivation i have hitherto seen. the fields are occasionally surrounded with stone walls, but generally only protected from the inroads of cattle by branches of thorny shrubs strewed on their edges. they are kept clean, and above all, manure is used: it is however dry and of a poor quality, apparently formed of animal and vegetable moulds. in some of the fields the surface is kept very fine, all stones and clods being carefully removed and piled up in various parts of the field, but whether these masses are again strewed over the ground. the plough is used, and penetrates to about four inches. hoes and rakes are also used, but the angle of the handle is much too acute. radishes are grown with the wheat: no rice is cultivated here. the village bhoomlungtung, at which we are stationed is on the left bank of a branch of the bhoomla nullah, a river of some size, but fordable in most places, its bed being subdivided. it is , feet above the sea. the houses are ordinary, but they are surrounded with stone walls. our's, which is a portion of the dhumpas or headman's, has a court-yard, surrounded by a stone wall, and the entrance is defended by a stout and large door. the natives invariably wear dark clothing, the colour being only rivalled by that of their skins, for i never saw dirtier people. the bhooteas hitherto visited, were quite paragons of cleanliness compared to those we are now among. half ruined villages are visible here and there, although otherwise the appearance of the valley is prosperous enough. the valley is surrounded on all sides by hills of great altitude, the lowest being , feet high. snow is plentiful on the ridges, but it does not remain long below, although falls are frequent. no fish are to be seen in the river, which is otherwise as regards appearance as beautiful a trout stream as one could wish to have. the birds are the common sparrow, field-fare, red-legged crow, magpie, skylark, a finch which flies about in large flocks, with a sub-forked tail, raven, red-tailed stonechat, larger tomtit, syras, long-tailed duck, and quail, which is much larger than that found in assam. the woods are composed entirely of abies pendula, a few a. spinulosa occur, intermixed, but the woods of the latter species are scarcely found below , feet. the ridges are clothed with the columnar abies densa. in thickets a smaller rosa, rhododendron ellipticum, foliis basi cordatis, rhododendron elliptica, foliis subtus argenteis, rhodod. gemmis viscosis. berberis asiatica, hamamelidea? bambusa microphyllum, philadelphus, thibaudia orbicularis, mespilus microphyllus, taxus or abies brunonis, ilex dipyrena, occur. the sward shews small grasses, all past flower, hemiphragma, thymus, dipsacus, juncus niveus, gnaphalia , , potentilla. the fields have crucifera lamium and verbascum, a late biennial species, caule simplici, hemiphragma. the marshy spots abound with juncus effusus, and shew also a primula out of flower, and a xyris past flowering. along the bed of the river, hippophae is the most common plant. lastly, a few trees occur of q. ilecifolia, which assumes a very handsome character, looking much like a conifera at some distance, one group occurs near the village, and a solitary tree or two elsewhere. the other woody vegetables are rosa fructibus hispidis, cycnium, pomacea arbuscula, and one or two other deciduous shrubs. the willow tree is also common. _march st_.--marched to byagur, we were told that the march was a short one, and that we should continue throughout along the bhoomlungtung river, which is called tung-chiew. we did keep along this for about two miles, when we struck off into the hills passing through a village, we continued rising for perhaps , feet, when we descended to a small nullah. leaving this we commenced an ascent, and a very long one too, and continued to ascend until we surmounted the ridge overlooking the river, on which byagur or iugur is situated. to the place we descended, the march was fourteen miles, direction westerly. highest ground traversed about , feet high. road throughout winding round and up hills, through woods of abies pendula: nothing of interest occurred. magpies, crows, chatterer feeding on pine cones, common in woods at , feet. passed two or three villages, all containing ruined houses. direction we pursued was that of the tung-chiew river, until we reached the ridge guiding the byagur river to it: their junction takes place two or three miles below this place, cycnium occurred on the road in plenty, also sarcococea. horseshoe curlew, the same as we shot at daimara, common in the tung-chiew, along which the chief shrubs are hippophae and elaeagnus, particularly in the islets which are not uncommon in its bed. the common water wagtail also occurs. i find that the root of the common potentilla is used here, as about nunklow, as a substitute for _sooparee_, it is unpleasantly astringent. observed rhododendron microphylla on the loftier ground; very high land, , feet visible to the south along the course of tung-chiew, covered with heavy snow: abies pendula is occasionally a beautiful tree, feet high, and in appearance something like a cedar, the finest occurs at a monastery under a bluff rock, about one and a half mile from bhoomlungtung on the tung-chiew; daphne papyriferae occurred at , feet. the heaps of earth piled up in the fields before sowing, consist of burnt rubbish, the ashes are subsequently spread out. the manure consists entirely of vegetables: here i find that the pine leaves are piled up, and formed into manure by fermentation. _march nd_.--byagur, the soobah's house is about feet above us, and is a huge rambling edifice. we are in a village situated in a rather capacious valley, percolated by a large river, twice the size of the tung- chiew, which is crossed by an ordinary bridge, the river runs close to the hills, which form the left bank, the right is a sort of plain, occupied by wheat cultivation, and which has apparently at a former period, been the bed of the river. in this valley other villages are visible, but they are small, and nothing indicates either fertility or prosperity. the valley is surrounded on all sides by high mountains, those towards bhoomlungtung being lowest. to the north-east very high land is visible. the ridge which separates us from tongse is, in the highest parts, certainly , feet, and covered with snow. the people are dirty to an excess. crow, sparrow, alauda, are the birds here. saw a fox, an animal of some size, with a beautiful brush. the botany is poor, the hills are clothed with the usual grasses, abundance of abies pendula. the khets or fields present the old lamium and crucifera. the only trees are one of q. ilecifolia, and one or two of salix lanata. _march rd_.--cycnium is found here, but is put to no use. the crops which are now springing up are very poor, the soil being extremely bad, they are irrigated by means of canals, but terraces are not in use, the ground being too level, the embankments are much smaller than those used in rice cultivation. the place is bleak in the extreme, and here, as often on the western face of the himalaya, at this season a fierce diurnal wind rises directly the sun gets power, which always blows up the ravines or against the streams draining these, it dies away towards evening, generally. it is cold in the extreme, and must check vegetation extremely. syras, common here, as at bhoomlungtung. the ridge above this which is crossed coming from bhoomlungtung, is , feet high, yet no snow was on the ground. the contrast between it and pemee in regard to snow and vegetation is remarkable; there the woods were thick, luxuriant, and varied, here nothing is to be seen but abies pendula. i consider this a proof that a. pendula is a native of places below much snow, and that where snow abounds, it will not be found to extend above , feet. the dwarf bamboo of sanah is common here, covering large patches of ground, lamium of bulphai in the vicinity of temples, and enclosing pagodas. the people here evince great skill in figures, but none in architecture. the soobah's house, a castellated heterogeneous mansion, spread over much ground, the defences on one side reaching nearly to the level of the valley. the kumpa dogs are fierce and handsome, with the bark of a mastiff, they are not apparently deterred by threats, but rather the contrary. a woman with dropsy, wrapped in filthy clothes, presented herself and evinced great anxiety to have her pulse felt, but the dirt of her clothes was such, that i made excuses. manure for the land consists of pine leaves, etc. mixed with cow-dung. the cattle are well littered; and grass is here of rather better description: all cattle are however in wretched condition notwithstanding, and the cows give very little milk. the houses of the poorer orders, are unornamented, but those of the better classes are always ornamented with a belt of red ochre outside. there are no large boulders in the river here, although it runs with violence. this is owing to the softness or tenacity of the rocks. _march th_.--our march commenced with a steep ascent up the ridge, forming the west boundary of the valley, surmounting this we proceeded on for some distance at about the same level, and thence descended rapidly to a nullah. we then ascended slightly, and subsequently descended to the valley, in which the village jaisa is situated. the distance was nine miles; the march was pretty, almost entirely through fir woods, three villages were visible in a valley to the left, which is in fact the termination of the jaisa one, but beyond the valleys no cultivation whatever was visible. the first part was up a barren grassy slope, after which we entered fir woods, these at first were almost entirely constituted of abies pendula. at , feet chimaphila, berberis spathulata, abies pendula, bambusa microphylla of sanah, mespilus microphyllus, rhododendron elliptica, foliis basi cordatis subtus argenteis, philadelphus lycopod. of surureem, gaultheria nummularifolia, rhododendron viscosum. at , feet, abies spinulosa becomes more common, rosa hispida and microphylla! pinus cedroides commences, dalibarda, daphne papyracea, thymus, gnaphalia, mespilus and berberis, as before, potentilla. at , feet, snow lying on the path in sheltered places, euphorbia, gaultheria arboreoides, hypnum rubescens, scolopendrioids, pteris aquilina, melianthus, rosa, frutex erectus ramis hispidissimis, ramulis subglabratis, fructibus pendulis glabris, tubo-ovato, sepalis lanceolatis. salix arbuscula, gemmis rubur glabris, foliis lanceolatis subtus glaucis, amentis faeminies pendulis, bupleurum, hydrangea, spiraea densa belloides! prunella, pinus cedroides common at potentilla. at , , , , to , feet, abies densa, a few trees, as usual many blasted, from lightning confined entirely towards the summit, acer sterculiacea, aruncus, thibaudia orbicularis, a. spinulosa very common, a. pendula ceases, or at most only stunted plants occur, mespilus microphyllus, berberis spathulata, baptisia, these were very common on west face, which is level enough and open. here also pedicularis, bupleurum, stunted pteris aquilina, polygonum, rheum! avena! pendulous lichens luxuriant. along the level tracts, the woods consisted entirely of abies spinulosa, a minute gentiana common on the sward. the descent was steep to the ravine; half-way down a. pendula commenced to flourish, and towards the ravine it was more common than a. spinulosa; rhododendron microphyllum was seen on this face at , feet, verbascum at , feet, but most of the plants seen on the east face were not found on this. acer sterculiacea, however occurred at , feet, otherwise pines were the most prominent feature. at the nullah, dipsacus, elaeagnus, salix lanata, artemisia major, daphne papyracea, rhododendron viscosum, mespilus microphyllus, rosa hispida, spinus acutissimis, bambusa of sanah, plectranthus a large suffruticose annual species, common in all the same altitudes, were observed. the subsequent descent was through woods of a. pendula, with a few of a. spinulosa intermixed. the limits of a. densa, a. spinulosa and a. pendula, melianthus, acer sterculiacea, thibaudia orbicularis, a. cedroides, rosa microphylla, pedicularis, hydrangea, baptisia, berberis spathulata were well determined. they may be expressed as follows: a. densa, to , feet, a. spinulosa, to , feet, a. pendula, to , feet, melanthus, , feet, acer sterculiaceum, , to , feet, thibaudia orbicularis, , feet, a. cedroides, , to , feet, rosa microphylla, , to , feet, pedicularis, to , feet, hydrangea, to , feet unless two species are confounded, baptisia, to , feet, berberis spathulata, to , feet. _jaisa_ is a good sized village for bootan, and the houses are rather large. we were lodged in the castle, a large building, with a capacious flagged court-yard, surrounded by galleries: we were housed in the grand floor of the higher portion fronting the gate. a good deal of wheat cultivation occurs around. the village is situated in a small nullah, surrounded on all sides by pine-clad hills. the vegetation is precisely the same as at juggur, with the exception of a ligustrum, which is common along the nullah. larks, red-legged crows and ravens, abound here. _march th_.--our march consisted of a progress along levelish ground up the river, occasionally rounding small eminences: we then commenced the ascent of a ridge, the summit of which we reached about half past- twelve. snow is common above , feet. the descent was steep and uninterrupted from about , feet, when we reached a small river. thence we ascended a little to descend again, we continued over a ravine at nearly the same level, for some time proceeding over undulated ground: on reaching the debouchure of the ravine into a larger one running north and south, we commenced to descend rapidly until we came to an elevation situated above tongsa, to this place the descent was excessively steep. the march was thirteen miles long, the direction west. at a temple near jaisa found the juniper of oongar in flower, and arboreous, attaining a height of about feet. the whole march up, nearly to the summit, was through pine woods, a. pendula and spinulosa being intermixed for some time. i noticed primula globifera, eucalypta, thibaudia orbicularis, aruncus, rosa ramis hispidis, dipsacus, prunella, potentilla, gnaphalium, sphagnum, daphne papyracea, tofieldia, gaultheria nummularoides, as we approached the base of the ridge or rather the spot at which the ascent commenced. at this place abies cedroides commenced, and abies pendula became uncommon. on a bank here, i gathered abundance of mosses, bartramia, dicrana, etc. and some jungermanniae. the ascent was through precisely similar vegetation, in one place it was exceedingly pretty, consisting of sward with pines. here snow was lying on the ground in sheltered places to the depth of several inches. the ground hence was levelish, but between this place and the summit a rise of a hundred feet took place. between these places abies densa, cedroides and spinulosa, occurred, but this was uncommon, rosa ramis hispidis, salix of yesterday, bambusa of sanah, stunted pteris aquilina, betuloidea, hydrangea, hypnum rufescens, scolopendrioid as well as below: spiraea belloides, rhododendron obovatum, which varies on the same plant with ferruginous and white leaves, sphagnum, thibaudia orbicularis. on sward gentiana minima. as the snow increased, abies cedroides became less, abies densa more common. at the very summit parnassia, polygonum rheum, composita penduliflora, rhododendron hispidum, berberis spathulata, which had occurred previously, vaccinium pumilium, ciliatum, gentiana minima, swertia, cnicus, compositae frequent, labiata spicata of dhonglaila. the descent was at first open, through swardy places: here acer sterculiaceum, geranium scandens, avena, abies densa, juniperus fruticosa, raro arbuscula. at , feet, rhododendron foliis lanceolato-oblongis subtus ferruginea tomentosis, arborea, became very common, forming large woods, abies densa interspersed, juniperus, betuloidea which has six or seven layers of bark, the _boj-putah_ of hindoostan according to blake, rosa microphylla, hemiphragma, daphne papyracea, dicranum stratum, etc. at , feet, clematis, berberis asiatica, commences, betula, common andropogoneous grasses. at , feet, primula pulcherrima, abies cedroides very common, abies densa ceasing, buddlaea purpurescens, aruncus, bupleurum. at , feet, lonicera villosa, vaccinium cyaneum, bambusa alia, abies densa ceasing. at , feet, the jungle now became humid, gaultheria flexuosa, mespilus microphyllus, quercus ilecifolia, tetrantheroides baccis nigris, gaultherium nummularifolia common, rubia cordifolia! hydrangea. at , feet, junipers cease, woods of q. ilecifolia and pinus cedroides, rosa microphylla, shrubby rhododendrons, that which was arboreous previously now becoming shrubby, berberis asiatica, taxus or abies brunonis! lomaria of khegumpa, rhododendron foliis oblongis subtus punctatis ferrugineis, rubus, primula stuartii! quercus foliis, castaneae, ilex, betuloid, continues. at , feet, panax rhododendrifolia, thibaudia obovata, taxus ophiopogon angustissimus, rhododendron formosum majus! smilax ruscoideus vel gaultherifolia! primula pulcherrima, very common. at , feet, spiraea decomposita, thibaudia obovata very common. no firs, woods of oaks and rhododendron majus, panax rhododendrifolia and another species; bambusa. at the nullah, same vegetation, tetranthera nuda, primula pulcherrima, valeriana violifolia, eurya acuminata, daphne papyrifolia, fragaria, potentilla supina, rumex of khegumpa, poa annua, stellaria media and angustifolia, rhodoracea deflexa! at , feet, the woods at this elevation have the same characters, rhododendron argenteum becomes common, q. ilecifolia and castaneae facies, both very handsome and large trees, covered with pendulous mosses, sphaeropteris, saxifragea viridis, fleshy urticea, oxalis major on sward at the same elevation, vaccinium cyaneum, mespilus microphyllus, artemisia major, gnaphalium, dipsacus, elaeagnus in woods, tetranthera nuda, taxus, gaultheria flexuosa nummularifolia, vaccinium cyaneum, lomaria, lonicera villosa, paper plant, thibaudia orbicularis, hedera. at , feet, towards open barren hills, indigofera canescens, q. robur, spiraea decomposita, anthistiria minor, composita penduliflora, alnus of beesa, juncus effusus, viburnum caerulescens, xyris, scripus fuscescens of tassangsee, gaultheria arborea and fruticosa, polygonum rheoides, smilax auriculata, saccharum aristata, lobelia pyramidalis, stauntonia latifolia, salix lanata, deutzia. at , feet, quercus tomentosa commences, between this and tongsa, berberis asiatica is very common, rosa sp., quarta, cyaneum dycopod. of surureem, ilex dipyrena, tuipus, kysoor of churra, apple, gleichenia major, rubus deltoideus. in wheat fields, , feet, crucifera, thlaspa, lamium, ervum, are found, vaccinium cyaneum continues to , feet, this mespilus microphylla, berberis asiatica, cycnium, lycopod. of surureem, ilex, daphne papyriferae, are the only elevational plants found between and , feet, and which continue low down. all the others ceased with the jungles. _march th_.--_tongsa_: this, although the second place in the kingdom, is a poor wretched village, the houses, always excepting the palace, are poorer than ordinary, abounding in rats, fleas, and other detestable vermin. our reception would seem to be uncordial: we are miserably housed in the heart of the village, which is a beggarly one. on descending the hill some people in the pillo's house behaved very insolently, roaring out, and making most insolent signs for me to dismount, of which of course i took no notice: sparrow-hawk was seen at , feet. there is but little cultivation, indeed the adjoining hills are barren in the extreme. the little cultivation there is of barley, which is now in the ear, and decent enough; the crops being much better than any we have yet seen, although in many fields it is difficult to see any crop at all. the village, including the houses on the surrounding adjoining heights does not contain thirty houses. there is one flock of sheep, which are in good condition, some small shawl-goats, and a few cattle, but of a lighter breed than the mithans, from which they are very distinct, and which we have scarcely seen since crossing dhonglaila, the first high ridge. there is some rice cultivation along the nullah or torrent, on which the village is situated. pears, peaches likewise occur, and are now both in flower. the hills around are bare, nothing but shrubby vegetation being visible, the tree-jungle not descending below , feet, except on one spur to the south-west, on which it reaches nearly to our present level. the shrubby vegetation consists of hamamelidae, salix, gaultheria fruticosa, rosa, rubus, pomacea, elaeagnus, berberis asiatica, among which artemisia major occurs on sward. primula stuartii, potentilla and p. supina, oxalis acetoseltoides, juncus, bartramia, polytrichum glaucum, fragaria vesca. in the fields lamium, crucifera, thlaspi, gnaphalium aureum, prenanthoid, fragaria indica, viola, ranunculus, oxalis acetosella, poa annua. urtica urens, and urentior occur about the houses, cupressus pendula and a magnoliaceous tree, with exquisitely fragrant blossoms. the palace is a huge, long, straggling piece of patch-work, of ordinary construction, and less imposing than that of byagur, which the pillo makes his summer residence on the bhoomlungtung; it is however ornamented with three gilt umbrellas. it is situated on the bank of the nullah, and defended by some outworks, to feet above it; to the east, these might, from their situation, be easily demolished by stones. the palace itself is commanded in every direction, particularly by the hill, along which we came from jaisa; indeed a person might jump from the summit of this on to the outpost, and thence on to the palace; so precipitous is the descent. the people, above all those hitherto seen, are dirty in their persons, uniting curiosity with no small share of obstinacy and impertinence in their manners. the birds are the blackbird, a black mina, the house-sparrow, sparrow-hawk, larger crow, domestic pigeons, kites, and hoopoo. the red-legged crows i have heard once, but far above, nor do i think that they ever visit this. the productions being essentially different from those of the elevated valleys we have lately quitted. can those valleys be the _steps_ to the table-land of thibet to which they must be near, and which is reached sooner in that direction than any other? the idea of the high valleys in question being steps to table- land is perhaps corroborated by the fact, that the table-land is said to be within two days' journey from byagur. our interview with the pillo took place on the th, it was conducted with some state, and with some impertinence. the latter was indicated by delaying us at the door of the audience room, the former by the attendance of more numerous and better dressed attendants than usual. two pillos were present. the incense as usual was burning, and the pillos, both old and new, were seated before some large chinese-looking figures. the only novel ceremony was the praying over a mess of something which i imagine was meant for tea; in the prayer all joined, when finished the beverage was handed to the pillos, who, however, were contented with merely tasting it. before this some was strewn on the floor in front, and some to the right of the chieftains. the castle was in places crowded with people, no less than to , but all were as dirty as usual. none but the immediate attendants appeared armed. the new pillo is a dark low-looking man, with an incipient goitre, the old one a more decent aristocratic looking person, good-looking and very fair. the presents were of course beggarly, consisting of indifferent oranges, wretched plantains, sugarcane of still worse quality, and ghee of an abominable odour. march th.--we still remain here, and do not expect to leave for two or three days. the weather is unsettled, and the sun increasing in power daily. the new soobahs left to-day for their appointments, with the exception of the dewangur one. pigs are here fed on boiled nettle leaves: old ladies may be seen occasionally busily employed in picking the leaves for this purpose, and which they do by means of bamboo pincers or tweezers. a few plantains may be met with here, but in a wretched state. rice may be seen feet above this, on the north of the castle, the slope of a hill being appropriated to its cultivation; the terraces above, owing to the inclination, are very narrow, and from the paucity of straw, the crops must, i should infer, be very poor. _march nd_.--to-day we took our leave of the pillo, who received us in a room to the south of the castle. he was friendly enough, but begged for presents unconscionably. he was surrounded by a considerable number of more mean-looking persons than ordinary. on the previous meeting he talked openly of being at enmity with the present deb rajah, but on this occasion he said little on the subject. the castle is an ill-built, and worse arranged building, the windows and loopholes being so placed as to afford every facility for shooting into the air. in a court-yard, several tiger skins brought from the plains, are suspended. it now appears that this pillo, who said previously that the new deb was never installed, is himself an usurper, previously handing the old deb from the throne. this latter personage appears to be by far the more popular of the two. the pillo must now have great influence, as all the posts in his division, are either held by his own sons, or by his more influential servants. the sons by the bye are, so long as they remain in the presence, treated like ordinary servants. joongar is held by one of his sons, a lad of about eighteen, of plain but pleasing appearance and of good manners. he visited us yesterday, and his newly acquired rank sat easily on him. the old pillo no doubt owes his rank to his having been the father of the lad chosen to be dhurma rajah, he is himself very evidently low-born and low-bred, and compared with the former one, so poor a specimen, that the greater popularity of the former is not to be wondered at. from all we have heard, they are contemptible rulers, as they appear to do nothing but intrigue for power among themselves. changes are hence excessively frequent, and were they attended with much bloodshed, the country would be depopulated. this evening we had ample proof that the bhootea houses are not water- proof. heavy showers occurred with thunder and dense clouds from the south-west. _march rd_.--we left tongsa, proceeding through the castle, and thence struck down to the river mateesun. the descent was very steep, and amounted to about , feet. the river is crossed by an ordinary bridge, it is a large and violent stream and contains fish, some of which, seen by blake, were of large size. crossing this, we continued throughout the remainder of the march, gradually rising along the ridges bounding the tongsa river. we continued rising until we reached our halting place, taseeling. in one or two places, the road was completely built up; ascending by zig-zags up, in some degree, perpendicular cliffs. the distance was seven miles. proceeding to the bridge, observed rubus deltoideus, pomacea, quercus tomentosa, artemisia major, cycnium, gaultheria arborea and fruticosa, buddlaea, quercus altera, indigofera cana, gaylussacia serratoides, hedera, thibaudia myrtifolia, pomacea sauraugifolia, viburnum caerulescens, quercus robur budding, pterogonium, fragaria, duchesnia. the remaining hills were much similar, generally very bare, clothed with partial woods of q. tomentosa, rhododendron minus; the oak changing to q. robur, as we increased our elevation. near the bridge noticed bucklandia, erythrina, which is likewise found at tongsa, maesa salicifolia, urena lobata, cnicus, mimosea! arbuscula inermis, senecio scandens in flower, araliacea subscandens, didymocarp. contort., a solenia, betuloideus, panax curcifolia, alnus, arundo, anthistiria arundinacea, cerasus, tricerta unisexualis, at , feet. at about the same elevation rhododendron minus becomes common, primula stuartii, dipsacus, verbenacea exostemma, scleria, valeriana, tradescantia on rocks, with saxifraga ligularia in full flower at , feet. about this, , to , feet, spiraea decomposita, hamamelidea here a tree, occasionally but small, erythroxyloides, conyza nivea and communis, gleichenia major, parochetus communis on wet dripping rocks, woodwardia, clematis ternata. at , feet, berberis asiatica, q. tomentosa ceased, its place being supplied by q. robur, verbascum, juncus, gaultheria nummularioid, mespilus microphyllus, scirpus fuscus of tassangsee, thibaudia gaultherifolia, rubia cordifolia, azalea, and daphne capitulis pendulis, ranunculus uniflorus, hydroctyle. taseeling is situated about , feet above the mateesun, on a nakedish hill; about it there is some cultivation, and one or two villages, one towards tongsa and above taseeling of some size. the place itself consists of a large house, with some fine specimens of cypressus pendula, the east face of the house has the red stripe, indicative of rank. its elevation is about , feet, close to the house i observed the lamium of bulphai, bursa pastoris, oxalis corniculata, cnicus out of flower, artemisia major, fragaria vesca, daphne pendula and papyracea, hemiphragma, composita pendulifolia, lycopod. of surureem, hypericum, berberis asiatica, juniperus; barley cultivation, and a pomaceous arbuscula, armat. ovar. -discretis. the red-legged crow occurs here, and a thrush much resembling our english one. the raven of course occurs. a curious opening occurs in the hills at taseeling, affording a prospect of the bag dooar plains, seven days' journey distant, but the road is bad. _march th_.--leaving taseeling we commenced to ascend until we rounded a ridge, when we turned to the west, we then commenced to descend, but slightly, winding over undulated surfaces of barrenish hills. after some time we reached heavy tree jungle, the road proceeding in the same undulating manner, so that it was impossible to say whether we had risen or descended. about one we came on the river, up the ravine of which we had been advancing ever since turning to the west. this stream is of some size, very violent and rapid, but fordable. near this is a large pagoda, built after the old boodhistical style, and the only respectable one we have yet seen, its site is pretty, and it is ornamented above with eyes and a fiery-red nose. leaving this we ascended along one bank of the river, until we reached chindupjee, our halting place; this was distant from the pagoda three miles, and from taseeling twelve. this latter part reminded me of bhoomlungtung; firs being the prevailing trees, and the valley having more pretensions to the name than usually happens. we encamped in a beautiful spot, the house being situated on fine sloping sward, surrounded by picturesque trees of q. ilecifolia, a few tall cypressus standing up in the centre. the village is a few feet above, and of average size, although it looks from a little distance to be of considerable size. the march throughout was beautiful, especially after entering the wooded tract; this reminded me of the march near khegumpa, the woods were here and there very picturesque, glades and swards abounding, water was very abundant here, and this no doubt causes the development of so much vegetation. at , feet, thibaudiaceae very common, rhododendron two species, gaultheria flexuosoides, thibaudia obovata, caudata myrtifolia, hydrangea, which i find to be a climber, rhododendron majus, commencing, pine wood; chatterers heard here. hills naked or covered here and there with stunted wood; marshy places common. at , feet, lomaria of khegumpa, tetranthera nuda, sphaeropteris, pear and apple, q. tomentosa, magnolia grandiflora begins, polygonum rheoides, daphne pendula, which is used, as well as the other, both here and in nepal in the manufacture of paper: brick-red black-pate. at this same elevation farther on, rosa hispida! gillenia, juncus, rhododendron deflexa, smilax gaultherifolia, spiraea bella, dipsacus, spiraea decomposita, ilex, vaccinium cyaneum, magnolia grandiflora very common. the country now becomes more wooded, the woods being confined to moist ravines, and in other situations where water is very plentiful, the woods throughout become continuous, and forming the large forests before mentioned: having the open spaces between the woods covered with sward, on which gentiana pygmaea, and fragaria are very common. [chindupjee: p .jpg] as we approached the wood or forest, pinus cedroides commenced, and towards the valley of chindupjee this species became very common, rumex occurred throughout in wet places, also at taseeling. geranium is common also in wet places, stauntonia latifolia, potentilla, duchesnoides, tussilago of churra, on the confines of wood and on it. here the orange breasted trochilus occurred. the mass of the wood is formed of a fine quercus, resembling q. glauca, it is a beautiful and a shady tree. next to it in abundance is rhododendron majus, now in full flower, and forming a beautiful object, rhododendron minus ceases with the barrener tracts. magnolia is very conspicuous; pinus cedroides common towards the pagoda; eurya not rare, gaultheria nummulifolia continues throughout, valeriana violifolia, oxalis acetoselloides, bryum, butia purpurea, sambucus, saxifraga of bulphai, and another species, bambusa microphylla, swertia, luzula, thibaudia orbicularis, primula stuartii, occurred between the commencement of the ascent and the pagoda; at between , to , feet, magnolia odoratis. at the pagoda and village, pinus cedroides, p. pendula, bambusa of sanah, mespilus microphyllus, magnolia grandiflora, berberis asiatica, q. anthoxylia, coriaria, rosa altera of bhoomlungtung, elaeagnus, salix and allium of bulphai, occur. chindupjee is situated on a rivulet close to the confluence, with a larger stream. around it, or at least between the village and the larger stream, picturesque patches of sward bordered with a very picturesque oak. q. ilecifolia occur; this tree predominates all about the village, it is certainly the prettiest place we have yet seen. some cultivation occurs around, chiefly of barley, with a little portion of radishes. the valley is surrounded by comparatively low mountains, most of which are rather bare, many are transversely furrowed on the surface, this may arise from their having been at some former period under cultivation.--the prevailing trees on the surrounding heights are firs, pinus pendula and cedroides. no fish are to be seen in the river. the birds are the raven, white-necked starling, _bullfinch_, crimson and yellow shrikelets, blue tomtits, lesser ditto with two stripes on the head, white-rumped waterchat, red-tailed chesnuty sparrow. the plants are q. ilecifolia, magnolia grandiflora, laurinea, hamamelidioides, castanea aromatica, pinus cedroides and pendula, bambusa microphylla, and b. of sanah which may be a variety depending on its marshy sites, rhododendron minus, salix, mespilus microphyllus, gaultheria nummularoides, elaeagnus, marchantia, swertia, rumex, daphne papyracea, dipsacus, artemisia major, berberis asiatica, rosa hispida, rubus caesius, stauntonia latifolia, tofieldioid of sanah and pemee, taxus, mespilus microphyllus, ilex dipyrena, oxalis acetoselloid, thymus, lycopodium of surureem, juniperus. bamboos split and inverted, and then placed in the ground, are used to scare away beasts from the cornfields. _march th_.--left at seven and a half and proceeded along the river which runs by chindupjee, the path running over the spurs of the hills, forming its right bank. after proceeding about four miles, we crossed the nullah, changing our direction, and proceeding up a tributary, until we reached a prettily situated, and rather large village, thence we commenced to ascend over naked slopes with intervening woods, until we reached the base of the chief ascent, which is not very steep, although of good length, chiefly over naked hills. on reaching the summit, which is about , feet high, we commenced to descend, and the descent continued uninterruptedly and steeply until we reached rydang, where we halted. we passed only one village, which is about five miles from chindupjee, and of similar size; but we passed in the more elevated places two temporary ones, apparently intended for the residence of the herdsmen of yaks or chowry-tailed cows, as a herd of these animals was seen feeding near each place. the march throughout was beautiful, in the more elevated and drier portions, winding over swardy slopes or through woods of fir trees: on the descent from , feet downwards, passing through beautiful forests, chiefly of oak, and diversified in every possible way. the long-tailed pie was met with in the first portion, about , feet, the speckled chatterers at , feet, red shrikelet at , feet, and a new hawk at , feet. i observed the water-ouzel again as high as , feet. the new plants were a carex, , feet, a sileneous plant past flowering, from the _same_ limestone formation. at , feet, and not far from chindupjee, pinus spinulosa again re-appears, it becomes common towards the village alluded to, and continues throughout the ascent, up to , feet, p. cedroides was uncommon during the first part of the march, its place being occupied by p. spinulosa, afterwards it re-appeared, and continued abundant up to , feet, it re-appeared on the descent about the same elevation, and continued to about , feet. abies densa commences at the base of the chief ascent: at , feet, it is the only fir to be seen, it descends but a short way on the rydang side. in the higher portions it occurred mixed with a juniper, which in proper places becomes a small but elegant tree. at the village on , feet, observed rosa hispida, ligustram of jaisa, philadelphus, pinus spinulosa common, as also pinus cedroides, bambusa of sanah very common. near this, larks were heard soaring high above us. at , feet, pendulous lichens becoming plentiful, lonicera villosa. at , feet, abies densa appears, acer sterculium, betula, bogh pata, rhododendron fruticosa, foliis ellipticis basi cordatis. at , feet, abies densa common, p. cedroides rare, spinulosa , pendula , rosa hispida, gaultheria nummularioid, which as usual continued throughout, hypnum scolopendroid, sphagnum, bogh pata very common, rhododendron foliis ellipticis basi cordatis subtus argenteis, which i found on the descent as low as , feet. at , feet, bogh pata very common, trees covered with pendulous lichens, bambusa of sanah, abies densa everywhere. at , feet, abies densa, juniperus, rhododendron obovata, foliis subtus argenteis; i am not sure whether this is a variety or not, but it indicates greater elevation than the ferruginous one, rhododendron gemmis, viscosis, foliis lanceolatis, supra venosis subtus subargenteis very common, gnaphalium, mespilus microphyllus, rosa hispida, swertia, berberis spathulata, orthotuck, cerastum inflatum, hemiphragma, bogh pata, primula globifera, pedicularis, dicranum nigrescens, etc. limonia, laureah. daphne papyraceae occurs at the same elevation, chiefly on the side of the descent. from this place an opening is visible to the north west, occupied by low hills. juniperus very fine occurs, compositae abundant. snow lies in the hollows and sheltered woods. at , feet, lonicera villosa, rosa microphylla, buddlaea purpurescens! berberis spathulata, spiraea belloides, hydrangea! rhododendron foliis lanceolatis, etc. as above, forming thick woods, abies densa, bogh pata, bambusa, limonia lanceolata. at , feet, prunella, cerastium inflatum, labiata spicata, baptisia! high ground to , feet, is seen forming a lofty heavily snowed ridge to the north. at , feet, pinus cedroides re-appears, bogh pata, rhododendron as before, daphne papyraceae, thibaudia orbicularis, limonia lanceolata, dalibarda, polygonum rheum! at , feet, rhododendron hispida, abies densa ceased, limonia lanceolata common, lonicera villosa, rebus triphyllus, acer! taxus! primula stuartii! rubia cordifolia!! at , feet, chimaphila, rhododendron obovata-ferrugina! pinus cedroides, here and there, of immense size, diameter of one-six feet, lycopodium of surureem, bogh pata, gaultheria flexuosa, q. ilecifolia, also a very large and tall tree. at , feet, taxus very common, smilax gaultherifolia, olea, sarcococea very common, thibaudia orbicularis, laurinea, hamameloides. beautiful glades here occurred, trees covered with mosses: another fine oak, q. castaneoides commences, daphne papyraceae very common, composita penduliflora, hemiphragma, rhododendron elliptica, foliis basi, cordatis subtus punctatis, ilex! berberis intermedia, laurinea uniflora, large umbellifera of rodoole descent. at , feet, acer, primula stuartii, rhododendron majus! r. argentea commences. at , feet, cedar ceased, rhododendron majus very common, taxus diminishing, sphaeropteris, ericinia soloraefolia, lomaria of khegumpa, thibaudia orbicularis ceases. at , feet, berberis pinnata, spiraea bella, cycnium, apple tree. here we emerged on open space in front of a hill, on which several detached houses stood, around which pinus pendula was very common. barley cultivation. several small villages visible around, and to the north, in front of the snowy ridge, a curious truncated mountain was seen, its apex covered with snow. magnolia! conaria! cycnium, viburnum canescens! gaultheria arborea, berberis intermedia very common, fragaria. at , feet, q. tomentosa! the others have ceased, gaultheria fruticosa, rhododendron arborea, minus and argentea, in fine flower, eurya aecuminata, smilax, gaultherifolia, thibaudia caudata, q. robur, gleichenia major, salix as before, artemisia major, rumex, valeriana violifolia, rosa, berberis asiatica, ervicia crucifera, thlaspi, callitriche, calamus. the curious features are, the absence of thibaudia obovata on the descent, and of mespilus microphyllus, the substitution of thibaudia orbicularis, and its low descent, the abundance of taxus, size of the cedar and q. ilecifolia, the re-appearance at same elevation of magnolia grandiflora, occurrence of rubia cordifolia, at such an elevation, etc. _rydang_ is prettily situated towards the bottom of a rather narrow valley. there is a good deal of barley cultivation about it. i also noticed cycnium, celopecurus, acorus calamus, corydalis! fragaria, cardamina, rosa, berberis, ilex, plantago, rumex, viola, artemisia major, daphne papyraceae, gentiana pygmaea of khegumpa, houttuynia! pomacea, callitriche, dipsacus, berberis pinnata, elaeagnus, q. robur, ilecifolia. of birds the long-tailed pie! is common. berberis asiatica, viburnum, caneun, apple, quercus microcarpus, orthodon, pteris aquilina, ophiopogon, angustis, valeriana violifolia, urtica urentium, stellaria media, eurya acuminata, betula. _march th_.--our march commenced with a steep descent to the gnee, a river of average size. we then continued descending along it for some time, crossing it once on our way: we then diverged up a small nullah, and then commenced a very steep ascent, of about , feet. after attaining this, we proceeded through woods, or over sward at about the same elevation, still continuing along the gnee. we subsequently commenced to descend at first through fine oak woods, then over barren naked hills. we reached santagoung, about three and a half miles distance in a direct line, but fourteen miles by the road, highest point traversed , feet; lowest reached , . during first part of descent, noticed one or two straggling cedars and taxus, primula stuartii, the woods were formed by quercus robur, tomentosa, gaultheria arborea, rhododendron minus, scabiosa reappears, clematis nova species, sambucus, rubus cresius, composita pendulifolia, etc. as at rydang. along the gnee, the beech became plentiful, as also two viburnums, both trees, together with the cupulifera of tongsa was here common and in fine foliage. juglans, incerta of boodoo, gaultheria, mimosa arborea, cupressus pendula, conaria, berberis racemosa and pinnata, quercus microcarpus, woodwardia, thibaudia myrtifolia, marlea! cucurbitaceae menispermoides, alnus of beesa, polygonium rheoides, mespilus microphyllus! gentiana pygmaea, salix, pyrus. the birds were the usual water birds, viz. ouzel, slaty-white rump, slaty-red tail, white-pated chat. on the smaller nullah bucklandia, viburnum microphyllum, bucklandia! the ascent was at first through dry woods of rhododendron minus, q. tomentosa, gaultheria arborea, a taxus or two occurred at , feet, indigofera cana, rosa, gaultheria fruticosa of sanah aristatum. at , feet, the same vegetation continued, rhododendron minus very common, pendulous lichens commencing. at this elevation, in more moist spots, woods thick, differently constituted, quercus glauescense, castaneoides ilecifolia, here and there rhododendron majus, magnolia grandiflora. gaultheria flexuosa, pinus cedroides rare, vaccinium cyaneum, rosa hispida! saxifraga! thibaudia orbicularis and caudata, mespilus microphyllus, azalea, ilex, symplocos, tussalago of churra, acer, thibaudia obovata, pendulous mosses abundant. the remainder of the vegetation afforded little of interest; consisted of stunted oaks, q. tomentosa, gaultheria arborea, rhododendron minus: serissoides reappears near santagoung, pinus longifolia, plantains. the valley to the left towards santagoung is on the left side well populated and cultivated. _march th_.--santagoung, a small village , feet above the sea, situated on bare hills, between two loftier ridges. country around well inhabited and well cultivated in the terrace style: villages numerous. pinus longifolia, rosa, azalea, etc. occur here as before. a lake or jheel was observed feet below the village, of some extent, formed in a natural hollow, abounding with scirpus trigueter of churra, and hydropeltis. water-fowl, snipe, and red pie-like peewit or plover. the march commenced with a steep descent, which continued until we reached the river. crossing this we ascended , feet, and then proceeded in an undulating manner over naked hills until we reached thain, distance six miles; the greatest descent was about , feet, ascent , feet; the country naked; no forest. the hills for some extent towards thain appeared from some cause very red. but little interesting vegetation occurred: noticed a huge cypressus pendula, half-way to the gnee. vegetation otherwise much the same as towards tassgong, valeriana violifolia, azalea, campanula linearis, rubus deltoides, aspidium macroser., artemisia major, pinus longifolia straggling, only plentiful near thain, anthistiria minor! primula stuartii, mimulus, gentiana pumila, alnus, flemingia secunda, morus rubeseoides, salix, quercus, viburnum microphyllum. at the river caesalpinia! ficus obliqua! desmodium, salix, indigofera cana, arundo, luculia. on the ascent holcus, elaeagnus, santalacea, clematis cana, senecionoides, conyza vulgaris, emblica, schaenanthus, phyllanthus ruber, q. tomentosa, desmodium vestilum, briedleia obovata! nerium canum, euphorbia antiquorum, jasminum of benka, ligustrum conaria, mesp. microphyllus (are these two species confounded by me, as the larger-leaved one never descends so low?), lerissoides, osbeckia linearis, euphorbia, gordonia, gymnobotrys. red-legged crow; in descent altitude , feet, the most common plant is a species of berberis very nearly allied to b. asiatica. rain in the afternoon. _march th_.--mimulus, acorus calamus, quercus robur, rhododendron minus, p. longifolia, gymnobotrys, campanula linearifolia, rosa tetrapetala, gordonia, salix, verbena officinalis, majus, rugus, lemna, gentiana, hypericum japonica, indigofera cana, schaenanthus, senecio, buddlea of nulka, pyrus, wheat, ervum, vicia, potentilla, q. tomentosa, cypressus, ficus, berberis, phyllanthus ruber. blackbird, sparrow-hawk, and hoopoe about houses; it has a curious hoop, varied with a grating chirp. the blackbird frequents houses here; its voice is very discordant and singular, sparrow-hawks were seen to pursue wounded pigeons. houses few, built of unbaked and large bricks or rather cakes of mud. the village of wandipore is visible to the south-west, about one and a half mile. snow on ridges to west, all which are lofty. the country around wandipore is tolerably populous, though not so much so as about santagoung. we were compelled to halt at phain or thain, until the st instant, owing to the admirable management of the bhooteas. it appeared at first as if the zoompoor or governor of wandipore was determined that we should not be gainers in time by not going through his castle, but subsequently it turned out that the deb had, with infinite consideration, wished us to remain in order to rest ourselves after our long journey. this may have been merely said to shelter the wandipore man, who had the impudence to send one evening to us saying, that the deb and durmah were coming to wandipore next morning, and that we were to meet them there, and return the same evening to punukha. this turned out untrue. pemberton was at last compelled to write to the deb, and the consequence was the arrangement for our advance next morning. _april st_.--the march to punukha extended over a most barren dried-up country, the features presented were the same as those about phain. we proceeded at first in the direction of wandipore, then diverged, proceeding downwards in the direction of the villages. the remainder of our journey extended either just above the base of the hills, or along the valley: the distance was nine miles. the march was an uninteresting one; the only pretty part being the river that drains the valley, and it is one of considerable size, fordable in but few places; the rapids are frequent, but the intermediate parts flow gently. we were all dreadfully disappointed in the capital, the castle even is by no means so imposing as that of tongsa or byagur; the city miserable, consisting of a few mean houses, and about as many ruined ones. the surrounding cultivation is chiefly poor wheat; the hills the most barren conceivable. on arriving near the palace we made a detour, to avoid exposure to the usual regal insolence: our plan was effectual. from some distance i had espied our quarters, and although our mission is one sent by the most powerful eastern government, yet we had allotted to us a residence fit only for hogs. it consisted of a court-yard, surrounded by walls, and what had evidently been stabling; the apartments were numerous, but excessively small, the roof of single mats. the place swarmed with vermin. in this we determined not to stay, and so proceeded to the city, (for sure there cannot be a capital without a city,) and there, after some delay, procured two houses, in one of which the present tongso pillo had lodged before his present exaltation. but imagine not that it was a palace. the two houses together furnished three habitable rooms. i imagine not that the houses were procured for us by the local government. we only obtained them by pemberton's liberality was well known. the sepoys' lines were transported hither not by bhooteas but by our own people. in addition the people are in many cases insolent, and it was only after a peremptory message to the deb, stating what the consequences would be of such a system of annoyance, that we got any assistance. _april rd_.--we have heard nothing of the mutaguat. it appears that the country is unsettled now. the old deb having possession of tassisudon, and the people here declaring they will stop all supplies if the deb does not, according to custom, repair at the usual period to tassisudon. a deewan here, who has held office under four rajahs, says, that the present truce is owing to the hot weather; bhooteas only admire fighting in the cold season, in conformation of which, he says that in the cold season the contest will be renewed. there will then be an additional bone of contention for the present. nor should i much wonder if the paro pillo then comes forward and takes the debship and all away. the deewan's account of the past fighting, places the bhooteas in a most contemptible light: it appears that when they fire a gun, they take no aim, their only aim being to place their bodies as far as possible from the weapon; the deadly discharge is followed up by the deadlier discharge of a stone. at plunder they are more adroit. the following plants may be found about this place; ligustrum, salex pendula, valeriana orolifolia, campanula linearis, senecionideae, viola, jasminum, rosea, conaria, mangoe one tree in the gardens, citrus two or three species in ditto, jubrung, diospyros, acorus, veronica, ranunculus, sclerossophalos, alopecercus, agrostides, bombax, stunted weeping cypress, pinus longifolia, punica, dipsacus, potentilla, potamogeton , hypericum japonica, lysimachia, chenopod, ajuga, anisomales. birds--great kingfisher, diver snappet, white-pated rumped chats, no ouzels. part of the gardens extend from the palace up the river to the village; the breadth is fifty to seventy yards, the length . they are surrounded by a dilapidated stone fence. although an assam malee or gardener resides in them, they are kept in miserable order: the soil seems good, the trees flourishing, mangoe, diospyros, jubrung, oranges, citrons, pomegranates, are the principal trees. the south side has a streamlet running along it outside the fence, for the supply of water. this streamlet abounds with acorus calamus. _april th_.--our interview with the deb took place. we dismounted at the boards over the streamlets above mentioned, and then proceeded over the wooden bridge across the patcheen, which is here a wide and deep stream: the bridge was partially lined with guards, in different dresses, few in uniform; it was besides armed with shoulder wall-pieces, capital things for demolishing friends. we then crossed a sort of court-yard and then ascended a steep and extraordinarily bad flight of steps to the door of the palace. here we found the household troops all dressed in scarlet with two door-keepers, one seated on either side of the door: this led us into a quadrangle. the citadel being in front, the side walls were rather low, although viewed externally they appear of good height, but the ground of the interior is much raised. we crossed this diagonally, passed into the opposite quadrangle on the west side, and thence ascended into a gallery, hung with arms, and filled with followers, from this we passed after a little delay into the rajah's room. this was handsomely decorated with scarfs, the pillars were variously ornamented. the rajah was seated on an elevated place in the corner, and appeared a good-looking well-bred man. he received the governor general's letter from p. with much respect, getting up from his chair: the visit was a short one, and entirely of ceremony. the presents were deposited on a raised bench in his front. communications were kept up by the deewan and the zimpay, formerly joongar zoompoor or governor. on retiring we were presented with fruits, oranges, walnuts, horrid plantains, ghee, eggs and rice. the whole business went off very well, no attempt at insolence. the concourse of people was greater than i expected. swarms of gylongs, the more curious of whom received whacks from leathern straps, wielded by some magisterial brother. _april th_.--yesterday we saw the dhurma, to whom we had to ascend by several flight of steps, which are most break-neck things, the steps overlapping in front, and being often lined with iron on the part most subject to be worn. we found him in the south room of the upper story of the citadel. we waived our right to sitting in his presence as the question was put to us with respect and delicacy. the rajah is a good looking boy, of eight or ten years old: he was seated in the centre, but in an obscure part of the room, and was not surrounded by many immediate attendants. the balcony was filled with scribes with handsome black, gilt, lettered books before them. two other scribes were likewise engaged on our right, noting down what passed, but they seemed to be very bad writers. the visit went off well. the room was tastily, but not so profusely ornamented with scarfs as was the deb's. on returning we found the household guard drawn up in front to prevent our passing out without paying a fee. this matter was soon settled forcibly, and the durwan, or door-keeper, lost by his impudence the present he would otherwise have had from p., besides being in a great fright lest the affair should be reported to the rajah. _april th_.--the rains appear to have set in: the sky is constantly overcast, and showers are by no means unfrequent. one of our dawks arrived opened: this no doubt took place in the palace, although the deb strenuously denies it. messengers are to be sent to tassgoung, where the accident is said to have happened. the cause of its having been opened, is no doubt the report that there was a letter in it from the old deb. _april th_.--a violent squall unaccompanied by rain, came on yesterday from the west: roofs were flying about in every direction, and many accidents occurred from the falling of the stones by which they were secured. part of the palace was unroofed. the storm has stopped all our amusements, particularly as the gylongs attribute it to our firing. the kacharies, our servants, were likewise requested not to play any more on the esplanade. this is just as it has been in every other place in bootan, nothing is said against amusement until the presents have been received, and then we are requested to do nothing, and the authorities become disobliging! the potters fashion their earthenware entirely with their hands, the upper half is finished on a flat board; the lower being added afterwards; the finishing is done chiefly by a wet rag, the operator revolving around the pot. the vessels chiefly used for carrying water are oval, these are covered with black glaze. some didymocarpi very fragrant, one near chindupjee most grateful, resembling quince and sandal wood; the odour is permanent, and appears to reside in the young leaves before their expansion: iris, hypericum, viola, ligust., ranunculus, verbasena, gymnostomum, serratula arenaria, veronica. chapter xiii. _return of the mission from bootan_. _may th_, _ _.--we left punukha at twelve, having been delayed throughout the morning, on account of coolies. we crossed the palace precints, and the two bridges unmolested. our road lay in the direction of our entering punukha for some time, but on the opposite bank of the river. we gradually descended throughout this portion. then at about eight miles turning round a ridge, we followed a ravine to the west, some distance above its base, gradually descending to the watercourse draining it. thence we ascended in a very circuitous route to talagoung, the castle of which is in a ruinous state: it is visible from the place whence one turns to the westward. up to this point, which was certainly , feet above punukha, no change occurred in the vegetation. the country remained barren, the ravines in favourable places being clothed with underwood, and as we increased our elevation, with trees. noticed a bupleurum, viburnum sp., ficus obliqua. at , feet, sambucus, bupleurum sp., potentilla as before, gentiana pinnata, serissoides, campanula. at , to , feet, pinus longifolia more common though still a stunted tree; emblica, paederia cyaneum, q. tomentosa, primula stuartii, parochetus, pogonantherum, this is a most common grass about here, it becomes more stunted as we proceed lower, and its extreme elevation does not exceed , feet, acorus very common, adhatoda! at , feet, simool, dipsacus as before, aspidium, macrodon, rhododendron minus re-appears. on rounding the ridge, although we did not increase our elevation, the country became more wooded. in some places q. robur, gordonia, pyrus were common, others and the greater portion were composed of pinus longifolia, bucklandia re-appears at , feet, azalea, saccharum aristatum, hedera, didymocarpus contortus, on rocks. towards the nullah we passed a village with some wheat and buckwheat cultivation; plantago, ranunculus, thymus, were interspersed. along the watercourse symplocos styracifolius, which becomes a middling-sized tree, was seen, and stellaria cana, petalis albis profunda partitus, as well as s. media. our section was as follows: [section page : m .jpg] _telagoung_ is a middling-sized, dilapidated castle, in which it is settled the first blood is to be shed in the forthcoming contest, it is occupied by the old deb's men. up to its walls, thickets abound, and the fragrant rose was very conspicuous. its elevation is about , feet, yet a ficus may be seen planted by the side of cupressus pendula, and punica thrives. the change in temperature was very great. birds abounded throughout; a new sombre-coloured dove was shot by p.: the most common birds were the orange-billed shrike of towards tumashoo. _may th_.--we left telagoung at a.m. and descended instantly to a small nullah, from which we re-ascended. the ascent continued without intermission, occasionally gradually, but generally rather steep for three or four hours. the descent occupied about as long, and about three- fifths the distance, following nearly throughout a small nullah. woollakkoo, our halting place, is a good-sized village, and fourteen and a half miles from telagoung. to the nullah i observed stellaria cana, berberis asiatica, which has re- appeared, erythrina, rubus deltoid, which is very common all over these parts and whose fruit is palatable, uvularia, swertia plantaginifolia, caesalpinia, mimulus, and urtica foliis apice erosis. the ascent commenced through woods of q. robur, the shrubs consisting of gaultheria fragrans and arborea, a myrsinea, thibaudia serrata, whose inferior limit is here, rhododendron minus, but not very common. a good deal of wheat cultivation and of better quality occurred at , feet, assuming telagoung as , feet, pteris aquilina common throughout and up to , feet. at , feet, taxus re-appears, with baptisia in flower, thibaudia orbicularis, luzula of chindupjee, smilax gaultherifolia, thibaudia obovata, fragaria vesca, which continues throughout, and has a range of between to , feet, bambusa microphylla, and acer sterculiacea appear, woods of q. ilecifolia, up to , feet, chiefly of q. robur, gaultheriae two common ones, occur commonly. at , feet, the woods composed chiefly of q. castaneoides and glaucum, q. ilecifolia less common. no q. robur, path-like glades and rather open, pythonium ecaudata, up to , feet, primula pulcherrima very common. at , feet, saxifraga of khegumpa and of chindupjee, mitella,! luzula, carex, viola reniformis, lomaria of khegumpa, hedera, ilex, mercurialis, grey lichens. taxus, quercus, rhododendron, another species foliis subtus ferrugineo- argenteis floribus rosaceis. smilacina, ophiopogon, urtica carnosa decumbens, limonia laureola, pythonium ecaudatum. at the same elevation and indeed below us, but on other ridges, cedars were seen in abundance: hydrangea and hydrangeacea calyptrata, epilobium sp. withered. at , feet, aristolochia novum genus, tritium glaucum, thlaspi, arabis cordata, loranthus, symplocos sessiliflora. at , feet, lardizabalea. at , feet, hamiltonia? at , feet, crucifera floribus amplis albis, on mossy banks, with mitella, spiraea densa. acer sterculiacea in forests, cerasi sp. common. betula, ribes, arenaria, lilium giganteum, laurinea, chimaphila, acer. at , feet, rhododendron hispida and rosaceum, taxus, pythonium filiformia, trillium album, salvia of royle, rhododendron ferrugineo and obovata, smilacinia densiflora, sarcococea, daphne cannabinum, here in flower, anemone, prunella, hemiphragma, cedar, but rare. at , feet, primula stuartii in flower lower down, but here quite past, corydalis linetta, viola, juniperus, viburnum floribus magnis albis, rhododendron deflexa, in flower. acer: , vel. , cerasi sp. altera, paris polyphylla, and from , feet, iris foliis angustis, cerasus apetalus gathered below here a shrub, very common, osmundia alia, berberis ilecifolia and integrifolia, rosa microphylla, spinis latis, baptisia, corydalis altior floribus luteis, aconiti sp., papaveracea succo aqueo, ferrugineo hispida, capsula siliquosa, -valvis, replis totidem, stigmata radiata, -lobo. prunella, betula, ranunculus minimus, carex, mimulus! sambucus of below, salvia of royle, polytrichum rubescens. from the ridge the view to the south is pretty, the country undulated, either naked and swardy, or clothed with firs. abies spinulosa commences: and is soon succeeded by pinus pendula, which, as we proceeded lower, soon became the chief tree; rhododendron obovata finely in flower, lilium giganteum common. trillium stratum, ribes lacineat. q. ilecifolia re-appears or feet below the ridge, pinus spinulosa common, with a salix, grey pendulous lichens. at , feet, p. pendula, mespilus microphyllus, larix, rumex, which has occurred throughout, salvia alia viscosa foliis subhastatis trilobis, cycnia, astragaloides! bracteis subvaginant magnis, rosa latispina becomes very common. at , feet, hedera, hamiltonia re-appears, galium sp., juncus, oxlip, clematis, salix, very common. at , feet, a village is seen to the right; q. ilecifolia is the chief tree, with p. pendula, azalea, baptisia, pomacea of rydang, rhododendron arbor. minus. red-legged crow, pine chatterers. at , feet, baptisia continues; all alpine vegetation ceased; rhododendron minus continues, q. ilecifolia, but no corydalis, anemone, iris, etc. although oxlip does; salix continues. the descent to the halting place is marked by return to the old vegetation indicated by re-appearance of elaeagnus fragrans and rosa tetrapetala, valeriana violifolia. baptisia rotundifolia and oblonga, this last a tree very common, pinus pendula chief tree, pomacea celastufolia, elaeagnus fragrans, rosa tetrapetala, very common along the nullah, baptisia continues low down, as oxlip, stauntonia alba, viburnum, _asteroides_, jasminum luteum, tussilago, spiraea bella, found about the level of this. all the monocotyledons have a defined elevation; smilacina cordifolia is the lowest, except uvularia, lilacineae and trillium, are the highest, not being found much under , feet. there is an osmundia likewise on the ridge, the fronds below are not contracted, it is ferrugineo-tomentosa. hemiphragma has a wide range, between and , feet: salvia nubigena of royle, confined to , feet, aconitum, corydalis lutea, lenella and caerulea, prunus penduliflora, papaveracea, juniperus, rhododendron obovata, silacinea, cerasus apetala, ribes , are sure signs of elevation. if the mimulus be the same as that from punukha, it has a very wide range, as also lilium giganteum, pythonium filiformeis, limited, as well as ecaudata, crucifera, anemone, laurinea, polytrichium, were all definite. mitella ranges between and , feet, it is strange that the chief variety in vegetation occurred on the telagoung side, on which springs are rare. no thibaudias occurred on the other side, euphorbia was confined to the woollakkoo side, as also primula, etc. etc. the chief cultivation about woollakkoo is of wheat, but from the mode of cultivation the plant is evidently adapted for irrigation; rice is also cultivated. this is perhaps its maximum height. the hills around are covered here and there with snow, and must therefore be above , feet high. the highest were to the north-west. the river is of moderate size, fordable in most places, but still well supplied with wooden bridges. fish, in shoals too, were seen here and there. _may th_.--our march continued down this river throughout: we left its banks once or twice owing to ascending some hundred feet above its bed, occasionally it spread out, but generally was confined between the rocks. its banks in some places were planted with weeping willows. the vegetation throughout was much the same. the most common plants were rosa, this literally abounds, pinus pendula, viburnum grandiflora, a symphoria! crataegus species, mespilus microphyllus, lantonea, jasminum luteum, berberis asiatica and obovata, plectranthus canus, elaeagnus fragrans, stellaria cana, colquhounia, _indigofera_ sp. altera, baptisia did not re-appear, euphorbia continues, as does the celastrus noticed yesterday, which commences at , feet. cycnia re-appears, it is in fruit, the cotyledons are not conduplicate. in the fields stachys, potentilla (common), brumus, lamium of khegumpa, cynoglossum, thlaspi, datura in waste places, conaria, rare, imperata! scabiosa of bulphai. a low shrub abounded on the road sides and walls, having all the characters of plumbago, a lantonea likewise abounded, fragaria, swertia, taraxacum, cardamina lilacina, herminu sp., marchantia, astragalus, ranunculus; carex, potentilla supina, potamogeton, clematis grata, poplars were seen; of these, taraxacum very common. quercus robur re- appears towards lamnoo, as well as juglans and populus. weeping cypresses about villages, hordeum hexastichum is commonly cultivated, a. buddlaea floribus lilacinis noticed yesterday was found, its range is , to , feet, zanthoxyla here. a cuckoo was shot; this bird would seem to be as in europe attended by the yunx, at least a cry very similar to that of that bird was heard. lysimachia of punukha, campanula re-appears. the most common bird is lanuis. the sombre-coloured dove too is rather common. the wheat cultivated here is poor, a good deal of the bromus occurs with it. astragalus is common on the borders of the fields, and in some of them ervum, lamium and vicia. the whole upper surface of the column of aristolochia of telagoung, is viscid and stigmatic, and likewise the margins of the depressions in which the anthers are lodged, it is certainly akin to rafflesiaceae. _may th_.--proceeded to chupcha, our march to, and indeed beyond panga, seven miles from lamnoo, was through exactly similar country. the hills naked or clothed with firs, the path lay along the river teemboo chiefly, but occasionally we met with one or two stiff ascents. on reaching panga it was determined to push on to chupcha, which was said to be but a short way off; we started, and descended after some time to the river, above which panga is elevated about , feet. we continued along the river until we commenced to ascend towards chupcha, this ascent was very long and rather steep, the road tolerably good. we found chupcha to be ten miles from panga, and , feet high, the greatest height we crossed being , feet, and this day we were told, that all our climbings had ceased. the road was generally bad, and well furnished with rocks: in one place we passed from yards along the perpendicular face of a cliff, the teemboo roaring underneath, the road was built up with slippery slabs of stone. the country was generally very pretty, the scenery along the river being very picturesque. we passed a waterfall of considerable size, which is turner's minzapeeza. after leaving panga we came on an uninhabited country, nor did we see more than one village, until we reached the ridge immediately above chupcha, , feet above this, there is a very large village inhabited by gylongs, the bare summit of the hill rising an equal height above it; snow visible to the south. the greatest distance we descended was , feet, the greatest height , feet. the distance seventeen miles, the longest march we have yet had. the vegetation was nearly the same up to the time we turned off towards chupcha, it was characterized by a profusion of rosa, among which the crataega, symphorema, (which is less common than towards woollakkoo,) rhamnus, viburnum grandiflorum, pinus pendula, thymus, cycnium. in grassy banks of fields between panga and lamnoo, astragalus, ervum, vicia, aster major, rumex, agrostia, in fields hieraciae sp., caricia sp., lactuca, bromus. salix pendula about villages. after leaving panga we came on to a place called minzapeeza, here adiantum, aspidium? hamamelidea, cedrela? rhus, galium, tussilago, saxifraga ligularis, valeriana violifolia, smilax flexuosa, aruncus, sarcococea, azalea. rhododendron minus recommenced after leaving the river towards panga, a straggling cedar or two occurred, populus rotundifol. very common, gaultheria arborea. about panga, lithospermum, oxalis corniculata, umbellifera, from the flowers of which _moud_ is made, rubus, arabis, taxacum, dipsacus. beyond the waterfall the quercus robur became common, forming beautiful woods, it continued throughout until we re-descended to the river, range to , feet. in these woods formed likewise by pinus pendula, convallaria cirrhosa appeared, rubia cordifolia, hispida, paris polyphylla, aralia cissifolia, mitella, ribes! spiraea, asparagus, epipactis, avularia, houttuynia! arum viviparum on rocks, duchesmium, populus oblonga occurred also, coriaria! hedera common, benthamia common. on rocks along the river, peperomia, -phylla, populus oblonga, acer sterculiacea! symphoria alia! indigofera, salix, cedrela, sassafras, arbor facie, gordonia, vitis, syringa, serissa, buddlaea, sedum on rocks, eriophon ditto, campanula cana, pinus pendula, rosa, convallarium cirrhosa, polygonum robustum, foliis cordatis. the ascent up to , feet, was marked by similar vegetation: up to this point the prevailing shrubs gradually disappeared, they were never so common as about panga. quercus robur having ceased, was succeeded by quercus ferruginea, which is much like quercus ilecifolia, and has very coriaceous leaves, this again at , feet, was succeeded by quercus ilecifolia, dipsacus up to this, pteris aquilina, gaultheria arborea. at , feet, rhododendron oblonga, a most beautiful species, calyce discoideo commenced, as also rhodora deflexa and rhodoracea ochrolenea, which is, i think, that i before noticed as r. elliptica, foliis basi cordatis subtus argenteis et punctatis, euphorbia occurs also here, as also the rosa, berberis asiatica. at , feet, the trees were covered with grey lichens, and assumed the usual highly picturesque appearance: noticed primula stuartii in flower (symphoria! ceased), euphorbia, gaultheria nummularifolia commences, artemisia major, crataegus odoratus continues, saxifraga ligularis common up to this, ribes commences, gaultheria of bulphai, galum, hyperici sp., lilium giganteum, clematis grata, populus species, do not ascend above this. at , feet, rhododendron minus, rhododendron oblonga, ochroleucum, coccineum appears, ribes, smilax sanguinea, gaultheria of bulphai very common, arborea stunted, limonia major, clematis grata! rhododendron hispida, potentilla, pteris aquilina, berberis asiatica, mespilus microphyllus, gnaphalium, swertia, viola, patrinum! elaeagnus fragrans! thymus, which ranges from to , feet, euphorbia, pedicularis, cycnii sp., mimulus, rhodora deflexa, pinus pendula, quercus ilecifolia, both stunted, pteris aquilina. the descent to the village was about feet, arenarium on rocks, mimulus, viola, rumex, juncus, acorus veronica, anagallis, pythonium of blake, euphorbia, pedicularis, carex, mespilus microphyllus: pine chatterers throughout, at least above , feet. the summit, which was certainly , feet, was completely bare: pinus pendula ascends a long way. chupcha--hordeum hexastichor in beautiful order, the chief cultivation. red-legged crow; larger dove. the form of the country traversed is as follows:- [teemboo to chupcha: m .jpg] at diglea we had an opportunity of seeing the mode of building in this part of bootan; the houses are made of mud, which is trampled and beat down by men, who perform sundry strange evolutions while so employed; the mud is beat down in a frame-work; it is from the different layers formed that the lines seen outside finished houses result. the mode is slow, but must give great firmness. _may th_.--ascended to the gylong village, above chupcha, and then to the naked ridge. the village may be estimated as being , or , feet above the sea, and that part of the ridge to which i ascended as , or , feet. the ascent is uninterrupted up to the village; it winds through a fine fir wood, after diverging from the road to panga, after that it is quite open, scarcely a shrub being met with until the ridge is surmounted. on turning to its northern face, woody vegetation becomes pretty abundant, and feet below, woods occur. this is contrary to what usually happens; the south faces of mountains being supposed to be better wooded than the others, but in bootan the difference would seem to be due to the piercing winds blowing from south, or up the ravine of the teemboo. the scenery was very pretty, both in the woods before reaching the village, and from the ridge: vast quantities of snow visible to the north and north-east. i ascended to within , feet of snow, and i think that at this season, an elevation of , feet is required _in open places_ to secure the presence of snow: it is obvious that local circumstances, such as shelter, etc. may cause it to descend nearly to , feet, and it is as obvious that snow will descend lower down a mountain of , feet high than one of , ; the difference in the beds of snow causing a greater reduction of temperature in the one than in the other. in an isolated mountain, an elevation of , feet will be required for the presence of snow in may. at , feet, baptisia, viburnum canum, umbellifera toxicaria, colquhounia, deutzia, the symphoria of teemboo. at , feet, salix, abies spinulosa straggling, rhododendron microphylla commences, the bruised has a terebenthaceous odour, ilex, gaultheria flexuosa, parus major: variegated shortwing, papilio machaonires. at , feet, saxifraga ligularis. at , to , feet, limonia, viburnum grandiflorum or canum, berberis asiatica, mespilus microphyllus, populus oblonga, rhododendron ochrolena, clematis grata viola lutea,* epipactis, hemiphragma. at , feet, rhododendron microphyllum very common, ribes, bupleuri sp.,* rosa fructibus hispidis,* rubia hispida, sambucus, berberis integrifolia, an vero distincta. at , feet, viola pusilla, fragaria vesca and lutea, baptisia, rosa, sphaerostemma, clematis grata, pinus pendula, etc. at , feet, commencement of sward, no trees, except stunted shrubs of pinus pendula, mespilus microphyllus, baptisia, gnaphalium pedicularis,* rosa, bistorta,* leaves with margins not united to the margins of pitchers of nepenthes and cephalotus, pteris aquilina, prunella, rhododendron microphyllum, euphorbia, taxaxacum, potentilla, thymus, primula stuartii. at , feet, hyperica brachiata of moflong. at , feet, morina wallichiana, osmundioid, dipsacus, scabiosa? capitulo nutanta, verbascum, juncus, epilobia sp. at , feet, salix shrubby, cyperus fuscescens of tassangsee, dwarfed larix. at , feet, anemona aurea commences, covering in some places the sward; it straggles down in favourable places with iris angustifolia, to , feet, primula stuartii, rhododendron microphyllum, gnaphalia, euphrasia. at , feet, southern face of ridge bare, northern thickety, consisting of rhododendron fruticosum, foliis ellipticis basi cordatis punctato lepidotis, salix, berberis, pyrus aria, bambusa, tetranthera. in wet sheltered spots, iris angustifolia, aconitum, foliis aconitoideum, on the sward euphorbia radians. below this a little, woods commence chiefly of bogh pata, cerasus, salix, rosa fructibus hispidis, acers, abelia? viburnum niveum, hydrangea arbuscula, non-scandens, berberis integrifolia. the woods are open, the open spaces occupied by remains of last summer's vegetation, as compositae, umbelliferae, aquilegium, a plant five or six feet high, folii aconitoidie, etc. epilobium. among these in the woods, trillia sp., saxifraga reniformis, liliacea brodidoid, viola, primula purpurea, a lovely species, aconiti sp., papaveracea hirsuta foliis, aconitoid very common, orchideae, ribes sanguina, composita penduliflora, arenaria pusilla of above telagoung, polygoni sp., pusilla repens hirsuit foliis cordata ovatis, vel reniformibus subtus purpurescent, salvia nubicola? euphorbia coccinea. abies densa appears, as also close to the gylong village, from this elevation upwards, it is common. abies spinulosa common on north face at , feet, abies pendula ascends on south side as high as , feet, but is stunted beyond , feet, it does not exist on north face. primula stuartii throughout, very abundant. the plants most limited were papaveracea, aconitum folium aconitoideum, saxif. reniformis, primula purpuria, euphorbia radians, rhododendron cereum, mentioned above, and another at , feet with similar leaves, but normal flowers, abelia, cerasus, trillii sp., anemona, iris, bistorta, ribes, a. densa. the most dispersed are euphorbia coccinea, salix, bogh pata, mespilus microphyllus, cyperus fuscus, primula stuartii, rhododendron microphyllum. hordeum hexastichum gives fine produce here; nothing can exceed it in appearance, oats also occur mixed with it, but is not sown, at least, it occurs rarely on walls, arabis, magus stolonifer, juglans in villages, (ribes juniperus in the gylong village), acorus, carex, stellaria cana, media, caltha, and thlaspi. the temperature is delightful, thermometer degrees at a.m., degrees in the middle of the day. _may th_.--left chupcha for chuka, distant seventeen miles. our march commenced by a very steep and indeed almost precipitous descent to the nullah, at the foot of chupcha, of , feet. thence we ascended gradually until we reached a temple visible from chupcha, at which place we returned to the course along the teemboo. the remainder of the road undulating, varying in level from , to , feet, until we commenced the descent to chuka, which was long and tedious: we reached this at . p.m. the road latterly was very bad, we passed punukha, a small village, about feet below our path. the mountains closing in the teemboo continue lofty, at least , feet. iris, cedars, and abies densa, were common on the loftier parts. we passed some beautiful places, indeed the march throughout was pretty. the vegetation was beautiful, owing to the quantity of water on the road, a stream occupying each hollow, round many of which we wound. glades and pieces of green sward were not uncommon. the lamium of bulphai is found about chupcha. on the descent to the nullah the following plants were found. at , feet, iris commences, with a species of lychnis, ground bare and rocky, umbellifera cana, umb., from which _moud_ is prepared, common. at , feet, quercus ferruginea commences, on rocks here stemodium ruderalis, santonica of panga, etc., convallaria cirrhosa. at , feet, hedera common, aristolochia tetrarima, berberis obovata, viburnum caerulescens, filix ferrugineo tomentosa, pteris dealbata. iris common to , feet, continues lower down, but scarce. along the nullah, which is a middling-sized torrent, rhus, cederela toone, acer sterculiacea, hamamelis, fici sp., scandens, rhus, juglandifolia! populus oblonga, sassafras, on the ascent to the temple, populus of very large size, and the above trees. fraxinus floribunda, osmundia in profusion, aristolochia tetrarima, scabiosa of bulphai, prunella, fragaria vesca, duchesnum, sarcococea, elaeagnus fragrans, galium of panga cascade, corydalis, which continues to chuka, but is scarce below , feet, deutzia, lilium giganteum, uvularia very common, primula stuartii, woodwardia (scarce), pythonium pallidium, campanula cana, panax herbacieae species, rhododendron agaleoides of ridge above chupcha, buddlaea cana, ranunculus of taseeling, benthamia, anemona ranunculacea, buxus, delphinum sp.? common, gaultheria nummularifolia, jasminum lutium, conaria. this ascent was about feet. long-tailed pie seen here, red- billed shrikelet, first met with towards tumashoo, common now as far down as , feet. on passing the temple, or rather before coming to it, we changed the vegetation which became of the ordinary _dry_ character. woods of q. ferruginea mixed with pinus pendula, benthamia, pteris aquilina, viburnum caerulescens, conaria, polygonum of teemboo, rhododendron minus, gaultheria arborea. the remainder of the march consisted of a series of winding round spurs: at about an average elevation of , feet found a pythonium foliis pedalis, spad. apice filiformo recurvo, vel erecto, spathe viridi, didymocarpea odora contuso terebinthaceo, solanum nigrum, succulent urticeae, scabiosa of bulphai, gnaphalium, polygonum globiferum, scirpus eriophorus, hippocratia angulata, mitella, in damp spots, cycnium, but rare, sarcococea, impatiens two species, one at , feet, with a creeping plant, foliis ranunculaceis floribus solitariis hypocrateriform albis. no buxus or delphinum was observed, in any other glens than the first crossed. alnus became common soon, the pines disappeared, osmundia common, primula rotundifolia, paris polyphylla, bletia as of churra at punukha, sphaeropteris. in some places rhododendron minus common, and with it quercus ferruginea, rubia hirsuta, not uncommon throughout as far as , feet, thalictroides majus, houttuynia, betula. in glades, smilax gaultherifolia, in a wood round the marsh a pomaceous tree: on the march, swertia, peloria, carex stricta, and of chupcha, spiranthes rubriflora, berberis pinnata, saxifraga of bulphai occur here. still further on, the forest assumed the appearance of those towards khegumpa. q. robur, recommences, cedars straggle down; pinus pendula, more common, arenariae sp., lomaria of khegumpa, hottoneoides ranunculofolia common, luzula, sedi sp., sambucus common throughout in shady spots, radsurae sp., daphne papyracea, rare, acer sterculiacea common, sabia, hydrangeacea calyptrata, hamiltonia, this last common to , feet. on wet rocks hutchinsia, arenaria, succulent urticea. in woods cucurbitacea cessifolia, ajugae sp., polygonum rheoides. on open spots, benthamium in flower, gaultheria arborea, here of large size, pines cease without changing the elevation, q. ferruginea ceased, this is limited to dry spots. the first change indicated by the appearance of laurineae, and symplocos among oaks and chesnuts. the woods continued thick for some time, but on commencing the descent, which is gradual, especially at first, q. robur is common, gaultheria arborea, rhododendron minus. at , feet hottonia, rubia hirsuta, hydrangeacea calyptrata, phytolacea, also at , feet, and as low as , feet, senecio scandens, verbenacea of dgin appears, uvularia, duchesnia, polygonum rheoides. umbellifera gigantea, potentilla supina appear, pythonium recurvum, rhus, dipsacus of churra, alnus, pomacea macrophylla, stauntonia angustifolia, photinea parviflora, benthamea disappears, in flower at least, didymocarpea, rhamnus, and also at , feet, fragaria vesca, in fruit! paris, curculigo pygmaea appears, sedum continues and ceases at , feet, ranunculus of taseeling found also as low as , feet, daphne nutans appears. this found first near taseeling, found as low as , feet, primula stuartii, rhododendron minus, viburnum caerulescens continue, thibaudia myrtifolia, rubus deltoideus appears. at , feet, a malvaceae sidoides, erythrina, rosa fragrans, pythonium sp. majus, spadicis apice filiformi -pedali, incerta of taseeling, ribesioides, quercus ferruginoides, indigofera major, berberis obovata, in fruit. at , feet, cuscuta, hamiltonia, hottoneoides, daphne pendula vel nutans, impatiens, mimosa, menispermum tropaeolifolia, celastrinia sp., panax crucifolia, hypericum japonicum. at , feet, conyza nivea, q. robur, indigofera major, of tassgoung, etc. gaultheria arborea, hedychium appears! buddlaea of nulka, maesa salicifolia! at , feet, thibaudia lanceolata appears, ranges between , and , feet, sanicula, cynoglossum, zyziphi sp. along the bed of the river, zizyphus arborea, urtica, foliis apicae erosis, berberis obovata, erythrina, artemisia major, elaeagnus fragrans, and stellaria cana, occur, the last ranges between and , feet, thlaspi, polygonum globifera, dendrobium pictum, verbenacea of dgin, clematis, petiolis basi connatis demum induratus majus, magnolia, randia of punukha, liriodendron tulipif., apocynum nerufolium. at chuka, ficus elastica, but not flourishing, musa, salix pendula, phytolacea, buckwheat, crucifera cordifructus, sanicula, stellaria cana, thibaudia lanceolata, cynoglossum, vandea, parkioides common. the most limited plants are iris, silene, aristolochia tetrarima vix infra , feet, buxus, delphinioid, fraxinus non infra , feet, epipactis ditto, hutchinsia, lomaria of khegumpa, mitella, carex stricta of chupcha, _petunia_, smilax gaultherifolia, osmundia non infra , feet, hydrangeacea ditto, cucurbitacea cissifolia, found about suddiya, etc. the most diffused, hottonia, q. robur, gaultheria arborea, to , feet, corydalis. the subtropical forms, mimosa, impatiens, occurrence of fleshy urticea, ficus elastica, but not flourishing, musa, salix pendula, buckwheat, urtica urens, peaches, stellaria cana, crucifera cordifructus, panax curcifolia, andropogon arbusculoid, rubia cordata. _may th_.--the fort of chuka not being whitewashed, is not conspicuous: its situation is strong, and against bhooteas would be impregnable. it occupies a low hill arising from the centre of the valley, one side of which is washed by the teemboo or tchien-chiw. the room we were lodged in was a good one. the village is a mean one, and consisting of three or four houses. we crossed the river by a suspension bridge much inferior to that of benka, and then rose gradually and inconsiderably, following the teemboo. to this we subsequently descended by a most precipitous road built for the most part on the face of a huge cliff: we reached the teemboo at its junction with a small torrent; the tongue of land here was strewn with huge rocks, and bore evidences of the power of the torrents, for it evidently had been once a hill, such as that we had just descended. thence we continued ascending, following the river, from which however we soon diverged to our right, but not far. the road was rugged beyond description. as we approached murichom, it improved somewhat, but was still very bad. we reached this place which is visible for some distance at p.m.; the march being one of eighteen miles. no villages occurred en route. the hills were densely wooded to the summits and much lowered in height than those to which we had been accustomed. passed two waterfalls, one less high, but more voluminous than the other, is the minzapeeza of turner; both these occurred on the left bank of the river. minzapeeza, is a fall of great height, but the body of water is small. the vegetation to-day partook much of the subtropical character, almost all boreal plants being left behind. we ascended and descended between , to , feet near chuka, parkioides, mimosa arborea! and m. frutex. magnolia! rubia munjista, impatiens! cucurbitacea! oxyspora latifolia! rosa fragrans, incerta ribesioides, piper! urtica heterophylla! wendlandia! phytolacea, daphne nutans, rottleria! curculigo orchediflora, acer, eurya pubescens, rhus, alnus! adamia, gordonia! q. robur reappears at a lower elevation than before seen: dipterocarpioides arbor vasta trunco ramoso! smilax auriculata! pothos pinnatifid! briedlia oblonga! corydalis, dipsacus, acanthaceae common, rubiaceae of a tropical character, such as ophiorhizae; celastrus! pythonium majus, tetranthera macrophylla! quercus coriacea! gaultheria arborea scarce, deutzia on the descent to the teemboo, macrocapnos, sterculia platanifolia, melica latifolia! arundo! achyranthes densa! labiata spinosa of khegumpa or phlomis, labiata, quercoides. the rocks on the river side are covered with epiphytical orchideae; saurauja sterculifolia, pythonium pallidum, elaeagnus fragrans. along the banks of the teemboo, pandanus! rhododendron azaleoides, r. pulchrum, lyellia, begonia picta, composita arborea! ficus! on ascent above its banks, dioscorea! elaeocarpus! acrosticum atratum! convallarium oppositifolia, thibaudia loranthiflora! pogostemon of dgin! leea! the only northern plant a species of viola; otochilus linearis! entada! kydia! mussaenda! macrocapnos altera of yen, callicarpa arborea! panax aculeato palmiformis supra decompositae of dgin! solanum farinacium! urena lobata! marlea, panicum plicatum! before ascending to murichom we made two descents to two streams, crossed by common wooden bridges: that nearer murichom being the largest; elevation at , feet. here tree- fern; pythonium majus, duchesnia, lysimacha, begonia of punukha! caryophyllea scandens, urtica gigas! modeceoides exembryonata! commelina! combretum sp.! baehmeriae! piper spica caudata pendula and another species!! euphorbia! galina of panga, croton malvifolius! bambusa major! bauhinia! engeldhaardtii! although we subsequently ascended feet, very little change occurred: no re-appearance of tropical forms, sterculiacea novum of moosmai, adamia, volkameria! serrata, triumfetta mollis! briedlia ovalis of chilleeri! gortnera! corydalis! hydrangeacae! melastoma malabathrica! the march was very tiresome, some of the ranges passed were high and well clothed with firs. those marked thus* are subtropical or tropical, and one glance will show their predominance: only corydalis straggles down. the woods were in many places damp, in others dry: it was obvious that less rain had fallen between chupcha and chuka, than in other situations: a large proportion of laurineae and acanthaceae appeared in the woods, with gordonia: the oaks and chesnuts when they did present themselves bore a tropical form, pointed out by their coriaceous undivided or merely serrated leaves. i certainly never saw such a predominance of tropical forms, at such an elevation as , or , feet. for lyellia i had been hunting for three years, but never thought of looking for it at low elevations; as it was i believe given out to be a native of high places. of birds, bucco, picus intermedius, green pigeon, azure shrikelet, occurred. _may th_.--murichom is a small village of eight or nine thatched houses, it is well and prettily situated: about it maize and wheat are in cultivation, ficus, hoya, dendrobium, croton malvaefolius, meliacea, cedrela toona, orange, verbesina, datura, artemisia major, echites, in fact it would be difficult to point out an elevational plant. the same remark applies to the march to gygoogoo, distant twelve miles, and situated feet below the road, but still it is about the same level as murichom. the march commenced with a steep descent, followed by a steeper ascent, then winding along, in and out, at an average elevation of , feet. the road was very bad, rocky and rugged as usual, p. and b. passed the village, and pushed on to buxa, a distance of twenty miles, which place they reached at p.m. at murichom, ficus cordata, fructibus pyriformibus, clerodendron infortunata, adamia, spilanthes, melastoma malabathrica, bignonia, pentaptera. the oollook or simia hylobates, of upper assam. scarcely any thing worth noticing occurred; the vegetation being precisely the same. no oaks or chesnuts, at least comparatively few: elaeocarpus, rhus, gordonia are the most common trees; pythonium common, hoya rotundifolia. gygoogoo, a small village of two or three houses, was passed. _may th_.--marched to buxa, ascending from gygoogoo over a wretched rocky road, winding in and out. no water was to be had until we reached a ridge from which to buxa is one continued descent. this ridge is between and , feet, and yet there is scarcely a change in the vegetation. pythonium abounded, especially p. majus, which literally occurred in profusion. the trees towards the top of the ridge were covered with moss, but all appeared subtropical; a few chesnuts, e. spinosissima occurred, bambusa nodosis, verticillatis, and spinosis. en route thither, pholidota imbricata, thib. loranthiflora, aralia terebinthacea, rottleria foliis peltatis, ranunculus of taseeling, meniscum majus, byttneria ferox, caladium foliis medio discoloratis saepius atratis, gnetum, ixora, choulmoogra, phlogacanthi sp., corisanthes of sudya, acer platanifolia, croton foliis oblongis irregularis dentato-lobatis occurred before, between , to , feet, calamus, wild plantains as before, gordonia, rhus, mimosa, rottleria, wallichia, sida cuneata, tradescantia cordata, aeschynanthus fulgens, et altera, tupistra, lobelia baccifera, costus, tree-fern, as high as , feet, bambusa fasciculata; of birds, the large bucco. at , feet, thibaudia serrata, and on this side, as low as , feet, myrtifolia, gordonia, pythonium majus and medium, cinnamon, piper, acer platanifolia, mucuna, angiopteris, saurauja ferruginea. at , feet, polygonia pinnatifolia, hookeria macrophylla, aralia scandens, etc. as before. on descent nothing remarkable, except steepness: same vegetation. pythonium majus not below , feet, guttiferae at , feet, acanthaceae, carduaceus , feet. at , feet, buchanania undulata, hyalostemma undulatum, roydsia. what can be the cause of this tropical elevation at such altitudes? buxa is hot enough for any tropical plants, as jacks, mangoes, cactus, etc. are found in fine order. it is not attributable to a gradual rise, as the ascent from this to , feet, is excessively steep. it must be owing to local causes modifying the climate: at , feet on the dgin route, there are many elevational plants, indeed more than of subtropical. it must not be forgotten that no pinus longifolia exists on this route after leaving telagoung. buxa is a rather pretty place, but as usual poor: the doompa's house is the only decent one in the place, the others, amounting to eight or ten, are common huts. the big house occupies an elevation in the centre of the pass, being cut off from the neighbouring hill on either side by a ravine, one of which is now quite dry, the other affords a scanty supply of water. the hills are covered with jungle, the only clearing being about buxa, and this, except the flat summit of the hill, is overrun with bushes, capparis modecea, croton malvaefolia, menisperma tropaeolifolia. bergerae species, ixora, brucea same as of the plains, atriplex, tournefortia of plains, maesa macrophylla, mimosa scandens, ficus elastica in good order, jacks, mangoes, oranges, plantains, tabernamontana, calamus, cedrela toona, are found. black pheasants, bulbuls, drongoles, oorooa, bucco, green pigeons. long- tailed blue-crested shrike, etc. are found here. the doompa, or chong soobah, is a man of no rank, and the place itself is of no importance, except as the pass or entrance between the mountains of bootan and the plains of bengal. the descent from buxa is gradual at first and not unpicturesque: after passing a small chokey about half a mile from buxa, sandstone of a coarse nature commences. the descent is very steep, and continues so until within a short distance of a place called minagoung, at which the bullocks are unladen at least of heavy baggage. the remaining descent is very gradual, and continues so for several miles. the march throughout and until the level of the plains is reached, was through tree jungle. the underwood being either scanty or consisting of grass. on reaching the plains, the usual assamese features presented themselves, viz. vast expanses of grass, intersected here and there with strips of jungle. reached chichacootta about p.m.: distance eighteen miles, of which about fifteen were over either level or very gradually sloping ground. no villages occurred, and only one path struck off from the buxa one. we passed two or three halting places. the vegetation throughout was subtropical. at the same elevation as buxa, noticed cassia lanceolata, torenia the common leucas, bheir, solanum quercifolia, banyan, alstonia, styrax, caryota, elephantopus, osbeckia linearis, herminioides, wedelia scandens. at , feet, celastrus guttiferoid, malvacea digyna, of which i found flowers on the path, koempfera terminal, antidesma, anthericum, echites arborea, careya, mimosa scandens, pavetta, rubiacea alia, lepidostachys, lagerstroemia grandiflora, leea crispa, costus, thunbergia grandiflora, gordonia, commelina, phyllanthus, briedlia, dioscorea, cassia fistula. as we approached a lower level, the same plants continued: a dillenia very common, urena lobata, hedera terebenthacea: the root is in some cases like figs, spathodea, nauclea, sterculia carnosa, foliis palmatis, dalbergia, panax, semecarpus, rhaphis trivialis, cymbid. alvifolium, sarcanthus guttatus common, apocynea fauce, -glandulata, ixora, etc. saul was not common, nor did i see one tree of any size; it commenced about the margin of the toorai. among the grasses forming the underwood of the toorai and the grassy masses clothing the plains, sacchara were the most common and the most conspicuous: next to these a species of rottboellia. sciurus bengmoria occurred, hemarthria, greweia edulis, leea crispa, crinum in the toorai, viburnum of sudya, millingtonia pinnata, volkameria serrata, labiata sudyensis, mussaenda erecta, humilis, cinchona, premna herbacea, phoenix pumila. arrived at chichacootta, a small village, situated in an open grassy plain, miserably stockaded; and lodged in a good well elevated house. the following day started and reached cooch behar territory, after crossing a considerable but fordable stream. the contrast between the desolate territories of bootan, and the sheet of cultivation presented by cooch behar was striking. the same contrast continued until we reached the company's territories, and its less cultivated portions along the bed of the brahmapootra. the only plant worth notice on the route, was a species of swertia; the vegetation being almost precisely the same as in upper assam. _rangamutty_, _bhooruwa_. [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] [meteorological observations : t .jpg] chapter xiv. _journey with the army of the indus_. _from loodianah_ _to candahar through the bolan pass_. i reached loodianah on the th december , after a dawk journey of fourteen and a half days. after passing the rajemahal hills, the country presents an uniform aspect, but becoming more sandy as one proceeds to the northward. the hills alluded to, form a low range, the only one of any height being that called pursunath. they are well wooded, the under- vegetation being grassy. undulating ground bare of trees, but provided with shrubs, is passed before coming on the wooded tracts, the vegetation of these present much similarity with that of even degrees n. the _dhak_, pommereulla, zizzyphus, occurring. the _mahooa_ occurs in abundance on the hills, but does not reach much beyond cawnpore. the country from the hills upwards, is almost entirely cultivated; very few trees occurring, and those that do, are almost entirely mango. the borassus does not extend in abundance much beyond benares, but the _khujoor_ is found everywhere in sandy soil. loodianah is situated about five miles south of the sutledge, in the midst of a sandy country, very bare of trees. the fort and capt. wade's house are situated on a rising ground, at the base of which runs a nullah, a tributary of the sutledge. there is much cultivation about the place, chiefly of grain, barley and wheat, bajerow, cotton, the latter bad, but there is much land uncultivated. the surface is often flat and somewhat broken; in such places there is much of a low prickly _bheir_, much used for making fences. this and _dhak_ jungle, which occurs in strips, form two marked features, the _dhak_ occurs in patches. the grasses, which occasionally form patches, are andropogoneous; anathericum, pommereulla, and eleusine occur. sugar-cane occurs; it is cultivated in thick masses, it is poor, and always fenced with the _bheir_. the most common trees are the mango, parkinsonia, _babool_, acacia altera babooloides, a leguminous mimosoid tree, tamarisk, a middling sized tree and very pretty, ficus. the hedges about the cantonments, etc. are formed by prickly pear; much ricinus occurs in waste places, and it appears to me to be different from that to the south. the most varied vegetation occurs along the nullah, but consists entirely of aquatic or sub-aquatic plants; among these the most common are two or three scirpi, particularly a large rush-like one, a large sparganium, a very narrow leaved typha, hydrocharis! a pointed leaved villarsia, potomogetons three or four, one only natant; chara, naias, ceratophyllum, ulva, valisneria, marsilea, herpestes, jussieua repens, fumaria common in fields. the town is a large bustling place: the houses low and regular, and of a somewhat picturesque style, built of brick, the streets are wide and regular, having been laid out by our officers. there is a good deal of trade, and the place is filled with cashmereans, who may be seen working their peculiar shawls, and producing very beautiful dyes. _january nd and rd_.--violent south-east winds during the day; abating at night. _february th_.--arrived at hurreekee, having halted on the previous day at mokhoo, a small village, with the usual style of mud fort. the marches were as follows: from loodianah to ghosepoora is eight miles; to boondree, eight miles; tiraia, ten miles; to durrumkote, ten miles; to futtygurh, ten miles; to hurreekee, ten miles. thus hurreekee is at least eighteen miles from durrumkote, although we had been told it was only five. the country near loodianah, and, perhaps as far as durrumkote, is occasionally very sandy, but beyond that it is easily traversed by hackeries. being much less cultivated and overrun with grasses, among which andropogons are the most numerous and conspicuous, these grasses are either coarse and stout or wiry and fine, should afford excellent cover for game, which however, does not seem to be very abundant. very few trees are visible in any direction, and although neither very much cultivation nor many villages are visible, it would appear from charts that the country is very populous. the most interesting plant was a species of fagonia. durrumkote is the largest of the villages we passed, and has a respectable looking mud and brick fort. inside the village is filthy; the houses wretchedly small, and the streets very narrow. it is much the same sort of village as other seikh ones. in the bazars cocoanuts were noticed. all the seikhs eat opium, and very often in a particular way by infusing the poppy-heads, from which the seeds have been extracted by a hole in the side; great numbers of these are found in the bazars. hurreekee is on runjeet's side. i crossed the sutledge, which is between to yards broad with a sufficiently rapid stream, by a bridge of boats built by the seikhs, under the superintendence of mr. roobalee. it contained boats, placed alternately up and down the river; the boats were moored to posts: over them were placed, both lengthwise and across, timbers, then grass, then soil; many elephants passed over, until it gave in, but was quickly repaired, and since many more hundreds of camels, horses, and thousands of people have passed. the right bank is thirty feet high, the left low and sandy. the country where uncultivated, is clothed with grasses, and the only trees visible are perhaps the pipul; the _jhow_ occurs but not the parhass; a few bukeens are visible, ricinus, salvadora, which is occasionally a climber, especially at tiraia. the river rose suddenly on the night of the th and carried away the bridge. the himalayas had been seen very distinctly throughout the day, so that the rain must have been local: the height of the rise was three feet. we left hurreekee on the th at a.m., the river up to this time ( th) presents the same monotonous appearance--sandy banks clothed with grasses, intermixed with _jhow_ here and there, and occasionally aeschynomene, and typha. very few villages have been passed, nor does the rare occurrence of topes indicate that there are many near it. the channel has been throughout much subdivided, and flats are of frequent occurrence. yesterday we passed two busy ferries, at which two or three boats were unceasingly employed, and there was an obvious demand for more. black partridges were heard frequently, black-bellied tern, herons, cormorants, etc. the stream averages three miles an hour. parkinsonia was seen near hurreekee. reached ferozepore at . on the th; it is a very busy ghat, more so than that of hurreekee: two large godowns were passed on the company's side. the river is wider by yards than at hurreekee. _ th_.--reached mamdot at . a.m. the fort appears of good size, with high walls: it is about half a mile from the river. the country continues the same. some wheat cultivation, in which fumaria, anagallis, medicago are abundant; calotropis hamiltonii common; some grapes; _doob_ grass wherever there is or has been cultivation. the only trees i see are babooloid, but not the true _babool_, which has very odorous flowers, and is always an arbuscula, a shrubby _bheir_, spina una erecta, altera recurvo also occurs; among the fields, lathyrus, aphaca, and a compositae which has the leaves of a thistle, are common. halted at buggeekee, which is, i imagine, the pajarkee of tassin's map. _ th_.--continued passing down, breakfasting at attaree: few signs of villages, but a good deal of cultivation. persian wheels not unfrequently employed in raising water from the river: a short channel having first been cut in the bank, and the banks, when loose, propped up. wheat, radishes, etc. grasses appear to be much less common, while the _jhow_ is increasing much. the river is much subdivided, and the actual banks are scarcely discernible owing to the want of trees. the soil and current remain the same: no impediments have been met with by our boats, nor have i yet observed any to tracking, the grass jungle being easily overcome, and very unlike that of the brahmapootra, and the _jhow_ not reaching that height necessary to make it troublesome. the nawab of mamdot visited the envoy today, accompanied by a small party of horsemen. only two alligators have been seen thus far: no game even to be heard, and but few living creatures visible. _ th_.--the river becomes even less interesting than before; the channel is occasionally much narrowed by sands, over one of which we found yesterday evening some difficulty in passing; it is much more spread out and subdivided, and from this circumstance, will occasion difficulty in tracking up. the banks are low and generally within reach of inundation: scarcely a village is to be seen; and _jhow_ is the most uniform feature. yesterday evening saltpetre was visible in abundance on some of the higher banks, and on these _phulahi_, _jhow_, a composita, and salsola? or chenopodium were observed. since the th, the few boats seen are of different structure from those to which we had been accustomed; they are flat, less wide, and much better fastened together, elevated at both ends; they are propelled as well as guided by the rudder, which is curved, so as to bring it within reach of the helmsman, who is on a level with the bottom of the boat. very little cultivation: tassin's map of but little use, as few of the names are recognised by the boatmen or villagers. paukputtea was passed to-day; it is the shrine of a _fakeer_, and one in great repute, as passing through a particular gate is supposed to authorize one to claim admittance into paradise. the moulavee consequently has proceeded there in full faith and extravagant joy: with natives of the east such absurdities are to the full as much believed by the educated as by the uneducated; indeed the former are much the more bigoted of the two. the _fakeer_ alluded to, not only lived for years on a block of wood carved into the likeness of a loaf, but subsequently suspended himself for several years in a well, without even the wooden loaf. he is then said to have disappeared, and is no doubt now enjoying all the pleasures of a mohammedan paradise. we were detained by strong winds at a small village opposite paukputtea, which is situated on rather high ground, as far as could be judged from the distance. _ th_.--the cultivation round this village consists of wheat, radishes, a sort of mustard cultivated for its oily seeds, and the mehta of hindoostan. among the fields i picked up a melilotus, a melilotoid, and a genuine medicago, which is also found at loodianah, both these last are wild, and their occurrence is as curious as it is interesting; the latter being a decidedly boreal form. in connection with these annuals i have to observe, that most flower about january or february, at which time the mornings and nights are the coldest: also observed lathyrus cultivated, a chenopodium was also found, calotropis, a large saccharoid, amaranthaceae, were the most common plants, gnaphalium, lippia; _purwas_, occurs scantily. _ th_.--detained till p.m. by bad weather. sissoo not uncommon but small, _babool_, the true sweet scented sort. the colocynth seen in fruit much like an apple, not ribbed; it has the usual structure of the order, viz. -carpellary with revolute placentae, so much so, that they are placed near the circumference; seeds very numerous, surrounded with pulp, not arillate: no separation taking place; oval, brown, smooth. in fields here, a wild strong smelling umbellifera occurs, called _dhunnea_, used as a potherb, and esteemed very fragrant by the natives. besides the absence of an arillus, there is another anomaly about the above colycynth, which is, that between each placenta a broad partition projects from the wall of the fruit, usually provided with -septa, so as to be divided into two chambers, these contain seeds, the funiculi passing completely through them; seeds are also contained between the outermost septa and the placentae themselves. passed two or three villages. the persian wheels continue in vogue; their site is always on a sufficiently high and tenacious bank. i observed some wells, communicating with the river by an archway in the bank. most of the cattle are blinded by the conical blinkers or hoods over the eyes. _ th_.--halted at a village partly washed away, surrounded by a good deal of wheat and radish cultivation. the mango tree and moringa also occur here with the larger _babool_, which invariably has long white thorns. the small sissoo still occurs. snake bird seen, black crowned tern. the river remains most uninteresting; the banks are low and covered chiefly with _jhow_. in many places recent shells are very abundant, but do not appear to be composed of more than three species. reseda, oligandra in fields. _ th_.--no change in the country. heavy fog yesterday morning; to-day strongish north-east winds. grass and _jhow_ about equal. _ th_.--cloudy, drizzling, raw weather; river more sluggish; more villages and more cultivation: phascum, and gymnostomum common on tenacious sand banks. _ th_.--weather unsettled; windy and rainy. _jhow_ and grass jungle continue, tamarisk, _furas_ fine specimens, fumaria continues in fields, capparis aphylla, which has something of a cactoid habit, and whose branches abound with stomata, reseda. _ th_.--weather finer but still cloudy, north-east wind still prevalent, and impeding our progress in some of the reaches very much. salvadora, capparis aphylla, _phulahi_, _bheir_, large _babool_, _furas_, ranunculus sceleratus: _jhow_ and grass jungle are the prevailing features. current much the same, only occasionally sluggish. pelicans, black-headed adjutants, (ardea capita,) wild geese, ducks very numerous in the jheels formed by alteration in the course of the river; the country is more cultivated, but as dreary looking as imaginable. phoenix becoming more frequent and finer, p. acaulis? likewise occurs occasionally, rather young _khujoors_. we passed khyrpore about p.m., it seems a straggling place, stretching along the bank of the sutledge; there are a great many _khujoor_ trees about it, and indeed about all the villages near it. a little below this large tract, the banks were covered with a thick _sofaida_ shrubby jungle, which looked at a distance like dwarf sissoo. the country is much improved, and there is a great deal of cultivation, especially on the left bank. _ th_.--continued--the river is very winding, and its banks present the same features: the immediate ones being covered with short _jhow_ or grass, or both intermixed, the extreme ones well wooded, and well peopled. _khujoor_ very common. yesterday near khanpore, caught a glimpse of the descent, and to-day again the ground appears uneven, and almost entirely barren. it must be within a mile of the sutledge. the left bank continues well cultivated. in some of the fields i noticed medicago vera, anagallis, fumaria, chenopodium cnicoideus, prenanthoid, the _furas_, larger _babool_, and calotropis hamiltonii continue. radishes very common, as also _teera meera_. _ st_.--halted about coss from bahawulpore. the khan's son, a boy of years, came to see mr. macnaghten, and saluted him with "good night," he was attended by about twelve indifferent pony _suwars_, or horsemen. the river is very tortuous, both banks a good deal cultivated; there appear to be a good many canals, which have high banks owing to the excavated soil being piled up: they are or feet deep, and about feet wide, at this season they are nearly dry, becoming filled during the rains. the same plants continue--_furas_, _jhow_, chenopodia , reseda, linaria, malva, boraginea, lactucoidea. the wheat throughout these countries is sown broadcast. irrigation is effected by means of small ditches, and squares formed in the fields--each partition being banked in, so as to prevent communication; when one is filled, the water is allowed to pass off into its neighbour, and so on. irrigation is entirely effected by persian wheels; the cattle are hoodwinked in order to keep them quiet: besides from not seeing, they are led to imagine that the driver is always at his post, which is immediately behind the oxen and on the curved flat timber which puts the whole apparatus in motion. saw a man cross the river by means of a _mushuk_ or inflated skin. the very common bushy plant with thorns and ligulate leaves which commences to appear about hazaribagh and continues in abundance throughout the sandy north-west, is, judging from its fruit, which is a moniliform legume--a papilionacea; the fruit are borne by the short spine-terminated branches: the stalk of the pod is surrounded for the most part by a cupuliform membranous calyx. i have only seen however withered specimens. reached bahawul ghat at p.m. the khan visited mr. macnaghten in the afternoon, his visit was preceded by one from his hindoo minister, and another man, imaam shah, who is a very fat ruffianly- looking fellow. the khan was attended by numerous _suwarries_; he is a portly looking, middle-aged man. _ nd_.--we returned the visit to-day, the khan having provided us with one horse and two bullock _rhuts_: we traversed the sandy bank of the river for about a mile before we reached the town, the suburbs of which are extensive, but very straggling, and thinly peopled. the inner town seemed to be of some extent, the streets narrow, the houses very poor, and almost entirely of mud; there were a number of shops, and the streets were lined with men and a few old women. there is very little distinction in appearance between the khan's residence and any other portion of the town, and i did not see a defence of any kind. the khan received us on some irregular terraces; near his house, the street leading to the private entrance was lined with his troops, as well as that leading to the terrace, and this was surrounded with his adherents, variously and well-dressed. the troops, for such appeared, were decent, and those forming one side were dressed in white, in imitation of our sepoys, and the other side were in red and blue, _more proprio_ i imagine: they were armed with muskets; the red ones for the most part having muskets of native workmanship. a royal salute was fired when the meeting took place, which was on the terrace, and as we proceeded up the street, a band made a rude and noisy attempt at 'god save the king.' having had a private consultation, mr. macnaghten withdrew with similar honours, presenting arms, etc. the presents were a handsome native rifle, with a flint lock, and the fabrics of the city, some of which called kharse, were very creditable. there are a good many trees about the place, indeed these form the chief mark when seen from the ghat: the principal are mangoes, _khujoors_, moringas, oranges. the natives are rather a fine race, but dirty: some of the women wore the _patani_ veils, or hoods, with network over the eyes. continued down the river; though much delayed by strong south-east winds. the vegetation, etc. continue the same, potentilla sp. in flower, phascum very common. _ rd_.--nothing new has occurred: the current is stronger than above bahawulpore: the channel continues very winding, and sandbanks very frequent. _furas_, salvadora, _phulahi_ very common. the boats accidentally separated, and we went without dinner in consequence: came into the pungnud. the mouths of the chenab seem to be two, both apparently of no great size, yet the pungnud is a noble river, and although much subdivided by sand banks, is a striking stream, the waters are very muddy, and when agitated by a strong wind become almost reddish. the jungle continues much the same: the sissoid jungle again occurred to- day, the natives call it _sofaida_; it has a very curious habit, and is gemmiferous, the gemmae abounding in gum. quail, black-grey partridge, hares, continue; a goat-sucker (caprimulgus,) was seen. _ th_.--the boats joined early this morning: we were delayed the whole day by strong north-east winds; the whole country was obscured by the dust. _ th_.--the wind abated towards evening, and occurred again in gusts during the night. this morning we came in sight of the southerly portion of the soliman range, by which name however, these mountains do not appear to be known hereabouts; their distance must be forty miles at least, yet they appear to be of considerable height: the range runs north and south nearly. wheat is here sown in rows. _khujoor_, large _babool_, fagonia, continue, _jhow_ very common. towards evening we came to a subdivision of the stream following the smaller one in which the current was very strong; in some places, apparently six knots an hour. we came to for the evening at a village on the limits of the bahawul territory. _ th_.--we came on the indus early in the morning and stopped opposite mittunkote until p.m., awaiting the arrival of mr. mackeson. the mouths of the attock river are scarcely more striking than those of the chenab; neither is the combined river immediately opposite mittunkote of any great size: certainly the stream we followed was not more than or yards wide, the extreme banks are at a considerable distance; and half a mile below mittunkote the surface of the water must be one and a half to two miles in breadth; the river is much subdivided by banks, and shallows are frequent, yet some of the reaches are of great extent. the banks are low and rather bluff, the vegetation continues the same, but _jhow_ is far the most common plant. _bheir_, _babool_, and the _seerkee_ saccharum continue; the cultivation is the same; calotropis hamiltonii. mittunkote appears, from a distance of two coss, a place of some size, with a somewhat conspicuous dome. immediately behind it are the soliman hills, of no great altitude; and, except at the bases, which are covered with black patches of forest, they appear uniformly brown, otherwise there is nothing to vary the monotony of the scene, scarcely any trees being visible. on stopping for breakfast, a general scene of embracing among the dhandies or boatmen and their friends occurred; women were also embraced in the usual way, but with apparently less tenderness or warmth than the men. the boats tracking up, have masts, but the goon or rope is seized with both hands, a plan far less advantageous than that adopted on the ganges and bramahpootra, where the principal tracking is exercised by a bamboo placed over the shoulder, farthest from the goon. _ th_.--no change worth noticing. the current continues rapid. the hills visible, running parallel to the river, and ending very gradually. typha is very common, and in some places arundo. _ th_.--we remain in sight of, and generally continuing in the same direction as the hills, which run out very gradually indeed. scarcely a tree is to be seen, and very few villages. the country continues to have some vegetation. the _sofaida_ is now found in flower, it is the _ban_ of the natives of these parts; the former name indicates in persian, a tree, said to be wild poplar, with which this has an obvious affinity. saccharum _seerkee_ very common, growing in tufts and covering extensive tracts. scarcely any cultivation is to be seen along the river, and altogether a very small proportion is rendered available. river very much subdivided: towards evening the sky is obscured to leeward by the smoke arising from burning jungle. waterfowl are very common along the indus; especially wild geese, which frequent open streams, whereas ducks, etc. haunt places which only communicate with the main streams during floods: myriads of _bogulas_, (the general name for herons,) were seen yesterday in a compact body. the soliman mountains are by no means rugged, and this only in one or two places, where they become peaked. in mr. elphinstone's account of a journey to cabul, the limestone said to be found in the desert contains shells; it would be most interesting to compare this with the limestone of churra more especially. mr. e. also mentions a wild rue as forming part of the very scanty vegetation of the desert; the chief plants being _kureel_, which is a capparis; phoke ---- and _bheir_. mr. e. also says that the material of which the tope of manikyalah is built, resembles petrified vegetable matter, an observation to be kept in view. the mottled kingfisher occurs throughout, but is commoner in southern latitudes of india. alligators abounded to-day, and it was curious to see them basking in the sun with flocks of herons so close, that at a little distance they appeared to be perching on the backs of the alligators, or rather crocodiles. again saw a man swim the indus by means of a _mushuk_ or inflated skin: he swam very rapidly, and with great ease; half his body nearly being out of the water; he reclined on the skin and kept the aperture by which it is inflated in his mouth, carrying his clothes on his head. passed chuck about . p.m. the country appears populous hereabouts. _ th_.--we have seen a good many boats today employed in carrying grain to the camp; the smaller ones are not unlike bengal boats, having a high stern; all on the indus however have square bows and flat bottoms. the _jhow_ has increased in size in some places as has _sofaida_, which is occasionally a moderate tree, and it is now more advanced in flowering: the temperature having visibly increased. the river puts on the same features and is much subdivided; the channels by which we have come, are not above to yards in breadth, yet there is often seen to be a waste of low sand banks stretching to a great extent, and the extreme banks are very remote, so as generally not to be visible. _ st_.--arrived at uzeeypore about a.m. here we found horses and camels for our conveyance to shikarpore. uzeeypore appears to be a well frequented passage of the river, although we did not see any ferry boats. bukkur is visible from it, apparently occupying a hill almost to the extreme right of a low range running south-west; it is seven or eight coss distant. we left for shikarpore about . p.m. and reached about p.m.: the distance is said to be twenty-four miles; the road is generally very sandy, although the sand is not very deep; the substratum being solid. we passed some cultivation and a few villages, at one of which (khye) there is a neat sort of fortification; here we changed horses. the jungle throughout consisted of furas, tamarisk, salvadora, _phulahi_ parva, the prickly leguminosa, with the habit of fagonia, calotropis hamiltonii, saccharum. shikarpore is not visible until one reaches the clearing around the town; in the twilight it appears to be a very large place. _february nd_.--we do not proceed to larkhanu, as daily news from hyderabad is expected. i see nothing likely to interest me about this place; there is absolutely not a flower to be got any where. the jungles consist of _jhow_, small _furas_, _rairoo_, a small arbusculoid mimosa, _kureel_, and ukko, calotropis hamiltonii; _bheirs_ shrubby; one of the most abundant plants is the _joussa_ or prickly leguminosa, with the habit of fagonia; some of the saline loving compositae, no. , frutex - pedalis, foliis carnosis lanceolato-spathulatis, sessilibus. corymbis et cymi axillaribus et terminalibus pauci capitat. floscules inconspicuis, also occurs. near the shah's tents there is a grove of _phulahi_, all more or less demolished, and a good many _khujoors_. hares and grey partridges appear common. the changes of temperature are very great; in the mornings and evenings it is cold; in the afternoon the thermometer reaches as high as degrees. _ th_.--shikarpore is getting hotter every day: thermometer ranges from degrees to degrees. _ th_.--the heat continued to increase until the th; the range of thermometer being from degrees to degrees; the evenings gradually became hotter, and the night although cool, had the peculiar thrilling coolness of tropical nights. on the th, the barometer commenced falling, and has since continued to do so. the visible signs of rain have been confined to cloudy mornings; the fall of the mercury is perhaps connected with the occasional strong northerly winds, which at times, as last night, blow nearly half gales. the range of thermometer is now from degrees to degrees. the change was sudden on the th or th; the nights were cold, thermometer at a.m. degrees '; and the days were only moderately warm. the weather now is pleasant. shikarpore is disagreeable _inter alia_ from its dust, every thing becoming covered with it. the suburbs of the city are well wooded, and all such portions are well provided with gardens. the _khujoor_ is the most common tree, the moringa, mango, _jamun_, _bheir_, _neem_, cassia fistula, sissoo, _peepul_, _furas_, _phulahi_, another mimosa and agati, occur; oranges in gardens, and a pomaceous tree from cashmere, which appears to thrive very well. the cultivation consists chiefly of wheat, _mahta_, mustard, radishes, _soonf_, coriander, beet, _bagree_. in these fields phascum, plantago, ispaghula, singee, chenopodiaceae - , salsola lanata, and boehmeria, may be found; composita salinaria, stocks and wall-flowers in the gardens. the vegetation elsewhere is very scanty; consisting of _jhow_, _bheir_, _furas_, _ukko_, _joussa_, andropogon _seerkee_, _rairoo_, _kureel_, a low bush called ----, and a lycium? boehmeria albida. the town is miserably defended: the streets are very irregular and very narrow: the houses all of mud, of the usual scindian form, and completely irregular. the bazaars or arcades, are mere ordinary streets, covered in with timbers, over which tattered mats are placed: in these are situated the hindoo shops, and in some places darkness is completely visible. these hindoos have a peculiar elongated jewish aspect, and are reported to be very wealthy. grain and cloth are the principal articles in which they deal, and they say the streets are covered in order that the purchaser may buy with his eyes half shut. the city is a large rambling place, and each house deposits its own filth before it. the inhabitants, especially the hindoo portion, have a peculiar complexion, and by no means a healthy one. no one seems to have deserted the town on account of our approach, neither has fear hitherto prevented them from bringing their merchandise into camp. the weather has continued cool: yesterday we had a good deal of rain; to- day it is very cloudy. the range of the thermometers from degrees and degrees to degrees outside. artificers are not uncommon, as carpenters and blacksmiths, but their tools are miserable: and there is no such thing as a large saw to be seen. wages are high, and from the slowness with which they work, it is ruinous to employ them. left shikarpore on the st and marched to jargon, . miles, one of the usual fortified villages of _kucha_ or unburnt brick. houses surrounded also with _jhow_ fences. the jungle and country precisely the same as that round shikarpore, road at first bad, but subsequently good enough: water is to be had very good: at no great depth. _ nd_.--to janidaira, . miles: road excellent throughout. country less covered with jungle: features mostly the same: a curious looking plant occurred plentifully, but to a limited extent near jargon and subsequently, as the country became more sandy, we had abundance of salicornia, of which camels are excessively fond, otherwise _jhow_, _furas_, very common, _rairoo_, _kureel_, _ukko_ throughout; near jargon, elrua very common, chenopodium cymbifolium throughout. the soil at first is very fine, finely pulverized, brownish as we proceeded onwards, becoming more and more sandy. hills of some height, apparently very distant, are seen ahead due north, and to the west. we passed one village to the left, two canals of small size, and some _bagree_ cultivation. a small ridge with a hillock occurred after passing the village, otherwise all was flat. and about this the jungle was thin, entirely of patches _kureel_, _rairoo_, and _furas_, peepul. we had a violent north wind yesterday evening with some rain. _ rd_.--to rogan, distance to miles: country generally flat, presenting here and there sandy undulations, generally bare of vegetation. salvadora, _jhow_, _furas_, _kureel_, _rairoo_, continue; _furas_ and _rairoo_ most common; a new chenopodium and a salsola, or a plant of the same genus as that met with yesterday, swarming in some places, both species were common in some parts, in others one of the two only occurred. road generally excellent, level and unbroken. two small ghurrees or forts occurred, with a large patch of cotton, and still larger of _bagree_: a small sedoid-looking plant with yellow flowers, and one or two other (to me) novelties occurred: heliotropium, fagonia, _joussa_, _bheir_. in those parts in which loose sand had become accumulated, it not only formed banks, but every bush was submerged in it. the fresh sand must be derived from decomposition of the hard level plain by the action of the air: yet there should be a regular gradation in size of the waves; those nearest the windward side of the desert ought to be the smallest. rock pigeon of loodianah seen. there are two ghurrees or forts at the halting place, both small; the water is tolerable. the chief trees are salvadora and _rairoo_. _ th and th_.--left in the evening and marched all night through the desert, which commences within two miles of rogan, and towards which place vegetation gradually becomes more scarce until it disappears entirely. this sandy waste is upwards of twenty miles in extent: in the direction we traversed it, nw. or nnw., it is almost totally deprived of vegetation; one or two plants, such as salsoloid, being alone observable near its borders. the surface is generally quite flat, in some places cut up by beds of small streams: the surface is firm, and bears marks of inundation: tracks of camels, etc. being indented. we reached bushore at . a.m.; the camels performed twenty-six miles in ten hours. we halted for four hours in the centre of the desert and tried to sleep but the cold was too great, striking up as it were from the ground. the camels marched through without halting, and we suffered only one loss amongst them next day. the occurrence of this peculiar desert is unaccountable, especially its almost absolute privation of vegetation; for many other places, equally dry, have their peculiar plants, such as salsola, chenopodium, _furas_, _rairo_, _ukkoo_, _kureel_. _ th_.--bushore is a miserable place, consisting of the usual mud houses and defences: the adjacent nullah does not invite attention; it is however the only seat of wells, which, as in all this country since leaving rogan, are of small diameter, from thirty to forty feet deep, and contain very little water, which also is rather brackish and well impregnated with sand. the surrounding country is so barren that it may be called a desert, while the desert itself may be called the desert of deserts. i should mention that this ceases first to the west, in which direction shrubs encroach on it. _phulahi_, evolvulus acanthoides, tribulus, _kureel_, etc. are found about bushore, but the prevailing plant is chenopodium cymbifolium. _ th_.--leaving bushore, we proceeded to joke, which we reached late, it being nineteen miles: we lost the road however, which is in a direct line only sixteen miles. we soon came on a nullah, or canal, which we followed to meerpore, a rather large double village, with a nice grove of _furas_, situated on the dry river naree, which is as contemptible in size as deficient in water, this is only procurable by digging wells of thirty feet deep, and even then in small quantity. before reaching it, we passed several villages, mostly deserted and ruined. the country is frightfully bare of wood; the chief plant is chenopodium cymbifolium, and along the canal lemon grass, _kureel_, _rairoo_, _joussa_, _ukko_, _bheir_, etc.; near meerpore a centaurea, and evolvulus acanthaceus. but along the nullah some wood may be found, stunted though it be, it is chiefly _rairoo_. we left meerpore and proceeded about one and a half mile from joke, following the nullah until we came on a canal in which, from a bund having been thrown across, there was a puddle or two of water. here we halted. much remains of cultivation is presented about this, chiefly _bagree_, which is perennial. durand tells me that the sprouts of the second year are poisonous to cattle, i.e. horses; but this report may have been given out purposely by the natives. along the river, _jhow_ and _furas_ occur, in the naked plains, chenopodium cymbifolium, _rairoo_, and a few _kureel_, but they are so naked as to afford little fodder for the camels: there is a little cultivation of mustard, and _taira meera_. the hills are about twenty miles off, and appear about , feet high, they are precipitous, but the outline is not rugged: they appear perfectly barren. those to the north which run nearly east and west are more distant. no new birds were seen; rock pigeons occur. the soil would be rich if water were abundant: in the _bagree_ fields it is of a cloddy kind. reseda, euphorbia, salsola lanata, chenopodium cymbifolium, evolvulus, panicum, and andropogon occur here. _jowaree_ sells at twelve seers a rupee, and _khurbee_ is very dear. a large plain occurs here covered with gramen panicum, which is in tufts, and has the appearance of being cultivated. _ th_.--halted at our camp near joke. the naree runs one and a half mile to the westward: its bed is fifty yards wide and about ten feet deep; the banks are well clothed with _furas_. there is a good deal of _bagree_ cultivation. _ th_.--to _oostadkote_, nine and a half miles. the road is not a made one for the latter one-third. crossed the naree about two miles from our encampment: the country appeared the same. on arriving near our halting place, green wheat fields, intermixed with much fresh chenopodium, gramen panicum, reseda were most abundant, chloroideum, sinapis, raphanus cultivated with _taira meera_, two cruciferous plants common, salsola lanata also occurs. water abundant in a channel of fifteen yards wide and three feet deep, clear and tasteless. _furas_ the most common shrub. no grass occurs but the remains of panicum. wheat is here sown in drills, in some places the crop is promising. the country is evidently occasionally overflowed, witness the indurated surface and the fissures, which away from the road, renders it bad for camels, being full of holes. there are several villages visible round our camp, all of the usual miserable description, and there is a good deal of _bagree_ cultivation. the water does not extend more than a mile; it is eight feet deep, and about twenty yards wide towards the head, where the bund is thrown across. _march st_.--to bagh nine and a half miles. the country is quite similar: the chief plants continue to be chenopodium cymbifolium, _kureel_, a _rairoo_, _ukko_, _joussa_, and salsola robusta, but occur in no great plenty, they and all the face of the country exhibit marks of inundation. bagh is visible a long way off from its being ornamented with a gamboge, or ochre-wash, otherwise its aspect is poor and muddy. we came on the naree about three miles from the town, and as it has been bunded, it is full of clearish blue water, to a good depth. we encamped about one and a half mile on the south side of the town. about the head of the bund there is a good deal of wheat cultivation, and some mustard. in these _khets_ reseda is very abundant, heliotrope is also common; i picked up a matthiola and a pommereulla. the banks of the naree are clothed with small _furas_, which in these parts are always encrusted with saline matter, or, as it would seem, pure salt. rock pigeons both sorts, loodianah rats, etc. bagh is celebrated for gunpowder; it is a largish, straggling, but poor place, though thickly tenanted. its latitude is degrees ' ", and is placed thirty miles too far south in tassin's last map. sugar-candy from bussorah and cloth, are the principal articles sold. _ th_.--marched sixteen miles to mysoor: direction at first nnw. and latterly west, close to the brahorck hills. water is plentiful in bunds and river, but the country is very very bare, salicornia robusta uncommon, plantago canescens, poa, cynodon, _ukko_ is very common, otherwise _kureel_ is the predominant plant. a good deal of wheat cultivation, every thing depends on water: the wheat along watercourses is luxuriant, but where water is less plentiful, stunted: soil the same, a tenacious sandy clay when wet: fields very free from weeds. reseda very common, but very small, heliotropium ditto, crucifera hispida ditto. green wheat a maund for a rupee. the road or rather country, is intersected here and there by ravines. _ th_.--halted. the nearest range of hills are six miles off, they have a very peculiar irregular brown appearance. the higher ones also have a similar appearance; these appear quite precipitous, and have in some parts a curious crenated outline. the chief vegetation about this place is _kureel_, especially along the river and towards the bund, which last is well filled with water. _kureel_, _furas_, _ukko_, very common, cynodon, prenanthoid, poa minima, _joussa_, fagonia, saccharum, nerioid. in the water scirpus, cyperaceus, charae two species, potomogeton two species, valisnaria, typha. on banks, plantago cana, a curious _sileneacea_, a splendid orobanche, and a brassicacea. the birds continue the same: there is abundance of fulica, swarms of waterfowl, herons, plovers, etc.; starlings re-appear. some wheat fields well irrigated; most luxuriant _khujoors_, radishes. _ th_.--marched to nowshera, sixteen miles: five first miles across a plain scantily furnished with _kureel_. sturt tells me the country looks quite a desert to the eastward from one of the hills. thence we came on the hills, through which and the dividing valleys we proceeded for two miles, thence emerging into a narrow valley in which nowshera is situated, drained by the river of mysoor, which is an insignificant running stream. the hills are very curious, totally bare of vegetation, not more than two or three stunted chenopodium cymbifolium being seen on or about them. they do not exceed feet in height; their composition is various; they are much worn by rain, and the outline although generally sharp, is often rounded. they present great variety, but chiefly are of a soft clayish looking substance, distinctly enough stratified, the uppermost strata being indurated and often quite smooth, and of a sub-ochreous appearance. the outer ridges on each side of the range slope gradually outwards, and the surface in these slopes is smooth. inside, or towards the inner part of the range, they are generally precipitous, but beyond the uppermost strata, the exposed face is not indurated, hence this can scarcely arise from exposure to the weather. in these places they look much like sandstone, the fragments at the base of the cliffs are clayey, mixed with brown angular masses, occasionally shingle, and indeed, a low ridge near the north side of the range is chiefly of shingle. the direction is nne., the angle of inclination of the slopes say degrees. the hills are highest towards the centre, and here some of the strata are curved. the plain between this and the main range is much broken by ravines caused by rain; it is thinly covered with _kureel_, salsola robusta, chenopodium, etc. the vegetation along the river is the same as at mysoor. durand finds nummulites, but thinks them brought down by the river. the strata or rather debris of slips often intersected by nearly erect projecting lines of a fibrous dyke. there is some wheat cultivation in the fields, a new plantago, a ruta, silenacea, a curious composita, two boragineae, phalaris, phleum, avena, two or three crucifera, trigonella, and melilotus are to be found. the vegetation elsewhere is much the same, _rairoo_, _kureel_, _ukko_, chenopodium, lycium albidum re-occurs. _ th_.--proceeded to dadur, a distance of seven and a half miles, nearly north. the country is a good deal cut up by water: within two and a half miles of dadur we crossed the naree, a running stream, with small boulders, and high clayey banks. the country improves towards dadur, topes becoming more frequent. salsola lanata abundant: a good deal of cultivation occurs along the river. _ th_.--dadur is a good sized, and more orderly looking place than bagh, and is ornamented with well wooded gardens, among which the _khujoor_ holds a conspicuous place. an elegant and large _bheir_ and a mimosa, are two other trees of the place; it is situated on the left bank of the bolan river. the bed of this river until the levee bund was cut, had been dry, but there is now plenty of water in it. it is in some places much choked by bulrushes, etc., it is eighty yards broad, and is shingly. dadur stands nearly on the end of a good sized plain, surrounded on all sides by hills, of which those traversed to nowshera, run nne. and are lowest. the main range is four or five miles off. the greater part of this plain is uncultivated and covered with _rairoo_, _kureel_, _joussa_, sal. lanata, and chenopodium; but along the sides of the river, as well as near that crossed en route to this place from nowshera, there is a highly luxuriant cultivation of wheat, bearded and beardless, and barley. in some places near the town, are rich gardens of _sonff_, coriander, _mola_, cress, onions, carrots, beet, among which a few poppies and cannabis occur. these, as well as the fields, are protected with loose _bheir_ fences. there are a few small villages around, all of the same kucha or temporary construction, together with some remains of cotton, which in these parts is perennial. there are no wild trees to be found, excepting perhaps an elegant species of willow. the vegetation of the fields is highly interesting, consisting of many european forms, similar to those at nowshera--avena, phleum, polygonium, zanthoxyloid, erodium! anagallis in abundance, plantago, _pecagee_, cynodon two species, andropogon, melilotus, medicago, boraginea, malva, tetragonolotus, astragaloides, sperguloides, cruciferae. in the bed of the river nerium, paederioides, crotalaria, etc. of which the former is common every where: fagonia, viola found in the bed of the river crossed en route hither, a very curious plant. antirrhenoid was brought from the hills by capt. sanders, singular in the inequality of the calyx and the great development of the posticous sepal. altogether this spot is curious in regard to vegetation, for the mean annual temperature must be high, and the winter temperature by no means low enough to account for the appearance presented. the only novel birds are a jackdaw, with the voice and manners of the red- billed himalayan species, and which i have only seen at a distance, and a different sort of pterocles. _ th_.--proceeded to drubbee, eight miles from dadur, and about three within the range of hills, the plain towards which is rather elevated, and generally covered with boulders and shingle. the vegetation of this shingly plain is much the same, chenopodium, _ukko_, salsola, _kureel_, _rairoo_; the most common shrubby plant, however, is an elegant mimosa, much like the _babool_, with white thorns; nerium oleander is also very common along cuts. in some wheat fields i procured imperata, a new plantago, and a curious gnaphalium. the entrance to the pass is gradual; the hills almost entirely bare. i noticed _rairoo_, salvadora, _kureel_. the most novel plant is a curious, erect, bushy, thorny convolvulus, which is one of the most common plants farther in. the pass to drubbee is wide, say yards; the only obstacle exists in the shingle, which renders the road heavy. no abutments are present, jutting out from the hills, the stream is considerable but easily fordable, and abounds with fish, the mahaseer, and two or three species of gonorhynchus. the hills about drubbee are not more than feet high. they are generally of a coarse breccia, the component parts principally limestone; abundance of nummulites. the chief vegetation of the pass is one or two andropogoneous grasses, and apocynum nerioides. there is absolutely no fodder for camels, which however, take readily to grass. towards the mouth of the pass, paederia involucrata, villarsia, lycioid, stenophyllum and _ukko_ are common, but they are rare inside, although the last continues some distance up the hills and attains a large size, becoming quite arboreous. a crucifera, a rhubarby sorrel, a goodyera, and one or two grasses, were the only additional novelties met with. _ th_.--marched on eight miles, after five of which we turned to the right, and the pass became and continued narrow, until we reached our halting place, which is something like what we may suppose to be the remains of a mountain, still a good deal elevated above the bed of river. the mountains continued the same in the gorge, until we came to limestone cliffs, which afforded a peculiar vegetation, linaria retephioides, linaria alia pusilla foliis -gonis cordatis, floribus luteis minutis pubescens, specimen lost, one or two rubiaceae, a salvia, several very interesting grasses, among which is a stipa, a composita, santanoides, a curious capparidea, cassia, etc. etc. the hills have increased in height, in many places they were extremely picturesque, split and divided in every direction. the valley running off to south on our entrance into the gorge: river diminished somewhat in size. jheely spots, with very deep water common, surrounded with thick andropogon, typha and scirpus jungle. few fish were seen and none taken. can the mahaseer not reach this? gonorhynchus continue, but they never take a fly; ophiocephalus, _sowlee_; turtle caught by bearers, silurus. no less than twenty-three plants novel to me were gathered on the limestone, which looks as bare as the breccia; all its plants grew in small tufts or singly, and all adhered firmly to the rock. the only tree which continues is _phulahi_ or _rairoo_; convolvulus spinosus very common, a very curious chenopodioid, reseda with cruciferous qualities. _ th_.--proceeded to gurmab, eight and a half miles. country continues the same. the defile after crossing some rather broad water three feet deep, opened out into a rather large valley, near the south end of which gurmab is situated, and it is _ornamented_ with a good many _rairoo_ trees, of indifferent size and appearance. no change whatever in the vegetation; salsola prima occurs sparingly. _ th_.--halted at gurmab. the hills close to our encampment are of limestone, which is in many places very angular. oolite found by durand in a low range, standing by itself in the valley, it generally bears a vast quantity of nummulites and madrepores. a flat discoid organized remain occurs in abundance, and probably belongs to the same group. _ukko_, _rairoo_, _kureel_ rare, convolvulus spinosus, frankenioides, stipaceum gramen, euphorbia, polygonum rheoides, salvadora, may be found. along the water andropogonoides , typha, arundo, juncus, scirpus juncinus in abundance. in the water, a new naias, and conferveae. in a ravine near our camp, i found a cynoglossum and a curious periploceous plant, in habit approaching to certain aphyllous, true asclepiads. a few stunted dates are visible near gurmab, which is three miles from kirtah, and towards the deep water there is a ruin of a single house. _rairoo_, nerioid, and lycium albidum are the most common ground plants. there is only _rairoo_ for camels, who do not thrive on harsh grasses, although compelled by hunger to eat them. large flocks of doombah sheep and goats belonging to khelat men were met with. mahaseer in abundance, and very greedy after a red hackle of fish, macrognathus and opheocephalus occur also. of birds the white vulture, alauda cristata et alia, with a notched beak, a partridge which i had not previously seen, motacilla alia. _ th_.--proceeded to beebee nanee, nine and a half miles up the valley in which gurmab is situated. the road tolerably level and good; boulders not however common. the village of kuttah, is one mile to the right, consisting of one ruined house; near the exit from the valley a burial ground occurs, having flags, or banners, pointing out the graves, which are covered with heaps of stones. the exit from the valley is by a narrow pass through a low range of angular limestone, thence up another narrow shingly valley or narrowish gorge, and over a small stream of water of ordinary temperature, where we encamped: in the second valley two spots were observed covered with graves. immense flocks of birds were seen on the range to the west of the valley. in the first valley paederia involucrata and salsola prima, are the most common plants. on the limestone hills, convolvulus spinosus, frankeniacea, plantago villosa, and a curious composita, subacaulis, involucro foliaceo, of which the single specimen has been lost, a few _bheirs_. encamped in a small valley or pass leading to khelat, a marked one only a few hundred yards wide. to the west, the hills continue very barren. gurmab--this takes its name from the warmth of the water, which apparently rises in several sedgy spots; the united waters form a small stream abounding with mahaseer, barbus, etc. and falling into another stream, again meets the main river, which runs off to the eastward from the place where it is crossed towards gurmab. there is no sign of bubbling in the springs, although the water commences to run visibly from within a few yards. the temperature of one did not vary from degrees, which must be about the mean temperature of the place, but the temperature of a deep body of water after the confluence of several springs was degrees, so that some of them must hence be of considerable temperature: the highest examined was degrees. of three springs examined--the first of these had a temperature of degrees fahr.--the second of degrees, these unite to form the streamlet that runs towards the east--the third spring had a temperature of degrees: this is crossed on entering the valley from the south, it runs under a limestone range, and then bends off to the south-east to unite with the main stream. cyprinus fulgens and c. bimaculatus were found in the degrees spring. from the variation in the temperature of the three, it is obvious that neither represents the mean temperature of the place. _ th_.--to abigoom, eight and a quarter miles, through a similar country up a valley in a nnw. direction; the valley is narrowed towards the middle, and is a plain of considerable inclination, the chief rocks passed are limestones. no fodder for camels, and little enough on the road for horses; the chief vegetation consisting of nerioides, paederia involucrata, and small tufts of _kuss-kuss_ grass; ruwash is common, lycium album; salsola prima are not common, and the _bheir_ is rare. a new and curious plant looking like _kureel_ was found, male flowers with large semi-antheriferous bearing disc. apocynum viminale not uncommon, and not ruined by cattle, prenanthoid albiflora, echinopsides, a fine begonia, b. punicoides, arbuscula; salvadora also occurred. the inclined valleys are very shingly and bouldery. the mountains as barren as ever. there is at beebee nanee a running streamlet, in which small mahaseer, nepuroid, gonorhynchus and barbus may be found; also a species of cancer. we were encamped close to the cliffy termination of a limestone range, in which linaria, trichodesma, cynoglossum, ruwash, labiata, and a most singular telepheoid polygalous looking plant were found. there is some fodder along the water for horses, but for camels scarcely any: we accordingly lose six to ten camels now daily. there was a curious echo from the cliff. _ th_.--to-day we halt at abigoom, which is at the extremity of an inclined plain, and , feet above the sea; some of the boundary hills are considerably higher, the valley is shingly and bouldery, covered with the usual plants, but more scantily: nerioid, paederia involucrata, lycium albidium, apocynum viminale. i went to some wheat cultivation yesterday afternoon about two and a half miles off, in a small valley to the south-east. the wheat was fine, all bearded, most of the dadur plant occurred in it with some curious novelties, boraginea, cynoglossum, compositae, cuscuta, and a new reseda. the melilotus and red anchusoid were not found, plantago, were among the most abundant. a single _furas_ tree and some _kureel_ were seen near the wheat. the weather unsettled; cloudy; rain fell at night and early this morning. a _cafilah_ or caravan from candahar with figs and raisins passed us. rock pigeon of loodianah and the small partridge were observed. there is a streamlet here. _ th_.--detained by bad weather, which threatened the whole of yesterday. the river came down during the night, flooded, and upset some of the tents, damaging many things, but not carrying off much. it rained smartly almost the whole night: we moved this morning to rather higher ground, but not so high as to preclude all danger should the river rise again. a dawk man arrived last night, bringing a handful of tulips which he said came from shal; it is a small species, foliis subtortis undulatis caule -flora, flore amplo aureo subodora. _ th_.--advanced to sirekhugoor, distance nineteen miles, ascent throughout on a considerably inclined plain up the bed of a river, shingly and bouldery; the pass is not much contracted, but a short distance from abigoom we parted from every thing like valleys. the vegetation continues much the same: _kureel_, salsola prima re-occurred near abigoom but sparingly, chief vegetation consists of clumps of withered coarse andropogons, nerioides, paederia, and lycium, but less common than before, while apocynum viminale, and convolvulus spinosus have increased. the bed of the streamlet is until near sirekhugoor, chiefly occupied by a large arundo just past flowering, in which typha also occurs sparingly: within feet of the halting place, a solitary _khujoor_, and some wheat cultivation occurs, the latter much behind that of abigoom. in the fields polygala occurred with a galium; the most common plant being a sinapis found at dadur: some _bheir_ trees also occur here; a few compositae, labiatae, and cruciferae, similar to those at abigoom, are also found: the novelties were _peganum_ which continues throughout the pass, hyoscyamoid, and one or two compositae; while in water-courses close to it the first dripping rocks occurred covered with adiantum and fructiferous mosses, and a curious primuloid plant out of flower, with a curious clematis. the halting place is at the head of the stream, which gushes copiously out of a rock; the bed of the river or defile is yards wide: the mountains immediately adjoining not exceeding , feet in height, but the second range is much higher, that to our north being plentifully sprinkled with snow. these mountains are barren, chiefly covered with convolvulus spinosus, which has a different aspect, with a sytisoid, handsome silvery shrub, a species of caragana and apocynum viminale: about the spring and in other places there are thick patches of a very dwarf palm, and a solitary fig tree, a lycium album continues: the bed occupied by tufts of coarse andropogons and apocynum viminale; about the spring adiantum, a small boraginia, white flowered small compositae, a withered hepaticum, two or three efructiferous mosses, and the primuloid plant. in the stream chara, conferva, peppermint, _beccabunga_, convolvulus, like c. reptans, arundo left behind nearly. on the mountains fragrant labiatae, compositae, and umbelliferae are commencing. the barometer stood at . ; thermometer degrees at a.m. many soft rocks occurred: passed a clayey looking one, with very elevated strata, containing veins of transverse crystals: the sides of the defile are often precipitous, these are generally formed of conglomerate. _ th_.--continued up the same defile, a gradual ascent, and about two miles from sirekhugoor entered the pass by pre-eminence; very much narrowed, precipitous cliffs on both sides: this continues for some time. the road good, shingly, but not very bouldery; very winding, and generally capable of strong defence; much cover exists from the rugged margins of cliffs, and windings of the road. the mountains, after four or five miles were passed, gradually receded and became less precipitous: at length we came to gradually rounded more distant mountains; then to a small valley; then ascended say feet, over a low rocky range, and descended into a fine valley, surrounded by usual barren looking mountains: high ranges to the north and south covered with snow presenting a beautiful view--and now entered khorassan. we were accompanied by several bands of a gypsyish-looking people, forming parts of a _cafilah_. they were accompanied with numerous goats: and camels ornamented with trappings. throughout the very narrow portion of the pass the vegetation continues the same: at sirekhugoor a xanthoxylon appears and continues nearly throughout: this and an oleinous looking small tree are the only arborescent plants: apocynum viminale and the other plants of sirekhugoor continue, nor did i notice any new ones further than a sedum, and tortula. however fragrant labiatae and compositae increase in number, but none are in flower. as soon as we opened out from the pass, the vegetation almost entirely changed; the hills assumed a rounded form, covered with low bushes, and were much less rocky. umbelliferae, labiatae, and compositae abound, some of them deliciously fragrant: an astragaloid spinosus very common, a shrubby cerasus, thalictrum, hypoxis, and small cruciferae abundant. the chief vegetation consists of grasses in low round tufts; anemone, tulipa, etc. all small. after crossing a low range we came into the valley, which is almost entirely covered with an artemisioid odoriferous plant; no verdure was visible, even on the snowy ranges. we encamped close under a ridge about two and a half miles to the north of the summit of the pass. _ st_.--halted: there being some water collected in attempts to form a nullah from the last rain, it is quite brownish and opaque, but deposits no sediment, and makes good tea, although disagreeable to drink in any other form. i walked out in the afternoon into a valley to the west, close to our encampment, and thence ascended a hill feet high at least. this valley like the one in which we are encamped is covered entirely by an artemisioid, a very fragrant plant, each shrub of which is distinct; mixed with it are tulips, several small cruciferae, and a fritillarioides. the same artemisioid is also the chief plant on all the hills: it is mixed, but in small quantities with cerasus pygmaeus, equisetoid, caragana, and one or two shrubby labiatae; and also especially above, with a curious astragaloid looking plant. the herbaceous plants are numerous, consisting of very fragrant umbelliferae, bursting into leaf; tulips, fritillarioides, trichostema, erodium, iris, thalictrum, senecio, boragineae , gilenacea, several tufted gramineae, berberideae, ranunculoides, myosotis, anemone cracea, asphodeloid, mesembryanthoids; of mosses tortula, grimmia. _ nd_.--proceeded to sinab, a distance of fifteen and three quarter miles, up two valleys, no ascents. these valleys are elevated towards the mountains and generally depressed in the centre: in some they stretch out a long way from the mountain to which they may be imagined to belong. the mountains seen from a distance jutting out from perhaps the centre of a plain, look curious. the vegetation is generally artemisioid, and very fragrant: the first valley in its depressed portions was covered with a salsoloid looking plant, to the exclusion of compositae, but these last recurred in the higher parts. with the compositae, swarms of small cruciferae occur; that with purple flowers and pinnatisect leaves being the most common. very rugged hills are visible to the north-east and north of our route, presenting a very different appearance from the usual aspect: they are steep to the east, and present inclined slopes to the west. _sunday_, _ th_.--halted this day. little new occurs in the valley, except a few trees out of leaf and flower, which, though trees here, yet the species are not so elsewhere. at this place are the heads of the river of pisheen, which appear to arise more artificially than naturally from _kahreezes_, or wells dug in a rude way, and communicating by subterranean channels; those nearest the natural outlet of the water being the shallowest. the vegetation is the same; there is a little cultivation, but nothing to indicate any descent. the amount of population is not great; and the hills to the west are covered with snow. the chief vegetation is _santonica_. in cornfields fumariaceae, adonis, cruciferae, pulmonaria, arenaria, hordei sp., tulipa lutea, and hyacinthus? may be found. the vegetation of the plains, inclusive of santonica, consists generally of three or four small cruciferae, tulipa lutea. i went to the west towards the snow, and found in the river here an aquatic ranunculus, foliis omnibus immersis, floribus albis, chara is common; gravelly slopes commence some distance from hills, covered with santonica, astragaloid spinosus, leguminosae, a spinous statice, cytisus argenteis, composita floribunda carnosa. the mountains are covered with masses of rock. one tree occurs with a fraxinus? a thymeleous looking shrub, cytisus, caragana. the herbaceous plants are very numerous, compositae, cruciferae, small leguminosae, berberideae, isopyroides, crocus? gentiana, onosma and other boragineae, umbelliferae, silenaceae, especially small arenariae; cupressus commences about , feet, near the cypress an arctium occurred, at least it has the habit of that genus, onosma, a curious boraginea calyce sinubus bidentigeris, demum plano! ampliato bilabiato! clauso, quasi hastato lobato, nucibus compressis, , sedums , arenariae, a fine gentiana, crocoides, iris, ornithogaloides or trichonema occurred, with many others. the greatest elevation attained was about , feet above the camp. chikor and the smaller partridge were seen. _ th_.--marched to quettah, eight and a half miles up the valley over a delightful road. the valley is cultivated, and many villages are visible with their orchards, consisting of mulberry trees, cherries, and apricots, surrounded with mud walls; the houses miserable, and all trees out of leaf: the crops under cultivation are more advanced, but depend on irrigation, some salad-bearing plant occurred cultivated in trenches like asparagus: the fields are clean, and sometimes well manured. a veronica allied to v. agrestis, or euphorbiaceae, a very well defined plantago, hyacinthus, and a pretty muscari, were among the novelties; juncus, chara, carex, occurred in some marshy spots. i was most struck with the occurrence of at least two species of lucerne, or trefoil: wells are common, and water abundant. the climate is delightful, temperature degrees at p.m. in a tent. _ th_.--i ascended towards a snowy range to the ese. of our camp, crossing a cultivated portion of the valley extending to the gradual slopes so universal between the level portion and the bases of the mountains, and which are always covered with shingle, and occasionally much cut up by watercourses. turning a ridge i ascended up a ravine, rather wide and easy at first, but becoming gradually narrow, and at last difficult. on coming to its head i rambled some distance higher among precipitous rocks, the ground generally covered with loose shingle, giving bad footing. the rocks too were treacherous, often giving way under the feet. i was still , feet from the summit, which is the second range between our camp and the snow but which is not visible from the camp. from it i saw the camp, and the valley of pisheen beyond the termination of the tuckatoo range. water boiled at degrees ', making the height about , feet, in my (new) woollaston instrument at ; temperature of the air degrees '. nothing occurred to repay me for the fatigue of the excursion. junipers or cypress form the chief arbusculous vegetation, but even these are scanty; they commence at , feet, and continue to the snow: fraxinus occurred about , feet, and another tree of which i could make nothing, it being out of flower and leaf. compositae were the prevailing vegetation; but of these, only the remains were found, which were very fragrant. a large thorny leguminous shrub out of leaf, etc. looking much like a rosa, equisetoides, etc.; of mosses, weissia templetonii, and tortula, so that in these there is very little variety; the debris of one hepatica occurred. at the foot of the mountains, the only place out of the valley where any vegetation is to be found, asphodelus, radicibus luteis, foliis triangularibus, a fine plant coming into flower, cytisus, caragana, narcissus? cruciferae, among them a small draba, cerasus pygmaeus, peganum, salsoloid of mumzil, trichonema, myosotis, gentiana of chiltera, buddlaea, carex; indeed the vegetation is precisely the same as at chiltera. the only novelty was bardana in flower, and it proves to be a cruciferous plant of large size. on the stony slopes, a shrubby spinous centauroid, foliis pinnatifidis glaucis, cytisus, caragana, asphodelus and cheiranthus are the prevailing plants. no santonica is found about here. a new iris occurs in abundance: near this in wettish parts of the valley a vicia, muscari, hyacinthus and others as before. the chief cultivation is wheat, irrigated in plots: the soil when saturated with water, forming a clayish, adhesive, finely pulverulent mass, which cakes on drying. a watermill for flour, having a horizontal wheel acted on by the stream as in bootan occurs; the grain drops in from a pyramidal cone fixed over the two horizontal stones, in the upper of which there is a hole. the apparatus is very rude. the height attained by me on the eastern ridge being about , feet; that of the nd range, will be , feet at least, and the height of the peak or highest ridge, cannot be less than , feet. th.--continue to halt. there is a good deal of cultivation about this place, but the crops will not be ripe before august: it is principally wheat; munjit is also cultivated on trenched ground: the young sprouts have a good salad-like flavour. the suddozye lora runs through the valley, about two miles from the town: it is a small stream, crowded here and there with bulrushes, sedges, etc. towards its banks there is a good deal of santonica, but elsewhere there is no good fodder, and wherever this is the case the camels eat iris, and destroy themselves. the valley is sprinkled over with villages and orchards, and is picturesque enough. in one spot, where water runs over the surface, it is delightfully green and velvety, covered with short grass and trefoil, carex, etc. in cornfields in this direction, berberidea ranunculiflora is very common, muscari, hyacinthus, taraxacum, plantago. of animals the jerboa, sent to macleod by mr. mackenzie, of the artillery, several specimens having been caught here: presenting affinities obviously with the hare, and analogies with the kangaroo. macleod has just given me, from his namesake of the rd cavalry, a tadpole-like animal, very similar to one from the khasiya hills. i fear it is a tadpole, but i keep the specimen lest it should be a lepidosiren. the orchards here consist of cherry, and a pomaceous tree which also is cultivated at shikarpore, and on the skirts occasionally of willows, which, were they unmutilated, would be handsome trees. the punjabi name of the pomaceous one is _sai-oo_, of the cherry or plum _aloochah_. senecionoid glauca is extremely common towards the river, but is not eaten by camels. in the streams arising from springs a myriophylloides is very common; as also in some places, ranunculus aquaticus, beccabunga, mentha piperitioid, a sicyoid, juncus, coniferae, and cariceae, all small. along the banks of the river, there is a good deal of a small thorny shrub with white bark and fleshy clavato-spathulate leaves. themopsis is extremely common, crucifera glauca ditto, peganum less so, achilleoides is very common. in damp spots a lotus (out of flower) occurs. the ground is covered in many places with an efflorescence of saltpetre. _quettah_.--the country was so disturbed throughout the greater part of the line, and attacks on followers so frequent, that i did not go out so much during the last few days as i otherwise would. the only plant that seems to a considerable extent local, is the larger asphodel, which is however found occasionally towards kuchlak. within the last few days vegetation has rapidly progressed; the orchards bursting into leaf, and the whole plain, where uncultivated, is assuming a greenish tint. i have nothing to add respecting the botany, except having found ceratophyllum and two species of chara, one a very interesting species from having the joints furnished with semi-reflexed, very narrow leaves, it is apparently dioeceous, there is also a naiad, much like that found at dadur. no lemnae occur among the vegetation: there is some sort of pea cultivated: but the chief object is wheat, then next to it in extent is lucerne, which is cultivated in plots; the ground being laid out as in wheat, so as to allow of irrigation. the climate is variable; rain generally falls every four or five days, before this happens it becomes hot and hazy, afterwards it is very cold and clear: the alternations are hence very great. from the thermometer immersed in the fount of a spring gushing out from a _kabreeza_, the mean temperature would appear to be degrees. water running in cuts close to it, was degrees. a tauschia occurs in abundance near the spot, and is remarkable for illustrating the nature of the leaves of the upper parts; it is curious that all such have a peculiar aspect. (for other plants of this neighbourhood, see cat. and icones.) the town although the third in khorassan, is a miserable place and has a deserted aspect, the houses are of the most temporary construction, and the hill is crowned by a poor half-ruined _kucha_ fort; the gates of the town are ornamented with wild goats' horns and heads. there is no trade, and the place is stated to be plundered often by caukers. orchards--apricots of large size, and very large cherry trees, a pomaceous plant with the habit of poplar, occurs; the ulmus of this place is one of the largest sized trees; no walnuts. _april th_.--left quettah for kuchlak. we traversed the sandy plain and then ascended the gravelly slope to the pass traversed before reaching kuchlak, the ascent and descent were about equal, but the former was long and gradual, the latter rapid and short. the features of the country are precisely the same; the pass is short, the descent to the ravine, which in the rains is evidently a watercourse, short and steep, not feet. the mountains forming the sides are steep; and those to the left, bold and romantic, with here and there a small tree. the plain of kuchlak is like that of quettah, well supplied with water-cuts and one small canal, but miserably cultivated, and with very few villages. the hills forming its west boundary are low, rugged, and curiously variegated with red and white. tuckatoo forms part of its eastern boundary: no snow is visible on its face towards kuchlak: a few low rounded hillocks occur in the centre of the valley. the chief vegetation round the camp, is santonica. we encamped close to the western boundary of the valley, about two miles from the grand camp: total distance of the march thirteen and a half miles. the climate is very hot and variable; thermometer ranged to-day from degrees to degrees. the chief vegetation of the gravelly slopes is as marked as ever, and differs entirely from that of the sandy tillable portion; it consists of centaurea fruticosa, c. spinosa, anthylloides or ononoides, astragalus spinosus, and staticoides, another thorny composita occurs, but is not common, the herbaceous plants are cruciferae in large numbers, as well as compositae; of boragineae, a good many, some labiatae, a large salvia: towards the tillable lands or where gravelly places occur among these, asphodelus is common with cheiranthus; one or more fruticose dianthi occur in these places, and a curious shrubby polygonum. in dry watercourses cytisus is common, with a host of small cruciferae, boragineae, and compositae; papaveraceae are very common with glaucium. the novelties in the pass were ficus, lycium, some grasses, onosma. (see cat. from nos. to ,) marchantiaceae. _ th_.--proceeded to hydozee, distance eight miles. the country is very barren, diversified by curious low hills, of a red, white, or yellowish colour, divided by small bits of plain, which in some cases were a good deal cut up by ravines. passed immediately on starting, the sudoozye lora, here a sluggish muddy stream, knee-deep, twenty yards wide, and in addition to a bad dry cut, we passed likewise another little stream with a pebbly bottom and rapid current. the crops composing the very little cultivation seen before arriving, were backward and scanty: so were those at hydozee. the chief vegetation is santonica; here and there are gravelly spots with centaurea fruticosa, spinosa; statice, salvia, etc. re-occur. the commonest shrub along the watercourses is lycium, with another lycioid thorny plant. the low hills were in some cases stratified, the strata in others and perhaps in most were indistinct: most were rounded, but the outlines at a distance were very diversified. the novelties today were a fine vesicular calyxed astragalus, an isatidea, tulip of red, orange, and yellow, indiscriminately mixed, papaver rheas, cheiranthus lapidium, asphodels both sorts, but the second and larger one is uncommon, iris _stacyana_ very common in sandy places, iris agrestis, most common about suddozye, adonis, and ranunculus anemoides occurs. snow on north side of tuckatoo mountain as heavy as on chiltera; the valley of pisheen is here a miserable place, narrower than that of quettah. _ th_.--advanced to hykulzyea, distance twelve miles to the town, about eleven through a similar country with that previously noted, and until the expanded part of the valley of pisheen is entered the aspect is very barren; the road extends between low rounded hills. after crossing the valley of hydozyea, three streams are passed, none of any size. botanical features continue the same, santonica being still the prevailing plant. the curious frutex pluvinatus of sinab re-occurred, together with an additional subspiny astragaloid shrub and a small ruta. the hills are covered with distinct small shrubs, never coalescing into patches. peganum continues in addition to the other plants: glaucioides has aqueous juice, papaver rheas ditto, the other smooth-leaved one has it slightly milky. lycium and tamarisk -fida is rather common: hykulzyea is a far larger place than quettah, but miserably defended. the houses are very inferior, consisting of thatch and mud. the cultivation of wheat is rather extensive around. many villages are seen towards the hills to the north and nne.; also one or two forts, but not a tree is to be seen in the valley which is comparatively very large and very level. the hills to the north have the ordinary appearance; those separating us from the valley of hydozyea, more especially the lower ranges, are so confused that they look like a chopping sea, and present a red and white colour. the rock pigeon of loodianah is common about hydozyea. a few novelties occurred in the vegetation, the chief of which being a large salvoid labiata, a plant which is very common throughout khorassan from sinab in gravelly spots. leguminosae, boragineae, compositae, cruciferae, and labiatae, are the prevailing plants; salsola tertia not uncommon. birds as before, alauda cristata, and sylvioides being the most common; no red legged crows were seen. rock pigeons are abundant. _ th_.--march to berumby, distance thirteen miles, the road very bad in one or two places: the first difficulty being a rather deep ravine, the second a nullah, with water knee-deep, and very high precipitous banks, yet both these had to be passed. much of the baggage was not up at the encampment until p.m., although we started at a.m., but the nullah was literally choked up with camels. no change in the vegetation has appeared, except in the occurrence of large tracts of tamarisk, which tree reaches to nearly the same size as the _jhow_. very little cultivation is to be seen; the villages are tolerably numerous, especially near the hills forming the north boundary of the valley. _ th_.--entered the pass which is at first wide, with a gradual ascent, but which soon becomes narrowish, with a good though gradual and easy ascent: the mountains are of no height, and they are not generally precipitous: no limestone, but much clay slate occurs. the ravine up which we passed, or rather watercourse, was well stocked with xanthoxylon, some of large size as to the diameter of trunk, but very stumpy: water is found not far from the entrance: some cultivation also occurs and one large walled village, dera abdoollah khan, lay to our left. not much change in the vegetation: xanthoxylon is almost entirely confined to ravines, cerasus common, and one or two other prickly shrubs, and a ruta, onosma, linarea, coming into flower, are among the novelties. we encamped where the pass becomes narrow, and the ascent steep, and where water is plentiful, but the stream being soon absorbed does not appear to run down the main ravine at this season. _ th_.--halted, to make the road where the main ascent commences about yards from our camp, and which is about feet high; thence there is a descent, and afterwards an ascent to about feet above the camp, whence the _low_ plains of candahar are visible, as well as the range to the north of which candahar stands. the road is good compared with places elsewhere to be seen, and for common traffic on camels may be easy enough; but for guns, it is steep and difficult. the way it has been made by the engineers is admirable and rapid; three other passes without roads, and in their rude natural state are as yet to be crossed. the pass here is narrow, none of the hills rise more than , feet above it, they are easily accessible, and are composed chiefly of clay slate. chikores are frequent. the cuckoo was heard to-day, as well as a beautifully melodious titmouse, with a black crown: a fine eagle, or falcon was seen. the hills are as usual barren, all the shrubs are thorny, and all the plants unsocial, never coalescing into any thing like groups. the xanthoxylon is found throughout in ravines up to nearly , feet, the utmost height of the pass. fraxmus of chiltera also occurs, cerasus primus, in abundance, cerasus alius, tertius, not uncommon, berberis! here and there in ravines, equisetoides, caraganoides altera; the most common shrubs of any size are cerasus primus. the other shrubs consist of the low customary compositae, and astragaleae, umbelliferae are common, among which last the nari, a species of assafoetida occurs? a beautiful iris is common, as well as tufts of berberideae, asphodelus major, and which is much eaten when cooked as a _turkaree_ by our hungry followers, eryngioides, aconitoides, a valeriana, three new small veronicae, small cruciferae, silenaceae, boragineae, and labiatae, form the bulk of the herbaceous vegetation. an arenarioid, muscoid, cruciferae, common at the head of the pass. a large acanthoid leaved umbellifera, a rheoides papillis verrucosum, this is a true rheum, and when cultivated becomes the _ruwash_ of the affghanistans; it is very common on the candahar face of the pass, particularly about chokey, where it is in flower. _ th_.--proceeded to chokey, not quite four miles. the top of the pass may be reached by three or four passes. i went by one to the right, which is easy enough, and the descent from which is much better adapted for camels than the made road, which is very steep, with two sharp turns, but soft. the descent thence is gradual, down one of the ordinary ravines, well clothed with the usual shrubs and xanthoxylon: our camels were a good deal fagged, but more from the halt at the pass, where some cathartic plant abounds and weakens them very much, than fatigue. the view from the top of the pass is very extensive: the plains are seen to have nearly the same level, and are divided here and there very frequently to north-east and north, by the ordinary mountains. _ th_.--halt; water here is not abundant, and is obtained from driblets and pools; around these, the surface is covered with a rich sward, which affords fine fodder for a small number of horses. in the swampy spots, _beccabunga_, anagallis, mentha, carex, glaux, apparently identical (so far as a memory of years may be trusted,) with the english plant, the small variety of leontodon, medicaginoides, phleum, and the very small amaranthoid, polygonea, occur. the hills around chokey, and below it are rounded, those towards the pass being more steep. they are covered with centaurea fruticosa, and c. spinosa, a favourite food of camels when it has young shoots, santonica, statice, all of which grow precisely as before, boragineae, compositae, labiatae, and papilionaceae, are the predominant forms, and mostly of the same type: i observe a tendency among boragineae to have cup-shaped nuts. generally speaking, the plants are the same as those before found. rheas, papaver, glaucium purpureum, especially the two last are common, labiata salvoides, iris persica, and crocifolia (rare), trichonema, gentiana, alyssoides. the novelties were rheum, silena fruticosa, linaria, ruta, astragalina, small silenaceae, iris, glaucium aureo-croceum, a beautiful boragineae with cup-shaped nut, lotoides, an hippophaoid looking shrub, scrophularia sp. singulous, malthioloids spiralis, allium, glaux, nitella, etc. (see catalogue to .) graminea very common, rottboellia and anthistiria, curious forms, the other more northern, umbelliferae common, nari much less so than on the south face. the vegetation of the summit which is nearly , feet, and of peaks which rise to feet above the pass, has no change, except the abundance of cruciferae and muscoides; cerasus is the chief shrub; thymelaeus frutex occurs at , feet. the prevailing rock is clay slate. _ th_.--marched to dund-i-golai, distance fifteen miles, we first descended gradually to the plain, and then traversed this until we skirted some low hills, about one and a half mile, from which a pool of water was situated, where we halted, and which was fed by a small cut coming from some distance. the road was very good throughout, the water- cuts although not unfrequent, being either shallow or skirting the left of the road. the vegetation continued the same as about chokey, until the plains were reached, but the prickly shrub, habitu berberidioides, became more common in the water-cuts below than i had seen it before, while santonia, centaurea spinosa, and the plants of chokey, disappeared as we reached the plain, except some few herbaceous forms, which continued throughout. i was much indisposed during this march, and for the time we halted at dund-i-golai, a period of four days, was unable to go out, but capt. sanders and my people brought me many novelties, which i have not yet noted down. the chief vegetation of the plain is salsola tertia, the surface is level and firm, clothed with scattered salsola and a few stunted herbaceous plants, among which a yellow centaureoid, a crucifera siliquis junioribus clavati -gonis, were the most common, there was also a curious thiscoid looking plant. a considerable change commenced about the low hills, a thymelaeus shrub, some curious grasses, an erodium, a santonica, occupying the places of the former shrubs, and dipsacus or scabiosa becoming very common. the height of this place is about , feet, the climate most variable. fahr. thermometer degrees to degrees in single roofed tents. no cultivation seen, a pool of water is situated near the hill, and a little is reported as situated half-way between this place and chokey, this however i did not see. the country is much parched up, and bears every appearance of always having been so; no remains of tanks, villages, etc. visible. painted partridges were seen; and the eggs of a large bird like a plover? the wind inclining to be hot, but it is cool up to . or a.m. alaudo cristata? and an alauda with the form of sylvia. _sunday_, _ st_.--proceeded to killa pootoollah, a distance of ten miles. the road was good over an open, dry, level country, but intersected with small cuts: some cultivation was passed, but no villages. some little improvement was observed close to the garrah hills, which are of the usual description, and of no great height: a curious slip of the strata exhibited itself, in which the upper strata are cut away in the centre as if there had been a watercourse there. vegetation continues the same. the thymelaeous shrub and iris, still occur in sandy spots, allium and a second species; centaureoides, yellow and pink, thesioides, a curious sand-binding grass, salsola tertia most common, and in some open firm places _joussa_ reappears as it did at dund- i-golai: anthemis occurs, rheas, salvioides in stony places, otherwise few of the plants of the pisheen side are seen; grapes abundant about old and new cultivation, hordeum, bromus several species, triticoides, etc., in profusion. passed a deep well of considerable diameter, which had an open communication with a widish and deep canal, the only place i have seen that would hold a good deal of water; it was cut throughout in shingle, and was perhaps fifty feet in its deepest part. _ nd_.--left pootoollah for mailmandah, and on our arrival found some of the troops and the cavalry had passed through and made a double march to the river lora, a distance in all of twenty-four miles. there is a good deal of pure water at mailmandah running in a cut by the side of that, which is in the rains a considerable stream, also one or two _kabreezes_ about two miles further on, producing excellent water. the road first led up a ravine of some width, and swardy, and then over low hills, until we surmounted these to descend into the valley in which part of the army halted. the country continues mostly the same; although if possible it is still more barren than before: the mountains generally are more rugged: the ridges frequently toothed, and the sides precipitous; not a tree to be seen except a willow near some water, and a small arbusculoid fig. after passing the halting place we re-ascended an inclined plane, entered a gorge, and again issued out of it: after a short time again we entered into another valley drained by an actual river, _really_ _containing water_, and bounded to the west and north-west by curious red low hills, not unlike an embankment. the vegetation continues much the same: salsola tertia very common in some sandy places, centaurea spinosa, statice, santonia, etc. re-assuming their places on all gravelly slopes: some novelties occurred as (see catalogue, nos. to inclusive,) one or two new shrubs, cytisus, etc. the heat continues great; degrees fahr. in tents in the middle of the day. we encamped on a flat ground about yards from the river, which contains a good deal of water, and has a sluggish stream running to the north, surrounded by mountains, none of any height. wheat cultivation, arundo, vitex, prunus or cerasus abundant in the pass to the river, and yet the former does not indicate water as it ought to do, lycium, tamarisk, arundo on the banks of the river, and tamarisk in profusion in its bed. the cultivation on the opposite side of the river is remarkably clear of weeds, as compared with the cultivation at quettah, etc. achilleoides, veronica, iris crocifolia, phalaris, chenopodium, rottboellioides, hordeum vulgare, being the only or the chief plants cultivated. proceeded next to dai hap, thirteen miles, over a similar but even more barren country, the hills being destitute of all vegetation, except a few stunted small shrubs, such as statice. the usual plants recur with shingle and in sand, the chief is a _santonica_, { } a few novelties occurred, among which is a curious plant, with large vesiculate petaloid connectiva. see catalogue, no. , et sequent. the hills continue with toothed ridges, near dai hap, where water is abundant, but not in the form of a river. thymelaea occurs in abundance, with a mimosea fruticosa humilis: a curious hairy-fruited polygonum et peganum, is among the most common plants. _ th_.--to khoshab, distance twelve miles, over a large level plain, either sandy, and then generally cultivated, or gravelly, and then uncultivated: road open: passed two dry beds of rivers: one must be of large size, but is very shallow. a new tamarisk occurs along it; no trees are visible until we approach candahar: vegetation continues much the same. _santonica_, (see above) centaurea spinosa, astragalina (ononoides recurs), staticoid, asphodelus, mesembryanthoid, peganum, are the chief plants, especially on gravel; most of the small cruciferae have disappeared, labiata-salvioides continues; a curious subaphyllous composita occurs, iris persica is not uncommon; another iris is found here and there in profusion, with gnidia in sandy spots, compositae, monocotyledons of abigoon are common in shingle. new rock pigeons. fine madder cultivation in _khets_. of birds the yellow hammer occurs. villages numerous, poor, and though built of mud and straw yet present abundance of small domes. in these dry hot plains the prevailing wind is westerly, blowing very strong in the heat of the day, and having a tendency to become hot: the thermometer is here degrees. the cultivation of wheat is very general around our present encampment which is within four miles of candahar, the wheat is fine; lolioides occurs in it. _ th_.--halted: candahar is hid from us by some low hills, on the surmounting of which a large straggling place is obscurely visible, interspersed with trees, the valley is much smaller than that in which we are now, which is very extensive. munjit cultivation is conducted by deep trenches, it is a different species i think from that of the himalayas. the bed of the turnuk is now dry and very shallow: and the hills near us are extremely barren, the chief vegetation being paederioides vestila and staticoides cymosa, cheiranthus continues. the vegetation is very poor as indeed it has been since leaving the khojeb amrah, nor is there any appearance to be seen of a better autumnal vegetation. candahar is visible at a distance of six miles, from some low hills to the north of our camp. _ th_.--moved to candahar, skirting the low hills just mentioned and passed through two villages, a mile from candahar in a fine open plain. candahar has rather a pleasing aspect; it is situated close to a picturesque range of hills, and is well diversified with trees, barley and wheat fields. the slope on which the town stands is a parallelogram; towers occur frequently along the wall, which is however, of mud, and not strong; it is surrounded by a ditch utterly insignificant on account of its narrowness and shelving banks, this ditch is crossed by an insignificant causeway. the gate at which i entered is oblique, and is defended by a tower: it leads into the main street which is rather wide and not very dirty: towards the centre of this you pass under a middling dome, a street branching off to the right and left; the continuation of the main street or bazar leads to the _topekhanah_, or artillery ground, a small space quite disorderly, containing eight or ten guns, most of them melted at the mouth; one sheik -pounder of cast iron, another of english make, years old. from the end of this space you pass over another similar ditch into the fort, the entrance to which is covered, affording two or three angles capable of good hand to hand defence. passing thence through some spaces occupied by low buildings, you reach khoondil khan's house, an extremely rude looking place outside, but very different within. it consists of two houses, one looking into a small square with a delicious reservoir of water, and some fine and very green mulberry trees; the ground being laid out as a garden with sweet-william, etc.; the water is supplied by a small cut, and is seven or eight feet deep. the garden fronts of both houses are prettily ornamented, one has a _tharkhanah_, delightfully cool; generally the rooms are small, coated with a pretty sort of stucco. the remaining sides of the square are occupied by offices; small rooms opening into the garden by lattice work evidently denote a portion of the _zenana_. altogether the khan must be a man of taste. the bazars of the city are well thronged, but the shops are by no means equal to those of buhawulpoor, and the manufactures, except those of earthenware, are utterly insignificant. tobacco, _atta_, _musallahs_, dried fruits, _aloo-bokhara_, figs, apricots, raisins, salt, sugar, a green fruit something between a plum and greengage, meat, onions, salads, _dhie_, _sherbets_, _kubabs_, wicker- work, singing birds, are offered for sale: also abundance of lucerne and some _bhoosee_. altogether it is a busy place, but not so busy as the road near the gate, which is thronged by followers, and dismounted europeans, who are forbidden access to the city without a pass. tea from khiva of good quality is procurable in small quantities. no women but old ones to be seen. the dress of the inhabitants very often, and in some cases very completely, approximates to that of the chinese. the features too of most are evidently of tartar cast, and some wear two tails of plaited hair. blue seems to be a favourite colour of dress. the chief trees about the city are mulberry, a few _khunjucks_, which is the xanthoxylon of bootan and the kojhlak passes, occur outside; willows are frequent, and generally appear to be cultivated, among these a weeping species here and there occurs. _may rd_.--the resources of the city are evidently small, the only things indeed that appear plentiful are earthenware and milk: grain is excessively dear, but is reported to exist in considerable quantities. khoondil khan having ordered all those out of the city, who had not provided themselves with six months' provisions. _atta_ or flour is now selling at two seers a rupee, or d per pound, and every thing is proportionally dear: wood excessively so, the chief fuel is derived from the _santonia_, which in some form or other appears to constitute a principal feature of the vegetation of central asia, and there is some other wood apparently derived from some tree i have not yet seen. some discontent prevails in the town owing to the high price of provisions, which is, no doubt, severely felt. the established price of grain is at the rate of eight seers the rupee, a rate established by the king, but on occasions like the present there can be no rule. water is very abundant, it is to be found within four feet of the surface, and some regiments have already supplied themselves from this source by means of temporary wells. the water is excellent. asses, ponies, and horses are common, the former are excellent, rupees is a good price for one; they carry heavy loads with the additional weight of an affghan on their back; the ponies or tattoes are less valuable, but still they are strong. the horses are indifferent; good, generally speaking, but heavy, and with little spirit. excellent milch cows have been procured for twenty-five rupees, including the calf. goats are not easily procurable. sheep (_doombas_) are common, and afford excellent mutton, they vary in price from two to three rupees. tea from bokhara is procurable in small quantities; its quality is decent: it was originally eight rupees a seer but is now thirty. coarse russian cloths, and very inferior silks are also procurable. the great drawbacks are the want of wood, and above all want of inhabitants; from what i have seen of the cultivation, the soil appears to be very capable, and well adapted to barley and wheat; rice might also be raised as a summer crop. with regard to water, if there is a scarcity of this element, it is due to the indolence of the people. i have not yet seen any vestiges of buildings, topes, etc. to indicate that candahar has ever been a very populous place, the want of trees considering the ease with which they may be cultivated, is a strong evidence of the extreme laziness of the affghans, who appear to me remarkably low in the scale of civilization; and in personal habits, very generally inexpressibly filthy. poplars, mulberries, and willows are the principal trees: the poplar is very much akin to the _sofaida_ of the sutledge, it is a handsome tree, with a fine roundish crown. the fruit trees generally appear small in gardens; lettuces and onions are commonly cultivated, especially the latter, fields of lucerne are very abundant, and i believe clover also; a pony load of the former now costs five annas, but it is sufficient for a day's consumption of two or three horses. the pomegranate attains the ordinary size. in gardens two or three ranunculaceae, jasminum, pinks, sweet-williams, marigolds, stocks, and wall-flowers, are common, with a broad-leaved species of flag, the flowers of which i have not seen. the crops vary according to the mode in which they have been watered; if this has been properly done, they are rich. some of the fields are tolerably clean, others filled with weeds, among which a dipsacea, and one or two centaureae are very common. the villages are not generally defended: each house has its own straggling direction, is built of mud, and the roof is generally dome- shaped, and it has its own enclosure within a mud-wall. the houses are very low, and indicate poverty, and want of ingenuity. the better order appear always with arched roofs, and none are without picturesque ribs and recesses. the vineries here are so well enclosed, that there is no way of access except by scaling the mud-wall: the vines are planted in trenches; a row on each side, and allowed to run over the elevated spaces between the trenches. in one garden pomegranates, a pomaceous tree, and mulberries, whose fruit is now ripe but quite devoid of flavour, occurred. a zygophyllum, a beautiful capparis, an anthemis, marrubium, centaureoides , occurred as weeds, with plantago, phalaris, cichorium. for an excellent register of the thermometer at this place, i am indebted to the kindness of dr. henderson; the range in the open air is from degrees to degrees!!! the variations in the wet bulb are due to the currents of air, which beginning about a.m., pass into a rather constant strongish west wind about . or p.m., and even almost become hot. the climate is excessively dry, as indicated by the effects it has on furniture, etc. the difference of temperature between a tent, even with two flies or double roof, and the open air in free situations, is by no means great; thus when the thermometer was degrees in part of my tent, it was scarcely degrees in the sun; in capt. thomson's large tent degrees; placed against the outer _kunnat_, it rose to degrees. hanging free with black cloth round the bulb, degrees. but to shew the great heating powers of the sun, the thermometer with the bulb, placed on the ground and covered with the loose sand of the surface of the soil, rose to degrees. black partridges occur in the cornfields here, but in no great numbers. much of the cultivation of barley, wheat, and rye, is very luxuriant, but the proportion of waste, to cultivated land is too considerable to argue either a large population or active agricultural habits. pastor roseus occurs in flocks; it is evidently nearly allied to the _mina_. the capabilities of this valley are considerable, more particularly when the extreme readiness with which water is obtained in wells is considered, as well as the nature of the soil, which is well adapted to husbandry. candahar, viewed from about a mile to the west of our camp, backed by the picturesque hills (one bluff one in particular), the numbers and verdure of the trees, the break in the mountains on the herat road, presents a pretty scene. _ th_.--the installation of the shah, which took place to-day on the plain to the north of the city, was a spectacle worth seeing on account of the grand display of troops; but there were very few of the inhabitants of candahar or surrounding villages present. mulberries and apricots are now ripening. rats, a viverra with a long body and short legs, tawny with brown patches, face broad, blackish-brown, white band across the forehead, and white margins to the ears which are large; storks were seen when alarmed. pastor roseus occurs in flocks; magpies, swallows, swifts, and starlings. there is a garden with some religious buildings, to which an avenue of young trees leads in a north-east direction from one of the cabul gates, for there are two on this face. the buildings are not remarkable; nor are the trees, which are small; a few planes (platanus) occur, the most common is the _benowsh_, a species of ash, (fraxinus) of no great size or beauty. the elegant palmate leaved pomacea likewise occurs, with the mulberry: the marigold is a great favourite. the fields are now ripening, this being the harvest-moon. wild oats occur commonly, although they are not made any use of; the seed is large, and ripens sooner than any of the others; from the size of the uncultivated specimens, i am sure that oats would form an excellent crop. in the fields cichorium is very common, and carduacea, centaurea cyanea, dipsaceae, and in certain low places an arundo, are the most common weeds; two or three silenaceae, and umbelliferae also occur. in the ditches typha, butomus, watercresses, alomioides, ceratophyllum, lemna _gibba_? confervae, gramineae two or three, ranunculus, potamogeton, one species immersa; mentha, sium. on the _chummuns_, which are of no extent, but which are pleasing from their verdure and soft sward chiefly consisting of carex, trifolium, juncus rigidus, santalacea, and gentiana likewise prevail. the fields of lucerne are luxuriant, but require much water, the price of which is very dear; one ass-load costs eight annas!! iris crocifolia is common in old cultivations. the city is situated at the termination of one of the shingly slopes, which are universal between the bases of the hills, and the cultivated portion of the valley. the ditch is hence shingly, whereas an equal depth in the cultivated parts would meet nothing but a sandy, light, easily pulverizable brownish-yellow soil, tenacious, and very slippery when wet. the tobacco crop is excellent. chapter xv. _candahar to cabul_. the good old _moolla_ of a mosque, to which we resort daily, gives me the following information about the vegetable products of this country, from which it would seem, that every thing not producing food, is looked upon with contempt. the fruit trees, are-- . _sha-aloo_, _aloo-bookhara_, (damson), which has ripe fruit in august, the same time as figs; _zurd-aloo_, (apricot), _aloocha_--apricot, _shuft-aloo_, another kind of apricot; _unar_, (pomegranate); _ungoor_, (grapes); _unjeer_, (guava); _bihee_, (figs); _umroot_, _toot_, (mulberry); _aloogoordaigoo_, _shuft-aloo_, all these _aloos_ being pomaceous. the elaeagnus is called sinjit: it produces a small red fruit, used in medicine as an astringent, it ripens in august, and sells at eight or nine seers the rupee; it is exported in small quantities; but the plant is not much esteemed. the _munjit_ is an article of much consequence; it is exported chiefly to china and bombay, some goes to persia; the roots are occasionally dug up after two years, but the better practise is to allow them five to seven: the price is six hindostanee maunds for a rupee. the herb is used for camel fodder. the affghan name is _dlwurrung_. the common artemisia of this place is called _turk_; the camels are not so fond of it, as they were of the sinab and quettah sort; perhaps this is due to their preferring joussa, which is found in abundance. the carrot is called _zurduk_; it is dug in the cold months, and sown in july; three seers are sold for a pice: both men and cattle use it. _turbooj_, (watermelon,) ripens in june; it is not watered after springing up; four seers are sold for a pice. but i have not seen much of this fruit. the wheat is watered according to the quality of the soil, the better the soil the less water is required, and this varies from four to eight repetitions of water. _jhow_ requires two waterings less. wheat is considered dear if less than one maund is sold for the rupee. one year ago, three maunds of barley, and four of wheat were sold for a rupee. iris odora, _soosumbur_; (the two kinds, and _datura_ has the same name) is indigenous. the timber trees, or rather trees not producing fruit, and which the _moolla_ thinks very lightly of, are the _chenar_, (plane), _pudda_, (poplar?), baid, _sofaida_. the fig trees are often planted in rows, they are very umbrageous, and look very healthy. these, and the mulberry, are the most common; next are the bullace and damson. neither are worth introducing to india, nor have i seen any thing yet in the country that is so. it is certainly the interest of the inhabitants to keep the army here as long as our commissariat places so many rupees in their hands. it may indeed be questionable whether with an overpowering army, the rates paid for grain and other supplies for the troops should not be established by authority rather than advancing money for grain at exorbitant rates, when the crops are entirely within the command of foraging parties. _atta_ now sells at two and three-quarter seers the rupee, a mere nominal fall, for the dealers will only give fifteen annas for a company's rupee. there is a curious _hazy_ appearance of the atmosphere over the city in the evening, occasioned by fine dusty particles from cattle, suspended in air; which, from their fineness, are long in subsiding. this curious hazy weather increases daily, yesterday evening was very cloudy, and this morning the wind rather strong and southerly up to a.m.: and at . p.m. the sun is either quite obscured, or the light so diminished, that the eye rests without inconvenience on his image. in the morning the wind strengthens as the sun attains height and power. the old _moolla_ says that this weather commences in khorassan with the setting in of the periodical rains in the north-western provinces of india, and continues with them. from the direction of the wind it is probably connected with the commencement of the south-west monsoon at bombay, for the rains at delhi do not commence before june. the haze is so strong at times that hills within three to five miles are quite obscured; it tends to diminish the temperature considerably, especially between seven and eight of a morning; curious gusts of hot winds are observed, even when the general nature of the wind is cool. _ st_.--a fine and clear cold morning; thermometer degrees at a.m. in the tent. air fresh; thermometer degrees at p.m. a few drops of rain at ; _cloudy generally_. _ nd_.--thermometer degrees at a.m. similar weather, clear and elastic: south winds continue but of less strength. easterly wind prevails in the morning up to a.m., after which hour the westerly hot wind, variable in strength, sets in: the range of the thermometer is then somewhat increased, although in the house it does not rise above degrees. the _moolla_ tells me, that snow is of rare occurrence at candahar; he mentions one fall in about four or five years. the rains last for three months, and happen in winter. during the winter all occupations out of doors are suspended, and people wrap themselves up, and sit over fires. clouds are of very rare occurrence, and then only partial. the clouds, if resulting from the south-west monsoon, ought to be intercepted by the paropamisus and hindoo koosh, and rain ought to fall along these and about ghuznee at this time. in the evening a cool wind sets in, indicating a fall of rain somewhere. rarity of dews in khorassan: as dews depend on a certain amount of moisture either in the soil or atmosphere, it follows that in a very dry climate no dews will occur. the occurrence of the dews here at this period, is another proof that rain must have fallen somewhere (to the southward), to which the coolness of the weather is attributable. yesterday and to-day, the thermometer at a.m. stood at degrees, degrees; at p.m. degrees, degrees, the daily range in the mosque is from degrees to degrees. capt. thomson suggests that the dews observed here are either confined to, or much greater in the _chummuns_, in which the water is very close to the surface, as indicated _inter_ _alia_ by the green turf. the kinds of grapes are numerous; those earliest ripe are the black, and a small red kind called _roucha_; which will be ripe in the latter end of this moon. _kismiss_ another sort, comes in july. the _tahibee_ is the best kind produced here, and the dearest. tobacco is cultivated chiefly along the arghandab; it is planted about this season, and gathered in two or three months, and requires to be watered ten or twelve times. the barley is now fully ripe, and is generally cut and thrashed in some places. pears in gardens are now ripe. candahar valley is of great extent to the westward, or south-west and ssw. the wasps, with large femora, i observe build their mud nests in houses. the rarity of lepidoptera, except perhaps some nocturnal moths, is curious; coleoptera are more common, but inconspicuous. ants are abundant in the mud walls. a small gnat with large noiseless wings, is very annoying, and the bite very painful and irritating. doves, and wild pigeons are tolerably common, as also crested larks, and swifts. abundance of lizards; a venomous snake of brown colour, having an abruptly attenuated tail. every thing that happens shows how credulous, and how unenquiring we are; and in all cases out of our particular sphere, how extremely apt most are to give excessive credit, where a moderate only is due. it is a generous failing which it is difficult to condemn, particularly with regard to our travellers in this direction. instance connolly, and certainly gerard whose acquaintance with burnes and its results demands attention. it is singular that his name scarcely occurs in burnes' book, although his scientific knowledge and mss. submitted to government, entitle him to be considered an observant, and well-informed traveller. pottinger is another instance of what i have said above. the general opinion is, and it is one which i have not discarded entirely, that he threw himself into herat, that he was throughout the siege daily employed in the front of the garrison, and that it is owing to his personal exertions that herat was saved. i hear however on good authority that he was at herat accidentally, and wished to leave it when the besiegers appeared, but was prevented by want of funds. so anxious was he however to get away, as his leave of absence had expired, that he was obliged to discover himself to yar mahommed, and request loans to enable him to rejoin india. the vizier at once secured him, took him to kamran, and hindered him from leaving, forcing him indeed to the dangerous elevation of british agent at herat. his merits, if this be true, rest on very different grounds from those generally supposed; his courage however has been proved of a high moral cast. the _joussa_, the _moolla_ tells me, is the _kan shootur_ or _shootur_ _kan_. burnes' account of the _turunjbeen_ or manna is correct, except perhaps in the limits he assigns to its production. it is at any rate produced here and sold in the bazar, its production while the plant is in flower is curious, and worthy of examination; it may however be deposited by an insect, in which case the probable period of its production would be that of inflorescence. there is some cultivation of indian corn here, the plants have now attained one-third of their growth. except in the immediate vicinity of the town, nothing can exceed the sterility of the valley, or rather its desolation: scarcely a plant, beyond the peganum and _joussa_, is to be found. _khaisee_, an excellent smooth skinned apricot, is now ripe, and is of light yellowish colour, sometimes faintly spotted; it is a product from grafts, the seeds are useless, as they do not continue the good qualities of the fruit: it is here grafted on _zurd-aloo_, _thulk_, potentilla quinquefolia. melons and grapes are now coming in; the former, at least those i have seen, have pale pulp, and are not superior. the grapes first ripe are the ordinary black sort: we tasted yesterday some very good ones in the _moolla's_ garden. the _kismiss_ are especially delicate, and another large sort of very fine rich flavour, both were rather unripe. those for packing are still unripe. the trenches in this garden are very deep: the vines are planted on the northern face only. gardens are very common to the south-west of the town. the valley of the arghandab is the most fertile part of khorassan i have yet seen. a strip of cultivation extends along the banks of the river, and from these last not being high, the stream is easily diverted into channels for irrigation. seen from any of the neighbouring hills, the valley presents one uniform belt of verdure, almost as far as the eye can reach, and the view up and down is of some extent. the chief cultivation is wheat, barley, and lucerne; _chummuns_ also occur. gardens abound, together with fine groves of mulberry trees, the former are walled in, and are verdant to a degree. there is a bluff mountain to the north of candahar, the disintegration of which is so rapid, that it is evident from the slope of the debris, it will in time bury the original structures. the hills forming the ridge separating arghandab from candahar, as well as all those rugged looking ones about candahar, are of limestone, they are much worn by the weather, and full of holes. they are very barren, the only shrubby vegetation of any size being ficus, which may be the stock of the _ungoor_, as it resembles it a good deal, centaurea spinosa, paederiae , echinops, pommereulla, one to two, other graminae, lemon- grass, dianthus, peganum, cheiranthus as before, sedum rosaceum, gnaphalium, _hyoceyamus_, _didymocarpeae_, gnidia, etc. the arghandab is a good sized river, with channel subdivided: its stream is rapid and fordable; no large boulders occur in its bed; the temperature of its water is moderate. the fish are a cyprinus and a barbus, or oreinus with small scales, thick leathery mouth, and cirrhi; a loach of largish size, flat head, reddish, with conspicuous brownish mottlings, and a silurus. the hills forming the northern boundary of the valley are picturesque, and of several series, and perhaps the subordinate valleys are not so large and fruitful in this direction. between arghandab and candahar, two ranges occur; one interrupted: the other nearer candahar has first to be surmounted at a low pass; the pass is short, rugged and impassable for guns. the inner ridge is much closer to the cultivated part of the valley than the northern range. between it and the arghandab, at least six cuts occur: these are met with generally in threes, and are at different elevations; the inner one being close at the foot of the hills; great labour must have been required to make them. numerous villages, some with flat roofed houses occur. arundo, salsola, plantago, p. coronopoid, cnicus, juncus, veronica exallata, santalacea, mentha, lactucoides, chenopod. - , panicum, samolus, ceratophyllum; salix occurs near the river; apricots, apples, pomegranates, damsons or plums, bullaces, pears, mulberries and raspberries in the gardens. the shingle found about all the hills in khorassan, can scarcely be derived from any source but disintegration, it slopes too gradually and uniformly for upheavement. if my idea is correct, the mountains will at some period be buried in their own debris, of course inspection of the shingle will at once point out whether this is true or not, more especially _in all those places where the rocks are of_ _uniform structure_. there is a curious desert to the south and southwest of candahar, elevated a good deal above the valley, quite bare, and stretching a long way to the westward: it is seen for forty miles along the girishk road. _curious reflection_.--observed in ghee used as lamp-oil, a bubble ascending from the surface of the water on which it floated, met by another descending; the deception of this is perfect. that it is due to reflection, is apparent from the variation of the length of the descent, according to the angle under which it is viewed. when viewed from beneath at a very oblique angle, the descent is complete, but if viewed parallel to the surface, no appearance of the sort occurs. the reflection is due to the surface of the ghee which appears to be more dense than the rest, probably more oily; this mathematical reflection may suggest others of a moral nature, touching our liability to mistaken views of things, from observing only one side. old candahar is about three miles to west of the new town; it is immediately under a steep limestone range, running about southwest, and not exceeding feet in height. it bears marks of having been fortified, and at either extremity remains of forts are still visible. the fort of forty steps is at the north end of the range. the town is in complete ruins; indeed none of the edifices are visible except those that occupy the mound of stones, (with which they are partly built) probably the site of the citadel. on three sides, the town is fenced by two respectable ditches, the outer one about yards wide; both are now, especially the outer, beds of marshes; they were supplied by cuts from the arghandab river. wells exist however. there is one white mosque in good preservation. the works were strong, and much better than the very indifferent ones of new candahar; and the walls of the town were prolonged up the face of the hills. about candahar, conical houses occur, probably for granaries. a curious mosque cut out of the rock in situ, is seen on the girishk road, with a flight of steps leading to it, cut in like manner out of the rock. there is also in the same quarter the fort of chuhulzeenat, or forty steps; a work not of very considerable extent; and as in other asiatic countries i have visited, troughs are cut in rocks for separating grain from the husk. but there is no work to be seen indicating vast labour or any genius. some remains of good pottery may be picked up; and the earth of which the works, etc. were made, is filled with remains of coarse pottery. _ th_.--moved four miles to shorundab, the country is very barren: not much _joussa_: the water is brackish at our present encampment, which is within sight of babawallee. _ th_.--proceeded to kileeyazim, ten and a quarter miles, marched at p.m. and reached the place at p.m., the camels arriving one hour afterwards: the ground is generally good, throughout stony, difficult in places and undulated, particularly in two situations occasioned from cuts. there is a square fort, situated at the halting place with a tower at each corner, and on north face two; as well as towers at the gate: but without windows. _joussa_ is abundant, as also grass along the cuts. salsola rotundifolia, a chenopodia, and a curious prickly, leafless composita and _joussa_ occur, the latter most common, artemisiae sp. also rock pigeons and the raven. halted one mile to the east of the fort. _ th_.--proceeded to the turnuk, near khet-i-ahkoond, distance fifteen and a half miles. the country continues the same, no cultivation to be seen before reaching the turnuk. the road tolerable, over gravelly or shingly ground: it was at first level, until we reached a mountain gorge, when it became undulated. passed the dry beds of two streams, the second the larger: its banks were clothed with vitex instead of tamarisk. at the entrance of gorge a fort similar to that of yesterday was passed. scarcely any change in vegetation. artemisiae one or two, centaurea spinosa, salsola cordifolia and aphylla? are the most common plants, euonymus and malpighiacea? polygonoides, occurred along the nullah, a pretty species of the plant, antheris globosis petaloideo-terminalis, in profusion in some places, literally colouring the ground: close to it another very distinct species, foliis connatis, floribus albis, a rubiaceous crystalline looking plant, another novelty; all the plants about the hills at candahar continue: dianthoid, statice, paederia villosa. cultivation along the turnuk, melons in small trenches, the crops are now cut, _jhow_ or _gaz_ along the bank: but there is not much water. the hills around are apparently of limestone, very picturesque, and presenting very fine cliffs. the valley of the turnuk is here very narrow, and the country very arid looking, completely burnt up. _joussa_ rather scarce, _doob_ grass occurs along the river, the water of which is discoloured. _ th_.--proceeded to shair-i-suffa, ten miles and six furlongs. the country continues the same. the road extending along the right bank of the turnuk, over undulating ground for one and a half or two miles, is bad, very narrow, and overhanging the steep bank of the river, scarcely passable for wheel carriages without preparation. vegetation continues precisely the same: little verdure to be seen even along the turnuk: the hills desperately barren; a high mound occurs in middle of the valley near our halting place, well adapted for a fort, but unoccupied. small fields of cultivation are now seen. a small species of mullet occurs in the river: thermometer degrees at p.m. in the tent. nothing can exceed the barren aspect of this valley, which is near khet-i- ahkoond, but at several miles distance, a few trees are visible in nooks: the only green along the banks of the river, is occasioned apparently by tamarisk: the hills are picturesque, rugged, varied with bold cliffs, the valleys are changed in structure, being now occupied by rounded undulated ground, instead of hollow basins. [river turnuk banks: m .jpg] _july st_.--proceeded ten miles, and halted on the turnuk within one mile of the tower of tirandaz. the country continues precisely the same: the road at first is bad, owing to the inhabitants having tried to flood it. at a distance of six miles we ascended a small defile without any difficulty; the remainder of the march being over undulating stony ground: the valley then becomes narrow, and we again enter into the arable part, which is especially narrow. the hills present the same aspect. _joussa_ very abundant, and also artemisia, and a salsoloides flore ochroleuco. no villages are visible. we are unable to judge of the extent of cultivation, because the country, which seems uniformly dried up, is rugged and bouldery: on the right is the old bed of the river, consisting of dry sand. we crossed one small nullah, when an old fort became visible on a hill, in the centre of the valley. _ nd_.--proceeded to toot, a distance of eleven miles, through a similar country; the road dividing at the low hills approaching the river and forming its banks, which are in places precipitous; the greater part of the difficulties were avoided by taking the lower route, that along the hills being impassable for guns owing to the large rocks scattered in every direction, and detached from conglomerate hills. two or three nullahs were passed, one with a little water. the ground was besides a good deal cut up towards the centre of the valley, and a water-cut was crossed several times. owing to the delay in making the road, the troops did not reach the encamping ground before or . p.m., the camels in some instances not before p.m. an attack is reported to have been made on the baggage at the river where the road ascends the cliff: it was prevented by a party of the th, who shot two of the marauders. _joussa_ is plentiful, and mentha in flower. the turnuk river is feet broad, the current rapid, and the water discoloured; the banks are sandy, feet high: coarse grass, clematis scandens fol. ternatisectis pinnatis. _jhow_ is abundant. _ rd_.--from toot to ----, nine miles and four furlongs. road decent, over the usual sort of ground, except in one place, where the bank approaches the river; this defile is much shorter and much easier than that at tirandaz or rather jillongeer: a small river with a little water is crossed: here the road for a very short distance bends suddenly to a little west of north, but having crossed a narrow and deep ravine-like cut, resumes its original direction. the country continues precisely the same, the valley however becomes narrow and more undulating, while the peculiar limestone ranges appear to be fewer. reached the encamping ground in very good time, the vegetation almost precisely the same as before, but with some willow trees. many of the ravines are however, actually covered with thickets, apparently of the prickly yellow flowered dioica shrub of _chummun_; trees and these shrubs occupied by thousands of a hymenopterous insect or fly. _joussa_ very abundant: a village, the lights of one were visible _en route_. the water of the turnuk is still very much discoloured, its bed shingly, and the ground near it much cut up: a mill was passed on the river; the valley here not being yards wide: the climate is more agreeable, though still very hot in the middle of the day; in the shade, the air continues pleasant up to a.m. thunder not heavy, was succeeded by a squall from the ene.; little rain fell, but there were clouds of dust. _ th_.--reached khilat-i-gilzee, distance thirteen and a half miles, from our last encampment, direction ne. by e. as before: the aspect of the country is unchanged, the road became somewhat difficult about one and a half mile from camp, where a defile exists along the hills forming the bank of the river; it was however much easier than that of botee. thence we continued over undulating ground, leaving the turnuk river to the right, but reverting to it beyond the fort. half-way the deep and steep channel of a river presented a serious obstacle; the country gradually rises until khilat-i-gilzee fort is passed, from thence it descends somewhat. at this place there is a considerable expanse of irregular valleys; and to south curious low undulated ground occurs: to the south- east is a patch of table land, which is not an uncommon form in these parts; some cultivation here exists along the turnuk, which runs half a mile below the fort, which is in ruins, occupying a hill not commanded by any near ones. this is of no great height, and has two ramifications, and in the centre the remains of a tower. in the valley extending nne. two villages with castles occur, together with a good many low trees. vegetation the same: a curious antirrhinoid plant occurs out of flower, echinops, carduacea, and a curious centaurea. wet places abound in rumex and tamarisk along the river. horsemen were seen after passing the fort: two or three willow trees about the villages. _jhow_ or barley is selling for ten seers the rupee, _atta_ or flour at eight. _ th_.--khilat-i-gilzee is a very uninteresting place, with little appearance of cultivation. the vegetation of the undulated ground continues the same, asphodelus, mesembryanthemoides, remains of tauschia, and the former cruciferae. the turnuk discharges a good deal of water much discoloured, and forming a series of constant rapids. the most common plants are artemisiae two or three species, centaurea spinosa, salsola luteiflora, almond groves, iris crocifolia? vel sp. affinis, asphodelus, mesemb., salvioides, thermopsis, cichorium, _joussa_, and mentha recur, the two last in abundance. the new plants are a chenopodium, polygonum, lotoides, triticum, astragalus, scirpus, caesalpinioides, centaurea micrantha, and eryngioides: a spring occurs in the old fort of khilat-i-gilzee. indian-corn is just sprouting up, barley and other crops ripe. latitude of khilat-i-gilzee degrees ' "; altitude, bar. . : the climate is disagreeable from the violent sudden extremes to which it is exposed. west winds during day, and east winds of a morning. _ th_.--proceeded to sir tasp, ten miles, north-east, road good over an open undulating country, the only difficulty in the way arising from a cut with deep holes in it. vegetation continues precisely the same: limestone hills less frequent, or at any rate much less rugged, and the country assumes a much more open character. artemisia most abundant, of large size, caesalpinia, euonymus dioica, centaurea spinosa, echinops, new plants two linariae, eryngium, verbascum. altitude . , latitude degrees ' " north. _atta_ has risen in price to seven seers a rupee. _ th_.--arrived at nooroock after a march of nine miles; still extending up the valley in a direction north-east--direct on the star capella. the country is undulated; vegetation still the same. artemisia most abundant and of a larger size; road good: no fodder for horses, except along the river: the valley open, distant hills on either side with a fine range to the north of the camp, apparently composed of limestone, with abundance of junipers, and the iris of dund-i-golai very common. hares, rock pigeons, alauda. myriads of cicada, and the jerboa rat. the turnuk river is again occasionally in sight, valley apparently little cultivated. stipa very common, as well as iris, festuca vivipara, astragali sp., and artemisia. cloudy evening, followed by a stormy night; wind southerly. _ th_.--reached tazee, eight miles seven furlongs from nooroock: direction still the same, no change: the road good, extending over an undulated country, except one or two small nullahs with rather steep banks. a range of mountains seen to the north, called kohi-soork, continue forming a long line, the southern boundary of which is broken: we are encamped opposite a valley running east, presenting much cultivation: several villages indicated by distant _smoke_: some trees are seen here and there: the face of the valley is rather green, indicating more water than usual. vegetation is precisely the same; no _joussa_ or other fodder for camels than artemisia and spinous compositae. morning very cloudy and cold at p.m. the plants met with are chara, naiad, polygoni , malva fl. amplis lilacinis, on banks of river. _ th_.--_shuftul_, five miles: the direction lay towards the star capella: road bad, requiring to be made over three difficult ravines, all forming beds of torrents descending from the koh-i-soork. the country otherwise presents the same features. the turnuk runs close under the southern boundary of the valley, and is here a pretty stream of considerable body. _joussa_ grows abundantly on its immediate banks, together with excellent grass and some clover, one or two new compositae, one of them a matthiola, otherwise artemisiae, stipa, centaurea spinaceis herb. astragalus, and peganum, are the most common; muscoides, plantaginacea reoccur, a curious _leaved_ composita? _ th_.--halted yesterday, and went out along the banks of the turnuk: where i found twenty-six species not obtained before. some cultivation was observed, but as usual weedy, abounding with two species of centaurea. in ditches two species of epilobium, sparganium, mentha, polygonum natans, ranunculus aquaticus, lotus, carex, astragaloid on swards, on the sandy moist banks of the turnuk: epilobium, two veronicae, several cyperaceae, or junci, cyperus fuscus. alisma abundant in swamps: small partridges: no chakor: hares, swifts, rock-pigeons. springs of beautiful clear water: temperature not changeable, degrees; two small platiceroid fishes in it; tadpoles. temperature of the river degrees. the fish of this river are the same as those of the arghandab, the large cyprinus takes cicada greedily. the vegetation of the hills is the same: cerasus pygmaeus and canus, common; the novelties were a fine composita, plectranthus, ephedra in fruit, artemisia, and astragal., formed the chief bulk; _joussa_ is common on the river sides. this place is feet above the last, yet the increased elevation is not appreciable to the sight: the tents of the army at the tazee encampment are distinctly visible. _atta_ sold, at eight seers yesterday, barley sixteen seers for the rupee. where the sellers come from i know not. _atta_ was fifteen seers, but it was soon made eight by the approach of the army, and to-day it has risen to four and a half. _ th_.--proceeded to chushm-i-shadee, ten miles six furlongs, direction the same: road good, not requiring any repairs; it continues up the valley but at a greater distance from the river than before; the valley is enclosed in hills on both sides. koh-i-soork, the northern one, is not very high, but bold and cliffy, with very little cultivation: the country is less undulated. chushm-i-shadee is a beautiful spring, not deep, but extending some distance under ground; large-sized fish are found in it: apparently ophiocephali, but only parts of their bodies can be seen. indian-corn and madder are cultivated: a new asteraceous flower was found. passed a small eminence in the centre of the valley, about three miles from chushm-i-shadee. _joussa_ very abundant. temperature of spring degrees. _ th_.--reached chushm-i-pinjup, six and a half miles, direction more northerly; keeping capella a little to the right: the country is precisely the same, the road good, one or two easy ravines; one with water in it. the valley is rather wider, soil much less shingly, and capable of cultivation; several patches of trees are visible in many directions, indicating villages. we encamped opposite the entrance or gap between the mountains forming hitherto the southern boundary, and a more lofty range is seen running parallel with them, about east and west. this range is of considerable height; presenting a _peculiar slope_ rising almost half-way up, and very conspicuous: four forts are seen in this direction; together with several patches of trees, and a good deal of cultivation, but nothing to what might exist. artemisia is the chief shrub; several good springs occur: clover, and good grass are both abundant for a small party; _joussa_ in cultivation. the mountain range to the north is very fine, and apparently of different formation from the others; here and there whitish patches occur. there is a very evident slope, which is very gradual from the northern range to the _peculiar_ slope of the southern. several springs of fine water occur: the temperature of which is degrees. fish are abundant about the mouths of these springs, which are like caves; their waters form one of the heads of the turnuk, along them mentha, gramineae , plantago major, centaurea magnispina, compositae, trifolium. in the spring polygonum natans, and p. graminifol., chara, cyperacae. [peculiar slope: m .jpg] _ th_.--gojhan, the distance to this place is miles furlongs: it is not within sight of the turnuk, though still up the valley of that river, with the same boundaries: a few ravines were crossed but they were not difficult: the road, otherwise level, turning most of them, and capable of easy transit. one small stream was passed, when we encamped on a small cut with excellent water: the banks as usual clovery and grassy; opposite this are two villages on either side of a gorge in the northern boundary, both apparently fortified; the one to the north of the gorge is of large size. the country is not shingly, but the soil is mixed with small pebbles; to our right is a bold hill; vegetation the same. _bicornigera_ planta is very common, and a good deal of madder cultivation occurs; wheat and barley all cut and thrashed or trodden out: _atta_ selling eight and a half seers the rupee. thermometer at day break degrees, the west winds continue strong: they arise about a.m. and continue till sunset, sometimes even a little later; they are not hot. this place, and its environs, is one of the most promising looking i have seen; the whole face of the country being perhaps capable of cultivation. no _joussa_ seen except perhaps among the cultivated fields; grass is plentiful enough for a small force, and _boosee_ likewise. quails were seen on the march at some distance: it seems to be a great country for potash, and perhaps for camphor, which is evidently abundant in one species of artemisia. _ th_.--proceeded to mookhloor or _chushm-i-turnuk_, twelve and a half miles; direction about nne. the country is the same, but the road is more raviny: certain passes occur about three miles from gojhan, presenting a fine defile, and some smaller ones afterwards. vegetation continues the same. artemisiae, astragali, and peganum, are most common; observed a new astragalus. the valley is much wider after passing gojhan; the southern boundary is not so distinct, owing to the haze: there is not much cultivation, which appears to be confined to the slopes under the hills. mookhloor is situated under a fine limestone cliff; and an excellent stream of water occurs here, and abundance of fine grass along the humid banks: along this water villages are abundant, they are all fortified. trees are plentiful, indeed after candahar and arghandab, this is the best looking place we have seen: the view is not distinct however, owing to the haze above alluded to: beyond the water, lies a vast and barren plain. fish are abundant in the stream, and vegetation luxuriant along its margins. this stream divides into two or three branches, which are all soon choked up with sedges, etc., a cut carries off the greater part of the water, the slope is to the south, or a little to the west of south. typha angustifolia occurs in profusion, mentha, cochlearia, epilobiae , calamus abundant, cyperaceae in profusion, ranuncul. aquatic, alisma ditto. the vegetation of the plain where we are encamped is chiefly artemisia. _ th_.--halted: and i here ascended the hills overhanging the heads of turnuk where many villages are visible along its branches, fifty may be counted, but it is not known how many of these are in ruins, the villages occur at little distances from each other; the valley is very broad. these hills, which are of conglomerate limestone, except about the upper one-third, which is simple limestone, have no peculiar vegetation. ficus is the only moderate sized shrub, asphodelus, lameoides, salvia alia, which must be a beautiful species, labiatae caespitosa, baehmerioides, pommereulla, and several grasses, compositae, linaria, senecionoides glaucescens of quettah, dianthoides frutex alius congener, staticoides alia, composita eryngifolia, eryngium, astragali , umbelliferae - , hibiscus vel althaei, rutae sp.; frutex pistacioides, sedoides rosaceus, onosma, verbascum, dipsacea, cerasus pygmaeus, canus, scrophularia tertia, compositae, labiatae, and grasses, are all the most common plants. the novelties along the water are a pretty species of astragalus, in turf a triglochin and typha in flower, potamogetons - , and ecratophyllum occur: barley is now selling at sixteen seers, wheat at eight seers for a rupee. _ th_.--reached oba-kahreeze, the distance of which from the last encampment being fourteen miles. the country is open, but very uninteresting; the boundary hills are scarcely discernible owing to haze: the road is good, and a few small hills occur here and there. vegetation is comparatively scanty; astragalus novus, common; the chief plants, however, is another artemisia of much more medicated qualities than those previously met with, that is, less fragrant, peganum common. water is plentiful enough, but fodder is scarce, and scarcely any _joussa_ occurs; but a good deal of cultivation was passed, consisting of madder, barley, and wheat. a few trees were observed here and there marking the sites of villages. the country is much poorer than that at mookhloor, but almost the whole expanse of plain is capable of good cultivation: soil pebbly. fowls a good many are procurable. apricots are also brought for sale, but very inferior: a striking boundary hill to the north presents a rugged, lofty aspect, not less in the peaks than , above the plain; several ranges occur, but those to the south are low, rounded, and small; rounded clumps of astragali are seen. _ th_.--proceeded to jumrat, miles and furlongs, our direction lying to the north of the star capella. the country continues to present a similar aspect: valley expanded, road tolerable, several ravines and beds of dry watercourses, with sandy bottoms; indeed as compared with yesterday, the soil is much more sandy and less pebbly. vegetation is the same, no more dense aggregations of artemisia fruticosa are seen, but the plants consisting of scattered artemisia of yesterday, barely suffruticose, peganum, astragalus, astragaloid muscoideus, and senecio glaucescens. a good deal of cultivation occurs on both sides of the slope towards the southern boundary, which is here lofty, presenting the usual limestone characters. many villages are seen, all fortified, and about jumrat there is the appearance of much population. jerboas, ravens, rock pigeons, and wild pigeons, are common; hares are uncommon. very few trees are to be seen, but there is abundance of good water and grass along the margins of the cut. sheep are also to be had, but they are small, and goats for one rupee each, large sheep two rupees: _dhal_, _atta_, barley procurable; and herat rugs. to-day the native troops were put on short rations of twelve _chatacs_; servants, etc. on eight. horsemen to the number of ? came to meet the shah, all mounted on decent ponies, but quite incapable of coping with our irregular horse. barometer . , thermometer degrees, wooll. new thermometrical barometer . , old . . from p.m. to p.m. heavy rain; very heavy for about twenty minutes, with a threatening aspect in the horizon at a.m. to south by east, from which direction the rain came: thunder and lightning; latter very frequent. _ th_.--entered the district of karabagh, distance to our present place of encampment from that we had left eight and a half miles. the road decent, traversing several watercuts, one or two ravines, and a small stream, indeed water becomes more abundant to-day than in almost any other march: our direction lay the same as before, but as we approached the low hills, separating us from ghuznee plain, we proceeded more east in order to turn them. the features of the country are the same, together with the vegetation, the only novelty being a genuine statice and a cruciferous plant, which i observed at mookhloor, and a composita, echinops spinis radiantibus continued. the medicated suffruticose artemisia: _joussa_ in old cultivation, and peganum are the most common plants. grass abundant along the cuts and streamlets, mixed with a pretty new astragalus, and the astragalus of mookhloor, _composita depressa_, etc. the valley narrowing, we halted at the foot of low hills, which we are yet to traverse; the ground about our camp stony and barren, producing astragalus, thorny staticoides, centaurea spinosa, verbascum, and thapsus. the soil of the plain good and deep, as instanced by ravines, and the deep beds of streamlets. cultivation is abundant, villages numerous, and, as usual, all walled; their form generally square, with a bastion at each corner, and often two at each face, in which there is a gate. the people are very confident of their own security in these parts, crowding to our camp with merchandise. the country continues bare of trees, except about some of the villages; northern boundary hills lofty; a curious snow-like appearance is occasionally produced from denudation of land slips, like a long wall running along one of the ridges: southern hills distant, presenting limestone characters. the articles sold in camp yesterday, were _atta_ (wheat) eight seers, barley sixteen _chenna_, sugar three to four seers. lucerne abundant, at one rupee four annas a bullock load, _soorais_, _kismiss_, three to four seers, _zurd-aloo_ twelve seers, dried _toot_ or mulberry one and a half seers for a rupee, but these are insipid, very sweet, but also very dirty, _pistacio_ nuts one seer: crops not yet cut, but ripe. _kupra_, cloth of common quality, as well as a black kind called _soosee_. barometer, mean of three observations ( p.m., p.m., p.m.) . , thermometer degrees '. wooll. new therm. bar. mean of two observations, . , old, . . lichens abundant on black _limestone_? rocks. on hills about camp, labiata nova, and a curious tomentose plant were the only novelties. _ th_.--proceeded to argutto, distance nine miles, direction easterly, the country continues unchanged until we ascended gradually the end of the low ridge between us and ghuznee. the slope was very gradual: the road towards the foot generally sandy, and in some places very bouldery: on surmounting the ridge, which was not feet above the plain, we descended a trifle, and encamped in an open space with hills to the north; this place slopes to the south into the valley up which we have come for some marches. the valley in this upper portion is not so fertile as the lower parts we have seen lately, still there are a good many forts, and some cultivation: one or two cuts were passed, and water is abundant at our halting place in cuts, or _kahrezes_, as well as in a small torrent with a shallow bed. several forts were seen on the north side, situated in the small ravines of the hills, they are however, mostly ruined. no change in the vegetation. jerboas not uncommon. an accipitrine bird, the same as that obtained at shair-i-suffer. horsemen, about thirty, were seen on the hills; they descended thence and skirted the base in number; when they were pursued by our cavalry, but escaped through a ravine which sturt says, leads into a fine plain with many forts. the th brigade joined with the shah's force. i observed to- day a curious monstrosity of an umbelliferous plant, in which the rays of the umbellules are soldered together; forming an involucre round the immersed central solitary female, the male flowers forming the extreme teeth of the involucre. detached thermometer degrees ', attached ditto degrees '; barometer . , mean of three observations: old therm. bar. . , new ditto . . abundance of villages throughout the part of the valley running east, and then north, and many trees. [ghuznee: p .jpg] _ th_.--proceeded to nanee, distance eight to ten miles, bearing north- east; after descending slightly from the ground we encamped on, and turning the east extremity of its slope, the road is good, sandy and shingly, running close to low undulated hills. no change in vegetation. encamped on undulated shingly ground formed from low hills to the north, about half a mile off: ghuznee is thence visible, situated close under a range of hills, the walls high, having many bastions, and one angle on the south face. abundance of villages and topes or groves about the valley closing up with irregular barren mountains. picquets were seen about five miles from our camp, but no appearance of an army about ghuznee. the valley up which we have come since leaving mookhloor, runs opposite this place, from nearly east to north, and apparently, terminates beyond ghuznee; it is highly capable, is well inhabited and much cultivated. so are all the valleys that we have seen on surmounting the boundary ridges: the villages occupy each indentation of the valley, as well as its general level. barometer at p.m. . , thermometer degrees: new thermometric bar. . , old . . latitude mean of three observations degrees ' " north. _ st_.--moved to ghuznee, ten miles six furlongs. cavalry in very regular columns on the left; infantry to the right, and the artillery in the centre; the park bringing up the rear: to the last moment we were not aware whether the place would hold out or not. the commander-in-chief and staff moved far in advance to reconnoitre until we entered a road between some gardens, at the exit of which we were almost within range of the town; here we halted; a fire was soon set up against us from gardens to our left, and somewhat in advance, but all the shots fell far short. on the arrival of the infantry, the light companies of the th, the th were sent to clear the gardens, which they easily did, although from being trenched vineyards, walled and _treed_, their defence might have been very obstinate. in the mean time the guns on the south face of the fortress opened on us, and our artillery forming line at about yards range, opened their fire of spherical case and round shot in return; other guns in the fort then opened and a sharp fire was kept up on those in the gardens by _jhinjals_ and _pigadas_, who when hard pressed took refuge in an outwork or round tower. the fire from the south-east extremity was soon silenced _pro tempore_, the shrapnel practice being very effective. the howitzer battery on the extreme left of the artillery line was too great a range, and with the exception of one gun, all the shells fell short. in the _melee_, the zuburjur -pounder, was dismounted, and carried with it a considerable portion of the wall of the citadel where it is built upon a scarp in the east face. after some further firing, the troops were withdrawn almost without range, but sheltered by gardens and broken ground. from a.m. the engineers with an escort reconnoitred the place, and having ascertained that the only practicable point of attack _with our means_ was the cabul gate, we were moved off, and marched to the new ground in the evening. owing to the difficulty of crossing a river and several cuts which intercepted the way, and formed the worst road for camels and guns i have yet seen, much of the baggage was not up till twelve next (i.e. this) morning. one european was killed, accompanying the escort. graves severely, and von homrig slightly wounded, a _golundauz_ lost his leg, and a few others were wounded. their gun practise in the fortress improved much towards the end, and against the reconnoitring party, was said to be good. _ nd_.--the ground we now occupy is the mouth of the valley, up which the cabul road runs: our camp stretches obliquely across this; the shah's camp taking a curve and resting by its left on the river. on our (i.e. the sappers) right, is a range of hills, from the extremity of which the town is commanded; between us and the range in question, the th brigade is stationed, and on the other side, the remainder of the infantry. we are it seems within reach of the long gun, which has been remounted, and occasionally directs its energies against the shah's camp. the night was quiet, the troops completely knocked up by the fatigues of the day, the distance we came (to the right) was certainly six miles, and that by which the infantry moved to the left, was still more. the gardens between us and the town are occupied by the enemy, but the village of zenrot on the ridge, is not. large numbers of cavalry are seen on the other boundary range of the valley, opposite our encampment, certainly , ; this is probably the other son of dost mahommud, who left the fort with the gilzee cavalry on the night of our march to ghuznee, for the purpose of attacking our baggage; they were easily driven from the ridge, which is now occupied by our horse. _ rd_.--ghuznee was taken this morning by a coup-de-main, the whole affair was over in half an hour from the time the gate was blown open; there was, however, a good deal of firing afterwards, and some of the inhabitants even held out throughout the day, and caused almost as much loss as that which occurred in the storm. the affair took place as follows: the guns moved into position between . and . p.m., and about p.m. commenced firing at the defences over the gate: under cover of this fire the bags of powder, to the amount of lbs. were placed against the gate by captain peat, the hose being fired by lieut. durand. in the mean time the road to the gate was occupied by the storming party, the advance of which was composed of the flank companies of all the european regiments. the head of the advance was once driven back by a resolute party of affghans, who fought desperately hand to hand, but a jam taking place, the check was only momentary. after clearing the gate, the enemy must have become paralysed, and both town and citadel were gained with an unprecedentedly trifling loss. none of the engineers, or of the party who placed the bags, were touched, although from the enemy burning blue lights they must have been seen distinctly: two, of a few europeans who accompanied capt. peat were shot; one killed. during the day a great number of prisoners were taken, among whom was dost mahommud's son; a great number of horses also fell into our hands. _ th_.--ghuznee: by this morning at o'clock every thing was quiet, and the last holders-out have been taken; strict watch is kept at the gate to prevent plunder, dead horses are now dragged out, and dead men buried: the place looks desolate, but the inhabitants are beginning to return. it appears to me a very strong, though very irregular place, the stronger for being so: the streets are very narrow, and dirty enough, houses poor, some said to be good inside, it is a place of considerable size, perhaps one-third less than candahar. it is surrounded by a wet ditch, of no great width, the walls are tall and strong, weakest on the north-east angle immediately under the citadel; parapets, etc. are in good repair. the loop holes are however absurd, and even when large are carefully screened. the ditch is crossed at the cabul gate by a stone bridge. the zuburjur is a very large gun, but almost useless to affghans, who are no soldiers. every side of the town might have been stoutly defended. the view from the citadel is extensive and fine, the mountains to the north and north-west extremely so, and seem crowded in the view, while the river and its cultivation add novelty to an affghan landscape; many villages are visible in every direction, surrounded with gardens and orchards. there is a good deal of cultivation all round the town, which is situated on a sloping mound, separated by the ditch from the ridge forming the northern boundary of the valley, up which the cabul road runs; there is a small mosque on this ridge, and below it, within yards of the ramparts, a small village, from which the attack was best seen. the gardens are as usual walled, and are all capable of irrigation, the plots being covered with fine grass or clover. apples, apricots, pears, and plums much like the orlean's plum, a sort of half greengage, bullace, elaeagnus, and mulberries, are the principal fruit trees; of these the pear is the best, it is small but well flavoured; the others are indifferent. there are many vineyards dug into shallow trenches: the plum is allied to the egg-plum, but altogether there are four kinds. the chief vegetation of the uncultivated ground is a small salsola, salsola luteola, this is mixed with peganum, santalaceae, senecionoides glaucescens, umbelliferoid bicornigera, composita, having the decurrent part of the leaves dislocated and hanging down. centaurea spinescens, linaria, _joussa_, and one or two astragali. the vegetation, with the exception of an artemisia indicae similis, a malvacea, and an orobanche growing on cucumis sp., is precisely the same as that met with from mookhloor hither, cichorium, polygonum graminifolium natans, and two others, rumex, mentha, epilobium micranthum, dandelion, plantago major, panicum. there are two kinds of willow trees; thermopsis is not uncommon, centaurea magnispina and zygophyllum of candahar are very common, sisymbrium, lophia, hyoscyamus, centaurea cyanea, tauschia. magpies, hoopoes, pastor roseus. corvus corax, etc., along the water-cuts. some fine poplars occur at a village, or rather a fuqeer's residence; about one and a half mile to the south-west of the town on the road to candahar, and about it, one or two carduaceae, one a fine one, to be called c. zamufolia, pomacea acerifolia, also in gardens: among the cultivated plants are maize, fennel, aniseed? solarium, bangun! madder, the beautiful clover of mookhloor, lucerne, melons, watermelons, cresses, l. sativum, radishes, onions, beetroot. there are no ruins indicating a very extensive old city. about our camp are the remains of bunds and old mud walls; near us, and between us and the city, are two minars, with square tall pedestals, of burnt brick, about feet high, and paces apart: there is nothing striking about them, although they bear evidences of greater architectural skill than any thing i have seen in the country, excepting the interior of ahmed shah's tomb. the base is angular, fluted, and equals the capital, which is but little thicker towards its base. they are brick, and derive their beauty from the diversity in the situation of the bricks. the one nearest the city is the smaller, and appears perfect, it is likewise provided with a staircase: the larger one is broken at the top of the capital. _ th_.--i went to see mahmoud of ghuznee's tomb, which is situated in a largish and better than ordinarily built village, about two miles from the cabul gate, on the road to cabul, at a portion of the valley densely occupied with gardens. the situation is bad, and the building which appears irregular, quite unworthy of notice; it is situated among the crowded houses of the village, and to be found, must be enquired for. at the entrance of the obscure court-yard which leads to it, there is a fine rivulet that comes gushing from under some houses, shaded by fine mulberry trees; in this court are some remains of hindoo sculpture in marble; the way there leads past an ordinary room under some narrow cloisters to the right, then turning to the left one enters another court, on the north side of which is the entrance to the tomb; there is no architectural ornament at all about it, either inside or out. the room is an ordinary one, occupied towards the centre by a common old looking tomb of white marble, overhung by lettered tapestry, and decorated with a tiger skin: over the entrance, hang three eggs of the ostrich, for which the natives have the very appropriate name of camel bird, and two shells, like the hindoo conches, but smaller. the roof is in bad order, and appears to have been carved. the doors appear old; they are much carved, but the carvings are effaced; they are not remarkable for size, beauty, or mass; and appear to be cut from some fir wood, although the people say they are sandal wood. the tomb strikingly confirms the idea that the putans became improved through their connection with hindoostanees, rather than the reverse; the tomb is unworthy of a great conqueror. i then ascended the ridge, and descended along it to the picquets on the flank of our camp. this ridge, like all the low ones from mookhloor to this place, is rounded, very shingly, and generally on the northern face, is partly covered with rocks, apparently limestone. the vegetation presents nothing unusual, with the exception of a very large cnicus, cnicoideus zamiafolius, capitulis parvis, an umbellifera, a scutellaria, dipsacus; otherwise they are thinly scattered with two or three astragali, two or three artemisiae, among which a. gossypifera is the most common, labiata fragrans of karabagh, senecio glaucescens, compositae, eryngioides, centaurea alia, magnispinae affinis, santalacea, leucades, onosma major, et alia, foliis angustis, echinops prima, sedoides, cerasus, canus pygmaeus, dianthoides alia. the view from this ridge is beautiful, it shows that three valleys enter the karabagh one about ghuznee, the largest to the eastward; then the cabul one, then that of the ghuznee river. the slope of this valley from the mountains to the river, presents a very undulated appearance. the cultivation is confined to the immediate banks of the river, which is thickly inhabited, and to most of the ravines of the mountains, shewing that water is generally plentiful. the river is to be traced a long way by means of the line of villages and orchards which follow its banks. the mountains are very barren, much varied in the sculpture of their outlines, and are by no means so rugged as those of limestone in the turnuk valley. the lofty one which presents the appearance of a wall near its ridge, and of snow, alluded to during the march hither on the th ultimo, is still visible. considerable as is the cultivation, it bears a very small proportion to the great extent of waste, and probably untillable land, untillable from the extreme thinness of the soil and its superabundant stones. cratoegus occurred near mahmoud's tomb, also centaurea cyanea. _ th_.--halted: nothing new; botany very poor; poorer than ordinary. _ th_.--moved to shusgao, distance thirteen and three-quarter miles, direction still the same, or, to the north of the star capella. the road extends over undulating ground, is cut up by ravines, but easily traversed, ascending and descending; then crossing a small valley, at the north-east corner of which the ghat is visible: the ascent to the mouth of this gorge equals apparently the height attained before descending into the valley. the pass is narrow, the sides steep but not precipitous; the hills are not very rugged, and they are generally thinly clothed with scattered tufted plants; the pass gradually widens, and has a ruin or remains of a small fort-like building as at the entrance. this ruin, or fort, looks down into a poorly inhabited, poorly cultivated, khorassan valley: road good, with a gradual ascent for one and a half mile from the exit of the pass, where we encamped, about five miles on the cabul side. the botany is rather interesting, the general features are the same as those of the hills round ghuznee; the most common plants senecionoides glaucus, plectranthus of mookhloor in profusion, a new densely tufted statice very common, verbascum, thapsioides, linaria, artemisia very common, cnici, two or three of large stature, astragali, two or three, asphodelus luteus, labiata of mookhloor, santalacea, dipsacus, _thymus_, lotoides, staticoides major. in the undulated ground before reaching the valley preceding the pass, a fine tall cnicus occurs, also plectranthus; peganum is very common. about our halting place the same small artemisia and composita dislocata occur in profusion; cnicus zamiafolius, dianthus aglaucine, _astragalus_, a peculiar prim-looking species. leguminosae, muscoides two or three, very large cnici, plectranthus, iris out of flower, astragali alii, - . cultivation consisting of mustard and very poor crops, of which wheat is the principal: a few ordinary villages are seen with good and abundant supplies of water; the country notwithstanding is inferior, as compared with that about ghuznee. the soil coarse and gravelly, or pebbly. thermometer degrees at a.m. after descending from the gorge, the summit of which may be estimated at to feet, the ascent is considerable: barometer standing at . p.m. at . ; thermometer degrees; so that the extreme ascent since leaving ghuznee has certainly been between , to , feet. the inhabitants are coming into camp with articles for sale, as lucerne, clover, coarse rugs, and sheep. _ st_.--proceeded to huftasya, eight and a quarter miles, direction about the same, continuing down a narrow valley with a well marked and tolerable road, extending over undulating ground, having a slight descent throughout: the centre of the valley is cultivated, villages extend up the ravines of the northern side. we halted near several villages, with a good deal of cultivation around, consisting of beans and mustard. but few trees are seen about the villages, and there is no change in vegetation: water abundant from covered _kahreezes_ or wells, which generally flow into small tanks. the slope of the southern boundary is undulated, that of the northern though generally flat and uninteresting, yet near us becomes very bold and rugged, but its ravines and passes are easily accessible. shusgao--the plants found here about the cultivation, are achillaeoides, asteroides, plantago major, hyoscyamus, tanacetoides, artemisia, trifolium, taraxacum, mentha, phalaris, rumex, the small swardy carex of chiltera, astragalus, calycibus non-inflatis, tomentoso villoso, this last with composita dislocata is common on shingly plains. on slopes of hills leucades, cerasus canus, pygmaeus rare, dianthoides, plectranthus very common, cnici or , labiata of mookhloor, senecionoides glaucescens common, artemisia, sp. very common, staticoides of dhun-i-shere, anthylloides, verbascum. _hyoscyamus_. the circumcision of the capsule of this genus is apparently in connection with the peculiar induration of the calyx of the fruit; its relations to the capsule is so obvious that its dehiscence is the only one compatible with the free dissemination of the seeds, _the_ _calyx remaining entire_. _hence_? the induration of the calyx should be the most permanent if it is the cause, but to obviate all doubts, both calyx, fructus induratus, and capsula circumscissa, should enter into the generic character; the unilaterality of capsules, and their invariable tendency to look downwards, or rather the inferior unilaterality, may likewise reasonably be considered connected with the same structure of calyx, as well as the expanded limb of the calyx. the indurated calyx is the cause, because although circumscissa capsula is by no means uncommon, and in others has no relation to the calyx, yet in this genus it has such, and should have in every other similar case. _august st_.--hyderkhet, distance ten and a half miles down the same valley; the road is bad and after crossing the undulating terminations of the southern slope, very stony and bouldery; in several places it is narrow and uneven. the country is well inhabited, and very well cultivated, particularly towards the bed of the river, which is here and there ornamented with trees. numbers of villagers are seen on the road as spectators. beans very abundant, mustard less so, excellent crops of wheat; the fields are well tilled, and very cleanly kept: this portion of the valley, though small, is perhaps the best populated and cultivated place we have yet seen: the descent throughout is gradual: the boundary hills, at least lower ranges present a very barren character, covered with angular slaty fragments. some tobacco cultivation. _ nd_.--shekhabad, nine miles and six furlongs, direction north-east by east. the road throughout is rather bad, particularly in places near the schneesh river, which has a very rapid current. we left this on its turning abruptly through a narrow ravine to the south: towards this, the valley narrows much; we then ascended a rising ground, and descended as much or perhaps less until we reached the logur, a river as large almost as the arghandab, this we crossed by a bridge composed of stout timbers, laid on two piers composed of stones and bushes, and tied together by beams: the cavalry and artillery forded below, and above the bridge. crossing the bed which is low and well cultivated, chiefly with rice, we ascended perhaps feet, and encamped on undulating shingly ground; we then passed much cultivation on the road: villages are plentiful, and often placed in very narrow gorges unusually picturesque for affghanistan; one scene was especially pretty, enclosed by the high barren mountains of the southern boundary, in the distance a village or two, and the schneesh, with banks well wooded, and willows in the foreground. the aspect of the hills, except some of the distant ranges, is however changed; quartz has become very common among the shingle, with reddish, generally micaceous, slate: the mountains are rounded, and easy of access: very poorly clothed with vegetation. the course of the logur is nearly north and south. there are some villages about this place, with lucerne, clover and bearded rice of small stature. the elevation of the country is here about feet below our camp, which is about half a mile from the river. barometer , . ; thermometer degrees; latitude degrees ' ". _ rd_.--halted: the logur river discharges much water; the whole of the tillable portions of adjacent banks are not under cultivation, the rocky sides to the south composed of micaceous slate, are very precipitous; these mountains were originally rounded, but are now formed into cliffs; willows and poplars are abundant along the river. but the vegetation of the cliffy sides scarcely presents any change, except in a salvia, a ruta, a small withered leguminosa; the other plants are polygonacea frutex uncommon, senecionoides, salvia horminum common, artemisia two: the usual one very common, asphodelus, mesembryanthoides, and luteus, several compositae, two or three cnicoidei, a pulicaria, etc. of the same section, cuscuta, linaria angustifolia, stipa, several withered grasses, dianthoides, scrophularia, allium, cerasus canus, pygmaeus uncommon, sedoides, boragineae, boraginis facie common, leucades, astragali, three or four, onosmae , angustifolia and majus, scutellaria, equisetoides, ephedra. anthylloides, plectranthus common, peganum uncommon, staticoides major, compositae dislocata common. in the swardy and wet spots along river, the usual plants occur; the novelty being a hippuris out of flower, plantago, glaux, chara, alisma, tamarisk, salix, trifolium fragiferum, thermopsis, cyperacea, triglochim, equisetum. the _nuthatch_ found in the cliffs, cultivation occurs. to-day news arrived of the flight of dost mahommud to bamean, with , affghan horse. captain outram sent in pursuit. the shah joined us, attended by perhaps , horse, and people are said to be flocking into our camp from cabul. _ th_.--proceeded to killa-sir-i-mahommud, distance ten and a half miles, direction north by east, the park of artillery, etc. remaining behind, the road for the first half extending over undulating ground to the head of the valley, then becoming level and good with some inferior cultivation: the valley is dry and barren. we encamped on stony ground forming a slight eminence under a beautiful peak, certainly , to , feet above the plain, and hence , to , feet above the sea. the valley at the base of the hills is occupied by a few villages, but generally speaking little population exists in these parts. no change in vegetation; at the level part of the march the chenopodiaceae of karabagh is very common. the , dooranees who joined the shah yesterday dwindled down to by the evening, and the camp was fired into at night. there is some cultivation about this, chiefly of mustard, carrots, millet and panicum, setaria. _ th_.--to maidan, distance eight miles? direction at first as before, but after crossing the river due north, we continued down the valley, passing some villages and cultivation consisting of beans, etc.; water being abundant about three miles from camp, forming a small brook, which falls into the cabul river at the end of the valley. before reaching this we crossed a low spur, and then descended into maidan valley: which presented a beautiful view; much cultivation, and trees abundant along the cabul river. crossing this which is a rapid current one foot deep, twenty yards wide, running south, or in the contrary direction to that which is given in tassin's map, we ascended an eminence on which a ruinous stone fort is built, we crossed this eminence between the fort and main ridge and descended into a valley again, keeping above the cultivation at the foot of the east boundary range, for about a mile, when we halted. the ruins of a stone bridge exist over the river, one arch remaining on the left bank. the valley is the prettiest we have seen, the hills to the west and north being lofty and picturesque; one to the latter direction presenting an appearance exactly like that of snow on its ridge, quite white, but not changing even at noon, nor occupying such places, as it would do if it were snow. the mountains, except those to the west, are not boldly peaked, the valley is prettily diversified with wood, all of the usual sombre cypress-like appearance, from the trees, especially poplars, being clipped. cultivation and water both plentiful: villages and small forts numerous, with very barren mountains. this was the place where dost mahommud was to have fought; he could not have selected a better, the ridge entering the valley, and the passage of the river, as well as that of the fort would have afforded good positions: a road however runs round the base of the eminence on the river side. by swamping the valley, or cutting a canal, and entrenching himself he might have caused great difficulties. apples are abundant here, rosy and sweet. cultivation of the valley consists of wheat, barley, cicer, not _chunna_, maize, rice, carrots, beans, peas. the river side is well furnished with willows and poplars, salix viminea also occurs; the villages are generally square, with a bastion at each corner, and loopholes. cyprinus microsquamatus, { } common. _ th_.--arghundee, distance eight miles, direction for the first fourth of the way ne., then considerably to the eastward, when we soon left the valley and commenced with an ascent over a low ridge by a vile stony road over undulating ground. on reaching the ridge a similar descent took place, where the road becomes less stony, but much intersected by ravines. we encamped about three miles from the ridge, in a rather barren narrow valley. nothing of interest occurred on the road, except dost mahommud's guns, which are the best i have seen in the country. the hills to our north crowded closely together, the inner ranges are very high, with the appearance of snow. hindoo-koosh is dimly seen in the distance to the eastward. in some streams water birds, particularly the small kingfisher of india are seen. the hoopoe is common, merops, pastor, and ravens. new plants a boragineae floribus infundibuliformis, tubiformibus, loeta caeruleis, venosa roseis, melons. snow on the hindoo-koosh: rain in the afternoon, and at night a heavy thunderstorm to the north. _ th_.--kilah-i-kajee, lies one mile to the eastward: distance of to-day's march, nine miles? one continued but gradual descent over a bad, frequently very stony road, not much water. direction at first ene., then on descending into the first valley, due east or even to the south of east, we encamped in the centre of a well-cultivated valley; near dense gardens, having good apples; apricots indifferent. hindoo-koosh is here more distinctly visible with several ranges interposed; the outline is rugged, highest point presenting a fine conical irregular peak towards the south-east. _ th_.--halted: encamped close to gardens and rich cultivation. the fields are separated by rows of poplars, willows, and elaeagnus; scenery pretty from abundance of trees with rice fields interspersed among woods; the umbrageous banks of the rocky river of cabul, are quite of unusual beauty for afghanistan: extensive fields of cultivation lie in this direction, as well as across the valley in the direction of cabul, consisting of rice in great quantities, mixed with much of a panicum stagninum, lucerne, carrots, peas, quantities of safflower, which appears to me to be of a different species, wheat and barley both cut, the rice is just in flower. in orchards, hazel-nuts, apples, pears, etc. some of the fruit excellent, particularly pears, but generally they are coarse; apples beautiful to look at, but poor to the taste, excellent but too luscious plums, good grapes, excellent and fine sized peaches, melons as good as those of candahar, water melons, cherries of very dark colour. some change is to be observed in the vegetation, see catalogue, two or three labiata, an ononis, an aconite, tussilago? etc. among the most striking, ammannia and bergioides, remarkable as tropical forms, but it is now hot enough for any plant: rice fields crowded with cyperaceae and alisma. crataegus oxycantha, or one very like it. the poplar here grows like the lombardy one, either from cropping or crowding; its leaves (when young) are much smaller! and at this stage it might easily be taken for another species. heliotropium canus common. the large poplar when young, or even when matured, has its younger branches with terminal leaves like the sycamore. the pomaceae-foliis palmatis subtus niveis of quettah and candahar are nothing but this poplar in its young state!! nothing can exceed the difference between the two, both in shape and tomentum. _ th_.--halted since th at baber's tomb, situated at some fine gardens, or rather groves very near the summer-house of shah zumaun, and to the right of the entrance into the town. it is a delightful residence, and for afghanistan, a paradise. there are some tanks of small size, around one of which our tents are pitched under the shade of sycamores and fine poplars; the tank is fed by a fall from a cut above its level, and which skirts the range of hills at an elevation of fifty feet in some places from its base. the tomb of baber is poor, as also is the so-called splendid mosque of shah jehan, a small ordinary open edifice of coarse white marble. in the gardens, one finds beautiful sycamores, and several fine poplars both round the tank and in avenues. below them a bauhinioid fruit was found, together with abundance of hawthorn, roses, and jasmines. the view from this spot is beautiful, as fine as most woodland scenery. the view from shah zumaun's summer-house is also extensive, and not to be exceeded as a cultivated woodland scene; it is variegated with green swardy commons, presenting all sorts of cultivation; with water, villages, abundance of trees, willows, poplars, hedgerows, and by the grand but barren mountains surrounding it, the pughman hills, which must be at least , feet above the sea. the entrance to cabul on this side, is through a gorge flanked by hills; these to the left are low, those to the right reaching , feet, through which the maidan river, here called the cabul river, runs; it may be yards wide. the river is subdivided, and crossed by a ruined stone bridge of many arches, one parapet of which (the outer) is continuous with the wall before mentioned. the gorge is occupied by cultivation of several kinds, having the city wall at its termination, running irregularly across the valley. a village is situated between the entrance of the gorge and the wall. there are no defences to the city worth mentioning: one enters immediately into narrow dirty streets, with here and there a fever-breeding stagnant sewer; while the streets are narrow, the bazars are good, of good breadth, well covered in by flat ornamented roofs: the shops are clean, and well laid out. shoemakers and leather-workers, and fruiterers, are the most common: there are armourers, blacksmiths, drapers and bakers. hindoos and mussulmen intermixed, form the population. there is great bustle and activity, everywhere profusion of fine fruit, especially melons, grapes, and apples are presented. _ th_.--i ascended this morning the ridge above us, up which the wall runs; the ascent is, after surmounting the summer-house of shah zumaun, considerably steep, and very rugged. the highest position of the wall is , feet above the city. it is eight feet high, and six or seven thick, composed of slabs of the micaceous slaty stone of the place, cemented by mud, with a parapet of two feet, generally of _kucha_, or mud, with loopholes, and bad embrasures. it is furnished with bastions, but is now in a ruinous state. it is a work completely thrown away. to the south, the wall bends eastward, and is continuous with the outworks of the upper citadel; to the north it dips into the gorge, and re-ascends the hills on the opposite side. from the peak, (which is not the highest point of the ridge, there being two higher to the south, on the nearest of which is a mound, and a small pillar) a beautiful view is obtained of cabul, its valley, and its mountains, together with the far more beautiful valley in which the army is encamped. the town itself presents an irregular outline, and is, with the exception of some gardens towards its northern side, some lucerne fields near its centre, and one or two open spots of small size, densely crowded with the usual terraced-roofed, _kucha_, or mud houses, which are so close, as to show no streets whatever. there is not a single conspicuous building in it, with the exception of the lower bala hissar and a mosque of small size on the right bank of the river, occupying an open space near a garden, which alone renders it distinct. the bala hissar occupies the eastern corner: its outworks are regular enough. it is surrounded by the remains of a wet ditch; its works have been lately improved. excepting the part occupied by the shah, etc. the space is crowded by houses exactly like the town. the fort to its south and commanding it completely, is the upper citadel, and is altogether out of repair; this continues the defence formed by the wall. the walls of the city themselves are not distinguishable, excepting those of the nearest quarter, occupied by kuzzilbashes. the river intersects the town, it is crossed by two, three, or perhaps more small stone bridges, and runs nearly due east, and may be traced almost to the foot of the eastern boundary range. from near the mosque a fine straight road runs nne. or thereabouts, with avenues of trees of small size near the town. two other roads are visible on the east side; one is continuous with that which runs along the north face of the lower citadel, it runs due east; and the other slopes towards this, and meets it about two or three miles from the city at the end of a low range of hills. the valley is not so well cultivated as ours, (i.e. the one in which the army is encamped) nor by any means so well wooded; it appears bare some way from the city, but this may arise from the stubble of the prevailing cultivation of wheat and barley. there is abundance of water, the only distinct _chummun_ is to the south of the citadel, it is now under water. some low isolated hills or ranges are interspersed in the valley; of these the largest is that running nearly parallel to the central road; the next is due north of the city, and midway between it and the salt- water lake which stretches several miles along the north of the valley, and which appears to be a large body of water. the boundary hills are generally fine; to the east is a high scarped bold range, running nearly due north and south, its terminations being plainly visible; near its southern end commences the ridge that forms the oblique south boundary of the valley, and which runs up towards the south into a fine broadly conical peak, very conspicuous from arghandab. to the north are the fine pughman mountains; these run east and west: they are of great elevation, and of fine outline, presenting here and there appearances of snow. to the west is the walled ridge, not exceeding , feet in its highest point above the general level; this is interrupted by the cabul river, and never reaches such elevations again; before ending to the north, it sends off a spur to the east. beyond the eastern boundary, glimpses of the hindoo-koosh are obtainable. to the west, there are no very high hills visible, excepting the western part of the pughmans; those of our valley are not exceeding , feet in height, and are low to the south, in which direction the maidan river flows into the valley. beyond the highest point of the walled ridge, are several crowded high mountains. the vegetation of the western hills is not peculiar, echinops, a tallish carduacea, carduacea alia, senecionoides, astragali, artemisiae , statice of dhuni pass. leucades, labiata of karabagh, gramineae, several small compositae, foliis dislocatis, leguminosa, fructu echinatis, santalacea, asphodelus luteus, ruta angustifolia, umbellifera, foliis maximis of chiltera, a very stout plant, with a very medicinal gum, a new polanisioid, a centaureoid, and a fine carduacea are to be found in it. a marmot, the size of a large rat, is also found here, the large specimens are of a reddish tinge, the small ones of a blackish. the bazars are crowded all day, and in the morning are obstructed from asses loaded with wood. most things are procurable; the cloths seen are mostly the indifferent common kind of cloth related to the seikh puttoo; camel hair _chogas_, posteens or coarse blankets; these last indicating very cold winters: there are not many other things peculiar--long knives, and the shoes and boots are among the most so, and wretched silk handkerchiefs. the most common grapes are the _kismiss_, a long coarse grape which answers for packing, a round, very sweet, purple grape, with large seeds, and small seedless ones intermixed, are all capable of being much improved by thinning, and a huge, tough-skinned, coarse, purple grape, of good flavour. the best peaches have a green appearance, even when ripe; the ordinary ones are coarse, and not well-flavoured; but the affghans are quite ignorant of the art of packing fruit, and hence most are bruised. two sorts of apples are common, both rosy; one very much so, but much inferior to the other. pears principally of two kinds, both allied to the common pear in shape; the large ones are very coarse, but well adapted for stewing. _aloocha_ excellent for jellies, as also the cherries: most kinds of plums are now out of season. the melons vary much in quality, the watermelons are generally better, and vary less: the muskmelons i have here seen, are ruined by inattention to the time of gathering; some are very fine, the pulp is never very deep coloured; it is very rarely green; some of the kundah sort are very good; this and the _turbooj_ are both excessively common. the usual cucurbita is cultivated, as well as the other common cucumber, pumpkin, luffa foetida, and l. acutangula. cabbages common, beet root ditto, _bangun_ ditto, excellent spinage (spinaceae). all sorts of spices procurable, but they are generally old: sugar very good, is sold in flat candied cakes, one and a half inch thick; _koorool_ in small cakes resembling chunam. chapter xvi. _from cabul to bamean--the helmund_, _and oxus rivers_. _ th august_, _ _.--left cabul for bamean, and marched to urghundee. _ th_.--to the cabul river, distance twelve and a half miles; diverged from the cabul road at urghundee chokey, striking obliquely across a ravine that debouches into the main valley at this point. the course of the river ene. or thereabouts, then we entered a ravine to the west side of the river, and commenced ascending the pass, which is not difficult, and although rather steep at first, subsequently it becomes merely undulated, the surrounding hills of the pass have the usual character, but are separated by mere ravines. vegetation very scanty; senecionoides very common, as also _joussa_ and statice of dund-i-sheer; here i noticed the solora found in the wood at kilatkajee. the barometer at the summit of the pass, . : thermometer degrees. an extensive view is had from it, up the cabul river, the valley of which is well cultivated, but presents nothing very striking in its neighbouring mountains. great numbers of sheep passed us going towards cabul, also numbers of patans with their families, all on camels, than some of which last nothing could be finer. the women's dress consists of loose gowns, generally bluish, with short waists coming almost up under the arms, and leggings of folded cloths; they are a gipsy-like, sun-burnt, good looking people. numbers of asses laden with grain were also passed. at the halting place indifferent apples only were to be had. slight rain fell in the afternoon from east, then it became heavier from west. _ th_.--distance eight miles, the road lay along the cabul river up a gentle ascent, over undulated ground; features of country the same, villages, etc., abundant. heavy rain set in from the west after our arrival at the encamping ground at p.m., with thunder. night hazy, heavy dew. _ th_.--to sir-i-chushme, distance ten miles, direction continues easterly up the cabul river valley: features the same; road generally good, here and there stony, crossed a large tributary falling into the cabul river, from the north at juljaily, a large village, the largest in the valley, and very pretty. poplars and willows in plenty along river. near sir-i-chushme the valley becomes narrow; the river passing through a gorge, on the left side of which on rugged rocky ground, are the remains of a tower. the rocks here are mica slate, reposing at a considerable angle, occasionally nearly vertical. the surface is thinly vegetated, silenacea, two or three _muscoides_ ( ), scrophulariae sp., common, etc. (see catal. , etc.) beyond, the valley again widens, presenting similar features to those just mentioned. to the right side of the valley there is a beautiful narrow ravine, bounded on the south with springs, to the north by a noble bleak rugged ridge, with much snow; it has the usual features, namely, a shingly inclined plane between huge hills. the village of sir-i-chushme is built on a rising ground or small spur, surrounded by numerous springs which supply the source of the cabul river; the bed of which above them is nearly dry. the springs abound with the usual water plants, a cinclidotoid moss in abundance, a celtoid tree stands over one spring; peganum continues. a shallow circular pool occurs at the foot of the hills, on which the village is built; it is crowded with the peculiar cyprinidae of these parts, { a} some of which attain three pounds in weight, as also a small loach. { b} the cultivation throughout this valley is good. the soil is however heavy, but in places it gives way to a brown mould: rice is cultivated up to julraiz, but not beyond, millet (setaria), indian-corn, lucerne, mustard, beet root; beans and peas are very common. great pains are taken with watercuts, which are led off into each ravine that debouches into the valley, at elevations of sixty to eighty feet above the river; opposite each, the river where led off is bunded across. the watercuts or courses are in some places built up with stones. apricot trees continue, also mulberries near julraiz, but they are not productive. timber is cut in good quantities, and is floated down in the spring to cabul. we continue to meet flocks of sheep and camels with patans, momums, and ghilzees going to cabul, thence to julallabad; after selling their produce at cabul, they return in the summer to the same pasturages. the oxen used to tread out corn are muzzled: grain is winnowed as in europe by throwing it up in the wind, the corn falls nearest the wind, the coarse chaff next, then the fine chaff. sir-i-chushme is about the same height as the pass into the valley of the cabul river. english scrophularia were observed to-day at julraiz. we obtained all provisions cheap at this place, but of very inferior quality compared to cabul. the most common plants are senecionoides and plectranthus; artemisiae one or two, some carduaceae. very few novelties occur: hedges of hippophae and roses, salvia very common to-day; asses were seen laden with dried _ruwash_ leaves. _ th_.--to yonutt, twelve miles, continued for a short distance up the sir-i-chushme valley, then we diverged to the north-west, still following the principal streamlet up an easy defile; on reaching a beautiful _kila_, differently ornamented from the usual form, we diverged along the same ravine much more to the west. we continued doing so for five or six miles, passing a little cultivation in every possible spot capable of it, and four or five forts. the ascent then commenced to be steeper, still continuing up the watercourse which was very small; this we soon left, passing over five ridges of easy access, the third being the highest. barometer . : thermometer degrees at . a.m.; after this we descended the th ridge or kotal, or feet, which is very steep, having a watercourse at its bottom; direction of stream lies to the north, thence ascending we again descended gradually over an open stony ridge, until we reached the fort of yonutt, where we encamped near a green wet spot, visible for some distance. the road here and there was bad owing to stones; except at the last kotal, or ascent, it was nowhere very steep, but difficult enough for camels, especially up the ascent of the st kotal. it lay up a ravine not unlike others we have seen, the ascent being considerable, but gradual, when we left the watercourse, however, we came on a different country, very elevated ( st kotal not under , feet), longly _undulated_, the mountains generally massive, rounded, here and there rising into peaks, especially to the south, near yonutt, where there is a fine ridge not under , or , feet, rugged with spots of snow; the mountains to north of this are more rounded; slate and limestone abundant, but not a tree from the base of the st ascent. the ascent is very practicable, the road is made, or artificial in many places, soil soft and broken: there is water at seven miles from sir-i-chushme, and even at the foot of the st kotal, at least there are two or three of the usual villages; there is one with its wall demolished. many granite blocks are strewed on the road. for ponies and horses, even laden, the road is very easy, but for draft it is difficult. we experienced a cold cutting west wind from a.m. grass is plentiful along all the moist spots, but it is useless as the camels prefer the carduacea of this place, though a bad fodder for them. [sir-i-chushme ridges: m .jpg] not much change was observed in the vegetation for half-way up the st kotal or ascent; willows and poplars continue to nearly one mile from the last village. here and there along the ravine or streamlet, salvia is very common, senecionoides, bubonoides on rocky ground, sinapis, verbascum decurrens used in the himalayas for german tinder, statice of dund-i-shere, muscoides of yesterday, urtica of cabul, malva rotundifolia, hyoscyamus -labiat., polygonum prostratum of shingly spots, composita dislocata, leucades, boraginea, boraginis fasciae _of_ _before_. about kila moostaffur khan a coarse tufted grass, centaurea oligantha common throughout, first found at khilat-i-gilzee; onosma major, cochlearia, dianthoides. chenopodium diclinum, villosa, astragali - , cichorum, linaria angustifolia, euphorbia angustifolia, marrabium, hyoscyamus of quettah, testucoides annua appears about here, epilobium minus, rumex, lactuca fol. cost. subtus spinosis, melilotus, silene angulata, arenaria, calyce globoso inflato, echinops of cabul. the water plants are precisely the same as those of cabul. for new plants see catalogue , etc. summit of st kotal statice of dund-i-shere, statice grandiflora, dianthoides, several astragali, one with the pinnulae dentato serratis, petiola spinosa, a tufted monocotyledonous plant with terete canaliculate subulate leaves, _salvia_, gramen alterum, composita dislocata, carduacea, this is the most common plant on the open rounded parts, while the others occupy the rocky sides of the hills. the vegetation is however very poor. cultivation various, as seen in different stages along the gorge up to the ascent. thus, people are seen ploughing for the next year's crops amidst stubble fields, and lucerne; but above and throughout the ascent, no crops are cut, while the wheat and barley on the descent are in the ear: mustard very common. several encampments of what are badly called black teal, and paths are to be seen very frequently over the hills in most directions, together with flocks of sheep. a large road leading off to the south-west from the summit is seen; from this our road is well- marked. _ th_.--halted: every tillable spot is made use of about yonutt, where there is a fort with forty families. the crops are chiefly wheat and a four-awned barley, the grain is fine though scanty, and the plants are of stunted growth. ravens the same, round-tailed eagle as at urghundee, and percnopterus, wagtails, three kinds of conirostres, and an alauda are found here, one or two sylviae. the sward about this place is abundant, affords good pasturage for a few horses, and water is plentiful. this sward is chiefly occupied by a leguminous caraganoid shrub, rather thorny, and not unlike some species of barberry in habit, this is abundant, and is first met with in the ravines beyond the oonnoo pass, cyperaceae, viz. - , carices, small grasses, leontodon, astragaloid caerulens, trifolium album, composita corona, cnicus acaulis, and gentiana pusilla, compose the sward chiefly; in the drier parts of it there is a very fine carduacea, which appears very local. the hills about are all either clay slate, pure slate, or micaceous slate, the strata generally vertical. descended the ravine which the rivulet passes down, to where it joins the helmund, the hills bounding it are of no great height, but the slips are sometimes bold. the helmund runs between rocky cliffs, its bed not much broader than the stream, the water is clear, rapid, and the column considerable. this gorge is picturesque, the sides being generally precipitous. the plants of these hills are, umbelliferae very common, statice , carduacea, ephedra, labiatae of karabagh vel similia, arenarioid out of flower in the crevices, a large mattheoloid, leucades, dianthoides foliis undulatis, artemisiae two or three, one a peculiar one, no.--a shrubby astragalus, stunted scraggy polanisia of cabul? campanula of karabagh in the bed of the stream, cnicus of kot-i-ashruf, and salvia are excessively common, artemisia pyramidalis, two or three: mosses occur on the banks, and several gramineae, see catalogue , , etc. cnicus alius, verbascum. [helmund gorge: m .jpg] _ th_.--we continued ascending gradually, crossing a low ridge covered with sward, and then descended to surmount another ridge, which appeared to me to be as high as the top of the oonnoo. we thence descended, crossing several small ridges; and, at about the distance of five miles from the commencement of the day's journey, suddenly turned north, entering a gorge of the usual structure, drained by a small stream, and thence came on the helmund, not much increased in size as compared with the point at which we had seen it first, but in a comparatively wide and partly cultivated ravine, containing three or four ruined forts. we continued a quarter of a mile down the helmund, then ascended up a considerable stream through a similar gorge, until we reached an encamping spot, after performing thirteen and a half miles. the barometer at the helmund stood at . , thermometer degrees in sun. kohi-baba is first seen from the first ridge, but it is seen beautifully from the second, and still better from some distance beneath this; it is a noble three-peaked ridge, the eastern peak is the largest, and of angular, conical shape. the other two are rugged; the central one is perhaps the highest; the lower portions cliffy, evidently slaty. the river up which we came after leaving the helmund, is fully equal to that in size; it is very rapid: the ravine is very narrow, occasionally widening into swardy spots. we encamped nearly opposite kohi-baba, the conical peak of which here seems a huge rounded mass, with heavy patches of snow, particularly along the northern ridge: the second range to the south is very precipitous and cliffy: at this place a small streamlet falls into the river from the direction of kohi-baba. no particular change in vegetation is observed: two or three umbelliferae, a scrophularia, geranium, ranunculus aquaticus, herba immersa, foliis anguste loratis, potentilla, _panserina_, a new graminea. the most common plants are still carduaceae and salvia; rosa occurs also, (senecionoides ceased some time before) statice, scutellaria common, verbascum, euphorbia linearifolia, linaria ditto, mentha: no change in water plants, or in those of the sward, chenopod. faemin. villos, coarse grass, no. , common; the chief new feature is _ruwash_, the dead red leaves of which are abundant. two villages were passed after leaving the helmund, both ruined, yet all spots cultivated, several with cicer. watercourses as high up cliffs and hills as feet above the river. a dreadfully cutting dry wind blows down the ravine, and in our faces all the way. limestone cliffs occurred, about which the vegetation became rich, more especially near a bridge consisting of trees thrown across a narrow portion of the river, at a point where the stream is very deep; near this are two willow trees of a different species. a fine rosa, a new epilobium, aconitum, salisburifolium, a small crucifera, one or two compositae, a curious polygonum, a rumex, a dianthus, silene, three or four umbelliferae, among which is the yellow ferula? of the kojhuk pass, two or three new leguminosae, saponaria, silenacea inflata, cerastium may be found among them, or in the fields close by. _ st_.--we ascended the high bank or cliff over the bridge, and continued up the ravine which lies over the river, but whose bed is too narrow for a road: we passed two or three villages, the road undulating over ground covered with granite boulders, or rather small masses, rounded only when exposed to weather; the bottom of each undulation is covered with sward and giving exit to a small stream; sometimes we came on the bed of the river. at six and a half miles we came on a fort, used as a custom house, and diverged again to the east up a ravine; the arak road continuing along the river. we passed another fort, and then commenced the main ascent of hajeeguk. in a ravine to the left, feet above us, was a large mass of half frozen snow: barometer at the foot of main ascent . , thermometer degrees. the ascent is rather steep, but easy enough: barometer . , thermometer degrees. thence the descent was steep for about feet, and then gradual for four or five more, when we encamped on sward. from the top of the pass we had a beautiful view of the _ridge_ of kohi-baba, running about wnw., presenting a succession of fine bold rugged peaks, the conical mass was not seen well, as there is heavy snow on it, and on some other parts of the ridge. water is plentiful in all ravines, the lower parts of which are covered with swardy grass. cultivation is less advanced than at yonutt, consisting chiefly of barley; every capable spot is made use of. boulders of antimony, also a large mountain close to, and on the right of our camp composed of this ore, which is very heavy; a ruined fort on the hill near us, shewing again how some of these ridges become disintegrated. a _cafila_ passed with huge loads of cloths of various sorts, carried on asses, going to bamean: they paid toll i observed at choky fort. the vegetation in the snow ravine was rich, and varied in the swardy spots: ranunculi , swertia - , gentiana a fine one, junci, carices, euphrasia, triglochin, veronica as before, cardaminoides; near the snow in sward, a pretty primula in flower; two other pediculares. a brynum on the dry parts of the ravine, two astragali in flower - , cruciferae, echinops, carduaceae, silene pusilla, stellaria, campanula odorata, rutacea about springs, parnassia? astragali - , in flower, long past this elsewhere, thalictrioides, secaloides. see catalogue nos. --- of exposed face; staticoides of yonutt, graminae , carduaceae very common, statice aliae rare. the hill over which the pass runs, is chiefly covered with a herbaceous carduacea out of flower in profusion, one or two astragali, an artemisioid, small compositae, and the abundant carduaceae of yonutt, astragaloid pinnulis on the west side, _koollah hujareel_, statice, macrantha dentatis; a spinous leaved carduacea, different from the zamea leaved ones out of flower, gramin. common, chenopodioid? arenaria spinosa, onosma, carduacea alia, two or three astragalus primus. altogether the vegetation is different from that of oonnoo, in the comparative absence of statice, dianthoid, and astragali. similar swardy spots occur on the west of the pass, a large swertia, caraganoid, carices, etc. as before, gentiana of yonutt, a new potentilla, salix fruticosa; here also occurs the first orchidea i have seen in khorassan: it belongs to the tribe orchis, but is out of flower. on the st of sept., i re-crossed hajeeguk, directing my way again into the snow ravine from the top of the pass, and found a number of plants, for which see catalogue. a campanula abundant about springs at , feet. the vegetation of the ravine close by the little fort is rich, and would repay two or three days' halt, as it runs a long way up the antimony hill, swertia in profusion, geranium also, stellaria, a fine conyzoidia. i had here an opportunity of observing the curious effect of a patch of snow in retarding vegetation, all the plants about, being as it were a spring flora, even such as at similar elevations elsewhere, were all past seed; such as astragalus primus. again, why do some plants flower sooner at such elevations than at other lower places? such as cardamine, here past flower, but not commencing at cabul; is it because this plant will flower in the winter in cabul? so there may be a law requiring such plants to flower in wintery situations by a certain time? the idea is perhaps absurd, as their growth depends exclusively on the power of the sun. _september st_.--after re-crossing hajeeguk we continued our march to sohkta, five and a half miles. the road continued along a considerable descent throughout, at first down the valley in which we had halted to the west, thence down the large kulloo valley in a northerly direction; towards the mouth of first ravine or valley it is bad, passing across a land slip, then it crosses the bed of a huge torrent falling at a great rate, and obstructed with boulders; the right bank, a high almost precipitous mountain, the left a high aggregate of granitic and other boulders. water abundant, divided into three streams or so: this torrent comes direct from the nearest portion of kohi-baba, which appears of easy descent, presenting beautiful peaks. the road then keeps along left bank, undulating over the ravines, down which water flows from the hills on the eastern side; some of these are very steep, and the road itself is infamous, as may be supposed, crowded with boulders, and impracticable for wheeled carriages: one precipitous ravine we passed through, the rocks consisted of blackish, curiously laminated, and metallic looking stone. on descending one steep ravine, we then came on the road leading up to the kulloo mountain, where we halted. a good many villages, with forts, as usual were passed; the cultivation more advanced than at our last halt, crops consisting chiefly of barley. one good fort was observed close to our halting place opposite the direction of the small kulloo ravine; across the valley a well marked road is seen running up a part of kulloo ridge, at a lower elevation than that which we crossed. poplars and willows occur in the large valley, particularly towards sohkta, a small orchard of stunted mulberry trees. cultivation consisting of peas; barley of fine grain, resembling wheat when freed from the husk. the plants of the valley of kulloo were badly observed, as i was greatly tired and fatigued. polygonum fruticosum re-occurs, silene, clematis erecta, tragogopon, salvia but less common, a curious cruciferous plant, lactucacea purpurea of cabul, chenopodium villosum faemin. dianthus, saponaria, lychnis inflata, oats common in fields, the common thistle, urtica, caragana abundant along the bed of the river, papaver. on rocks about camp, salsolae, glaucum, umbelliferae of the yonutt ravine, artemisiae, rosa _ribes_! scrophularia alia. the valley is very narrow at camp, the river running between precipices, in some parts passable without wetting the feet. _ nd_.--from sohkta kullar-rood to topehee, eight and a half miles. the road lay in a northerly direction for a quarter of a mile, then turning up a steep ravine, with an ascent for feet; then small descent, then levellish, until we came to a black cliff, over which another steeper but longer ascent extended, then it became levellish for some distance; two other moderate, extended, longish ascents, led us to the summit, which is feet higher than that of hajeeguk. the descent continued steep and most tedious on reaching the precipitous ravine of topehee, the road wound over small spurs, until we came to a grove of willows near the village. the road although steep is not bad, the soil being soft, that of the upper parts and of the descent, even annoying from the sand, both might with little trouble be made easy, but especially the descent. the mercury of the barometer on the summit at a.m., stood at . , at . a.m., . , thermometer degrees. the camels all came up but one, though very slowly; to them as to us, the descent was more tiring than the ascent. from the summit a fine view of kohi-baba was obtained, running to nw. by n. to the ne., another high range, but not so marked as kohi-baba, was seen running in a similar direction; on this, two considerable peaks present themselves, but only visible when lower down. a splendid view of the bamean valley is here obtained. we have now obviously passed the highest ranges: to west where the country is low and flat; to the north, the mountains indistinctly visible, are beautifully varied, presenting rugged outlines , feet above bamean, also a view of an unearthly looking mountain, most variedly sculptured, is obtained, with here and there rich ravines and columnar sided valleys, presenting tints very varied; in those of the lower ranges, rich rosy tints are predominant; also niches in which gigantic idols are plainly seen: also a view of goolghoolla, looking as it is in reality, a ruined city: a fine gorge apparently beyond the bamean river, and a large ravine due north, by which i expect the bamean river reaches the oxus; not a tree is to be seen, except a few about bamean. the whole view is indescribably volcanic, barren yet rich, requiring much colouring to convey an idea of it. [bamean idols: p .jpg] to the top of the pass it is three and a half miles; the character of kulloo mountain is different from that above described, it is rounded, and composed of a curious compact slate, towards the summit well covered with plants, large tufts of statice, two or three kinds, two undescribed; immense quantities of artemisia, coarse tufted grasses, onosma, carduacea herbacea of hajeeguk, uncommon; triticoides , not common; alium fusco purpurea common. a few exposed rocks occur on the summit. the ravines are all dry, there being no water or very little in them, and no cultivation; thus the contrast visible on both sides of the kulloo river which runs round the foot of the mountain, is remarkable. vegetation being distinct on either side. yet the ravine of topehee shows, that when exposed to the action of water, this rock becomes very precipitous, cliffy, easily dislocated: the latter part of the road winds over a portion of this. chakor, ptarmigan a fine bird, voice somewhat like that of a vulture, to which it is perhaps anologous. about sohkta or in ravines, euphorbia linearifolia, ephedra, asteroides, rosa ribes, composita dislocata, artemisiae, aster pyramidalis, chenopodium villosum faem., senecionoides. scutellaria, scrophularia, santonicoides, polygonum fruticosum, salvia, artemisia linearifolia, centaurea angustifolia, cochlearia, umbelliferae of yonutt, stellaria, glaucium, labiata nova, hyoscyamus minor, lactucacea, linaria, salsola elegans, marrubium, common thistle, rumex, potentilla anserina, sinapis of siah-sung ravine, berberis, secaloides, statice, _marmots_, statice glauca pedunculata, stipha of nakhood, aconiti sp., ferula? spiraea facie frutex, ribes, muscoides. first ridge dianthoides, statice three to two glaucous species, one sessile the other pedunculate, ferula, scutellaria, labiata trumpet-shaped calyces, astragali, diacanthus, stipa, ribes, arenaria spinosa, triticum carneo pubescens, pulmonaria corolla trumpet-shaped, salvia sparingly, pommereulla, artemisia in profusion, spiraeoides, chenopodium villos., faemin. parvus, leguminosae two or three, _ruwash_ sparingly. not much change beyond , feet, at that height glaucium in abundance, with a few hyoscyamus parvus, borago. labiatifol, inciso dentatis occurs throughout, sinapis of siah-sung straggles to , feet. [topehee cliffs and ravine: m .jpg] the same vegetation continues down to topehee; on the red hills over its ravine, the plants are different. portulacea cana, several pretty salsolae, a polanisia occurs, with statice two or three, a straggling astragalus, ferula, peganum re-appears! cerasus canus, carduacea frutex of mailmandah, fructibus combretiformibus, muscoides which is a sedum, polygon. fruticosum common, the usual plants of cultivation, etc. etc. _ rd_.--we proceeded from topehee to bamean, a distance of twelve miles, for two and a half miles down topehee ravine. the road is a decent descent, although steepish: from thence turning abruptly at the bamean valley, we cross the river, which is of considerable size, but fordable, although rapid. the road then extends along the left bank, not in the valley which is occupied by cultivation, but winding over and round the bases of low hills and cliffs, forming a northern boundary; throughout this part the road is villainous, often impeded by huge blocks. after a distance of about ten miles it improves, the valley expanding into a cultivated plain. topehee valley narrows towards its mouth or exit, which is walled in by high, red, raviny cliffs; above, in its upper parts it is well cultivated with beans, barley, wheat, and oats, and contains two villages: it opens into the bamean valley at a village also called topehee, there the bamean valley is well cultivated, with oats intermixed with barley or wheat, trefoil, etc., it then narrows, forming the bed of a ravine occupied by hippophae, tamarisk, etc., then it widens again. the structure of the hills is curious, and generally exhibiting the appearance of having been much acted on by water. they are often cliffy, composed either of limestone or a soil of red clay, with which salt occurs in abundance, conspicuous from the white appearance, or springs. crystals of carbonate of lime are frequent, limestone, or coarse conglomerate with large rounded stones, occurs; together with a curious laminated clayey rock, with white and ochraceous layers intermixed. the tints most various, as well as the sculpture of the mountains: here ravines representing tracery occur: there, columnar curiously carved cliffs, exhibiting all sorts of fantastic forms: here, as it were, a hill thrown down with numberless blocks into the stream, scattered in every direction; and here, but this is rare, very red horizontal strata, colours various, generally rosy, especially the clayey cliffs: here and there the colour of the rock is ochraceous, at one place its structure is slaty. the curious intermixture of these colours owing to the weather, is striking. from the head of two of the ravines by which considerable torrents flow into bamean river, beautiful views are obtained of the kohi-baba, whose peaks according to native authority, stretch sixty miles to the westward of bamean, without much diminution in height. the scenery, however, is less beautiful after emerging into the widened part of the valley, where the hills are less varied both in form and tints, than they are in lower parts: fine views however of kohi-baba are occasionally had. salsolae are the prevailing plants of the rocky sides of the valley, clematis erecta common, here and there a small statice. caves occur throughout the wide portion of the valley, but chiefly on the northern side; they also extend a little way into the narrow portion, where they seem to be excavated into clayey-looking, red, earthy limestone, or more commonly conglomerate, of coarse grey, or reddish colour. the caves are most common in two cliffs composed of conglomerate mixed with transverse strata of the same rock, , feet high, presenting a rugged outline; and between the two, which are yards apart, large idols are carved. these cliffs in some places have suffered little from the action of the elements, as testified by the perfect nature of the opening of the caves, and the corners, etc. of the niches enclosing idols; in others they are furrowed by the action of water; in others again slips have taken place to such extent in some, as to cause the fall of all their caves, or of their greater portion, thus exposing the galleries, etc. the base of the cliffs is irregular, formed of the same conglomerate and clay, but covered more or less by boulders, evidently brought down by the river; by these many caves are choked up, so that originally the cliff might have been perpendicular to the edge of the base, and if so, the caves in the cliffs, and the idols, are of later date than those of the rugged base. but more probably the cliffs, and the caves, are much as they were originally, the boulders having been a subsequent deposit. the western corner of the cliff beyond the large idol, is much destroyed; on this, the force of the current would have acted: a breakwater occurring along the returning face. the caves are very numerous, but are confined chiefly towards the base of the cliffs, not scattered over them as i believe burnes represents. these are of no size, finish, or elegance, and it is only their number, and the extreme obscurity of their history, that makes them interesting; the roofs are usually arched, and the walls are often supplied with niches, and covered with a coating of tar of some thickness, and intense blackness. the galleries are low, arched, and admit one person at a time, or a line of persons with ease; they often form the ascent to the upper caves now inhabited, but originally they were enclosed in the rock, they are defended in such cases by a parapet. the largest caves are those about the idols, but i see none of any size. they are often domed, the spring of the dome is ornamented with a projecting frieze, some of these are parallelogramic, in one instance with an ornamented border thus. [part of a frieze in caves near bamean: m .jpg] some of the caves are situated as high as, or even above the tops of the idols; all parts within the rock are lighted by small apertures. access to the large idol is destroyed; the smaller one is gained by a spiral staircase of rude construction, and by galleries. the floor of the galleries is rugged, the steps and the cement of the conglomerate having worn out from between the masses of rock. the images all occupy niches in the face of the hill: two are gigantic, the rest not very large. they are generally in the usual sitting posture, and rather high up, while the larger ones are erect, and reach the base of the cliffy portion of the rock. they are all male, and all obviously boodhistical; witness the breadth, proportion, and shape of the head, and the drapery; both are damaged, but the smaller is the more perfect, the face of the large one being removed above the lower lip; the arms are broken off, showing they were occupied by galleries. the drapery is composed of plaster, and was fixed on by bolts which have fallen out, leaving the holes. the arms in the smaller one are supported by the falling drapery. the height of the large image in the niche is feet. the pictures are much damaged, the plaster on which they were painted being mostly very deficient, all the faces are damaged by bullets or other missiles: their execution is indifferent, not superior to modern burmese paintings; the colours however are good, the figures are either grouped or single, and one is in the style of the time of henry viii, with a hat and plume, others represent groups flying--one a golden bird, another a man with a hemispherical helmet, all are much damaged. the hair in some is dressed as in the modern burmese top-knot, often surrounded by a circle. otherwise the niches are not ornamented, except in one instance, as above alluded to; the head of the smaller figure was formerly covered by the roof, as evident from holes or troughs for timbers in the gallery. these holes are now inhabited by pigeons, and the lower ones by cows, donkeys, fowls, kids, dogs; some are filthy apertures blocked up by stone and mud walls; the doors irregular, and guarded between two giants. an old tope occurs near some small figures, it is composed of stones very much disintegrated, with curious blocks of _kucha_ work, and large babylonish bricks; the smaller figures are much destroyed, some completely; all are in alto-relievo. the plants about topehee valley, are cichorium, centaurea lutea, berberis common, salvia, cicer cultivated, lucerne, centaurea angustifolia, cnicus of koti-ashruf, ditto of karabagh hills, triticum, asteroides, avena, centaurea glauca, the common thistle, ephedra, mentha, rumex, melilotus, medicago, artemisia pyramidalis, lychnis inflata, saponaria, bromus, verbascum, cerasus canus, ferula, statice, salsola, astragalus, polygonum fruticosum, composita dislocata, clematis erecta, clematis alia, echinops, leucades, pulicaria fragrans, hyoscyamus parvus, rare; geranium, rosa, fabago of maidan, fructi echinatis, arundo, hippophae. halted at bamean till the th, and inspected ghoolghoola or bheiran, which presents extensive ruins: those of the city are almost destroyed; but those of the citadel are more perfect, and situated on a mound feet high, which still stands with steep banks or fortifications, apparently of kafir origin, generally _kucha_, with bases formed of boulders. three lines of defences remain on the valley side; and the remains of a ditch feet broad at the mound on the east side. _pucka_, or burnt bricks are common among the debris, also pottery, but this is of the ordinary sort: i observed but few _pucka_ bricks in the fortification on the west side. great masses of rocks have been thrown about near the building of the fort, and some of the lower bastions were built on these masses. the mound is chiefly occupied by salsolaceae, some of which exist in profusion. nothing seems to be known about the history of the place, except that it was built by _julal_, to whom the mahommedans fix _ud-deen_. quails are abundant in the fields about bamean; it is a curious thing that in many of these fields oats far preponderate over other grain; yet they are not cut, although all the seeds have fallen out of the ear! can it be cultivated solely for the straw? fine groves of poplars occur about certain portions of the valley; from beyond this to the south, a beautiful view is obtained, embodying the cliffs with the large image, and the back hills whose varied surface and tints it is impossible to describe, so as to convey a correct idea of their fine effect. the poplar grove contains some ordinary mahomedan _tombs_. the trees are the p. heterophylla, but the leaves are much smaller and more silvery underneath than usual; a beautiful poplar of large size and unencumbered growth, of the same sort occurs in the ravine beyond the small image. abundance of wild sheep's heads are preserved about all the sanctified buildings, together with a few of those of the ibex, and fewer of the wild goat. the plants of bamean require no specification, the hills are very barren, chiefly occupied by salsoleae, of which or species occur. the water plants continue the same as at cabul; hippurus and triglochin, mentha, cochlearia, naiad? potamogeton of siah-sung, polypogon. the other plants are those found in cultivation, and present no change, anchusoides alba, abundant. choughs very abundant; wild pigeons, ravens, laurus; the nuthatch, a noisy but not unmusical bird, chakor, together with small partridges, but these are rare; several conirostres. the greatest curiosity is a genuine trout, { } this appears rare, the spots are very bright, the largest caught was only six pounds in weight. i could not take any even with the fly; but i caught with this, schizothorax, or one of the universal khorassan cyprins. the range of the thermometer is great; before sunrise it varies from degrees to degrees! in the sun in midday it is degrees! when there is no wind, and the mornings are delightful. one of the long-tailed clumsy brachypodiums occurs in the fields: bears also are found here. _joussa_, mentha, tanacetoid, polypogonum, cichorium, plantago, common thistle, potamogeton longifolium, labiata arvensis of yonutt, centaurea lutea, cyanea angustifolia, cochlearia, hippuris, ranunculus, potamogeton pectinata, triglochin, convolvulus arvensis, acaulis, glaux, capparis of arghandab, centranthera pinnatifida, malva rotundifolia, asteroides, lactuca purpurea. salt is obtained in some places from the red earth, as also alum an earthy substance of a whitish or brown colour, and irregular surface, sent in quantities to mindosh, called zak. _ th_.--to zohawk, down the valley two miles beyond the mouth of topehee ravine, or embouchure of the kulloo-rood. the angle is occupied by a kafir fort called kojhuk, of very large size, situated on a precipitous dusky-red and very high rock, facing towards both rivers; the defences reach down the eastern face of rock to the kulloo bed, and are in good preservation, more ornamented than the modern fort, and better proportioned. a pretty grass sward occurs here, with tamarisk. the fort must have been of great size, and is chiefly weak, _i.e_. to a native army, from depending on the river for supplies of water, for it is commanded from the opposite sides of either ravine. the bed of the river under the east face, presents the remains of outworks to protect the supply of water, which is perhaps a sign of its being a recent structure? the works are good, much better than those of the affghans, the view of the fort from half a mile down the bamean river, with the sun gilding the ruined battlements, while the precipice contrasts with it its dusky-red colour, is beautiful. the bamean river, especially after receiving the kulloo-rood, is of considerable size, but fordable at the head of most of the rapids, its course is rapid, and its waters greyish, while those of the kulloo are quite colourless; its bed is of some width, presenting a capital road over green sward, with plenty of willows, lycium, hippophae, berberis, and tamarisk. about one mile east of our camp, its ravine turns to the south. wild ducks, quails, chakor, and trout occur whose haunts are in holes, and taking the worm are easily caught. this fort of kojhuk is as well worth examining as any place we have seen, the dusky-red rocks are coarse conglomerate. a violent wind prevails up the ravine, commencing about p.m. a curious staircase situated at the corner towards bamean, ascends through rock, the bottom of which is defended by a bastion and round wall; near, or close to this a slip has occurred, destroying part of the wall and blocking up one exit. ascended the cliff by the gateway of the kulloo valley, and found the line of fortifications, with good loop-holes and parapets extend two and a half miles up, a few houses likewise occur. the path leads through the face of the solid rock: abundant defences, with arched buildings occur above: this cliff is almost totally separated from the upper citadel by a ravine: the citadel has four lines of defences surmounting a steep ridge with outworks on the kulloo river, the bed of which is yards broad. _ th_.--proceeded to erak, six miles. we crossed the kulloo-rood, and immediately ascended its right bank, feet high; then descended into the ravine up which we continued, then leaving it we struck over the spur of a high mountain; the ascent being about , feet, thence we commenced a steep descent, of , feet into the erak valley, up which we proceeded for two miles distance and encamped. from the top of the pass, a fine view is obtained of kojhuk, and the valley of the bamean river, presenting a rich and varied surface beyond description, with beautifully sculptured rocks, of purplish-red colour, which are seen up the kulloo, close to kojhuk. the hills and ravines are however very barren, nothing but salsola occurs. at the top of the pass a section is partly laid open, shewing a mass of conglomerate, twenty to thirty feet thick, resting on red clay. this conglomerate being less acted on by water than the clay, the rocks often assume curious shapes, and are occasionally even fungiform. [sculptured rocks near kojhuk: m .jpg] we observed here a new partridge, at least one to which we were not accustomed; it is almost the size of chakor, black on the back, with a grey neck, and very shy; chakors abundant here in coveys. the valley of the erak is very narrow, but well cultivated, and with a good many villages. all the mountains in this direction have rounded shapes or outlines, the precipices variously curved, the surfaces are thus formed by the action of water on the outer strata; when this is once exposed, the changes appear often rapid, as may be imagined in a country of such low winter temperature. caves occur in the erak valley, chiefly situated in a dirty white conglomerate. [erak ravine: m .jpg] _ th_.--halted and encamped eight miles up the erak ravine on a swardy spot: the road easy, ascent bad in some places, but generally good, particularly for the latter part of the march: the rocks in some places rising in abrupt rugged cliffs, generally rounded, slaty. we passed one mass of snow about two miles from camp, botany good, especially about the snow; so much so, that it employed me all day. caragana appears at about , feet, a tamerioid of large stature in abundance, asphodelus, not as i thought a mesembryanthemum, but a beautiful and very distinct species; see catalogue for other plants. our camp is within one and a half mile of the head of the erak ravine, where snow occurs in two large masses; patches of snow also occur on the ridge or a little below it; these ridges rise about , to , feet above us. unsettled evening, snow during night on all the ridges about us with frozen sleet in camp. thermometer at a.m. degrees. large round-tailed eagle seen. barometer . , thermometer degrees; boiling point of wollast. new thermometer; barometer , old ditto . . swardy plants. parnassia, swertia, gentiana, carices, composita coronata, primula, labiata, menthoides, caprifoliacea! pedicularis, umbelliferae. plants of hill sides asphodelus, leguminosae alter, a nakhood moschata, nakhood labaria violacea, mulgedioid, euphorbia, astragalus prior, alter., pedicularis, onosma versicolor, boraginea, stamens exserted. _ th_.--proceeded to kurzar, eight miles up a ravine to the left or eastward, about one and a half mile, then the steep ascent of the pass; thence the descent was as steep for feet, then gradually down a swardy ravine until we came to the kurzar ravine, which we followed till we reached the choky. the road good; the ascent for , feet is very steep, the soil good, hills rounded, here and there slate rocks outcropping. no change in vegetation. passed a mass of snow: abundance of snow on the summit where the mercury in the bar. stood at . ; thermometer degrees; boiling point of wollast. new thermometer; bar. . , old . , this being the highest spot we have visited. the vegetation of the summit presents no change from that of the rocks and hill sides , feet below. there is a good deal of vegetation, carduaceae, statices, astragali, a few tufted grasses forming the great bulk, _nakhood_ rare on the kurzar side, feet down, statice becomes most abundant, it is curious that on the sward of this side, neither fumariaceae, nor campanula were observed, silene fimbriata one species. caragana all about, even at kurzar in ravines; primula abundant, also swertiae, generally all four plants are found at the hajeeguk snow ravine, and may be found between this and erak, with some interesting novelties. the distance to bamean by both routes is within two miles of the same, the kulloo-rood being the shorter, but hajeeguk the best road. that of the kulloo river is followed to zohawk. the weather unsettled with showers of hail, clouds and sunshine: and heavy gusts of wind occasionally from kohi-baba, whose eastern extremity comes in sight after entering the _kurzar_ ravine. no view from the summit of the pass. [pass between erak and kurzar: m .jpg] pedicularis, campanula, rubiaceae, hippuris in flower, phleum, carduacea of yonutt, cnicus of koti-ashruf, pulmonaria, corolla tubiform. euphorbia linearifolia, composita dislocata, cardamina lutea. _ th_.--proceeded to the helmund, thirteen and a half miles; the only novelty met with is a curious spring about half-way between siah-sung halting place, and the helmund consisting of limpid water emitting a copious ebullition of gas, not water, as the overflow is very small; a copious deposition of fine red earth is formed all round, which looks especially bright in the springs themselves. the water possesses a peculiar acid taste. quails abundant, especially about this place, the water of the helmund is very clear and affords excellent fishing with worms which are greedily taken, and also with the fly, particularly towards evening, by a species of gonorhynchus. _ th_.--returned to the foot of the ascent of the oonnoo, nine miles: nothing new having been met with, except that kohi-baba is seen to great advantage, from the higher ridges of this pass. on going to bamean we saw it for the first time from the ridges beyond yonutt, badly from the first, but beautifully from the second ridge. the weather continues as usual threatening in the evening, clearing up after sunset: there is less snow on kohi-baba now than when we went. _ th_.--proceeded to sir-i-chushme, eight miles, which was one continued descent. passed killa moostaffur khan, built by a kuzzilbash; it is the prettiest fort in the country. the common carduacea disappears below , feet, cnicus of koti-ashruf commences here. temperature of the spring at sir-i-chushme, degrees ( . p.m.); that at kallo, on the other side of hajeeguk, degrees. all crops are cut, and the ground ploughed or preparing; in one place the young wheat is springing up; but the country generally looks very brown, and the hills small. abundance of black teal. plectranthus reappears at the foot of oonnoo, verbascum rare, if any, on the tartary side of the hindoo-koosh. abundance of loaches or balitora in the streamlets arising from the springs. th.--proceeded to julraiz, eight and a half miles, having passed a waterfall, as well as abundance of people going to jallalabad. bar. . at noon; ther. degrees. th.--proceeded to koti-ashruf, where there is excellent fishing with worms, the fish however did not take a fly, though they often appeared at the surface: a large headed silurus occurs, but i was unable to procure a specimen. th.--proceeded to arghundee, where we met the bamean force. th.--proceeded to topehee bashee. th.--returned to cabul. eryngium is rare between the foot of oonnoo and moostaffur khan's fort. chapter xvii. _from cabul to jallalabad and peshawur_. _october th_.--proceeded to bhootkhak, nine and a half miles from cabul, and seven from our camp: the direction lay easterly. a canal and a river were both crossed by bridges, the latter of stone, but much needing repairs: the country generally marshy: the marshes were crossed by a causeway of stones, rough and broken here and there. the road is one apparent continued slope to this, but the barometer gives no indication of any difference of level. the march proving uninteresting, and the country an uniform brown and barren tract. _ th_.--proceeded to koord cabul valley, the distance of which from the place we left being eleven miles: first having rounded a spur extending from the south boundary of cabul valley, we then entered a narrow ravine, chiefly occupied by a small stream, which we crossed several times. the mountains being chiefly of limestone, then becoming slaty, very precipitous, rugged, and barren; on emerging from this very tedious ravine, we entered on some sward with plenty of tamarisk, and salix vimenea. koord cabul valley is a frightfully barren, and very stony place; the chief vegetation of the valley, as also of the ravine, being artemisiae, in which there is abundance of carduacea subspicata from baber's tomb. the road throughout is indifferent, but only so from the stones, the largest of which would require removal, and there are not more than two or three difficult rocks in the way, these however might be avoided by keeping in the bed of the stream. there are two ruined stone walls thrown across the ravine, the remains merely of the very few villages of koord cabul. a high truncated mountain stands to the south, on which some patches of snow are visible. the mountain forming the east wall of the ravine is the subconical one, seen to such advantage from arghundee, it is of limestone, quite precipitous, with a few large bushes of, i do not know what; none of them being within reach,--ilex, and _cupressus_. _ th_.--to tazeen, the road for seven miles extends over somewhat undulated ground, generally good; but here and there stony, with a gradual but almost imperceptible ascent, until the top of the pass is reached; from this, the view of tazeen valley, and the summit of the sofaid-koh is good. thence the road extends over ascents and descents, three of which have considerable, and stony inclinations, then it enters the ravine drained by a small stream, and continues down it until we enter tazeen valley. two streams are passed in the ascent; the first, near the former halting place, flowing, where it is crossed, between slaty cliffs of no height; the second one, small, frozen, and not sufficient to supply a large party: there is however a spring a short way below the summit, although very small. temperature degrees. the rocks forming the narrow ravine are very rough and slaty: limestones presenting the usual characters. this march has been said to present a very bad road, but it is not the case, at least in comparison with many of the affghan roads, distance twelve and a half miles, the time it takes for camels to perform the journey is six hours. the road, where not stony, is very well beaten. no change is observed in the features of the country until the opposite side of tazeen valley is seen, and the summit of the sofaid-koh: here, wonderful to relate! are abundance of firs extending down and along the ridge to some distance, but not forming forests. otherwise the vegetation consists of senecionoides, _astragali_, _rosa_, statice - , artemisiae, and plectranthus, which last is very common in the ravine leading to tazeen valley, which is drained by a small stream. here also carduacea, and onosmoid angustifolia occur! in this ravine, xanthoxylon of kojhuk, a willow, rosa, and a distinct ilex, occur, forming chiefly a shrubby vegetation. ilex is also, so far as can be judged from appearance, the bushy thing seen on the limestone hill at our last halt, also cupressus, a fine specimen of which i found on limestone at about the height of the top of the pass, ( . bar.) ther. degrees, with a very small spiraea. the large-winged vultures of arghundee are common here. some ruined villages were passed, a mosque stood near one of these, two and a half miles from last halt, little cultivation in the tazeen valley, and in the centre of this, two villages with orchards are visible. [pass between koord cabul and tazeen: m .jpg] _ th_.--tried to get to the firs, but failed. the lower hills, and indeed the range between the valley and the fir range, are conglomerate, easily disintegrated, then limestone, which often occurs quite vertical. some of the hills are red, others brown, in one instance the coloured substance is interposed between strata of limestone, which last have alone withstood the effects of climate, this range is as high as the koord cabul pass. ilex very common, and much used for charcoal, the trunk being eight to ten inches in diameter; almost all are pollarded. pomacea common at feet above this, plectranthus, senecionoides. artemisiae, astragali, statices, rosa, bastard indigo, cerasus. the orchards are now assuming their autumnal tint, salvia pinnata, canus aliusque, _ruwash_. chough, ravens, nuthatch, and chakor here occur. heavy snow is observed on the eastern portions of hindoo-koosh, which are quite barren. the best way to the fir tract i find on enquiry will be to follow the bed of the stream up to it. fields are being now ploughed and sown. thermopsides very common here in old cultivation: it affords decent fodder for camels. _ th_.--to barikab, distance ten and a half miles; the road extending down the tazeen ravine, over a tract with a considerable descent for about nine miles; on passing a long dark looking rock and its spur, the road then leaves the bed, and ascends over low undulations of easily detachable conglomerate, and sand; then a short but rather steep ascent occurs for feet, passing over an easily friable sandstone, either existing as grains slightly adherent, or caked; thence the descent passes over the preceding sort of conglomerate, to an abominably barren ravine, drained by a very small stream. the road only once leaves the bed of this ravine, but soon rejoins it before finally turning off. the mountains present the same features; where no outcrop of strata occurs, they are rounded, brown, and very barren, with here and there an ilex; towards the end of the raviny part in one or two places, more wood than usual occurs, forming scattered thickets. fraxinus, the older branches of which have much smaller leaves, thymelia of chiltera, cerasus canus, and alius, senecionoides, compositae, artemisiae, polygonum frutescens, which last is not uncommon throughout. equisetoides becomes common towards the black rock. where the road turns off from the ravine, a _khubar_ or tope occurs, shaded with two or three large xanthoxyleae now in fruit, called _khinjuk_. snow visible from barikab to the north, but generally in ravines. the country continues abominably barren, we passed the entrance of the lutabund pass, near the black rock, but without seeing it: no difficulty occurs on the road, except from the jolting of stones. there is however no forage to be had at the halt, and but little fodder. a sprinkling of holly-looking bushes are seen extending over the lower ranges of hindoo- koosh. _ th_.--jugdulluck, ten and a half miles from our last encampment; on leaving barikab we commenced ascending, winding over undulating ground for a short distance, until we reached the main ascent, which is short, but moderately steep: thence we descended steeply for perhaps feet, hitherto the road extended over sand hills, with quantities of stones. on reaching the foot of the steep descent, we then descended gradually over a long stony inclined plane, then entered undulating ground, descending from which the road took us over a small stream, which we followed up, soon entering a gorge, up which we continued till we reached jugdulluck. this gorge is the finest and boldest we have seen, the rocks forming precipitous cliffs , feet high, which often hem in the road, and confine it to a breadth of a few feet, sufficient merely for a gun to pass. on emerging from this we reached the tope of jugdulluck, now a grove of mulberry trees, surrounded by the remains of a wall. the country, until we entered the gorge, presented the same features as before, being frightfully barren. passed a spring of water at the foot of the main descent where there is level ground sufficient for a small party, afterwards we passed a smaller spring containing less water, but situated in much better ground than barikab. the vegetation of undulated ground continues unchanged, very poor and stunted; in ravines below the main descent, stipa is very common; in others, a large andropogon occurs near the mouth of the gorge along the bed of the river, also _jhow_ in patches, and one patch of donax. the vegetation of the gorge is more varied; two small trees occur, one the _khinjuk_, and it is the commonest, the other a terebinthacea; thymelaea of chiltera is common, ephedra, ilex occurs but is less common than on hills. along the water to which it gives exit, and which is abundant, the usual cyperaceae, junceae, gnaphalium, potentilla, and epilobium occur as at cabul; the place is chiefly remarkable for two or three saccharoid grasses, stipa common, polypogon, donax, dracocephala of quettah and the bolan pass, spiraea, typha, young tamarisks. chakor, large vulture, ravens; a woodcock rose from a dripping rock, covered with a tropical andropogon in dense patches. adiantum, rubus, erythrea, labiatae two, common; salix. the gorge appears to be a distinct formation of sandstone, slate, and limestone: on the way to it, we continued over the sand and conglomerate hill, which again recur at jugdulluck, with plenty of holly. the sofaid-koh is visible from the main ridge: it is a ridge running perhaps sw. to ne., tolerably covered with snow, as barren as any others: a few fir trees are found in the direction of tazeen: are these confined to the sandstone formation? little grass, a few rice fields, bad forage. [pass and gorge, barikab to jugdulluck: m .jpg] _ th_.--halted at jugdulluck. small partridges are common: observed a curious certhioid creeper, whose flight is like that of the hoopoe; it is scandent over rocks. _ th_.--to soorkhab, twelve and a half miles over a similar country: region of hollys continues; we first passed up a ravine, then over undulating ground, until the summit of the pass is reached. from this a fine view of sofaid-koh is obtained, the lower ranges in some places being black with firs; thence a continued descent, varied here and there by small ascents over undulating ground, we at length came to a ravine filled with bulrushes: we followed this, leaving it near the halting place, and winding over rocky ground and a bad road, we descended to the bed of the river. the road good, though stony here and there, but nowhere so, to such an extent, as the previous marches. hills precisely similar to those already passed, either sandy, easily friable, or conglomerate, held together by sandy cement. vegetation continues the same; _baloot_, or oak, is said to be abundant though i did not see it; daphne, and xanthoxylon, compose the chief shrubby vegetation; saccharum here and there. small partridge very common. the greatest ascent is , feet. no grass for forage; several very small streamlets were passed en route, so that a small party might halt anywhere. [ascent and descent jugdulluck to soorkhab: m .jpg] the beautiful himalaya looking range sofaid-koh, runs east and west; it is very high, in the back ranges with very heavy snow on both ridges, and peaks. the view from the pass shows a rapid fall in the country to the eastward, which still continues hilly, and very very bare. large coarse grapes are had here, also pomegranates: some _seedless_ rice cultivation occurs since we descended to jugdulluck. _ th_.--we proceeded nine and a quarter miles, throughout until reaching a grove near gundamuck: the road lay over undulating ground, is more sandy than stony, and in two or three places it is raviny, and requires to be made. then the road emerges into a fine sort of valley, dipping down to a small stream with many sedges. in the bed of the stream, willows occur, and mulberries about it: we then ascended and halted just beyond the ascent. water and _dhoob_ grass are both plentiful, as well as supplies of grain, pomegranates, and grapes, as yesterday; _bajree_. a fine view is obtained of sofaid-koh, which forms the southern boundary of the valley; many villages, with cultivation in a very sandy soil. small partridge very abundant. a fox observed. the ravines wherever there is water, crowded with typha, and saccharum; oaks are seen in abundance on the mountain to the south; left the soorkhab river after fording it near yesterday's camp; the bridge is quite useless for cattle, as the ground is rocky and broken on this side, no pains having been taken to carry the work to the road; cypresses, planes and mulberry trees in the gardens: cannabis, also one patch of cotton cultivation was passed. no descent, but rather small ascent on the whole, say feet, the ascent from the principal nullah crossed being equal, though much shorter than the descent to it. [soorkhab to gundamuck: m .jpg] _ th_.--we halted: many rivulets descend near us from the sofaid-koh; and the water in these is beautifully clear; many villages and mills with several beautiful spots occur, well shaded with trees, poplars, mulberries, and figs. the objects of cultivation are millet, indian-corn, rice, and wheat; this last just sprung up: many _bedanah_ pomegranates, but none i think of superior quality. all the low hills here, and indeed between us and the boundary ranges of the valley, are of sandstone, generally very slightly held together, here and there more firm, and distinctly stratified towards the upper surface. the surface consists of conglomerate, formed of boulders imbedded in the same kind of sandstone as that below; often very friable, occasionally it is as hard as flint. in the sandstone below, a few stones occur here and there; but i saw no fossils. the upper surface of these hills is remarkably stony, all the stones being more or less rounded. several new plants were found in these ravines, a lythrum, a very aromatic species of compositae, samolus in some of the swamps with typha, which swarms in every ravine and ravinelet, rubus, clematis, bergia, ammannia, lythraria, chara, xanthium. the plants of tropical forms are, celosia of digera! polanisia, andropogons, two or three. the tropical cultivation consists of cotton, the usual annual sort; indian-corn, pennisetum, and rice. the fish are, four kinds of cyprinidae, including one oreinus, and one loach. _ th_.--proceeded to futtehabad, eleven and a half miles. the road leaves the valley after crossing a stream with a ruined bridge, like that at soorkhab, but of two arches, and ascending a little way, then winding along over undulating very stony ground; this continues until we descend steeply and along the neemla valley, a mere ravine, historically interesting, as the field on which shah soojah lost his kingdom in , and for a fine tope of trees: then crossing a streamlet, we ascend a little way over sandstone, then another stream, which we follow for yards, and ascending a little, we proceed thence to camp, along a slight slope of very stony, generally _very level_ ground, where we halted on a rivulet with a wide grassy bed, lythrum growing around. [gundamuck to futtehabad: m .jpg] no change appears in the vegetation: the surface very barren in stony parts, chiefly artemisia, saccharum, andropogon albus, in ravines, capparis common, also aerua and lycionoides. the northern boundary of the valley is comparatively low, and from sofaid- koh to this is an uniform slope, broken by ravines; here and there by small hills; ravines occasionally dilating into small valleys, the only parts in which cultivation is to be seen. this is so far different from the usual formation where the valleys occupy the level tract between the slopes from either boundary range. neemla is a very confined space for any thing like the battle said to have taken place here, the rising grounds inclosing the small space being too much broken for cavalry. the rocks consist of conglomerate at top, below sandstone, layers of both alternating near the surface: a break occurs (nearly opposite) in the hills, this break is minutely undulated. { } rock pigeons were seen on the march by thomson, and small partridges. i find that though to our senses there was comparatively but little descent, that the barometer and thermometer indicate one of , feet. the neemla river must be the boundary between the hot and cold countries alluded to by burnes. in spite of this descent, and our small altitude, about , feet, but little change if any occurs in the vegetation, and none in the general features of the country; the apocynea of dadur and bolai (nerioides) has re-appeared. at this season (october), throughout the way we came from cabul, there is a curious white efflorescence covering the shootur kari, i do not know what it is, but it is not conferva. a good deal of forest is seen on some of the ranges to the north of this, bearing from camp about nne., certainly not firs, perhaps oaks. _ th_.--yesterday we went to the soorkhab, which runs east and west along the northern boundary of the valley; half the distance down the bed of this stream the ground is strewed with boulders, thence to the hills, and excepting the bed of the soorkhab, is one sheet of cultivation, consisting of large quantities of cotton and sugar-cane, this latter of small size, and not very juicy, castor-oil plant, corchorus (_pat_), _sun_, tel., radish, and among the other plants cultivated, the mudar is common: nerioides of dadur; epilobium sp. is the chief boreal form. this is one of the richest districts i have seen. trees--bukkhien, { } _furas_, ficus, cupressus, with much rice cultivation. the vines are trained on mulberries, as burnes says, or the lilyoak. pomegranates are also to be mentioned among the fruits of this place. the soorkhab river is not seen after leaving the place of the same name; after it crosses the road, it runs due north through the mountains, in a narrow, almost inaccessible bed; its waters are of a reddish colour. the villages here are larger, and not so fortified as those about cabul. balabagh stands on a high bank of conglomerate, overhanging the soorkhab, and is in danger of being cut away by the river. the peasantry are civil, and unarmed. ravens, quails, _minas_, sparrows, and a beautiful swallow were seen about the soorkhab river; the latter, with metallic blue on the back of the head, crown of head tawny, tail short, two exterior feathers elongated into beautiful almost setaceous bodies, exceeding the length of the bird. this swallow, or one with a similar tail, was seen by sanders on the helmund, at girishk. _ th_.--we proceeded to sultanpore, eight and a half miles, passed futtehabad, thence a gradual descent over a very stony slope to the halting place, where the valley becomes narrow, and water plentiful in a small stream. willows, mulberries, ashes. two large pollards at futtehabad. the vegetation consists of gramineae in patches, aerua nerioides, and mudar. sultanpore, is a village of some size, situated about a mile north from the road, and contains many hindoos. all villages here crowded with highish two or three-storied houses, something like shikarpore: they are surrounded with gardens and mud walls, apricots, mulberries, greengages, pomegranates in profusion; the cultivation very rich as yesterday, and there is an air of repose about the villages unusual in this country. tobacco. the rice-pounder or _dekhee_ i observe is here lifted by treading on it with the foot, as in hindoostan. the country hereabout, has the advantage of being well watered. _isain_, dolichos sp. occurs. trees as before: the plane flourishes, fine ones were seen growing around a hindoo zearut, where there is a double spring of water with a copious ebullition of gas. the temperature of this is said to be hot in winter. salsola common, _joussa_, a curious ericoid plant was observed, typha angustifolia, latifolia ceased since we left gundamuck; isachne, pulicaria, epilobium, sagittaria, cyperaceae, marsilea! polygonum, ranunculus sceleratus, lythrum, lemna, alisma, menthoid, a cuscuta common on cotton plants, as at futtehabad, several tropical grasses, aristida, poa, and andropogon appear. descent though almost unappreciable, yet amounts to , feet. bulbul and parus common, as well as doves and ravens; quails are scarce. _ st_.--to jallalabad, eight and a half miles, the road keeping along the southern edge of the valley, occasionally extending over small undulations sometimes stony, more often sandy. typha latifolia occurs in profusion along parts of futtehabad nullah, general features the same otherwise, aerua and nerioid are common on stony parts, and fewer coarse grasses. cypresses in gardens, also _khujoors_. starlings. the entrance to jallalabad, or rather to its suburbs, presents the usual desolate, disorderly appearance, of such places in this country; the ruined walls to the city; the sandy barren soil, and the odious looking low hills between it and the sofaid-koh, present as sad and melancholy a picture as could well be met with. the same desolate, disorderly, dirty appearance is to be met with in most asiatic capitals, particularly those that have been subjected to independent misrule: while the more distant surrounding villages look cheerful, and as clean as can be expected: the appearances immediately around the chief towns are always bad. to what is this owing? is it to their being more completely under the thumb of a rapacious governor? to the insecurity of property, or to defect in the laws? or to all these causes together? at cabul it was just the same, particularly on the peshawur side, where stagnant pools, half destroyed mosques, and mutilated trees present a total contrast to the smiling valley of kilah-i-kajee. at shikarpore the same. the most common fruit tree in the gardens here is a sweet lime: grapes are brought in from the villages of sofaid-koh, they are the same sort as those at gundamuck: narcissus, rosa, cerasi sp., mirabilis, stock, cupressus, mulberry also in gardens, _bheir_ of waste places, salsola, artemisiae, two or three: kochia villosa, peganum, aerua, croton of candahar, ricinus, _joussa_ of wet places, lippia, typha latifolia, angustif., azolla, riccia, cyperaceae, several lythrarieae, potamogeton, three species. the fish here will not take a fly, and the bottoms are too foul and stony for worm-fishing, the largest sort of fish is somewhat like a barbel. jackdaws and corvus, alter atratus, dorso ventre griseo: very few quails. _furas_ common. _ th_.--to ali-baghan, distance six and a half miles, road winding, generally good: after it crossed the dry bed of the nullah, it then becomes rather undulated extending over raviny ground; it then crosses the broad bed of the stream, in which there are swarms of bulrushes, then the same sort of sandy ground leads to camp, which is near the village ali-baghan. the river here is much increased, much more deep; banks alluvial, steep; soil deep. chenopodium sp., very common, but too much eaten up to be recognized, also salsolae sp. nothing new observed. we passed the break above-mentioned in the northern hills, whence issues the coomur nuddee. serratuloides very common in sandy undulations. porcupines and foxes. beds of grass in islands of the river barikab. _ th_.--we proceeded to bankok, twelve and a half miles from the encamping ground, having turned nearly due south, in order to avoid the slope, which is seen in this direction from jallalabad; then a valley, with low hills on either side, is passed; then the road ascends over undulating ground, until feet is gained; then a long and gradual descent is traversed over a very stony plateau. no water nor cultivation on the road, nothing can exceed its barrenness. aerua nerioides, lycioides, andropogon albus, are the principal plants on the plateau; kochia common, and a few straggling _bheirs_, small rock pigeons. geology unchanged, sandstone and conglomerate, with enormous boulders. we passed the gorge through which the cabul river runs. the road, by this is said to be only six miles, but is only passable by pedestrians and horsemen. one village of some size is situated in the south towards sofaid-koh; from the plateau as well as from our camp, a curious and characteristic scene is visible to the north, showing a barren lofty range with peculiar undulations at the base, as well as the isolated hills jutting up above its surface: the trees and villages being confined to the course of the river which may be thus traced by its fertility. in this last direction there is a good deal of _abadi_, but nothing comparable to that about jallalabad. at camp serratuloid australasicus, very common, as indeed it was yesterday; _foliis verticalibus_ in consequence of both surfaces being stomatose, the base of the leaf is so twisted as to present each surface equally to the light. it is curious that all such leaves have the veins prominent on both surfaces, showing a relation between the veins and the stomata, the more stomata the larger veins. _ th_.--to bassoollah, eight and a half miles, the road for guns is good throughout; better perhaps than any yet met with, from the soil being sandy. we came by a straighter road, and a very bad one, instead of diverging to the south, and rounding a range of hills, we entered these, and passing through a gorge coming upon marshy ground, running for some distance along the cabul river, to which we were here quite close. passed several villages about the mouth of the gorge, which is a short one. the general features of the country continue the same; we crossed a nullah near the camp, and another near the gorge, six miles from camp, towards this last, grass covers the plains, though of a coarse kind; aerua nerioides most common on the barren ground. we observed on the way a new pterocles, and passed an old tope situated on a low ridge. the gorge is rather pretty; the cabul river runs close, along the foot of a range, forming the northern boundary of the place, where bassoollah is situated, this is also a pretty place, with much good grassy ground for encamping on. the country under sofaid-koh presents a long strip of cultivation, with many villages: hills barrener than ever, chiefly limestone. very little snow here observed as on the eastern face of the high peaks of sofaid- koh, compared with the quantity visible on the face towards jallalabad. about half-past two, a slight shock of an earthquake was felt, presenting a rumbling noise, very audible, proceeding from east to west. between the village and the river, an extensive strip of level land occurs, with sandy soil well adapted to rice, of which quantities are grown. the crops are now ready for the sickle, and some partly cut: much of this land is occupied by a marsh choked with bulrushes of both sorts, typha latifolia being the most common; cyperaceae abound, marsilea in profusion, azolla, mentha, epilobii sp. as before, lemna, valisneria _verticillata_? sium., sagittaria, pulicaria, chara, lippia, monniera, _jhow_. the river runs close under the hills, which are very barren, its course is rapid, cataracts also are of frequent occurrence transmitting a great body of water; no fish are visible. some cotton and maize and _toot_ cultivation. _furas_ the only trees. the mountains slope off from sofaid-koh in distinct groups, and are seen to advantage, broken in some places into undulations: about the centre of the slope an irregular strip of village forts and cultivation is extended. the course of the cabul river in many places is curious; flowing between singularly round ranges. snipe common; quail rare. erythraea common on moist sward. _ th_.--proceeded to lalpore, the country undulating, the road skirting the stony portions of the plain is bad to hizarnow, three miles from thence it is very stony, thence continuing on the skirts of the hills, which are principally slate, and passing through a small ravine, it then extends over sandy or stony ground, until the chota khyber is reached: this is a narrow, but short, and not very steep pass; slate rocks compose the upper parts, and are entirely disintegrated, thence they descend at once into the plain opposite lalpore; the distance of the march is eleven miles, the road generally decent. much rice cultivation occurs, and much land, it must be confessed, also occupied by marshy ground, typha, etc. the same plants continue; butomus trigonifolius not uncommon. on the slate rocks of buttencote kochia recurs, heliotropium luteum, nerioides, and lycioides of shikarpore are found. near hizarnow, serissa, acaciae sp., which is the black wood of madras; sissoo, and _bheirs_. hizarnow is a large place, curiously occupying receding slopes of the base of a low range of hills, but it must be dreadfully hot. we passed several _kaburistans_ with pollarded, stunted, excavated _furas_ trees. one mile before hizarnow, a curious hill of slate occurred, covered with boulders. the road is very winding in consequence of its following the bases of the hills forming the southern boundary of the valley. the cabul river is visible almost throughout the whole march. all houses in the villages are now roofed in this part of the country with straw. starlings observed in swarms. _ st_.--halted at lalpore, this is a very busy large place: the houses are one-storied, and flat-roofed. the only peculiarity being occasional square towers. the river is here quite open for commerce downwards, and is well adapted to small canoes: the stream is rapid and crossed by a ferry. on rocks under which the river flows near this, a species of fissidens occurs, where the rocky surface has passed into sand. glycyrrhiza, rubus, artemisia, asparagus, pommereulla, andropogon albus, arundo, cyrthandracea, an hyoscyamus of the bolan pass, beebee nanee, heliotropium flavum. it would be curious to enquire why the powers of variation change so completely in the different families? thus for instance in orchideae, no character can be taken from the vegetation with some limitations, and none from the fruit or seeds; two products in most orders very fruitful in discriminating marks. this leads one to the idea that in monocotyledonous plants, the fruit is very generally of limited powers of variation; witness orchideae, gramineae, smilacineae, etc. this idea deserves to be followed out as much as possible. the river at the ferry is yards wide, and twelve feet in the deepest part, the current five miles an hour, but confined to one and a half towards its centre. _november st_.--marched ten miles: the road from the camp extended up an acclivity, the ground becoming more broken than usual to the mouth of the ghat, which is four miles distant; thence up to the ghat which resembles much the bolan pass, it extends up an inclined plane over a shingly road. the ghat is rather wide throughout, and all the features are the same as the bolan pass, slate rocks most common. we passed on the way a large and a deep but dry well, ascribed to the _kafirs_; and near it the ruins of a fort built half-way up a small mountain, the top of which is level with the ghat. vegetation to the ghat unchanged. in the ghat capparis as before, lycioides, chamaerops, andropog. albus, schaenanthus, _bheir_, nerioides, pommereullioid, andropogonea, appear at once, aerua, asparagus. at feet up, mimosae sp., foliis tomentosis, occurring here and there. heliotropium flavum, plectranthus lavandulosus, scrophulariae sp. at feet, dodonaea: this is very common, and being very green, gives the ghat a pretty appearance. at feet, a curious pomaceous looking rhamnaceous plant is found. the most common plants are nerioides, andropogon albus, _bheir_, chamaerops, dodonaea. the bed of the ghat is formed of debris from the boundary hills, this bed is very thick, and the particles have the appearance of being carried to their present situation by water. our halting place is a confined irregular piece of ground, water abundant, but no grass, except coarse andropogon; no fodder, except _bheir_ and mimosa. i ascended in the evening the ridge to the south, and which is , feet above the road, to the ruins that run along the summit. the ridge, like all others in this neighbourhood, is rugged and much distorted, the top is limestone, much varied and weathered; then slate masses of greenstone occur towards the base. the vegetation is chiefly at the summit. schaenanthus, periploca, dodonaea, an arbuscula nova, euonymus, chenopodiaceae. below this, (but the elevation is scarcely sufficient to form any difference,) and along the water, euonymus, adhatoda, buddlaea cana or syringia, rhamnacea, periplocea, linaria, labiatae, - , pistacea, roylea, acanthoides, _urticea_! habitu, u. penduliflorae, vitex, convolvulus spinosus of bolan, sempervivum, stapelioides used as a vegetable, and for fever by hindoos, artemisiae, solanum sp. along water, adiantum, mentha, epilobium, verbena officinalis, solanum nigrum, jacquinifol. pinnatif. spinosus about cultivation. on slaty rocks which form the bed of the ravine or ghat, dodonaea, hyoscyamus, and cyrthandracea are found. the building consists of a wall near the edge of a ridge, which terminates some twenty feet from the steep precipice of to feet: it is to yards in length, and is terminated at either end by two towers, both of which are ruinous, it is built of slabs and rough blocks of limestone, between which are layers of slate, much like the bactrian pillar, and very superior to modern buildings: what its use was, it would be difficult to conjecture as it is out of musket shot of the ghat, which it only commands by being above it. there is no water on the top, nor is there any well-marked path up to it: curious mortar-like excavations were observed in a mass of limestone just below, probably for pounding rice. up the ravine are remains of terraces formerly used for cultivation, but now mostly disused. at to feet above the ghat the ravine abounds with the ficus of gundamuck; this and the adhatoda or _rooss_ are perhaps cultivated: the ravine is pretty well entangled with ficus and brushwood. it consists of metamorphosed rocks and excavated limestone; some mosses occur, and adiantum abounding. from the ridge, a rather extensive view to the south is obtained, extending to the khyber fort, which is of the ordinary square form, and just below it, a tower and house. to the east, and all around a good deal of cultivation occurs; also several high ridges, say , feet; one terminating , feet above us, presents a very rugged outline with the appearance of rather large trees. the road up to the ghat is visible, as well as the _choky_ and a fort, with a small sheet of cultivation to the eastward. beyond this a ravine, then two other ridges, of which the nearer one is high. the cabul river passes to the nnw., and lalpoor lies to the north. one peak and a small piece of ridge of hindoo-koosh, white with snow, is seen very distinctly though distant, it must therefore be very lofty; far more so than any part we have seen to the westward. [khyber pass: p .jpg] _description of the annexed map of the khyber pass_. a. kumdhukta. by this is abkhanah route. b. little khyber ghat, on peshawur side. c. khyber ghat, entrance on the jallalabad side. d. kurraha route. e. direction of sofaid-koh in the distance. f. flagstaff in the middle of the pass. the ground between the dotted lines and river, on the south, is, or has been cultivated. the ground near the river on the north side is covered here and there with brown grass. about the flagstaff, sand and short dried up grass occur. the general character of the hills in every direction except the snowy range, is bluffly rounded, very bare, and brown, with here and there a shrub. that which burnes calls noorgil, is the range of kareaz, and is distinct from koonur. kashgur lies beyond the snowy range. the inhabitants of the mountains, like those of lalpoor, wear sandals made of the fibres of chamaerops, which is common: one plant of ephedra used _for snuff_? _ rd_.--proceeded to one mile beyond ali-musjid. the ascent commences immediately where the _choky_ is seen from the camp, by a very good road cut out of slate rock; the rocks are steep on both sides, and very zig- zag; a short partial descent in one place occurs to a small pool of water. from the _choky_, a descent takes place by a similar road for perhaps two miles, until the ravine which we left at camp is turned; this is thence followed, occasionally leaving it where the road is bad and runs through low rugged hills. the road then after passing some of the old ruins opens out into a space with cultivation. close to this is the highest spot of the pass, surrounded by low hills, none higher than feet. cultivation occurs especially at lal-ghurry beg, a space of some size, containing several villages, of the usual khyberry form, namely, surrounded by low, quadrangular walls, with a thin square tower and very broadly projecting eaves. a short distance from its summit, just after passing the villages, and before entering the ravine which leads us to our present camp is a khyberry tower, built on a fine bactrian tope, which is nearly half ruined; on the top of this a dome of good proportions is built on a double-terraced foundation. this gives a rude idea of what the tope was originally, now half the dome has fallen down. [a khyberry tower: m .jpg] the entrance to the ravine gradually becomes narrower, the bed is stony, very winding, and narrow. bold precipices of limestone cliffs ascend on either side of sir-i-chushme; then a little below, very copious springs issue from limestone. the temperature of the principal spring is degrees; it contains abundance of fish--a loach and cyprinoid. passed some ruined fortifications on the right, leading down to water, evidently _kafir_ works; then we enter a narrow but short gorge, occupied by the stream; a few more turns and you come on ali-musjid. no change occurs in the vegetation, bare rocks at the summit of which the bar. stood at . . andropogons and artemisiae are the chief plants. in the gorge downwards, acacia occurs in abundance, with adhatoda, and otherwise the shrubs of lundyakhana occur in abundance, and adiantum about the spring. after passing the fort, the rocks open out into a ravine, with low undulated hills on every side, covered with the usual vegetation; astragalus one species. at lal-ghurry beg, one khinjuck tree, elaeagnus, occurred; and grass in very small stacks, well pressed and covered with a thatch of bushes and a layer of dirt. there is excellent fishing in the stream. loaches, perilamps, and especially an oreinus? swarming at sir-i-chushme, and taking worms very greedily. no forests whatever visible in this direction; the arborescent vegetation being confined to scattered and small trees. _ th_.--we halted near jumrood, after a march of ten miles and one furlong. this place is situated at the mouth of the pass, within sight of the seikh camp at jumrood. marched down to the ghat, which is generally speaking narrow and very strong, opening out here and there, into easier parts extending down the stream all the way; this stream loses itself suddenly, but after a little distance it is replaced by another from the right, where ravines enter: here the pass is well adapted for pillage, elsewhere the sides are so steep, that robbers could not dispose of their plunder. at the mouth, the pass opens out into a good breadth, with an even, small, shingly bottom. at kuddun the seikh troops were drawn up to compliment the c. in c., one regiment met us shortly before to protect the baggage. maize cultivated. at the mouth, the khyber is more difficult than any other pass, except the bolan: perhaps it is much narrower than that, except just above sir-i-bolan. no change in vegetation, one or two new plants occurred, viz. a labiata, and a treelet, foliis linearibus oppositis, jasminacea aspectu, baloot, vitex common, salix, and shrubs as before, veronica, etc. the khyber mountains viewed from the mouth of the pass are brown, and dotted with peculiar looking trees. _ th_.--proceeded six and a half miles to near the ruins of an old tope; first, down the nullah, then by the fort of futtygurh, a hindoostanee mud fort with high parapets, two lines of works, and a _pucka_ citadel with embrasures for guns on a commanding mound: thence we passed over a gentle slope with a good many scattered _bheirs_, _kureels_, aerua, mudar, etc. to camp, where the ground is very rough and stony, abundant water obtained from a cut with sheets of maize cultivation. fossil shells, pterocles, found in arenaceous limestone (durand). _ th_.--to peshawur, eight and a half miles, over a sandy plain; road bad, intersected with cuts and ravines; three canals had to be crossed by small bridges which occasioned a good deal of delay to the camels. passed the seikh lines, between the fort and north face of town, and encamped on east face opposite the governor's house: three gibbets were passed, with twelve persons hanging from them, some of old date. in the evening we had a gay party at m. avitabili's, who is a fine looking man, with an intelligent italian countenance. in a room gaudily decorated and painted, was the following very appropriate motto-- donec eris felix multos numerabis amicos. tempora si fuerunt nubila, solus eris. if this was true in rome, and is true in europe, to what extent does its truth not reach in this country. in the evening we were entertained with dancing and fireworks; excellent dinner and admirable bread. _ th_.--to-day the atmosphere is hazy, but the snowy range is not topped with clouds. it is curious enough that the part which is most exposed to our view, and which bears about north-east, is generally clouded throughout the hotter parts of the day, while apparently equally high peaks in other directions remain clear. it is curious that in khorassan remarkably few climbing plants occur, and of these, the chief form is cuscuta. botany here at this season is a non-entity, in the marsh close to the fort, there occur some few plants, the chief european forms being veronica. ranunculus sceleratus is now coming into flower, typha angustifolia abounds, with arundo, also sparganium, sium, butomus trigonifolius common; otherwise cyperaceae, _epilobium out of_ _season_! ranunculus aquaticus is most abundant; two species of chara, or rather chara, and nitella, the last a beautiful species, marsilea in profusion, azolla common, lemna two or three species, one _new_, a floating marchantiacia, nelumbium occurs, but only as a cultivated plant. of two boreal, or european forms found in sub-tropical countries, that form is the most northern which flowers, etc. in the coldest season, hence veronica and ranunculus are more northern than _epilobium_ in this particular district. the most elevational plant at cabul is cardaminoidea, floribus luteis, this flowers at high altitudes in august and september, and at cabul shows no symptom of flowering even in october; it is there a winter plant? the same is true of hippuris, which to flower at cabul requires a greater degree of cold than is obtainable during the summer months. what i have said of epilobium above, is true of typha and arundo, both now passed flowering, and both found in india, to a considerable extent. royle's idea of the comparatively greater extent of distribution of water plants is not i think correct, in the sense he seems to entertain it; to be so, the species should be the same, which they are certainly not. it is only with pre-eminently aquatic forms that the annual temperature can be more equalised than obtains with strictly terrestrial plants. the humidity which may appear connected with the rapid evaporation in these countries, and which obtains? in the vicinity of all bodies of water, may account for the appearance here of arundo, etc. all genuine aquatic types have leaves involute in vernation? the least valuable of all northern forms, are those associated with cultivation, especially if they be annuals, because in the first place they may be acclimated species, a circumstance of great importance; and in the second, because if annual, they are confined to the cold season. all such forms have probably migrated into these countries, they have come from the westward: this shows us why at almost equal elevations they are most common, the nearer we approach to the elevated regions towards the west, because it is self-evident that the nearer we approach the regions whence they have migrated, the more abundant and diversified will the migrating plants be, only particular species having the power of extending the range of migration. when all the indian plants hitherto met with, have been tabulated; when all their respective heights at which they have been found have been determined; when their more strictly geographical sites have been fixed; when we have some data as to the quantity of humidity pervading their localities; then, and not till then, shall we be able to legislate for the geography of indian botany. the botanist who travels without the means of determining these points, destroys half the value of his collections. _december th_.--yesterday was very raw and cloudy, to-day clear as usual, towards p.m. a strong north-east wind occurred for a short time as usual, because once or twice before, it occurred after threatening weather. _rationale_.--it blows from the nearest snow to supply the rarefied air in the valley heated by the sun, even now tolerably powerful; it blows for some days so long as a vacuum is formed, and discontinues when clouds again appear; hardly so, as it before only blew for three or four days, although several more elapsed before clouds re-appeared: it may however be dependent on each fresh fall of snow in the hills. _ th_.--cloudy morning, forenoon fine, clear and calm. mosses are the analogues of zoophytes; these analogies are to be looked for in the most striking and most constant parts of the organization of the divisions of nature. marchantiaceae are the representatives of radiate animals, another reason why jungermanniaceae are to be separated from them. hence, radiata, = marchantiaceae. " zoophyta, = musci. i am quite convinced that the true subordinate groups of acotyledones are far from being discovered. are the sheaths found on certain radicles strictly confined to monocotyledonous plants. there is this certain about them, that they depend on the presence of vascular tissue, from which the radicles or the divisions of each root originate: see young hyacinth roots, grown in water. although the sheaths cannot exist without a positive cuticle, their existence does not depend so much on its presence as on the direction of the adhesive powers of its component parts: witness certain forms of marchantiaceae, and the vaginate forms, as azolla, lemna, etc. also the sheath may not have adhesive powers at its apex to prevent the escape of the radical at that point: witness hyacinth roots? we may imagine a case in which the primary radicle may be without a sheath, while its divisions shall have them, this depending on the want of adhesion of the cuticle over the original one. the emerged and immersed leaves of plants are well worthy of examination, since microphytum proves that stomata do not depend on the presence of a cuticle as brongniart supposes: their presence is united with, or allied to an amount of density in the cellular tissue, sufficient to prevent the due aeration of the inner cellules, without direct communication with the atmosphere. vide musci!! hence the inner tubes of the leaves of the generality of aquatic plants, (exception eriocaulon fluitans.) what is the cause of the plurality of radicles in certain species of lemna, and their blank in others? it will be necessary on this point to examine well the sheaths of azolla, and to look at the mergui aeschynanthus. the formation of affghanistan is very curious: it consists of a wide extent of country, variously elevated steppes being separated by ridges usually very accessible, generally isolated. the mountainous part varies as to its formation, but there is no variety in the declivities and acclivities forming the lower elevations, which are composed of conglomerate; nor is there much in the usually narrow strip at the lowest portion of each steppe or valley, which is very generally the only cultivatable portion. in the khyber ghat the ridges are either of limestone or slaty rocks, between which conglomerate occurs of various thicknesses; this being dependent on the angle of the mountains forming the sides of the ghat: it is from this conglomerate in such places consisting usually of a loose texture that the very excellent roads (for mountainous passes) are naturally made by the draining streams, which are only periodical. the conglomerate consists of water-worn stones of all sizes, even boulders are not unfrequent, yet the wearing is such as occurs in courses now filling the beds of torrents. the conglomerate increases in density and adhesion towards lalpoor, and in many places is exceedingly hard. whatever the country may have been previously, one might explain its present appearance by supposing it to have consisted of a tolerably level extent of conglomerate, with here and there a strip of soil in the lowest part of each portion, and that the elevation of the mountain ridges was of subsequent occurrence: this would account for the formation of the lower slopes, and the frequent isolation of small eminences of the same character as the neighbouring mountains. it will account for the appearance of the conglomerate in every ravine until the top of the culminating point is reached. as the mountains were elevated, portions of conglomerate would be detached, and these resting again on all suitable places, would account for the existence of conglomerate on certain parts which are flatter than usual. whirlwinds are common about cabul, commencing as soon as the sun has attained a certain degree of power. in all cases they assume the shape of a cone, the point of which being a tangent on the earth's surface: the cone varies in shape, is generally of a good diameter, occasionally much pulled out, some being , feet in height, the currents are most violent at the apex. they come and go in all directions, even after starting, not always preserving the original direction. they are less common on days in which winds prevail from any given direction, and vary much in intensity from a mere breeze, lightly laden with dust and with no tortuosity, to a violent cone of wind, capable of throwing down a _soldari_. northerly winds are prevalent here from or p.m. until or p.m., occasionally they only commence in the evening, when they are obviously due to the rarefaction of the air of the valleys by the great heat of the sun, amounting now to degrees at p.m., and the vacuum being supplied by gusts from the high mountains to the north and north-east. chapter xviii. _from peshawur to pushut_. _january th_.--at ichardeh. between busoollah and lalpoor are three curious low ridges, none above sixty feet high, and all of small extent; they are covered with fractured masses of rock of the same size as those strewn so liberally about the shingly slopes; but they are much cleaner or fresher looking, and appear to me less worn. whence do they derive their singular situation? they occur in such numbers, that one would at first think they originated from a mass of ruins, but the ridges present scarcely any surface for buildings to stand upon, certainly not to such extent as would account for the abundance of these fragments. about huzarnow and on both sides, low ridges of sand occur. in this sand graves are usually dug, and in some places to an extent indicating dreadful devastations from disease, each grave is headed by a stone, and about every ramification of the irregular size of the burial ground, there is a building of the usual mud structure, designed for a mosque, but not domed as is customary in mussulman cemeteries, but ornamented with flagstaffs bearing white bits of cloth. these low sand ridges are often very much undulated; they consist of a very fine powder, and at huzarnow are evidently of the same nature as the cultivated soil: they are neither in attachment as it were to the neighbouring hills, nor distinct from them, but always have some communication with the shingly slopes, to which they are evidently inferior. so that the base of khorassan may be taken to be the tillable portions, over which occur, to a vast extent, the shingly very barren slopes, which every section shows to be nothing but a mass of debris, resting on the mountain rocks. _ th_.--ali-baghan. to this the road is good, along the right bank of the river, wherever it does not wind along over the spurs forming a considerable part of the march. to the first point where this occurs, it extends over the same sort of plain as that about ichardeh; keeping rather close to the bank of the river, it is good, also through the valley of gundikuss, and from near the _choky_, to ali-baghan. the first rocky ridge is about three-quarters of a mile in length, and is not very difficult; at the end near gundikuss, is a curious ruin built into the stream, where the latter runs with violence on the rocky bank: it consists of a broadish pathway, with a wall on the river side, breast high; the masonry is good and solid, of the usual bactrian materials, but well cemented; it has mostly been ruined by the river, only one end being perfect. although the materials are _bactrian_, the contour is mussulman, and i was told by some people that it was a mussulman erection: originally it perhaps extended all along this part, as slight traces here and there are discernible; for what use the original structure was intended i know not, as there are no remains visible of a fort. the inlet of gundikuss is well cultivated, the village itself a large straggling one, built close under a ridge. from this to the _choky_ the path is rocky, and in many places very bad, consisting of a series of ascents and descents, and winding round spurs; in the worst place, the path almost overhangs the river feet above its bed, and it is very hard and very rocky. the distance between ten or eleven miles, the road is impracticable for guns, etc. nor could our camels with loads well get over it. _ th_.--to camp at the bussout river, nothing remarkable occurred; immense quantities of serratuloides on the sandy raviny parts of the road. crossed the river on the usual _mussuck_ rafts, the animals forded it, at the quiet head of a rapid, water breast deep: this river is smaller than that from kooner. _ th_.--to bussout, five miles. a village passed about one and quarter mile up kooner ghat, here a mile broad. no change in the features of the country, which throughout is well cultivated; here and there abundance of sedges, in the low ground; plenty of watercuts, but none of any great size: road worse at the entrance of the ghat rounding the east boundary, but guns might avoid this ground by keeping towards centre of the ghat. th.--to sha-i-wa, distance miles. the road after turning the angle of bussout ghat, passed entirely through cultivation, villages, trees and inhabitants more numerous than in any other place, cuts numerous, but the road altogether from this cause and the cultivated fields very bad. rubus found along cuts at chunar-bukkeen. _toot_, _phaenix_. vines numerous, of large size, running up mulberry trees; forests seen on kooner mountain? _umlook_ and _julghogal_, very common grain, very dear. the women are generally clothed in dark blue _noorgul_. the road now extends up a gorge to our front, named durrah. gooraiek fort on the opposite side. _ th_.--halted. river much clearer than that of jallalabad; its bed affords abundance of large grass. _ th_.--rejoined camp, keeping on the north bank of river. the road passed over tillable recesses among the hills forming the north boundary of kooner valley, and over the spurs dividing these, of which the first is short but bad, the last is a mile long, road infamous, narrow, rocky, and in some places overhanging the river. i was attacked about a mile and a half from camp, my servant abdool boyak, the bravest and most trustworthy asiatic i ever saw, wounded, losing the two first fingers of his right hand; this was opposite the old fort, noorgul, which is a dilapidated _kafir_ ruin on a low island in the centre of the valley and river, a strong position. { } other ruins occur on the road, one near sek-syud, the spur being covered with its remains. after leaving deh-syud, the valley becomes contracted; the river occupying almost all its level portion, being much spread out, and with numerous grassy islands; the cultivation occurring in the recesses between the banks of the rivers and the glacis slopes. _ th_.--to kooner, the road passes to noorgul, an old _kafir_ fort, done up and occupied by kooneriles, to its south-west, three-quarters of a mile a hostile fort is situated. the ferry is about two miles from noorgul, and is with difficulty fordable: the streams, three in number, the last almost brim full, and very rapid; thence to kooner is over a cultivated country. noorgul is on a commanding position, the ground rising gradually on all sides to it; the valley here is very narrow. observed cnicus, fumaria, lotus, anagallis caerulea, and veronica agrestis, springing up: trees continue the same to about kooner: some fine plane trees observed. all the mountains are wooded at a certain height, and in greater quantities, very different however from himalayan forests, being dotted in parts, rather than uniformly clothed with forest, andropogon one of the ordinary spring forms: the _churs_ or islands in the river are also covered with andropogoneous vegetation. _ th_.--to pushut, or rather to within one mile of it, rain throughout the day accompanied by an unpleasant wind down the valley. road except for the first mile, during which it passed through cultivation, troublesome, otherwise with the exception of two ravines, at one of which the horses were taken out of the guns, very good: valley narrow, say three miles, the boundary ridges to the north presenting as it were, truncate faces to the valley, all the mountains at certain heights are well wooded. _ th_.--rain continued since, almost without intermission, very dirty weather, but no wind. snow on the hills around, almost within , to , feet of this, the mountains to the south are well wooded, the woods occurring here and there in forests; snow is said to fall here occasionally. _ th_.--the attack took place this morning, and failed on account of the weather, which was sufficient to damp any thing, and which prevented the powder bags from exploding, as well as a second cask of cartridges. the men were withdrawn about twelve, rain pouring down, ammunition of the guns being expended, and that for musquetry quite useless; a few more rounds would have demolished the entrance gateway and brought it down bodily; loss severe, twenty five men killed, thirty-two wounded, several dangerously. the fort was well defended, and evidently by a mere handful of people. _ th_.--last night the fort was evacuated as well as that on the opposite side, and the syud has made off into the hills. it cleared up in the morning but is now as threatening as ever, the ditch of the fort is twelve or fifteen feet deep, but like all affghan ditches it is narrow. the parapets were very slight, so that a more powerful battery would have kept down their fire completely; no injury had occurred to the inner gate except its being off one of its hinges, or rather out of one of its sockets. the entrance _was thus round the gate_, not through the gateway: it was protected by a thick screen of brushwood and mud, all of the shots from the second position had lodged in the wall close to the side of the gate; every thing was carried off, except a little grain, and some gunpowder. _ th_.--continued rain. _ st_.--snow within feet. _ nd_.--moved camp. _ rd_.--continued rain and sleet, almost passing into snow. [section of kooner valley: m .jpg] _desideratum_.--required to ascertain positively whether the shingle and boulders are in all cases not derived from the boundary mountains: that they are not in many cases is clear, witness the declivities of slate rocks, totally incapable of assuming the form of boulders. the proportions of the cultivated to the uncultivatable land is previously given rather in favour of the tillable portion, this is always a light, almost impalpable powder, consistent when wetted: generally the soil owes any fertile qualities it has here, to the presence of water; thus the dusht-i-bedowlut produces nothing beyond its indigenous plants from having no water. the transition from the extremely bare mountains of the hindoo-koosh as seen on the road to bamean, to the well wooded ones of the himalaya, takes place at jugdulluck, the hills, round which, produce plenty of baloot: in this direction, the forests become much thicker as we proceed to the eastward. there is a mountain near jallalabad, which at once arrests the attention from its being wooded. nothing like it occurring between this and cabul, on any part of the chain of mountains distinctly referrable to the himalayas. wooded as this is, it is nothing to the woods on the mountains about pushut, the size of these has been well demonstrated by the late snows: some bare places occur, which appearances, abdool says are from cultivation of kohistanes. baloot abounds, dodonea also is now coming into flower! a curious fact pointing out its northern qualifications, although in form it is very like a mergui dodonea. _ th_.--a clear day after a night of heavy rain, still no appearance of settled weather; walked in the afternoon towards the dhurrah at the south side of the valley. the bouldery slope presented an abrupt bank of a considerable angle, and its limits were most marked from that of the tillable soil; as we approached the foot of the ghat, the fragments became larger, they are angular, and have been little if at all worn; thence i walked eastwards to a small isolated ridge of limestone, perhaps a mile from the foot of the boundary chain, and returned to camp. in this direction, which is that of the torrents, occasionally rushing out of the dhurrah, the transition between the mountain slope, and the tillable soil, was gradual, the action of water carrying farther down small fragments, and turning some of the fields into a sandy shingly soil: the depth of the beds of these torrents here, is perhaps four feet, the section being a mass of very unequal fragments. i am not certain whether these fragments are derived from the mountains or not, they seem to be too varied, and too widely spread for that, although the course of the occasional torrents must vary very much. another puzzling thing is, that in the section afforded by the ditch of the fort, and which is seventeen feet deep, the shingle underlies the tillable soil. the vegetation of the slopes here partakes of the nature of the khyber pass, the prevailing feature consists in coarse tufts of andropogonous grasses, lycioides occurs, also periplocea, also cryptandoid, euonymus, these are on the cliffy ridge of limestone alluded to, sp. of astragalus, solanum jacquini? schaenanthus, sedoides pictum very common, a small fern, apparently a cryptogramma, grimonia, tortula, a bryum, three or four lichens, one marchantiacea found under boulders or in crevices of rocks, one salsola, fagonia, dianthoid, statice common, onosma, artemisia one or two, a large cnicoid. the only new feature is a shrubby dwarf fragrant composita, foliis albis subobovatis, dentatis grossiusculi margine revolutis. _ th_.--a break after a very wet night, cloudy throughout the day. _ th_.--a fine day, particularly towards evening, beautifully clear. _ th_.--no rain, but very cloudy, cold north-east wind. _ th_.--rain very threatening, a disgusting country in which it is impossible to take exercise without a strong guard: no means of access to the beautiful forests visible in several directions, and the natives are so intractable that it is impossible to induce them to bring in specimens of their various trees, the only things about which i am anxious. in the meantime i have begun to use the theodolite, and getting approximations to the height of those peaks remarkable for their features of vegetation. it is curious that no pines are visible on any range south of the kooner river, until we reach those heights on the opposite side of a very conspicuous ravine, up which the bajore road runs. to the north, on all the ranges of sufficient height, fine forests are visible, especially of firs, other large-crowned trees exist, forming the bulk of the forests, below the limit of the pines, but never grouped as those are, but occurring isolatedly, these i call generally, _baloot_ woods, i.e. quercus _baloot_. the only means i have of gaining any idea of the composition of these forests, are derived from the twigs and branches, which are used by the natives as pads for the loads of _wood_ which they bring into for sale, and which almost consequently are from the lowermost limits of woody vegetation. to go among the woods unguarded, is impossible, and secondly, the weather is very bad. _memoranda_.--that it cannot always be deficiency of soil which causes the extreme barrenness of the usual khorassan mountains, because on the kalo pass to bamean, nearly , feet high, the soil is abundant; but in this case, height may interfere. it is obvious between kooner and cabul, that the transition from absolutely treeless mountains to well-wooded ones occurs nearer to kooner than cabul, because the hindoo-koosh about cabul, and to the eastward, is said to be treeless. how interesting will the examination of these woods be, how different will be their flora from that of khorassan proper! to define the khorassan province also, by its being destitute of wood or trees. note its passing off from this character between ghuzni and quettah, see marryott's letter about kooner, compare with _mazenderam_ _forests_. fine plane trees occur here, all the vines are trained on mulberries. what is burnes' holly oak, or lily oak? rubus occurs, ranunculus stolonifolia, a cold season plant, euphorbia ditto, and the usual peshawur forms. _ th_.--fine weather; clouds however, still flying about. _ th_.--a fine morning; in the afternoon threatening, night cloudy, all the clouds come down the ravine! except when the wind occasionally shifts to west. _ th_.--fine weather, although still unsettled. i procured the other day a few specimens of trees from the hills to the south of this, among these which amount only to a few, are one myrtus, an olenia, both of which bear me out in assuming that the woody vegetations of these hills will present a curious transition between the genuine australio-european and the himalayan forms. _ st_.--almost every isolated rock in this country is covered with ruins which vary much in extent, and are often barely perceptible, but careful looking will detect them in all situations about gorges, and such places. from the rivers running under rocks, the paths which must be resorted to, at least at this season, are very difficult. it would be curious to speculate on the different state of preservation of these ruins, and the singular people to whom they are due. the soil of this valley is very deep in places: in one place on the opposite side of the river, it is twenty-five feet at least, the depth obviously diminishing towards the bed of the river, or the lowest part of the valley. [section through river valley: m .jpg] in this valley, at least about here, curious round thatched huts are visible about villages, intended for religious females, they are closed except at a small door. cotton much cultivated. the _jala_, or float skins used for crossing rivers, are inflated by _bellows_ of the usual description, this causes delay as some require to be inflated very often owing to the eagerness of those who want to be ferried over, and who rush indiscriminately on the _jala_ which, from the rafts being few and far apart, occasion delay; such ferries were not intended for impatient travellers; nothing can show the want of intelligence of the people more than this abominably slow method of crossing rivers; here, there is little excuse for it, as wood is abundant. the culminating peak to the west of the north dhurrah, shows that here, as elsewhere, snow lies longer on the north than south sides: it also affords a curious instance of the various disposition of snow: those angles of its faces presented to the south having none, or little snow; or does this depend upon the faces having different declivities? _february st_.--first part of last night clear; but the wind shifting from west to north-east, has again thoroughly clouded the sky, night beautifully clear, no rain, and no wind during the day. _ nd_.--a windy but clear night, succeeded by a beautiful morning, wind as usual, north-east or thereabouts, i.e. down the river. i have seen it mentioned somewhere, that in arid climates the only support of vegetable life exists in the dews, which are hence, at least in the cases alluded to, supposed to be providential adaptations to supply certain deficiencies. but considering that dews consist of nothing but a deposition of moisture: it follows that in very arid climates, as there is no moisture, so there can be no dews. for the deposition of a dew, the fist essential thing, is moisture, either in the ground or in the air, this last may have been derived from the ground. if neither the ground nor the air contain moisture, no dews can exist, this is the case in khorassan. throughout the whole campaign no dews were noticed, although the nights were almost uniformly serene and calm, and the time chosen for marching, would have certainly brought us in contact with them had they been deposited. dews therefore do not form in khorassan, _with these_ _exceptions_, that wherever from the nature, and the level of the soil, water was found very near the surface, dews were deposited; as on the _chummums_ or low marshy pasturages at candahar, cabul, etc. but even these were trifling, the aridity of the air being too great as compared with the small extent of chummums, to allow the deposit of any considerable portion of the moisture it had derived from the ground. so that aridity, instead of being adapted to dews, is a serious obstacle to their ever appearing. with the rarity of dew, that of hoarfrost which is nothing but frozen dew, may be associated; nor does hoarfrost often occur, because in khorassan it rains in the winter too freely, particularly in all such places whose elevation is not sufficient to cause the formation of snow, and hence where other circumstances are favourable for hoarfrosts, _they are too much watered_ as it were, and seldom occur. with extreme aridity, khorassan unites extreme electricity, the casual friction of woollen cloths, especially those of camels' hair being accompanied by discharges sufficiently startling. the same thing happens when caressing dogs or horses. i could never fill the barometer without experiencing a shock as the mercury approached the _bottom end_ of the tube, which (when nervous) used to endanger it. it is this extreme aridity that gives khorassan so rich a spring flora, this season being that of rain, of melting of snow, and the ground being well moistened. it is this extreme aridity that necessitates the abundance of bulbous plants in khorassan, these deposits of nutrition existing even in several of its compositae. query--why are carduaceae, (artemisia) so adapted to aridity? the region of carduaceae, commences about ghuzni, and extends to _maidan_ or cabul, it is at its maximum about shaikabad and huftasya. the abundance of carduaceae on the higher grounds, as for instance towards bamean, belong rather to a vernal flora. i hope to be particular in hereafter comparing the floras of all the deserts? and to notice the absurd remarks of some travellers in khoristhan, on the domesticated parasitic nature of the watermelon plant, on the hedysarum alhagi, _shooturkari_. _ rd_.--fine moderate north-east wind, very clear. _ th_.--over-clouded. _ th_.--rain. _ th_.--unsettled. _ th_.--rain, thunder, distant lightning occasionally last night. _ th_.--fine: ice in the morning, thermometer five feet from the ground degrees at a.m. _ th_.--fine diffused clouds last night, succeeded by a strong northeast wind. _ th_.--fine. _ th_.--fine in the morning, then threatening. _ th_.--quite over-clouded, north-east wind. the inferior level of snow is now several hundred feet above that which it was at first. oxalis corniculata in abundance, what an universal plant this is. all the natives of these parts wear sandals, those about the khyber being made of the leaves of a small chamaerops, which is common on the rocks of those mountains. a proof of the extreme want of useful plants is seen in the fact, that baskets are scarcely ever seen, all the loads of flour, etc. being invariably carried in skins. leopards' skins for the purpose are obtained from chugur serai, pullung and also sofaid-koh. _ th_.--the troops marched on their return. a lark very much like the english species occurs in flocks; it is a stupid bird, although obviously aware of its resemblance to clods of earth, which it makes use of on every occasion when a little frightened. the gypaetos is also found here; it feeds principally on carrion. i observed trichrodroma for the first time here to-day, this bird is by no means a powerful climber; indeed the individual seen to-day could only cling, he was employed about sand banks of the irrigating canals, etc. hopping from one likely spot to another, clinging here and there momentarily, and always aiding himself in his inclined position by a flutter of his wings; holes seemed always to attract him. it is by no means a shy bird. i should observe however that i have seen this species running up and down cliffs, so that perhaps the rather loose sand would not give firm hold to his claws. as i mentioned elsewhere, this bird is allied, at least in analogy to upupa, it has its precise habit of flight and a good deal of its habits in looking for food, although the hoopoe pokes about in the ground, or rather hammers the ground alone. it is however fond of building in holes of walls, it breeds at punukka, in april. i observed, and shot a weasel, or a _mungoose_ to-day, whilst it was employed feeding on the cast away skin of a goat or sheep, so that some of these creatures evidently feed occasionally on carrion, although they are said to live upon live prey. chapter xix. _on the reproductive organs of acotyledonous plants_. _ th_.--fine weather, the sun daily increasing in power, is having a remarkable effect on the peculiar spring vegetation, but this is not sufficiently developed to bring in the corresponding birds and insects. gypaetos is common now about the dead camels. on the low east ridge, along the path that leads over the river, ruins of ancient times are discernible, this only adds another to the many proofs of similarly situated ruins, that the people who built them have been located about cabul, jallalabad, and peshawur, certainly not about candahar. in the soil between the rocks, and in their crevices saturated with moisture, most of the plants are just sprouting. trichonema, crocus, and one or two other monocotyledons, labiatae? sedum three or four species, exclusive of sedoides foliis deltoides sphathulatis, and a stapelioid asclepias, are to be found. i also got a new fern, the fourth species out of , sp. it is a ceterach or grammitis, a curious stalked snuff- ball, and one or two other fungi, with an inverted cap, were met with. in the fields a young ranunculus in profusion, veronica agrestis, euphorbia, festuca annua? kochia spinosa, and a curious mathioloid are among the few wild plants to be found about pushut. it would be a curious circumstance if all indusiate ferns were to be found reducible to a _marginal production_ of the reproductive apparatus. i will bear this in mind, as certain forms of pteris or its affinities lead me to suspect that in these tribes the indusium may be a long way from the margin, and yet be, quoad origin, marginal; this section illustrates my meaning. [fern sections: m .jpg] the transition to this might reasonably be suspected. the philosophy of ferns is most ill understood, the higher points connected with them have been quite neglected, and botanists in this as in other departments of the science have been contented to confer names on certain external forms, without sufficient regard to structure. to-day i commenced examining adiantum, with the view of determining if possible the nature of its reproductive organs, and the mode in which they are impregnated, if they are impregnated at all. as i had long been aware that the fructification of each frond is a thing to be determined at a very early period, and that if not determined then, it is never likely to be determined afterwards, my attention was directed more strongly, if possible, than it would have been otherwise, to examining the subject at the earliest possible stage of its development. the first piece examined gave me the idea that i had trouve le noeud de l'affaire; the second made me doubt this; the subsequent ones went far to disprove it. i was immediately struck with the resemblance of those organs, called ramenta, to what are fairly assumed to be the male bodies, in certain other families of the same grand division; and i at once came to the conclusion, that the barren fronds, were barren, because almost destitute of these ramenta; and that as these ramenta were confined to the base of the stalk, that is, to the part below its first ramification, an obvious necessity existed for the peculiar nature of the vernation. further examination of the thing, especially of the base of the stipes and the adjoining part of the rhizoma, threw me back almost into my original difficulties. i find that the rhizoma is entirely covered with ramenta, which are brown, much detached at the base, and obviously represent a low form of leaf, i.e. in appearance, perhaps partly in function, but not in structure. among these, mature ramenta at the punctas of prolongation, which appear to be very irregular, are concealed, others much smaller, and much narrower, (which bear as obvious a resemblance, or even more so to the male organs of certain other orders,) than the ramenta on the stipes. these are never entirely brown, the end cell alone is coloured, but though occasionally tinged with brown, they are filled with some fluid (even this is not so at first,) but do not appear to open. i believe that subsequently all become highly tinged with brown, but what increase of growth they subsequently undergo, i know not. the terminal cell is always solitary, very often attached to the one next it, which is generally single, obliquely placed, occasionally looking like the dimidiate calyptra capping a young seta. the number of cells forming the base, or dilated part varies, but is always small in proportion to the larger ramenta, or protecting scales: these last have a single terminal cell, which in fact must be the same in every really cellular growth _sooner or later_, the last degree of formative power being the production of a single cell. at a subsequent period, still an early one, the terminal cell is fuscous- brown, and this colour then extends to the next in various degrees, but if it reaches the basilar ones at all, it does so at late periods. the base of the terminal cell, and parts of the parietes of the next and next, present a coagulated appearance, precisely as in certain mosses. no such thing as a petiolate leaf occurs in acrogens, all are attached by a broad base? of acrogenous leaves, those only are leaves whose attachment is at right angles with the stem; the rest are divisions of a frond. thus far with the ramenta. the divisions of the frond, are, i find, not gyrate, but rather cochleariform involate. the future reproductiveness is settled at a very early period, and is distinguishable under the microscope by a sort of _margination_ of the frondlets. in the earliest stage i have looked at, the margin is greenish, striated by narrow cells, and passes into the body of the leaf gradually; the greater development is perhaps central; even now the bulk of the cells of the leaflet have green granules, and are opaque from air. the vessels are marked out, or at least their future course, and along them the opacity from air does not exist, so that the veins appear depressed. the next stage presented a greater development of an isolation of the margin, but no other change. the next presented an isolation of the margin, which remains almost white, the other part being green, but more so because of a thickening as it were along the base of the marginal part, and an evident deposit of grumous matter, from which, under every circumstance new tissue seems always to be developed. pressure causes its discharge, its contents were unappreciated by my poor instruments; after this the leaflets revert to the appearance of the second stage. here i ceased for the day, having i think ascertained that ferns are endorhizal, and that the primary divisions of the roots hence have sheaths, which adhere to the apex of the root itself.--what a strange union of roots, that of monocotyledons in the main divisions, and of pure acrogens in the minor!! i cannot help thinking that the secret is hidden in these ramenta, which, as is known, are so universal as obviously to have higher functions than those of mere covering scales. the appearance of those i have described as existing about the points of growth, are exactly the same as the processes mixed with the anthers of mosses, and of which the anthers are nothing but more developed growths; this would point out, as indeed appears to me otherwise evident, (especially from consideration of the theca, and its want of style,) that ferns are lower organised as sexual beings than mosses and hepaticae. i know nothing of lycopodineae, more than they are the highest of all acrogens; and are not to be included in the same category with ferns. the objection to the ramenta being anthers, will be the closed nature (_apparently_) of the terminal cell, and although the anthers of mosses do burst, and most especially those of hepaticae, yet the argument is not conclusive--inasmuch as _boyaux_, to which they are analogous _do not_ _open_? these ramenta explain fully the nature of those confervoid organs found in some neckerae, and perhaps in other mosses, and it becomes paramount to prove whether these neckerae have also the usual anthers, or if they are confined to these, in which case a presumptive proof will thus be afforded of their functions: if they have both forms, they will nevertheless constitute an analogous passage between the two orders: if they have only _these_, such neckerae will form, as indeed they do, a very distinct genus. the nature of the barren fronds requires distinct analysis. are they barren from mere deficiency in supplies, such as may result from many circumstances; or are the antheriform ramenta deficient? they are barren from defective growth. i am aware how readily objection may be taken to these views, some will say these young ramenta are nothing but young scales as the older ones evidently are scales; but this amounts to nothing, because we may expect simplicity in the sexual organs of this division, and it will be only a proof of the uniformity of nature in making so great a difference in a function depend on, or be associated with so small a one in form. my view i think explains their uniformly brown colour--analogous to brown's sphacelation in mutatis mutandis. others will say how absurd the idea is, when you cannot show the place to which the impregnating influence is to be applied. but the consideration of mosses does away with this objection partly, and that of anthoceros, entirely; because in mosses, the _ovule_, or pre-existing cell, ready to receive the male influence becomes an empty cell, terminating the seta; and the sporula become developed at its opposite end, the first growth appearing to be quite unconnected with that of the future reproductive organs: and in anthoceros there is no fixed punctum ready for the application of the male organs, but these have to form a communication with the lower, or inferior cellular tissue of the frond, before even the growth of seta can commence. besides a case in point exists in viscum, or loranthus, in which no point is ready prepared for the reception of the male influence; showing how universal the law is, that in no one point or place is there an absolute want of gradation. as in mosses the influence of the male _disregarding the ovule_, is thrown into the development of the seta, and then of the theca at the apex of this; there can be no conclusive reason why in ferns the same influence should be thrown into the development of the frond, and then into that of the theca. while anthoceros proves that in these orders the male influence may exert its effects upon any point. as there is no styliform production in anthoceros, so there is none in ferns. if the ramenta be anthers, they will not be dubious ones, because as they remain fixed, people cannot say, that possibly they are also reproductive bodies, which by the bye is no objection at all, after instances of anthers bearing _ovules_ instead of pollen! why the peculiar distribution of the male influence (on which we determine our genera,) takes place, is another question, and one that cannot be fairly asked? why it is confined to the under surface perhaps can, it being a law that in all cases it is the under surface of the leaf, or its modification, from which new growths originate, and as nature has closed indusia, how could the under surface be interior if this rule were not regularly adhered to? that the indusium is a _special_ organ, i.e. not an eruption of the cuticle, i am sure; hence it is essential to examine extensively both indusiate and other forms, the precise extension of their veins, etc. at an early period to ascertain if their most diversified situations cannot be reduced to some one type. _query_. is the gyrate vernation of any ferns comparable to the form of certain shells, to which (at least mollusca) ferns are supposed to be analogous. _memo_. to ascertain the most peculiar, and most universal points of mollusca and pseudo cotyledonea, it is in this way that we may hope to extend our views. some there are indeed who, while the whole course of their studies has been to neglect structure, deny the applicability of presumptive evidence in favour of doctrines, the subjects of which are barely susceptible of direct proof. thus greville and arnott, angrily ask, what do persons mean by saying that mosses have pistilla, etc.? they protest against such community of application in the use of terms. many more deny sexuality because it has not been proved. considering the invisible nature of the fluid of the anthers of mosses, etc. how do they expect that we are to demonstrate its application to the pistil, and the subsequent steps? as well might they doubt the necessity of the application of the boyau to an ovule, (or the existence of the boyau itself,) because the derivation of the embryo cannot be proved. one word more; in all cases the appearance of the reproductive body after impregnation, is of late date; that date becomes later as we descend the scale. the embryonary sac of phaenogams does not always exist at the time of application of the boyau, and the appearance of the embryo is always posterior to this. again, ferns are superior to mosses in this, that in many cases the male influence is exerted directly on the parts that become the thecae, which is not the case in mosses. _ th_.--continued examining ferns, and to-day completes my knowledge of the ramenta of three different genera. in the first which is cryptogamma, the resemblance of the young ramenta to the anthers of jungermannia is evident enough, they are capital, and the head is at one period filled with granular matter: so are the cells throughout, to a greater or less extent. they are to be seen in all stages of development on the pinnae of a very young frond, those near its base having perhaps effected their purpose, while those at the apex of the pinna, or the prolonging part of pinnula, may be formed of only one cell. it is curious that the terminal cell does not become spherical for some time: in its earlier stages it is cylindrical like the rest. the appearances of the old ones are, if possible, more markedly in favour of my hypothesis; there is the same aggregation of grumous _congealed_ matter about the ends of each cell, the same curious communication between these masses which hide the septa from view, evincing a greater or less tendency to assume the peculiar fuscesent or fusco-brown appearance. i observed in two instances what appeared to me decided irregular openings in the terminal cell, from one of which grumous filaments projected; these appeared to communicate with the mass in the terminal cell, which like that in all the others, is congealed; but it assumes a different and very undefined form. people may object and say, why were not more met with _opened_? this is no objection, because it is obvious that a spherical body may be opened in part of its surface, and yet unless this portion happens to be on the _edge_ as it were of the sphere, it may escape detection with a microscope of poor penetration. in this the ramenta are confined, or nearly so, to the under surface of the fronds. most occupy that which is called the costa. in this the first change as in adiantum is in the definition of the margin. but this point i have not paid much attention to, as with my present means here, it would be absurd to attempt _proving_ how the fecundation takes place; all that i can attempt is, to ascertain from structure and analogy, the male nature of these curious bodies. _see_ plate _b_ for the various sketches. { } the next genus examined, is perhaps the instance in which these ramenta have the strongest resemblance to ordinary simple hairs, both in their young, when they represent succulent, tinged, grumous molecular-containing hairs, and in the old, when they represent long, flattened, coriaceous hairs, still there is abundant evidence to prove that, however different these bodies are in appearance from those of cryptogamma, that they undergo the same changes, excepting perhaps as to dehiscence. we have a tendency to fuscous colouring, a tendency to the aggregation of congealed matter about the septae, precisely the places where it is to be expected. the same appearance of a canal of communication, the same irregular _constriction_ of certain cells; in this too the first change in the pinnae, or its component lobes, is the definition of the margin. in this genus the under surface of the frond is covered with these _hairy-form_ bodies (which have been figured over and over again in hooker and greville's ferns): on the upper face, a few exist, but incomparably less developed. from the examination of this genus alone, i do not think the idea i have been so diffuse upon, would have struck me. to-morrow i examine ceterach, assured that the scales of its under face are reducible to the same type. in a matter of such interest and importance as this, many will, and with reason, dislike so important an assumption on such inconclusive evidence. but with our present means, it appears to me probable that no evidence to demonstration can be looked for, and for this reason, that the contents of these peculiar cells are so subtile as to escape definition even while in their cells, (or under the most favourable circumstance for a concentration of attention.) how much more so will this be the case, when we attempt to examine the steps of the application of the fecundatory matter, applied over a surface without any prominent points, and probably opaque. when direct evidence is not to be had, we are justified in using presumptive evidence. as in human law, so in the laws of nature, presumptive evidence to a practised eye carries with it conviction. we have no direct evidence how the embryo is formed, yet no one doubts but that it is brought about by the agency of the boyau, which is a cell containing grumous molecular matter. however different a boyau may seem to many, yet when viewed in conjunction with cycadeae, the graduation to the present case becomes natural, and even the resemblance may be perfect, because in cycas the grains of pollen get into the nucleus bodily, although they would still seem to throw out short tails. wonderful is the simplicity of nature! the male organ in its essence, consists of a single cell containing molecular matter. the female in its essence consists of a single cell, likewise containing similar matter. the influence of the male is exerted, and so another cell is formed in the female cell, and this either becomes the embryo, or gives origin to another cell, and so on, until the terminal one becomes the embryo. i believe from examination of the most developed scaly ramenta, that these have at an earlier period been fecundating organs, the same peculiarities are to be detected towards their ends, where in fact they retain their original structure, the dilated base being a subsequent development. in reference to this, the examination of young ferns on their arrival at the age of puberty is indispensable. a curious question arises, what is the frond of a fern? is it a mass of foliaceous growth containing certain lines of reproductive matter, or is it a distinct development from the axis, in which the reproductive organs are situated? is it, or is it not, subservient to reproduction? here again extensive examination is necessary. if it is altogether subordinate to reproduction, we may expect the occurrence of far more simply constituted ferns than we are yet acquainted with. in fact we may expect a form reduced to an axis, a few ramenta, a frondose dilatation, and one punctum of reproductive organs. with respect to duration, each frond is analogous to a single seta of a moss, it has definite limits, and is unlike the fronds of certain hepaticae, which are capable of compound growth; or if this is the case in ferns, as it is in viviparous ferns, the new formation becomes separated from the frond, as a phaenogamous gemma does. this is a question of importance, as perhaps it may prove that all the foliaceous forms, except lycopodium, equisetum, and chara, are frondose; the dorsal situation is in favour of this assumption, since in all the genuine frondose forms, the reproductive organs of both kinds originate immediately from the under surface, although they may protrude through the upper. i here ask, is there not _prima facie_ evidence that these organs have peculiar functions; a peculiar form, attended with peculiar changes, must have peculiar functions; and will any one show me in any single instance, like circumstances to the like extent, in any of those organs called hairs? by the bye, ferns themselves may prove that however like these are to certain forms of hair, yet that their functions are different, because the glandular hairs of ferns do not undergo the same alterations, and are evidently nothing but hairs, probably secretory. _ th_.--in ceterach the same thing occurs precisely, with this difference, that the _capita_ of the ramenta are highly developed; and still more, that the terminations of each pinnula of the young frond, are mere scales without a terminal _head_. so that almost all the scales of the under surface of the lobes of the mature frond, are mere scales. the peculiar ramenta are to be looked for along the insertion of each pinna, and along the rachis, in which all have the peculiar structure. at the time that these scales are commencing their development, the peculiar ones are at the age of mature perfection, so far as function goes. no one can look at a young pinnula at this epoch and observe the evident capitation of each ramentum, the inflexion of its apex, so that the head is brought into contact with the frond, without suspecting that they have the same relation of _cause_ to the appearance subsequently of the thecae or capsules. it is curious that the colour of the scales is the same as that of the ramenta, in which the colour is developed from above _downwards_, a peculiarity as it appears to me. the frond of ceterach is very frondose-looking, it has stomata on its under surface, and the cells of the cuticle very sinuate. there can be no doubt of the propriety of including the nature of these ramenta and scales in its generic character. i can see nothing peculiar in the situation of the scales or ramenta to suggest the reason of the situation of the capsules. in several cases, each pinna appears to have scales only which become barren lobes? the scales and ramenta have the same imbricate situation. in this country it will be useless to expect more proofs. but the four genera alluded to afford evidence enough, and sufficient to show that these ramenta are formed with reference to some important function, that their universality is incompatible with any functions of such minor degree as are attributed to them by those who represent them to be scales or hairs. to those who require proof of the existence of the complex male organ of phaenogams, or of a male of that form with which only they are familiar, i do not address myself; but to the philosophic botanist, who expects to meet with in the lower orders of plants, a lower organization, one with a tendency of reduction to the essential elements, and who bears in mind the comparative anatomy and structure of similar bodies in adjoining, or not very distant groups, i beg leave to suggest the intimate study of the ramenta of ferns. various as the situation of the fructification is, in three out of the above four genera, yet the initial arrangements are precisely the same. the various forms therefore may not depend proximately on fructification itself, but on the peculiar growth given to the species, in the same way in fact as we have the numerous modifications of the theca in mosses, etc. and the infinite modifications of the carpels in phaenogams. (attention is particularly pointed to those ferns which have general capsules or involucres. above all to the cyatheoid forms. to ophioglossum. to naked thecae. to indusiate as asplenia, etc.) but however erroneous these views may be, they will still have been of service if general attention is directed by them to plants, in consequence of the suggestions they make. the time now thrown away on isolated species, the station of which, still does not become fixed, when devoted to the philosophical examination of ferns, will rescue botany from one of its numerous reproaches. it is strange that such should exist to the greatest degree in all those families stamped by nature as most distinct. those chaoses polypodium, aspidium, davallia, would then undergo distinct creation, and the primary divisions of the family would become fixed; and we should then be spared the reproach of drawing characters from organs, of the nature and functions of which we are quite ignorant of, and of the importance of which in a science of demonstration like that of botany, it is impossible to judge, without a true knowledge of structure. vide lindley's introd. ed. , , for the protest of greville and arnott. what is the most comprehensive definition of a pistil. a case in which the future organs of reproduction are developed; and here is a most curious circumstance, namely, that though the calyptra, which is a genuine pistillum containing an _ovulum_, becomes torn up from its base, yet it remains in contact with that part of the seta in which the sporules are developed until these make their appearance, or even later!! so that one might as well deny a pistillum to a reseda, or leontice, as deny it to these plants on the strength of its being torn from its attachments. sprengel's objections are worthy only of being noticed from their having been quoted by lindley. the vagueness of his statement destroys all weight. his objections in all cases amount to the fact, that the _stellulae_ or _buds_ containing the anthers are capable of growth. so is the prolongation of an axis of ananassa. a gemma has a general character in its formation as well as an anther, or as pollen; one is a congeries of cellular tissue, with or without vessels, the other a sac consisting of a single cell containing active molecular matter. as an anther producing a single grain of pollen is not inconsistent with our notions of structure, so neither is an anther consisting of a single grain of pollen. will any one show me an instance of a proved gemma taking upon itself the form of one of these anthers? will any show an instance of a sac containing fluid matter capable of growth _after dehiscence_. the real gemmae of the hepaticae puts the question of gemmae out of doubt. is there any plant existing with two sorts of gemmae, so differently constituted? many phaenogams have gemma in addition to sexes, so have hepaticae. which is the most probable? that they should have no sexes, reproductive organs, and two sorts of gemmae, or sexes, reproductive organs, or gemmae of one evident kind? i cannot adopt the belief of any one having seen the germination of the powder in the axillary bodies, that is, if applicable to the organs i take for anthers. (_memorandum_.--to draw up a parallel between the two sets of organs, and the steps followed in the development of each.) chapter xx. _from pushut to kettore and barowl in kaffiristan_, _and_ _return to pushut and cabul_. _february th_.--fumaria found. _ rd_.--cloudy, threatening rain. swallows coming in, also fringillaria, with blackish cheek-streaks, also pyrgita alia, starlings uncommon up to this day about the site of the camp, where there is much straw, and camels are lying. flocks of _rooks_, genuine rooks, flocks of daws, _minas_, pigeons, and many carrion crows have been daily resorting to camp, all very wild from being constantly fired at, as in this country every man almost has a matchlock. no gypaetos seen for several days. _ th_.--fine weather after two days uncertain, in which the large-headed lark has just come in abundance, this and the _english_ one frequent fields; the crystal one is found almost exclusively on certain stony cultivated places: swallows have likewise arrived with many wild fowl. four raptorial birds are now seen about this, or rather three, for gypaetos has gone, viz. the common kite, or one which looks much like it, a beautiful white slaty-blue and black _harrier_, at least it comes about constantly, and looks much like an indian species, and much like one i shot high up in bootan, together with a large blackish and white one, with a _distinct collar_. the fishing hawk, i saw it yesterday catch a large fish, making a strong rapid plunge boldly into the water, and emerging again from it without much difficulty; its habits except while fishing, are very sedentary, and it seems to prefer _one spot_, viz. the top of some particular tree, near perhaps its favourite feeding place. _ th_.--another new bird has come in. a _fringillina_, with curious flycatcher habits, i have only seen two individuals, they perch towards the top of trees, and thence sally out after winged insects. i examined the contents of its stomach, and found only seeds, gravel, and soft insects. the sun is increasing wonderfully in power, but the trees are not as yet budded. shrubby polygoneae, with flagellate branches and leaves, in which the petiole is as much developed as the lamina, form a curious feature of affghan flora; euphorbia linifolia common, the herbaceous one in profusion. _ th_.--spring coming on rapidly, snow not within , feet of where it was twenty days back, and the sun oppressively hot; winged ants in abundance: whenever this happens it proves the perfection of the crows, which are on all such occasions to be seen acting the part of flycatchers in addition to their various other callings, soaring and sweeping round after these insects, but not returning as merops or real flycatchers to a fixed station. i have hitherto seen only the jackdaws at this spot in calcutta, but here the real crow mingles in it. in calcutta, the common kite often acts a similar part, but catches only _with its feet_. a small kingfisher is to be found here _rarely_, it is much like the indian blue and reddish one, the white and black kingfisher is not seen here, although found at jallalabad. the species of _sub_-wader, with a stout upturned beak, is a true grallator, yet is not always about water, but often in the driest places; the genus has a flight strongly resembling that of certain anatidae. a _monaul_ pheasant, or some similar splendid bird is found in the snows of kaffiristan, all i have seen of it are a few feathers. merula more common, _anthus_, _timalia_, observed. to-day one good specimen of a splendid pinus, allied to p. longifolia, was brought from the mountains, where it is found _among snow_: this makes the third species; one cultivated at candahar near a mosque; the short-leaved _julghozeh_, from tazeen; and this one which has as fine a cone as can be wished. where did the profusion of justicia adhatoda which i find here come from, is it not a distinct species? _march nd_.--proceeded to chugur serai, started from the other side of the ferry at . a.m., and reached at p.m. no halt of any consequence on the road. passed nachung at . : the first rocky ground occurred at the narrow part of the north side of the valley . . th.--and thence to chugur p.m., distance certainly thirteen miles. road decent, good about half-way, where it extends over cultivation on firm ground, then over rocky, stony, raviny ground. from the . station, the valley becomes much narrower, and the river confined to one bed: cultivation scanty, between this and chugur, where, about yards of excessively difficult ground occurred, commanded by the precipice under which the path, which is execrable, runs. it is quite impassable for guns. after this the country traversed seemed to be well cultivated: and even picturesque. the fort is nothing particular; it is placed on the right bank of the river, which is deep, narrow and raviny: descent to the river abrupt. the bridge very richly ornamented, and of curious and simple bootan timber construction. town small, and the people very civil: i lodged in meer alum's own house. iris crocifolia abundant, towards chugur, a mazus or stemodia. mimosa that of the khyber, common, polygoni in abundance on the rocks, dodonaea. the hills about pushut are here only recognisable in two instances, the central one presenting three peaks, next to it the barren cliff, and the three mountains south-west of dhurrah. _ rd_.--proceeded to bala chugur serai, which is not more than six miles up the river, occasionally passing along the stony bank under hills, otherwise over cultivation, which is conducted in terraces. the scenery pretty, reminding me of low parts of bootan, although much more barren; watercourses well made: two _kafir_ ruins passed; valley very narrow, but rather straight. both chakor and small partridges common. vegetation is here the same as elsewhere. zaitoon trees, mimosa, euonymus, dodonaea, amygdalus in abundance, polygonum of yesterday. the stony slopes of hills, covered with andropogoneous grasses. rice, beans, wheat, oranges, _toot_, _chanra_. narcissus in swarms, brought in from the _kafirs_. another bridge was here crossed, the same as at lower chugur serai. no tributaries passed, the river fordable at rapids, but the road is not passable for guns. aquila, enicurus, alcedo bengalensis common, as well as jack snipe. red-billed crow, chakor, yellow wagtail, fringilla, muscicapa in flocks, feeding in the fields, and from trees on insects. the blackbird of the himalayas, wild pigeons. narcissus in abundance in sandy fields, cryptandrioid, clematis, rubus, euonymus, pteris! we had an interview with the _kafirs_ or infidels about a mile below katoor, they seemed at first much alarmed, our retinue not being small or unarmed, and their reliance on mussulman faith not very strong. they took up their post at the foot of a hill where a deputation of the khan of chugur serai, (who has married a chief's daughter) met them; they received the deputation with a _feu de joie_ from one or two firelocks, and then accompanied him to us, preceded by two drums, one of ordinary, the other of an hour-glass shape, and two pipes of gramineous culm, with three or four holes, and apparently oblique mouth-pieces, but of ordinary sound. the chiefs, the head of whom is hussin ali's father- in-law, having been introduced, advanced, and commenced turning and stamping round a circle. the usual formalities then took place; the followers, although a fine bodied people, and very active, were excessively dirty, and not very fair; most were dressed in skins, having the hair inside, armed with bows, either straight or like cow's horns, and daggers. the chiefs were much fairer than their followers, and in the expression of face and eyes european; but in all cases the forehead was very slanting, and head generally badly developed. their dress consisted of cotton frocks, with slashed sleeves, embroidered thickly with worsted network: they wear short _pyjamas_, and skin shoes, with thick skin soles; one had short boots with hair inside: most were ornamented with the blue and yellow _longhys_ of pushut, etc. the hair is cut short except that of the chiefs, who had fillets left round their heads, adorned with cowries, in radiated shapes, with a red, worsted, pendant tassel. the headman had a pendant wire chain with ornaments, and from the centre of the tassel, the _monaul_ pheasant feathers, and his back hair was plaited into many little tails. almost all had necklaces of beads, the better sort silver earrings (plain rings), and some pendant silver ornaments; many had bracelets, ornamented with brass; _kumurbunds_ of plain white cloths: the poor ones have their heads naked, or with bits of cloth wrapped round. they had no swords, but hindoostany ones, and of these very few. even their archery, macgregor says is bad; one or two had spears, the chief's spear was provided with a very long head, and ornamented with cowrie shells at the top of the _haft_; two women came afterwards, their necks loaded with cowries and bits of bones, but otherwise well clothed with the usual gowns, the outer one without sleeves and very wide arm holes. they were decorated with very coarse, large, circular earrings. they approached the rest singing in chorus, not unmelodiously, but with very little variation in notes. then a whistle, general and loud from the whole party, representing their rejoicing over a slaughtered mussulman. on the whole these people present nothing peculiar as compared with other hill people: like them they are vindictive, savage, poor, dirty, remarkable for great cupidity, fond of red cloth, beads, etc. they are a mixed race, some are like indians, some like europeans, but in all the forehead is low, tartar eyes, often light brown or grey, hair often light. put them among the nagas, etc. of the assam frontier, and none would notice them. the chief's son wore a black, narrow band round his head, ornamented behind with a few cowries and bone ornaments. they are independent, appear to delight in talking of their victories over the mussulmans, but the oddest peculiarity as compared with asiatics, is their shaking hands, which was certainly done with us in the european custom. the limits of the firs, are as strict as those of baloot, etc., of the latter it may be stated as between , to , feet, of the firs between , and , ; what makes me say this is, that at katoor the mountains are covered with heavy snow, and are naked above, but with heavy pine forest below, and then with forests of baloot. _ th_.--ascended the hills to about feet above the limits of inferior snow, which may be estimated at about , feet. these hills from , feet and upwards, are well wooded, presenting no peculiarity in the distribution of the woods, which are thin, or thickish only in sheltered parts, down ravines, etc. but presenting a great peculiarity in the small variety of forms, for there are not more than three kinds of trees, and not more than a dozen shrubs: the trees are baloot, which commence at the base, and ascend to the pines, say a height of , feet: zaitoon, which commences at the base, and scarcely extends beyond , feet, xanthoxylon, which has a wider range than zaitoon, is comparatively rare. the inclination of these hills is steep, but the ascent is not more extraordinarily difficult, they are covered with masses and blocks of rock, which are plentifully clothed with lichens and mosses, but of small variety of species. the more open parts are covered with andropogoneous grasses; the lemon-grass occurs below. the shrubs and trees are as follows with their pushtoo names-- zanthoxylon, _schneae khinfuch_, quercus baloot, _ichairraye_. olea, _khoo-unn zaitoon_. amygdalus, _budam_, _junglee tulk_. nanus, _naguhn_. celtis, _tanghuh_. cyrtisoid of bolan, _wooraijoa_. periploca, _burrara_, _banduk_. cotoneaster of tazeen, _khurrowa_. euonymus, _churroghzye_. dodonaea , _wroolarskye_. artemisia, _tuhakar_. rubus, _khusuhurra_. the higher ridges are crowned with beautiful pines; the most common on this side is called _nukhtur_, and has not eatable seeds, its timber is in general use--and it is in much vogue for torches. the _julghozeh_ also is met with, but rarely. abundance of firewood. ixioides very common, and now in flower, amygdalus, _budam_, also, this is common, and a curious irideous plant, allied to crocus; one arum likewise occurs. pigeons very wary, mostly of the green sort with whitish wing-coverts; a pretty small-sized jay occurs, with a jerking bobtailed flight, a strong-billed parus, of the climbing sub-genus, chakors common. _march th_.--rain almost all day. _ th_.--unsettled weather continues. to-day the _kafirs_ came in with plants of a decided himalayan nature, a beautiful iris, the flowers of which are of a deep indigo-blue, a viburnum, euonymus, valeriana, juniperus, spiraeacea, adiantum, asplenium, pteris, etc. how strangely intelligent all hill people are, and how they are urged by an insatiable love of money. i never expected any thing to be brought in, judging of the _kafirs_ as i have learnt to do of affghans and indians, and here they have in one day, without even a lesson, brought in excellent specimens, including mosses, etc. i went out to-day to the end of meer alum's territory, this boundary being about one and a quarter miles beyond shingan. the valley up to this is beautifully cultivated, and begins to look green. saw and shot another myophonus, a saxicola and an alcedo, the common one of india; this species has strengthening splints, as it were on both mandibles: and the feet, etc. have no scales, being very different from those of the generality of birds. myophonus i take to be the large beautiful metallic-blue blackbird, with obscure and elegant white markings. i have observed common to all hills i have seen, and is always found in damp wet places, this bird is very wary, and in carriage much like the english blackbird, on alighting from its short flight, flirting its tail about, etc. this bird leads me to remark how widely the river chats are distributed. the beautiful white- crowned black and red species, and the grey, with a red tail, are found about all hill streams in the north-eastern parts of india; the latter is a curious bird, radiating its tail out constantly. enicurus is also widely distributed. i also got to-day a beautiful male lophophorus, the plumage of which surpasses description; it is a heavy bird, with brown irides, and a brownish-chesnut tail; it came from daiwag. i met with five _kafirs_, when out to-day, only one would come to me; he was a very tall man, with a savage face, light keen eyes, returning from a forage on the safis: he was an _arunsha_ man, and a _tor kafir_, who are represented as very different from the _espheen_ or white ones, who are found in the mountains adjacent to balk, etc. arunsha is three days journey from this, and has a lame, or one-_legged_ chief, _dheemoo_; my friend's name was _bazaar_, he was armed with a matchlock taller than himself, and the usual dagger. how they compete with the mussulmans i cannot imagine, as they can only fight in close quarters, and for which they have daggers about six inches long in the blade. the _kafir_ names of the plants brought in are as follows:-- * _praitsoo_, hedera. _akrumah_, iris. * _kreemapotak_, melanthium. _daisoo_, urtica urens? * _joh_, laricoides. _wheeree_, ephedroides. * _amarr_, rhamnea. _whishtur_, juniperus. * _traih_, quercus. * _unzoomal_, spireaea. _gutsuttur_, viola. of these, those marked with an asterisk have no affinity at all with the khorassan flora: nothing can show the change in the flora of katoor better than this, that two _kafirs_ bring in one day, without having their attention directed to ferns, as many species as i have obtained in all that part of khorassan i have visited, amounting to , miles in different latitudes and at very various elevations. the following are the kafir names for the corresponding words:-- _darr_, mountain. _wussut_, goat. _trimm_, snow. _wemmi_, doomba sheep. _trosse_, ice. _sovurr_, hog. _wishin_, rain. _kookoor_, a fowl. _earr_, clouds. _melli_, bread. _populass_, lightning. _ow_, water. _doodoowunn_, thunder. _undah_, meat. _tsaih_, sun. _ornachoa_, skin. _mass_, moon. _haddi_, bone. _tarah_, star. _jeet_, body. _geutte_, jungul. _shai_, head. _julla_, tree. _ash_, face. _poutte_, leaf. _uchain_, eyes. _pushe_, flower. _jibb_, tongue. _bhee_, seed. _mass_, nose. _tat_, father. _dhermurr_, neck. _zfee_, mother. _kaitss_, hair. _porottr_, boy, son. _deh_, beard. _jhoo_, girl, daughter. _troh_, chest. _moochook_, a little girl. _booh_, arm. _ooruttur_, a large ditto. _ungree_, hand. _birra_, brother. _sichupput_, fingers. _soose_, sister. _noach_, nail. _tsoon_, dog. _dust oungree_, thumb. _pishash_, cat. _koorr_, leg. _goh_, cow. _papoa_, foot. _ghora_, horse. the mixture of hindoostanee names is very curious indeed, particularly those names of things which, from being indigenous, one would suppose would have indigenous names. _ th_.--went up to bharowl and returned to-day, march th, first went to loongurze, the barometer at which stood . . therm. in sun degrees. bharowl is a small plain, but still three or four times larger than loongurze, and perhaps feet below it: this place is up the ravine leading to the fourth peak of the west side, which same peak must be between , to , feet high. loongurze is visible from this, and is more to the south. the villages consist of several houses forming a sort of wall; outside, the houses are of one story, with terraced roof, supported by timbers, they are built of stones, slabs of micaceous slate, which is the prevailing rock, and timbers interposed as ties; the rooms are very dark, and very dirty, with no outlet for the smoke. the only part of the furniture worth noticing consists of an inverted conical basket, made out of the stems of some large grass, coated with mud, and truncated at the top, used to keep grain in. the under, or ground floor appears to be used for the domestic animals which are cows, goats, fowls, etc. the inhabitants of bharowl, _bhawiolis_, are a _kafir_ race with a mussulman cast of countenance, but fair, of an unhealthy look, with in many cases light hair, and generally light eyes, they are a rather large tribe, and appear to have but few wants, are very poor, and very dirty; the better part of the men are clothed in cashgar, _chargas_, and ordinary cotton under-garments; the women dress in blue. both villages are on the limit of inferior snow at this season; there is enough of cultivation about to supply their wants, chiefly wheat and barley, and a sort of pea. loongurze is infested with a villainous midge, of the same genus as that of the naga hills, but few are to be found at bharowl. at loongurze i met a khungurlye slave, of the caste krungurlye, the head- quarters of which are at a mountain village, about eight _cos_ off, in a north-west direction. the chief of koorungul is ahmed khan, he is independent: his village having men, well armed. the man wore a goat skin jacket without sleeves, a skull cap of camel hair netted, and leggings to the ancle of the same, to keep off the midges; these leggings are likewise used at bharowl for the same purpose. the following is a specimen of the krungurlye dialect. _baba_, father. _wurrik_, water. _aiee_, mother. _soourr_, hog. _lohideck_, brother. _kookoor_, fowl. _trizzai_, sister. _ow_, bread. _khleck_, woman. _trull_, jungul. _gillor_, horse. _psan-sa_, cat. the krungurlies are said to have been _kafirs_, converted long ago. they are now quite mussulman in appearance. they were doubtless originally a mixture of european and tartar races driven by persecution to the hills, to which they are still perhaps restricted by the cause which led to their original isolation. i tried to ascend the ridge, but the snow was impracticable even within feet of the village. the _nakhtur_, or pinus, which is the prevailing feature above bharowl, is the same as the tazeen one, and is a cedrus or _abils_, leaves very short, cones erect and elegant, but only broken ones could be found. the ridge and its face is quite covered with them, they grow singly. huge masses of micaceous rocks are scattered here and there, some are of gigantic size. the baloot is the next most common tree, but i fancy it does not extend beyond , feet; this is in general use for firewood, many of the trees, especially below, are much damaged, and on these the leaves are generally very thorny. next is the zaitoon, but it is not common in this direction, although common a mile to the south on the ridge first ascended. the soil is now saturated with snow water, and appears good and plentiful. the want of soil is another reason why the lower ranges are so barren, but this is just the contrary of what would be expected. in spite of the beauty and fineness of these forests, there is still the khorassan paucity of forms. many herbaceous plants are doubtless hid under the snow, but few shrubs were to be seen: the mespilus of tazeen being the most common at , to , feet, a thymus, labiata, olea fragrans, ocymoidea, two or three crucifera; sedum pictum observed, and melanthaceae which has fragrant flowers, is very common. the rocks are covered with mosses, grimmia pulvinaloides, every where in profusion. new forms consist of a fine tortula and an anictangioid, with leaves white, and membranous from the middle upwards. birds, a black and white erythaca, eyes fuscous-brown; the wood pigeon; a jay, which is a beautiful bird, irides light brown; a small woodpecker, with a greenish subcrest; the _parus_; a thrush not obtained; parus caerulens; a pretty red-crowned small fringilla, eyes light brown; common crow, chakor, bearded vulture; a wren, not obtained, with irides light brown, but with exactly the manners of troglodytis. chamaerops, _maizurrye_ used for netting ropes for bedsteads, viscum of baloot, used for food of domestic animals. wild goats, sheep, an ass-like animal (_goomasht_), and a fox which is handsome, of large size, and common. _ th_.--returned. the _kafirs_ have a game exactly the same as the english leap-frog, called by them _shutruck_. they were very much astonished at my understanding it. they are miserable marksmen, and were even at small distances unable to strike a large object, as for instance a hat at twenty yards, although offered a handsome reward; nor can they shoot at all at long distances. they are in this respect quite below khasyas and booteas. [ridge near loongurze: m .jpg] _march th_.--yesterday evening a female of lophophorus, was brought in, and a beautiful pheasant, having claret-coloured neck. body otherwise fuscous and blackish-brown, having a blackish-green head, white cheeks and fine transverse crest, as large as a middle-sized fowl. apparently a new subgenus of phasianus. _ th_.--swallows have now come in here. they are apparently a different species from the pushut kind. _ th_.--the large-headed lark has also come in, so that there is a difference of twelve or fourteen days between this part of the country and pushut, where it was first seen, although this is only feet higher, and about thirteen miles farther north. the universality of the common crow is curious, especially when contrasted with the circumscribed locality of jackdaws. the indian jackdaw is never found in hills. a common plover was brought in yesterday, the wing quills had been taken out, and its gestures on being liberated were most absurd, and although originating from fright, were much allied to pride, its head reclining on its neck, the latter curved, and the feet lifted high into a stately walk, while the crest was disposed in a most supercilious manner. i have got into great request here as a physician, entirely i apprehend owing to the people's faith in _vilayuti daroo_, or english medicine, especially calomel and cream of tartar, a combination of which has proved an universal panacea. goitre is common here, and the place in the hot months is said to be very unhealthy, fever and jaundice carry off numbers of people. the affghans, strange to say, have no popular medicines, but they are an unintelligent race in many other points. they are aware of bloodletting, which they practise most indiscriminately. _ th_.--unsettled weather. heavy thunderstorm in the evening with clouds over the western range. _ th_.--beautifully clear, a genuine spring beauty on all sides. the common _maina_ of these parts is a gregarious bird, which feeds generally on the ground, but is rarely associated with cattle, to which the indian species are so addicted: this is an intelligent bird, although from its nature not unnecessarily shy. it is fond of singing; its notes are very varied, but not very musical, including all sorts of intonations. while so employed, the bird every now and then bobs his head suddenly down three or four times, much for the same purpose perhaps, as our public singers in the production of certain notes. i do not know whether these actions of the bird are really associated with particular notes, although they generally seem to accompany certain very flat and very base notes, not unlike the clerk of a coachman. the snow is rapidly disappearing, rain having a most powerful effect even at the summit of the pine ridges: it is fast melting, and no new snow has fallen, although it has been raining occasionally during the last three days, and the sun has been altogether obscured. generally on the high kuttoor range, fresh snow has fallen, a proof of the great height of that range. two species of corydalis, the first iris and colchicum i had found in kaffiristan. corydalis is another analogy with the genuine himalayan flora. jackals were heard here for the first time, although they were heard many days ago at pushut. _ th_.--the antilopoid animal called suja, has horns both on the male and female, it occurs in small herds fifteen to twenty in the wooded mountains, its hair is of the same structure as in the moschiferus antilope; colour brown. height to the shoulder two feet six inches; its height does not increase or decrease perceptibly behind; length of neck seven inches. length of back from root of tail to nape of neck two feet eight inches. the lophophorus is called _moorghi zureem_, it is a very gorgeously coloured bird, but of heavy make; the tail is always carried erect. length of body two feet one inch; the girth of the body at the shoulder including wings, seventeen to eighteen inches. length of neck from commencement of the crest to the base of the under mandible, five to six inches. the bird is not uncommon, being found on all the hills about here, and apparently at no great elevations. _ th_.--the _ungoor_, ficus cordifolia is the first tree that buds. the platanus, _thagur_; morus coming into flower, vegetation being very rapid. a captive fox brought in, a fine and a handsome animal, with greyish fur inclining to fuscous on the back, and with blackish points at the back of ears, which are large, and dark-brown; eyes light yellowish-brown. measured as follows from:-- shoulder to base of tail, feet inches. shoulder to tip of nose, feet inches. height at shoulder, feet inches. height at loins, feet . inches. total length, feet inches. length of tail, feet inches. there is also a nocturnal beast here which has a voice something like a jackal, but more of a bark. shot one of the small grey, white-rumped water robins, which was examining a wall for insects, and fluttering about the holes in it. i saw two carbos (cormorants), distinct from any i had hitherto seen, very black, with some white marks. the common black one also occurs. _ th_.--proceeded to chugur pair; the time occupied by the journey, excluding stoppages, was two hours and four minutes, at the rate of three and a quarter miles an hour. tulipa in abundance in fields, a beautiful species, external sepals rosy outside, odour faint but sweet. on a ridge near chugur pair is a curious ruin, viz. a long wall. the mountain is too high to enable me to say what it is like. the tulip has a tendency to produce double flowers: one specimen seen with a regular three-leaved perianth, eight stamina, and four carpellary ovary, angles opposite the outer perianth leaves; the upper leaf or bract has a tendency to become petaloid. if the anthers are pulled, the filaments are separated from them and remain as subulate white pointed processes. _ th_.--labiata, ocymoidea, salvia! erect, ramose, foliis rugosis, verticillatis; spicatis racemosis. _cal_. bilabiata supra planisculis, medio carinatus, _cor_. pallida, caerulea, bilabiata, labio superiora subfornicata: lateralibus subrevolutis. see catalogue no. , in fields chugur pair, common on grassy banks. a curious tendency is observed in pomaceae, ceraseae to have the stamina of the same colour as the petals, thereby _showing their origin_? how is it explained that in some transformations of this, the anthers alone are petaliformed, while in others both filament and anther are equally and primarily affected. the female lophophorus has been living on nothing for at least a week; its voice is various, sometimes not unlike that of a large hawk, at others a cackle, or low chuckle; occasionally it runs forward, erecting its crest, and spreading out its tail like a fan, the _tail being_ _depressed_. i fancy it roosts in trees not unlike certain pigeons, haematornis one species come in, this genus i think represents parus: it has the same fluttering clinging habits, it often sallies forth like merops after insects, the genus is remarkable for the yellow or red colour of the under tail-covers, it is a noisy bird, and not wary until so taught by experience. i doubt its power of singing. the so called bulbul, _hazari dastar_, the famous songster, is not a real _bulbul_, but either alaudina or a stonechat. with haematornis has appeared a fine merops, of which i have not yet got a specimen; its habits were quite those of merops, and it made the same noise: it occurred with haematornis. chugur is a large extent of ruins, traces of paths are visible leading to the houses, mere huts built of slabs of slate. there is one square part remaining much like the base of one of the topes to which it assimilates; the building, is of slabs of wood and stone, intervening. what could have induced the mussulmans to build on such horridly hard barren and hot places, with no water near? or did they occupy places taken from the _kafirs_. the latter i should think most likely from the names, which are evidently _kafir_. _ th_.--the bird alluded to yesterday, was again seen to-day. i remember shooting the same species at elevations of , feet in bootan, in oak forests. it has the habits of merops, with its voice or chirp, and is very gregarious, so that one part of the flock will not separate from the rest. it perches in a very erect manner making swoops and sallies after insects precisely as merops. plumage sombre, general colour slaty, quills and crest blackish, bill and feet orange, tail forked. is this bird of the sub-family brachypodinae, or is it a fissirostral bird; the wings, although graduated as to the two first quills (the first being half spurious) are still long, and may be called pointed. it obviously has much analogy? with the drongo shrikes in habits, and in forked tail: as well as in lengthened body? both it and haematornes are very local, none being found here but just around a village called pillipote, a favourite station--zaitoon trees, or naked bakkeins. haematornis i have seen feeding on the ground, this species has the same voice as that of the genus generally. the yellowish _bunting-like_ water-wagtail, is very common just now: it occurs in wheat fields; flight, chirp, and mode of getting up when disturbed just as in the buntings. weather very unsettled, heavy rain and thunder last night, and now threatening a gale. _ st_.--returned towards pushut: a lanius, but not the one shot, was seen near the road in bushes. _ nd_.--of the four red-billed shrikes, two are male and female, sexes alike, stomach fleshy like that of haematornis, but food entirely vegetable: the two female stomachs contained each a seed of the _bukkein_ (melia): the two males contained fragments of buds, perhaps of a willow, but not a vestige of an insect, so their swooping and sallying is a mere analogical representation of merops. in haematornis contents of stomach chiefly vegetable, partly of insects. _ th_.--very rainy and unsettled weather, thunder and lightning. _ th_.---clearing up: heavy rain in some parts of the night, otherwise fine. _ th_.--a beautiful morning. went to kooner, distance twelve to thirteen miles: for three miles the road was dangerous but tolerably decent, no defiles being passed, in which murderers were likely to lurk, very little difference in seasons between this and pushut. _ th_.--returned again to pushut. the country about pushut is one sheet of cultivation, studded with trees; so thick are these that few villages are discernible in consequence. nothing particularly notable occurred, except that a tulip is common in the fields about kooner, but not found in those about pushut: it occurs also with amaryllideae, which is likewise a stranger to pushut. what is the reason of the ruined forts so common in this country? one would think that it were useless to pull down or destroy a good fort, when it is the intention of building another, so that they are scarcely to be accounted for from a succession of conquerors. the country has, and always will be, a distracted one. i observe that in all parts approaching mountains, in which the chief danger of robbery exists, that there are generally people and especially boys tending cattle, so that they must probably be familiar with robberies and murders, and seeing these done so openly, so easily, and so securely, they may well be imagined to become ready scholars. so even if the stock already existing in the robbers' sons, etc., were deficient, others would be found ready to take up the profession. the kooner dhurrah, or valley, is a very fine one, it is a good instance of the peculiar kind of slope or _talus_, so common in this country. the soil in such places being so stony as to be useless for cultivation. low parts entering into the valley become useful for wheat, that is, if rain falls early, these dhurrahs are formed or filled by debris from the surrounding hills, carried down by torrents, which are constantly changing their beds, the outline of the edge is circular, such as that of a sand bank at the mouth of a river, the finer particles being of course carried furthest down. the kooner valley may be considered as the second; the shaiwa distinct forming the first; it continues as far as the bend to chugur pair; its beginning is close to kooner village, near the ferry where the valley is much contracted. _ st_.--the beautiful smyrna kingfisher of india, with metallic plumage, chocolate-brown underneath, occurs at kooner. the common kite is very expert in seizing objects with its claws while flying: as is the pondicherry falcon. they are often seen about standing water, fishing i fancy with their claws for shells, etc. on the surface. the late rain has caused a torrent down dhurrah bader, and the fields and low grounds about choke have been inundated; about these spots, birds have collected in numbers, the common crow taking advantage of the circumstance had turned as it were, kingfisher, swooping about like the kite. there were two species of laridae, neither of which i had seen before, several small tringae, the very long red shanked bird, hematopus? the metallic tantalus, common, jack-snipe, and hosts of budytes, which were busily employed flying and flitting about after insects. edolius occurs at kooner as well as here. the number of birds is small certainly, although the trees, etc. are now in full leaf: no new birds seem to have come in, except the dove, and edolius; neither haematornis nor brachypus yet observed, one or two fresh species of alaudina, and stonechats have made their appearance. it is curious that the larks do not remain above a few days, none are to be seen now, that the crops are barely a foot high. the female monaul is going on well, though obliged to be crammed, for though it takes water voluntarily it will not take food. it is a very domestic bird, and fond of notice, its voice on such occasions is pleasing, on some others very harsh and hawk or eagle-like. its manners are curious, depressing its tail, and arching its neck, and pecking at imaginary objects in a curious way. from the expressive manner in which it looks up at sunset on surrounding objects, especially trees, it is obviously accustomed to roost. _april st_.--pushut fort. _ th_.--weather unsettled: a slight rumbling sound of an earthquake was felt yesterday evening, the atmosphere at the time being very close: this was succeeded by a squall. strong winds are prevalent, generally easterly: clear sunshine is evidently of rare continuance at pushut: little snow remains except towards bharawul. i was much struck this morning with the entire disappearance of a green mantle of confervoid scum from the surface of a foul pool close to my quarters. yesterday the pool was quite green, now there is no green, nor any traces of the scum except such portion as was not in the water but round the margins. _ th_.--proceeded to chugur-serai, which place was reached after marching h. m. at three miles an hour. ocharrye one of the peaks near this is deep in snow; it is much higher than speencas. the season here is now nearly as forward as it is at kooner, although on my last visit sixteen days ago, it was fifteen days behind, but the narrowness of the valley must increase the heat much. great delay occurred in crossing the pushut river, which is much swollen from the heavy rain on the th. thunder and hailstone common, clear days decidedly rare in the spring of these parts. edolius occurs here, another stonechat has come in. _ th_.--proceeded to otipore, which took h. m. to perform the journey; very unsettled weather. yesterday several thunderstorms, and heavy rain. _ th_.--clearing up, went to bharawul; and returned on the th. i was much disappointed at the paucity of forms, for i did not get ten species, not met with before. the flora of the fir woods amounts to almost nothing, colchicum straggles up now and then, this and a grass or carex, a caprifoliaceous shrub, and cotoneaster of tazeen, and fragaria are the only forms. the oak as it gets to higher altitudes assumes a different form, probably it is a different species, for the leaves are much less coriaceous, and are not glaucous underneath, otherwise there is little difference between it and the common baloot, the chief plants found occurred in the clearings, which surround bharawul to some extent. alliaria is very common; also tulipa. in this variety the dehiscence of the anthers continues until, from a single simple pore, a line reaching nearly the whole length of the anther is formed: a very pretty and sweet smelling anemone common, viola, rumex, thalictrum a rather fine species, hedera, rubia cordifolia, valeriana, corydalis, fragaria, thlaspidea, sambucus, ebulus adonis, berberis, equisetum, clematis, urtica urens, were noticed, either in cultivation or on the edge of the clearings. poor as the flora is, i see no chance of its promising much variety, for i observe few other plants showing themselves: several ferns were met with in moist places, and under rocks, two asplenia, one undetermined; aspidioides very common in some places, but of last year. the soil is deepish and good, when wet it is subtenacious. the _nukhtur_ is a large tree, seventy to eighty feet high; one of an average size measured fourteen feet in girth, four feet from the base. the slopes of the mountain are steep, and the ravines very rocky: on the ridges between these, the ground is covered with soil. colchicum observed as high as , feet. i returned another way, keeping along the large ravine that drains the mountain to the north, and which falls into the otipore river, below shinegam. buddlea was noticed at , feet, hyacinthus throughout from this to bharawul; _nurgiss_ , feet, impatiens the same as the species below , , myrsinea ditto, fraxinus is very common about , feet, it is very easily mistaken for the xanthoxylon, which appears common over most parts of khorassan. the range of the cytisus, which is a beautiful sweet smelling shrub, is extensive, it may be included here between , and , feet: associated with it between , to , feet is a caragana, and about this occurs a fine salveoideo-dracocephalum. the limit of the baloot may be taken at , feet, but in sheltered ravines it descends lower. euonymus _moamunna_, periplocea, scarcely extend above , feet, neither do the spirescent astragali, these are succeeded by two or three espinous species, one the same as the astragalus stipulis magnis of the river towards pironi. amygdalus ranges between , and , feet, the pretty cerasus does not extend above , feet. there appears to be another amygdalus above. the chief vegetation of the mountain below , feet appears to be a tufted coarse andropogoneous grass, and in such situations as this occupies, little soil is to be found; the baloot, and zaitoon, are confined to sheltered places. above they occur indiscriminately on all faces, but zaitoon is rare at such elevations; few birds were observed, the most common about bharawul are an emberizoid and a certhia? muscicapa flammea was seen at , feet in pine forests with several sittae: in these forests and about bharawul, only one garrulus was heard, and few woodpigeons were seen. the picus is still common, myophorus now extends up to bharawul. parus caeruleus still continues. another female nemorrhaedus is brought in with young: the breeding time probably takes place two months later. the merula before found below, now occurs in flocks about bharawul. according to the natives there is only about twenty days difference in the seasons of cutting wheat and barley; this is probably not true, yet it is borne out by the tulip, cytisus and hyacinth. the village has been founded five years since, and contains souls. the burial ground contains sixteen graves, which will give the annual percentage of mortality. at otipore the mortality is said to be great. whence do these people get their curious grey eyes, and light hair? daphne extends to bharawul. _ th_.--the kingcrow is now in here, also columba, and lanius; this last has an unceasing jarring chirp, it has however considerable powers of voice. sitta feeds on seeds as well as on insects, but the structure of its stomach is insectivorous. the female monaul died yesterday. i heard some of these birds in the pine forests of bharawul, their voice being very loud and grating; the female was a good tempered bird, capable of attachment, when caressed its notes were pleasing. _ th_.--the hoopoe seen; another fish brought in to-day, the usual mountainous form, but with a very rough nose. the edolius is here the earliest and the latest daily bird. i observed several to-day on a tree making a great noise with their harsh chirp, at each chirp the tail was for the instant jerked out like a fan. _ th_.--a single parrot seen flying overhead. _ th_.--what is the bodily strength of man to that of insects! i have just been watching an ant dragging the body of a hornet, many times larger than itself, up a door with the greatest ease; so much so, that after dragging it up three feet, it came down to alter its position, carrying it up a second time by its wing: the ant was of a large species. _ rd_.--pastor came in to-day, an elegant bird, eyes nearly white, tinged with grey; legs and beak yellow, base of gape leaden-blue, junction of yellow and blue parts greenish! _ th_.--mango bird first seen today, another dove came in about the rd. quail coming in, pastor roseus. every plant from the kafir hills convinces me that they are himalayan in their features, and that about this the transition between the american and genuine european forms takes place. thus i have seen asperula, two and three european looking ranunculi. cratoegus, etc. in addition to the other forms, before alluded to. there is a rather fine _sissoo_ near sheargar, it is curious that it is later in coming into leaf than any other tree. does this indicate its being of a more tropical nature than the others? on the contrary, the bukkeim is now in flower, also citrus. the affghans are fond of amaryllideae, _gratool_, _goolab_, and lonicera, in the season of the two former, every one met has a bunch placed over each ear. observed to-day a curious monstrosity of the ovula of the lonicera of this place, from which it is evident, that the ovule represents a bud; the funicle the _stalk_; the teguments convolute leaves, and the nucleus the punctum of growth. every variation was observed, generally the more leafy the outer tegument the greater was the degree of straightness of the funicle, and the abortion of the nucleus. _ th_.--to chugur-serai. _june th_.--arrived at cabul. the whole country between khuggur and koord cabul, even including the high ground of this, or huft-kotul, presents the same formation, but from khuggur it rises gradually, and beyond gundamuck loses all characters of tabularity, it consists of sand, overlying which is a bed of blocks or often of boulders; in this sand, which is here and there easily pulverised, (in other places it is pressed as it were into slabs of no great thickness;) layers or beds of conglomerate frequently occur, either regularly or irregularly; in one case two conglomerated beds approached at an angle and then united. the framework or base of the country is generally limestone, sometimes slate which presents every variety of distortion, the strata being often vertical and wavy, no dykes were observed. the older rocks are generally completely covered by sand and shingle, or stones; but as we approach the boundaries of the valleys, they protrude into ridges, often of considerable size and height. the valleys however are not entirely bounded by these to the west, for as i have said, the plain of koord cabul is reached by crossing undulations of this same formation. from khuggur to gundamuck, about five stony steppes are crossed, each rising in height above the last, and each separated by deep ravines, with one or both banks generally precipitous, affording exit to streamlets from the sofaid-koh. it is curious that the streamlets, and streams about gundamuck have not worn themselves half as deep channels as those about khuggur, although no appreciable difference is apparent in the strata. the surface is often rendered rugged in places by the occurrence of loose slabs, which give the appearance of stratification to the rocks. it appears to me that the whole of the extreme eastern khorassan originally was a bed of stones or boulders, overlying a formation of pure sand, and that its irregular surface is due to the subsequent upheavement of the foundation ridges. the good soil is in such case necessarily confined to the immediate neighbourhood of the streams, etc. descending from those ridges. the following is a section exposed on the north boundary of the valley, not far from jugdulluck:-- [section of valley near jugdulluck: m .jpg] the whole tract is devoid of trees, until one nears jugdulluck, when not only the foundation rocks, but also the stony undulated hills are dotted with stunted trees of baloot and xanthoxylon. tufted andropogoneous grasses form the prevailing feature, aerua also is common along the streams: and wherever the ground retains moisture, typha latifolia abounds with the usual frequenters of watery spots. the road to gundamuck, especially the ascent of the two last steppes, is infamous; but the regular jallalabad road is good, having only one descent to neemla, and an easy ascent from that place, and thence it is over a gentle declivity to futtehabad. the spurs from the sofaid-koh are very numerous, and the ravines they form show the great quantity of water derived from this ridge, their direction is n. , e. the direction of the streams after emerging from the lower ridges continues about the same. the cabul and soorkhab rivers debouche at a much greater angle. their direction being , e. the waters of both are turbid, but those of the latter are reddish. throughout the valley of jallalabad cultivation extends alone along the streams, many of which are entirely consumed by agricultural processes; in no place does it bear any proportion to the uncultivated portion, which is invariably densely strewed with stones, the smaller of which are generally water-worn; the larger, masses of angular rock. white mulberries ripen in perfection at gundamuck in the early part of july. there is more cultivation about khuggur occurring in a continuous and broadish tract, than in almost any other place. i observed a curious tendency to anastomosis, or self-grafting in the roots of morus: this in its young state often has pinnatifid artacarpoid leaves. query, is this a sign of the greater development of morus? or is it in any way analogous to that progressive development existing during the growth of every animated being? at gundamuck observed oriolus; it differs in plumage and voice from the indian mango bird, which is a far more beautiful bird, with only one note: edolius also seen. pastor and the other common birds. merops was seen soaring over stones, and stooping at insects; in such situations it remains long on the wing; it does not appear to perch on any thing but withered branches. composita senecionoides occurs about soorkhab, reaumuria occurs half-way between it and gundamuck. capparis continues to soorkhab. statices common, also campanula; and about jugdulluck a striking boragineous plant, boraginiae sp., and on the sandy pass above barkhab, a salvia is found in profusion, one of the commonest grasses is poa _cynosuroides_? the stem of hippuris is worth examination, inasmuch as it consists of a central easily separable axis, and a vertical system of great thickness, highly cellular, so that judging _a priori_, as these cells (which are compound) occupy the whole space between the ligneous system and the cutis, no longitudinal vessels can exist in that part which represents the bark. _ th_.--cabul. glycyrrhiza thermopsoides frequently presents on the non- flowering stems, a pod-like transformation of the uppermost leaves. in centaurea _cyanea_, the disposition of the limb of the ray is such that the incomplete part or the fissure is outside. this is exactly opposite to the disposition of the same part in true ligulatae. judging from centaurea, the smaller lip of the bilabiate species of compositae ought to be situated outside. erythraeoides, glauca floribus albidis occurs on the _chummums_. _ th_.--regaled with a library: "calumny and detraction," says boerhaave, "are sparks, which if you do not blow them, will go out of themselves."--_murphy's johnston_, vol. ix. p. . in johnston's life of drake, p. to , are some admirable remarks on those minds, that disapprove of every strikingly novel scheme, and from which a good motto might be chosen, should any national system be proposed in botany. what were sir thomas browne's five sorts of vegetables, and what were his remarks on the form of plants and laws of vegetation?--_see johnston's_ _works_, vol. ix. p. . chapter xxi. _from cabul to kohi-baba_. _july th_.--proceeded from cabul to shah bagh; cloudy weather, occasionally a very slight shower during the last few days, depending probably on the punjab rains. to-day, observed a small green caterpillar, climbing up a fine thread, like a spider's web, which hung from the fly of the tent; its motions were precisely those of climbing, the thread over which it had passed was accumulated between its third pairs of legs; it did not use its mouth. i did not ascertain whether the thread was its own production or not; if it was, it must have come out of its tail. _ th_.--the fish in the cabul river here are, a loach, an oreinus, and a barbel; none of these grow to any size, as there is but little water left in the river in consequence of the drain for extensive cultivation on both the east and west sides of the city. small specimens of these fish, especially the loach and oreinus, are found in the canals or larger watercuts, in which the current is slow and regular. it is curious that in the canal near the shah bagh, which has been lately turned off above the cantonment, all the specimens of the loach left in the pools of water were dead, while the oreinus did not appear to have suffered. this loach is a cobitis propria, it has the usual form of that genus, the spots are disposed irregularly, rarely becoming banded. the shape of the head is curious, the forehead being prominent, this gives the mouth an appearance of unusual depression. { } the country both on the east and west sides of cabul may have been formerly a lake. such indeed would seem to have been the origin of all the valleys in which there is an expanse of tillable ground, and not mere strips confined to the banks of the draining streams. the eastern valley is indeed partly occupied by the large sheet of water to the north, and the west is very marshy. the eastern one is interspersed with low detached ranges of hills. the birds are a magpie, a dove, oriolus, pastor roseus, pastor alter, sparrow, water-wagtail, hirundo, hoopoe, lanius, sylvia sp., water-hen, wild ducks on the lake, and merops; almost all these as at khujgal, but no _minas_, or edolia. at urghundy occurs potentilla quinquifolia, repens radicans pubescens, stipulis oblongis. _ th_.--halted at koti-ashruf. the most common plants on the khak-i- sofaid pass are two or three of the small pulvinate statices, senecionoides glaucescens. the yellow asphodelus is very common, and i also saw a. mesembryanthemifolia. at the foot of the pass, i saw scabiosa, which also occurred on the summit. first march on the cabul side of ghuznee. whole tracts blue with the labiata plectranthoides; at urghundy, along a watercut, are planted several willows of the common large-leaved kind, the bark of these on all the older parts is cracked longitudinally, and the trunk has the appearance of being twisted, which i have no doubt is the natural state, the spire is from left to right. the prevailing winds are easterly. bean cultivation is very common in the valley of the cabul river to the west beyond the khak-i-sofaid pass; i suspect it requires a greater altitude than most of the other cultivated plants of affghanistan, it abounds in the high ground about shaikhabad. _ th_.--proceeded in the morning from julraize to sir-i-chushme. the fish of the place are the same, the silurus being common. the two sorts of oreinus vary much in the length of the intestinal canal,--the yellowish and large one having it five times: the small and less yellowish, three and a half lengths of the body. both these species come close to barbus, showing that the spinosity of the dorsal fin is a more valuable character than that of the form of the mouth. the cartilaginous disc of oreinus is a reflection outwards of the osseo- cartilaginous part of the mouth, the fleshy part alone is the lips. oriolus, upupa, and percnopterus, continue with columba. grapes and apricots _khar see_, and the common ones reach as far as this, but are very inferior to those of cabul; rice cultivated here and there. the chief trees are populus lombardensis, salix magnifolia, and s. pendula, hippophae. at koti-ashruf salix angustissima is found, and on it cuscuta gigantea; on to-day's march hippophae, but this is found also at maidan: merops was heard at koti-ashruf. in the spring of sir-i-chushme, a typhoid plant occurs in profusion, veronicae , alta et repens rotundifolia, nasturtium aquatica, scrophularia of julraize, juncus, triglochin, and plantago of the green sward, everywhere between , and , feet. trees end at the foot of oonnye. _ th_.--girdun dewar. salvia swarms up the ascent and on the descent, but less so than before, and on the yonutt platform it is almost absent; cnicus also in profusion both up and down, and on the platform festuca triticoides begins about half-way up; statice are common over the whole pass. caragana in the grassy swardy ravines. on the highest point astragalus arbuscula, the fields studded with yellow buttons of tansy, and white flowers of stellaria; arabidea glauca siliculosa, also common; this is rare on the west side of hindoo-koosh, as is also stellaria. tansy continues in some places. _ st_.--to kurzar. proceeded up the siah-sung; along the river, green sward with patches of caragana, campanula, and geraniums occurred in profusion in some places. salvia not uncommon; at the first part, or perhaps for three miles from camp a large hingoid is common, smaller and whiter than the species so common on the lower hills, and which is the large-leaved species of quettah and the kojhuk pass. potamogeton cylindrifolia common; senecionoides. on the stony part, or beyond siah-sung, when one leaves the bed of the river, astragali two or three species, salvia, and blitum. two sorts of fish are found in the river, and perhaps a third in the black hammer-headed silurus. { } of the two caught, one is an oreinus, but passing close into barbus. beneath the glandular line, white, above fuscous-brownish, with irregular black spots, fins fusco-reddish. the other is a loach, cobitis propria, shape shark-like, colour yellowish- brown, almost tawny, sides irregularly spotted with brownish-black spots, arranged on the back in broad irregular, generally complete bands. head not banded, fins tawny, with oblong black spots, eyes prominent, irides reddish-orange: this is a very abundant species. poplar trees, (p. lombardensis): these from being planted close, grow together, the union generally taking place near the base. i have not seen a section of the wood. _august nd_.--kaloo. so far as i can judge, the flora of this side of the pass does not differ, but in a few unimportant instances from that of the kurzar side. the summit however has a much colder climate, probably from being exposed on the kurzar side to an extremely cold and piercing wind from the kohi-baba range. cnici , and festuca triticoides are the most common plants, with arenaria fruticosa, composita no. , asphodelus of erak now nearly passed flower, and some astragali. but on this side, cnici cease almost entirely, although they re-appear lower down, but only partially, and the top of the pass is covered with the statice of kurzar, and astragali, among which, that with the flat pod, winged on the dorsal suture, is the most common. lower down the same, or similar features continue, and the only plants limited to this side are a curious astragalus, crotalarioid, polygonum fruticosa, microphyllum, and spinosum, a boraginea like that of jugdulluck, but much smaller and decumbent, a papaveraceae, petalis papaveris rhoeadis, with a siliquose fruit, and clematis erecta: willow trees (the broad leaved species) occur here, a large agrostic grass, ribes and symphorema of erak. the affghans appear to cut every plant almost of any size for winter fodder, even thistles, docks, etc. the purple lactucoid of cabul re-appears, and the curious flat fruit calyxed boraginea of shawl both in abundance. the crops here are not more forward than those at kurzar; the fields are _crowded_ with stellaria, but there is much less tanacetum; geraniums occur in profusion. silene fimbriata, is a night flower, withering by a.m. i found no snow up the left hajeeguk ravine, and the effect was marked, namely, that none of the alpine plants are so abundant about it as last season, when they were in flower, or had passed. there is on the hills about this ravine, a large burrowing animal, probably a marmot; it is of a dark colour with tawny rump; when on the alert it sits on its rump, or rather perhaps raised on the hind legs, and has the voice of an ordinary rodentia. i heard several of these, but saw only one. rich botanising is to be had on the swampy ground at the mouth of the right ravine. pediculares , silenaceae or , veroniceae , orchis , ranunculi , junci , carices several, swertiae , one the larger solidago, geranium, gramineae several, parnassia of erak, campanula, ruta odora, etc. _ rd_.--to topehee. the vegetation of kaloo is far less varied than that of hajeeguk, for it presents no such swampy ravines at such elevations. the plants of the hills around kaloo villages continue half-way up, on the road over the ravine corvisartia is plentiful, with a labiata, calyce royleae, in profusion; this and cnici form the chief vegetation; papaveraceae also continue. up the st ascent hingoid tenuifolia, ephedra stricta, ribes commence, ephedra continuing throughout wherever the bare rocks project through the loose soil; one-third way up, statice long and short-peduncled commence with an astragalus. the bulk of the vegetation is an artemisia; royleoid and chenopodium villosum continue, and do so for half-way up. at the black rock half-way up, dianthus, astragalus, crotalarioid, rosae sp., statice pulvinata, are common, this last and artemisia are the chief features: scutellaria, stellaria dichotoma, umbellifera of yonutt, corvisartia, wild gramineae of yonutt, arenaria fruticosa, festuca triticoides continues. borago of upper kaloo, and the glauci of kaloo occur. astragali or sp., silene sp., but the chief vegetation is artemisia. on the summit, corvisartia, boragineae, gramineae, several; a straggling plectranthus coeruleus, arenaria fruticosa, allium rubrum, cnici , the yellow erigeronoid of hajeeguk summit, occur on the descent just below the ridge, and on this side the statice pulvinata is in profusion, and of large size. large marmot, with teeth like those of a rat. _ th_.--proceeded to bamean. at topehee was found a curious succulent hypericum, it is odd that the leaves, etc. of these succulent saline plants are cold; strikingly so. connected with this low temperature, is the fact, that if shut up in a box with other plants, and water thrown in, that even though they be at the top, they cause the deposit of all the water that passes up in the shape of vapour, while the ordinary plants remain quite dry! a wonderful provision of nature adapting them the more to extremely dry stations. about topehee, cichorium is common; salvia of oonnye, geranium, artemisia exaltata of sir-i-chushme, and pulmonaria, so common everywhere, occur; glaucum swarms in saline marshy places. triglochin is also found, also ranunculus stoloniferae trilobata of kaloo, hippuris. the flat-calyxed boraginea, melilotus officinalis also found; potamogeton cylindrifolia, centaurea lutea. there also occurs along the barren slopes of the hills a glaucous shrub, much like that between chunni and dund-i-goolai, decumbens, subspinos: glauco alb. fruct. baccato drupaceis, oblongis, purpuris, basi calyce parvo, -fido, stylo brevi apiculatis, putamina osseo-crasso oblongo ovato, sem. immatur. _ th_.--bamean. the fish, so far as i have caught any, seem to be one trout, and two barbels. of species, one of these takes the worm greedily, the length of the intestines varied in every instance, and of three the relative lengths of body and canal were as follows: inches. canal. body (times ) . ( of three since captured and body (longer ) . ( about inches long, all body . (than the) . ( nearly the same size, the (body. ) ( length of the canal was ( three times longer than the ( body. the intestines as usual taper almost gradually from the stomach and oesophagus, and are gorged with greenish pulp. this is worth following up. it is scarcely credible, but that the species are really different; or if not, the variety in the length will considerably diminish the value of the length of canal as a principle of arrangement. { } the glaucous long-peduncled, large-flowered statice is limited to the east side of kaloo. on this side another species occupies similar elevations, viz., , to , feet; it is a good deal like the one met with towards ghuzni. these species are less alpine than the short- peduncled species with large flowers, which continues all over kaloo, being in great perfection on the west side, near the summit. another short-peduncled species appears on the descent, close to upper topehee. towards this royleoid occurs but sparingly, and the first change takes place in the abundance of salicornia or kochia. also about this, peganum and salvia reoccur, both kinds not being uncommon about bamean. lactuca dislocata occurs throughout. the vegetation of bamean is that of topehee, but the small flowered tamarisk is scarce--potentilla anserina is common, hyoscyamus spinosus of kaloo occurs. the bamean river divides the kohi-baba from the hindoo-koosh, but both are obviously of the same system, i.e. they divide the ranges to the north. to the east their offsets are divided by the kaloo river. the direction of the hindoo-koosh and that of the kohi-baba, is about west. the space to the west consists of a low, rather flat plateau, (as it appears from the top of kaloo,) this flat belongs to the kohi-baba range; the offsets of the hindoo-koosh to the east and north are ordinarily shaped. all the hills on the north side of the valley disintegrate on their south faces, forming cliffs of partial extent. _ th_.--proceeded to akrobat, ascending the bamean river, and then diverging up a _kotul_ or acclivity of considerable height, but gradual ascent. then descending at once steeply to akrobat, which is about , feet above the sea. along the river, rosa, hippophae, and salix occur, the two former being abundant. scarcely any change in vegetation occurs: an ephedra, very common up the _kotul_ and abundantly in fruit. the hills are very barren, and nothing remarkable is observable about syghan. apricot constitutes the only fruit tree. salix, populus, and sinjit occur. all the valleys are narrow, and the hills very barren, the chief vegetation being salsolaceae. the vegetation of the valleys is the same as that of bamean; on the north of akrobat two statice occur, one with spathulate leaves scapigerous, the other a tall straggling plant. _ nd_.--erak. the vegetation of kurzar consists of hypericum, salsolaceae, carduacea, and hyoscyamus spinosus, but salsolaceae occur in profusion and several species. hypericum enjoys to perfection, the faculty of condensing water on its leaves, much more so than salsolaceae; it presents an obvious affinity to rutaceae, capsula radiata -valvis, loculicida: valvis linea centrali notatis, septis solutis imo apice exceptis. seminibus basi locul. affixis, apice villosis; the tobacco is different from the nicot. tobaccum, cor. virida tubo calyce, duplo longiore lamina brevi plicato: apricots in sheltered places. _ th_.--kurzar. the erak _kotul_ is thickly covered with festuca triticoides, two carduaceae, salvia, artemisiae, and statices on the south side. on the north statices, onosma, and carduaceae are most common, and the vegetation is scantier. ribes is common up the erak ravine; with it, rosa and symphorema are the chief shrubs. ephedra ceases about , feet. a snake found of general grey colour, with black-brown marking. _ th_.--ascended kohi-baba from upper kaloo, the ascent occupied about five hours, the ridge was surmounted but no view of baissoat was obtained, except that the crest surmounted, as well as the still loftier culminating one belong to ridges running degrees north from a main ridge, the passes of which, although apparently the same height as the peak surmounted, are much more heavily covered with snow. these passes do not appear very difficult. at p.m. set up the barometer on the ridge, the mercury stood . . therm. in cistern, . . detached therm. in sun degrees--on the ground degrees. _september nd_.--at . p.m. the barometer stood . . assuming this to give about , feet, none of the peaks will be found to be higher than , . the culminating point was close by, and did not appear more than , feet above me. the different ridges are separated by deep spaces in which snow lies to a considerable extent. having descended a considerable way i again set up the barometer. time - p.m. the mercury stood at . . therm. in the cistern. degrees ditto in the air. degrees the vegetation continues unaltered, the same as that of kaloo kotul. carduaceae, astragali, nardoid, bromoid, hordeoid pubescens, and statices. and up to this, which may be assumed as , feet, the hills present the same features, rounded with a good deal of soil, and large granitic masses. but above this the disintegration of the ridge has reached a great extent; for , to , feet the ascent is steep, passing over a profusion of blocks and slabs of granite, generally externally of a dark brown colour; here and there there is some coarse granular soil, and towards the second station, say at an altitude of , feet, a marshy spot occurred, crowded with primula, together with arenaria, fumaria of erak, ranunculus of hajeeguk, carex, etc. from within , feet of the summit the ascent was easier, over ground composed entirely of small angular bits of granite, which rock protrudes to the north, forming the south wall of a huge amphitheatre, heavily snowed in places. this granite varies much; being below a coarse quartzose grey rock, above a very compact brown rock, except perhaps in its lowest outcrop, where it has a slaty structure. the second station may be assumed as the lowest limit of the inferior snow line, but this so much depends on casual circumstances that even many places at , feet are uncovered by snow, which as might be expected is always heaviest in the higher valleys which are least exposed to the sun's rays. the surface of the snow in many places was picturesque, being in the shape of crowded pinnacled ridges, the interstices from to feet deep, holding water or ice. i saw from the summit a flock of the large grouse, and at , feet, a large hare. the peak surmounted is the lowest, and the nearest to upper kaloo. the granite on the west side formed a precipitous cliff of to feet deep. the vegetation of the slope with small fragments, say between to , feet was very scanty, a cheiranthus, polygonum scariosum, papaveraceae, phloxoides and statice, being the only plants; and perhaps this may be assumed as having no particular plant, all those enumerated being found below. the vegetation of the steep rugged portion, which contained many patches of snow and better soil, was more varied; in the upper parts of this a carex, two or three graminae, cheiranthus, plectranthus, sedoides, arenaria, potentilla, primula, draboides and brassicacea occurred. a tanacetoid was perhaps the most common. the most alpine forms of these were carex, holcoides, sedoides, statice densissima, and papaveracea; but of these papaveracea, phloxoid, statice densissima, cheiranthus, and polygonum are alone found above. here again the effect of the proximity of a bed of snow in retarding vegetation was most evident. phloxoides elsewhere partly in flower, being found in full flower near one of the beds of snow. it is curious that no green spots are found above, all the water passing down under the soil, the swardy ravines scarcely extend beyond an elevation of , feet above the camp on upper kaloo. the limit of the grey shrubby salix may be taken as , feet above that, the other plants are precisely the same as those of other swards; abelia extends higher than salix. the limit of crops is about the same, the issue of the water obviously being in relation to the extent of cultivation by irrigation. the associated plants present no change. _ rd_.--cabul. curious transformation in carthamus was observed, either affecting the involucrum alone, when those branches that would have become flowers become clavate, covered with very dense aristate leaves, or affecting the florets which become more or less converted in the branches. in these the involucre is little altered, and the receptacle is attacked by larva. in certain of these the florets are submitted to very curious metamorphoses, each envelope remaining, but quite green, the stamina being little changed, the pistillum changed into a leaf-bearing branch, the stigmata, etc. into two leaves. this is chiefly remarkable because of the general tardiness of change in the stamina, since it shows that the binary formation of the pistillum is a primary effect: it may be asked, if the number should be , why has it not reverted to its original or typical state? the calyx is not reducible to . the permanency of the character of aggregate flowers is here shown, as well as in echinops, so that it is scarcely probable we shall ever meet a compositious flower solitary in the axil of an ordinary leaf. to be examined hereafter in detail. if wood is a descending formation, produced by leaves, how are woody tendrils to be accounted for. in the vine the ancient tendrils are perfectly woody, although this may not be true wood, yet it is truly fibrous, and i ask, from what is it formed? the growth of young shoots is at once a proof that the whole system may be formed from ascending growth, for in many we find woody fibre complete, though not indurated, and all the leaves from which wood is said to be formed are only in a rudimentary state. _october nd_.--seh-baba. spiraea belloides, commonish on limestone rocks in the ravine near the road which leads from tazeen valley to khubur-i-jubbur. this limestone is in thin strata; the strata are subdivided by quartzose veins, they occur generally at a dip of from to degrees, but are occasionally quite vertical or highly wavy, presenting evidence of concentrated force upwards. the outcrop wears an uniform aspect, and occurs to the north of the ravine. the south here and there presents sheets of rock, the overlying strata having slipped off. the strike of the strata is north and south. coal is said by hatchet to be formed chiefly from the resinous principles of plants,--this would account for its appearance when burnt, which is the same as that of burnt bitumen. but resinous principles are, even when they exist, of partial extent only in plants. in good coal the whole of the vegetable substance seems to be transformed, a supposition barely compatible with hatchet's idea. to study this, extensive examination of coal in all degrees of formation would be necessary, beginning with the wood so curiously changed by the brahmapootra, i.e. brown coal occurring in its sand banks, and which has a very peculiar and disagreeable odour when burning. it would also be necessary to examine how far the coal-plants exhibit vegetable structure, are they mere impressions or are they the plants themselves changed? to what extent do these agree with coal? what particular plants and what parts of these appear to have formed coal? its fibrous structure would hint at formation from the woody system, and it is not incompatible with the _deliquescence_ of a thick layer of drift. the plants of coal fields having been drifted, can only give us an idea of the vegetation along the natural drains of the then country, such may by no means have had _one universal character_. the plants of the open surface of modern tropical countries being generally different from those along the beds of streams, in which situations now-a-days equiseteae, lycopods and filicis are chiefly found. coal being drift, it follows that the plants of the coal fields can give us no information on the distribution of vegetables in those days; to gain information on this, the fossils should be in their original situation. and there again an obstacle may exist in our not being able to ascertain the height or level of that situation. if the plants of coal fields are found to be converted into coal, then the only difference between coal shale, and coal will consist in the very small proportion of vegetable matter in the former. the small number of coal plants, i.e. the small number of species, at once points to the supposition that fossil plants are confined to those of the most indestructible nature: here again is another sign of this in the preponderance of ferns, which lindley finds to be the most permanent. hence the preponderance of ferns, is by no means explainable by their greatest simplicity of form, and consequent priority of formation. chapter xxii. _from peshawur to lahore_. _october th_.--peshawur.--cucurbitaceae. the petals of cucurbita were observed in one instance united along two of the corollal sinuses to the staminal column, alternating with the smaller stamina; the processes were produced upwards into petaloid appendages. _ th_.--proceeded to nowshera. as far as pubbe the road extended chiefly through a cultivated country, thence as far as could be judged at night, over a plain country covered with coarse grass, and here and there (whenever a sufficiently gravelly surface occurred) among the thick of _bheir_, which is here used for fences; mudar, aerua, nerioides and adhatoda occurred; _furas_ a common tree. _ th_.--reached khairabad. the same kind of country as about nowshera, stony or sandy, with extensive tracts covered with _bheir_, mudar, and aerua as before, mimosa common towards geedur gulli, and on it also kureel, which appears for the first time as it was not seen about jumrood. on to-day's march many grasses are apparent, the pale saccharoid grass of jugdulluck common, a species of cynodon (given to me by dr. ritchie at dhukk) very common, a pommereullioid, a curious schoenanthus, a poa, all are coarse and cover a large tract towards geedur gulli: barleria spinosa appears. geedur gulli is a ravine winding in and out in a curious manner among low hills at the north-west end of what is called the afredi spur. mimosa very common, kureel, dodonaea and edgeworthia, neither very common, but moarcurra and euonymus are both rather common. _mudar_ common; some andropogons, of which one is the same as that of the khyber. _bheir_ very common, also a mimosa like the common _babool_, but flowers unscented. chokeys, or police stations are situated along the whole line of road to peshawur. adhatoda common at the entrance to geedur gulli where the scenery is rather pretty; adiantum common on banks near the water; the hills of geedur gulli are rather thickly sprinkled with wood. the cabul river is here a large stream, with a moderate confined bed between high banks on which akora and khairabad are situated. the view of the indus from geedur gulli presents a desolate look of sand, which extends over a large space visible through a break in the hills to the north. the passage of the indus through the attock range seen from the same point is curious; but general remarks on scenery can be of no use, except when they are founded on an intimate acquaintance with the country. the most natural course, i.e. one less impeded by mountains, would seem to be to the east instead of south. [diagram of attock range: m .jpg] mulberry, salix angustifolia, or willow, and _buckein_, were seen at attock. the scenery is not however bold, but on the contrary very poor compared with the defiles of the irrawadi. the hills are low, rounded, and present no precipices of striking dimensions. an old fort situated near the junction of the rivers is a handsome looking building, but completely commanded. a large serai or place for travellers is situated near it to the north. the water of the indus is muddy, but presents nothing remarkable in temperature. the analogous points between the indus and irrawadi consist in defiles and the want of branches for a long way above their mouths. jackdaws were the first old acquaintances i met with on entering peshawur; and the common kite, the affghan one not having the same thrilling cry that the indian one has; grey partridges are found about nowshera; as also kuchaloo or yams. _ th_.--proceeded over the plain to chuch and khot-bha, winding along the attock hill round to the fort, and passing the serai, and another smaller one in ruins near the plains, thence over level ground to within two miles of bhowli, where conspicuous trees were observed, otherwise the plain is rather barren, a few _bheirs_ and some phoenix only occurring about villages on hills. the vegetation is the same. chuch plain, where not cultivated, is covered with short coarse grasses, andropogoneae. among these a large-leaved salvia occurs. the forms presented by the vegetation are however very little diversified. mudar, a small-fruited kochia, like that of jallalabad; boerhaavia very common. cultivation is conducted in _bheir_ fences, and consists of indian-corn, _bajra_, and cotton. from the attock hills, the indus is seen much divided by beds of sand, and churs or islands covered with a large purple saccharum. peganum continues to attock and even extends beyond. water plants of chuch, trapa, valisneria verticillata, and nymphaea. shumshbad.--this town lies to the left of the road, one mile in the rear of my encampment. the spines of barleria are evidently axillary, as is seen in young branches, probably they represent the lower pair of leaves of the lateral branches, the terminal parts of which have a tendency to develop. the spines of mimosa belong evidently to the same exertion as the leaf; they are connate at the base, and from the centre of this hardened part, arises the leaf; they may be either the lower pinnae, or they may be _spurious_ stipulae. the leaves developed within the true ones belong to an ill-developed branch. true stipulae are leaves with a distinct origin. spurious stipulae belong to their leaves, as is evident from their not having a distinct origin. _ th_.--hussun abdul. until we came near the boorhan valley, the road passed over a high, dry, sandy plain, with no cultivation, and no water, then the descent took place through picturesque raviny ground with a few isolated mounds, to a fine clear stream. the remaining part extended either along the cultivation of the boorhan valley, or through similar raviny ground. two streams were passed, the last is the hussun abdul river. the vegetation of the high plain continues the same. _bheir_, mimosa, _kureel_, aerua, mudar, andropogoneae, pommereullia, oegilops, salvia, and crotalaria aphylla. among the ravines and thence to hussun abdul, a new feature presents itself in the frequency of a largish mimosa, probably that of the khyber pass. this forms prettily wooded scenery, the white thorned mimosa also occurs, moacurra none, euonymus, _bheir_. about boorhan a ficus becomes very common, achyranthes, kochia fructibus parvis, salvia, serratuloid of ali-baghan and ichardeh. paganum common--adhatoda and vitex. in scenery the country is pretty, particularly after passing the last river: a dampish spot was passed at bhowli: a large acacia, melanoxylon and pteris were found on the river banks. dodonaea seen on low hills near bhowli, as also adiantum. started at hours minutes and reached at . ; distance at least eighteen miles. hussun abdul, is a pretty place, particularly the broken ground about the sacred stream, and the tank, in which mahaseers abound; the water beautiful, many trees occur, especially morus, salix and ficus. zyziphus is a fine tree here, phoenix, khuggur, bukkein, ficus, and cupressus occur. the jackdaw, _mina_, blue and chesnut kingfisher, a noisy bird. the small kingfisher, black and white kingfisher common: myophonus, pomatorrhinus. _ st_.--the chief cultivation here is _bajra_, and zea maize. the former produces a second crop from branches; hence it is left standing after the top spike, which is the largest, is picked; vegetation chiefly indian, very few affghan forms remaining, those of the hills are mimosa, adhatoda, and euonymus. the water plants are all decidedly tropical; no epilobium seen since leaving peshawar: eclipta, cyperaceae. trichodesma, cannabis. fish have few engaging habits, the tame mahaseers take no notice of any one until food is thrown to them. tagetes, _sud buruk_, is a curious genus, on account of its simple tubular involucrum, very entire and pappus florets, conduplicate in aestivation, all florets faeminine are ligulate; are the folded up ones representations of the males? _ nd_.--to janika sung, seventeen miles: the country continues much the same. the road passes out of _hussun abdul_ over a low stony elevation, and enters another valley, the exit from which is through the maha gullah: a large serai is passed about two and a half miles from the boorgi; in the gullah near this, is a portion of a formed road. janika sung is a small village, about five miles from the boorgi. the face of the country is undulated, intersected by ravines, rather thickly covered with the large mimosa and _bheir_: the same may be seen in every direction. affghan plants have nearly ended, moacurra and euonymus alone continuing. at the maha gullah a carissa, and a _zaitoon_, ehretioides. this defile is picturesque, the wood prettily contrasted with bits of grassy ground. adhatoda in abundance. the maha gullah was formerly a notorious place for robbers, but is now quite safe, which says much for the seikh rule. there was not much cultivation passed to-day, although most of the surface is fit for it: water is near the surface. the maha gullah range is composed of limestone. the white-spined mimosa and crooked-spined one change places, the former occupies uncultivated plains, the latter stony, undulated, or hilly ground. carissa certainly represents jasminum. on the kaliki serai plain the chief plant is mimosa albispina, then _bheir_--here and there patches of leguminosa, like the cytisoides, so common in affghanistan. in the _bheir_ thickets schoenanthus is common; andropogon and pommereullioid also occur. in the hussun abdul river there is a species of perilampus approaching to leuciscus, but with faint bars. in the sacred stream there is a small cyprinoid, probably a systomus, with a conspicuous spot on either side near the tail: there is also a small loach. the mahaseer in the water is a handsome fish, the edges of the scales being then blackish, as is also the longitudinal line. it is curious that all plants hitherto found parasitical on roots, have no green leaves; to this, marked exceptions exists in cuscuta and cassytha, such true-leaved parasites being found only on the ascending axis; this rule is so permanent, that species of certain genera, such as burmannia, the bulk of which are not parasitical, have no leaves. the mode of attachment of all parasitical plants is i think the same, otherwise i should suspect the above difference to point to a marked one in the nature of the fluid derived from the stock: thus leafless plants might be supposed to induce no particular change in the fluid they imbibe, while the others might be supposed to elaborate their own from that of the stock. there is another very remarkable circumstance connected with the most typical leafless parasites, in their very frequent limitation to the genus cissus, on which perhaps all rafflesiaceae and cynomorieae are exclusively found. my chief reason for supposing sarcocodon to be monocotyledonous, or rather endogenous, is the ternary division of its parts, and if my supposition be correct, it tends to establish, if indeed other ample evidence did not exist, the great permanence and consequent value of this numerical character. and with respect to sarcocoidalis i shall adopt the same opinion, if i find on enquiry that a binary number, and imperfection of the female as compared with the male, are more characteristic of endogenous than of exogenous growth. this same genus i consider in both these characters to allude to some analogy with one or more acrogenous divisions. the establishment of the order of rhizanths, as well as that of gymnosperms, i consider as a retrograde step in botanical science. it is totally opposed to all sound principles of classification, and is a proof that, in the nineteenth century, arbitrary characters are still sought for, and when found are obstinately maintained. even in the arbitrary character, which is considered as destructive of all their other claims to ordinary vegetable rank, there is no unison whatever, for rafflesiaceae have ordinary ovula, while sarcocoidalis very extraordinary. the amount of testimony proving their analogy in germination to be with acrogens, must be very strong before i am convinced that plants with perfect ovula as rafflesia, etc. germinate from an indeterminate point, the existence of an aperture in the coats, points in the most marked manner to some part representing a radicle. with the exception perhaps of sarcocoidalis, these plants differ in no respect whatever from other phaenogamous vegetables; we have instances of the same parasitical growth, and instances of the same apparent want of a radicle or homogeneousness of embryo, and in the structure of the parts of the flower there is tolerably absolute general identity. it may be worthy of remark, as tending to prove the soundness of mr. brown's views with regard to the affinity of rafflesia with aristolochia, that a certain large and fleshy flowered species of the latter genus has the same putrescent smelling flowers. in rhizantheae, as proposed by endlicher, we have an assemblage of discordant characters; we have plants associated, differing in the number of their parts; we have some of comparatively simple roots associated with others of decidedly complex organization; we have rafflesia in which highly complex female parts exist, associated with sarcocoidalis, in which these are very simple. but besides the objection of combining discrepancies on the strength of one agreement, the establishment of divisions upon such pretexts is objectionable in another point of view; viz., that of making a transition of structure on one point, instead of in several. we might as well form into one division all the ternarily formed dicotyledons, and into another all those monocotyledonous plants with evident distinction between the calyx and corolla. but in addition to reasons founded on structure, i have this theoretical one, that it is as requisite that endogens should establish a similar relation with acrogens; otherwise a gradation exists between the first and third classes, and none between the second and third, between which, gradations ought to be the more frequent. as rafflesia approaches aristolochia, so does sarcocodon, taccaceae. _ rd_.--rawil pendi. the country continues much the same to within five or six miles of this place, viz. high raviny ground, well covered with mimosa, _bheir_, etc. thence to pendi, the country is open, bare, and much cultivated. from high ground near pendi a considerable tract is visible, consisting of low ridges running nearly due south, interrupted here and there, and apparently quite bare. _ th_.--to manikyala, distance nineteen miles, over an elevated country, with not much cultivation; broken ground occurs here and there, especially near the river hoomook, now a small stream, the road winding through mimosa jungle. _moacurra_, _bheir_, euonymus. at a place about three miles from manikyala, are the remains of a serai now in ruins. from this to metope, the road extends over an open country capable of cultivation, but neglected. water in wells is thirty feet perhaps below the surface: the country about tope very bare of trees. a curious low chain of sandstone rocks here occurs, and occasionally protrudes in places from below the soil, seldom rising above five feet and occasionally dilated into undulated tracts. drill husbandry, (i.e. seeds sown after the plough,) seems much in practice here. the late noise about improving pasture grasses has been made with little reference to the nature of an indian climate, or the genius of the indian people. pasture grasses only excel in countries where there is no division of climate into hot, rainy, and cold seasons; but not in those in which rain is equally, or nearly so distributed throughout the year. so far as i know, no place in india is calculated for pasture grass cultivation, because as none of excellent kinds can succeed without irrigation, this element of indian agriculture is applied to more profitable cultures, such as artificial grasses. in the cold season and the rains, nature supplies _dhoob_ grass bountifully, leaving the natives to apply their agricultural labour to other objects, and in such seasons the condition of cattle is decidedly good. manikyala tope, seen from near rawil pendi, is an insignificant building, and presents the same architecture as other topes, and as the cabul tower, although it is not of the same materials. the lower part of the base is of pure sandstone, the upper of a stalactital conglomerate of small pebbles, often perforated. the terraces at the base are now almost hid by rubbish, so that the whole looks like an overgrown dome or a low mound. there are three stone ledges below, with flat pilasters between the middle and lower ledge on the sides. the dome is much damaged. the stones of which the building was erected, were not hewn inside, but i do not know whether they have not been cemented together. access is easy to the top partly by means of broken steps, otherwise the stones gave good footing. the top of the ruin is now open and discloses a square _funnel_, penetrating half the height of building; thence modern handiwork has caused a broken irregular perforation. the building is not remarkable for great size, nor are any of the stones large, still as a piece of architecture it is far superior to any thing in modern affghanistan. the country around is very bare and sufficiently open. it is curious that there are many indian plants found on or about the building, all indicating a decided approach to hindoostan. a sida, euonymus, bheir, lantana, and a menispermum, are common shrubs on the building, also solanum quercifolium, spinis albis floribus coeruleo purpureis. _ th_.--to puttiana, seventeen to eighteen miles; the country much the same, little wood but bushes of the old trees: it is tolerably open until pukkee serai is approached, when it becomes very much broken and intersected by ravines in every direction, showing most forcibly the action of water, many of the cliffs thus formed are picturesque. at pukkee a small river is forded, thence to near puttiana the country then becomes almost as raviny as before. aerua, bheir, mudar, a kochia, much like one of the cutch ones, and the before-mentioned plants continue. _ th_.--to bukriala, twenty-two miles. from puttiana the road is good, extended over a high open country, except where it crosses two ravines; the first of these containing a stream of water, about ten miles from puttiana. from tammuch the road descends steeply into the bukriala kakhudd ravine, which takes you to bukriala. this ravine runs through a system of sandstone hills, of a blueish muddy aspect, and red clayey earth, often conglomerate. in colours not unlike the bamean district. water is plentiful in pools throughout the lower half of the road, which is all descent. bukriala stands on the right bank of the khudd river towards its mouth, the vegetation about this place resembles that of the open country, and is unchanged in the khudd river, consisting of kochia, _phulahi_, and mimosa albispina, euonymus, _bheir_, adhatoda, barleria, _kureel_, and capparis of gundamuck; also pommereullioid, andropogon, schoenanthus, holcus, and stipa of kuta sung, carallunia, grewia and menispermum of manikyala. also two plants not before seen, and neither common, one is a butea, leguminous velutino pubescent arbor, it is the _chuchra_ of the natives, and is used for paper. the other is a curious, leafless, scandent, monocotyledon. asparaginea, and an apocynea. alhaji maurorum is not found between this and hussun abdul, which is a curious thing. _ th_.--to rotas. the country to mittian is very much broken and consequently difficult, consisting entirely of ups and downs: the road is only practicable for cattle; the bad part of it commences with an abrupt ascent. about puttiana, four miles from bukriala, it becomes better, but it continues partially raviny until within four miles of rotas, when the country becomes open, and the road good. vegetation continues precisely the same, being still in the region of _phulahi_: observed the asparaginea again, euonymus continues, also astragalus, a kochia, and an affghan chenopodium. a beautiful _bhowli_ or spring is passed on the way two miles from rotas, it is covered with masonry, and the descent is by means of steps; the water passes under large arches, a work worthy of the mogul emperors. sissoo, peroplocea of bolan, common. rotas is an immense irregular fortress, with the usual faults: it is much too large, and situated on a rocky plain partially commanded. it must have once contained a large number of inhabitants. nelumbium, potamogeton: half a mile from rotas towards peshawur, a square serai, enclosing a garden, is passed. the country immediately about it on the west is open: and well cultivated: there is but little water in the river. the town or village is of no size. butea not uncommon. _ th_.--proceeded to jhilun. the road is at first steep, as it passes down along the rotas river, about three miles from thence it is good, extending over a plain to the jhilun. fine cultivation observed on all sides, and of various sorts, chiefly _bajra_ and _kureel_. dhah abundant, but not arborescent, euonymus, peganum, _bheir_, and _phulahi_, the latter very dwarfish. mimosa albispina and adhatoda very common. the commonest tree in these countries is _bheir_, and a very handsome tree it is; _nihi-joari_ cultivated. _sun_ and _tel_ occur, the last is very common. yesterday a new cultivation presented of a composite plant, called _kalizeen_, used as spice or _musala_ for horses. the birds observed were haematornis, crateropod, sylvia, alauda cristata, alauda alia in flocks. the town of jhilun stands immediately on the right bank of the river of that name, it is a large and flourishing place. the river is about yards broad, not rapid, but here and there deep, and the bed at this place forms one undivided channel. the right bank on which the town stands has a stony sloping shore, the left is sandy. it is a mistake to suppose that the hilly country ceases here, on the contrary, it crosses the jhilun. at the ferry this river runs through a large valley, bounded to the west by hills like those to which we have been accustomed; to the east it is bounded by a low chain, which runs parallel with the general course of the river. the valley is open only to the north and south. otters, tortoises, and mahaseer were seen in the river. _ th_.--to sera, twenty-four miles, half the distance extended over the uncultivated base of the hills, and then over the low range itself, from which at two points, fine views are obtained of the vast plain of the punjab. throughout this vast surface the vegetation is exactly the same--euonymus continuing, peganum and _phulahi_ forming chief vegetation; numbers of white partridge occur. in the plains _dhah_ is found in profusion, especially where the cultivation is not extensive. a new acacia appears, the _kikkur_, forming groves about most of the villages. noticed the physaloides of lundykhanah. encamped under a fine mimosa and _bheir_ near an old serai which forms part of the village, with a splendid view of the himalayas stretching away from east to west. it appears from this direction as if there was only one low range between the plains and the culminating range of the himalayas. nothing like these mountains has been seen in khorassan. the chief cultivation about here is _nihi-joari_, then _bajra_--why is the former always bent? prickly pear common from where we crossed the jhilun river. a curious metamorphosis of sesamum is of common occurrence: the calyx being unchanged, while the corolla preserves somewhat its shape, but is foliaceous, the other organs are much transformed, the ovary less so than the stamina, but generally much enlarged; _ovules in leaves_ inside. this is worthy of examination, as it shows very plainly the origin of the stigmata from the placentae. _ th_.--halted owing to having been robbed of two horses. _ st_.--wuzerabad, twenty-four miles. ten miles from wuzerabad the road extended through a highly cultivated country, and crossed the chenab, on the left bank of which river wuzerabad is situated. the chenab is a fine river, the stream yards wide, but on either side extensive beds of sand show that the river during some seasons is of great width. wuzerabad is a nice well built town, having a fine straight bazaar, with paved street. the chief gateways and residences built by general avitabile. chilodia occurs in abundance, eleusine sp., e. coracana; _bajra_ and _joari nihi_ being the prevailing cultivation. it is curious that in phulahi major of sera and the _kikkur_, the young branches only are armed with thorns, so that the spines must be deciduous in certain species of mimosa. cactus is an instance of a calyx composed of a congeries of adherent leaves, which leaves produce from their axilla, tufts of white hair and thorns; or is it not an instance of an axis hollowed out towards the apex, to the sides of which the ovary finally adheres, in this case the outermost series of the perianth will be calyx; one reason for adopting this supposition, besides the axillary bodies, is that there is no gradation between the small concave leaves of the calyx, and the outer series of the perianth. _november st_.--halted for fishing: cyorinus mrigala, is the _mhoori_ of these parts; it grows to a large size, is a handsome fish, and is indeed considered the king of fishes by the punjabees. the intestines are in longitudinal folds of extremely small comparative diameter, and enormous length; in a large specimen it is twenty-three times the length of the body. the intestines of the _mahaseer_ are on the other hand only two and a quarter times the length of the body! of the fish obtained, two are perilamps, here called _rohi_, or cyprinides, or siluri, ophiocephali, esox. indeed i obtained a list of twenty-four species. _ nd_.--to goograuwala, twenty-four and a half miles, over a fine populous generally cultivated country. goograuwala is a large town, having the streets paved with brick like those of wuzerabad. cactus very common; _kikkur_ (mimosa) is the chief tree here about the _fukeer's_ abodes. the banyan also occurs. peganum and kochia of jallalabad continue. there is a fort of some size close to this town, built of mud; the ditch is unfinished, and not deep, it has a fau-se-braie, with bastions like those at peshawur and jumrood. the surface of the ground is much broken close up to it, the earth being taken away for bricks. _ rd_.--proceeded to koori, an inconspicuous village, belonging to m. court; it is surrounded by extensive plains, on which a tall grass occurs to a great extent. distance twenty-eight and a half miles, the time taken for to-day's journey was six and a quarter hours. the country is precisely similar to that previously noticed, the only new feature being the grassy plains, in which at some little distance from koori, deer, partridge, hares, etc. are said to abound. a sissoo-like tree is not uncommon. _ th_.--to shah durrah, twenty-three and a half miles at nunzul, eight miles from shah durrah, a fort with ditch out of repair was passed, at koori ten miles from shah durrah, passed a deep nullah called baghbuchah, with high banks, thence entered on a tract of country covered with saccharum, (_moong_), from which ropes are made; (this is the same as the chuch species,) we next entered on cultivation close to shah durrah, which place is well wooded. mangoe trees, _ams_, eugenia jambolana, _jams_, _bheirs_, phoenix, _kikkur_, and ficus, are the principal trees. the grassy tracts of the punjab represent probably the original vegetation, existing now only here and there owing to the extension of cultivation. from shah durrah lahore is visible, particularly the buildings of the mogul emperor's, consisting of a conspicuous dome in ruins, and some minarets, a large serai likewise going to ruin, standing in the immediate vicinity of the royal gardens, lahore is decidedly a handsome looking city viewed from shah durrah. so great is the tendency in palms to throw out roots towards the base, that these roots exist in the common _khujoor_, although they have to get rid of the indurated bases of the petioles before they can make their exit. they are so extremely short and indurate that it is difficult to imagine the function they perform; at first they are capable probably of absorbing from the air. _ th_.--proceeded to general court's house at lahore, distance six miles, the road after crossing the ravee river near a royal summer house of no extraordinary merits, passes on to the town, and then winds round under the simon boorge, a very striking part, at least exteriorly of the city, for the buildings, works, etc. are in good repair. besides this the ground outside is swardy and prettily wooded. chapter xxiii. _from lahore to simla_. lahore is surrounded by a ditch and wall, the work of former emperors' of delhi; the environs of the city, particularly towards m. court's residence, are studded with mosques, etc. mostly half ruined, and the ground is literally strewn with old bricks, so that the city must at one time have been an enormous one. seikh troops in large numbers are cantoned round to the east and south- east skirts of the town, in low pucka barracks. several low mounds apparently unconnected with ruins, occur in this direction. i arrived to hear of the death of kurruck sing, who was burned the same day with five women; after the ceremony a scaffolding fell down, wounding nehal sing dangerously in the head, and killing the son of goolab sing. late in the evening the maharajah was senseless. it is a curious thing, that the prince who this day ascended the _guddee_, and goolab sing, had been active intriguers against kurruck sing, who is said to have had his death hastened through chagrin at witnessing nehal sing's usurpation of power. _ th_.--not much cultivation was observed on the road to-day, which extended over a naked marshy saline plain, or through a _kureel_, and small _jundy_ and _phulahi_ district. to kanah, seventeen miles--_jundy_, _kureel_ and _bheir_ occur extensively. _jundy_ is a low prickly shrub, mimosa. there is something curious both in the surface of the cavity enclosing the seed, and in that of the seed itself of acacia serissa. the former presents the distinct appearance of a straight line, originating in the same spot as the funicle, and terminating in a very well marked, circular depression; it is formed by the funicle as far as the cells of the legume. if a section be made through the seed longitudinally and its cell parallel with the plane of the legume, this mark will be found on both sides of the cell, but more distinct on one than the other. the mark on the seed by no means relates to this, at least it does not correspond with it, for it consists of a somewhat reniform elevated ridge, the ends of which do not meet, but one of which originates from an elevation to which the depression would seem to respond. the straight line does not correspond with the funicle, which is not straight, but is pushed up in a curved form against the upper edge of the cell. it corresponds, however, with a straight subclavated line running from the hilum to the elevation whence the curved line originates, although this correspondence is not always well marked. [sketch of jundy seed: m .jpg] the above marking, corresponding as it does in the flat part of the legume with the funicle, evidently points to a peculiarity in the distribution of the vascular system; probably it consists of the testa, and if so, it is worthy of remark, as the main vessels ordinarily a single one, run along the edge, and not on the flat surface of the fruit. i know of no similar instance; in this plant the vessels of the testa are distributed primarily at right angles with the placenta, and not in parallel lines with that organ. if the seed were depressed instead of compressed, it would not present this peculiarity, although even then the two primary vessels would be remarkable. from this instance it may be assumed that the hilum may only be defined correctly as the spot of union between the body of the seed and the funiculus. the leaflets of the plumula are pinnate. it is also curious that the distribution of green parenchyma is along the course of the veins of the legume, and that there is a more minute reticulation, and a greater development of the green colour on the faces of the cells, than on any other part of the surface of the legume. there is no difference appreciable by the naked eye between the placental and dorsal sutures, with the exception of the sutural line of union, which has the usual relation with the axis of the head of the flowers--euphorbia occurs here. the affinity of cacteae with grossulaceae is questionable, the systems of organization being very different. query--what instances are there of affinity between inferior ovary plants, with distinct definite envelopes and stamina, and plants with a perhaps similar ovary, but with indefinite envelopes and definite stamina with a want of correspondence in the structure of the fruit? _ th_.--to kussoor, twenty miles. the road extended generally through a _jundy_ country: about half-way salvadora appears in abundance. kussoor is a large well-built town, consisting of three separate parts, each surrounded by a _pucka_ wall furnished with bastions: these three parts are at some distance from each other. _furas_ tree common. _ th_.--ferozepore. about this place two species of kochia occur, and artemisia is not uncommon. the serratuloides of alli-baghan and ichardeh in profusion, affording cover for game. _ th to st_.--loodianah. in the nullah, butomus begonifolius occurs. the following are the fish of loodianah taken both from the nullah and the sutledge. _roh_.--cyprinus (cirrhinus), a large, very handsome, excellent, orange- brown fish, takes a bait but is capricious. _rohoo_.--a sombre black-brown fish, intestines several times the length of the body, said to be the young of the above. both these are different from the roh or ruee of the ganges. _coorsah_.--labeo cursis, a definite scaled sombre fish, it is good food, and attains the size of two to three seers; intestines twice the length of the body, very narrow. _kkul bhans_.--cirrhinus calbasu, a sombre looking breamoid-shaped fish, attains the same size as the above, and is reputed to be excellent food. _mhirgh_.--gobio mrigala, a handsome fish, particularly when young; form very elegant, intestines fourteen times the length of the body; excellent food. _bura raiwah_.--gobio rewah, a very handsome, eight-cornered, scaled fish, with orange fins and golden sides: takes no bait? _chota raiwah_.--gobio occurs in shoals--either occupied in busily turning up its silvery sides against the bottom, or at the surface, above which it may be seen protruding its head. _bhangun_.--gobio, a handsome fish, not esteemed. _potea_.--systomus, takes bait--worms; affords good sport and reaches to one seer, but is not esteemed; colours ordinary. _systomus_, a beautiful fish, back shining green, sides yellow, scales beautifully striate, with a spot near the tail; mostly found in still water. _gonorrhynchus_.--snout rough, colours sombre, belly somewhat protuberant; found with systomus. the intestines are of the usual form of the genus. gonorrhynchus, a sombre smaller fish, found in still water. _bura chalwa_.--much esteemed as food in the districts of the sutledge. _perilampus_.--intestines shorter than the body, having at the lower end a short curve; above green, from lateral line downwards silvery. _moh_.--a _siluroid_ fish, does not attain the size of the real moh, which is a higher or deeper formed fish. _tengrei_.--silurus platycephalus. attains a very large size. _gudha_.--a percoid. colour irregular brown, mouth very protractile. _gughal_.--ophiocephalus, a handsome fish, back rich greenish, mottled brown, with or black spots on the sides, which are yellow, passing off into white, and a peacock spot on the tail. fins spotted with white: it reaches a large size. _bham_.--macrognathus, body eel-shaped, with a row of movable spines along the back. about loodianah, the naiad of affghanistan, monandra, stigmatibus reniformibus, is common in the nullah, so also is butomus begonifolius, but this may be a leafless form of sagittaria. towards roopur, sissoo becomes more and more common. roopur is a largish town, with a seikh pucka fort on a mound. the fort is surrounded by a dry ditch. the town is situated on a low, rather rugged ground, forming the first elevations of the surface towards the himalayas; beyond it to the north-east is a low spur, also to the west a similar spur, very barren, rugged, clayey rock forming the immediate bank of the river. every thing assimilates to the bukriala and jhilun ranges. saccharum, _moong_, as before, _bheir_ likewise occurs. phoenix, dalbergia sissoo, ficus, adhatoda, boerhaavia scandens, hyperanthera, morus, apluda, tamarisk, riccia, ammannia, euphorbia antiquorum, cactus, and dodonaea, form the chief vegetation. some rapids occur near the bungalow: the strongest is under a cliff on the opposite side; no fish rose to red or black hackle or orange flies, all which were tried in vain in the deep still water close under bungalow. the plants of this place are guilandina, grewia arbuscula in fruit, justicia, _bheir_, _neem_, mango, parkinsonia, the latter rare. fish caught in net are mullet, this fish is very active, and escapes by jumping over. silurus, mahaseer, several of the latter taken at a haul, the largest lbs., it is a beautiful fish with golden sides, scales black, with the anterior half bluish-black, posterior half tawny-yellow, fins orange, lips very thick and leathery; it lives half or three-quarters of an hour after it is taken out of its element. the _nepura_ of the natives, gobio malacostoma, or rock carp of gray, hardwicke's illustrations, is the _puhar-ka muchee_ of these parts: it has the base and edges of the scales dull greenish-blue, fins dusky, a transverse pink line across the scales; the length of the intestines is twenty-two and a half times that of the body, filled with mud and coloured pulp, stomach continuous with the intestine, and more fleshy, filled with green and whitish pulp, and disposed in longitudinal folds. the _bangun_, roh, (gobio) is a splendid fish, base and edges of the scales dusky brown, otherwise refulgent gilded, belly white, fins dusky, head greenish-brown, less gilding about the dorsal scales. this fish i have not seen elsewhere. length of intestines disposed in longitudinal folds, the posterior of which are nearly as long as abdominal cavity, the whole twenty-seven and a half times the length of the body. organization and contents as in _nepura_. the breadth or depth of this fish immediately behind the opercule three inches, across the body, opposite the first ray of dorsal fin, five inches, first ray of anal three inches, length twenty-two inches. query--in which part of a fish intestines like that of the mahaseer, is the chief digestion carried on? _ th_.--to nalighur bungalow, the distance rather less than sixteen, but over fourteen miles through a similar country to that round roopur. the road passes a large village called canowli; at rather less than about half-way it extended across a sandy dry river bed of some extent, on the right bank of which, at the highest part, is a seikh brick fort. the road subsequently passes the sursa, a small shallow rapid stream. the dry bed of which turns up on the south side of the low range to the south of nalighur valley. no change in vegetation takes place, except the occurrence of a croton, much like that of the pagoda near canowli. trees observed--eugenia jambolana, mangifera indica, ficus, _bheir_, _neem_ or melia azadarach, parkinsonia about the bungalow. toon, cordia, bauhinia, bambusa, emblica, morus, plumeria, mudar, saccharum, _moong_, bheir fruticos and kikkur are the most common indigenous forms. dhak in patches here and there: cassia also occurs. nalighur consists of a village and fort, the latter situated to the north- east half-way up a range of hills, the country about very barren. indeed the aspect of the country is much like that between hussun abdul and the jhilun, except in the rarity of _phulahi_. a great affinity exists in foliation between terebinthace and sapindaceae. also both in foliation, flowers, and habit, between myrtaceae and guttiferae, the only material differences being in aroma, and adherent ovary. the plants observed about nalighur bungalow, exclusive of species collected, were cassia lanceolatoid, this is the common indian _tora_, acacia, _rairoo_, achyranthes aspera, digera arvensis, polanisia viscosa, carissa, carandas, bheir frutex, coccinea communis, cucurbita, sida multilocularis, amaranthus? spicatus, cassia fistula. eleusine _echinata_; poa very common, as well as _dhoob_. in gardens--tabernamontana coronaria, _bhee_, chrysanthemum double and ligulate. of birds, _pica vagans_. _ th_.--from nalighur to ramgurh, a good ten miles. the road first ascends through and above the town, then follows a short twisting descent, and soon after a very long but not very steep ascent, until it comes over the ravine of the ramgurh river, and the descent to that torrent; thence an uninterrupted steep ascent about as much as the descent to ramgurh. there is no bungalow at this stage, merely a few shops and sheds. the fort is situated to the left of and feet above the town. from ramgurh to sahee bungalow, the distance is eight miles, there is a steep descent to sursa torrent, which contains very little water, then a rather long and gradual ascent, then descend to the gumbur river. the road then extends up this ascent for one and a half mile, and continues ascending on the right bank until within half a mile of the bungalow, to which there is a slight descent. there is no made road along the gumbur, and i missed or did not observe the soorog river. the gumbur is a clear, good-sized stream, fordable about the rapids, bed narrow confined. the hills traversed were comparatively barren, and decidedly uninteresting. however much in appearance they may here and there assimilate to the khorassan hills, no identity in vegetation exists except perhaps in the apocynum found at attock. the country is cultivated with great labour, and the villages though small are numerous, and present a look of plenty, like english white-washed cottages. there is a difference between the vegetation of the hills near the plains and those in the interior. on the former there are scarcely any trees, and adhatoda occurs in greater profusion than elsewhere. the himalayan provinces here present an extreme affinity with the same range to the eastward, as bootan and mussoorie, but the forms are by no means so frequent--i.e. species are not so numerous. throughout the above twenty- eight miles the vegetation is tropical: a few european forms occur as one gets into the hills, but they are of no great value. the chief arboreous vegetation consists of rubiaceae, mimoseae, cassiaceae (_bauhinia_), bignoniaceae, and myrtaceae. these are much the most common between ramgurh and the ridge over naligurh. here also nyctanthes is very common; zanthoxylon also occurs here and there like an ash. on the ridge above ramgurh, adhatoda is very common; carandas likewise occurs, but is not very common; eranthemoides is rather common, but this occurs in profusion on the descent; cassia tora, o. lanceolata, and peristrophe occur. on the descent from the above ridge, porana appears. lemon-grass, bambusifolia, cryptogramae calamelanos, adiantum flagelliformis. on the long ascent grislea, acacia, bheir, zanthoxylon, cordia, nyctanthes, myrtaceae - , wendlandia, bignonia, randia, and two or three other trees about houses, a species of ficus; euphorbia antiquorum common on the drier parts. on the ascent from the torrent, the vegetation is thick. bauhinia scandens, carandas, butea, erythrina, neither common, others as before: loranthus. at ramgurh, peepul, erythrina, rhus planted; euphorbia antiquorum very common, cassia tora, c. lanceolata, carandas common, kalanchoe integrifolia, adhatoda not rare, scarcely a single wild tree. scutellaria occurs on the descent. rubus, berberis, gnaphalium. on the ascent from sursa, geranium, clematis, asparagus, trichodesma of the plains, bombax (young), bambusa, hiroea, dioscorea, fragaria, adiantum flagelliformis, calomelanos, saccharum, _moong_, acacia, adhatoda, vitex, etc. as before, but trees are not common, except ficus and _bheir_ in profusion. descent to the gumbur the same. pyrus pomum appears, carandas, anatherum muricatum, briedleioides common. along the gumbur river, pyrus, adhatoda, mimosa, dalbergia sissoo, myrtaceae, euphorbia, etc. continue as before. between nalighur and the commencement of the descent to the gumbur, and especially between the sursa and that descent, the chief vegetation is tropical grasses, such as andropogons. along the gumbur, the hills are well covered with tall bushes. carandas common, but little if any grass. fossil shells are found along the gumbur. of birds pica vagans, haematornis, and several sylviae were observed. about sahi, young pinus longifolia; all around, the hills are of the same aspect. no fish were seen in the gumbur, although i crossed it several times. the view of the plains shows the commencement of the great chain stretching out in low, very much undulated hillocks, precisely as in khorassan. _ th_.--proceeded from syree to konyar: this i think the longest of the marches to loodianah, and is nothing but one series of ascents and descents chiefly along the gumbur ravine: at the foot of ascent to the konyar, the road crosses a considerable stream, and nearly at the summit of the ascent, branches off to soobathoo. konyar is a rather large village, well ornamented with trees, in rather a fine sort of valley, every inch of which is cultivated. the tank adjacent to the village is well stocked with nelumbium. to syree, the distance is eight and a half to nine miles. the road crosses the konyar village and valley, then ascends to the south-east, and continues ascending gradually by an excellent road for a considerable way, then it skirts a ridge and comes on the grand soobathoo road. from this a short but steep ascent, followed by a descent of a mile and a quarter, conducts you to the bungalow. no change occurs in the vegetation. the hills are more grassy and more bare of trees, especially near syree, but this is partly owing to cultivation. the principal woody feature is euphorbia antiquorum. the plants before noticed occur throughout, except about syree, where scarcely a shrub is to be seen, nothing but burnt up grasses. at sahi, roylea appears, also an odd-looking modeeca and a deeringia. near these is also an asplenium, echites. at konyar, prinsepia appears, and continues becoming more and more frequent up to syree. towards this place v. reniformis is seen, not a single northern grass, although syree must be nearly , feet high. at sahi, pinus longifolia, phoenix, salix, and polygonum of chugur-serai; this is common as far as konyar. acacia, carandas, urtica nivea. rice cultivated. about three miles beyond it, there is a beautiful ravine with dense jungle and fine trees, chiefly laurinea, and i think a rhus; this is the only spot i have seen reminding me of the himalaya to the eastward. at konyar--toon, morus, musa, deeringia, berberis, briedleia. the hills are as usual marked with wavy parallel lines, on which nothing appears to grow. these lines are united by smaller oblique ones, whence their origin? _ th_.--to simla. the road extends over undulated ground along ridges until the foot of the great ascent is reached; this is long and steep, especially steep at the first, or buttiara pass, where it turns to the face of the mountain, and extends through beautiful woods. the ground frozen, with some snow; from this to simla the road is tolerably level, and defended on the _khudd_, or precipice side by a railing. it then passes through fir woods, etc. in which the exceedingly pretty jay of bharowli is common. the vegetation to the foot of the ascent, and nearly half-way up, is unchanged. andropogoneous grasses forming the prevailing feature; but little arboreus or shrubby vegetation occurs. about halfway between syree and this an ascent takes place, on which daphne, hypericum, and echinops occur. near syree--bombax, ruta albiflora, daphne, pteris aquilina, clutia, aspidium, polytrichum nanum and aloides, hypericum, berberis, rubus, prinsepia, rosa, jubrung, grislea, (rare,) clematis, cerasus, _datura_, _bukhein_, citrus, spermacoce, poederia azurea, and andropogon bambusifolia were observed. ficus two species, ficus repens, pommereullioid spicis longis, rubia mungista, galium, polygonum of chugur, carissa, (rare,) amaranthaceae, conyza. the great ascent is very instructive; half-way up observed gaultheria, conspicuous from its blood-coloured leaves; an oak occurs commonly but stunted, and a few stunted pinus longifolia. buddlaeoides occurs two-thirds of the way up, with mespilus microphyllus, alpina, labiata and pyrus. the oaks and gaultheria increase in number and size towards bithuria, conaria. the first to cease is euphorbia. at the summit berberis, polygonum of chugur, rubus deltoideus, conyza and prinsepia may be found, but to no extent. from this to simla the vegetation is chiefly northern. nothing definite is observable with regard to the distribution of forests about simla. the principal secondary ranges, including the choor, which is quite void of shrubby vegetation, is about north-east and south-west; generally the southern aspects of those ridges on which forests occur is bare; of this, there is a notable instance--muhassoo. mount jacka, which looks east and west by its broad faces, has both densely enough wooded with oak, euonymus, rhododendron, gaultheria, and ilex, but the ridge which looks to the plains is bare. some ridges again are quite bare, as that lowish one between mounts jacka and muhassoo. the thickest and most humid woods decidedly occur on the northern faces of the ridges; and all about simla instances of this occur. such spots are at simla so much sheltered from the sun, that the snow which fell on the rd november is scarcely diminished. even in these there is no comparison in luxuriance and variety of vegetation with the mishmee or bootan portions of the same stupendous chain. the trees are few in number as regards species, the only ones i have observed are a species of oak which is very common, forming the chief vegetation of the northern faces, and of both those of mount jacka. the scarlet rhododendron which occurs in the highest parts of the woods, an occasional pyrus, benthamia, euonymus, gaultheria very common, also pinus deodara, longifolia, and excelsa; of these the deodar is most common. ilex, a pretty tree, occurring on mount jacka. the following forms also i have noticed--saxifraga ciliata, berberis asiatica, and gnaphalia three or four species, which are chiefly confined to grassy naked ridges. thymus is also confined to these. ruta albiflora is very common in woods; dipsacea and artemisia on exposed grassy spots; swertia is common in damp places; spiraea bella, ledum, stemodia, epilobium, viola, saccharum rubrum, valeriana, fragaria, galium, clematis, rosa, rubus, rumex, leguminosae, coronilloid, smilax. acanthaceae, androsaceae, particularly a gnaphalioides common on the exposed ridge of mount jacka; myrsinea frutex, parnassia common, salix fruticosa; on prospect point, lycopodium, herminioid, epipactis, orchideae aliae, scitamineae. elaeagnus, mespilus microphyllus, polygonum of chugur; or amaranthaceae; prinsepia, rare; very little variety in ferns; pteris chrysocarpa, aspidium pungens, and another are the most common; nor is there any variety in epiphytous ferns, and very few jungermannias. the mosses are bartramia, catharinea, polytrichum aloides on banks with fissidens, otherwise hypna are the most prevalent. a neckera hangs from every tree, and a pterogonio neckeroid covers almost every trunk, a brachymenium is likewise common. altogether, though numerous, there is no great variety in form. on the summit of chaka, quercus, gaultheria, and rhododendron are common; with here and there a deodar. on the east face of that mountain consisting of a long ridge, grasses form the chief vegetation, among which andropogons and schoenanthus are not uncommon, gnaphalia and artemisia occur; thymus, androsace gnaphalioides, potentilla, coronilloid, labiata frutex, jasminum, rosa, mespilus microphyllus, clematis, cnicus, rubus, labiata alia, galium, swertia, salvia were noticed. of the tropical forms, andropogoneous grasses are most common, saccharum rubrum of the khasyah mountains, desmodium, acanthaceae, and elaeagnus, which last occurs on prospect point. saccharum rubrum extends up to , feet. the woods generally on the surface are matted down with grasses or carexes, so that there is no variety of surface for the lower orders; in such places, ophiopogon is very common. regarding the coniferae, pinus excelsa is the rarest, deodar is the most common; longifolia occurs principally on a southern projection from chaka, and on the south face of the mall ridge. _december th_, _ _.--went to mount fagoo. after passing mount jacka, or chaka, you come on a bare country which continues at least on all the southern aspects until you reach the ascent to muhassoo, which is at first steep, then gradual and long; the vegetation remains unchanged until the muhassoo ascent is begun upon; then rhododendron, quercus and gaultheria soon cease, and their places are occupied by a quercus much like q. semecarpifolius, pinus excelsa also occurs rather abundantly, and of good size, the other vegetation continues. the first part of muhassoo, along which the road runs for some hundred yards under its crest, is occupied by grassy vegetation, chiefly andropogon and schoenanthus; gnaphalia, buddlaea, labiata, polygonum of chugur, thymus, etc., and the crest of the same is chiefly occupied by the undescribed oak. but where the ridge takes a north and south direction, the west face becomes almost exclusively occupied by deodars, among which as one proceeds up, pinus smithiana occurs; after turning again close to the little bazar on the north face, the road continues on this side to fagoo, extending through a heavy and magnificent forest of pinus smithiana and quercus semecarpifolius, the deodar almost ceasing to appear; occasional knolls are passed, on which grasses, gnaphalium, etc. occur, the scenery is very beautiful, the trees being ornamented with the grey pendulous lichen, and with neckerae, particularly the dark neckera pendula. the underwood consists here and there of shrubs, but generally herbaceous vegetation, as grasses, gnaphalia, etc. in fact muhassoo is genuinely himalayan. from fagoo eastward the country is bare, except at great elevations; near muttiara to the north, forest-clad mountains occur, also at huttoo, and far away to the eastward other fir-clad ridges appear. it may be said that the really fine forests are restricted above, within , feet. the smithia pine is a really fine tree, often feet high, and three to five feet in diameter, known by its downward curved branches, pendulous branchlets, and pendulous oblong cones: many dead trees from the effects of barking were observed. it is worthy of remark, that potatoes are now cultivated in these woods. the deodar is not so large as smithia, and is known by its tabular branches and ovoid erect cones. andropogoneous grasses occur high up; even at the summit acanthaceae occur, scarcely any change in the terrestrial ferns, among which adiantum is found in profusion along the road, little change in mosses, a polytrichum occurs at the higher elevations, also a dicranum on dead trunks of trees. the only new arboreous vegetation consists in an acer, which is a small tree, also a small poplar and quercus semecarpifolius, this varies greatly, pinus smithiana, limonia laureola, a shrubby rhododendron. fagoo is only , feet above the adjacent heights. on the edge of the forest, the following genera, etc. were noticed--spiraea bella and s. aruncus,* berberis asiatica, swertia, grasses common, gnaphalium, senecio., epilobium, pteris chysocarpa, p. aquilina, adiantum, aspidium, rumex, the labiata fruticosa of jacka, potentilla sanguinea, artemisia, coronilloid, androsacea, gnaphalioid, epipactis, carex, cnicus, viola, valerianum, jasminum,* viburnum,* v. aliud, populus,* silene, mespilus microphyllus, verbascum, thapsia, ilex, euonymus, loniceroid, acer,* eriogonoid,* geranium scandens.* bupleuroid, polytrichum, rosa, rubus, salex fruticosa,* fragaria, crataegus,* saxifraga crassifolia, viscum, rubia cordifolia. * means altitudinal. viscum has one attachment, but from this many branches spring after the form of the primary one. muhassoo is of great extent, because an arm of the mountain extends to the south, and there assumes a considerable height, equal to that of muhassoo itself, and equally well wooded. it is of all other situations about simla the proper place for collecting. the succession of the pines in these regions is as follows:-- p. longifolia, dry barren spots, from , to , feet, as rhododendrum arboreum. p. excelsa, from , to , feet, no groups occur. p. deodars, from , to , feet, especially on southern faces. p. smithiana, from , to , feet, and is in the highest perfection on north faces. one thing remarkable is the wide ranges of the above forms, for excepting those marked with an asterisk, all are found about simla. the most common herbaceous family on muhassoo is compositae, and very strange to say, most of its forms, as indeed the others, excepting some of the trees, are found on the khasyah mountains at much lower elevations, and much lower latitudes. of birds the _cone-eater_ of bootan occurs. _ th_.--to annandale, a pretty level spot, some , feet below simla, remarkable for its beautiful grove of deodars. of the wild grasses they are almost all exclusively tropical forms, paniceous or andropogoneous. the chief cultivation of the hills, atriplex sanguinea, _bhatoo vena_, some fine walnut trees, mulberries, also celtoidea? _kirrack ven_, zanthoxylon. passed a herd of red-rumped monkeys; the crooked-tailed _lungoor_ is also found here. rich vegetation extends down the southern slope, where there is a waterfall. it is curious that both here and in annandale the deodar grows to a large size, although naturally its range does not extend so low as this slope. passed a beautiful temple, surrounded with fine deodars. ferns occur in more abundance, thence downwards woodwardia, dicksonia? cyatheoides, and adiantum. mosses also occur on the dripping rocks. an alnus also occurs. no fish were visible in the streamlet. peristrophe occurs throughout from roopur to simla. epiphytous or at least _epirupous_ scitaminia. hedychium is found on rocks on this slope, which would give an elevation of about , feet. on the sunny sides of hills about simla, dicerma is found, this is one of the most tropical forms. no epiphytous orchidea are seen. and of birds enicurus, the redstart of torrents, and myophonus were observed. chapter xxiv. _heights and latitudes of the stations visited in_ _affghanistan_. { } "the subjoined table contains the latitudes and the altitudes of the principal stations passed through by the late dr. griffith during the cabul campaign in - , from his original observations. the altitudes for the latitudes were taken with the sextant and the artificial horizon, and the results throughout are so nearly coincident, that it may be relied on the latitudes herein given are correct to within half a minute in space. [formula for latitude/elevation: m .jpg] _latitudes_, _and elevations above the sea_, _of the various_ _localities visited in affghanistan_. [lat/el. : tle .jpg] [lat/el. : tle .jpg] [lat/el. : tle .jpg] notes. { a} major thomson, c. b., engineers, from whom as well as all the officers of the same corps, mr. griffith experienced much kindness in affghanistan. { b} _racoma nobilis_, calcutta journ. nat. hist. vol. ii, p. . t. xv fig. . subfam. schizothoracinae. { c} calcutta journal natural history, vol. ii. p , t, xv. f. . { } it is also on a northern declivity. { } on a hill near the bungalow are the tombs of lieuts. burlton and beddinfield, two distinguished officers murdered by the natives in . { } although in former times it must have been of some note, the vicinity is strewed with sculptured stones and columns, of which the modern buildings are constructed. these remains present the form and proportions of european architecture, and exhibit considerable taste. { } the rank of the chiefs of various nations on the frontiers of assam depends on the number of skulls of vanquished enemies, which decorate their houses. the mishmee trophies, as appears from the author's account in the journ. as. soc. may , consist of the skulls of cattle only. { } _trigonocephalus mucrosquamatus_, afterwards described in proc. zool. soc. , vid. cal. journ. nat. hist. vol. , p. . { a} subsequently described from this specimen in the proceedings of the zoological society, march , . cal. journ. nat. hist. vol , p. . { b} _gonorhynchus bimacalutus_, _g_. _brachypterus_, _perilompus_ _aequipinnatus_, and _cobitis phoxocheila_, which have been all since described from these specimens in the th vol. as. res. beng. { } afterwards crossed by the author in his journey into burma. { } for a narrative of lieut. wilcox's visit to the mishmee mountains, see as. res. vol. xvii. p. . { } mithun is, according to the author, a peculiar species of ox. { } subsequently described by the author in an important communication to the linnaean society. { } one of the most influential of the singpho chiefs, whose influence at this period kept upper assam unsettled. { } a burmese authority. { } probably major r. bruce of the rajah's service, one of the superintendents of tea cultivation. { } for the whole of this able communication, detailing the object and results of his visit to the mishmee mountains, see journ. as. soc. beng. may . { } see reports of the coal committee, , p. . { a} see description by the author, as. res. bengal, vol. xix. { b} since described from these specimens as _calamaria monticola_, and _dipsas monticola_. vide proc. zool. soc. march th , and cal. journ. nat. hist. vol. i. pp. - . { c} as. res. vol. xix. p. . { } dr. bayfield was deputed by the resident at ava to meet the party from assam on the burmese frontier. { } this is one of the mountain barbels, _oreinus_, probably _o_. _guttatus_, as. res. vol. xix. p. . { } a barbel, and an oreinus, or mountain barbel. { a} _opsarius gracilus_, as. res. vol. xix. p. . { b} a species of barbel; probably _b_. _deliciosus_, as. res. xix. p. . { } since described as _cyprinus semiplotus_, as. res. vol. xix. p. . { } this would seem to be coal formation, in which amber is frequently found. it occurs, for instance, in the spurious coal of kurribori, e. of rungpore. { } the reading of this passage is obscure, the ms. being very faintly written in pencil. { } introd. nat. syst. p. . { } the preceding eight pages within brackets are written faintly in pencil. { a} the usual route is to kujoo ghat, about five miles below moodoa mookh, thence through sooroo, kujoo, etc. to the booree dihing. { b} by the karam and this other branch, on which old beesa was situated, all the water which formerly supplied the noa dihing now passes into the booree dihing. { } most of the singphos subject to our control are located between kujoo ghat and the booree dihing, as well as on the banks of this river and in the valley of the tenga panee. { } the existence of petroleum is of value as connected with the solution of caoutchouc. { } the affix nam, signifies in the shan language a river or stream. { a} the word _kha_ is singfo, and signifies a river. { b} here capt. hannay and myself were met by mr. bayfield. { c} khioung, or kioung, signifies a small river in the burmese language. { d} bhoom is the singfo word for mountain. { a} which we forded a few miles below isilone; depth of the ford from two to four feet. { b} in this direction the valley is nearly miles in length. { } this river rises in a conspicuous range, well known by the name of shewe down-gyee, or great golden mountain. { } this is certainly not the ulukhor of buch. hamilton's statistics of dinajpoor. { } probably from a species of sterculia. { } the toung-bein of the burmese. { } many of these hills are inhabited by kukkeens, who do a great deal of mischief, and whose annual depredations remain unchecked and unpunished. { } serpentine is occasionally found in the bed of the nam-marsan. { } especially on the right bank. { } it must be observed that kamein is several miles out of the route from the mogoung river to mogoung itself, we visited it en route to the serpentine mines. { } this is the site of the fossil bones discovered by mr. crawfurd. { } these brackets are shown in the text turned through degrees. - l. b. { } the kullung rock is a most striking object from its artificial dome- like appearance. it is composed of granite resting on an elevated plateau of soft friable gneiss. this last in mouldering away, leaves numerous rounded boulder-like masses of granite on the surface, which from their hardness, resist the action of the atmosphere amidst the surrounding decay of the softer rock. { } for original notice of the discovery of this raised beach, see journal of the asiatic society, september , p. ; and an account of the difference of level in indian coal fields, vol. vii, , p. of the same work; also description of cyrtoma a new genus of fossil echinida, calcutta journal of nat. hist. vol. i, p. . { } simia hylobates agilis. { } raised on posts. { } see journal asiatic society of bengal, vol,--feb. . { a} eastern thibet. { b} for this and similar figures, see { } { c} _barbus hexagonolepis_, asiatic res. xix.--pl. f. , pp. , , . { d} cyprinus semiplotus as. res. xix.--pl. . f. , pp. , . { a} opsarius gracilus, as. res. vol. xix. { b} see { } { } such figures may be thus read. temp. of the air degrees fah., that of boiling water . degrees. { a} relative heights. { b} these figures refer to woollaston's thermetrical barometer. { } centropus nigrorufus. { } _oreinus progastus_, as. res. vol. xix. pl. , fig. . { } referred to by the author as an anthemidioid, and on one occasion as _santonica achilleoidea_. { } schizothorax edeniana, cal. journ. nat. hist. vol. ii. p. . { a} schizothoracinae. { b} cobitis marmorata, see calcutta journal of nat. hist. vol. ii, p. , where the fishes collected by mr. griffith in these parts are described. { } salmo orientalis, calcutta, journ. nat. hist. vol. iii. p. . throughout southern asia, including the punjab, and both plains and peninsula of india properly so called, no species exists of the trout family or salmonidae. their discovery in the streams descending from the northern declivity of the hindoo-koosh distinguishes that chain as the southern boundary or limit of the family. it is also remarkable that the hindoo-koosh should likewise be the exclusive province of a numerous group of small scaled cyprinidae, met with only in the rivers of affghanistan, consisting of the genera, schizothorax, racoma, and oreinus, of which one or two species only have been found to extend south along the plateau of the himalaya, as far as degrees n., while the bulk of the family is confined to degrees n. see calcutta journ. nat. hist. vol. ii. p. t. xv. { } this alludes to a sketch of the valley. { } melia. { } for the particulars of this attack in which mr. griffith nearly lost his life, the reader is referred to extracts from private correspondence. { } these sketches, together with the author's further views on the subject, will be more appropriately incorporated in the second part of his posthumous papers, entitled 'icones plantarum asiaticarum,' and 'notulae ad plantas asiaticas.' { } nearly allied to _cobitis chlorosoma_, as. res. vol. xix, pl. , f. . { } this is an undescribed species if not an undescribed genus, and was by some mischance lost from the collections; it may properly, when described, receive the name of the author, who was the first to notice so remarkable a form. { } it is chiefly important as a generic, not as a specific character, see _november st_. { } the editor is indebted to the kindness of mr. curnin, not only for the note with which this table of heights and latitudes is introduced, but also for the construction of the table itself from the results of observations for latitudes alone, and an equal number almost for altitudes. from edinburgh to india and burmah [illustration: ayah and child] from edinburgh to india & burmah by w. g. burn murdoch author of "from edinburgh to the antarctic," "a procession of the kings of scotland," etc. _with twenty-four full-page illustrations in colour from paintings by the author_ london george routledge & sons, ltd. new york: e. p. dutton & co. _to_ st. c. c. contents chap. i introducing these digressions. point of departure. edinburgh street scenes. flying impressions from the train to london. street scenes there -- the park and regent street. the people in the streets. our royalties gone, and loyalty -- going. piccadilly circus by night, and mount street. pp. - chap. ii london to tilbury, and the platform at victoria station. the embarkation on a p. & o. a bugle call. the luxury of being at sea. the bay, and "spun yarns" on to - chap. iii orpheus and the argo and the sirens in heavy weather. down the portugese coast. high art in the engine-room. our people going east. a blustery day, and the straits of gibraltar. gib and spain, and "poor barbara." - chap. iv a blue day at sea, and castles in spain. a fire alarm, and a dummy dinner. the beautiful french lady. marseilles and the crowd on the wharf. _bouillabaisses_, and réjane, and cyrano, etc., and the head of a serang for a tail-piece. - chap. v about the crowd on board, and the discomfort of a voyage first class -- british types -- reflections on the deck and on the sea -- of sky, and people, and of things in general. a p. & o. yarn, old junk, or chestnut. respectability and art. it gets warm -- the punkah infliction. egypt in sight, and the nile water. port said and its inhabitants -- jock furgusson and ors. corsica, sardinia, lipari islands, stromboli, crete, and the acts of the apostles. - chap. vi the saddest thing in egypt -- dancing in the canal, and the search-light on the desert -- the fizzling hot blue red sea, and digressions about rose-red italian wine, & ulysses, and callum bhouie, and uisquebaugh. - chap. vii is still about the red sea -- "the barren rocks of aden," and small talk about small events on board -- a fancy dress dance, and sports, and so on to bombay. - chap. viii is -- without apologies -- of first impressions of india; and about the landing and entertainments of their royal highnesses the prince and princess of wales -- great people and little people, and their affairs; royal receptions to snake-charmers -- illuminations, gun-firing, and the bands playing god save the king -- edward the --? - chap. ix this chapter continues to deal with splendid royal shows, and there is the precis of a dream of a prince and an a.d.c., who correct the abuses of the privileges of the royal academies. - chap. x and this is about the arrival of lord minto, and the departure of lord curzon, and the tomasha connected therewith; vice-regal receptions, and processions, and more band playing, and gun-firing. - chap. xi chronicles small beer -- things about books and little indian beasts and natives, and there is another digression to the subject of "english _v._ british union, and the imperial idea," and a sail over the bay with a piratical (looking) crew, to the caves of elephanta. - chap. xii is a somewhat lengthy drawn-out chapter about a train journey from bombay up the western ghats, and down south on the deccan (dekkan) tableland to dharwar -- rather a "carpet-bag chapter," to quote professor masson. - chap. xiii dharwar. my brother's bungalow. life in a small station. the club. duck-shooting - chap. xiv a letter on the subject of duck -- and a cholera goddess. - chap. xv last evening at dharwar, then notes in the train south to bangalore. - chap. xvi is of notes and sketches about things you see in bangalore. - chap. xvii is of a long journey for a small shoot -- life on the railway line, and a letter about snipe. our day's shoot is cut in two by the royal procession, and we go to the embassy, then to jail, and make a picture of the bazaar by lamplight, and discourse on the subject of music with the maharajah of mysore. - chap. xviii is about the maharajah's palace at mysore -- to seringapatam in trollies -- remarks about the siege, mosquitoes, and landscape -- back to mysore, and dinner on the track. - chap. xix channapatna village, and a free tip to artists -- our camp in a railway siding in "beechen green, and shadows numberless" -- thoughts of madras and the ocean again -- how we rule india, and _ghosts_ on the railway track -- a bank in india, and about cooking, and the indian squirrel or chip-monk -- the maharajah -- red chupprassies -- the museum, and ants, etc., etc. - chap. xx _en route_ for madras -- a plague inspection in the grey of the morning -- madras and blue southern ocean, through tamarisks, and the silvery cooum and fishermen seine-netting on the strand -- the race-course -- the old fort of the company -- dinner at the fort, and the people we saw there; and of those we remembered who once lived there -- a digression from crows to ancient naval architecture, and the new order of precedence. - chap. xxi a delightful fishing day -- surf rafts. -- making calls -- boating on the adyar river -- a sunday in madras churches, and on a surf raft -- end of the year. - chap. xxii st jan. . -- call at government house -- the fort again -- more about surf rafts -- lord ampthill's government house reception -- nabobs and nobodies. -- fireworks and pretty dresses, and the band playing. - chap. xxiii out of madras, and on the blue sea again, bound west to burmah -- packed with natives -- an unsavoury passage ruskin's english and native essayists. - chap. xxiv golden burmah, and the golden pagoda -- a gymkhana dance -- sketching at the pagoda entrance -- various races -- bachelor's quarters -- the shan camp -- princesses and chieftains, and their followings -- mr bertram carey, c.i.e. -- the peace of the platform of the shwey dagon pagoda. - chap. xxv "the blairin' trumpet sounded far," and the prince comes over the sea, and lands at rangoon -- receptions and processions; pandols, shamianas; and royal tomasha -- illuminations at night on the lake, and the royal barges -- song about our king emperor -- we start for mandalay by river-boat up the irrawaddy. - chap. xxvi the flotilla co. -- bassein-creek mosquitoes -- searchlight fantasies fairy-like scenes on the river by night and day -- up stream on a perfect yacht -- past perfectly lovely villages and scenes -- the nile nowhere -- mr fielding hall -- riverside delights -- prome -- pagodas -- the prince comes down the river. - chap. xxvii thayet myo, th jany. -- it gets cooler -- thoughts of big game -- watteau trees -- sweet pea dresses -- country scenes -- popa mountain -- the fanes of pagan -- a little about shooting and geese -- and the pleasures of the river life to end of chapter. - chap. xxviii the shore at mandalay -- the queen's (supayalat) golden kioung or monastery -- street scenes -- the arrakan pagoda, and scenes for a rubens or rembrandt -- the mecca of this eastern asia -- burmese women bathing -- a burmese harper -- the phryne in hunting green kirtle -- mingun and the pagoda that was to have been the biggest in the world, and the -ton bell -- mr graham's house -- life on s.s. "mandalay" at the mandalay shore -- king thebaw's palace. - chap. xxix away to bhamo! off again -- in a cargo steamer up river to the end of the empire this way -- the markets on board and burmese life -- changing views, flowers, sunlight and swirling river -- fishing -- geese -- painting -- cascades of beautiful people, snipe-shooting, and more fishing. - chap. xxx anchor up -- mist on the river -- "stop her" -- pagodas and cane villages -- fishing with fly; a -lber -- the elephant kedar camp -- animal life on the river banks -- we go aground -- the crew strike work -- we get away again -- kalone to katha. - chap. xxxi sunshine and haar -- children of cleutha -- moda -- girls and old ladies of upper burmah -- we meet a punitive expedition, sikhs and ghurkas under a gunner-officer returning from chin hills to bhamo -- fog banks and the second defiles -- jungle scenery -- shans and kachins at sinkan -- we go shopping on an elephant at bhamo -- china street -- a chinese gentleman's house -- the joss house -- painting in a chinese crowd -- marooned. - chap. xxxii the d.-c. bungalow -- roses, orchids, and "the mystery." - chap. xxxiii many pages, lengthy, descriptive, of an expedition in canoes, and on elephant back through pucca jungle to shoot snipe, and of our entertainment in the evening at the military police fort, with kachin dances in moonlight -- a review of kachin native police. - chap. xxxiv preparations for our pilgrimage into china -- our servants, ponies, and live stock -- on the road -- from bhamo to the back parts of china -- the first rest-house. - chap. xxxv kalychet -- a mid-day halt and mahseer fishing -- views in the kachin highland forests -- rivers -- "seven bens and seven glens" -- caravans on the track -- the taiping river -- a spate -- fishing - chap. xxxvi "on the water" continued -- nampoung -- the edge of the empire -- six to seven thousand feet up, and cold at night. - chap. xxxvii nampoung river -- a fish in the bag, a cup, and a pipe, by the river side -- we wade into china -- meet the chinese army and wade back -- another cast in the taiping -- "g" collects many orchids -- from kalychet to momouk -- riding in the sun in the morning and back to the plains alas! a pleasant evening with the military police. a study of a kachin beauty, and of an average type of upper burmese girl -- good-bye bhamo -- paddling down the irrawaddy -- more river-side notes -- a. . shooting, to the writer's mind -- the luxury of a cargo boat of the flotilla company -- deep sea chanties, and mandalay again. - chap. xxxviii we drop from the comfort of the cargo steamer to the comparative discomfort of the train at rangoon -- another plaguey inspection -- another joyous embarkation on another b.i. boat -- calcutta -- benares and its ghats; after the golden beauty of burmah! -- street scenes and riverside horrors -- a muddle of indecencies and religions -- a superior fakir's portrait -- , , gods -- an artist's private deductions -- _les indes sans le british_ -- delhi and agra. - chap. xxxix india generally speaking, as a preamble to several pages about black buck shooting. the taj mahal not described -- sha jehans portrait. - list of coloured illustrations by author and "g." _by author_ ayah and child _frontispiece_ a glimpse of the north sea _to face page_ piccadilly circus, by night a spanish woman a café, port said aden, and fan-sellers waiting for carriages after reception at government house, bombay lord minto's landing in india a reception in government house, bombay. sailing from elephanta an indian tank a street corner, bangalore entrance to the shwey dagon pagoda, rangoon h.r.h. prince and princess of wales landing at the boat club, rangoon a burmese harpist a priests' bathing pool a chinese joss house a kachin girl a girl of upper burmah a fakir at benares a delhi street scene _illustrations by "g_." a sacred lake near rangoon sunset on the irrawaddy mid-day on the irrawaddy, distant ruby mountains chapter i [illustration] some time ago i wrote a book about a voyage in a whaler to the far south, to a white, silent land where the sun shines all day and night and it is quiet as the grave and beautiful as heaven--when it is not blowing and black as--the other place! a number of people said they liked it, and asked me to write again; therefore these notes and sketches on a journey to india and burmah. they may not be so interesting as notes about antarctic adventure and jolly old shell backs and south spainers on a whaler; but one journal ought at least, to be a contrast to the other. the first, a voyage on a tiny wooden ship with a menu of salt beef, biscuit, and penguin, to unsailed seas and uninhabited ice-bound lands; the other, in a floating hotel, with complicated meals, and crowds of passengers, to a hot land with innumerable inhabitants. i trust that the sketches i make on the way will help out my notes when they are not quite king's-english, and that the notes will help to explain the sketches if they are not sufficiently academical for the general reader, and moreover, i fondly believe that any journal written in the east in these years of grace - , must catch a little reflected interest from the historic visit of their royal highnesses the prince and princess of wales to india and burmah. edinburgh is our point of departure; the date th oct. and the hour p.m. all journeys seem to me to begin in edinburgh, from the moment my baggage is on the dickey and the word "waverley" is given to the cabby. on this occasion we have three cabs, and a pile of baggage, for six months clothing for hot and cold places, and sketching, shooting, and fishing things take space. i trundle down to the station in advance with the luggage, and leave g. and her maid to follow, and thus miss the tearful parting with domestics in our marble halls.... good-bye auld reekie, good-bye. parting with you is not all sorrow; yet before we cross the old town i begin to wonder why i leave you to paint abroad; for i am positive your streets are just as picturesque and as dirty and as paintable as any to be found in the world. perhaps the very fact of our going away intensifies last impressions.... there is a street corner i passed often last year; two girls are gazing up at the glory of colour of dresses and ribbons and laces in electric light, and a workman reads his evening paper beside the window--it is a subject for a velasquez--all the same i will have a shot at it, and work it up on board ship; it will make an initial letter for this first page of my journal. across the old town we meet the north sea mist blowing up the bridges, fighting high up with the tall arc lights. what variety of colour there is and movement; the lights of the shops flood the lower part of the street and buildings with a warm orange, there are emerald, ruby, and yellow lights in the apothecary's windows, primary colours and complementary, direct and reflected from the wet pavements; the clothes of passing people run from blue-black to brown and dull red against the glow, and there's a girl's scarlet hat and an emerald green signboard--choice of tints and no mistake--we will take the lot for a first illustration, and in london perhaps, we will get another street scene or two, and so on; as we go south and east we will pick up pictures along the road--from edinburgh to mandalay with coloured pictures all the way, notes of the outside of things only, no inner meanings guaranteed--the reflections on the shop windows as it were--anyone can see the things inside. [illustration: a glimpse of the north sea] an old friend met us at the station; he had just heard of our exodus and came to wish us good-bye as we used to do in school-days, when we considered a journey to england was rather an event. he spoke of "tigers;" india and tigers are bracketed in his mind, and i am certain he would get tiger-shooting somehow or other if he were to go east; he looked a little surprised and sad when i affirmed that i went rather to paint and see things than to shoot. shooting and other sports we can have at home, and after all, is not trying to see things and depict them the most exciting form of sport? i am sure it is as interesting; and that more skill and quickness of hand and eye is required to catch with brush or pen point a flying impression from a cab window or the train than in potting stripes in a jungle. look you--this i call sport! to catch this nocturne in the train, the exact tint of the blue-black night, framed in the window of our lamp-lit carriage; or the soft night effect on field and cliff and sea as we pass. no academical pot shot this, for we are swinging south down the east coast past cockburnspath (coppath, the natives call it) at sixty miles the hour, so we must be quick to get any part of the night firmly impressed. there is faint moonlight through low clouds (the night for flighting duck), the land blurred, and you can hardly see the farmer's handiwork on the stubbles; there are trees and a homestead massed in shadow, with a lamp-lit window, lemon yellow against the calm lead-coloured sea, and a soft broad band of white shows straight down the coast where the surf tumbles, each breaker catches a touch of silvery moonlight. the foam looks soft as wool, but i know two nights ago, an iron ship was torn to bits on the red rocks it covers.... i must get this down in colour to-morrow in my attic under the tiles of the coburg. who knows--some day it may be worth a tiger's skin (with the frame included).... there is the light now on the farnes, and holy island we can dimly make out. to the right we look to see if the bison at haggerston are showing their great heads above the low mists on the fields.... the night is cold, there is the first touch of winter in the air. it is time to knock out my pipe and turn in, to dream of india's coral strand, as we roll away south across the level fields of england. [illustration: a glimpse of the north sea] in london town we arrive very early; an early sunday morning in autumn in the east of london is not the most delightful time to be there. it is smelly and sordid, and the streets are almost empty of people, but i notice two tall young men in rags, beating up either side of a street, their hands deep in their pockets as if they were cold; they are looking for cigarette ends, i expect, and scraps of food; and we are driving along very comfortably to our hotel and breakfast. an hour or two later we are in the park at church-parade; a little pale sun comes through the smoky air, and a chilly breeze brings the yellow leaves streaming to the ground. there are gorgeous hats on the lines of sparrows nests, and manifold draperies and corduroys and ermines and purple things, with presumably good-looking women inside. we men run to purple ties this year, quite a plucky contrast to our regulation toppers, black coats and sober tweed trousers. and one unto the other says, "hillo--you here again! who'd have expected to see you, dear fellow! what sort of bag did you get; good sport, eh?" "oh, good--good--awfully good! such a good year all round, you know, and partridges, they say, are splendid; hasn't been such a good season for years; awfully sorry to miss 'em. and when do you go back?--on the _egypt_!--oh, by jove! won't there be a crowd! horrid bore, you know--'pon my word everyone is goin' east now; you can't get away from people anywhere! it's the prince's visit you know; what i mean is, it's such a draw, don't you know." monday morning in regent street.--sauntering with st c., looking at the crowd and incubators and buying things we could probably get just as well in bombay; but indian ink and colours, and these really important things we dare not leave behind. what a pleasant street it is to saunter in once or twice in a year or so; what a variety of nationalities and pretty faces there are to see. the air is fresh and autumnal, and overhead a northerly breeze blows wisps of white cloud across a bright blue sky, and just floats out the french tricolours and the union jacks with which the street is decorated. the houses on one side are in quite hot sun; the other side of the street is in cold bluey shade, which extends more than half across the road. a cart crawls up the shaded side, leaving a track of yellow sand in its wake; someone is coming, and the crowd waits patiently.... now mounted police appear in the distant haze and come trotting towards us, and the guards with glittering breastplates are rattling past and away in a breath! then outriders and a carriage, and a brown face, moustached and bearded, and the prince goes by, and the crowd cheers--and i pray we may both get a tiger. then the king passes with lord minto, i think. we have come to london for something! possibly in the fulness of time we may see kings in our northern capital oftener than we do now. we need ceremonies, a little sand on the street occasionally, and a parade or two--ceremonies are the expression of inward feelings; without occasion for the expression of the sentiment of loyalty, the sense must go ... the loyalty of a second northern people--going--going--for a little sand and bunting--and--no offer? [illustration] there is no chance of ennui in the week in london before a voyage; you have packing, shopping, insuring, and buying tickets and general bustling round--what charming occupations for the contemplative mind! then you throw in visits to friends, and acquaintances call on you, all in the concentrated week; you breakfast late, lunch heavily, rush off to a hurried dinner somewhere, then rush off to a play or some function or other, supper somewhere else and then home, too late for half a pipe; engagements about clothes, hats, dresses, guns, lunches, dinners, theatres, you have all in your mind, awake and asleep, and as you run about attending to essentials and superfluities, you jostle with the collarless man in the street, and note the hungry look, and reflect how thin is the ice that bears you and how easy it is to go through, just a step, and you are over the neck--collar gone and the crease out of the trousers. a friend of mine went through the other day and no one knew; he lived on brown bread and water for ever so long, but stuck to his evening clothes, and now he sits in the seats of the mighty. what "a variorem" it all is--tragedy and comedy written in the lines of faces and the cut of clothes. but i confess; what interests me in london more than types or individuals, are the street scenes and figures seen collectively. what pictures there are at every turning, and yet how seldom we see them painted. with the utmost modesty in the world i will have a try in passing at piccadilly circus. is there a street scene so fascinating as that centre for colour and movement?--say on a may night, with people going to the theatres, the sky steely blue and ruddy over the house-tops, the pavilion and criterion lights orange and green glinting on the polished road and flickering on the flying hansom wheels--or the circus in a wet night, a whirlpool of moving lights and shadows and wavering reflections! what a contrast to the quiet effects in some side street; for example this street seen half in moonlight, beneath my window in the coburg; the only sound the click clack of the busy horse's feet on the wood pavement, as hansoms and carriages flit round from berkeley square--there's a levee to night, and their yellow lamps string up mount street and divide beneath me into carlos place. ... my tailor has sent me such an excellent cardboard box to paint on, so i will use it for this effect in muzii colours; it will make a drop scene or tail piece to this first chapter of these "digressions." [illustration] [illustration: piccadilly circus, by night.] chapter ii london to tilbury.--if i am to write notes about a journey to the far east, i must not miss out the exciting part between grosvenor square and liverpool street station. the excitement comes in as you watch the policeman's hand at the block in the city and wonder if it will stop your journey; down it comes though, and we are in time, and have a minute to spare to rejoice on the platform with our cousin and niece who are going out with us, or rather with whom we home people are going out to india. there were those on the platform not so happy as we were; an old lady i saw held the hand of a young soldier in pathetic silence, and the smiles on the faces of those left at home were not particularly cheerful, and the grey set expression of men leaving wives and children is hard to forget. a younger lady i saw on the platform smiling, and straight as a soldier, threw herself into her sister's arms as the train moved off in a perfect abandonment of grief, and the wrinkles in the old lady's face as we passed were full of tears--two to one against her seeing the young man, son, or grandson, on this side. but i suppose that is india all over--many partings, a few tears shed, and enough kept back to float a fleet. our 'guid brither'[ ] and his wife have come in the train with us to tilbury to see us on board, so we are all very jolly and the sun shines bright on the river and white cumulous clouds, and the brown sails of the barges are swelling with a brisk north-east breeze as they come up on the top of the flood. the "egypt" lies in mid-stream, and all the passengers of our train go off to it in tenders, along with hundreds of friends who have come to see them off--there is a crowd! passengers only bring hand baggage with them, the rest went on board yesterday; the embarkation is beautifully managed and orderly, there is an astonishing repression of excitement and show of out of place feeling. to compare this embarkation with that on a foreign liner; i have seen the whole business of taking passengers and luggage on board an italian liner stopped for minutes by one egyptian with a tin of milk on the gangway, holding forth on his grievances to the world at large, whilst handsome officers on deck smiled futilely, their white-gloved hands behind their backs. i suppose it is this military precision that gives the p. & o. their name and their passengers a sense of security; but there are people so hard to please that they ask for less pipeclay, less crowded cabins, and better service and more deck space, and these carpers will never be content, so long as they see other lines, such as the japanese, giving all they clamour for, comfortable bath-rooms, beds, and a laundry at moderate rates. [ ] brother-in-law. a touch of militarism that i rather fancy on the p. & o. is the bugle call going round the ship before meals; it is such a jolly cheery sound to awaken to. it comes from far along the ship in the morning, at first faintly in the distance, when you are half-awake trying to account for the faint sound of machinery and the running reflections on your white roof, dimly conscious of the ever delightful feeling that you are sailing south across the widest and most level of all plains. louder and louder it comes along the alley-way, till outside your cabin door it fairly makes you jump! a jolly, cheery sound it is, almost nothing in the world so stirring excepting the pipes. there's a laughing brazen defiance in it, and gentleness too, as it dies away--most masculine music! what associations it must have for soldiers; even to the man of peace it suggests plate armour, the listed field and battles long ago.... did you ever hear it in edinburgh? up in the empty, windy castle esplanade--empty of all but memories--you see no bugler, but the wide grey walls and sky are filled with its golden notes. it echoes for a moment, and then there is quietness, till the noise of the town comes up again. and at night have you heard it? from the _far side_ of princes street, the ethereal notes between you and the stars, long drawn notes of the last post, from an invisible bugler in the loom of the rock and the rolling clouds. g. murmurs, "it is abominable--but after all, going to sea is all a matter of endurance." what a difference there is in the point of view--g., i must say, had a hair mattress last night, and it was not properly blanketted and entailed a certain amount of endurance; on the other hand she is extremely fortunate in having such glorious pink roses and beautiful hangings for nicknacks, touching parting gifts from friends, so her cabin already looks fairly homely; and then, on the walls, there is the most perfect round picture, framed in the bright brass of the porthole--a sailing ship hull down on the horizon, her sails shining like gold in the morning sun, on a sea of mother of pearl.... there is just the faintest rise and fall, and the air is full of the steady silky rushing sound; what is there like it, which you hear in fine weather when the sea makes way to let you pass. painted at a sketch to-day of people coming on board the "egypt" from the tender, no great thing in colour, less in a black and white reproduction, for eye and hand were a little taken up with luggage--a note of lascars in blue dungarees and red turbans--east meeting west--the indies in mauve and lilac hats and white veils; for shades of purple are all the fashion this year. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [illustration] i have found a corner in the waist between first and second class, where one can draw or paint without being very much overlooked; you can get under the sky there, elsewhere you can't, and only see the horizon, for our first class deck is under the officers' deck, and the second class is covered with awnings, a very poor arrangement i think for you only get light on your toes. a sailing ship's deck is ever so much nicer, for you have a reasonable bulwark to keep wind and water off your body instead of an open rail. you can look over a bulwark comfortably, your eyes sheltered from the glare off the sea; on these steam-liners it comes slanting up to your eyes under eyebrows and eyelashes--no wonder people take to blue spectacles! in the sailing ship too you can look up and watch the bends of white canvas and the spars-and cordage swinging to and fro across the infinite blue, an endless delight! here you have a floor and blistered paint a few inches above you, on which you know the officers promenade with the full sweep of the horizon round them and the arc of the sky above. still another advantage of the sailing ship is, that you are not just one of a crowd, ticketed no. so and so, bedded, fed, and checked off by a numeral; and you can generally count on a barometer, and learn the names of lights and lands you pass; possibly there may even be a thermometer, and certainly a compass. on this "egypt," barring a small scale mercator's projection of the world on which the ship's position is marked daily, there is no means of getting the information that can make a sea voyage so infinitely interesting. i would suggest large sized charts showing landmarks, ship's position, and barometrical readings. what is more interesting at sea than the charts of ocean depths, currents, winds, salinity, and temperature! if you go too fast to touch on plankton, nekton, and benthos, at least let the poor first class passengers have a compass, if not a barograph and a thermometer, to eke out conversations on the weather, the day's run, and bridge. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "the bay"--the great bay, calm as a mill pond--there's a jolly sense of rest and peace on board; i suppose everyone knows that feeling who has gone east. for weeks you have been doing things, shopping, packing, keeping appointments, then you get out of the bustle of town, breathe again clear air, and rest, on the level sea, that lovely water cushion, the most soothing of all beds. everyone is soporific and very restful. we begin to distinguish individuals amongst the many passengers, but so far no one seems particularly conspicuous. they are rather good-looking as a crowd, and one or two children are like angels--at least we hope so. it is darker ahead now and to the east, the shadow of the world on nothing, i suppose! possibly an october breeze coming--low banks of cirri-cumuli above the horizon--clear overhead with streaks of rusty red cloud fine as hair--the evening is cold, here is an attempt at it with a brush. and we had music in the place for music on deck; an irish lady played the fiddle and played so well with a piano accompaniment to an audience of six--if the bay keeps quite the audience ought to increase. after the sunset, dinner--what a tedious business it is; the waiting is perfectly planned, but the waiters themselves have to wait ages at the two service hatches, where they get all jammed together, so the time between the courses seems interminable; you almost forget you are at a meal at all. to-night dinner and conversation both hang fire at our end of the table, and i overhear from the other end where my cousin sits interesting scraps about india, which is distinctly annoying; r. is relating some of his experiences there that set his neighbours and my niece and mrs deputy-commissioner all chuckling. [illustration] i gather that r. converted a certain swiss. they lived near each other, a lonely life on the "black cotton soil," whatever that is. r. says it blows about like snow. the swiss lived in a little corrugated-iron house with some hens, and no books, and he loved books, and hated his house and hens, and the british empire. r. had a nice bungalow and lots of books, and he lent these to the swiss, on condition that he would read our newspapers! with the result that the swiss ceased to believe in british "methods of barbarism," said he admired the empire, and got quite to like his tin house and the black soil,--even his hens! it is so quiet in the smoking-room to-night--not even bridge going on yet, which perhaps accounts for the discursiveness of these rambling notes on a quiet saturday night at sea. now comes sunday. "come day go day, god send sunday," as the discontented sailor growls before the mast. the day of the month unknown--i do not think it matters, in such notes as these, dates are rather like ruled lines on sketching paper, only distracting.... we have had such a pleasant time so far, that a presbyterian lady was quite surprised when at breakfast i told her the day of the week, as she had not heard any clanging and clashing of bells, and as everybody seemed quite cheerful and there were no black clothes, she could not realise it was sunday. but this afternoon it is not joyful for all! there is a solemn grey sky sweeping over us from spain, with a grandeur and breadth that one only associates with spanish skies, and there is a fresh breeze, but warm from the land, and this big tub moves a little, enough to make one realise the sea is alive, her bosom heaves us along slightly, a delightful motion for some of us, and intensely soothing, but alas! there are empty places at our board. what a penance it is this sea-sickness. in the words of burns, "it is a dizziness, that will not let a body gang about his business" at all, at all.... i was a pale-faced student, a week out from leith to antwerp, when i first felt this rudeness: we struck a fog-bank off st. abb's head to begin with, and a sand-bank off middlesborough, and listened there to the cocks crowing on shore without seeing a foot ahead for the thickness of the grey, wet mist. we cheered ourselves with bagpipes, and the captain had a case of the very best brandy, the first i think i ever tasted; and he could play some tunes on the practise chanter. "dinna think bonnie lassie, i'm goin' to leave you," i remember was his best; it is a strathspey tune; i learned it from him. the trouble came when it blew up hard off the scheldt; but even when coming over the bar, the "romance" of the sea qualified its pains a little. i can feel the cold in my hands to-day of the barrels of the winchesters at the side of the couch, and to which i clung in my hour of trial, and remembered they had been used in the steamer's very last trip against _real pirates_ in the china seas! and certainly there was the "romance" of the sea in the change from the gale and black night outside the bar, to the quiet morning on the wide river with the cathedral spire, violet against the sunrise, dropping its silvery music "from heaven like dew;" "madame angot," was the tune i think, with a note missing here and there. we saw a number of sea birds to-day, and two at least were skuas, black looking thieves among their white cousins. i saw one try to make a gull disgorge, driving up at it from below, to the gull's loudly-expressed disgust. it is a strange arrangement of nature, and i can't understand why a few gulls don't combine to defend themselves. i am sure each of them must hate to give up the little meal they have earned with so much tiring flight. there were shore birds too; we shipped some as passengers, they were going south like ourselves, but by instinct not by the card. i suppose they were on the road all right, and just needed to rest their wings a little; two large black birds were on the bridge last night, possibly crows, and we have starlings to-day, and i saw some finches of sorts. at least one of these fragile boarders was eaten by the ship's cat--i found its delicate remains, a few tiny feathers and a dainty wing and its poor head. the land is very faint on the horizon and the breeze is just going down, such as it was; it's a momentary interest at the end of a somewhat dull, grey day to most passengers. r. and his wife, since one a.m., have had rather a poor time; their cabin is far forward, and so they feel any motion more than we do amidships; what with a little sea-sickness and the anchor chain loose in its pipe, banging against their bunks, they had a disturbed night. we raked out the bo'sun from his afternoon nap, and he and a withered old lascar jammed a hemp fender between the chain and woodwork, so their slumbers ought to be more peaceful; now they are getting a temporary change to a berth amidship, which is unoccupied as far as marseilles; in it they will hardly feel the motion. it was really considerate of the captain making a break in a dull, damp sunday afternoon--the horn went booming, and up we all jumped in the smoking-room with some idea that someone had gone overboard, and up on deck came the lascars grinning, a jolly string of colour, and away forward they trotted and climbed into the forward life-boats from the deck above us. it was very smartly done, but i would like to have seen if their feet could reach the stretchers or their hands the oars; the boats were not swung out, but everything seemed ready. i think my friend the bo'sun must have had an inkling they were needed for he was working about the davits and falls earlier in the afternoon. in the words of the poet, gilbert, "it is little i know, of the ways of men of the sea, but i'll eat my hand if i (don't) understand" this part of their business; practice on a whaler tends to perfection at getting away in the boats, and at getting on board again too, if you are hungry--and faith if it isn't snowing it is fun! to night the air is damp and warm from the s.e., and we smell spain--true bill--several of us noticed the aromatic smell. scents at sea carry great distances. "i know a man" who smelt burning wood or heather, nautical miles from land, and said so and was laughed at; but he laughed last, for two or three days after his vessel beat up to some islands, from which towered a vast column of brown and white smoke from burning peat, and this floated south on a frosty northerly breeze, and the chart showed the smoke was dead to windward at the time he spoke. chapter iii monday--a rolling tumbling sea, soft grey and white, and misty-wet decks with shimmering reflections--a day when even a great liner such as this feels a little shut off from the outside world, for the mist comes down on the edge of the horizon and hedges us in. if i ever paint orpheus or the sirens, i will use such a grey wet effect. i think of these old navigators in their small vessels, getting the thick and the thin, just as we do to-day in our own sailing craft; getting well dusted at times, with the salt thick on their cheeks and decks. taking it all round, the sea is rather a minor chord; so that these burlington house pictures of the argo and the heroes, in orange and rose on a wine-red sea are not convincing. when my patron comes home i will humbly suggest orpheus singing at the stem, a following wind, a great bellying sail behind, and all around wet air and splashing grey sea, the stem ploughing it up silver and white and green, and away aft under the bend of the sail there would be jason and the steersman, possibly medea, with the curl out of her hair, and perhaps just a touch of the golden fleece, just a fleck of pale yellow to enliven the minor tints! round the bows there would be men listening to the song, watching the stem pound into the green hollows--now, i remember! i have seen this--i'd forgotten. but the orpheus was in faded blue dungarees, and played a fiddle, and leaned against a rusty, red capstan--saw it from the jib-boom of the mjolna[ ]--fishing bonita--looked back, and there they all were, the same to-day as they were in olden days, i expect, men and boys, salt and sun-bitten sea-farers, lolling on the cat-heads and anchors. a joy of the world, that is--from your perch out on the jib-boom to watch a ship with its cloud of white sails surging after you. [ ] norse for thors hammer. [illustration] the sirens too would paint in this weather; they look quite dry in pictures, they would look better wet--i'd have them glittering wet and joyous, and a fit carvel built boat and crew, and brown sloping sails, three reefs down, making a fine passage clear on to them, just as the steersman might wish with no bindings or wax in ears at all, but all at the sirens' service. st. vincent light is now in sight--the swell from the south-west, and our course, as far as a passenger may guess, will soon be south by east; so we ought to have a fair roll on soon, and i feel glad our sea-sick friends are mostly asleep. to-morrow we hope to be in early at gibraltar, then they will have a rest--it will be all smooth sailing. "they say so--and they hope so," as the "old horse" chantie puts it. is there not a wind, however, called the mistral, in the gulf of lyons, and a euroclydon further east, mentioned by st paul? we passed some rather interesting land scenery this afternoon, before we came to the mouth of the tagus; you could see houses, comfortably nestled up the sides of the hills. at the foot of the red cliffs there is a line of green water and white bursts of foam--made a pochade of a bit of this coast--a castle perched on blue peaks, a rolling sky and rugged mountains, and nearer, a rolling, leaden-coloured swell. [illustration] from the well or waist where i paint, i noticed a rather black, white-man stood and watched me out of the engine room. he looked interested, and i spoke to him later. he said he "did a bit" himself in unmistakeable west country accent, and he took me to his cabin to show me his art work. though not very high up in the working part of this show--boiler maker or artificer, i think, he had a very nice cabin. his art work was decorative. he applied various cigar and tobacco labels with gum to eastern wine jars of unmistakeably greek design, also masonic, and p. & o. symbols, with crosses, and rising suns in red and gold; the interspaces of these geometric designs he filled up with blue and gold enamel paint; and the general effect was very bright. it was odd though to see a vase of historic shape done over with such brand new labels. he had done this work for some years in spare time, so he had acquired considerable proficiency. i would fain be able to describe some of the human interest, on such a vessel as this; there is enough for many novelists to study for many a day. of each class at home we know individuals, soldiers and civilians, and their women folk, and they are interesting as others or more so; but when you see them like this on board their ship in their numbers, going east to their various duties, the interest becomes quite a big thing. there is the girl going to her future husband in a native regiment, not to return for years, and there is a couple sitting beside us to-night in the smoking-room--a white-haired colonel and his young protégé, a budding soldier--they talk of mother at home, and cousins and aunts. then there's the-most-beautiful-girl-in-the-ship, but she is not typical, and i think she goes farther east than india: she has chummed already with the best set-up man on board, so that's as it should be--and what an occasion it is for chumming! i'd like to know what is the average number of engagements made and broken on these p. & o.'s per voyage. r. tells me of one made in his last trip home; i forget on what line. the passengers were eleven young men and one lady, and she favoured one of them, so there were ten disappointed suitors. they found he and she could sing a little, so one of the ten played accompaniments, and the others encouraged the devoted pair to sing tender ditties, which they did and for all they were worth. he sang, "i want you, my honey," and put his back into it, as r. says, very slangily i think, and the suitors thought they had great subject for much mirth when they retired to the smoking-room--i think it was almost profane.... but it is time for one pipe on deck and a last look at the somewhat uncongenial sea, then to a bed, three or four inches too narrow. [illustration] these two ladies here depicted are the sole survivors of their sex this morning at breakfast, for it blows hard outside; but it's an ill wind that blows nobody good, so these two young things, fresh as roses, made each other's acquaintance at the empty table. they have been an hour on deck, and like the movement, and the breakfast; and possibly their irrepressible joyous sense of superiority is flavoured with pity for their sisters lying low and pale. you see, the fiddles are on the table, and even with these you have to hang on to your cup occasionally. the fiddle makes such a comfortable rest for my elbows, so i scribble this on the back of the breakfast menu (no one wants it) without being seen. i remember that neither the position nor the occupation were allowed in the nursery, and i hear of people to-day in quite good society so dead to art that they will not allow you to draw on the table cloth! i sometimes think how many lovely ideas must have been lost by this! it was the correggio brothers, was it not? who used to draw during meal-time; they were very enthusiastic, but they died--possibly of indigestion! we are getting into the straits of gibraltar--a nice blustery day, the black tramps coming out of the mediterranean bury their noses deep in foam, and roll up and show all the beauty of steamers' lines! to starboard we get a glimpse of the serrated african mountains above tangiers and the atlas mountains beyond. they are green in spring, but now they are brown. i used to think the african coast was flat and sandy; i wonder if school boys do so still. it is a pleasant surprise at first sight to find it so like our own mountainous country. both the african hills and the spanish hills are veiled at times with passing rain columns that sweep in from the atlantic. here is a little finger-nail jotting of gibraltar; you see the parts where the masts are--that is the harbour. the rock or mountain, , feet high, is to the south and right; all its side is bristling with guns; to the left of the ships a long spit of land joins the rock to spain proper. if the cumulous clouds to the north and east, in the direction of granada, would lift a little we would see the white tops of the sierra nevada. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [illustration] this has been a most splendid day! we have been on spanish soil--i suppose i may call it spanish soil though it is held by britain--have seen fair spanish women, had sun, wind, rain, wet decks, and dry decks, and the bustle and interest of dropping anchor in port, with all the movement of tugs and boats and people going and coming to and from shore--the roadstead blustery and fluttering with flags, and everything afloat bobbing and moving, excepting the great grey men-of-war. we got away in the first shore boat. how it rained--g.'s hat ruined--but anything to be in spain once more. the launch rolls and umbrellas drip, and we have hundreds of yards along splashing wet pier, g. balancing on timbers and wire cables to keep a little out of the mud--one umbrella for the two. then a jog up the town in a funny little victoria with yellow oiled canvas curtains, past little gardens with great red flowers on one tree, and trumpet-shaped white flowers hanging on the next, past soldiers in khaki, and turbaned moors huddled in their draperies. the moors look so out of place in europe; they seem to have aimed at being picturesque and have failed, and know it and stick to it. the spaniards you pass are pure joy to the artist; the women have such nice ivory colouring with the faintest tint of pink, and such eyes, brown and dark, and kind, and such eye-lashes--it's easy colour to paint too in henner's way, prussian blue, bitumen and ochre and a breath of rose! look at the bloom on their hair, blue as the light on raven's wing, and the flour on their faces, hanging thick on their black eyebrows. i think they must have a little of the indian in them. there's a far-away kinship in the expression of the ayahs on board and the spaniards on shore, a queer penetrating look, and kindly. the mens' expressions are also pleasant enough, i think--very quiet--but they have your eye and your measure before you realise, with a glance quick as the glint that a pointer gives you from the corner of his eye as he ranges past.... here is a jotting of one of the natives, perhaps a little heavy in expression, but fairly typical spanish face. she is my cousin's cook; he is an r. e. and lives in quite a big house for gibraltar; you can stand upright in any room and stretch yourself in the drawing-room, which has a balcony; i painted her as she stood in it. my cousin's wife had discharged her, but there was no ill-feeling, so she came to pay a complimentary call, in black lace mantilla and pink blouse. she was called barbara, and loved a baker over the way, and when she should have been regarding the soup, she was throwing glances to the baker in his shop, so she had to go! "poor barbara"--and lucky baker, to receive such cordite glances! a dainty lady of saxon type, with face like china, hair fine gold, and eyes of neapolitan violet, looked over my shoulder whilst i sketched. she is just out, and is enjoying gibraltar hugely. but i should not have said violet eyes, for one was black as a thunder-cloud; she hunted yesterday and got dragged poor thing, and was bruised all over, but she was going about and hunts again in two or three days. [illustration: a spanish woman.] chapter iv [illustration: sunday parade of lascars.] our first day with a blue sky at sea--my word it is blue, impossibly blue, and the sun is beaming! we have had a quiet night, so everyone is very contented. on our left the spanish coast is very mountainous, and little cloudlets are throwing shadows over the mountain sides. g. and i study our spanish grammar; but perhaps "study" is hardly the word, dream over it would be more exact, and wonder at the blueness of the sea and the blue reflected lights on the hurricane deck above us. we have managed to get our chairs into a patch of sun; we rather court its rays just now, by the time we come home again i daresay we will take the shady side of the street. so close are we to the coast that, looking through the glasses, we can see into the glens and make out cottages where we know the people are speaking spanish; and we plan a voyage through these hills some day; therefore our spanish exercises. what a country it is both for castles and voyages, and how many ways there are to travel in it. in the train or on horseback, or with mules or a donkey, or a coach and four, as did theophile gautier. but not on foot for choice, that would be so undignified as to be barely safe in spain. we arrange to have mules--for there is such a distinguished and aristocratic appearance about a train of mules, and an air of romance about them and their gay caparisons. we will trek over these mountains, and through the cork woods and brackens in the glens, live on figs and vino riojo carried in black skins on our sumpter mules, and camp at night on the dry ground under the brown trunks of the cork trees--another book, _mes amis_, and pictures, i vow! it will be in the south of spain, this voyage of ours, amongst the elegant, fiery andalusians, and we might combine the treking with a little coasting to cadiz and malaga, then inland by the rhonda valley, where travelling on mules would be almost rapid compared with the train. there are such lovely villages there, embowered in foliage and flowers at the bottom of rocky glens, and such pleasant peasants, with quiet, gentle manners. just this last word before we lose sight of spain. why do women at home not adopt spanish dancing? i am quite sure it is the secret of the andalusian's poise and walk. [illustration] there is a very distinct swell, and people say it will blow in the gulf of lyons, and think they had better have gone overland to marseilles. we pass the balearic isles, and at the distance they much resemble other islands. before lunch we saw an extraordinary marine effect. along the coast the blue sea appeared to be covered with a veil or mist of grass green colour, the green of a duck pond; beyond it the coast was distinct, distant i should say about eighteen miles. we could see upper-top-sails and the peaks of lateen sails beyond the flat bank of green, which seemed to begin a few miles from the shore and spread over the sea's surface several miles west and east. what made me think it was an effect of colour above water, not in it, was that with glasses i could distinctly see the blue backs of the swell coming through it. no one i have met has ever seen the like, but one of the officers was asked what it was, and he said "water." in the afternoon we had two interesting shows on board. a bell rang, and a waiter who was bringing us tea turned tail and fled--it was a fire alarm! it was pretty the way every man in the ship's company jumped to fire-stations; hose pipes were down and connected, and pumps manned very quickly, and bar a little talk amongst the lascars, which was immediately stopped, everything was done in silence--bravo, british discipline! all the iron doors were shut and bolted, the inspection followed, and that done, away went everyone, quickly and silently, to boat-stations. all this rehearsal only took about half-an-hour or less, then the tea came. another entertainment followed--a dummy dinner. fifty waiters, all young men, about half white and half indian, took their posts at the tables up the side of the saloon and down the middle. a tap on a gong and away they all streamed to the entrances to the saloon, to port and starboard service tables at the kitchen, where they pretended to get courses of dinner, and then went and stood at their tables whilst the two pursers and head steward went round the whole of them, patiently asking each separately his duties: "what have you to do?" and each man answered as well as he could, and corrections were made. this inspection took fully an hour, then they went through the coffee, cream, and sugar and tea drill. all this dinner and fire drill is very thorough, i must admit, and the management of a big crowd of people on a ship begins to impress me--but the tea--is horrid! [illustration] we are now going north-east towards marseilles. the sun shines, and it blows a gentle half gale. the sea is blue where it isn't white, and the wind is strong enough to keep us lying steadily over to starboard decks of course all wet, with rainbows at the bow, and bursting spray over all occasionally--people rather subdued, only a small muster at breakfast. place aux dames! i forgot to mention that a very beautiful french lady came on board at gibraltar; she looked like one of van beers' pictures as she came down the quay steps in a most exquisite dress, dreamlike petticoats, and open-work stockings on diana's extremities, and she had a little parasol, and held her skirts high--a frenchwoman hates mud--and the rain poured, in sheets! she gave a brave farewell to her friends and fiancé, and came on board with an air, notwithstanding the drenching rain. she was beautiful--hair like night, eyes brown, and features most perfectly greek, and white as marble with a rose reflected on it! a doctor beside me whispered "anæmic," the red-haired ass! she leaves us at marseilles, and will never travel by sea again. g. befriended her and interpreted for her; she was so helpless and alone in a cabin meant for three, with a pile of boxes miles bigger than the regulation size. with feminine courage she fought sea-sickness, fainted in the barber's chair, but appeared at dinner in another most exquisite toilet, and then--even in the paroxysm of sickness, preserved perfect grace of movement of hand and eye and draperies! what heroic courage! but enough of the tea rose in our bean field; let us get to more material things, and to marseilles, and the coals rattling down the iron shoot beneath our heads as we try to sleep in air thick with coal dust. [illustration] this morning the racket is like nothing else in the world. it is a combination of the babel of the east and west, of europe and africa. there are four groups of musicians alongside, harpists, singers and fiddlers, all within the ship's length on the quay, and others in boats alongside. we have two gangways reaching to the wharf, where are hundreds of porters, ship waiters and stewards bringing vegetables on board, and ships officers and hundreds of newly arrived passengers, all talking more or less over the music, and passing to and fro across the gangways in the sun. the ship feels too full to move in now. the new arrivals look a little pale and tired after their overland journey by paris, but we weather-worn people with the bay behind us, enjoy the whole scene with the calm of experienced mariners! behind the sunlit groups of passengers with their baggage, the dock labourers in the sheds pile grain sacks on to waggons, and strings of stout horses stand resting beside them. on the edge of the quay are flower girls in black, selling big bunches of violets, and a strong-man in pink tights and sky-blue knickerbockers--a festive piece of colour taken with his two white chairs and bright carpet. he plays with silver balls and does balancing feats with his little girl, and puts his arms round her and strokes her hair after each turn, in a delicate appeal to the sympathies of passengers who lean over the rail and take it all in somewhat sleepily. ... the post has brought me an orient-pacific guide-book which i wish i had had coming down channel and along the portuguese coast. i would recommend it to anyone going this journey. it has a most interesting collection of facts both about sea and land on the route. ... we met the beautiful french lady again last night at the hotel de louvre, where everyone meets everyone else up town. i think she is gascon, and the very opposite of the fair saxon type we ought to admire at home. you hardly expect a perfectly beautiful woman to talk well, but this perfection could both talk and dress; her personality was not "sunk in her hat." she knew scottish history, all about the good lord james, and about mary stuart, and what pleased us greatly was that she told us words and hummed the airs of children's songs reputed to have been written by queen mary, and which she said are sung to-day by french children. the hotel de louvre soon filled, so we got away from the crowd in a victoria and drove along the town to a café for supper, and it was cold and dark too! the café, basso and bregaillon, has a "vue splendide" (in the daytime), so the bill says. what you see at night is a well lit quay with the café lights shining out across the dark water in the dock on to some white steam yachts. after getting rid of a uniformed interpreter, whose one idea was to give us an "engleesh dinner, very good, very sheep," we made up our own order. of course bouillabaisse et soupe de poissons was the first item. i am not sure how to eat this, with a spoon or fork--two dishes are set down at once, one with half an inch of saffron-coloured soup, made of, i think, shell-fish, and with great slices of bread in it--certainly a spoon is not very suitable; the other dish has a perfect aquarium of little fish and bits of bigger fish beautifully arranged in a pyramid with similar soup round it--there are bits of red mullet, crab, green fish, and white fish, and all sorts of odds and ends. why do we not make dishes like this at home? i get just such oddities any time i lift my trammel net, but they are thrown away as "trash." but the french are artists in every line of life, in cooking, in dress, and i believe they put art into the way they heave the coal on board. we feel much inclined to stay here a little and see more of these southern french. i love their jolly abandon of manner, their kindness and "honesty," and their gasconade. so here's to you cyrano and daudet, d'artagnan and tartarin, not forgetting m. le président. who do you think sat beside us within arm's length but réjane! there were only six or seven people in the café and none of them were aware of the presence of their distinguished compatriot till we whispered her name to the waiter, and he whispered it to them and their eyes opened! i came to g.'s side of the table so that i might see the great actress in mufti, and i would have liked to have made a sketch of her as she talked to her companion, but it would have been too obvious--you know the way she speaks, a little out of the corner of her eye and mouth, with hand on hip. she is great! we saw her only a year ago with coquelin in "la mantansier." this is the head of the serang; i took it when he was not looking. he runs the lascars on board; acts pretty much as bo'sun. this face is brown and beard died rusty red, and he wears a lovely boatswains silver whistle on a silver chain, and has an air of command and the appearance of deepest intelligence. [illustration] chapter v [illustration] there is a frightful crush on board. it would take years to consider all the faces. numbers of ladies are going out to join their husbands after having taken their children home in spring. by the afternoon all the new comers look much refreshed; they have washed off the travel stains of that dusty journey across france, have tidied up, eaten, and slept a little, and have perhaps met friends of the road. you hear, "hillo--hillo--you here again! met in simla last, didn't we--wasn't it cold last night?" "by jingo it was--rummy spell of cold--coming over all western europe so suddenly," and they talk of "cold weathers," and "rains," and "monsoons," and places you think you heard about in school days and have forgotten; and you realise something of what there is ahead to learn. meantime i watch the lascars taking off the effect of the coaling last night; how blue and sharp the reflections of the sky are on the wet deck and their dark feet. it is my business to paint things, not to write, about them, still, both occupations dissipate the time wonderfully. they are scrubbing down the waist, washing the decks with brushes and squeejees and lashins of blue mediterranean; they wear dungaree tunics, and trousers of dark blue and faded pale blues, with red cloth round their straw skull-caps, and are all in shadow--that colourful, melting, warm shade you have in the south in the afternoon. th evening.--to what shall i liken this evening on deck? you know a railway carriage on bank holiday, and you have heard perhaps of a newfoundland sealing ship, the crew head and tail and three deep in the bunks, and all about the deck and along the bulwarks for want of room--well, it's worse here, at the price! in the smoking-room there is not an inch to sit on; men lean against the pillars, others against the side of the bar or against each other. a few have got seats for bridge, others sit on sofas round the side, the rest have to stand. there were more passengers when we left tilbury than allowed any free movement on deck; we made light of that. now, people are jammed beside each other all the way up the side of the deck that is sheltered from the sweep of the wind, others sit on the rail; those who want to move have to pick a devious and careful course between the lines of chairs. and this is to be to-night, and to-morrow, till we get to india! and it will yet be worse than it is just now, for many passengers from marseilles are still below, waiting for baths and arranging their crowded cabins. i have to write letters and sketch on a dining-saloon table amongst waiters clearing dishes. there are four small tables on deck in what i think is called the music room, and they are fully occupied with ladies writing and bridge players, and round them every seat in the room is occupied. it is a crowd of people of the most gentle manners and breeding, or it would be horrible beyond words. [illustration] th.--i suppose there were not more than fifty men in the smoking-room late last night when it became sufficiently empty to allow me to see separate faces. there were civilians, judges, and one or two men of business, but the majority were soldiers of middle age. i confess i am much impressed by the general type and the expression of quiet strength and capability of these men of the indian services. they have finely modelled heads on powerful figures, better, i think, than any type of the ancients. their manners are cheery and kindly, but always in repose the lines show strongly across the brow; faces and lines seem to me to spell d-u-t-y emphatically. for a _nouveau_ it is difficult to follow their talk, it changes so quickly from the man to his horse, to his seat and powers as cavalry leader or the like, perhaps to his family, his marriage, or his death, and whenever the family interest comes in, there is a note of genuine kindness as if brothers were telling or asking about other brothers and their wives and belongings. they speak rather quickly and cheerily, and then in repose the lines come again, not that they look over-worn; on the contrary they look fit, tremendously and are very abstemious. one speaks near me--"you knew so and so? good horseman--wasn't he? curious seat--do you remember the way he rode with his toes out?" "yes, yes--ha, ha!--it was funny! he led a column with me at abu lassin. very sad his death, poor fellow--never got over the last war--heart always suffered--nice wife." "yes, yes--gave him pretty bad time though--oughtn't to have married. where is his boy--sandhurst? no, he's left--he's coming out next month in a troop ship, i hear." these are the older soldiers, and there are also many young officers, and two judges of the high courts, one with nimble tongue and expression, the other the reverse. and there are business men with concentrated and perhaps rather narrower expressions than the others--irish, scots, and english. as they are all in the same black and white kit in the evening it is easier then to compare the various faces; in the daytime the variety of costume, flannels, and coloured ties and tweeds prevent one doing it so easily; i'd like to make a sketch of each, and superimpose these, and get the average, the type of the thousands who follow this road year after year. ... as usual, these bayards, in dressing gowns of various cuts and colours, stood outside the bathrooms this morning and waited their turn, and if the atmosphere was not murky with swear words, it was not to the p. & o.'s credit. to most men tub time is the jolliest in the day; here it is one of evil temper, for after you have waited say twenty minutes in a passage for your chance, you get into a little wet steamy place over the engines, with possibly no port and poorly ventilated, and have your tub in a hurry for you know other fellows are waiting outside, and instead of gaily carolling your morning song you feel angry and cuss cusses, not loud, but profound as tuscarora deep. "oh! mummie, do come and see all the men waiting for their baths," said a little angel this morning, as she pointed at the solemn row of bare-footed men holding on to their towels and sponge-bags and tempers--we actually grinned. like some others i give up the attempt to get a morning tub, and trust to sneak one in during the day; better to have no bath than to start the day cross--"better to smash your damned clubs than to lose your damned temper," as the golfer in a bunker was overheard muttering as he broke each club across his knee. the ladies, some hundreds, have i think five baths between them, and they wait for these a great part of the day. if you pass their waiting-room you get a glimpse of wonderful morning toilettes of every tint, muslins, laces, a black boy with red turbash bustling about to get the bath ready makes rather a good note of colour. ... notwithstanding all the above grievance we hadn't such a bad day yesterday; it was calm and not too cold, with a soft pigeon grey sea and sky.... put in a long day's painting in the corner of the after-well, and overhauling sketches done so far on the road--they are mounting up now, and i feel fortunate in having my apology for existence in such a handy shape as a paint box. but how dull this log-writing becomes! how on earth can i find an incident to pad up this journal; what is there to write about in a route so monotonously first class! here is absolutely the most risque exciting story i have heard for days; i must say the lady who told it has such an infectious laugh, that at the time i really thought it was very amusing. you know the cabins on the p. & o. steamers are all exactly like each other, except the number above each door. so once upon a time she related, a certain lady tripped along to her cabin as she thought, to hurry up her husband for dinner and found him pulling on a shirt; she plumped into a seat, saying, "john, john, you are always too late for dinner, and there's no use trying to struggle into your shirt with the studs fastened?" whereon the neck stud flew and revealed an astonished face--and it was not "john's." after lunch i told this to my barrister acquaintance; he smiled gently and said he had always thought it such an amusing story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . how i wish i was back at sea again on a whaler, with a swinging hammock, a tow net, and microscope, and opportunities any day to study the fairy beauties in drops of sea water, and with human interest too, so much more varied than on this p. & o. hotel; there, would be all kinds of men, jolly, devil-may-care fellows, and even disreputable characters, mixed with canny, pawky, canting scotties, and talk of all the corners of the world; ranting rollicking balzacian yarns, rich in language, in poetry, and tenderness; any minute in the day amongst such people you might strike a yarn that would bear publication; the picturesque interest of life does not seem to be on the high plains, or low levels, but as it were between wind and water, where plain meets mountain, the poor the rich, between happiness and sorrow, and light and shade; and the fun of painting between one colour and the next. it is all very respectably drab here, and we talk of intellectual and proper things. for an hour to-day--no, two hours i am sure--i laboured at indian sociology and history and vedas and things, with the barrister, and i was tired! the barrister knows many books on these subjects, and recommends me to read sir w. w. hunter's "history of india" in its abridged form of only pages; i suppose i must!--told my cousin i'd been trying to talk indian sociology and he shouted: said he knew a man who had lived in india and studied the native life for twenty-eight years, and confessed he knew as little about it at the end as at the beginning; but r. admitted that whenever he had a knotty question of native affairs to settle he always went to this man, and the decision was invariably right. r. has qualified admiration for the indians honesty. once, he said, he had to leave his house at a moment's notice, to take home a sick relation, and left all standing, and on coming back months after found every single stick of furniture just as he left it, and not a single article stolen, except one door-mat; his night watchman had taken it with him to another situation, leaving a humble message to the effect that he had got so accustomed to it that he couldn't sleep without it! their honesty must run in grooves for r. gave a heavy overcoat to one of his men in a cold station, and when he and his servants went to a very hot station, he noticed this man still wearing the thick coat and sweating like anything, so he asked him why he did so, and the man replied that he dared not put it off for a minute or it would be stolen. [illustration] we had quite an audience for the fiddles this saturday--there are two lady violinists now, both very good players--but we had only a short spell of music in the music room on account of a choir practise, for to-morrow; the parson came and took our musicians down to the dining-room to sing over hymns and psalms, verse by verse. i heard the wheeze of the harmonium, and got back to my own chest-lid (sailor term for my own business)--"every man to his own chest-lid and the cook to the foresheet," is it not a suggestive saying? to every man his prerogative, his chest-lid, and his duties, and the same for the cook and the least bit more! it is now getting passably mild, and we can sit out on deck at night. it was supposed to be hot enough for the punkahs in the saloon; one is hung over the length of each of the five tables, to port and starboard, and there are others the whole length of the table that runs up the middle of the saloon. i have long wished to see a punkah, now i wish i may never see another! on this ship they are narrow velvet rugs hung on edge from horizontal bars, this is swung by two ropes from the roof, and they are all guyed together with cords, so that one pull, from a lascar outside the cabin, sets them all into violent commotion. they hit your face when you stand, and sitting, their lowest edge stirs up your hair. these velvet rugs have white cotton covers on them now that they are being used, so the general effect at dinner-time is of a huge laundry in a gale, with beautiful laundresses in low dresses sitting at table under a world of wildly flapping linen; with the lamps lit, and our black coats for a foil, the colours are really extremely pretty, though the discomfort is great. men and women are all getting a little brown with the sea air, and the ladies have a little of the blush of spring now, instead of the pallor of winter with which they came on board. [illustration] egypt in sight, and this morning we tubbed in the water of the river that floated moses, and that has been bathed in and drunk since by such a number of people we know, or have read about. sea and nile are meeting in blue, and green, and brownish stripes, blending to a general absinthe colour as we get closer to the flat delta; little level rows of cloud throw purple shadows across the crisp small waves, and over the horizon there's a flight of white lateen sails. what a bustle there is on board to-day; people running up and down stairs with letters hurriedly finished, addressed and stamped to the children at home. no use writing to the man who waits out there, for we carry the mail. it is touching, the wife looking forward and back at the same time--the bull must pass--and the young girl too, leaving the old life for the new married life in a new country; it must take courage. my notes at port said seem to have disappeared, possibly i did not write any. i remember that there was so much to see in the morning; and the change of colour in the water, the absinthe colour of the nile with pale blue reflections winding in currents in distinct streams into the sea, would, with the blue ocean, need very subtile painting. i remember the fearful jabber, which i suppose has gone on and always will, since port said was invented. i got a glimpse of lesseps's statue at lunch through the port-hole; he points with right hand twice life size up the harbour with a heroic expression, and seems to say to the steamers that come in from the sea, "higher up there s.v.p.--try a little higher up." we watched the often described black men coaling in black dust, singing and working, the sun's rays making shafts of light stream through the clouds of black coal dust; and the same pandemonium at night in the flare of lights, when the scene is generally admitted to be like the nether regions. i know we went ashore somehow or other, and that we could hardly see for the shouting and yelling! we felt fortunate in having a mrs deputy-commissioner for a companion, for she was bubbling over with humour and anecdote. she and g. promptly began shopping, and certainly succeeded in getting two rather becoming topees, flatter and prettier than any i have yet seen--you might call them romney topees; one may appear in sketches further on. i sketched of course--always keep "screeb, screeb, screebling all day long," as an irate german lady once put it to me, "screebled" a café scene; on the left you see a native, who calls himself jock furgusson, trying to pass off a "genuine egyptian scarab" to a tourist. jock furgusson is infinitely more wonderful and artistic to me than the pyramids, for he can imitate accents so as to make you gasp; he spots anyone's nationality instantaneously--before you have opened your lips he knows your county! i believe he can distinguish between the english of a lowland scot and a highlander, which is more than '_punch_' does after all these years of practice. "ah'm, jock furgusson frae auchtermurrchty and achterlony, longest maun in the forty twa," he begins--but somebody help me--i've forgotten how he goes on, a long rigmarole in broadest doric; the words and intonation so perfect, you can so little believe your eyes that you are landed with a scarab or a string of beads before you have recovered, and he is off to another passenger, clippin' 'is g's and r's and puttin' in h's to some englishmen. the inhabitants of port said, we are told, represent the scourings of the levant; too bad for cairo, and black-balled for hell. all the same g. and i went ashore by ourselves after dinner, rather proud of our courage, for several passengers said it wasn't safe. it used not to be safe, i know, but i asked the chief-engineer what he thought, and he took his right hand in his left, all but the very tip of the little finger which he measured off with his left thumb nail, and said, "a black maun's heart's no as big as that." so we went ashore and had no adventures at all, but sat in a balcony and listened to pretty good music, and noted the few drowsy figures in the side streets, the glow of lamp or brazier on their heavy draperies, contrasting with the starlight and the deep velvety shadows--moth-like colouring, and intense repose, after the glittering, howling day. [illustration: a café, port said] looking back over these notes, and the orient and pacific guide book, and the acts of the apostles, i observe that i have made no note about corsica and sardinia, lipari islands, and stromboli, or of the straits of messina and etna--have barely mentioned crete! in the lipari islands we saw lights ashore, and down the straits of messina; and stromboli we discovered easily enough by the glow of hot red up in the sky, and a sloping line of red that went glittering downwards. it was too dark to distinguish anything more. we saw crete, enough to swear by, the white top of mount ida, and realized where fair haven and phenice and clauda must lie, and that we were actually in the seas where the apostle paul was caught in the euroclydon. by the way what is a euroclydon; is it a levanter? was there ever a voyage so vividly described, in more concentrated and pithy words? in eight verses you have a complete dramatic account of a tragedy at sea, from a passenger's point of view. it would be curious and interesting to learn what the owner thought, and said, when the prisoner suggested that he, and his sailing master, and the centurion, were all wrong in a question of navigation; and how it came about that shortly after this difference of opinion the prisoner was master of the commissariat, and how, after heavy weather and fasting fourteen days on a rocky coast, souls were saved on bits of wreckage without the loss of one life! the board of trade and life saving societies might enquire into this, and report. chapter vi [illustration] the canal.--if i had not seen mr talbot kelly's book on egypt i could hardly have believed it possible that the delicate schemes of colour we see in the desert as we pass through the canal could be painted and reproduced in colour in a book. he has got the very bloom of the desert, and the beauty of egypt without its ugliness; the heat and sparkle and brightness in his pictures are so vivid one can almost breathe the exhilarating desert air--and smell the bazaars! but egypt is ugly a pin's prick beneath its beauty. it is so old and covered with bones and decayed ideas. the nile is associated with moses, and it is long it is true, but it is also very narrow and shallow, and its banks are monotonous to a degree; a mile or so of green crop on either side, then stones, sand, bits of crockery, human bones and rags, then desert sand--a cross between a cemetery and a kitchen garden. the ruins are _awfully_ ugly! "think of their age!" people say, and you look at the exquisite spirals of shells in the lime stones with which these heaps are made! but the saddest thing in egypt is the fine art debased in the temples, in these ponderous monuments of their officialism; for here and there in them you see exquisite bits of low relief carving, that a greek would have been proud of, hidden away in interminable hieroglyphic histories spread indiscriminately over grotesque pillars and vast walls, as regardlessly of decorative effect as advertisements in a newspaper's columns. the open desert is the best of egypt, and this thread of blue canal strung with lakes through its sand is very pretty and interesting all the way. we come to a swing bridge. it is open and our modern hotel and modern people slowly steam right through the middle of a biblical caravan of arabs on camels; some have crossed into the egyptian side, the remainder are waiting on the arabian side, their camels are feeding on the grey-green bushes. the passengers just give them a glance and go on with their books. have we not seen it all long ago in nursery books on sundays. but, in the nursery in our sunday books we did not see or feel the glitter and heat of the day, some of which, children to-day can get in mr kelly's book. i dared not sketch the desert scenes; it was in too high a key for me, but i made so bold as to do this sketch of a scene on deck at night: an effect i have not heard described, though it must be familiar to those who go this road. i am sorry it is not reproduced here in colour. [illustration] the searchlight on the bow plays on the sandbanks and desert beyond, and makes the land like a snow-field, and the slow movement of the white light intensifies the darkness and silence of the desert. in contrast to the cold blue light and snow-white sand, is the group of figures on deck in bright dresses, dancing. it made quite an _evident_ subject. the figure leaning on the rail is not ill. it is only a little japanese maid thinking of home perhaps. suez was a few lights in the darkness over the glow of our pipes, then bed, and in the morning we were sailing down the top, west branch, of the red sea, otherwise the gulf of suez, with a fresh north wind behind us. it is extremely charming and refreshing, as i've already remarked, to look out of a port in the morning and see the glittering, tumbling, blue sea alongside. on this occasion the blue is capped with many soft white horses chasing south, and the serrated barren hills of egypt are slipping away north. they are coloured various tints of pale, faded leather, light buff, and light red, and the sun glares brilliantly over all, "drying up the blue red sea at the rate of twenty three feet per year," this from the orient-pacific guide; you can yourself almost fancy you hear the sea fizzling with the heat. the arabian shore is almost the same as the egyptian, with a larger margin of swelling stretches of sand between the sea and the foot of the hills. "gaunt and dreary run the mountains, with black gorges up the land up to where the lonely desert spreads her burning, dreary sand." there are occasions when circumstances make it really a pleasure to be an artist, to-day for example; the air is so full of colour, the sea deepest turquoise, with emerald showing when the crests burst white and mix with the blue, and there is a glint of reddish colour reflected from the arabian sand, and the shadows in the clefts in the sand-hills to the north are as blue as the sea. i was trying to put this down when my friend from the west country, who helps the engines, told me he had got me one of these exquisite classic earthenware vases from port said, which he decorates with cigar labels and blue and gold enamel. i had a chat with him in his rather nice cabin--made a study of the flagon, _i.e._ drew its cork. it was full of deep purple italian wine, like lacrima christie or episcopio rosso; the wine was good enough, but its deep rose colour with the bright blue reflected on it through the port was splendid. he didn't like it himself, said "it drew his mouth," and he gave me both the bottle and the wine as a present because of our love for dalriada, and i have to give him a "wee bit sketch" for his cabin. i will smuggle the jar under our table--g. and i both like italian wine--and we will use it as a water bottle afterwards, for we have only one decanter at our table amongst eleven thirsty people. it was just such dark red wine as this, i suppose, that ulysses and his friends in these seas took in skinfuls to wash down venison, an excellent menu i must say, but it would have been more seamanlike if they had slept off the effects on board, instead of lying out all night on the beach; then, when morning the rosy-fingered turned up, they'd have been quicker getting under way, and would have got home sooner in the end. how much superior were the fingalian heroes; they would sail and fight all day and pass round the uisquebaugh in the evening at the feast of shells, and never get fuddled and never feared anything under water or above land, and were beholden to neither gods nor men. but i did once know a descendant of theirs, in their own country who was overcome by red wine. "it was perfectly excusable," he said, for he had never tasted it before--or since! he was a fine, tall man called callum bhouie, from his yellow hair when he was a youth; he was old when i knew him--six feet two and thin as a rake and strong, with the face of wellington and an eye like a hawk. he and his friend were going home to his croft from their occupations one morning early, round the little carsaig bay opposite jura, where he had a still up a little burn there, and they fell in with a cask on the sand and there was red wine in it, port or burgundy, i do not know. callum said he knew all about it and it was but weak stuff, so they took bowls and saucers and drank the weak stuff more and more. i think it must have been port; and they lay where they were on the sand and slept till the morning after. when dawn, the rosy-fingered, found them she must have thought them quite hellenic; and the minister followed later, and i would not think it right to repeat what he thought it right to say. the sands and the bay and the burn are there to-day, and, as they say in the old tales, if callum were not dead he would be alive to prove the truth of the story. the still i've never seen, but callum i knew, and his croft; alas the roof of it fell in a few years ago; and it was the last inhabited house of a carsaig clachan. you see the land is "improved" now, for sheep, and it's all in one big farm instead of small crofts, and little greasy, black-faced sheep climb the loose stone walls and nibble the green grass short as a carpet where callum and his wife lived so long. may i go on to the end of callum's story; though it is rather a far cry from this hot red sea to the cool sound of jura? he and his wife were to be taken to the poor house in winter, and on the long drive across kintyre they were told that they would be separated, and there was then and there such a crying and fighting on the road that they were both driven back to the croft--and i was not surprised, for where callum bhouie was fighting there would not be a stronger man of his age. so they lived on in the but-and-ben, with the lonely, tall ash standing over it, and the view of jura, the sweetest i know, in front, and he died very old indeed, and his wife followed him in two or three days, so they were not separated even by death for long. ... now to my log rolling. it has already been explained by travellers of repute that the red sea does not take its name from its colour; this statement, i believe, is now generally accepted as being something more than the mere "traveller's tale." it is not, however, so generally known that this sea is peculiarly blue, so blue, in fact, that were you to dip a white dress into it it would come out blue, or at least it looks as if it would. it reminds me of a splendid blue silk with filmy white lace spread over it. against this the figures on the shady side of the ship look very pretty; ladies and children and menkind all in such various bright, summery colours, lying in long chairs or grouped round green card tables. "the ladies' gulf," it should be called now. that used to be the name for the sea off the n. w. of africa where you pick up the north east trades as you sail south. times have changed and sea routes, so the name should be passed east to this gulf of suez, where ladies and parasols look at their best and the appearance of a man in oilskins would be positively alarming. the indian judge with the italian name and myself, are, as far as i can see, the only passengers who are not engaged doing something. perhaps the judge's italian name and my vino tinto respectively account for our contemplative attitudes. he has pulled his chair well forward to be out of the crowd, and makes a perfect picture of happy repose; he wears a dark blue yachting suit, and his hands are deep in his pockets. his face is ruddy, and his eyes are blue and seem to sparkle with the pleasure of watching the tumbling blue seas, and the bursting white and green crests. just now a rope grummet, thrown by an elderly youth at a tub, rolled under his legs, and the judge handed it back most politely, and resumed contemplation. in two minutes another quoit clattered under his chair, this he likewise returned very politely; at the third, however, he sighed and gave up his study of the blue and sauntered aft to the smoking-room--such is life on a p. & o. the above picture is intended to represent ladies in afternoon dress, the colours of the intermediate tints of the rainbow--expressions celestial. it is the witching hour before changing from one costume to the other, after afternoon tea and just before dressing for dinner. to the right you may observe an ayah spoiling some young britons.[ ] you see in the background a golden sunset on a wine red sea, and our lady artist, a pupil from juliens; she is gazing out at the departing glory.... after sundown the decks are empty, for the people are below dressing and at dinner; towards nightfall they become alive again with ladies in evening dresses with delicate scarves and laces, promenading to and fro--a difficult thing to do in such a crowd. one moment they are dark shadowy forms against the southern night sky, then they are all aglow in the lights from the music-room windows and the ports of the deck cabins. [ ] make it anglo saxons, if you like! [illustration] "the-most-beautiful-lady-in-the-ship," in dark muslin, and the stalwart-man stand near us to-night; they are in half-light, leaning against the rail, looking out into the darkness. i wished whistler might have seen them; he alone could have caught the soft night colours--the black so velvety and colourful, blurred into the dark blue of the night sky, with never the suggestion of an outline, and just one touch of subdued warm colour on the bend of her neck. sometimes her scarf floats lightly across his sleeve and rests, and floats away again. i suppose they talk of--the weather, and repeat themselves in the dear old set terms. that is why nature is more interesting than man, it never repeats itself or displays an effect for more than a minute. five men out of any six on board, i believe, would make a fair copy of the conversation of these two, but only one man who has lived in our times could have made a fist at that effect of faint lamp-light and fainter moonlight on the black of the coat against the deep blue-black of the star spangled southern sky. only the "master" could have got the delicacy and movement of the faintly sea-green veil that sometimes lifts on the warm breeze and floats an instant across the sky and the broadcloth; he would have got the innermost delicacy of colour form purely and simply, without an inch, of conventional paint or catch-penny sentiment. chapter vii i believe this is the th. these 'chits' help one to remember dates; they are little cards presented you when you order soda water or wine, or are solicited for subscriptions to sports or sweepstakes. they have the date marked on them, and you add your name, and number of berth, and away goes your steward to the bar or wine man, and you get what you ordered; it may be ages afterwards, when you have almost forgotten what it was you ordered, but punctually at the end of the week, you get them in a bundle and pay up. "i find," to quote carlyle again, "i have a considerable feeling of astonishment at the unexpected size of the bundles. it's a most excellent system, and if there wasn't such a crowd it would work out all right here." it is uncomfortably warm now and damp. last night we on the main deck had to sleep with ports closed, so we had to live with very little air; i do not know what the temperature was, not having a thermometer with us, as we are almost amidship and near the engine, it must have been considerable. ... the red sea does not grow in my affections; as we go south there is too much of the sensation of being slowly stewed. at babel mandeb i believe the temperature of the sea rises to ° f. the islands we pass on the shore to the east, distant about fifteen miles as i write, are interesting enough. i suppose the inhabitants are somewhat irresponsible, and were we to land there in the boats unarmed, might find us full occupation for the rest of our lives as slaves in the interior. there was a ship wrecked on this coast some years ago, and her boat's crew landed, and were either killed or are up country slaving. r. tells me the wife of one of them lives beside his people in fife, which makes us feel almost in touch with the sandy shore. what an anomaly--a modern steamship packed with western civilisation reeling off twenty knots an hour--past a desert land of lawless nomadic arab tribes. [illustration] as we get south nearer aden the sand spits tail out south and slope off inland like wide glaciers, through which appear dark coloured rocky islets. ... we had rather bad luck yesterday and to-day; the iron wind catcher put out at our port to make a draught caught a sea, and threw it all over our cabin. g.'s maid had just opened my overland trunk to give the contents an airing, and now my collars are pulp and rose pink from the lining of the collar box, so i must call on the barber who runs a shop on board. we had the carpet taken up and our clothes hung up to dry, but they won't, for the air is so hot and damp--with the least exertion you steam! imagine the joy of having to dress for dinner in such cramped space and heat--you drop a stud and a year of your life in finding it! i think most people realise that their feelings under these circumstances cannot be exactly described in decorous language, so they set their teeth in grim silence; and after all there is something laughable about all the trouble--we needn't go in for white shirts and black coats and trousers in the tropics unless we like. everyone feels them horribly uncomfortable and unsuitable, but no one dares to be so utterly radical as come to dinner in anything else. if a flannel shirt and shorts were the fashion, if only for the red sea and indian ocean, how many valued lives would be prolonged. the penance in india is not so bad; there your _boy_ hunts your stud whilst you sit and cool. a number of passengers sleep on deck now; i suppose three and four in a cabin is intolerable. they have their mattresses brought up on deck by their cabin steward, and he chalks their number on the deck at their feet; you can thus sleep in a strong wet draught under the officers' deck. there is a great deal of pleasure in sleeping in the open, but you should have nothing but stars overhead and a shelter to windward, if it is only a swelling in the ground or a sod or two. the ladies have a part of the deck reserved, and the floor of the music room round the well that opens into the dining-saloon below. their part of the deck is defended at night by a zereba of deck chairs, piled three or four feet high; it suggests privacy! we had our port open last night again--my fault--and just as g. came to my end of the cabin to tell me the waves were getting near the port, in one came! so we spent the small hot hours rearranging things, shut the port and slept the sleep of the weary, and awakened more dead than alive from too little air and too much water. yesterday the ship went on fire. it started on the woodwork of the companion way, where there was a place for stationery; there was a mighty mess of water and smell of smoke and a panel or two burned, and no great damage done, as far as i can hear. i am surprised we don't go on fire every day with so many smokers chucking cigarette ends overboard. the wind-catchers sticking out of the ports of course catch these, and they blow into the berths. yesterday, however, to prevent this, two or three buckets with sand in them were put down on deck in which cigarette ends are to be buried and pipes knocked out, so there's a chance for us all yet! this morning i made a water-colour for my engineer friend, as a return for the wine vase he gave me. i thought he'd like a sketch of a highland burn in spate--thought it would be cooling. how it came about i cannot explain, but i did him a recollection of a burn within five to seven miles, by sea, of his birthplace in jura! i'd put him down as coming from the clyde. the biggest event for me in this day's reckoning was the discovery that the distinguished judge i observed contemplating the blue waves for some minutes, was an artist before he took to law! you might have knocked me down with a feather--five years in lauren's studio in paris, and three pictures on the line the year he was called to the bar and two of them sold! we had a great talk about art and all the rest of it. he and jacomb hood and others were fellow students, and he and jacomb hood and this writer, and various artists and newspaper men are to meet at his board in calcutta and have a right good bohemian evening as in days of yore. is it not curiously sanguine this belief, to which i've seen quite old men clinging--that you can repeat a good time. it is possible we will have a good evening, and talk lots of shop, for we all know far more about it now, than we did then; but it was what we did not know, that gave the charm to student days. we talk art and technique pretty hard, but i can't quite get over the shock--an artist--become a judge--a quartier latin art student--a judge of the high court--with a fixed income, and on his way to calcutta, perhaps to hang folk! we had sports to-day and a sing-song in the evening. the sports were very amusing; the bolster fight on a spar doesn't sound interesting, but it was; it got quite exciting towards the end as the wiry cavalry colonel, hero of many a stricken field, knocked out all comers, young or old. egg and spoon races and threading needles were a little stupid, but what tableaux the groups of fair women made, with the bright dresses and complexions, and the jolly brown young men, all in the soft light that was filtering through the awning and blazing up from under its edge from the sea. [illustration] sunday--at aden--loafed all morning--vowed i'd not paint--bustle and movement too great--painted hard in afternoon--horribly difficult--too many people--ladies skirt in palette--man's hoof in water tin--chucked it. [illustration: aden, and fan-sellers] this is verbatim from my log and expresses a very little of one's feelings; everyone is so jolly and polite too, you just have to stop, or go on and show temper. two or three of the passengers tried to paint effects, each formed a centre of a group of people, who looked over their shoulders, the onlookers one after another remarking with ingratiating smiles, "you don't mind my looking, do you?" why on earth do people look over the shoulders of persons painting, when they would never dream of looking over the shoulder of any one writing? notwithstanding the crowd and polite requests to be "allowed to look," and the untenable effort required to give soft answers, i did manage to make a sketch or two at aden--one of stony hills and government houses in the background, and in the front green water and the vendors of fans and beads, and curious brown, naked, active fellows in sharp stemmed light coloured boats, which they could row! some of them had turbans, pink or lemon yellow, or white skull caps, and there were also egyptian officials and soldiers in white uniform and red turbash, in white launches that raced about through the green water, cutting a great dash of white with their bows; there was colour enough, and movement and sun galore. [illustration] i suppose these "ragged rocks and flinty spires" are the rocks that inspired the pipe-major with the cheery farewell to "the barren rocks of aden"--here they are the rocks you see from aden--everyone knows the tune. th october.--the lady artist and i compared sketches. we both worship whistler, and various writers we agree about, but i fear we are only in sympathy so far. i gathered from her to-night that i ought to study native character in india, for our countrymen in india had no picturesqueness, no art about them, and to associate with them one had better be at home. i felt saddened and went on deck and saw the people she called "anglo-indians" (more than two-thirds scots, irish, cornish, and welsh, with a negligible fraction of possible angles) all lying like dead men in rows, with no side or show about them as they lay; some in contorted positions, with here and there a powerful limb or well rounded northern head showing in the half dark. rulers of the indian empire, by odin! or jove! damp and hot, and in the dark, in a strong draught, without a pick of gold lace, prostrate, sweating uncomfortably, sleeping; and travelling as their innumerable predecessors have ever travelled, from the north to rule the south. [illustration] they may be inartistic, but they look mighty touching, pathetic, and wonderful, not only the individual whose legs you step over but that almighty race combine--whatever you call it[ ]--which he represents.... ladies were stealing to their lairs in the zereba on deck, and in the music room; they look quite eastern, all muffled up in tea gowns and gauzy draperies. the music room has only recently been reserved for them at night; a mere man who had camped there with wife and child did not know of the change; and mrs deputy-commissioner told us they were all lying out there in the dark when the man entered in pyjamas and had stepped over a dozen prostrate forms when mrs d.-c. said incisively, "we are all ladies here," and he murmured "good lord," and his retreat was rapid--what a scare he had! [ ] british or english. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . [illustration] only one more day's dull reckoning and we will be ashore. i expect everyone is getting rather sick of the crowded life. a fancy dress ball pulled through last night. most ingenious dresses were made up, and prizes were given to the best. all those in fancy dress formed up and walked past the judges in single file. there were pretty much the usual stock costumes, and nothing original amongst the ladies. the very black-eyed belle with red cheeks wore a mantilla of course, and gripped a fan and had a camellia in her hair, and was called andalusian, but her walk and expression were "made in england"--a spanish girl's expression and walk can't be got up in a day or two. the-most-beautiful-lady-in-the-ship was--upon my word, i don't know what her dress was called, something of the "incroyable" period; whatever it was called, she carried it well and could walk, the rest merely toddled. she is australian, still, i'd have given her first prize. the lady who did get it, was really very pretty, and dressed as a white watteau or dresden shepherdess. amongst the men "the british tourist" was perfection--answered all requirements, and suggested the tourist of old and the tourist of to-day; he had check trousers, chop whiskers, a sun hat, umbrella, blue spectacles, and the dash of red bædeker for colour. then an assistant-commissioner, an irishman, was splendidly got up. i'd noticed he had been out of sight a good deal lately--he had been sewing his own clothes, and they were really well made! "an eastern potentate" he called himself, or a khedive, and ran to riot in a jumble of orders and jewellery and gold chains. trousers and jacket were pale cinnamon with scarlet facings and a red turbash, and how well the clothes fitted! clever mr b.; he knows so much about many subjects, and can sew! he and my judge acquaintance were arguing last night. the judge is a cornishman. when you get a highly educated cornishman and an irishman together, however long they have been in england, and they begin to talk, it's worth while sitting out. b. explained in soft and winning words to the judge that his life was a giddy round of society, long leave, and high pay, whilst he in the far north led a lonely life of continuous hard work and no pay to speak of; and the judge, with equal if not greater fluency, described b.'s up-country life as perpetual leave on full pay, a long delightful picnic, and so on and so forth. my sympathy went with the judge; i think his life is the least pleasant, but one had to allow for his greater rapidity of speech and practice in courts before juries, besides his art studies in paris. later r. joined; he is an advocate in calcutta and hails from the hebrides. then came a welsh major, a gunner. that made a party of an irishman, two scots (one of them anglicised), a welsh, and a cornishman, and they discussed everything under the sun except the celtic renaissance: for they spend their days on the confines of the empire, and the brain takes time to make the tail wag. chapter viii [illustration: b] bombay.--i've travelled these three weeks with people who have lived in india, and i have been brought up on indian books and indian home letters, and in one way and another have picked up an idea of what the people and the features of nature are like, but i have received only a very faint idea of its real light and colour. i thought egypt had given me a fair idea of what india might be, but nothing in egypt can touch what i've seen in these two half days. our first view of bombay from where we lay at anchor a mile off shore was very disappointing. all there is to see is a low shore and a monotonous line of trees and houses; the air was warm and damp and hazy, and the smoke from two or three tall chimneys hung in thin wreaths over land and water. in our immediate neighbourhood steamers were coaling, and their dust did not add any beauty to the picture, and the actual landing is not very interesting; you get off the ship to the wharf in a big launch, a slow process but quietly and well-managed, and on shore have a little trouble about your luggage, even though it may be in the hands of an agent. i'd two or three cab voyages, "gharry," i should have said, before i got the best part of ours to the taj hotel. there a friend had booked us our rooms before we sailed, and on the morning of our arrival had very thoughtfully secured them with lock and key, so that no unscrupulous occidental could play on oriental weakness and bag them before our arrival. the journeys in the gharry were not entirely successful, and i didn't get all our baggage till next day, but they presented me with one astounding series of beautiful pictures, so that my head fairly reeled with the continuous effort to grasp the way of things and their forms and colours, things in the street, themselves perhaps of no great interest but for the intense colourful light.--there is a water carrier; the sun shines blue on the back of his brown bare legs and back, and blazes like electric sparks on the pairs of brass water pots he carries slung across his shoulders. he is jogging along fast, his "shoulder knot a-creaking," and the water that splashes on to the hot dust intensifies the feeling of heat and light. then you catch the flash of silver rings in the dust on a woman's toes as she strides along, and have the unfamiliar pleasure of seeing the human form, god's image in brown, and note the rounded limbs and bust, and the movement of hip and swinging arm through white draperies, which the sun makes a golden transparency. what thousands of figures, and all in different costumes or bare skin. [illustration] their royal highnesses the prince and princess of wales arrived the day before we did, so the air vibrates with the salutes from guns, and is full of heat and curdling smoke, and colour. "the prince" is distinctly in the air, and we feel glad in consequence that we have arrived in time to have seen the town at its brightest: from morning to night there is one scene after another of continually shifting figures and colours, perfectly fascinating to us new comers. ... guns again from the war ships, aimed right at our windows! everything jingles, the air is quivering with the sound and light. the ships in the bay are ablaze with flags, and the sides of the apollo bundar (the landing place of the prince) are a mass of decorations and flags. below our windows in the shadow of our hotel on the embankment, the crowd of natives in their best behaviour and best clothes move to and fro making holiday, watching the ships and any ceremony that may come off in their neighbourhood, for like our own natives they love a tamasha. they wear flimsy clothes of varied colours, lemon-yellow and pale rose, white and pale green, and the southern light softens all these by making each reflect a little on to the other. ... there they go again! banging away--good thing there's no glass in our hotel windows! you can hardly see the shipping now, the smoke hangs low on the turquoise blue of the bay, and you can just see the yellow gleam of the flash and feel the concussion and the roar that follows. interjectory this journal must be, even my sketches are running into meaningless strokes with so many subjects following one on the top of the other. in the pauses that follow the passing of troops and gun-firing, the crowds in the streets below our hotel watch snake charmers, jugglers, and monkey trainers who play up to us at our balconies. what a delight!--there they are, all the figures we knew as dusty coloured models as children, now all alive and moving and real. the snake charmer, a north countryman, i think, sits on his heels on the road and grins up at us and chatters softly and continuously, holding up his hands full of emerald green slow moving snakes; a crowd of holiday townspeople stand round him at a little distance and watch closely. he stows the green snakes away into a basket, and his hands are as lithe as his snakes but quicker, then pipes to nasty cobras, the colour of the dusty road; they raise their heads and blow out their hoods and sway to and fro as he plays. then the mongoose man shows how his beast eats a snake's head--no trick about this! and always between the turns of the performances the performers look up and show their white teeth and talk softly to us, but we can't hear what they say the windows are so high up. then bang go the guns again, and we shut our blinds and try to read of the show of the day, the opening of princes street, when the prince drove through "millions of happy and prettily dressed subjects." as we read there comes a knock and a message with an invitation card to see the prince open a museum, and we read on; another knock comes just as i'd begun to draw the prince as we saw him last night in a swirl of dust, outriders, and cavalry, blurred in night and dust and heat--it is another card! to meet their royal highnesses, the prince and princess of wales to-night at government house! surely this is the veritable land of the tales of the arabian nights! it comes as a shock to live all your life in your own country and never to see the shadow of royalty, then suddenly to be asked twice in one day to view them as they pass--i am quite overcome--it will be a novel experience, and won't it be warm! it means top hat, frock coat and an extra high collar for the afternoon, and in the evening a hard, hot, stiff shirt and black hot clothes, and a crush and the thermometer at pucca hot-weather temperature, and damp at that, but who cares, if we actually see royalty--twice in one day! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . i am determined not to go out to-day, not on any account. i will sit in this tower room of this palace and write and draw, and will shut these jalousies that open west and south and north-east, and offer distracting views, and i will contemplate the distempered walls in the shade till i have recalled all i saw yesterday. if i go to the window, or outside, there will be too many new things to see. i maintain that for one day of new sights, a day is needed to arrange them in the tablets of memory.... but is it possible i saw all these things in one day! from a tiny wedding in the kirk in the morning to the royal reception at government house at night; from dawn till late night one splendid line of pictures of oriental and occidental pageantry, of which i have heard and read of so much and realised so little compared with reality. [illustration] we started the day with a wedding of a lady we knew on board, to a young scottish officer, the day after her arrival. we directed our "boy" to tell our driver to go to the free church. but apparently neither of these benighted heathens could distinguish between the "free" and the "wee free," or the "u. p." or the "established" and took us to the english church. we had such a hunt for the particular branch of the church of scotland. it was quite a small kirk, and our numbers were in proportion. we arrived a little hot and angry at being so misled, but the best man, a brother officer of the bridegroom, had not turned up, so we waited a little and chatted and joked a little, and felt in our hearts we would wish to see the bride and bridegroom's friends and relations about them. the best man came soon, and the bridegroom's colonel, and made an audience of four, not counting the minister; and the somewhat lonely pair stood before him, with the punkah above them, and the sun streamed through latticed windows and a modest bit of stained glass, and they were joined for better and no worse i am sure. then the minister opened a little paste board box someone had sent from home, and out came a little rice, and we four got a little each and threw it very carefully, two or three grains at a time so as not to miss. the bride had a dainty sprig of white heather in a brooch of a lion's collar bone, and was dressed in white and had a very becoming rose from home, and the sea, on her cheeks. as we prayed i made a sketch of them for her sister at home. then they and the witnesses signed their names, and where their hands and wrists touched the vestry table there was a tiny puddle, and yet this is what they call "cold weather" here! we met the bride and bridegroom later at lunch, and we drank to each other's health in pegs of lemon squash after the latest fashion east of suez. "it was a wee, wee waddin' in a far, far toon," and it's far awayness from friends and relatives and their own country was rather pathetic, even though the pair looked so handsome and happy. we drove back more leisurely and marvelled at the innumerable lovely groups in streets and by-ways, the flicker of light through banyan trees on white-robed figures, the little carts with big wooden wheels and small oxen and sharp big shadows, and we stopped to watch a splendid group of men washing clothes, a dozen or more naked brown statues against a white low wall, water splashing over them and round them, flecks of sun and shadows coming through the leaves--i suppose these were natives from the north as they had good legs. i must try and put that down this afternoon if i can, and bring in the hedge of convolvulus with lilac blooms behind and the hoody crows dancing round; then past lines of pretty horses and tents and officers and ladies at lunch. at our lunch at the taj we bade good-bye to five friends, r. and d. for bangalore, mrs d. c. for the north, and our newly-married pair for baroda. so g. and i and mr and mrs h. remain out of our table on board ship; the h.'s stay for a time at the taj and tell us so much about bombay, its people, and their ways, that a guide book would feel very dry reading. by the afternoon we have received i think five invitations on yellow cards to various royal functions! now indeed we are in the marvellous east, in the land to which scot and irish should travel to see their prince or king. so you, my dear friends, artists and professional men, who have chosen to live as i have done, in or near the capital of your native land, and whose most thrilling pageant in the whole year is the line of our worthy bailies and the provost in hired coaches going up the high street to open a meeting of ministers, if you would experience the feeling that stirred the blood of your ancestors so hotly, the feeling of personal loyalty to prince or king, the sense that is becoming as dormant as the muscles behind our ears, all you have to do is to leave your native shores and your professional duties, and home ties, and travel to some outlying part of the empire; say to bombay--there and back will cost you about _£_ by p. & o., but you will realise then that the old nerves may still vibrate. you, my friends, who can't afford this luxury, you must just stay at home and be as loyal as you can under the circumstances, and try not to think of our departed glories, and home rule, or separation--and you can read, about these yellow tickets to royal shows and such far off things, in traveller's tales. the first of these functions was the laying of the foundation of a museum of science and art; it sounds prosaic, but it was a pageant of pageantry and pucca tomasha too; the greater part, i daresay, just the ordinary gorgeousness of this country, fevered with stirring loyalty. the ceremony was in the centre of an open space of grass, surrounded by town buildings of half oriental and half western design, and blocks of private flats, each flat with a deep verandah and all bedecked with flags, and gay figures on the roofs and in the verandahs. in the centre of the grass were shears with a stone hanging from them on block and tackle. to our left was a raised dais with red and yellow striped tent roof supported on pillars topped with spears and flags and the three golden feathers of the prince of wales. in front of the circle of chairs opposite this and to our right sat the indian princes; they had rather handsome brown faces and fat figures, and wore coats of delicate silks and satins, patent leather shoes and loose socks, big silver bangles and anklets; their turbans and swords sparkled with jewels, and the air in their neighbourhood was laden with the scents of araby. behind us sat the parsees and their women-folk, soberly clad in european dress; they are intelligent looking people with pleasant cheery manners, i would like to see more of them. their fire-worship interests me, for it was till lately our own religion, and i even to-day know of an old lady in an out-of-the-way corner of our west highlands who, till quite recently, went through various genuflexions every morning--old forms of fire-worship--as the sun rose; and in the outer isles we have still many remains of our fore-fathers' worship woven into the untruthful jingling rhymes of the monks.[ ] [ ] see "carmina gadelica, the treasure house, hymns and incantations of highlands and islands," collected by alexander carmichael, , and there also the pre-christian game and fishing laws of alba. through the pillars of the shamiana we could see lines of white helmets of troops, and beyond them the crowds of natives in bright dresses, banked against the houses and in groups in the trees, a kaleidoscope of colour. past this came a whirl of indian cavalry with glittering sabres, and the prince and princess came on to the dais--more brightly dressed than they were in oxford street three weeks ago, the prince in a white naval uniform with a little gold and a white helmet, an uncommonly becoming dress though so simple; the princess in the palest pink with a suggestion of darker pink showing through, and a deep rose between hat and hair. a tubby native in frock coat and brown face and little pink turban held a mushroom golden umbrella near the prince and princess, not over them, it really was not needed for there were clouds, and the light was just pleasant. the prince then "laid" the stone--that is, some natives slackened the tackle, and it came down all square--and he and the princess talked to the personages in attendance and various city dignitaries. first, i should have said, the prince read a speech which seemed to me to cover the ground admirably. i forget what he said now, but you could hear every word. he had notes, but i think he spoke by heart. i made a careful picture of it all; red decorations, green grass, prince and princess, and the golden umbrella, but it is gone, lost--gone where pins go, i suppose. you should have heard the people cheering, and seen the running to and fro of crowds to catch a glimpse of the great raj as he drove away! in a minute the great place was all on the move, rajahs getting into their carriages and dashing off with their guards riding before and behind, and smaller rajahs with seedier carriages and only bare-footed footmen jumping up behind. everyone was happy and interested, and what a bustle and movement there was! the banging of the guns on the men-of-war began again as the motley, fascinatingly interesting crowd, cavalry outriders, sikhs, parsees, gourkas, hindoos, and mussulmen, sped away down to the apollo bundar to see the prince go off to the flagship. h. and i went with the tide, a jolly cheery medley of coloured races, waddling, trotting, running, the whole crowd cut in two by the royal scots marching through them, their pipers playing the "glendaruil highlanders." sandies and donalds and natives of india, but all subjects of the great raj: and all got down together to the bundar to see the royal embarkation. next we met g. and mrs h. driving as fast as possible through the crowd to still another function, at the town hall, where the british princess met the women of all india in their splendour, and woman's world met woman's world for the world's good. i'd fain have seen the tall, fair, saxon surrounded by devoted eastern subjects! all i did see was some of the preparations--red cloth being laid in acres up to a stately parthenon--but from various accounts i have heard from ladies who were present, this must have been one of the most extraordinary and gorgeous functions the world has ever seen. the princess, in robes and creations that chilled words, walked ankle-deep in white flower petals and golden clippings, pearls rained, and on all sides were grouped the most beautiful eastern ladies in most exquisite silks of every tint of the rainbow, with diamonds, pearls, and emeralds and trailing draperies, skirts, and soft veils, and silken trousers; sweet scents and sounds there were too, in this oriental dream of heaven, and everything showed to the utmost advantage in the mellow trembling light that fell from two thousand five hundred candles, and one hundred and ninety-nine glittering and bejewelled candelabra. and in the middle, there was a golden throne of bejewelled peacocks, and punkahs and umbrellas of gold and rose--a dream of beauty--and not one man in the whole show! the apollo bundar, as everyone who has been in india knows, is a projecting part of the esplanade below the taj hotel. here royalties are in the habit of landing and embarking. on the centre has been built something in the nature of a triumphal arch with eastern arches and minarets at its four corners with golden domes. it is all white, and between it and the pavilion at the landing stairs a great awning, or shamiana is stretched, of broad red and white striped cloth. everywhere are waving flags from golden spears, and little palms and shrubs in green tubs are arranged on either side of the shamiana; and the effect is quite pretty; but considering the historic importance of the occasion and the natural suitability of the surroundings for a royal landing, the conception and arrangement of spectacular effect was astoundingly poor--and it must be admitted it is a mistake to hide the principal actors at the most telling point of a momentous event with bunting and shrubs in pots, or both! the actual landing, the stepping on shore, should have been pictorial and visible to the thousands of spectators. instead of this, the royal personages, the moment they stepped ashore, were conducted into this tent, to listen to written speeches! what an occasion for a great spectacular effect lost for ever! when we got down to the bundar the sikh cavalry had dismounted and stood at their horses' heads; their dark blue and dark rose uniforms and turbans made a foil to the brilliant dresses of the crowd. after witnessing the departure of the prince, we sat a breathing space on the lawn at the yacht club and watched the day fading, "evening falling, shadows rising," and the ladies dresses growing faint in colour, as the background of the bay and the white men-of-war became less distinct; the golden evening light crept up the lateen sails in front of us and left them all grey, and the moon rose beyond the bay, and the club lamps were lit, and the guns began to play--vivid flashes of flame; and a roar round the fleet, straight in our faces, and again far over to elephanta, yellow flashes in the violet twilight, and the prince came ashore. the cavalry and their lances at once follow his carriage; they are silhouetted against the last of gold in the west, flicker across the lamps of the bundar, and rattle away into the shadows of the streets. there is the noise of many horses feet and harness, and the last of the guns from the fleet. then the night is quiet again and hot as ever, and there's nothing left of the glare and noise of the day, only the glowing lamps on some of the buildings, and the subdued hum of the talk of the moving thousands, and the whispering sound of their bare feet in the dust. the eastern crowd is distinctly impressed and very much compressed; they will now spend the rest of the evening gazing at the bombay public buildings that are being lit all over with little oil lamps. and this was but a small part of the day for us, the best was to come in the damp, hot night. chapter ix [illustration: (with apologies to the indian surveys.)] dined at our hostlerie; in every direction vistas of uniforms, ladies' dresses, maharajahs, rajahs, turbans, and jewels, the marble pillars and the arches of blue night over the bay for background. then we got away in a bustle of hundreds of other carriages and gharries, all bound for government house. we started a little late; you may have observed that with ladies you are apt to be late for social functions, but rarely miss a train! h. and i drove ahead with soothing cigars, and the ladies came close behind. on our left we passed the r.h. artillery camp, rows of tents frosted with moonlight against the southern sea, some had lamps glowing inside; and further on we passed their lines of picketted horses, with silent native syces squatted on the sand at their feet. ... the dust hangs heavily from the gharries in front of us as we drive north round the back bay, which we are told is very beautiful, and like the bay of naples in the daytime; what we see on this warm night is a smooth, dark sea, which gives an infrequent soft surge on the shore, a few boats lie up on the moonlit sand and figures lie asleep in their shadows, and others sit round little fires. dark palm stems and banyan trees are between us and the sea, and to our right are fern-clad rocks and trees in night green shade, rising steeply to where we can distinguish white walls and lights of villas of the wealthy bombay natives. we pass the parsis' towers of silence, where vultures entomb the dead, and inhale for a long part of the road the smoke of burning wood and hindoos--an outrageous experience. the road rises gradually and gets narrower as we leave the shore, and the procession of carriages goes slower. on either side are low white walls and villas and heavy foliage. coloured lamps are hung in every direction, and their mellow lights blend pleasantly with the moonlight and shadows, and shine through the flags that hang without movement, and light up ropes of flowers and ribands with gold inscriptions of welcome, that stretch from tree to tree across the road. you read on them in golden letters, "tell papa how happy we are under british rule," and on the walls, sitting or lying at length, and in the trees are bronze-coloured natives in white clothes, or in the buff, silently watching the procession of carriages, and they do look as contented as can be; and so would we be too, if we had to get into their evening undress instead of hard shirts and broad cloth on such a damp, hot night. it is november and ought to be cool, but this year everyone says it is just october as regards temperature and moisture, and october, they say, is the beastliest month in the twelve. the drive of four or five miles takes over an hour, and looking south we see the lights shining across the bay from where we started. we climb slowly up malabar hill in the dusky shade of the heavy foliage and come to a stop amongst crowds of other carriages opposite government house. i'd like to stop and paint this scene, it would suit the stage--the marquee on the right, pale moonlight on its ridge, and warm light and colour showing through its entrance as ladies go in to put off their cloaks; its guy ropes are fast to branches and air roots of a banyan tree; and to the left there is another graceful tree, with wandering branches, hung with many red and yellow paper lamps, the branches like copper in the light and in shadow black against the dark blue sky. in front is part of government house, dim white with trellis work and creepers round a classic verandah, and lamplight coming through the open jalousies. leading up to the verandah are wide steps in shadow; and on these, a light catching now and then on a jewel or scabbard, are groups of indian princes. beside us on the lawn are people in all kinds of dresses, soldiers in uniform and the gold dull in the shadows, ladies in fairy-coloured ball dresses, and parsi men in frock-coats and shiny black hats, their women in most delicate veils over european dresses. the figures move quietly and speak softly, and the air is full of the rattle of crickets or cicadas and a pleasant scent of night flowers, and cheroot smoke, with a whiff of old ocean. we wait and chat outside with acquaintances, and some ladies practise curtseys whilst the natives are being received--the coloured man first, the white man and his womenfolk when they may! then we all go up the steps and into the brilliant interior, which is georgian in style, and light and prettily coloured. it is distinctly a sensation, to come from semi-darkness into full light and such an extraordinary variety of people and colour and costumes. the figures in the half light outside were interesting, in the full blaze of hundreds of candles from many chandeliers the effect is just as brilliant as anything one could imagine. the strong colours of the natives' turbans, silk coats, sashes, and jewels enrich the scene, and their copper colour helps to set off the splendid beauty of our women with their dazzling skins and delicately coloured dresses. positively these princes were inches deep in emeralds, diamonds, and pearls. [illustration] then comes the tableau of the evening, the prince and princess walking with aides-de-camp through their eastern and western subjects, with an introduction made here and there. the prince walks in front and the princess a few steps behind. she seems very pleased and interested, and still, i think, looks under her eye lest she should fail to recognise some one she would wish to notice, and the prince's expression is so pleasant, quiet, and possessed in repose, and with a very ingratiating smile. he stops and speaks to right and left, to one of our officers, or a native prince. one, a tall grizzled old fellow with gorgeous turban and the eye and air of a hunter, bends very low over the offered hand, and talks a moment, possibly tells how he shot with the king when he was prince, and how there are tigers and devoted subjects waiting in the north in his state all at the service of the son of the great white raj, and as the prince goes past, the old man follows him with a very kindly expression. i must say that these people's jewels interest me more than their expressions; but this one man's face was exceptional, and he was lean! you see the thing above these people, that is the punkah; when it waggles about it makes a cold draught and you get hot with annoyance. [illustration: waiting for carriages after reception at government house, bombay] immediately the prince passed, the crowd pressed towards a side room for champagne and iced drinks, the native princes gallantly leading the charge. at the start we were all pretty level, but we britons made a bad finish, and the native waiters and champagne were somewhat exhausted when we came in, but for what we did receive we are truly thankful, for it was sorely needed. how we got home again now seems like a dream. i have just a vague recollection of hours and hours in the warm dusk, and crowds of people in evening dress waiting till their carriages came up. perhaps the arrangements could not have been better? some of us dozed, some smoked government house cheroots, which were good, and the time passed. all conversation gradually stopped, and you only heard the number of the gharry or carriage shouted out with a rich brogue and sometimes a little stifled joke and a "chelo!" which seems to stand for "all right," "go ahead," "look sharp," or "go on and be damned to you," according to intonation and person addressed. i do not quite understand how it took such hours to get everyone away, and i do not understand how we ever managed to get up that vast square staircase up the enormous central tower of the taj hotel, for g. was deadly tired, so of course the lift wasn't working--it looked so big and grey, and silent in the cold light of morning. then to sleep, and tired dreams of the whole day and evening; i dreamt i was in a government house and the guests had gone and i met a dream prince and a dream of an a.d.c. in exquisite uniform who said, "quai hai," and in an instant there were dream drinks, and cheroots such as one used to be able to get long ago, and we planned ways to remedy abuses, and the greatest was the abuse of the royal academical privileges; and at such length we went into this, that this morning i wrote out the whole indictment and it covered six of these pages, and so it is too long to insert here. and our remedy as it was in a dream was at once effective--sculpture and painting became as free and as strong an influence in our national life in britain as literature is at this moment--then came a frightful explosion! and i awoke, and the sun was blazing out of a blue sky through the open windows--then it came again, a terrific bang! and the jalousies rattled and the whole of the taj hotel shook for the war ships were saluting the prince of wales, and he and his aides-de-camp and all the officials in his train had been up for hours, "doing their best to serve their country and their king," whilst we private people slumbered. but whither have i strayed in this discourse? am i not rather wandering from the point, as the cook remarked to the eel, telling dreams instead of making notes on a cold weather tour as i proposed; so i will stop here, and tell what, by travel and conference, i have observed about royal functions. the day has passed to the accompaniment of "god bless the prince of wales," and gun firing, and "god save the king," on brass bands, and more gun firing. somehow or other "god save the king" in india, where you are surrounded by millions of black people, sounds a good deal more impressive than it does at home--perhaps there's more of the feeling of god save us all out here. i find it impossible to remember nearly all i have seen and heard in one of these bustling days; i should think that even a resident, long familiar with all these everyday common sights that are so new and interesting to us, could barely remember the ceremonies of one day in connection with the royal visit. [illustration] i remember a dock was opened to-day, and we were favoured with tickets which gave us an admirable view. again there were shears, at the bottom of a place like a greek theatre, very large shears this time, and a stone suspended from them. the prince and princess came down a wide flight of steps to a platform with two thrones on it. behind them at the top of the steps were splendid ionic pillars and a pediment swagged with great wreaths of green. the prince was followed by officers and ladies and leading bombay citizens mixed with only a few indian princes. sir walter hughes of the harbour trust presented a magnificent piece of silver in the shape of a barque of the time of charles ii., with high stem and forecastle and billowy sails, guns, ports, standing rigging, and running gear complete, including waves and mermaids, and all made in the school of art here to mr burns' instructions. we sat opposite, in half circles of white uniforms and gay parasols and dresses and dreams of hats. behind us and all around and outside the enclosure were thousands of natives in thousands of colours. there were speeches, of course, and the prince touched a button and the stone descended into the bowels of the earth and made the beginning of the new dock. then everyone got their carriages, gharries, bicycles, pony carts, dog carts or whatever they came in, as best they could, and we all went trotting, cantering, jambing, galloping, go-as-you-please down the central thoroughfare between high houses of semi-european design, with verandahs and balconies full of natives. the crowds on the pavement stood four or five deep all the way, and hung in bunches on the trees, some in gay dresses, others naked, brown and glistening against the dusty fig trees, stems, and branches. you saw all types and colours, one or two seedy europeans amongst them, and eurasians of all degrees of colour, one, a beautiful girl of about twelve i saw for a second as we passed; she had curling yellow hair and white skin, might have sat for one of millais pictures, and she looked out from the black people with very wide blue eyes, at the passing life of her fathers. most of us made for the yacht club for tea on the lawn; for the prince, it had been said, was to visit it informally, so all the seats and tables on the lawn were booked days before! it was rather pretty there; i should not wonder that watteau never actually saw anything so beautiful. there were, such elegant ladies and costumes, and such an exquisite background, the low wall and the soft colour of the water beyond; the colour calm water takes when you look to the east and the sun is setting behind you, the colour of a fish's silver. and the lawn itself was fresh green; trees stood over the far end of the club house, and under these the band played. when the lights began to glow along the sea wall and in the club, and under the trees to light the music, the prince and the princess, with lady ampthill and lord lamington, came and walked up and down and spoke to people, and all the ladies stood up from their tea tables as they passed, and i tell you it was good; such soft glowing evening colours and gracious figures, such groups there were to paint--my apologies for the hasty attempt herewith. the prince you may discover in grey frock-coat speaking to the bandmaster of the th hussars, the princess and lady ampthill near. [illustration] i've worked at saturday's pictures and sunday's and written my journal, and seen royal sights all day till now, and _opus terrat_ and it is late and hot, and the mosquitos tune up--the beast that is least eating the beast that is biggest; the beast that is biggest to sleep if it may. chapter x ... went this morning with krishnaswami of madras--krishna is my "boy," and is aged about forty--to army and navy stores for clothes. the thinnest i could get at home feel very thick and hot here in this hot november. i'd also to get photograph films, and guitar strings, and blankets for the boy against the cold weather--just now the mere thought of a blanket grills one's mind--also to book shops to get books about india, which i am pretty sure never to have time to read. in my innocence tried to get my return tickets on p. & o. changed to another line, and signally failed to do so. then drew a little and loafed a good deal on the bundar watching the lateen-rigged boats. these boats take passengers to elephanta or go off to the ships in the bay with cargoes of brightly coloured fruits. the scene always reminds me of that beautiful painting by tiepolo of the landing of queen elizabeth in our national gallery--i daresay one or two edinburgh people may know it. the boats are about twenty feet long with narrow beam. figures in rich colours sit under the little awnings spread over the stern; the sailors are naked and brown, and pole the boats to their moorings with long, glistening bamboos, which they drive into the bottom and make fast at stem and stern. it is pleasant to watch the play of muscle, and attitudes, and the flicker of the reflected blue sky on their brown perspiring backs as they swarm up the sloping yards and cotton sails to brail up. no need for anatomy here, or at home for that matter; if an artist can't remember the reflected blue on warm damp flesh, he does not better matters by telling us what he has learned of the machinery inside--that is, of course, where michael angelo did not quite pull it off. as i sat on the parapet a beautiful emerald fish some four feet long came sailing beneath my feet in the yellowish water; a little boy shouted with glee, and a brown naked boatman tried to gaff it, then a brilliant butterfly, velvet black and blue, fluttered through the little fleet; and with the colours of the draperies, of peaceful but piratical looking men, the lateen sails, and sunlight and heat, it all felt "truly oriental." to bring in a touch of the west, one of the "renown's" white and green launches with brass funnels rushed up and emptied a perfect cargo of young eastern princes in white muslins, and pink, orange, and green turbans with floating tails to them. they clambered up the stone slip with their bear leader and got into carriages with uniformed drivers, six or more into each carriage quite easily; the basket trick seems nothing to me now--they were such slips of lads--but what colour! at lunch we talked with miss m. she gave us the latest ship news about our late fellow passengers--the mutual interest has not quite evaporated yet--gave us news of the ladies who had come out to be married. she had asked one of these as they came off the ship into the tender what it was she carried so carefully, and the reply was, "my wedding cake," and of a poor man, she told us, who came on at marseilles bringing out his fiancee's trousseau, and who found on his arrival here, he had utterly lost it! what would the latter end of that man be; would she forgive? could she forget? it was said that another lady, finding the natives were in the habit of going about without clothes, booked a return passage by the next ship. here is a jotting at this same landing place of the prince and princess going off to the guard ship, but i am so sorry it is not reproduced in colour. they were to have gone to the caves of elephanta across the bay, but had not time. they apparently go on and on, without any "eight hour" pause, through the procession of engagements--it must be dreadfully fatiguing. you see three eurasians in foreground of the sketch, one of them with almost white hair and white skin, and freckles and blue eyes, he might be irish or york shire. the two younger boys are, i think, his brothers--they have taken more after their mother. all three are nervous and excited watching for the prince. they are neatly dressed in thin clothes, through which their slightly angular figures show, and have nervous movements of hand to mouth, and quick gentle voices, slightly staccato, what is called "chee chee," i believe. [illustration] beyond the boys you see a parsi woman looking round. they are conspicuous people in bombay by their look of intense harmlessness. the men are very tidy and wear what they probably would describe as european clothes, trousers and long cutaway coats and white turndown collars. some have grey pot hats, with a round moulding instead of a brim, but their ordinary hat is something like a mitre in black lacquer, and it does suggest heat! they all have very brainy-looking heads from the youth upwards, and wear glasses over eyes that have no quickness--as if they could count but couldn't see--and they constantly move their long, weakly hands in somewhat purposeless angular fashion; the women with similar movements frequently pat their front hair which is plastered down off their foreheads, and shade their eyes with their hands at a right angle to their wrists. i suppose they and the bengalis are the backbone of indian mercantile business. yet in "india," by sir thomas holdich, i read that out of the population of , , the parsis do not number even one-tenth of a million. it seems to me that we have the parsi woman's type at home in some of our old families, as we have remains of their zoroastrian fire-worship. i've seen one or two really beautiful and highly cultured, but the average is just a little high-shouldered and floppy, and their noses answer too closely to gainsborough's description of mrs siddons'. mrs siddons is just the parsi type glorified. we went to the ladies gymkana to-day more for the sake of the drive, i think, than for anything else--with the utmost deference to ladies, they can be seen at home--a few people played badminton by lamplight; it was dusky, damp, and warm, and heavy matting hung round the courts. outside an orange sunset shone through palm stems, and flying foxes as big as fox terriers passed moth-like within arms length. from the height we were on we looked down over the back bay, and far below in the twilight we could make out the lights from a few boats on the sand, and fishermen's lamps flickered across the mud flats, and from far out in the west a light kept flashing from an island that was the haunt of pirates the other day. two more lights we saw were glowing to the south-east in bombay itself--one, the light of the native fair, and a slight glow from the remains of the bombay and baroda railway offices, a great domed building that burned up last night after the illuminations. it was madness to cover public buildings with open oil lamps and leave them to be looked after by natives--this huge taj hotel, dry as tinder outside, a complexity of dry wooden jalousies and balconies, was covered with these lights and floating flags--how it didn't go off like a squib was a miracle. i saw one flag gently float into a lamp, burn up and fall in flaming shreds and no one was the wiser or the worse. the faintest breath of air one way or the other and the other flags would have caught fire, and in a second it would have run everywhere. ... after the ladies club, pegs and billiards inside the yacht club, the bombay ladies outside on the green lawn at tea, gossip, hats, local affairs, and imperialism, and beyond them the ships of the fleet picked out with electric lights along the lines of their hulls and up masts and funnels like children's slate drawings. it was interesting to come from the street and the crowds of parsis and natives all so slenderly built and watch the british youth in shirt sleeves and thin tweeds playing billiards--they were not above the average physique of their class, mostly young fellows who had already been through campaigns--and you noted the muscles showing through their thin clothes and compared them with native figures, and it did not seem surprising that one of them could keep in order quite a number of such wisps as the billiard markers for example. but up north they say the natives are stronger and bigger than here. every now and then a boy passed round bags of chalk on hot water enamelled plates to dry the players' hands and cues, which gives one an idea of the damp heat of bombay. ... now my friend says he's off to dress, and we go into the dressing-room--that is a sight for a nouveau! dozens of dark men in white linen clothes and turbans are waiting on these little chaps from home, as they drop in. they are tubbed and towelled, shirts studded and put on, and are fitted without hardly lifting a hand themselves till they put the finishing touch to hair and moustache at the glasses and dressing-tables that are fixed round the pillars--sounds like effeminacy, but it is not, for it is far more tiring for a man to be dressed here by two skilful servants than it is to dash into his clothes at home by himself. if you were to dress here without help you might as well have dropped into your bath all standing, you would be so wet and uncomfortable; but all the same i think it is stupid the way we people cling to a particular style of evening dress regardless of circumstances. then home to the taj in the dusk through a crowd of natives jammed tight on the bundar, all looking one way breathlessly at the fleet's fireworks and search-lights. you touch them on the shoulder and say, "with your leave," and they make way most politely, and you wonder if it is because you are british or because they have bare toes. i went to the theatre in the evening, a native theatre royal. none of my relations or friends seemed interested, so i availed myself of the kind offer of guidance given me by a fellow artist, an amateur painter, but a professional cutter of clothes. i expected something rather picturesque, possibly rather squalid, but found it intensely interesting and characteristic and very clean, a cross-between a little french theatre, say in monte parnasse, and one of the lesser london theatres. the acting was french in style and expressive, and full of humour and frankness, and there was a quaint decorative style in all the tableaux and in the actors' movements that made me think rather of persian figures in decorations than of india. there was a parterre and a wide gallery, in which we got back seats; the audience were all men and well-dressed, and laughed heartily at the points. these i was fortunate enough to have most patiently described to me by a syrian who sat beside me, apple-faced and beaming, pleased with the play and himself as interpreter. besides his valued assistance, i had from the doorkeeper a résumé of the plot printed in english; my acquaintance was less fortunate, for, owing to the house being full, we had to separate to get seats, and i fear he lost a good deal of the interest. the syrian gave me the strong points of the different actors, and told me that he himself was an importer of gold leaf and thread; he had, i think, one of the jolliest faces i have ever seen. the most simple and telling effect was when the prime minister found his young master sickened of love for a beautiful lady, and sent to the bazaar for musicians and dancers; they came and arranged themselves facing the audience in the front of the stage in a perfectly decorative arrangement, struck in a moment. every turn of hand and poise of body and arrangement of colour suggested the smiling figures you see on persian illuminations. i forgot the effect on the prince--i wonder he didn't die before we left; he had been acting hours before we came, and we only saw a portion of the play--left at twelve, and must have been there three hours! as we drove home the bazaars were still busy. one street struck me as peculiarly quiet. there were japs at balconies of low two-storied doll-houses, silhouetted against lamplight which shone through their red fans and pink kimonos, and other shabby houses with spindle-shanked darker natives, in white draperies, also some larger people dimly seen, on long chairs, who my friend said, were probably french--european at least. one or two groups of rather orderly sailors, and a soldier or two, were all the people on the street, and the only sound was "come eer', come eer'" from the balconies in various accents. the edinburgh café i noticed, loomed large and dark and very respectable looking in the middle of the street. i suppose you could get drinks there on week days; my companion, the cutter, did not take any drinks, so i think he must be thinking of marriage. he was very interested in art--what a bond that is, wider than freemasonry, what good fellows artists are to each other the world over--till they become associates. this tailor was turned out of london by the aliens; he spoke gently and pathetically of the way the unscrupulous and insinuating foreigner works out the home-bred honest man from london. "if all was known," he said, "aliens would be restricted;" and blessed are the meek, i thought, for they shall inherit the earth--if they only live long enough. [illustration: lord minto's landing in india.] chapter xa th.--everyone on the apollo bundar and in bombay waited for the guns to announce the arrival of the new viceroy, and for the mail; to mothers and fathers just out, letters from little ones by the mail was perhaps the more important event. maharajahs, aide-de-camps, generals, and hosts of officials were all trying to keep cool, to speed the parting viceroy, and welcome his successor with all proper ceremony. to understand and describe how this was done is beyond my powers, therefore i must content myself with a note here and there. it struck me as improper that the cheers which welcomed the new viceroy had practically to do duty for the departure of lord curzon. they say, "le roi est mort, vive le roi," but in this case, "le roi" wasn't dead, but on the contrary must have been painfully alive to the sounds of cannons booming and cheers ringing to welcome his successor. i'd have had three or four days decent calm for the empire to note the departure of so great an actor in its history. then, after silence and fasting; fresh paint and flags for the new arrival! monday afternoon.--guns fire, and the new viceroy on the p. & o. steamer arrives in the bay. as she steams through the fleet, the hot air resounds with thunder of guns, and smoke accumulates. now she is passing the _renown_ and _terrible_, and the smoke hangs so thick that the hills and ships are almost hidden, and you can only see the yellow flashes through the banks of grey smoke. as lord minto landed at the bundar, the sun was setting and the lamps were lit, and a soft breeze offshore floated out the flags against the glow of the sunset. th.--made a jotting of the departure of lord curzon from the apollo bundar. it was a very brilliant affair; any number of white uniforms sparkling with gold, and ladies in exquisite dresses, and with cameras with which they shot the departing couple from the stone buttresses. lady curzon was in soft silk and muslin crêpe-de-chine, i think, a colour between pale green and violet, possibly a little of both. it was a very pretty dress and with a parasol to match. they went down the steps and the red carpet to the cheers of people on the pier. this effective carpet with the white edge has figured a good deal lately in various ceremonies; the prince and princess went up and down it, and viceroys and vicereines, and many generals and maharajahs. it ought to be preserved by the municipality. i thought i'd condescend just for once to try a photo on this occasion, as lord curzon went down the steps to the tender, and i believe i lost in consequence, by the fraction of a second, a mental picture that i'd have treasured for the rest of my days and have possibly reduced to paint. just as the whole scene was coming to a point when the least movement on the part of the principal figures one way or the other would take away from the effect; when lord curzon turned on the landing in the middle of the steps to say farewell, i had to look down at my pesky little camera to pull the trigger! so my mind is left blank just where i know there should be a telling arrangement, just such a moment as that painted in "the spears," the breda picture, where the principal actors and the others are caught in the very nick of time--the camera will now rest on the shelf beside a rhyming dictionary and the encyclopædia britannica. lord curzon said a few words to the people near him before going down the last steps into the launch, and it in the meantime gently and perseveringly smoked the ticket-holders on the buttress of the pier opposite us; and we ticket-holders and g. p. on our buttress smiled at their pained expressions--our time was to come. it stopped smoking, held its breath as it were, and came slowly under us, and lady curzon looked up from under the awning in the stern with a charming smile, and all our topees came off or white gloved hands went up in salute to beautiful white helmets--and our turn came!--the launch gave a snort, and we felt a pleasant, cool rain from condensed steam, and thought it refreshing as it fell on our faces. then we grinned as we looked at our neighbours; and then realized that we too were black as sweeps, topees, white helmets, and uniforms all covered with a fine black oily rain. i've a new topee to charge against one or other of the viceroys or government--general pretyman hardly looked his name--and during the rest of the function of the return from the bundar of lord minto and his retainers, you could tell by his grey speckled side what position in the preceding function a spectator had occupied. a parsi, in neat black frock-coat and brunswick black hat, and dark face, remarked to me with a smile, "you see the advantage of a little colour,"--bit of a wag i thought! altogether it was a very a. . sight the colour veronesque; the troops, rajahs, beautiful ladies in exquisite latest dresses, and the variety of type, european and native, made a splendid subject for a historical picture. then the new viceroy left the shamiana on the bundar after making a speech, which i was sorry i did not hear, for i was so engaged looking at things, and longing to have some method of putting down colours without looking at one's hand, as you can touch notes on a musical instrument. can no inventor make something to do this--something to lie in the palm and bring all colours and divisions of colour ready made to the finger tips so that you might put them down in a revelry of colour as unconsciously and freely as the improvisator can use the notes on the piano to express his feeling. there is more cheering and more gun firing and carriages dash up to the front of the shamiana and its white eastern arches that have done so much service this week, and lord minto drives off. it is most interesting seeing the borderer who is to be warden of the indian peninsula for the next five years. lady minto follows, with her daughters behind her. they stand in the full light, white pillars on either side and red light filtering through hangings behind. white uniformed brown-faced officers follow in attendance with glitter of gold and waving white and red feathers. lady minto wears a very big wide hat, blue and white ostrich feathers under the brim--her daughters are in bright summery colours; the three drive off in an open carriage with an honoured soldier. then soldier after soldier in gay uniforms with floating white and scarlet cock feathers drove off in carriages, dog carts, and motors, followed by city officials, port trustees, doctors, lawyers, and smaller wigs till vanishing point might have been marked, i suppose, by the official artist did the empire run to such an extravagance. then more carriages glittering in gold came up, and old, and fat, young, and thin, genial, and haughty indian princes, covered with gold and jewellery, got in or were helped in, and footmen in gorgeous clothes and bare feet jumped up in front and behind, and off they went, the big princes leading with horsemen and drawn swords behind them. smaller carriages followed till you come down to victorias with perhaps just one syce. then the poona horse, beautifully mounted, in dark blue, red, and gold, with drawn swords rode past at a very quick trot, now and then breaking into a canter with a fine jingle and dust that made almost the best part of the show. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . i can't say i enjoy this damp warm weather here. it feels all right in the sun out of doors, but indoors after dark and in draughts from punkahs it is horrid. i'd now give a considerable sum for one whole day of twenty-four hours clear arctic or antarctic sunny air and snow; one would feel dry then, and lose the cold and fever that sticks to one here. the turkish bath is the only place you can get really dry in; at one hundred and fifty in the hot room you feel more comfortable than outside at eighty-two. the turkish bath in the hotel is very nicely fitted up, but the native masseur wasn't a pleasing experience, his weak chocolate-coloured hands gave me the sensation of the touch of a middling strong eel; his lean, lithe figure and the charms round his neck, and grey hair died brick-red i expect to see again in dreams--a crease in his teeth and venom in his evil eye. it is curious that though you do not see any sign of this dampness in the air either by day or night, whenever the search lights from the war ships are turned on; you see what appear to be clouds of vapour drifting across the path of light. at night we drove to malabar hill to the new viceroy's reception, and it was all pretty much the same as going to the reception given by their royal highnesses. the air damp, hot, and dusty, and for a long way heavy with the smell of roasting bodies, and this time inscriptions across the lamplit road were changed to "god bless our new viceroy;" but we had the same waiting outside government house, met the same people and heard much the same talk about lord curzon's byculla speech and about this one and the other. "so and so is looking well isn't he?" "yes, yes--ha, ha--laying it on a bit, isn't he! must be a stone heavier since his leave--takes his fences though they say like a man. oh! excellent speech. they must be tired--poor people--hear they were very pleased with our decorations. well, you know they weren't bad, were they?" of course the "excellent speech" was lord curzon's farewell, and "they" stands for their royal highnesses. i noticed some parsi ladies rather better looking than i had already seen. one was really beautiful, allowing a decimal point off her nose. this beauty moved briskly and firmly and had eyes to see and be seen. many of them have slightly hen-like expressions and wear glasses and carry their shoulders too high. as they are the only native women who appear in public they naturally draw your attention. the hindoos and mohammedans shut their women up at home and glower on yours; but the parsi goes about with his wife and daughters with him in public, and therefore enlists your sympathy. these parsis were driven from persia in pre-mohammedan times by religious persecution. i suppose their belief was akin to our old religion which the masterful columba rang out of iona. i don't think i have seen any men on apparently such friendly relations with their women and children. you see them everywhere in bombay, often in family groups, their expressions beyond being clever, perhaps shrewd, are essentially those of gentlemen and gentlewomen.[ ] the only other native women i have seen have their mouths so horribly red with betel nut and red saliva that you dare not look at them twice, so perhaps it is as well that their absence is so conspicuous. [ ] the strength of intellectual capacity added to the material wealth which is possessed by this community have given it abnormal prominence, the measure of which may be estimated by the fact that out of a total of , , inhabitants of india, the parsis do not number even one-tenth of a million. _see_ sir thomas holdich's "india." i need hardly say that mrs h. and g. were the most beautifully dressed ladies in the crowd, and made the most perfect curtseys, and h. and i the most elegant bows to the viceroy and vicereine. they stood on a dais, and as we passed in file we were introduced, and the viceroy bobbed and lady minto looked and smiled a little, just as if she knew your name and about you and saw more than men as trees walking, and we bowed and went on, thinking it nice to see people in so great and responsible a position attending to the little details so well, not forgetting that many littles make a mickle, and that those two servants of the empire have been standing doing this for half an hour, and will still have to go on for an hour at least in this very tiring bombay heat and crowd, and after a p. & o. voyage and landing! their total effort for all the ceremonies of the day before, and years to come, rather appalled me to think of. bravo! public servants, who work for honour and the empire; how will the socialist fill your places when he is on top. as before, gorgeously apparelled scarlet turbaned waiters gave us champagne, and native princes hemmed the tables for it, and chocolates. here is a little picture of what i remember--you may suppose some of the figures represent our party after getting over the bow and into the straight for the cup. we then wandered about, and admired the uniforms of the governor's body guard, tall native soldiers standing round about the passages with huge turbans and beards, blue tunics, white breeches, and tall black boots, all straight and stiff as their lances, and barring their roving black eyes, as motionless. from a verandah opposite the viceroy, we watched the new comers making their bows; ladies, soldiers, sailors, civilians, single or married passed, and never were two bows or curtseys absolutely alike, nor were two walks, but the viceroy's bow and lady minto's pleasant smile and half look of recognition were equally cordial to all. [illustration: a reception in government house, bombay.] our departure--hours to wait again for our carriage. h. stood-by in front, waiting for our number to be shouted; fortune drove me wandering up the drive with a government house cheroot, too fagged to speak to people, and lo and behold! our carriage driver and syce, asleep in a by-way. so i brought it along and sung out ! ! and away we all got hours sooner than might have been. the road is full of carriages, gharries, and dog carts. occupants--officers, sailors, and soldiers in batches, alone or with ladies; white shirts and skirts gleam green in the moonlight--the road--dusty, stuffy, and the pace go-as-you-please; past a lamplit bungalow in the shadows of trees and out into the open again and moonlight and dust--past a motor by the roadside, its owner, in court dress, sweating at its works--dust, moonlight, and black silk--a whistler by jove! now we pass a slow going gharry, and now two young hatless soldiers in a high dog cart pass us under the trees, downhill at a canter, an inch between us, and half an inch between their off wheel and the edge of the road, and the sea ten feet beneath. then along the lines of tents, with their curtains open and occupants going to bed.... we too must experience that tent life, but not in town if we can help it. by all that's lucky the lift works still! that grand stairway is a climb, in the sma' hours--a pipe and a chat and this line in this journal, and under the mosquito curtains to sleep--i hope till past time for church; all the common prey of the grey mosquito, viceroy, public servant, private gentleman alike. yesterday being sunday we had a day of rest and did no manner of work--only painted and wrote up my journal, and in the late afternoon g. and i drove down to colaba, the point south of bombay. this took us through the cantonments and past officers' houses on the low ground, amongst barracks, and soldiers in khaki and rolled up shirt sleeves, smoking their pipes under palms and tropic trees; with the lap of indian ocean on the shore to the west, and bombay on the left and east. this is not the healthiest or most fashionable quarter. our officers cannot afford to take the best bungalows and situations which are towards malabar hill, for the hindoos and parsis, who owe their wealth to our military protection, can buy them out easily. i'd put that right "if i were king!" so our officials and officers have to live where their pay will let them, in low lying bungalows and expensive flats, or in hotels. though not fashionable, it was a pleasant enough drive for us. a glimpse of the open ocean with the setting sun makes you feel that it is possible to up anchor and go, sooner or later--somewhere. chapter xi here beginneth another week of observations. to begin with, i purchased e. h. a.'s "tribes on my frontier," feeling that a groundwork of study in this writer's popular books was necessary before leaving bombay's coral strand and adventuring to the interior of this interesting peninsula. my library increases, you observe. i purchased holdich's "india," and i now admit i own a red bædeker-looking book published by murray. with these three i consider i have enough reading matter to make me pretty "tired" in the next three or four months. at home i have only read bits of "the tribes on my frontier," out here everyone has read it; it is all about bugs and beasts and nature studies, the common beasts you see here, that no one notices after a time. to-day i timidly approached one of the ferocious looking animals he writes about. it was spread out on a window pane in the back premises of the yacht club. no one was looking or i would not have dared to exhibit an interest in such a common object. it was like this, a dream-like beast, with a golden eye and still as could be, except that its throat moved (the window and lizard, are reduced to about one-fifth of life size), and its eye meditated evil. i ventured to put the end of my stick near it, and it went off with such alarming speed that i hastily withdrew my stick. it had vanished into a crack, i'd never have dreamed a small crevice in a window sash could hold such an extraordinary creature! i must look him up in "e. h. a." [illustration] colonel sir thomas holdich's "india," in my humble opinion, is an absolutely perfect book of reference, of concentrated information on populations, their origin and characteristics; geology, meterology, distribution plants with excellent maps printed by bartholomew; it might be called scientific, but for the charm of the touches of colour the whole way through. the murrays' book is very useful, but so dry that you hardly care to open it except in emergency. it has many references to the times of the conquest of india and the mutiny, and the editor, an englishman or anglicised scot, frequently gives the names of individuals, soldiers and private people, who distinguished themselves in these times. for example, at the siege of seringapatam, where he mentions such well-known names as baillie, baird, campbell, and m'donald, two-thirds the names of my countrymen, and he calls them "english!" which makes me think of neil munro's skipper of "the vital spark" and his remark about his mate, "he wass a perfect shentleman, he would neffer hurt your feelings unless he was trying." writers in the days of the mutiny wrote of the feats of the "british troops," their gallantry, and all the rest of it; look up _the illustrated london news_ of that time, and you will see this is true. why--confound them all--do they talk of "english" to-day, when they refer to scots, irish, and englishmen, and the people of our colonies; is it merely casual, or a deliberate breaking of the terms of union of ? eitherway the effect tends to dis-union, it is ante-imperial and for home rule for "a little england." ahem--may that pass as a "digression?"--now for more nature studies. i saw in the crawford market this afternoon fresh fish, and dried and unfresh, and the vendors thereof. there were many kinds of so-called fresh fish, but the most were dried, to mere skin and bone, sharks and sprats, piled in baskets or hanging in bundles. diminutive wrinkled women sat on little bits of wet mat in rows, and chopped the "fresh" fish into little morsels with little choppers by the light of little cruisie oil lamps, that flickered and smoked beside them, and lit up their puckered little chocolate faces, glinted on their teeth and gums scarlet with betel, and threw warm lights on the customers faces, who leant forward to close range and haggled, and, i daresay, said the fish wasn't fresh--and if they had asked me, i'd have entirely agreed with them. respectable looking parsi men in tight broad cloth coats and shiny black pointed pot hats did this marketing--not their wives--peered through their spectacles very carefully, down their long noses at each little chunk. i hoped they could smell no better than they could see; and the grotesque little women slipped the minute coppers they secured under the damp mat on the wet stones between their feet. that was all very poor and small and sordid, but the grain sellers were pleasant to look at. they sat in nice clean booths, with around them an endless variety of neat sacks and bowls displaying all kinds of rice and corn and lentils and baskets of bright chillies and many other dried fruits for curries. to chronicle some more small beer, i may put down here that we dined last night at the yacht club. the yacht club has little to do with yachting. there are models of one or two native-built boats in the passages and rooms; these have deep stems and shallow sterns, evidently meant to wear, rather than to go about. we did not hear of any yachting going on, why i do not quite know, as i'd have thought the bay a perfect place for racing, and with its inlets a rather pleasant cruising ground, but perhaps the sun makes sailing uncomfortable. there are both lady and men members. you can live, dress, bath, and entertain your friends, or be entertained by them, hear music, read papers, write, talk, and walk about in pretty grounds, all pleasantly, decently, and in order, for it is all very open and above board. i do wish we could have such clubs at home, i mean in edinburgh, instead of our huge dismal men's clubs where never a lady enters, and food, drink, and politics are the only recognised interests. here you have talk on everything, and music (of a kind), and see pretty dresses and faces, and when you wish to be lonely, you may be so from choice, not from necessity. to a good club, two rooms i think are essential, a gymnasium and a music room; and where out of france can you find them! the talk, i must say, is principally about one's neighbour, which is quite right; it is a most enviable trait, that of being interested in your neighbour and his affairs. here, too, when you are tired of people, you can study beasts, they cannot bore you. i think e. h. a. is of this opinion. i have been reading more of his researches into animal life, and find that he says he has fathomed the intellect of a toad; but verily, i cannot believe that! several of e. h. a.'s acquaintances have come round me as i scribble here in the verandah. a brute, a grey crow perched this moment on the jalousies, and let out that bitter raucous caw, that would waken the seven sleepers or any respectable gamekeeper within a mile; abominable, thieving, cruel brutes they are, with rooks they should be exterminated by law. once they were, in the reign of james the fourth, i think, for he needed timber for his fleet. the law was then that if a crow built for three successive years in a tree, the tree became the property of the crown. this has not been rescinded, so _field_ please note and agitate in your country and save your beloved partridges and the eggs of our grouse. now two green parroquets have gone shrieking joyfully past. i suppose i must believe they are wild, but it takes faith to believe they have not just escaped from a cage; they are uncommonly pretty colour, at any rate, against the blue and white sky; they have taken the same flight at the same time these last three days, and a dove is cooing near, a deliciously soothing sound. persians say it cannot remember the last part of its lost lover's name, so that is why it always stops in the middle of the co-coo, co-- as it grew to twilight i went over to the bundar and studied reflections in the calm, lapping water at the steps where so many dignitaries have arrived and departed, and made notes of the colours of the dark stone work and pier lamps against the evening glow and the reflections of boats' lights waggling in the smooth water. ... a launch bustles in from the _renown_ and brings up quickly--a white light between her two brass funnels and green and red side lights. the red light glows on the bare arm of the jack tar at the bow with the boat-hook, and just touches the white draperies of the native passenger as he gets out awkwardly and goes up the steps--a person of importance with attendants, i see, as they come up into the full acetylene light on the quay head, someone very princely to judge by his turban and waist--but a native's waist measurement sometimes only indicates his financial position. there is considerable variety of type and nationality amongst the few people who sit taking the air on the stone parapet of the bundar. on my right are two soldiers--one an _argyll and sutherland_, with red and white diced hose and tasselled sporran, a native of fife to judge by his accent; next him there is a _yorkshire light infantry_ man. they chat in subdued voices, people all do here, i suppose it's something in the sea warm air--have you ever noticed how softly they talk in the scilly isles at night? it is the same cause i expect--the soft warm atmosphere. they smoke occidental (american) cigarettes after the manner of all the wise men of the east of to-day. a yard or so along is a bearded turbaned native; he is from up north i think. he sits on the parapet with knees under his chin, and a fierceness of expression that is quite refreshing after the monotonous negatively gentle expression of the bombay natives; then beyond him are two eurasian girls in straw hats and white frocks, and they do look so proper. further over the parsi men in almost european kit with their women folk sit in lines of victorias and broughams, and they are silhouetted against the glow of lamps on the lawn of the yacht club, under which the white women from the far north-west listen to music and have tea and iced drinks through straws. and the local parsis _seem_ quite content eating the air in the dusk--one or two of their menkind pay visits on foot from carriage to carriage--they have at least a share in the pom pom of the brass band--and welcome. by the way, my piper friends who may read this, you will be amused to hear some natives of sassun objected to having the pipes on the lawn in the afternoon at the yacht club--said they "couldn't hear any music in them"--so queen victoria's favourite, "the green hills of tyroll" was turned on, in parts, and they were quite happy! now dinner, for there goes the hotel brass band down below--_a cada necio agrada su porrada_--to me the pipes, the brass band to the southerner, but for us all dinner--"both meat and music," as the fox said when it ate the bagpipes.[ ] [ ] to each fool agreeable is his folly; and, the bag of the pipes is made of sheep-skin you see. [illustration] we have home letters to-night; "the mail" they speak of over the indian peninsula has arrived. g.'s maid has a letter from st abbs from her mother, who is anxious about her, for she says, "there's an awfu' heavy sea running at the head." even at this distance of time and sea miles, we find home news takes a new importance, and are already grateful for home letters with details of what is going on there from day to day; trifles there, are interesting to read about here, there's the enchantment of distance about them, and they become important by their isolation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . nov. nd.--we conclude, that considering packing, calling on cook, and a complete absence of any royal function or tomasha of any sort, that we have put in a most excellent day, in fact the best day we have had since we landed--and it was spent at sea!--at least the best of it was. i visited the sailors' home in the morning, which is a palace here where a sailor man who has the money, and doesn't mind the loneliness and ennui, can live like a prince for a rupee a day, and as comfortably or more so than we can in the taj for heaps of rupees. perhaps it was the suggestion of being at anchor in that refuge that made g. and me go off to sea this afternoon, and we are glad we did so. we looked at a steam launch opposite the hotel which was full of white passengers seated shoulder to shoulder round the stern like soldiers; they were bound for elephanta and the caves there, and we decided to go too; but they seemed so awfully hot even in shadow of an awning, and so packed and formal that we elected to take time and sail, in a boat of our own, with our own particular piratical crew, and lateen sails, and white awning. we were warned we might have to stay out till late at night! as it is said to be seven miles, i thought with a crew of four men, krishna, and myself, we might by an effort even row home in time for dinner though it did fall calm! so we chartered the craft for seven rupees there and back--which was two rupees above proper rate--left our packing undone, and sailed for elephanta. it was altogether delightful being on the water again the first time for many months--of course being on board a p. & o. steamer doesn't count, as that hardly conveys even the feeling of being afloat. the breeze was light and southerly, so at first we rowed, and the cheery dark faces of the crew beamed and sweated. these coast men are nicer to look at than the natives on shore. they did buck in with their funny bamboo oars, long things like bakers' bread shovels, with square or round blades tied with string to the end of a bamboo, which worked in a hemp grummet on a single wooden thole pin. what a study they make! bow, two and three, have skull-caps of lemon yellow and dull gold thread, and blue dungaree jackets faded and threadbare. they are young lusty fellows, and stroke, who is a tough-looking, middle-aged man, with a wiry beard, has a skull-cap between rose and brown, and round it a salmon-coloured wisp of a turban--over them there is the arch of the frogged foot of the lateen sail. all but bow are in full sunlight, sweating at their oars, he is in the shadow the sail casts on our bow. we recline, to quote our upholsterer, in "cairless elegance" on the floor of the stern, on turkey red cushions under the shadow of the awning, and i feel sorry we have spent so much time on shore. we pass under the high stern of a lumbering native craft; its grey sun-bitten woodwork is loosely put together: on a collection of dried palm leaves and coir ropes on the stern, sit the naked, brown crew feeding off a bunch of green bananas. one has a pink skull-cap, and at a porthole below the counter the red glass of a side-light catches the sun and glows a fine ruby red; a pleasant contrast to the grey, sun-dried woodwork. just as we clear our eyes off her, from seaward behind us comes an arab dhow, a ship from the past, surging along finely! an out-and-out pirate, you can tell at a glance, even though she does fly a square red flag astern with a white edge. her bows are viking or saucer-shaped, prettier than the usual fiddle-bow we see here, and her high bulwarks on her long sloping quarter deck you feel must conceal brass guns. from beyond her the afternoon sun sends the shadows of her mast and stays in fine curves down the bend of her sail, the jib-boom is inboard and the jib flat against the lee of the main sail. she brings up the breeze with her, and our bamboo oars are pulled in and we go slipping across the water in silence, only the bows talking to the small waves. now, how sorry we feel for those other globe trotters on the launch, birring along behind a hot, bubbling, puffing, steam kettle--and so crowded, and in this heat too, whilst we extend at our ease in a white and sky-blue boat, with pink cushions, and dreamily listen to the silky frou frou of the southern sea. the crew rest; and one brings out the hubble-bubble from the peak, with a burning coal on the bowl; it is passed round and each of them takes three or four long inhalations through his hands over the mouth-piece, to avoid touching it with his lips, and the smell of the tobacco is not unpleasant, diluted as it is with the tropical sea air. now it is brought aft to the oldest of our crew, the master i suppose, a grizzled old fellow, who sits on his heels on a scrap of plank out at our stern and steers. he takes four deep inhalations and the mutual pipe is put away forward again. our elderly "boy" is a madrassee, tidy and clerk-like, and a contrast to the pirates; and he does not understand them very well, but he pats the pipe condescendingly as it is passed forward, and puts questions about it with a condescending little smile. [illustration] elephanta comes closer and we see the undergrowth on the hills, and it does not seem very unfamiliar; it is considerate the way in which nature leads you from one scene to another without any change sudden enough to shock you; in the most out-of-the-way corners of the world i believe, you may find features that remind you of places you have known. here the few palms on the sky-line of the low hills, almost accidental features you might say, are all there is to distinguish the general aspect from some loch side at home. our stroke points ashore and grins, and says, "elephanta," and we say, "are you sure, is it not an island on loch katrine?" and he grins again and bobs and says, "yes, yes elephanta!" [illustration: sailing from elephanta.] i thought i'd written a remarkably expressive description of the carvings in the caves; if i did i can't find it, so the reader is spared. but i must say, before jogging on, that they are well worth taking far greater trouble to see than the little trouble that is required. i had heard them often spoken of lightly, but in my opinion they are great works of a debased art. the sculptured groups would be received any day _hors concours_ in the salons for their technique only. there are figures in grand repose, as solemn and dignified as the best in early egyptian sculpture, others show astonishing vigour, and fantastic freedom of movement and of light and shade. they are cut in the rock _in situ_, hard, blackish serpentine, which is a soft grey colour on the exposed surfaces. in some parts the carving is as modern in style and free in movement and composition as some _tourtmenté_ modern french sculpture. but here, as in europe and egypt, marvellous talent has been used in the name of religion to express imaginings of the supernatural and inhuman, instead of being humbly devoted to the study of the beauty presented in nature. going home we sailed into the sunset, and it certainly was pretty late when we got back to dinner; in fact half of our little voyage was in the dark, in heavy dew and with red and green lights passing across our course rather swiftly; we had one white light, and the glow in the men's big pipe. we were pleased with our crew and they were pleased with us for an extra rupee, and altogether we felt very superior having gone in so much better style than other poor people, so down on the bedrock for time that they cannot spare a half-hour here and there. chapter xii i don't know very well how we did all our packing and got away from the taj hotel to the train, but we did it somehow; and possibly may become inured to the effort after six or seven more months travelling. now we are reaping the reward of our exertions. within less than half an hour from bombay we are right into jungle! i thought of and looked for tigers, and saw in a glade of palms and thorns where there should have been tigers, hoardings with "the western indian army-equipment factory" and the like in big letters; so i had just to imagine the tigers, and make studies from life of the parsis as they wandered up and down the corridor; i can see some point in their women wearing saris, these graceful veils hanging from the back of their hair, but why do they and mohammedan men wear their shirt tails outside their petticoats and trousers?--i must look up "murray." to right and left we come on open country divided like an irregular draught-board into little fields of less than an acre each, with dykes a few inches high round them; paddy fields, i suppose--the place for snipe and rice. round those that have water on them are grey birds like small herons, with white showing in their wings when they fly--paddy birds; have i not heard and read of them from my youth up, and of the griffins' bag of them. i have also read and heard of the western ghats[ ], these mountain slopes we have to climb up east of bombay, that run right south and which we are now approaching, but i had no idea they were so fantastically like norman ramparts and buttresses on mountain tops, neither had i an idea that the trees and fields at their feet and up their sides were so green. we rattle along at say fifty miles an hour, not very comfortably, for there is heat and dust; but all along the line are interesting groups of figures to look at. here is a string of women in red shawls against golden sunlit grass above a strip of blue water, and there again, a man just stopped work sitting at the door of a dusty hut of palm leaves and dry clay. he shades his eyes with his hand as he watches the train pass; how his deep copper-coloured skin gleaming with moisture, contrasts with the grey parched earth; then a group of children bathing and paddling, at this distance they are perfectly lovely. the young people are far more fairly formed than i expected them to be--famine photographs probably account for this; they are black but comely, though possibly closer inspection would dissolve the charm--here are people, men and women, stacking corn or hay round a homestead, a scene i have not heard described or read of in home letters or books about india; how the pictures unfold themselves all hot and new to me, and coloured, and at fifty to sixty miles an hour! won't mental indigestion wait on good appetite! [ ] sanskrit "gati" a way or path--scottish "gate" is a way or path too. we are going south-east now; bombay away to our right over the bay, and the ghat we saw to the south in extended battlements and towers, now shows in profile as one tower, on high and steep escarpments. we are still in the low country. may i liken it to the carse of forth extended, with the kippens on either side, with the features and heat considerably increased. i am told i should not compare homely places i know with places unfamiliar, as it limits the reader's imagination; the romans did so--said, "lo! the tiber!" when they saw the tay; i must try not to do the same. and as at home, the people at the stations become lustier and have clearer eyes and are more powerfully built, as we get further from town; that is not saying much here, for the strongest look as if a breeze would blow them over; however, they may have their own particular kind of strength. i know my boy surprised me last night when he started to pack my various belongings; the way he sat down on his heels beside each box and went through the work showed if not strength, its equivalent in agility, and a method entirely his own. he told me, "yes, sa, i do same whole camp one night, saddles, horses, bridles, whole lot camp outfit while you sleep." he has been butler to two distinguished generals, so i feel it must be rather a drop for him to valet a mere cold-weather tourist, but he does not show it, which is a point in his favour. it was a little awkward though the other day when he began to beat up to find my profession; i forget what he said exactly. it was something like, "sahib general?" and i said, "no, no," as if generals were rather small fry in my estimation, and racked my brains how to index myself. i've read you must "buck" in the east--isn't that the expression?--so a happy inspiration came, and i said with solemnity, "i am a j.p.,--a justice of the peace, you understand?" and i could see he was greatly relieved, for unless you have some official position in india you are no one. he went on packing perfectly satisfied, murmuring, "yes sahib, i know, sahib lord chief justice, i know." ought i to have corrected him? ought i to have told him seriously that i am an artist!--a professional painter from choice, and necessity? he would have left my ignoble service on the spot; why, even in britain, art is reckoned after the church, and in belgium, though respectable, it is still only a trade--peter paul notwithstanding. after two or three hours in the train through this sunlit country, we conclude it is worth coming to see; for the last hours have unfolded the most interesting show that i have ever seen from a train in the time. outside all is new, and inside the train much is familiar; some english people near us sit with their backs to the window and take no notice of the outside world. what high head notes they speak with, and what familiar ground they go over. "oh! you know bown, do you--such a good fellah--good thot, i mean--went mad about golf--such a good gaime, you know--what i mean is--you know it's," etc. quite "good people" too, probably keen on ridin' and shootin' though they may never have shot a foxth or a goo'th, or have even seen a golden eagle. but they seem almost happy, in a jog trot sort of a way, along the old trail--the midlands to indiar, and indiar to the midlands, with bwidge between. we swing round a curve south-westerly and into a tunnel and out again and up from the plain--up and up--high rocky hills on either side with bushes and trees growing amongst rocks; another pass of lennie, i'd like to call it, on a larger scale. out of the tunnel, we look down a long valley to our right with little dried up fields all over the bottom of it, fading into distant haze. then another black tunnel opening into grey rock, and on coming slowly out--we are climbing all the time one foot in forty-two--we again look down a valley miles away to our left, and we can see the station karjat, from which we began this climb up the bore ghat. the aspect of this country makes me think of sport; the rocky hills, dry grass, pools, and cover suggest stalking or waiting for game, but perhaps there is still too much evidence of people--however, i must get the glasses out and see what they will show up. kandala station--a white spot, the guard points out to us far above us--then into a tunnel, and out, and we are there. to our right are ridge beyond ridge of hill tops, stretching away into the sunset. reader, please draw a breath before this next paragraph. "the length of the ascent is nearly miles over which there are tunnels with a length of , yards, eight viaducts, many smaller bridges. the actual height accomplished by the ascent is , feet, and the cost of constructing the line was nearly _£_ , ." fairly concentrated mental food, is it not? and only eight lines from one page of "murray," and there are one hundred and six lines in a page, and six hundred and thirty nine pages in the book!! the sun sets on our right beyond a plain of stubble fields and young crops and distant hills, and in the sky a rich band of gold, veined with vermillion, lies above a belt of violet, and higher still a star or two begin to glitter in the cold blue. to us newcomers, this first sunset we have seen in india in the open over the high plains filled us with new and almost solemn interest. but why the feeling was new or strange would be hard to say; sunsets the world over are alike in many ways, but the feelings stirred are as different as the lands and the people over which they set. a little later we (i should say i, in this case) had quite an adventure at a dusky siding in this tableland of the dekkan. as i hastened to our carriage a beautiful lady bowed to me, a stranger in a far land! and i bowed too, and said, "how do you do, we met on the _egypt_ of course!" and she said, "you are not mr browning!" when i agreed it was only "me"--she expressed some surprise, for she is shortly to visit my brother down the line at dharwar, and her chaperone had just been staying there. one of us possibly remarked the world is small. later we all foregathered in an excellent little dining-car on the s. m. r.[ ] line, and discussed family histories, and the incident made us feel quite at home. everyone seems to know everyone else out here, and if they don't they very soon do, and all seem sworn to make the best of each other, and make things "go." it is so admirable; even though you may feel as a newcomer, a little uncomfortable crawling out of the shell of reserve you have brought all the way from home. [ ] southern maharatta railway. the air is much lighter up here than down in bombay; even after a bustling day getting into train, travelling, and seeing a hundred miles of utterly new sights, we feel far less tired than after doing nothing in particular all day on the coast. we stop at a station, kirkee, three and a half miles from poona. here, there is a glove left on the line by the editor of "murray's guide," to be picked up by some scot or irishman; i have not time just now. he says that kirkee is interesting as being the scene of a splendid victory over baji rao ii; his account is concentrated and interesting. the names of the officers mentioned in the paragraph referring to the victory are scottish and irish, and he calls it english, instead of british--a little more sand in the machinery of the great imperial idea.[ ] [ ] first condition treaty of union :-- "i. that the two kingdoms of england and scotland shall, upon the first of may next ensuing the date hereof and for ever after, be united into one kingdom by the name of great britain...." _mais en voiture!_--this narrow gauge on which we now are, is not half bad. we have a fore and aft carriage, the seats on either side we can turn into beds, and there is a third folding up berth above one of these. after the custom of the country, we have brought razais or thin mattresses, and blankets--an excellent custom, for it is much nicer turning into your own bedclothes at night in a train or hotel than into unfamiliar properties. ... how pleasant it is in this morning light after the night journey to look out on the rolling country. there are low trees, twelve to twenty feet high, with scrub between, and the varied foliage shows an autumnal touch of the dry season. now we pass an open space with a small whitewashed temple in the middle of a green patch of corn; a goatherd walks on the sand between us and it with his black and white flock; he is well wrapped up, head and all in cotton draperies, as if there was a chill in the morning air, but it looks and feels very comfortable to us in our carriage: the sky is dove coloured, streaked with pale blue. now some women show in the crops, the corn stands high over them, and from this distance they are things of beauty. their draperies are purple or deep blue, and their skins rich brown, set off by white teeth and the glint of silver bangles and brass pots. they have pretty naked children beside them. every hundred yards or so there is something fascinatingly beautiful, so the early morning hours go past quickly. just before belgaum station, our delight in watching these new scenes is brought to a fine point by the arrival of a boy with tea and toast, all hot! positively it is difficult to take it, for here comes a fort we must look at--miles of sloping coppery-coloured crenellated stone wall of moresque design. graceful trees grow inside, and over its walls you see an occasional turbaned native's head, one is vivid yellow another rose; we pass so close we almost cross the moat, and the women stop washing clothes and look up. more park scenes follow, then market gardens and native cottages of dried mud, and we can see right into their simple domestic arrangements. at belgaum our friends of last night get off with their camp equipment, and i make a dive into a brand new suit in haste to bid them good-bye and _au revoir_, and as i make finishing touches, we steam away and the farewell is unsaid! these three lone ladies have gone to see jungle life; the eldest only recently lost her husband in the jungle--killed and eaten, by a tiger. the soil in the railway cuttings gets gradually a deeper bronze colour as we go south, about bombay it was grey or light yellow. now it is from yellow ochre to red ochre, with a coppery sheen where it is weather-worn. the trees become higher and the glades more like watteau or corot scenes, but neither watteau nor corot ever saw more naturally beautiful tinted figures; their many coloured draperies are so faded and blended in the strong sun that it is difficult to tell where one coloured cloth begins and another ends. at londa we stop half-an-hour or so, and our boy rolls up our blankets, and rugs, and we endeavour to concentrate attention on a dainty breakfast in a neat little restaurant car of which we are sole occupants. the car is made for two tables, each for four people, and a man and a boy, both very neatly dressed, cook and serve, so you see the line is not yet overrun, and it is still cheap, and comfortable. if i might be so bold as to criticise what you, my elder brother, may be responsible for, i'd suggest that the place to sleep on might be made a shade softer.--yes, we are becoming effeminate, i know--we were becoming so alas, as far back as "the ," when the m'lean found his son with a snowball for a pillow; still, we must go with the times, and even if the berths must be hard, at least let them be level. please note, all soldier men who run railways in india, and receive my blessing in advance. our little waiter is a delightful study with his big turban and red band across it with the southern maharatta railway initials in gold, white tunic, and trousers, and red sash and bare feet; and can't he wait neatly and quickly! we have figures to draw everywhere.--here, within arm's length, at a station, are women porteresses, each a fascinating study of pose and drapery, and from a third class carriage just pulled up, out gushes a whole family, the kids naked from the waist up, and the men almost the same from the waist down. the women are in waspish yellow and deep reds, and they group and chatter in the sun, then heave their baggage, great soft baskets, on their heads--the women do this, the men have turbans, so they can't, and away they all go smiling. but better still, in the shade, there's a group of men and women seated, putting in time eating from heaps of emerald green bananas and sanguine pomegranates--how i wish i could stay for hours to paint! out of londa the trees get finer and taller, and you see real live bamboos in great masses of soft grey-green, their foliage a little like willows at a distance. one cannot but think of big game; surely this is the place for sambhur if not for tiger: and there are trees like spanish chestnuts with larger leaves and elms, and between the tall trunks are breaks of under cover, over which we get a glimpse now and then of rolling distant jungle and indigo blue hills against a soft grey sky. nacargali--tavargatti--little stations one after the other all the way, a station about every six miles--still through bamboo forest--i think the bamboos must be to feet high. now and then we pass glades with water. at one pool little naked boys and girls are herding cattle, white and cream coloured cows, and black hairless buffaloes, whose skins reflect the blue sky. the mud banks are brown and the water yellow, and there's bright green grass between the red mud and the soft green of the bamboos. put in the little brown-skinned herds, one with a pink rag on his black hair, and that is as near as i can get it with the a.b.c., and there is not time nor sufficient stillness for paint. [illustration] with pencil in my journal i have little hasty scribbles--one half done and the other begun. there is a group of women, with waistcloths only, standing on a half-submerged tree trunk in greenish water washing clothes, one stands the others squat, and beyond are cattle and bamboos. along the side of the track there are wild flowers, creepers, and thorns with little violet flowers, and others of orange vermilion, and every here and there are ant hills, three or four feet high, of reddish soil shaped like rugged gothic spires or norman towers. on the telegraph wire are butcher birds, hoopoos, kingfishers, and a vivid blue bird a little like a jay, the roller bird i believe. the king crow i am sure of--i saw and read about him in bombay; he is the most independent and plucky little bird in india, fears nothing with wings! he is black, between the size of a swift and a blackbird, with a long drooping tail turned out like a black cock's at the end. i don't think he troubles anyone unless they trouble him and his wife, then he goes for them head first, and the wife isn't very far behind and gets a dig in too. there are doves and pigeons galore, and just before we came to dharwar across a clear space there cantered a whole family circle of large monkeys! what a lovely action they have, between a thoroughbred's and a man's. they wore yellowish beards and black faces and black ends to their tails, which they carry high with a droop at the end. [illustration] alnaver.--we pass iron trucks with native occupants--not bad looking--paler in colour i think than the natives at bombay. acres of cut dry timber, long bits and short bits, are here for the engine's fuel. the smoke of it makes a pleasant scent in the hot dry air. the country becomes a little more open and not quite so interesting perhaps. kambarganvi--flatter and less picturesque--nullahs, open ground and cattle, thin jungle on rolling ground extending to a distant edge of table land. we pass a pool full of buffalo, only their heads are visible above the muddy green water; on the shores and on their backs are little brown nude girls with yellow flowers round their necks; then dharwar and the elder brother on the platform, and we heave a sigh of relief at the end of the first chapter of our pilgrimage in india. chapter xiii dharwar dharwar station is not so unlike one we know within two and a half miles of the centre of scotland. it is almost the same size but there is no village. though not imposing, i understand it is the nerve centre of some , miles of the southern maharatta railway. as we pull up my brother, colonel and agent on the platform, remarks, "well, here you are, you're looking well--have you any luggage?" and in a twinkling we are driving away, leaving the "little pick" of luggage to the boy to bring up leisurely. g.'s maid drives off in a princely padded ox cart or dumbie, and we get into a new modern victoria. i am not sure which is the most distinguished, perhaps the dumbie; it is at any rate more oriental, and its bright red and blue linings, white hood, and two thoroughbred white oxen make a very gay turn-out. the agent's bungalow is wide-spreading, flat-roofed, with deep verandah supported on white-washed classic pillars, and surrounded by a park. there are borders of blooming chrysanthemums and china asters, and trees with quaint foliage, and flowering creepers about the house. the flower borders seem to tail away into dry grass and bushes and trees of the park, and that changes imperceptibly into dry rolling country with scattered trees and bushes. lunch is served by waiters in white clothes and bare feet, "velvet footed waiters" to be conventional, and there is a blessed peace and quietness about our new surroundings. for weeks past we have ever heard our fellows' voices all the day long; what a contrast is this quiet and elbow room to the crowd on the p. & o. and the gun firing and babel of bombay. ... it is overcast and still; away to the east over the rolling bushy country are heavy showers, but at this spot trees and crops faint for water. we doze in the verandah and wake and doze again, and wonder how this silence--can be real, even the birds seem subdued. we notice e.h.a.'s friends are here in numbers, mina birds, the seven sisters, king crows, and one of his (e.h.a.'s) enemies comes in as i write, a yellow-eyed frog; he hops in on the matting and looks and looks--i like the unfathomable philosophy in its golden eye. and my brother stops reading indian politics and calls me outside to see a horn bill--all beak, and little head or body to speak of, he sways on a leafless tree and scraiks anxiously for his friends; they are generally in companies of three or four. a little later, as i write beside a reading lamp in g.'s room, a lizard takes a position on the window, and out of the outer darkness comes a moth and lights on to the outside of the pane, and the lizard pecks at it--neither the moth nor the lizard understand glass--peck, peck, every now and then--trying to get through to the moth--how delightfully human--the perpetual endeavour to get beyond, without the will or power to see the infinite reflections of the inside. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . as we speculate to-night as to where some of our neighbours on the "egypt" may have got to by this time, the post comes in with letters from this one and the other. one is from mrs deputy-commissioner. a few days ago we were altogether in bombay, melting in the heat, and now we are towards the south of this peninsula, and she writes from its farthest north: we are in a hot parched country, whilst she and the d.-c. are in camp, sitting over a huge fire of logs in a pine forest. she writes, "to-morrow we enter a valley where five bears have recently been seen and pheasants abound," and the day after "we shall be at the top of the pass, , feet. rosy snows and golden mists far below us melt into purple depths."... so this day's journal closes with pleasant thoughts of relatives and pleasant friends in many distant parts of this wide land. ... sunday.--we arrived here on friday--the silence is almost oppressive. great grey clouds roll up from the east all day till evening, when they form solid bluish ranks; each cloud threatens rain which never falls. the stillness in the bungalow is only broken by the occasional cheep, cheep, cheep of the house lizard, a tiny little fellow that lives behind picture frames and in unused jugs and corners. his body is only about an inch and a half long, but his clear voice fills the large rooms and emphasies the silence. outside it is as quiet; there is the chink--chink of the copper-smith bird, like a drop of water at regular intervals into a metal bowl. the colonel and g. rode at a.m., and i biked. it is not such interesting country here as what we came through in the train--rolling, stoney, with friable red soil, and hard to ride on. many dusty roads meet at all angles; along these you meet herds of buffalo and cows driven leisurely by boys or men. some cows, of errant natures, have logs dangling by a rope from their necks amongst their feet; they can't go off very fast or far with the encumbrance. they stir up the dust as they go along, and it falls and lies on the children till their dark skins have a bloom like sloe-berries. there are all sorts of birds to look at--kites, crows, vultures, hawks, eagles; with these you can't expect to see game birds, though it looks an ideal country, though perhaps a little waterless, for pheasants and partridges. when i stop i see the side of the road swarms with insect life, ants of various, kinds, black and red, small and big, pegging along the level, and up and down trees, as if the world depended on each individual's particular bustling. there are white ant hills like ragged heaps of raw chocolate--very hard and strong. i don't know what they are built for--i must consider the matter like the sluggard some day, if i have time, or read about them if that is not a bigger order. what strikes you at first about the white ant is that you never see it unless you lay its works open. his hard-sun-baked protections run up the tree stems or wherever he goes and conceals and protects his soft, white, fleshy body, and if you prise this casing open you may see him getting away as fast as his little legs will take him; really he is a termite you know, like a "wood louse or worm," and not an ant. a wonder of the world is how he gets the liquid secretion to fasten the grains of sand together to make his earthen tunnels. if he goes to the top of a house to remove furniture or the like, he builds his tunnel all the way up; and in a thirsty land the top storey of a sun-bitten house does not seem the place to get water: but i must leave this subject to the disquisitions of men of more leisure and greater abilities, and proceed to make some observations on, and jottings of, the figures on the road. here are women bringing up great round earthenware vases on their heads and little round brass bowls in their hands, going and coming from a muddy pool in the centre of a waste of dried mud. they go slowly, the walking is rough for bare feet, for the clay is hard and baked and pitted with cows' feet marks. they drink and wash their bowls in the dregs in the pond, the water already so dirty that a self-respecting duck would not swim in it, and wade about stirring up the mud, then fill their bowls and march away with it for domestic uses--this sounds bad, but it looks a great deal worse. the figures though are charming, with balanced bowl on head, and draperies blown into such folds as a greek would have loved to model.... but their faces!--phew! when you see them closely, are frightful! it is difficult to catch their movement; they are so restless. all people who wear loose draperies seem to be so; witness spanish women, and the spanish type of women in our highlands and ireland, how they keep constantly shifting their shawls. [illustration] ... the club in evening--a tiny club, quite nice after a quiet day in the bungalow. i was introduced to the five men there, who put me through my paces very gently; i just passed i think, and no more. "play bridge?--no. billiards?--not much." i began to feel anxious and feared they'd try cricket. "tennis?--yes, dote on tennis!" that smoothed things, and then we got on to shooting, and all went off at a canter. one of my inquisitors, mr huddleston, had been in lumsden's horse (the indian contingent in s. africa), and said he had helped a young brother of mine out of action at thaban' chu.[ ] lumsden's horse got left there and lost heavily. i knew this brother had been ridden off the stricken field on captain p. chamney's back under heavy fire, one of these v.c. doings that were discounted in s. africa, and knew that two other fellows rode on either side to steady the sanguinary burden. so here was one of the two, and i asked who the other was, and he said, "trooper ducat, but powell mended your brother's head; didn't you meet him in the taj hotel in bombay?" and i laughed, for i remembered the doctor of the taj, a rather retiring man, who generally sat alone at a table in the middle of the great dining-room; and that whenever he had friends dining with him, and i looked up, i was safe to find either he or his friends looking across in my direction, why i couldn't make out. now it was explained! he remembered mending a man's forehead that had been broken by a piece of shell, and concluded from the surname in the hotel book, and possibly family likeness, that i was the man, and naturally he would say to his friends, "look you at that man over there--wouldn't think he had lost half his head with a pom-pom shell would you? but he did, and i mended it!--it's pretty well done, isn't it? you can hardly see a mark." [ ] at battle of houtneck. ... then evening service in a tiny church, a quiet, monotonous, gently murmured lesson, and a few verses from the old testament about sanguinary battles long ago and exemplary hebrew warriors--how soothing! doors and windows are wide open, and moths fly in and round the lamps from the blue night outside. the air is full of the rattle of the cicada, which is like the sound of a loud cricket, or the 'r--r' of a corncraik's note going on for ever and ever; and the house lizard in the church goes cheep--cheep--cheep every now and then. no one pays any attention to its loud sweet note. rather pretty eurasian girls play the organ and sing, and look through their fingers as they pray. then we are dismissed, and find ourselves out in the dark, and the longed for rain falling very lightly. the white dressed native servants are there with lamps and bring up the bullock carts, and ladies go off in them with the harness bells aringing. we have "the victoria" of the station--and faith, barring the exercise, i'd as soon not walk! did not mr h. kill a great russell viper at the club steps last night, and was not bitten, and so is alive to tell the tale to-day and to-morrow, and to show the skin, three feet long with a chain pattern down the back; the beast!--it won't get out of your path; lies to be trodden on, then turns and bites you, and you're dead in three minutes by the clock. ... to-day, tuesday--could read a little--temperature down. found it an entertainment listening to the voices of various callers in the centre hall of the bungalow, of which one half forms the drawing-room, the other half the dining-room. the bedroom doors open into this, and these doors are a foot off the ground, and fail to meet the top of the arches above them by about other two feet. the advantage of this i fail to see, further than that a convalescent or any other person who can't be bothered talking, can if he pleases, listen to others conversing; if, however, he prefers to sleep, he can't! i got a glimpse of the gaily dressed callers through the transparent purdahs that separate my room on the outside from the verandah. they drove in white dumbies with white bullocks; the carts and harness glistened with vermilion, sky blue, and gold details; the driver, black of course, in livery, with a boy carrying a white yak's tail in black-buck's horn to brush away flies. i was sorry to miss seeing these kind people, but hope to get over the effect of sun, plus cold baths, and return their calls, and so increase my stock of first impressions of indian life. "erroneous, hazy, distorted first impressions," mr aberich mackay calls them in his "twenty-one days in india," that most amusing indian classic. "what is it these travelling people put on paper?" he adds. "let me put it in the form of a conundrum. q. what is it that the travelling m.p. treasures up and what the anglo-indian hastens to throw away? a. erroneous, hazy, distorted first impressions. before the eyes of the griffin, india steams in poetical mists, illusive, fantastic, and subjective." crushing to the new comer, is it not. and he adds that his victim, the m.p., "is an object at once pitiable and ludicrous, and this ludicrous old shrovetide cock, whose ignorance and information leave two broad streaks of laughter in his wake, is turned loose upon the reading public." this is as funny as crosland at his best, say his round arm hit at burns, the "incontinent and libidinous ploughman with a turn for verse"--a sublime bladder whack! but listen also to the poor victim, mr wilfred blunt, m.p., and what he has to say in the "contemporary review." "i became acquainted in a few weeks with what the majority of our civilian officers spend their lives in only half suspecting. my experience has been that of a tourist, but i have returned satisfied that it is quite possible to see, hear, and understand all that vitally concerns our rule in india in six months' time." after all, who may write about india? major jones said to me the other day, "why on earth is smith writing about india--what does he know? he is just out; why! i've been here over ten years and have just learned i know nothing." then i said, "what about general sir a. b. blank's writings?" blank is going home after about forty years in india. "oh! good gracious," he said, "blank's ideas are hopeless--utterly antiquated!" therefore no one may write about india; smith is too inexperienced, jones has only learned he knows nothing, and general blank is too antiquated. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . this day we spent calling round the station. the owners of the two first bungalows were out; at the third the hostess carried wreaths of flowers, which she was on her way to place on her native butler's grave; he had died of plague. the next house was full of madonnas and maids worshipping the latest arrival in the station, a chubby boy of six months. the father had retired to a quiet corner, but seeing another mere man, he came out with certain alacrity and suggested a peg and cheroot. the next house was the doctor's, and the mrs doctor and i were just getting warm over ireland, and had got to athlone, galway, and connemara, when the ten minutes, that seem law here, were up, and g. rose to go, and i'd to leave recollections of potheen, and wet, and peat reek, and "green beyond green"--such refreshing things even to think of in this eastern land, especially for us who are on the wander and know we will be home soon. but it must be a different feeling for those people at their posts, tied down by duty, year after year, with the considerable chance of staying in the little bit of a cemetery with others who failed to get home. but we must not touch on this aspect of our peoples life out here, it is too deeply pathetic. at the next house i did actually get a peg, and it was a pleasing change after buffalo milk and quinine for days: and mine host, who had been on the "west coast," told me his experience of pegs in africa. "the men," he said, "who didn't take pegs there at all, all died for certain, and men who took nips and pegs in excess died too; a few, however, who took them in moderation survived." then we drove towards the sunset and rolling hills, and were overwhelmed with the volume of colour. bosky trees lined the road, and the orange light came through the fretwork of their leaves and branches, and made the dust rising from the cattle and the people on the red roads and the deep shadows all aglow with warm, sombre colour; i would i could remember it exactly. one figure i can still see--there is an open space, green grass, and corot like trees on either side reflected in water, and a girl carrying a black water-pot on her head, crosses the grass in the rays of the setting sun--a splash of transparent rosy draperies round a slight brown figure. friday.--rode in morning with the brother, painted and drove with g. in the afternoon, tennis and badminton at club, and people to dinner; that is not such a bad programme, is it? not exciting, but healthy, bar the excessive number of meals between events,[ ] and tiresome in regard to the inevitable number of changes of clothes. the ride we start after an early cup of tea. it begins pleasantly cool, but in an hour you feel the sun hot, and are glad to get in and change to dry clothes, and have breakfast proper about a.m. the brother then goes to office, which is a building like an extensive hydropathic, on an eminence to which on various roads, at certain hours of the day, streams of tidy native clerks may be seen going and coming. of what they do when they get there, or where they go when they leave i have no idea; the country all round seems just red, rolling, gritty soil, with thorny bushes and scattered trees! but there is a native town; possibly these men go there, though their costumes are too trim to suggest native quarters. there is such silence up here on the tableland at mid-day--only a light soughing of the soft, hot wind, otherwise not even the cheep of a lizard. a little later in the afternoon begins the note of a bird, like a regular drop of water into a metal pot, very soft and liquid, and when the gardener waters the flowers, more birds come round to drink. the house too is absolutely still; the servants drowse in their quarters in the compound; g. and her maid in a back room are quiet as mice; they got a sewing machine, which was a very clever thing to do, but it was a tartar, it wouldn't work--that was "indian" i expect--so they have had a most happy morning pulling it to bits, and putting it together again--i wonder if they will make it go. [ ] specially laid on for our benefit. the most social part of the day here is the meeting at the club after the business day is done. i have not heard indian club life described, but this club, though small, is, i think, fairly typical. half the station turns up at it every evening before dinner; i should think there are generally about twenty ladies and men. you bike down, or drive, and play tennis on hard clay courts, a very fast game; then play badminton inside when it gets dark, and the lamps are lit.--i'd never played it before. what a good game it is; but how difficult it is to see the shuttle-cock in the half light as it crosses the lamp's rays--a. . practice for grouse driving, and a good middle-aged man's game; for reach and quick eye and hand come in, and the player doesn't require to be so nimble on his pins as at tennis. to-night the little station band of little native men played outside the club under the trees, with two or three hurricane lamps lighting their music and serious dark faces, and the flying foxes hawked above them. inside there was the feeling of a jolly family circle--rather a big family of "grown-ups"--or a country house party. dancing was beginning as we came away; men had changed from flannels to evening dress, and ladies had dumbied home and back, and a bridge tournament was being arranged. think of the variety of costume this means, and grouping and lights. the brother and g. had come in from riding, g. in grey riding-skirt and white jacket, and the brother in riding-breeches and leggings, and two men and a lady came in with clubs from golf. other men were in flannels, and some had already got into evening kit, and it was the same with ladies--what a queer mixture. everyone seems perfectly independent of everyone else, except one or two matrons who have the interests of the youths at heart, and bustle their "dear boys" out of draughts, where "they will sit, after getting hot at badminton, and won't get ready for dancing or bridge." one cannot but admire the brotherly and sisterly relationship that seems to exist between these kindly exiles, the way they make the best of things and stand by each other, such a little group of white people, possibly thirty all told, in the midst of a countless world of blacks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . let us now discourse on duck-shooting for a change, and because it is a safe subject, and like fishing, "has no sting in the tail of it." one of the "dear boys" at the club asked if i'd care to go duck-shooting on sunday. this "youth" is country-bred, and for length and breadth and colour and accent, you'd think he had just come out from the isle of skye, the land of his people, where you know they run pretty big and fit. it was very kind of these fellows i think, asking me to join them. a doubtful bag doesn't matter--it's a new country and i feel as keen as a cockney on his first th--so i unpack my american automatic five shooter, beside which all last year's single-trigger double-barrel hammer-less ejectors are as flintlocks! "murderous weapon, and bloodthirsty shooter"--some old-fashioned gunners of to-day will say, just as our grandfathers spoke when breechloaders came in, and that delightful pastime with ramrod and wads, powder flask and shot belt went out. so it ever has been! since the day some horrid fellow used a bronze sword instead of a stone on a stick, and since richard of the lion heart took to that "infernal instrument," the cross bow, because of its "dreadful power," and so earned from providence and pope innocent ii. "heavenly retribution," and was shot by one of its bolts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . as i write these somewhat discursive notes, there is a very old-world figure passing our verandah every now and then; he is our night watchman, called a chowkidar or ramoosee. he is heavily draped with dark cloak of many vague folds, and carries a staff and lantern; he belongs to a caste of robbers, and did he not receive his pittance, he and his friends would loot the place--and possibly get shot trying to do so. he flashes his lantern through your blinds as you try to sleep. then if he wakens you by his snoring, you steal out and pour water gently down his neck. a hyaena or jackal has started laughing outside--phew!--what an eerie laugh--mad as can be--what horrid humour! i have mentioned a lady's husband was taken away from her and eaten by a tiger lately, somewhere about this country, so we begin to feel quite _in medias res_, though far from the madding town. to-morrow we drive to our shoot--start at six! to drive in dumbies, about eight miles. but what does distance matter; it's our first day's shooting in india--duck to-day, black-buck to-morrow, then sambhur, perhaps, and who knows, the royal procession may not account for all the tigers! and i begin to have a feeling that if one came within a fair distance, and did not look very fierce, i'd be inclined to lowse off my great heavy double-barrelled cordite express and see if anything happened. [illustration: the above painted by allan betty iris and uncle gordon.] chapter xiv _copy letter on subject of "duck."_ [illustration] dear b,--there are still a few minutes before old sol gets his face under cover, so i am going to let you know of my first great day's indian shikar! it was a. . from start to finish, though an old resident here might laugh at its being given such a fine term. i know that it would have been as interesting to you as it was to me; it was so different from anything we have at home. i met a man at the club who said, "won't you come with us to-morrow (sunday) and have a try for duck?" and i jumped--haven't had anything in way of exercise, bar a little mild riding and tennis for weeks. these fellows are so busy all the week they put in the sunday out of doors shooting. don't you wish we could too? you know everyone shoots here, it is free--one of the reasons so many of our best young fellows come out--men who haven't got ancestral or rented acres to shoot over. quarter past six, _mon ami_, was the hour fixed--i shudderd! by the way, most of these men were dancing yesterday afternoon till - --at tennis previously, and at bridge till the small hours. isn't that a rum way of doing things--the ladies dancing till after o'clock, then dashing home to dress, and here at this bungalow to dinner at little after eight. turned out at a quarter to six--fifteen minutes later than i intended--fault of my "boy"--tumbled into sort of shooting kit, and partly dressed as i scooted along the avenue through the park--compound i believe it should be called--the night watchman legging it along with my bag and gun. i believe a jackal slunk past; it was getting light--first jackal i've seen outside a menagerie--an event for persons like us? when i got to the avenue gate where these other heroes were to meet me, the deuce a shadow of one was there--only a native with something on his head. so i did more dressing and cussing because i was ten minutes behind time and thought they must have gone on. gradually the light increased. dawn spread her rosy fingers over the pepal fig trees that lined the road; the fruit-eating flying-foxes sought their fragrant nests or roosts, and noiselessly folded their membraneous wings till next time. and the native turned out to have a luncheon basket on his head so my heart rose, and by and bye a big fellow in khaki stravaiged out of the shades--a jovial, burly britisher called "boots,"--told me he was hunting up the other fellows, and that they had got home late last night--this about half an hour after time fixed--so much for indian punctuality hereaway! after some time another shooter arrived behind two white oxen, taking both sides of the road in a sort of big governess cart. then boots, who had hunted out a man monteith, came up in a third dumbie, as their ox carts are called here. these go like anything if you can keep them in the straight, but the oxen are dead set on bolting right or left up any road or compound avenue. boots told me: going to dine one night, he had been taken up to three bungalows willy nilly before he got to the right one. the reins go through bullocks' noses, so by scripture that _should_ guide them. we went off at a canter, and hadn't got a mile when boots and monteith's dumbie dashed at right angles across a bridge to the cemetery; we followed, missing the edge of the bridge by an inch,--pulled round and went off on the straight again--seven miles in the cool of the morning, grey sky, soft light, new birds, new trees, new country, no mistake it was pleasant. here is a sketch (much reduced) the dumbie following us. as we went at a canter it was not very easy to do! [illustration] at the tank or loch we disembarked amongst a motley crowd of natives--got men to carry cartridge bags, and then we surrounded the tank, a place about three-quarters of a mile long by a quarter broad. m. got into a portable, square, flat-bottomed canvas boat he had sent the day before, and his heathen boatman, who swore he could row, cut branches to hide both of them from the duck. this arrangement looked like a fair sized table decoration, a conspicuous man in a topee with a gun at one end, and a black white-turbaned native at the other. away they went, left oar, right oar! i watched these simple manoeuvres from the far side, where, like the other guns, i was posted at the water's edge, in full view of the duck which were swimming about in mid water, chuckling at us i am sure. the native's rowing was a sight! first one oar high in the air, then the other. i saw monteith had to change and did both rowing and shooting, probably the native had never seen a boat in his life! when m. began firing at the duck at long range, they got up the usual way, straight up, and then flew round and round, high up. i didn't know whether to watch the duck or enjoy looking at the village scene opposite, for it was at once delightfully new and delightfully familiar. there were mud-built cottages among feathery-foliaged trees with wide roofs of thatch of a silver grey colour, and above them were two or three palms against the sky. biblical looking ladies went to and fro between lake and village, and each carried on her head a large, black, earthenware bowl steadied by one hand, and a smaller brass pot swinging in the other. blue-black buffaloes and white and yellow cows sauntered on the sloping banks, watched by men in white clothes and turbans--it was all very sweet and peaceful in the soft morning light. [illustration] the ducks flew high of course, just out of range, but we banged away merrily at anything inside ninety yards! m. in the boat got within range of some confiding pochard, and we on shore got a few by flukes. they kept circling round for a long time as the other tanks in neighbourhood were almost dried up. then it got very hot and i for one was glad to get my back against an aloe for a little shade and concealment, and sketched, and fired occasionally to be sociable, as a duck came within say eighty yards. see sketch and the futility of concealment. i thought it very delightful--the shooting was not too engrossing, the landscape was charming, and the village life interesting, and the simplicity of the whole proceeding distinctly amusing. f., one of our party, on the other side from me kept potting away regularly. he was surrounded with natives; his ideas as to what was "in shot" were great! still, he told me the natives always swore he hit. the duck out here don't seem to mind small shot at a hundred or two hundred yards more than they do at home! pretty white herons sailed round occasionally without fear, and sometimes i could positively hardly see for grey-green dragon flies hovering in front; there was one tern, or sea swallow--my favourite bird; but how came it do you think, so far from the sea? [illustration] most of the duck had cleared off to other tanks by ten o'clock, so the fusilade stopped and we returned to the shade of a many-stemmed and rooted banyan tree where the desert met the sown, and had lunch and felt quite the old indian, eating fearfully hot curry pasties and spiced sandwiches, as per sketch. my five shooter is quite a novelty here, so i had to take it to bits and show how it worked, or rather, i began to show how it worked, did something wrong, and had to take it all to bits on this inauspicious occasion. [illustration] we shot on languidly till about one, that is, sat in the heat and occasionally let off a shot at a very wide duck, and another member of our party took his turn in the boat with a professed oarsmen from the village who was worse than the first, so we gave up, one by one and dawdled up to the village, picking up some dead duck on the way. here is a jotting of our retriever--a native who slung a bundle of dry pithy sticks under one arm, waded out, and swam along somehow, with an overhand stroke, not elegant but fairly effective.--i also made jottings of buffaloes in the water, all but submerged, water lilies, little white herons, and women in bright colours washing clothes in reflections! what subjects for pictures--rather shoppy this for you? the buffaloes walked sometimes entirely under water for some two or three yards--and then they came up and blew like seals!--by all the saints, isn't this just the kelpie we have heard of from sandy and donald and padruigh--and how "it" comes up from the dark water and the lilies in the dusk, like a great black cow, with staring eyes and dripping weeds hanging from its mouth and shoulders! [illustration] i found the party under the shade of pepal trees beside the inverted boat, and the lunch basket, surrounded by the villagers of all ages. in front on the dust, in sunlight, a brown woman danced and whipped her bare flesh with a cord like a serpent, and another woman in soft, hanging, madonna-like draperies, with a kid astride her hip and asleep on her breast, beat a tom-tom vigorously. the dancing woman's steps were the first of our sword dance--you see them round the world; she had ragged black hair, dusty brown skin, with various bits of coloured clothes twisted round her hips. of the violent light and shade, and hot reflected light from the sandy red ground, and restless movements, i could only make this ghost of a sketch. behind the women was a box, open on the side next us, fitted up as a shrine; in it sat an indian goddess in vermilion and gold, with minor deities round her, all very fearsome. i was told it was a cholera goddess, and the dancing was to propitiate her and drive cholera out of the village. i'd fain remember the light and shade and colour, but it is difficult to do these unfamiliar scenes from memory; of scenes at home one can grasp more in the time, for many forms are familiar and others one can reason from these--that they must be so--this last a risky business--and query: is it art or fake?--forgive shop again, awfully sorry. [illustration] the drive home in mid-day sun with no shade was pretty considerably hot, through miles of unsheltered, hot, dusty road, but with regular tiger jungle on either side! some of us slept--for me there was too much heat and too much to see for that. [illustration] i think we got fourteen duck. there were pochard and pintail and one like a mallard. the pochard are good to eat here. to-morrow we go south--both sorry and glad to go--sorry to leave the little social circle and glad to be on the road again. again we have had a glimpse of how quickly friends are made here. i suppose the extreme isolation makes one white man realise his dependence on the next white man, so that they naturally make the best of each other and become friends quickly. krishna bustles round packing things--bustles is hardly the word though, for his barefooted, silent effectiveness. and snoring hardly the word for the noise that son of a thief, the watchman, makes outside. chapter xv [illustration] good-bye to dharwar, we are on the move again, the comparatively cold-weather tourists take the road south to bangalore. we jog along at a respectable rate, not too fast and not too slow, say forty-five miles an hour top speed, and twenty-five mean, which allows us to see things to-day and remember what we saw yesterday. before leaving, biked down to the native town of dharwar, a place full of interest, picturesque scenes, and somewhat sinister looking people--tried to make a picture of women and men at a well-head, a magnificent subject, but too difficult to do in a few minutes. there were men pulling up kerosene tins over a wheel, hand over hand, from the cool looking depths of the wide red sandstone well and filling goats' skins to sling on cows' backs, and women in sombre reds and blue wrappings, old and young, and rather monkeyish in appearance; still, some were not altogether bad looking. one old woman had almost savonarola features, and the strip of blue from the sky on her brown back was telling as she and a young woman leant and pulled hand over hand at the rope. the water splashed on to the pavement round the well, reflected the rich colours of cloth and limb and patches of cobalt from the sky. the women seem to consider this is not a bad part of their day's work; to come to the well-head and chat with their neighbours and show off their jewellery, and probably wouldn't thank you for a modern engine to pump up the water in half the time. they are dirty little pigs; can you make out a little beast to the right, comparatively a superior, extra well-dressed beauty, with very polished black hair and a flower in it? no, i am afraid not; the reduction, or reproduction, obscures her charm completely. she looks round about her and rubs a family water pot with a little mud and water off the road, yet by her religion it would be defiled if my shadow fell on it. [illustration] i came away almost sick with the feeling of inability to remember all the movements of draperies and colours; this country needs a philip and a velasquez in one, to do it justice. on the way home i pass a tank with two wide nights of steps down to it, banyan trees hang over it, and monkeys gambol on the ground, and about the dusty trunks. up and down the steps women are passing with stately steps and slow, they loiter at the water's edge and gossip, then fill their dark earthenware bowls, lift them on to their heads with the help of a neighbour, and come slowly up the steps. the little brass bowls they carry on hip or at arm's length glitter with lights that hit the eye like electric sparks. one figure alone would make an artist's study for days. the colour from the red soil reflects under their raised arms and under their cheeks and into the classic folds of their draperies, strong blue, and deep red, in their shadows and throw up rich reflections to the undersides of the wet earthenware bowls; the water laps over their brims, and the sky reflects like sapphire on their upper surfaces.... who will say, that colour is not the most beautiful thing in the world--the very flower of love and light and fire; the sign of preponderant katabolism or anabolism as the naturalist might possibly put it, to be perfectly explicit! [illustration] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . people dined with us, and inside we had music of the masters by a mistress of music; and outside, some of us discussed names of stars; and dogs and jackals were stirred to the depths of their feelings by the moon: one especially at the end of the compound howled as if it was in a steel trap. at the side of the bungalow the guests' white cattle slept unyoked in the deep shadows of the trees, beside their white covered dumbies, all soft and blurred in silvery haze except where the light fell on a splash-board and shone like a jewel. and in front of us eucharist lilies and china asters drooped their heads and slept. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . though this is an express train we stop at lots of stations, which, of course, is just what we want, for there are fascinating groups to study all the way, and the slight changes in the character of the country are interesting. we go through first, what i take to be the black cotton soil, and later red soil again. at one little station a government official gets out of the train, a deputy-commissioner possibly, a dapper, fair man and a lady, a nurse, a fair child, and a fox terrier; in the shadow of some trees i see an escort of lancers and some foot soldiers waiting. we wonder who they can be, getting out in such a measureless, monotonous tract of level country. they seem so fair and isolated in this vast country of dark people. ... the afternoon passes, and as the sun goes down the shadows of our carriages spread wider over the plain. the sky becomes faint rose in the zenith, over the cerulean above the horizon, and the white clothes of the shepherds become golden, and the reds, yellows, and blues of the women's draperies become very vivid. we pass herds of cattle as finely bred as antelopes, all blurred into the glow of the late afternoon and the red soil. then comes almost desert, flat as water, red gravel with bushes with few green leaves, and here and there a tree with its white stem gleaming against a long-drawn shadow. over the horizon two hill tops show purple and red, then for ten minutes all flushes ruddy, burning gold, and vermilion, and the light goes out; and there follows a cold blackish violet that almost chills us, till the moon comes in full strength and glorifies the desert with its frosted silvery illumination. little fires begin to burn alongside the railway, and we see groups of shepherds warming themselves and cooking. the third class passengers at the stations are tucking their chins between their knees and pulling their draperies, most of them scarlet, over their heads, and with the lamplight from above and the smoke of the hubble-bubble that floats over them they make very warm, soft masses of colour. we stiffer people spread ourselves out over a space ten natives could sit in, and get under our blankets and feel uncommonly comfortable, take one more look at the blurr of moonlight on the silent waste, and address ourselves to sleep, fondly hoping we will remember a little of the beauty of the night 'gainst the "dark days made for our searching." ... the night passes, hour after hour--jogging south; at times we hear a voice calling in the wilderness the name of a station, which we do not know, and do not care to know; and there's a whiff perhaps of burning, a little like peat, from the fuel they burn here, which at home the farmers spread on their fields to make them "bring forth unnatural fruit."[ ] [ ] josephus. chapter xvi bangalore there was a knocking and a calling "what ho--within there!" and i got up in the grey dawn and found my cousins outside our carriage, looking rather chilled. a native stationmaster had promised to wire to them for me, to tell them we would finish our eight hours sleep at the bangalore siding. but here they were and had received no wire! therefore, put not your faith in native stationmasters. our hosts have a lovely bungalow, i use the adjective advisedly and in its fullest sense as applied to the beauties of domestic architecture and surroundings. the white doric pillars that support the semi-circular verandah are tall and well-proportioned, and support a pleasantly pitched tile roof. the tiles are of many weather-worn tints; above these are high trees with white stems and exquisitely delicate foliage, through which you see patches of blue sky. down some of the pillars hang creepers, one is heavy with dark green leaves and deep orange flowers, another is covered with trumpet-shaped flowers of fleshy white; and a tall tree close to the verandah is covered with creeper that forms a perfect cascade of dark green leaves and mauve flowers. the appearance of the bungalow, the lightness of the sunny air, and our kind welcome made us feel anything but way-worn travellers. still; the above circumstances seemed uncommonly conducive to sleep on our first day at bangalore. [illustration: an indian tank.] what splendid rooms we have. our bedrooms and dressing-rooms would make a chapel. and the style of construction is in charming taste--great simple spaces of distempered wall and matted floor and timbered ceiling, the structural features showing wherever they may be sightly, with breadth of spaces such as you see in spanish houses; the furnishings simple, everything necessary, and little besides, a pleasant sense of room for growth. bangalore as a city is not at all compactly built together. the compounds round bungalows are really parks, and the roads are so wide and long that it takes hours to call on the nearest neighbour. r. had been stationed here some time, but his wife is a new arrival, so we found her engaged in making a round of first calls--the newcomer calls on the residents in india--seventeen in one day was her record i believe--possibly a bangalore record--it would have killed any man. we drove round the tanks and pretty avenues and parks after lunch, and through the native town. it positively takes one's breath away with its crowds of picturesque scenes--pictures every yard in the mile! fortunately for us our host and hostess are as fond as we are of looking at things and trying to remember them, and delight in showing us places they have remarked for their picturesque interest. of one of these characteristic tanks i have made a jotting in colour. soft foliaged trees along a road on the top of a green enbankment were reflected in the calm water; at its edge, on stone steps and amongst the reeds, little copper-coloured women in rich colours stooped and washed brightly coloured clothes. the surface of the water was speckled with wild duck, which splashed and swam about making silvery ripples break into the warm reflection, and a faint smoke from the village softened the whole effect. white draped figures passed to and fro on the bund under the trees, sometimes aglow with rays that shot between the tree trunks, or again silhouetted violet against golden light--for "white is never white," as the drawing-master has it. we were a very happy party of four at dinner, with many pleasant subjects to discuss--the journey out, and our friends on the _egypt_, and the various people "we knew to speak to;" then we had to retail the most recent gossip from dharwar, in which place r. was quartered for some years, and he told us old amusing stories about that station and its doings. then there were questions of dress to be discussed by the memsahibs, and we men had problems from home to solve--as to rearing of fish and game, and what we had done, and what we would like to do! and besides, what was serious, we had plans for future movements to make. there are so many sights to see here, and in front of us, and so many, it appears, we ought to have stopped to see between bombay and here; however we realise that unless american born we can only assimilate what an american would consider to be a very little in a very long time, so we are going along slowly. we should properly go to see the cauvery falls,[ ] the water of which drives the dynamos there for the kolar gold fields, sending the current that equals , horse power ninety-three miles by wire to kolar, and fifty-seven to this place, to light the streets. four hundred feet the water falls, in pipes, and drives the turbines; so in this, the dry season, there is little water to be seen. i can almost fancy i see this, and i may read about the engineering at home! [ ] see graphic description cauvery falls power station, kolar gold fields, in "vision of india:" by sidney low (smith, elder & co.). the falls of gairsoppa, it is decided in our evening confab, we must see, and we smoke various cheroots over them. so far we go in train, i understand, towards the coast and the wild west, then we get into tongas and creep down and under jungle day after day, an immensity of trees towering above till the wholesome light of the sky is shut out and you breathe in the damp depths of the primeval jungle, and see huge mosquitoes and diminutive aboriginal men with bows and arrows hiding from you like the beasts in the field that perish. so you travel day in day out, spending nights in dak bungalows with nothing to eat but tins. i said, "it seems a damned long, dark, boggy, dangerous road," and d. was shocked, till i reminded her i was only quoting tony lumpkin. the explanation being doubtfully accepted, d. expatiated on the delight of coming out of the gloom to find all the stir and movement and light in the great opening where there was feet of water tumbling into a cauldron full twenty fathoms deep, blue sky overhead, foam everywhere, rainbows, and more falls below, and glittering wet rocks and waving foliage all round. a hard place to fish, i thought. and believe i will just fancy i see this place too; it sounds rather a "circumbendibus" for us this journey. and why leave bangalore at all? why fatigue ourselves seeing more places and sights than these we have near us? we feel inclined to pitch our tents here for a prolonged stay, the light is so brilliant and air sunny and refreshing, and there are subjects for pictures on all sides of all kinds; of village life, people, beasts and foliage--such exquisite corot foliage--and reflections in reedy pools. as i write, within a stone throw of my dressing-room, there appears a queenly figure, draped in crimson edged with gold, from the shadows of the trees. she stands in full sun, beside grey boulders under green foliage; cattle finely bred, like deer, feed on either side of her, and the sapling stems draw shadows on their fawn and white hides, and across the withered, short, dry grass. she belongs to r.'s establishment, i suppose--wife of a sweeper perhaps, but at this distance she might be a grecian goddess for she is too far off to distinguish features. the golden brown of her face and the blue-black of the hair under the crimson and gold in full afternoon sun are splendid against the depths of green shadow. her contemplative attitude suggests at once repose and calm expectancy. [illustration] this afternoon i made another jotting of a woman herding a cow in a dell at the side of the road shaded from the rays of the afternoon sun. her dress was metallic-blue, in folds as severely classical as those of a muse of herculaneum, and it was edged with lines of pale gold. on her brown arms were silver bangles, and a band of dull rose round the short sleeves of the bodice. she led a white cow and its calf, and they browsed on the leaves of oleander; the pink geranium coloured flowers and grey-green leaves harmonised with the white skins of her beasts. the black touch in the picture was her smooth black hair and painted eyebrows. here follows a pen scribble in my journal of what happens in this household once a week i understand. before dinner mine host and hostess give some signal and the servants line up on the verandah and their wages are paid. such a lot of ground is covered and so very quickly. r. knows apparently all about each servant, how many children this man has, and whether they are married or single, and what he owes the money-lender, what part of the country he comes from, etc., etc. mrs b. checks off everything paid out. so from bridge making and railway contracts in the early morning to annas and pice for servants in the evening has been r.'s day's work; half-an-hour at this minor business and we are free for dinner, host and hostess, at any rate, conscious of a day's work done. [illustration] we were enjoying our cheroots to-night in the warm dusk in the verandah, when there was a shout that there was a thief in the house--we jumped! r. into one entrance, i into another, and we scurried round the big, dark drawing-room trying to catch him; someone passed me and i "held him low"--it was r. and i felt small! the thief had got out between us, and had jumped a pretty high balcony, and we followed with a view haloo or something to that effect in tamil from r. i never saw the thief, but r. said he disappeared under a road bridge which led to a donga and jungle and native huts. he dodged a neighbour's butler who was brought out by the shouts, and got away. he had only just got into the house, for there were only some small silver things taken. it was like a scene from a comic opera when we got back, as our host and hostess with old fashioned lamps went along their line of white-robed servants. these were all dying to speak at once, but had each to wait his turn and give his account of how the thief had come in, how he was seen, and what he was doing when the alarm was given. with this veracious account of an inglorious adventure i will draw another day's journal to its close, and if the reader is not asleep, we will now proceed to consider the subject of snipe shooting. chapter xvii [illustration] december ...--we left "locksley hall" at . , and d. came to station to see us off and to give last instructions to the servants about catering for us. we have to train all night till two in the morning, then shoot duck and snipe at an out of the way tank, get back to train at twelve, and then home after another day and night in train. a long journey for a small shoot, but for r. the shoot is only a minor consideration. all along the road he stops at stations and gets reports front contractors and workers on the line, and generally sees that the line is in working order. his assistant engineer comes with his own carriage. r., as senior, can take the tail of train with our carriage so that he can watch the track as we jog along. it's a nice slow train, and you think you could walk beside it up the hills, but in reality you have to go at a gentle trot. bangalore station was a sight for a tenderfoot--brim full of colour and types. half in shadow half in light, as if several theatrical companies were on tour in their costumes--a company, say of the merchant of venice, another of the cingalee, and a variety show or two. there were sellers of green bananas and soda water and native sweet cakes in all the colours you can think of, and british soldiers in khaki and pith helmets, and everyone running about with properties and luggage on their heads and in their hands. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . this is, to my mind, a luxurious way of travelling. both carriages have berths, bathroom, and kitchen, all very diminutive except the berths. our kitchen would hardly hold one european, but holds at least three natives. at five and a half miles an hour you can do all sorts of things, paint or snooze, or, as i prefer to do on this day, sit in a comfortable arm-chair with feet in the sun on the after platform and watch the line running away behind into the vanishing point. r.'s assistant, h., is in our carriage, and these two pull out all sorts of documents and papers flooded with figures and go into their work, and talk of cement, sleepers, measurements, curve stresses and strains generally, and of the particular bits of business on hand; but occasionally they have a minute or two off and we find ourselves talking of duck and snipe and overhauling decoys, r. and h. discussing the chances of the season at this tank or the other. then they get to business again, about a native contractor perhaps--is he all right, or is he not?--and every now and then we disembark and have a brief chat with a stationmaster, and look at points or trees and buildings; these matters are gone through pretty quickly, and we get on to the tail of our train again as it slowly moves off. we are going now through a gravelly red soil, the sun blazing hot. we go so comfortably slowly that we can lean out and see our little narrow gauge train crawling along like a silver grey caterpillar, for the passenger cars and goods cars are round topped like saratoga trunks, and their french grey colour harmonises with the hedge of grey-green cactus leaves on the side of the line. beyond the train we see the lines like curves of blue riband on the yellow and white quartz ballast of the track. our little engine puffs up little rags of white against the blue sky. add a touch of bright colour, a flutter of pink drapery, and a brown shoulder, a finely modelled arm and bangle at a carriage window, catching the cool draught, and you have, i think, quite a pleasant colour scheme. the track is so tidy that there are white quartz stones arranged along each side of the yellow quartz ballast, and where there is sand ballast it is patted down as neatly as a pie crust. r. says it is difficult to prevent the native navvy making geometric designs with the coloured quartz. [illustration] by the afternoon we are in a wide-spreading country, only broken with clumps of palms at great distances. the soil is dull red, almost magenta at the edge of cuttings, and above on the plains it is yellow ochre with scrub bushes and many lemon-yellow blossoms. as the sun sets we pass flocks of sheep and goats collecting for protection within tall zerebas of thorn and palm leaves. the dust they raise catches the sun and hangs over them in a golden mist. far out on the horizon there is one streak of warm violet where some low hills appear--a simple enough landscape, with not many features, but with the charm that belongs to scenes at sea or in the desert, where there are but two elements to hold the thoughts. now we draw up near a village, and women and children watch our train. i wish they'd keep some one portion of their limbs and draperies still an instant to let me see and draw, but they won't. two women lean against the wire fence near us, one a tall, small-headed and long-limbed matron in dullish green sari with gold or yellow round its edges in thin and broad lines, and a bodice of orange and crimson. her neighbour leans and talks, incessantly moving; she is wrapped in vivid crimson, edged with a broad band of poppy blue. behind them the village is hazy in half tone against the light; across the space between, there flits a fairy in lemon-yellow or orange drapery slightly blown out so that the sun makes it a transparent blaze of yellow--a dainty tanagra figurine come to life and colour again! ... arsikere.--we have our carriage gently shunted at a siding here, and stop under a banyan tree, and have our meal in the moonlight--such moonlight and such a meal! i've heard so much of indian cooking, of the everlasting chicken and curries, but out of our two tiny kitchens we get a dinner worthy of a moderately good french café, fish and beef, and game, and variety of vegetables.--indian beef is not half bad in my humble opinion, and the vino tinto is straight from lisbon, by goa, the portuguese port on this west coast, what better could a man desire? a hitch in our arrangements occurred here. our plans were to tie on to a north-going train at two in the morning, and cut off again at a tank some miles up the line where the duck-shooting is sublime. but my host got a wire from the head engineer of the whole line about matters connected with the royal visit to mysore, and he must now go down south, to stamp on the bridges and see that the line is all firm and safe, so the wanderer from home again realises that there is a prince in the land! and we feel loyally resigned, especially as there happens to be good snipe ground where we are, and we can't return before midday to-morrow, and so can have a long half-day's shooting before we hitch on to the south mail train. [illustration] as we sit at table on the side of the track, the village dogs steal into the moonlight and come gradually nearer us; masterless dogs of any colour betwixt the collie and fox-terrier. no one feeds them or owns them, so there's plenty of appetite and unclaimed affection going. one old lady takes her position beside us for the night, and its poor bony sides are filled for once, and its brown eyes in the morning look grateful and eager for more. r. says he thinks the most miserable are those with fox-terrier blood; and they do not outlive their second litters. it lay on the sand a little way off the greater part of the night, the shyer dogs still farther off, scarcely seen in the darkness. perhaps these half-breds have inherited thoughts of former better days, which brings me back to that freckled, sandy-haired eurasian boy at the bundar, with his black eyelashes, and the blue-eyed, curly-haired girl in the native throng. [illustration] now we are coming to the snipe, "little by little," our nurse used to say, "as the lawyers get to heaven," and i put in notes about them here from a letter written to my friend w. b., but not yet posted. "my dear w. b.,--you ask me about sport, and if i've got near a tiger? so far as i am aware i have not been in the immediate proximity of a tiger, though i have been in what is, at times, a tiger country--about dharwar, and where i'd very probably have got one if i'd taken many men and months and much money to secure it. but to-day i've had funnier shooting than i've ever had--fancy snipe, my dear man, amongst palm trees! tall cocoa-nut palms, betel nuts, and toddy palms, and banana trees--big snipe, and decently tame. fancy them dodging like woodcock at home, from a blaze of sun into the deep shadows of subtropical palm groves! [illustration] "we trollied to our shooting ground, r. and i and four trolley men--such a nice way of getting along--with palms on either side of the track, some of them covered with creepers from their very tops to the ground in cascades--niagaras, i mean, of green leaves and lilac blossoms; and through this jungle the sun streamed across the yellow quartz track and glittered on the lines. two men at a time ran barefooted behind, one on each rail, and shoved the trolley and jumped on going down hill. we went at just a nice rate, which gave us time to note the birds and flowers along the side of the line. [illustration] "about two miles down the line we struck off to the east on foot, and crossed rice stubbles with clear rills of water running through them, the first clear water we have seen here so far--any we have seen has been red or yellow with mud. then we came to woods of all sorts of palms, mostly low growing on white sand, and here and there pools and marshes over which the palms stood and were reflected and threw sharp shadows across the blue reflection from the sky. fancy shooting common snipe in such a botanical garden! the last i shot were with s. in ayrshire in cold, and wind and wet and a grey light on high moorland, about the st of last october. [illustration] "we spread out, r. and i and his merry men, and waded; his butler and cook apparently as keen about shikar as cooking, and promptly three snipe got up, jolly slow flyers, in front of me, and i let off and hit one of the palm tree trunks and the snipe disappeared in the gloom of their shade. i saw r. on my right out in the full blaze of the sun get one of the three, then wisp after wisp got up and we began to bag them and to fear our cartridges would run out. but imagine the difficulty of hitting even those slow waterfowl with an eagle or vulture or a group of them, huge fellows, looking at you from fifteen to twenty yards off from the top of a low palm, or a kingfisher of vivid cerulean quivering in front of your nose, so fixed in its poise and so dazzling in colour that you saw a pink spot for minutes after, and so got in to your waist. and there were many kinds of doves and pigeons, which almost fanned our faces as they swooped past, and hanging weaver birds' nests, that i tried not to look at, and a roller bird i'd defy anyone not to look at--the size of a jay, irridescent pale blue and green all over, with just a touch of brown to set off the blues. i'd fain have shot one but for the bother of skinning and curing. you can imagine how distracting at first was this free run in a natural aviary and botanical garden combined, and how difficult to concentrate on the 'commoner' garden snipe. [illustration] "very soon each of the men had a bundle of snipe and we had to return; but we had not many cartridges left, which consoled us. we went back pretty wet all over, for it was piping hot and airless under the palms, but on the fields outside the air was delicious and dry. we crossed the line to a beautiful lake with level grassy banks and found it alive with thousands of duck. they were very wary though, and kept far out of range and wouldn't rise. we had not time for rafting or boating, so got on to the trolly again, and back to our home on the siding; and some snipe were plucked before i'd found my pencil. you should see how neat these servants are with their fingers. here is a jotting of the operation--i think i've got the movement of their rather weak-looking hands. they are sitting on the track beside the kitchen part of the carriage. "i wish very much both r. and i could spare a little more time for this pastime, "but one canna dae a' thing," as they say at st. abbs, and r. has to attend to royal preparations south--thus has the honour and glory of serving his country and his king--i am trying to see where my ego scores, but don't--i miss a half-day's shooting. but the little we had, was astonishingly interesting though it wasn't very long. now we have a day and a night home again--a hundred miles to a snipe shoot, my longest journey in proportion to the size of the shoot; but no distance at all compared with its novelty and interest. ... drew most of the way home, cows, aloes, trees, women's figures, men's ditto, dogs, goats, palms, etc., etc. it passes the time and does no harm that i wot of. all pleasures but the artist's bring "i' th' tail repentance like a sting." "home to bangalore and the rehearsal of our adventures to our better halves, and talk--well into the night, which means here about . ! then to bed at once, for r. has to start early with his chief in the morning, he is coming from the central office at dharwar; to test bridges and things in mysore, to see they are strong enough, for they say there are twenty english valets coming in the royal train!" it rained heavily all night, and this morning the sky was overcast, and already we, who have been in india only a few weeks, feel almost vexed that it is not sunny. in the morning we went to the residency to call--a strange hour to call at, one of the things in india nobody can understand--as reasonable as top hats and frock coats in calcutta. it is a very fine embassy indeed--palace, perhaps, you might almost call it, with a nice air of official dignity that comes from the lion and the unicorn in the front of the house above the entrance, and the little khaki clad native soldiers, mounted orderlies, and red chuprassis in groups about the grounds. mrs fraser, wife of the resident, was at home, and wore a very pretty dress of soft grey and black muslin(?) with touches of dull rose bows--but how can you describe a dress of the present period, they are such subtle things; a romney or a reynolds dress would be easy enough--something white hitched up here or there would be near enough, but nowadays the colours of various materials tell through each other so delicately and the shapes suggest faintly so many periods that i question if it is in the power of words to describe a modern frock. our hostess, i gathered, is deeply engrossed in making the bundabast[ ] for the entertainment of the prince and his retainers--if twenty valets require so many napkins, for so many days, how many cups and saucers will be needed for a royal procession for a week, and so on? [ ] i think the context explains the meaning of bundabast--an invaluable word. i take it, it is used correctly as above. you can make "bundabast" for a campaign, i believe, or for a picnic; _i.e._, order the carriages, food, and things, and the right people, and generally take all responsibilities therefor. th. dec.--this ought to be a date to remember in our lives. my neice and i went to jail to-day, both for the first time, and i am not anxious to go again. it is immediately across the road from locksley hall. we passed through a double archway, guarded inside by native soldiers. facing us as we entered, the walls were decorated with trophies of chains and fetters, which the man in the street might see as he passed. the governor very kindly went round with us, and we saw a distinctly stronger type of man than those outside; here and there a trifle too much cheek bone and queer eyes, mostly murderers, many with faces one would pick for choice as manly men. famine times account for some of the murders, and overstocking i should say; it's done everywhere, in trout ponds, deer forests, and sheep runs. india, i expect, is over preserved; a bad season comes, and famine, and one starving fellow chips in with another, and knocks a third party on the head because he has a meal on him, and the first parties' children are crying for food--and by the prophets, we'd each try to do the same under similar circumstances, and the result would be the survival of the fittest. government now catches the would-be "fittest" and sets him hanging to a piece of rope, or makes him wear beautiful bright chains and weave beautiful carpets, as they do here, in all the colours of joseph's coat, in silk or cotton; with everything he wants except liberty and the sun on the road outside--and the children and wife. the carpets are exquisitely made in hand-looms. the men sit in a sort of rifle pit and weave on an upright hand-loom, and the patterns on great carpets or the finest of silk rugs grow out of their wicked brains only; there's no pattern in front of them to copy from; they do it by heart. you know a "lifer" from a "timer" by the colour of their skull caps; one is white, the other brown--i think the brown is the "lifer." all is beautifully kept, and the men look at you when ordered to do so, also when they are not ordered and your back is turned. they give their names too when ordered, and crimes, and terms of imprisonment, so gently. oh! how i'd love to kick the blessed wall all down and let the lot out! then i'd have to sit up all night, i suppose, with a gun, looking after our silver-plated spoons. the principal individual who caused most trouble in the prison was a "lifer," i think, a most remarkably long, thin man, actually eel-like. he had escaped three times. the last hole he escaped by he made with a nail, and it had just been bricked up and plastered over. he was not allowed to work, merely stood bolt upright, a head and shoulder higher than his two, armed jailers, who were chained to him. he was motionless as a statue, but i never saw such unrest as there was in his eyes; there was the look of the eye of a bird in the hand, one simple concentrated expression of watchfulness for a chance to escape. he is a bit of a wag, i am told. once when he escaped he borrowed a carriage and livery and engaged himself to the services of a lady in bangalore, and actually drove the lady to prison to call on the governor. but when he gathered the governor was coming to return the call, he thought it time to go; i don't know how he was captured again, and i wonder very much if he will escape once more. his four companions who stood beside him in the blaze of joyous sun were just going to be released in half an hour from all their joys and troubles. two of them looked very murderous specimens, two looked good, i don't know why, but one felt curiously shy about looking at them. one or two of the murderers' faces wore a quiet half-smiling expression, barely human, and that seemed to me to spell "killing" quite distinctly and without any evil intent, like the expression on a greek head i have only once seen, a youthful combatant--a cheery unintrospective look, a tough round neck, raised chin, oblique eyes, and the least smile on lips just parted. one young woman had that kind of face too; the rest were just as good in expression as outsiders. they were employed grinding millets in hand quirns, hard work, i'd think; the top stone they turn round, weighs two stone and they put it round fairly quickly. i'd so much have liked to have drawn this particular woman's face. i think it is the only handsomely shaped face i've seen in india so far, and yet that queer inhuman look ought to have prevented a child closing its eyes near her. she had killed a child for its bangle and dropped it into a well, and in prison nearly killed another for another bangle. she was fourteen and had a look of complete ignorance of good or evil. this good-looking girl they tell me is to go into a nunnery--by my hostie! i'd like to hear the end of the story. we came back from the jail and found a tableau arranged on our verandah. it was well done, whether by accident or design. the two principal actors sat in the middle of the verandah with neat bundles arranged round them, and behind them sat their two slaves or henchmen in garments of complimentary tints. the memsahibs came and were salaamed, and sat in front of the traders. then the bundles were opened and blossomed into colours and fabrics. within ten minutes the verandah was covered with silks of every hue, gorgeous colours and the delicate colours of moonlight, so that the matting was completely covered with a veritable riot of colours and textures--a much more wonderful effect than any tricks with baskets or mangoes grown under sheets. i tried to put this down in colour, and here is a pen and ink jotting of the subject. [illustration] sunday.--walked round the outside of the prison grounds amongst little patches of highly-cultivated market gardens and clumps of palms, and these long pumps like the ancient catapult with bronze men sweating at them pulling down the long arm of the balanced yard to let the bucket down the well, then tipping the water out into gutters of mud to irrigate. they do it pretty much the same way up the nile. the cottages have low mud walls, and are thatched with dried palm leaves and scraps of corrugated iron, and the naked children, with their coal-black mops of hair, play about in the dust with the hens, and seem to have a good time. they are chubby and jolly, and don't quarrel so much, or speak so harshly as school board children in our bonnie lowlands. here and there are quaint little temples, stone built, under the palms between the patches of cultivated ground. there are prickly pears, and hedges of different thorny creepers with flowers of pink, cinnamon, deep orange, and violet. i pass a group of goats feeding on one of these hedges, black, white, and brown--a pleasant motley of moving colour. the piece of hedge near me has pink flowers, and behind it you see a little lapis-lazuli sky. the black goat's coat is almost blue with reflected sky. near me a boy stands in the shadow of a tree herding a cow. the leaves throw deep shadows on the rusty red path and a tracery of leaf shadows, on the cow's back and sides--deeper in colour than the velvety black of the hide itself. [illustration] [illustration: a street corner, bangalore] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . in the evening my hostess drives me to another part of the bazaar, and we scribble, and try hard to remember a street corner and prevent other scenes obliterating our impressions and come straight home to get it down. the lamplight conflict with daylight is to me as interesting here as at home. the best minutes in the day, i think, for colour, are when the shadows from figures passing the lamps just become visible, when they still hold the blue of day in them, and so contrast pleasantly with the yellow lights of oil and electric lamps. outside many of the booths chandeliers of cut crystal are hung, and give, what i consider, a charming effect. in the evening there was a dinner party at the residency, to which mrs fraser very kindly invited us, and there was pleasant talk about burmah and princely pageants, elephant kedar camps, and the right royal entertainments to be held at mysore; and of how the twenty valets and the hundreds of guests are to be provided for; to quote the tales of the highlands, "there will be music in the place of hearing, meat in the place of eating, smooth drinks and rough drinks, and drinks for the laying down of slumber, mirth raised and lament laid down, and a right joyful hearty plying of the feast and royal company"--but how it is all to be done is past my comprehension! noah, the raven said, did them really well in the ark; but a royal retinue must be much more difficult to provide for, must need a bigger "bunda-bust"--i believe i've used this word rightly again! [illustration] the maharajah of mysore came after dinner. he was dressed in a pale turquoise silk coat, with dark blue and white and gold turban with diamond aigrette, and white trousers, patent leather shoes, and a long necklace of very large diamonds. he is twenty-one and good-looking, with pleasant expression and a quiet possessed manner. i am almost glad i did not know that he is building such a wonderful palace, or i would have felt oppressed. this palace at mysore is to be the finest in the world, so people here say, but of it anon. we spoke of music; he plays a great number of instruments (i think thirteen). i asked which music he liked best, eastern or western, and he replied, "when i hear western music, i think surely nothing could be better. then when i hear our own eastern music, again i think nothing could be better." he understands the various kinds of our highland music, and argued that if you understand the folk music of one race you can understand that of others. to me it seems a loss to music that these early forms of various races are not more often studied by modern musicians. writers and painters set an example in this way; painters and sculptors especially, for they study the art of all times and peoples, ancient greek, egyptian, japanese, etc., but what does the ordinary musician know of these ancient greek, egyptian, or celtic tunes that are fast being forgotten, or of japanese, indian, or burmese intricacies? sir arthur sullivan did study burmese music, but was not that quite exceptional? writers too, generally have a smattering of some dead languages, and even advocate the study to-day, of sanskrit, and gaelic. [illustration] chapter xviii [illustration] before the phantom of false morning died, our boy outside the carriage cried, when all the breakfast is prepared without, why nods the drowsy sahib still inside? and wake for the sun has scattered into flight the stars before it from the field of night; drives night along with it, and strikes the rajah's palace with a shaft of light-- as above, but possibly it is just a government building, a post office, perhaps! our two carriages are in a siding at this mysore station, and the servants are outside with breakfast. the robes of the natives coming towards the station in the twilight under said shaft of light are greenish in contrast; they are wrapped up in their white mantles to keep off what they appear to think dangerous morning air. only a few of them are astir, and the dew runs steadily from the roof of our carriage and makes a hole in the sandy track, and an early crow is round for anything that may be going. the cook comes past with a comforting glow from charcoal in a frying pan, so we know our _chota hazri_ will be before us in no time, after which we intend to trolly back on the line to seringapatam. we came here yesterday afternoon from bangalore, r. and d. with their carriage, and self and g. in one the railway co. let us have--for a consideration! a very good plan this--you pay for three fares and have your carriage overnight, so at places where there are no hotels you are more comfortable than if there were! coming here from bangalore to mysore, the line is interesting all the way, the scenes change constantly--i have very distinct recollections of at first "garden scenery," then jungle and bushy woods running into rocky gorges, barren sand wastes and rich rolling corn lands alternating in the few hours run, yet in my journal i have not a line of pen or scrape of pencil of these scenes; i daresay the reader has noticed this, that scenes taken unconsciously on the tablets of memory--unconscious impressions--are more lasting than those taken down consciously and deliberately. mysore town is a place of wide roads and trees, fields intended to be parks some day, and light and air. many houses of european origin, somewhat suggestive of italian or spanish villas, are shuttered and closed in, so as to give a sense of their being deserted. you drive past these silent houses and their gardens and come to the native town, which is anything but silent or deserted, and then to the new palace; the modern sight of southern india. it is brimming with life; it looks like a gothic cathedral in course of construction. two towers, each at a guess, feet high, with a wing between them, bristle with bamboo scaffolding so warped and twisted out of the perpendicular that the uprights are like old fishing rods. the extraordinary intricacy is quite fascinating, but at present it partially prevents one seeing the general proportions and effect of the building. as we see it, in the afternoon, the great mass of building is grey against the western light; thousands of men, women, boys, and children are scattered over its face on these fragile perches, and though not in sunlight, their many-coloured draperies reflect on the variously coloured stones at which they are carving. around us, on the ground, are other thousands doing similar work, hewing, sawing, and carving marbles and granite--such intricate carving--in reddish and grey-green granite. as to the general architectural effect it would be unwise to venture an opinion at present; but the details are simply marvellous. i believe it is intended to be the finest palace in the world, and if a great many exquisite fancies put together, will form one great conception, then certainly this expression in architecture must be a magnificent work of art. the people to-day and the generations to come must owe this prince great gratitude for the encouragement of so many skilled craftsmen, and for the preservation of indian arts and crafts. there were four hundred fine-wood carvers, and four hundred fine-stone carvers, carving filigree ornaments, chains, and foliage of the most astonishing realism in these materials. fancy, actual chains in granite, pendants from elephants' heads! most of the skilled masons and joiners of india, i am told, have been collected here. the masons must be in thousands; they are wonderfully skilled in work at granite, their very lightness of hand seems to let them feel just the weight of iron needed to flake off the right amount from the granite blocks. a very much extended description of the temple of solomon might give to one who had time to read an idea of the richness of the materials employed, and the variety of the subjects of the decorations. there is marble--work and wood--work, silver doors, ivory doors, and rooms, halls, and passages of these materials, all carved with indian minuteness and delicacy, with telling scenes from the stories of hindoo deities; and in the middle of these eastern marvels are alas! cast-iron pillars from glasgow. they form a central group from base to top of the great tower; between them at each flat they are encircled with cast-iron perforated balconies. they are made to imitate hindoo pillars with all their taperings and swellings, and are painted vermilion and curry-colour. opening on to these cast-iron balconies are the silver and ivory rooms and floors of exquisite marble inlay. we saw inside on many floors, modellers with their clay, modelling groups for the stone-carvers, in high or low relief, with utmost rapidity, freedom, finish, and appreciation of light and shade. the different methods of craftsmen in different countries is always interesting. here the modeller works on the floor seated on his heels; he runs up acanthus leaves, geometric designs, or groups of figures and animals with a rapidity that would give our niggling academy teachers at home considerable food for thought--and yet the work is fine, and the figures are full of expression. the area of a workman's studio you might cover with a napkin, or say, a small table-cloth. the carver takes the model and whacks it out in _granite_ without any pointing or other help than his hand and eye and a pointed iron chisel and hammer, and he loses very little indeed of the character of the model, in fact, as little as some well paid italian workers. the wood-carving, as far as technical skill in cutting goes, was out and away beyond anything we could almost dream of at home, and all at s. d. a day, which is good pay here. one man cut with consummate skill geometrical ornaments on lintels to be supported by architraves covered with woodland scenes, with elephants foreshortened and ivory tusks looking out from amongst tree-trunks, and most naturalistic monkeys, peacocks, fruit, and foliage. all this we saw rapidly dug out in the hard brown teak with delightful vigour, spontaneity, and finish. one might fear that a geometrically carved lintel would not be quite in keeping with a florid jamb, but why carp, we should look at the best side of things. i think these same craftsmen working to the design of one artist, or artist and architect in one, might make a record. the ability to carry out the design is here, and at such a price! but where is the thought, the conception for a parthenon--a nation must first worship beauty before it can produce it. i think the native town and streets here as good as can be for painting pictures; a man would have to come young and get up early to do the subjects you see in an hour or two. here there is more style, wider surfaces, and character in the native houses than in bombay. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . we went to seringapatam yesterday on trollies, nine miles back on the line by which we came from bangalore to mysore city. we had two trollies, r. and g. in front with workmen examining the line as we went, an extremely pleasant mode of procedure, with a certain dignity about it that is absent in a railway carriage. we sit in front on comfortable seats, a red flag on a bamboo overhead, a fat stationmaster and two natives behind, and two on the rails to shove, the shadow of the whole show running along beside us outlined on the ballast and sunny cactus hedge. [illustration] the first miles were over somewhat sandy, gravelly ground, then through groves of palms, and mostly down hill. at this comfortable rate we had time to look at the field workers in the rice crops, the palms with their skirts of creepers, and flowering thornbrakes, and the "bits" of the yellow corn and hedges and flat fields, that one might have seen on any summer's day in england. the reapers were in groups and lines in the greenish corn, the men bronze and bare to the waistcloths, the women in many-coloured draperies, ruths and reapers and boazes by the dozen, with the women's bangles gleaming, and the men's sickles glittering in the cheerful sunlight. seringapatam is on an island three miles long, in the cauvery river; outside it we were met by a victoria and drove about the island. it is a pleasant place to spend a day; the marks of our forefathers' gunnery on the walls gives quite a homely feeling. you see where they camped and the river they looked at--a gentle-running, sapphire stream with yellow-grey stones showing across it, not much more than a hundred yards across when we saw it--and the big double masonry wall beyond it which they battered and scaled. barring the trees and bushes that have grown on the walls, the battering looks as if it had only been done yesterday. we spent the morning going over the walls, without a guide or guide-book, trying to pick up the hang of the situation from what we had heard and read of the siege. there is pleasant park-land inside the walls, with beautiful tall trees, but the view that fascinates is from the walls across the river towards the points where the british guns were fired from, and from which the assault was made. later in the day the stationmaster, bubbaraya moodeliar, gave us a copy of a guide he has written, such an excellent, concise description of the place and its history. it was pleasant to find so many of our countrymen's names on the first pages, and at the risk of being tedious, my friends, they are here; the names as they occur in this "short history of the siege and assault," by an indian native--wellesley, kelly, sir david baird, captain prescott, lt. c. dunlop, baillie, bell, lt.-colonel gardiner, dalrymple, general stuart, wallace, sherbrooke, douse, hart, lalor--all well-known scottish and irish names, except two or perhaps three that may be english, but the native puts them all, down as "english!" so does the editor of murray's "guide to india"--describes those who fought under duff, grant, and ford as an "english force." so foolish writers are filching our good name by ignoring the terms of union, and deliberately or unconsciously are working up another scrap on the banks of the bannock--well, so be it, the times are a little dull; and we need a little national stiffening north of tweed. the water-gate, where tippoo sultan got his _coup de grace_ in the general flight of his people, is just the quiet and peaceful place in which to doze and dream for a summer day on the green sward under the park-like trees. the gate is an arched passage through thick walls leading to a walled-in space with trees hanging over it; through a tumbled down bit of this wall you come on to the river. it was delightful there, no one about, excepting two or three women washing clothes on the stones in the clear running water, with the sunshine and flickering shadows from the trees falling over them. but it must have been bustling enough on the th of may, , when tippoo tried to pass, with baird's troops behind! what would one not give to have seen that last tableau: the british soldier in the crowd of natives going for the wounded sultan's jewelled sword belt, the jam and press, and the heat and danger! the sultan objected and wounded the soldier, so the soldier put a bullet through the sultan's head--and what became of our northern robber, and the belt? what heaps of jewels tippoo had collected; he used to spend days in his treasure-house inventorying his stores of diamonds and pearls, and to-day you may see some of the strings of pearls if you dine out in edinburgh. after the assault, during the night, a soldier found his way into the treasury, and by morning a handful of diamonds was the price offered and asked for a bottle of arrack. these international looting scenes seem to me peculiarly fascinating; i think a little prize-money won that way must feel worth fortunes earned in business. how our soldier of to-day swears at being deprived of such perquisites, and how he wishes he had been "in the civil" at mandalay or pekin. we drove through the native town and bazaar. it seemed half empty; a native villa there might be had for one line of an old song. the plague had been knocking at many doors a little while ago, and now they swing loosely on the hinges and the roofs are fallen in, or have been pulled down rather, by the sahibs, to let the sun in and the evil plague spirit out. we came to the high mosque, allah musjid one of the most beautiful buildings i have ever seen; its proportions are so big and simple. it was the favourite place of worship of hyder ali khan and his son, tippoo. you go up to it through porticoes, and up a rough white stair, with innumerable swallows in nests of feathers protruding from a level line of holes in, the hot, sun-lit wall just above your head on the right hand; and past little rest rooms for worshippers on the left, of plain whitewashed stone, and earth floors, all in shadow. up the steps you come on a paved court with a balcony of white stone, and in front there is the moorish arcade of the mosque, and at either end a very high minaret, built possibly of stone white-washed, but much like weathered marble. the design is big and simple, finer in conception than anything we have seen so far. you have to lean your head very far back to follow up the minarets with your eyes to the top; each is octagonal and tapers slightly to two balconies. pigeon-holes follow the slightly sloping sides in a spiral direction, and under each hole there is a little carved ledge, and on these and hovering near are many pigeons. there is colour--marble-white, weathered to yellow, dazzling in the sun and cool violet in shade, blue rock pigeons everywhere, and at the very top of each spire a golden ball burns against the unfathomable blue. the hot air is slightly scented with incense and sandalwood, and there is a musical droning from a few worshippers who repeat verses from the koran in the cool white interior mingled with the cooing of innumerable pigeons, and the faint "kiree, kiree" of a kite a mile above, in the blue zenith. we may not enter the mosque with boots on, and will not enter with them off, so we admire from the outside the half indian, half saracenic plaster-work in the interior of the arcade--the stalactite domes, diapers, groins, modellings _in situ_, and wish the authority on plaster work, mr william millar, was here to enjoy the skill and beauty of the work. next show--the summer palace of tippoo sultan. if you have been at granada you can picture this as rather a thin hindoo edition of generalife villa. it is moresque in style, but small in structural forms, smaller still in geometrical ornament, and without breadth or much harmony of colour schemes. some small rooms were passable in gold and silver and primary colours, but the principal halls and galleries were extremely crude. to be seen properly there should be people in proportion, little hindoo beauties sitting primly at the balconies that open on to the inner court, and playing beside the long formal tanks that extend far amongst shrubs and trees of the surrounding gardens. there are mural paintings on the verandah walls, which are spoken of as attractions and things to be seen; they are slightly funny. they represent the defeat of our troops by hyder ali and the french, but they are of no great count, except as records of costume. but enough about this place: our interest lay in the battered walls and the cells behind them where our highland and lowland soldiers were imprisoned so long. we passed the water-gate on our way back, then under a grove of cocoa-nut palms, with many cocoa-nuts and monkeys in their tops; and we threw stones up, but never a cocoa-nut did the monkeys throw back at us! so we bought some at a price, a very small price indeed, and i for one enjoyed seeing them in their green fresh state; when we got home to our railway carriages, that had come on for us from mysore to seringapatam, we had their tops slashed off with an axe: then put a long tumbler, mouth down over the hole and upset the two, and so got the tumbler filled with the water from the inside and drank it. we'd have drunk anything we were so thirsty: so i will not offer an opinion as to its quality, more than that it was distinctly refreshing. the shells and husks were then split open, and we scraped the creamy white off the inside of the soft shell with a piece of the rough green husk and ate it and made believe it was delicious! [illustration] as the sun is setting we cross the cauvery river again, leaving seringapatam because it is said to be so malarial that it is unwise to spend the night there.... the river is golden, the rocks violet, and the sky above purple and vermilion; herons' scraik and duck are on the move, almost invisible against the dark palms and bushes and shadowy banks--i am not superstitious, but i think there were ghosts about, sturdy fellows in old-fashioned uniforms; i should like to have held converse with them. mysore.--we got back to mysore after dark. our two homes are gently shoved into a siding, and before you can say knife, our servants are spreading the table beside the carriage on the sand by lamplight; there are flowers on the table, silver, linen, and brass fingerbowls for four--the dinner prepared between seringapatam and here _en route_! r. having made final arrangements with his people for a long hot day's work to-morrow, we fall to; needless to say we do not get into regulation evening kit, but the regulation warm bath before dinner was there all in order, even in such limited space! we left all windows open on the road here, so to-night hope we have got rid of all the malarial infecting mosquitoes of seringapatam--those here are bad enough. [illustration] ... work done, one sketch as above--catalogue misleader, "dinner on the line;" or would a "meal on the track" be less descriptive?--mind stuffed with those "erroneous, hazy, distorted first impressions," which, according to, and with the approval of mr aberich mackay, the "anglo-indian" hastens to throw away; and which i, not being in the least anglo-anything, wish most sincerely i could keep! chapter xix to artists [illustration] channapatna.--this is the third station south of bangalore. it is just the place for an artist to come to to paint, and a mere step from bombay. there's a dak bungalow where he could put up, a charming place in a compound, with a servant in attendance. he'd just have to pack his sticks, take a second or third-class ticket on say the massagerie--for an artist to be honest must be frugal--pick up a _boy_ in bombay at twenty to thirty rupees a month, and once out here there's little to spend money on but the bare cost of living. almost no one comes this way to stop, so he could probably have the bungalow almost as long as he liked, personally i'd have a tent so as to be absolutely independent. then for subjects, there's a wealth within arm's reach; village bazaar pictures every ten yards, and round about cattle and ruins, temples, moresque and hindoo, palms and jungle trees, graceful figures of women and men. not particularly nice people, i should say, but certainly picturesque and polite, with some lovely children. the little ones are nude, prettily shaped and brown and dusty as the bloom on fruit, and with such black eyes and wavy hair, the blackest black, with a polish, and very long eyelashes over dark eyes. their faces seem refined and well shaped till they laugh or shout, when the lizard throat and regular monkey teeth show a little. from daybreak, after _chota hazri_, the brother-of-the-brush would paint till eleven, then have breakfast proper, a read and loaf--possibly a little closing of the eyes to sleep would be more profitable--and paint again in the afternoon and evening. and if he didn't use all his stock of paints, water-colour, and oils before he left i'd be surprised. a great attraction would be the absence of distractions such as you'd have in larger centres, and very important, is the pleasant air here. arsikerry, a little further north the line, is better in this last respect, but i was not through the bazaar there, merely saw the place was fairly good for snipe, as previously remarked in these notes. we put in here--channapatna--yesterday afternoon. the sun was glowing on the rain-trees that shelter the station, and we selected a spot shaded by their foliage on a siding midst "beechen green and shadows numberless." in a minute the servants were out on the sand track blowing up the fire for tea, which r. had well-earned, as he'd been trollying since daybreak looking at bridges, viaducts, station-buildings, and the line, generally and practically, down to the stationmasters' gardens. tiring work both for eyes and mind, for whilst trollying you are quite unsheltered, so the heat in the cuttings, and the glare from the quartz and lines, has to be felt and seen to be believed, and of course the track is the thing that has to be constantly regarded, so blue spectacles are absolutely necessary, but only a partial protection to the eyesight. no wonder r. takes such care to plant trees round stations and to encourage the stationmasters to grow flowers! apropos, there were once prizes given to stationmasters with the best gardens. water being a consideration, the prize was allotted to the best garden in _inverse ratio_ to its distance from a water supply. the stationmaster who got first prize was five miles from a supply, and his exhibit was one, almost dead flower, in a pot of dried earth; so that "system" was shelved. we walked round the village after tea and came to the above conclusions, that may possibly be useful to some brother artist. about the passage out, just one word more; i met a colonel here who had tried third-class home on a massagerie boat, and said it wasn't half bad! he was fortunate in finding an uncrowded cabin. outside the little town were charming country scenes, and the village streets, busy on either side with all sorts of trades, were positively fascinating. in bombay you have all the trades of one kind together, the brass-workers in one street, and another trade occupies the whole of the next street, and the houses are tall. here are all sorts of trades side by side, and two-storied and one-storied houses, with the palms leaning over them. we bought for a penny or two an armful of curious grey-black pottery with a silver sheen on its coarse surface. the designs were classic and familiar; the cruisie, for instance, i saw in use the other day in kintyre, shining on a string of fresh herring, and you see it in museums amongst greek and assyrian remains. at one booth were people engaged making garlands of flowers, petals of roses, and marigolds sewn together, and heavy with added perfume; at the next were a hundred and one kinds of grain in tiny bowls, and at a third vegetables, beans, and fruit. as we come back to our carriages we pass a rest house or temple, i don't know which, perhaps both; steps lead up to it, and it is made of square hewn-stone, all dull-white against an orange sky. it forms as it were a triptych. as we pass we look into its shadowy porch; in the middle panel are two oxen, one black the other white, lying down, and a man standing beyond them, just distinguishable by a little fire-light that comes from the left panel. in it, there is a man sitting with his arms over his knees fanning a little fire. in the right panel another native sits on his heels cooking a meal; a bamboo slopes across the cell behind him, and supports a poor ragged cloth, a purda, i suppose, and behind, are just discernible his wife and child. these wayfarers make me at once think of a new and original treatment for a holy family, but hold! these passages of light and colour, form fading into nothingness, are they not worth understanding alone, are they not more pure art without being nailed to some tale from the past? [illustration] our table looked very pretty in the evening, with our lamp lighting up my companions' faces, and the branches of the trees above us, with warm brown against the night blue sky. ... now we are off again to bangalore, loath to leave our leafy siding and the gentle faces at channapatna, but r. has to be about business in the south again, so we go back planning our next move, and we think we will decide on madras! we have been a long way and a long time from the sea, and would like to get a glimpse of it again; the thought of it is refreshing, even though it is but a tepid eastern sea which we will have to cross if we decide on going to burmah or the straits. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . bangalore, th december.--back to "locksley hall" and big rooms, chairs, verandahs, everything feeling spacious and ample after our quarters in the train. the three days on the line feels like weeks, so much and so constantly have we been looking at interesting figures and scenes. to-night, when cheroots were going, we talked of railway matters, big things and little things. a little thing was a dispute amongst natives on the line, settled satisfactorily the other day. persons involved; gatekeepers, police, native carters and witnesses galore. the gatekeeper, long resident in a hut of railway sleepers roofed with red soil, surrounded by aloes, heated by the sun, and watered by nothing. behold his portrait in day dress; at night he envelopes his noble form in ample, even voluminous draperies. [illustration] one night, he said, two carters lifted his level-crossing gates and took them away. mysore state police investigate.--report to r.; no witnesses could be got to bear out gatekeeper's statement, and suggest gatekeeper had been demanding toll, _i.e._ blackmail, to put into his own pocket! _r_. asks _g.-k._!--"why didn't you stop them taking the gates?" _g.-k._ replies, "we did!" _r._--"who was 'we'?" _g.-k._--"me and my friends and my cousins and my aunts; certainly we stopped them--and we drubbed them too, and took them to the police station!" british justice makes further inquiry--finds possibly sixty rupees were expended somewhere, to produce the "no witnesses." action taken--gatekeeper removed to more important trust--honesty established. from strength of girders, cement _v_. lime, foundations of piers and curves of lines, we come to ghosts at night! these too, the engineer has to consider in his day's work. only yesterday a ghost was reported on the line! and r. told me he came down the line in a trolley in the grey of morning lately, he vouched for this, and found on the line a patroller's lamp and no one holding it, then a turban, then top cloth, then a waist cloth, and finally the owner at station, collapsed, palpitating. r. asked him what he had seen. "it was a ghost" came after him. "what was it like," said r.; "had it arms?" "no;" "legs?" "no." "how did it get along?" he couldn't tell. it was _a shape_ came after him. so these ghosts are positive facts here to be dealt with by superintendents and workman between them. _r._--spoke as follows:-- "now, my man, what i have to tell you about ghosts is this--you must remember, it is very important. these ghosts you see here that frighten you and your friends, as they have frightened you this morning, cannot so much as touch you, or even be seen by you at all _if you walk between the railway lines_! the _iron_ on each side of you prevents their having the least influence over you; i will not say this about tigers or bears, but ghosts--on the word of the sahib, they cannot touch you between the rails!" so they go away and believe in the sahib's magic, just as they believe his magic turns out the cholera devil when he pulls their tiles down and disinfects their houses. also they stick between the lines and consequently to their patrol work, and don't go smoking pipes by little cosy fires beside the aloes. i think r.'s prescription was fairly shrewd. many men would merely have laughed at the men's fears, and would neither have shaken their beliefs nor given them something new to think of. that was the way the great columba scored off the druids and picts. "i don't know about your astronomy or your fine music, or tales of ancestors and heroes, but i'm telling you, old baal himself, with all his thunder and lightning, will not be so much as touching the least hair on your head if you were just to hold up this trifle of two sticks of wood. and if you do not believe me you will be burning for ever, and for evermore!" saturday, rd.--wrote to a friend in madras to engage rooms and walked to the european stores; they are excellent, you can get pretty nearly everything--i even found sketch books to my taste. the roads are the things to be remembered, their breadth and splendid trees are delightful, but their length is terrible. not again will i take a long walk in cantonments! "the 'ard 'igh road" in the west is bad enough, but when it's glaring sun on this red, hard soil, however bright and light the air, you soon get fatigued on foot. met d. and g. at shops, they were shopping on their own account and i on mine, for i've never found men's shopping and ladies' go well together, though for two ladies together shopping seems to be pure joy. we went to the bank to change a cheque into something suitable for travel. you have choice in india of silver rupees, value s. d., a few of which weigh about a ton, or notes. the notes are like those we get in scotland, if you can believe me! i held out for gold, so there was a call for the bank manager, and a procession to the safe; of self, manager and keys, a clerk, and three or four "velvet-footed" white-robed natives. i wish some home bankers i know could have seen the classic bungalow bank, with its pompeian pillars, and the waiting customers seated in the verandah, and trailing, flowery, heavy-leaved creepers with blooms of orange and white dangling from the capitals of the pillars. one of the customers waiting in the verandah was a bearded priest, with black bombazine frock and white topee; a celt for certain by his hand and eye; and by his polite manners and intelligent expression a jesuit, i would guess; and there were two ladies--spinsters and country bred i'd say, and poor, to judge by pale, lined faces and the look of wear about their pith hats and sun-faded dresses. inside were white-robed figures just distinguishable at desks, their faces invisible in the deep shadow. and there was heat! and a continual "chink, chink" of counted rupees, and outside in the sun, two impatient ladies waiting in a victoria. at last we got the coin, and were faint with heat and hunger by the time we got home to lunch,--this to show the climate of bangalore; but perhaps my readings of the temperature make it out to be hotter than it is. ... i do not write much about cooking, and the table, in these notes, do i? so just one word here, allow me.... do not waste pity on dear friends and relatives out here on the score of food. truly the climatic conditions are not such as so give great appetite but the food itself is excellent, beef, _par example_; i'd never seen better beef than the hump you get here, and the fish would be considered quite good in london, and there are various vegetables and fruits; even strawberries you can get occasionally from the hills, and then the curries are just as good as they are said to be. the best way to make them is--but space forbids!... i think the reason they are cracked up so much is because they are almost half vegetable so they suit the climate; being suitable, they have been so long practised that their making is an art that only an amateur might imitate at home. [illustration] ... that squirrel--to change the subject--on a branch outside the verandah, is cheeping so that one can barely think, or even write! it is as like a rat as a squirrel, with two yellowish stripes down the length of each side; its tail is carried in the same way as our squirrel's at home, but it is not half so bushy, and thank heaven our squirrel has not a brain-piercing note like this little beast. it runs about every bungalow's verandah and the compound trees, and its note is like a creaking wheel-barrow going along slowly, then it gets faster till it is like the blackbird's scream when frightened out of the gooseberries. it makes many people grow quite bald--this, another piece of information, i have gathered from my cousin robert! he also tells me they take wool out of his drawing-room cushions to line their nest. for further information of this kind the reader may care to refer to the writings of mark twain; he writes a great deal about this squirrel--says it is the same as the "chip munk" in his "erroneous, hazy, first impressions of india." we have just been asked to a christmas tree over the way at twelve o'clock mid-day, but we think it will be rather too hot for us to go then. my often quoted informant tells me that seeing there are no fir trees here they use instead a tamarisk branch, and its feathery, pine-like needles look almost as well as our fir trees at home, and go on fire in much the same way. we do not have a christmas tree or a dance for the servants' hall, but r. and d. have sent them a notice and they appear tidied up till their black hair shines again. r. has some difficulty in remembering the names of the second and third generations, but makes a good attempt. i am certain i couldn't remember, or care for, even the senior male servants' names. they each get a small sum of money, which is received with beaming smiles. one little mite comes guilelessly round for a second payment and is told she must not. it is in vain you try to sketch them as they stand naturally; they see the corner of your eye with their's even though you are pretending to read the "pioneer," and once they know you look they pull themselves together, if they are sitting they rise, and if they are standing they run, or go on salaaming. to-day i'd such a sell in this respect--went to the maharajah's palace, a miniature abbotsford, to leave cards, and just as were passing a neighbouring compound, there appeared under the trees a glorious covey of red chupprassies seated in a circle on the ground, their scarlet and gold and white uniforms glaring in the sunbeams that shot through the foliage--such purple shadows--such a suggestion of colour, and gossip, or tales of the east! we pulled up a hundred and fifty yards off, i am sure, with a hedge between us, and only looked sideways at them to make notes, but in two seconds they were all up and at attention, and two came running forward for sahib's orders and cards, so i drove away lamenting. the red chupprassies, by the way, or "corrupt lictors," are official messengers wearing red imperial livery, who are attached to all civil officers in india. _see_ mr aberich-mackay on the subject in "twenty-one days in india." ... packing to go to madras, and very sorry to leave bangalore and its wide compounds and parks and bazaars, and our very kind hosts. i have not mentioned the military element in bangalore, nor the gymkhana, nor the club, for, to my sorrow, i've seen nothing of them! the museum i did see--went to it twice; i believe few people stationed here have seen it once! there is a collection of stuffed indian birds which interested and finally appalled me by its numbers; and models of indian fish, also very interesting. my packing brought me more natural history interest--my packing and r.'s unpacking. r., in his office on one side of the house, opened some bundles of papers and so dispersed a colony of small black ants; they apparently thought my dressing-room would be restful, and trekked across the matting of three rooms and settled in my pile of correspondence--thought they'd be undisturbed poor things,--they had had to climb to the top of a desk to settle in these papers. when i moved these one or two thousand ants, and white cocoons, were scattered on the matting, where they quickly collected themselves again under some sketches and a folio on the floor. then i took up another paper, and in vexation shook ants and cocoons into a bowl of painting water which was on the floor, and the poor little devils who were able to swim, after their first surprise, began pulling the cocoons together in the centre of the bowl and piled one on the top of the other in a heap till the lowest became submerged. so i said, "here is honest endeavour, and help those who help themselves"--and dropped them a raft in shape of an inch of paper, and on to it the survivors went, and hauled in one whitey-blue chrysalis after another. then an ant went up to the side of the bowl by the handle of the painting brush and shouted or signalled for help to another fellow below on the matting, and it went and got hundreds of willing helpers. now they are saving the remainder, and wiring to their friends, i've no doubt. i leant over the bowl like a minor clumsy providence and watched the v.c. sort of action for quite a long time,--and suppressed cheers,--but burmah called, and the boy waited, so i had to leave them to pucca providence for a little. in half an hour by the clock all were rescued--(five hundred ants and almost as many cocoons!) even the ants that had got under water, which i thought were drowned, were pulled out, and revived. then they formed a new colony under my water colour, "the landing of lord minto at the appolo bundar." i have had an entertaining half-hour with them, but they will be glad we are gone. here comes krishna, the deft handed, to pack sketches and all; i must supervise him, and see that he does not pack my cousin's soap, matches, and pieces of string along with his increasing collection of these articles in a corner of my kit bag. chapter xx bangalore to madras this is the broad gauge madras line. the cars run as smoothly as oil on water--i can write perfectly well, or as well us usual to be exact,--and there is gas, electric light, fairly soft cushions to sleep on, and nice wide berths. the fares are moderate and the arrangements for food, etc., are good; how can i say more, than that they are as well done as on the line we have just left--the southern maharatta railway.[ ] [ ] the mileage in of indian railways was , . this mileage is somewhat larger than that of france and of the austro-hungarian empire, and two and a half times that of italy, and the development is phenomenal.--murray. our views on the road were a breadth of night-blue sky and stars, and a sweep of obscure plain, and the glimmer of the carriage lights on the hedge of aloes alongside, and crowds at stations with dark faces against white lamp-lit walls, the natives running about heaped with sheets to keep them warm--the temperature at °. i must make a note here _en route_ to madras that before we left krishna brought his wife and her sister and their children to pay their respects to us before we left bangalore; he has placed them there while he takes the world for his pillow and follows our fortunes. they were mighty superior looking hindoos, elegantly draped in yellow striped with red, with light yellow flowers in their smooth black hair and their faces were quite comely, but you couldn't look at them as they spoke for the pink in their mouths from chewing betel. the raw pink is such an ugly contrast to their rather pretty brown complexions. if i'd had the designing of these people i'd have made their nails and the soles of their feet dark too, also the inside of their mouths, like well bred terriers. they gave g. and myself each a lime and a very tidy bouquet of roses and ferns. you think nothing of being garlanded in this country with wreaths of flowers. my host and hostess had collars of flowers to the eyes the other day for some reason or other. i suppose that because the white man won't take "presents" he must take flowers and limes. on our part we gave each of these good people a small token in silver, with which return compliment they seemed highly pleased, and krishna addressed us: standing straight he puckered his little face, so dark against his white turban, and wept, saying, "father and mother and all that i have i leave to follow massa" or "my sahib"--i can never make out which he says, and in reply i murmured something about "absence making the heart grow fonder"--and felt quite touched; but r. tells me that this weeping can be turned on by natives at any time, so when he transacts business with weepy people, he says very gently, "will you please wait a little and weep later," and they stop at once and smile and begin again just at the polite moment. i am convinced this is the case, though it seems to us almost a physical impossibility, that a man grown-up can turn on tears without heroics in a book or a novel or play to start them; "the gentle hindoo" seems even a more fitting term than i'd have thought it was!... the people grew more noisy as we got south, the racket they make along this line at night at stations qualifies the comfortable berths and well-hung carriages. a good deal, if not all, of the charm of travel went, about midnight. i awoke in the dark and just distinguished a native stealing into our carriage, whereon i showed a leg, and half rose, with intent to kill, or throw out. he advanced stealthily and held out his hand in a way i knew, and whispered, "plague inspection," and i meekly gave him my wrist to feel; he touched my arm somewhere for an indivisible point of time and withdrew into the night! then a dark lady in dark dress and straw hat, became faintly visibly for a second, and felt g.'s wrist. by that time we were both half awake to the fact that it was a plague inspection; in a minute or two a third person came in, but i was too sleepy to notice what he said--but i am quite certain i did not pray for any of them. in the grey of the morning, in a most comfortable, restful sleep, we were awakened again, and were asked for plague passports--and hadn't any. i believe the third intruder may have called to give me one; at any rate, i had to hunt about on a platform crowded with natives and other poor britishers in pyjamas, in the same plight as myself and looking mighty cross, and finally got two pieces of paper, each with all sorts of horrible instructions and threats thereon, and un-understandable orders to show ourselves somewhere for examination for the next ten days. each pass was prepared in triplicate, "original to be retained for record, the duplicate to be delivered to the traveller and the triplicate sent _without delay_ to the officer who has to examine him for ten days," etc., etc., and the traveller is warned any breach of terms will entail prosecution with imprisonment for a term up to six months, or fine up to rs. , "or both!" and the passport officer, amongst a hundred and one other things, has to ascertain whether there is any sickness or death in your _house_, or if you exhibit any symptoms of plague or deadly sickness--this for us, the poor cold-weather tourists, with never a house or home but our portmanteaux! your father's name and your caste and your occupation are also demanded, and your district, _tulluq_, village, and street. an income-tax paper is plain sailing to this complicated nightmare of the early morning--you vow and swear you will never come to madras again. it is wonderful how breakfast clears the air, and the drive from the station through the town helped to cheer us up. madras smells rather, and though there are open ditches and swampy places that make one think of fever; they say it's healthy. i suppose the sea, and the surf in the air, are disinfectants. the people in the street are not a patch on bangalore people in looks or dress. i had to drive from our hotel soon after our arrival some three miles to the docks, and of the thousands of people i passed, there was not one woman with draperies arranged in the classic folds we saw in bangalore; their worn bundles of dirty white drapery seemed just to be thrown on anyhow, and their type of face was much more elementary than that of the natives, even so little to the north as mysore--apologies for such rude sketches. [illustration: madras bangalore] i'd just begun to vote madras a sell when a line of thin-stemmed trees came in sight--tamarisks, i think--with feathery grey-green pine-like foliage and deep shadows, and figures under them on white sand, and through the trunks a great sweep of blue ocean, real southern blue--and i thought of turtles and the early traders, and john company, and forgot about the ugly figures and the smells in the town. a little farther on, i came on the harbour with a few ocean-going crafts, and the _renown_, waiting for the prince, conspicuous in brilliant white and green on her water-line. we had by this time decided to go to burmah, so i'd come to the docks to binney & co. to see about berths. an article i read by an engineer--my thanks for it--called, "fourteen days leave from india," in _t. p.'s weekly_, and mr fielding hall's "soul of the people," helped to decide our going farther east. the article described vividly the change to the better in regard to the colouring and people in coming from india to burmah. if india then seemed to me picturesque, it was surely worth the effort to cross the little bit of sea to rangoon. it was difficult to leave the harbour and the masulah boats; they are thoroughly ugly yet perfectly well-fitted for their work! they are almost like the shape of children's paper boats, high out of the water, over four feet freeboard and seven feet beam, and i'd say about twenty-five to thirty feet over all, with practically flat bottoms. six or seven rowers perch on bamboo thwarts, level with top of the gunwale, and row with bamboos with flat round blades tied to their ends. they come stem on through the low surf on the harbour strand, then just as they are touching the shore, are swung broadside on, the natives spring out into the shoal water, and out comes the lading, piece by piece, on their shoulders sacks, bales, boxes, etc., and all the time the boat is bumping up the sloping sand sideways and unharmed apparently by the seas bursting on its outside. ugly is no word for them, but fit they were, though ruskin's "beauty of fitness" did not appear. they have but few timbers, but these are heavy, and they have only three planks on either side and two on the bottom, heavy teak planks sewn together! this coarse sewing with cocoa-nut fibre cord laces a straw rope against the inside of the seam, and this apparently swells when wet and gives elasticity and play, and keeps out a considerable amount of water. but i see there's a good deal of baling done, and the baggage, with the water in bilge and spray over all, must get wet outside at least--fixed up about cabins for rangoon, lunched at our hotel, the connemara, then hired a gharry or victoria--i'm not sure which the conveyance we hired by the week should be called--and drove to the racecourse, an a. . course, and met several friends there. i was particularly impressed by the general appearance of beauty and refinement of our country-women in madras, and by the fashionableness of their attire. i thought there was a sensation--i will only whisper this--of a slightly rarified official atmosphere at this meeting, i saw no one caper. but it must be borne in mind that most of the people there were officials and wives of officials, serving a great empire, so perhaps it might be unbecoming for such to laugh and play; and i take it there is even a limit to the degree of a smile when you are on the official ladder, that it is then seemly, even expedient, to walk with a certain dignity of pace--so you show the sweep of the modern skirt to great advantage. as a foil were one or two blooming girls, "just out," and bound to have a "good time." their exuberant buoyancy will be toned down, i am told, after two seasons here (i'd have thought one would have been enough), and up north people are more gay, the atmosphere here is considerd to be very damping. the native life spread round three sides of the course, six deep. the horses were mostly small, uncommonly nice-looking beasts, with a good deal of arab blood. of course g. and i selected winners and had nothing on; but i have known of others who have met with similar misfortune at meetings nearer home. back to the connemara, through a moving population of native men returning from the races. they mostly wore delhi caps (like "smoking caps"), long hair in a knot and long light tweed coats, round their thin bare legs, floppy linen shaded from white to rose-red, at the lower edge a bad red and a dirty white; there was red dust in the air, and a hot sunset in front--rather sickening colour. the whole population seems to have had a holiday to see the sahibs run some fifteen to twenty horses. they seem rather an unmanly looking crowd. the pink that predominates is what you see in an unfortunate hybrid white and red poppy, an analine colour, as unpleasant as that of red ink--give me back--give me back bangalore and its colour, our life on the line, a quiet siding beneath the bough, the table laid on the track, and the moon looking down through the branches. th december.--there is a thing i cannot understand how the farther we wander from home the more people we meet whom we know or know about, or who know us or our kith and kin. and how do we so often run up against people we met on the ship coming out? you'd have thought india big enough to swallow up a shipload of passengers for ever and aye, without their ever meeting again, but even since yesterday we have met quite a number of the passengers of the _egypt_--three regular "pied poudré" wanderers, as the french called the scots long ago, and a lady just out, full of interest in everything. she actually wants to see native bazaars and museums! to the horror of her hosts, who have been out here for long and whose thoughts are only of the tented field, and pay, and going home. ... a long trail to shipping people again--former visit resulted only in a protracted interview with a polite native clerk, so the toil had to be done twice! then to the post office at the docks; borrowed a rusty pen there from another native clerk and did a home letter. what a fine building it is, and what a motley slack lot of people you see there! near me a group of half-naked natives were concocting and scratching off a wire between them, others squatted on the floor and beat up their friends black hair for small game. one man made netting attached to the rail round the ticket office, seated of course, another knitted, and everyone chewed betel nut. the walls of this very handsome building were encrusted with dried red expectoration, and scored with splashes of lime from fingers--the lime is chewed with the betel nut. these nasty sort of natives might be improved or got rid of, and say, burmese introduced. what is the good of having a country or a forest if you don't breed a good stock, be it either deer or people? changed to airier rooms on our second evening here; got everything shifted in pretty short time. we thus lost a pretty view and, the smell of the river, "the silvery cooum." it was warm and damp last night, and many mosquitoes were inside our curtains--didn't feel up to painting much, but took out a sketch book and our hired victoria; the horse jibbed and tied itself and the traces and the victoria into a knot and kicked up a racket generally in the hotel porch, and we got it extracted in time, then it insisted on taking the victoria along the pavement till i was glad g. was not with me--a fool would have stayed in it--i found i needed a shave, and left as it pranced past a barber's shop. the barber, an italian, spoke six languages; i should think he felt madras deadly dull. after the breakdown of my prancing steed--rickshawed from the barber's to the marina. the marina is only an empty sweep of sand, and beyond that a strip of blue sea and a pale blue sky and a few fleecy clouds, simple enough material for a picture; but by my faith! could i only have put down the colour of that mid-day glow from the sand, and the feeling of space, and the two blues, of the sea and sky, and the flick of colour from a scrap or two of drapery on sunny brown figures tailing on to the long ropes of a seine net! out beyond the surf mere dots in the blue swell, were more figures swimming about the ends of the net splashing to keep in the fish, and in the edge of the white surf the fishermen's children were sporting--in with a header through the glassy curve of a wave, and out again on their feet on the sand and away with a scamper. some matrons sat near me, and the smallest naked kids played round me as i sketched, and two, really pretty girls, the first i've seen in india, with short skirts and their black hair still wringing wet, came up from the sea and looked on. barring these fisher-people, the miles of beach were empty as could be. what light and heat there was, a crow passing cast a darker shadow on the sand than its own sunlit back, and a pale pink convolvulus that grew here and there on the inner sand cast a shadow of deepest purple. the brown naked men, sweating at every pore, pulled the drag rope of the net very slowly up the soft dry sand step by step, their damp, brown muscles sparkling with vivid blue lights. i think this was the best bit of india i had seen so far, and after a stuffy night in town to get into the blaze of light and watch these fellows fishing on the wide blue ocean from such a southern strand was worth a month on loch leven or an hour with a fifty pounder. i think the nets must be over a hundred fathoms; they were being pulled in for two hours after i came, and must have been hauled for hours before that, seven men to each rope! as the ends came near shore, the boys plunged in and joined their seniors, and all looked like a herd of seals gambolling. i saw a father drubbing his boy beyond the surf; the boy had evidently gone out too soon, and got exhausted coming back. it must have relieved the father's feelings, each thump sent the lad under water. as the bag of the net came towards the hard sand the silver fish showed; very few i thought for all the trouble and hands employed; not more than twenty lbs. weight i'd think, all silvery and sky blue and emerald green; bream and sand-launces and silver fish like whitebait and herring, all fresh and shining from the beautiful sea mint--the colour beyond words--green breakers, white surf, blue swell beyond, and brown figures with red and variously coloured turbans; young and old, all with such deep shadows on the sand, a scene sarolea, the spaniard, might make a show of painting. a few outsiders, men with clothes, two policemen and a satellite appeared as the bag came ashore. scenting plunder they sailed down and nailed four of the biggest and best fish--horrid shame, i thought it, these miserable imps in uniform of our government, to steal from my naked fisher friends. i hope someone in authority will read this and have them tied heel and neck. ... in the afternoon g. and i went again to the marina; i don't think anything more unfashionable could have been dreamed of. it was again exquisite--all changed to evening colours, and the wide drive along the shore had a few promenaders, and a few carriages were drawn up at the side with ladies and children eating the air. they appeared to be unofficial people, white traders, i'd fancy, the rest eurasians and a few europeanised natives. there are pretty drives to the marina, through park-like roads beautifully bordered with flowering trees, such a pleasing place that i wonder the official class does not drive there. through the outskirts home; the light fading and forms becoming blurred in the warm evening twilight, past lines of neat little houses, mostly open towards the street, belonging to eurasians. in one a children's party--pretty children in white, girls with great tails of dark hair--they were pulling crackers and all wore coloured paper hats--next door in a room with chintz covered european furniture and photographs, a pretty girl--just a little dark, played a concertina to an immaculately dressed youth, who twirled the latest thing in straw hats. then to dinner at the fort to dine with major b. c.--a tiresome long drive in the dark with a slow horse; at the end of it we crossed a drawbridge over a moat--full of water we could see, from the faint reflection of a white angle of a bastion on the dark surface--rumbled through subterranean arches, white-washed and lamplit, and felt as we came into the square that we had left modern india outside in the darkness and had got back to the old india of the company days. a pale crescent moon lit up part of a building here and there, old formal georgian buildings and old-fashioned gun-embrasures and a church like st. martin in the fields. one half expected to meet someone in knee breeches and wig, perhaps a governor, elihu yale, or m'crae, the seaman, clive, or hastings coming round some dusky corner or across the moonlit square. there were a few soldiers here and there, taking their rest with grey shirt-sleeves rolled up. we had to mark time a little, as we had started half-an-hour too soon, so i went on to the parapet and looked from the flagstaff east into the night, and heard the bay of bengal surf pounding on the sands. i spoke for a little to two soldiers lounging there on the parapet edge; they told me they were suffolks and felt it warm. what interesting talks one could have had with these men, as a stranger, and with no impending dinner and no white waistcoat. i am not surprised kipling made some of his best tales about privates; they are of the interesting mean in life, between the rulers and the ruled. these private soldiers, or fishermen and sailors can tell you stories better than any other class of men, but you must not show the least sign of gold braid if you would draw them out. i remember one night, i went round the dockyard bars at a northern seaport with a retired naval officer to get first hand information about a trip we planned to davis straits for musk oxen--with the artist's modest manner and the suggestion of a drink thrown in, i'd have got any number of yarns from them till "eleven o'clock, gentlemen, and the police outside!" but my friend in mufti was spotted at once; for he marched up to the middle of the bar, looked right and left and snapped out his order; but before he opened his mouth the whaling men were shouldering into little tongue-tied groups--the quarter deck air came in like a draught and took them all slightly aback, and we got never a bit of information. there was a canon at dinner, and two engineers and ladies. we talked of india and home, and these kind people's children over seas, and we talked art too. one engineer and his wife were both excellent artists; and we talked of the burmese and the religion of buddah, not very loud, of course, considering the company, and, of course, of the "soul of the people," a book at least three of the party had read and i had just dipped into; and we arranged to go and see the church and the records and plate therein, dating from the company days, and amongst other interesting things the record of clive's marriage, with wellesley's signature as witness appended. the house we dined in is supposed to be that in which clive twice attempted his own life, and twice his pistol misfired. then we tore ourselves away, with belated sympathy for our host and his next day's work. i have mentioned preparations for the prince in bangalore; here, too our host had many arrangements to make, to forward the imperial train north to mysore after their return from burmah. as we leave the house the lamplight from the windows shines on purple blooms of creepers on the fort wall a few yards from the front door, and over it comes the low boom of the surf and the scent of the sea and flowers--through the sleeping soldier town, the syce running in front gives some pass-word to the sentry as we rattle over the cobbles under the archway and rumble over the drawbridge; and we are out into the dusty darkness again. and so home, to bed and mosquito curtains in the connemara. sleep we would fain have till later than the time of rising for the crows, and sparrows, and hotel servants, but to sleep after sunrise is almost impossible; these abominable hoody crows and sparrows sit on the jalousies and verandah and caw and chirp most harshly. "if i were viceroy," i'd put forth a word to have the whole lot exterminated. it could be done in two seasons, then the harmless, and game birds, would have a chance. it was once done in our country in the reign of james the iv. the tree in which a crow built for three successive years was forfeited to the crown, and went of course to our fleet, _eh mihi_; we had a proper fleet in those days before the great union, and proper commanders--read pitscottie's description of the ships, _e.g._ _the yellow carvel_, _the lion_, and _the great michael_, the envy of europe, for which the forests of fife were depleted, which carried "thirty-five guns and three hundred smaller artillery, culverins, batter-falcons, myands, double-dogs, hagbuts, and three hundred sailors, a hundred and twenty gunners, and one thousand soldiers besides officers"--and of the sea fights with the portuguese and english. our coasts were defended then! james iv. could _put , mounted troops in the field in nine days_, and every able-bodied man learned the use of arms; this was before the union with our so often successfully invaded neighbour--now, we have left to defend ourselves, one regiment of cavalry! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _p.s._--as this goes to print the scots greys follow our kings to england; and we are left with _one mounted soldier_ in our capital, in bronze, in princes street: and to add to our glorious portion in this union, it has lately been tactfully decreed that in future english nobility will take precedence of scottish nobility in scotland! it will be curious to observe what the populace will say to this when they come to hear of it. i wonder if our nobility will take it lying down--and if i may be forgiven, this extra wide digression? chapter xxi i have had a delightful fishing day; at an early hour found myself again at the shore, nominally to paint, but in truth because it was hot and stuffy in town, and the thought of the surf and clear air made the beach irresistible. a rickshaw man used his legs to take me to the sands edge; and they were empty as yesterday of all but the few fishermen and their families. the colour effect, however, was not so brilliant, but was pleasant enough--the sky soft grey and the water grey too, but colourful--the heat enough to cook one! [illustration] i watched the young idea learning surf rafting--a study fascinating enough for a whole day--a tiny imp with a great pointed log, and the white breakers for playthings. he sat on its stern, his knees and toes on the sand, and held its stem seawards till the inrush of shallow white-laced water was deep enough to float it and take his little anatomy a voyage of a few yards on the sloping outrush, then he jumped off and waited till the surf brought his black ship back. with what quickness he noted the exact moment to run in and catch its stem, and slew it round so that it would broach ashore on its side, and how neatly he avoided being caught between it and the sand. the fishermen's boats, or catamarans as they are called here, though they have no resemblance to the colombo catamaran, are made of four of these pointed logs tied side by side. i suppose this little chap was playing at his future work. he had made a little collection on the dry sand of two or three shell-fish and beasts that burrow in the sand, and whenever he went to sea, three crows stalked up to these, when he would leave the log and scamper after them, then run back all over dry sand and tumble into the surf again, to come up laughing and wet and shining like copper--i should say it was nicer than being at school. [illustration] two of his clothless seniors came in, as i sketched, from the deep swell outside the surf, through the breakers slanting-wise. it was a treat to see them paddling their four logs, almost side on to the breaking surf, where our boats could not safely venture; one knelt behind on the thick ends of the two prolonged middle logs, the other amidship--their heads only showed above a breaker, the next moment they were on its crest, the surf foaming over their knees--down again into another hollow, then up, and with a surge the lumber drove its nose on the sand, the stern threw up, and the two nipped into the water at either end; another surge swung the stern round, and shoved the raft broadside on far up the sand, and they were landing their nets--all done as easily as you could pull up a dog-cart and step out! of course they are not inconvenienced with clothes, and the water and sands are both comfortably warm; the little difficulty must be to jump at the right time and place, so as to avoid being thrown off, and getting rolled under the logs. bow seemed to hop off in front and to the outside a little, just before she touched, and stroke a half a second later, but the manoeuvre was too quick for me to follow more than one of the men's actions exactly. whilst i watched this extremely rapid landing, my acquaintances of yesterday were pulling at the long ropes from either end of the seine net, which was extended very far out at sea. when the ends were within fifty yards of the shore the knowing old seniors went tumbling through the surf, and kept swimming and splashing to frighten the fish from the mouth of the v shape into the bag in the middle; the women folk and children tailed on to the ropes along with the men, joking and laughing, for their men out in the water told them there were lots of fish! you did not need to know tamil or telugu to learn this, the delight was so evident--it was evidently to be the catch of the season! the excitement and movement grew splendid as the bag, still a few yards from shore, was throttled in some way under water. first a small outer bag was pulled ashore, then a bigger one holding the day's catch, a scotch cartload of fish--a bumper bag. they were all so pleased and jolly, and were puffing and panting and wet with the last struggle to get the fine-meshed bag through the surf. when it was opened like a great brown purse, there lay the wealth of the bay of bengal! in silver and blue and rose and yellow. about half the fish were pure silver, the rest violet, emerald green, pure blue, and some red like mullet, with lemon yellow fins, and the colour of the brown men and the women's faded draperies round the glittering haul was delicious. the wrangling, not billingsgate at all--milder even than parliamentary--was loud enough, and continuous. i left them taking away the fish in baskets, and freshly minted money never looked so beautiful. how they divided i couldn't tell; it seemed as if each helped himself or herself as each thought fit. i must note the afternoon of this delightful day, though noting these "first impressions" of india seems rather a big order; for each day seems so full of delightfully new experience, and fascinating sights, that i am sure you see in one day here--at least a _nouveau_ does--more interesting things than one could in a week in europe. ... our civil servant friend, who paints like sam bough, asked us to see his bungalow on the adyar river, also to look at sketches. we drove three miles on a broad road under banyan trees and palms with patches of corn and native huts, and an occasional bright dress and brass bowl of a woman showing between the dark stems, and pulled up at half-a-dozen bungalows by mistake, and left cards at others, to the owners of which we had introductions, and after a considerable hunt turned up at the bungalow we aimed at. here were open views, in front the adyar river and the many-arched elphinston bridge, and palm groves, and down the river to the left, the sand bar across its mouth, and to the right views of the river's many windings in palm groves. such a place, with the feeling of the sea being within reach, would make me, i think, tolerate living in madras for a little. we had a great causerie over pictures of home scenes, and of many places in india. then we got into a double-scull thames boat and slipped away down towards the bar with wind and current--extremely delightful, i thought it, getting into such a well-appointed boat on such a pretty piece of river. as we sailed fish played round us; some, like bream or silvery perch, skipped out of the water in a series of leaps like miniature penguins! the wind fell and we rowed, down to the sand spit and heard the surf on the other side and got out and felt that we were at last actually on "india's coral strand." there were pretty delicately coloured shells, and here and there a pale pink convolvulus growing low, with grey-green leaves. the river just managed to cut its way through the sand-bar into the surf; beyond it, three or four miles to the north, we could see the two spires in madras above the palms, st thomé's and st mary's in the fort; to the south-west, the sand and palms and the line of surf stretched in perspective till they faded together on the horizon. [illustration] as the sun got low the sky became gorgeous red--what tropical colour there was--the hard sand flushed and paled, yellow to brown in a long waving ribband at the edge of the receeding wave, then turned lavender laced with dull foam, as the first of the following breakers came running up, wetting the sand again to renew the golden glow. the outer sea and the horizon were purple and the white of the surf seemed almost green against the orange and red of the sky. our friends told me they often came to this beach; and as they are artists, that is not to be wondered at: and i suppose some madras people occasionally come down the river from the boat club a mile or two above, to picnic. i saw two men in flannels and two ladies--very fair ladies they were too--in the flattering twilight; when a white dress turns the colour of a violet shell, and muslins die like a dream into the soft colours of the sand, and pale faces flush with the golden glow of the setting sun. we lost no pity on those exiles and their wandering on this foreign strand. a native or two passed; nice and easy it is for them getting along the coast to madras! they just walked up the river a few yards and walked in, swam across and down stream, waded out on the far side, and never as much as shook themselves. we shoved off again when the sky was positively burning with colour, hoisted our sail, and with a light sea breeze went up river towards the darkening groves of palms, guiding ourselves by the afterglow and the glint of a new moon, and lights from the few bungalows on shore. as we sail we plan to return some day and do up one of these old arabian night bungalows. they look almost palatial with their terraces and flight of steps from the river and white pillars showing in the pale moonlight with dark palms and trees over them. they at the same time suggest something of venice, and of the far east. they would need repair, but rents are low. it gets darker and we have difficulty in picking up marks--first the rock on our right from which we go dead across stream, to the high palm just visible against the night sky; then up stream a bit, and across to avoid shoals. we row, for the wind has fallen away. every now and then our blades touch gravel, and twice we go right aground and have to shove off. fish jump round us; two come in forward, pretty little silvery fellows with a potent smell of herring, one big fellow surges nearly ashore. as the boat-house and club lights appear we go hard and fast on to a bank, and a native wayfarer fording the river in the dark, whom we mistake for a club servant expecting us, is ordered to shove us off, which he does and goes on his way without a word--"the gentle hindoo" again. the club boat-house is a perfect treat! by the lamplight i am sure i saw a score of double sculls, sixes, and possibly eights, and skiffs and punts--all sorts of river boats, and as far as i could see, all in order; the men who have both such a club and boat-house are to be envied. the club-house was a dream of white georgian architecture, veiled in moonlight amongst great trees and palms. there were high silvery white pillars (madras is famous for its marble white stucco) and terraces and wide steps and yellow light coming from tall open jalousies under verandahs. winding paths led up to it, and along one of these we followed a native, who swung a lamp near the ground in case of snakes. in the club were rooms for dining, reading, and dancing, all in the same perfect georgian style. i would have liked to stay, to see the dance that was going to begin, but it was late, and we were in flannels, and were three miles from home. the ball-room was entirely to my taste, an oval, with white pillars round it reflected in a light-coloured polished floor, overhead a domed roof with chrystal chandeliers, and smaller crystal lights round the sides. on the road home we met motors, dog-carts, and men and ladies going to the dance; the motor dust here is twenty times thicker than at home; for half-a-mile after you pass a motor you see nothing--can't open your eyes in fact--then came a series of rembrandts, in wayside lamplit stalls, and home to mosquitoes and late dinner. st december, sunday.--spent forenoon writing letters and working up sketches, and to make all smooth went to two churches and two temples in the afternoon; a fairly good ending to the year. the first temple, a pile of architecture of debased wedding-cake style, thick with innumerable elastic-legged, goggled-eyed, beastly, indecent hindoo divinities. thence to a roman catholic church in st thomé, the old portuguese quarter--very pretty and simple in appearance. the half near the altar full of veiled european nuns in white and buff dresses. nearer the door, where we sat, were native women and children, mostly in red, a few of them with antique european black bonnets and clothes; and in their withered old faces you could imagine a strain of the early portuguese settlers. the altar was, as usual, in colours to suit the simple mind; the madonna in blue and white and gold with a sweet expression of youth and maternity, her cheeks were like china, and she dandled the sweetest little red-haired baby in a nest of gold rays, all against a rocky background. how telling the fair viking type of baby must be to these little black-eyed, wondering worshippers, far more fascinating and wonderful, i am sure, than their miraculous six-armed gods. there were real roses too, such numbers of them, and altogether a good deal of somewhat gim-crack effect, but the whole appealed to me, for at least the idea of material beauty was recognised, and for a minute i forgot all the ugliness (= evil) that our churches have caused, and the good (= beauty) they have destroyed, and bowed and crossed myself like my neighbours. then we drove to another church near the sea, st thomés. the bones of st thomas of the new testament are said to be buried here. we only looked into it; it was finely built, and inside at the moment was almost as empty as a protestant church on a week-day. there was but one devotee, a black woman, confessing to a half-black man. we shuddered and escaped, and drove a few yards and saw "the seas that mourn, in flowing purple of their lord forlorn,"--the wide long stretch north and south of white sand, and the log surf rafts, and the dark fishermen going up and down on the blue swell--and didn't we draw a breath of relief of god's pure air. there was a log craft at the surf edge, with a kid playing beside it, his reflection perfect in the long backwash. his father talked in a strange tongue to me, and i looked at the swell and considered, and saw black men out beyond the surf, and none of them apparently drowned, or in fear of sharks, so i left shoes and socks with g. and our coachman to look after her, and the syce to look after the carriage, and tucked up trousers and away we went together, my heart in my mouth! what joy--bang into and over the first breaker. i'd nearly to stand upright to keep my waist dry, and down and up again--the movement quick and exhilarating; over two other breakers and we were away on the open rollers, and able to look round to the distant shore, where g. sat with my sketch-book and a gallery of brown figures. we paddled along to another craft out at sea that had pulled up its net. two men were in it, and we made fast to it till they cleared the fish out of the net, and we took them in a matting bag on to our raft, where the water washed over them, and we took them ashore. it was curious to see how neatly and ably these men could haul a net and clear it of fish on four submerged logs--they could move about, stand and walk from one end of the logs to the other with freedom. with the net on board the logs were almost entirely submerged. running ashore is the most sporting part of the procedure; we paddled along slanting towards the beach, waiting for the ninth wave to pass, then went straight for the sand for all we were worth, and got in in great style; i must say i nearly lost my balance landing, there were so many natives wading out to bear a hand that my eye wandered--but what a craft for the purpose! i vow no boat i ever saw of the size could come on to hard sand with such a surf behind and not break and throw you out. it is really a sport with a capital s, though, as far as i can hear, white people don't go in for it, perhaps because it is said--on what authority i do not know--that the sharks prefer white people to the natives! the natives who swim in the surf apparently are not touched by them, yet you see no europeans bathing on what i should think would be a delightful shore for bathing once you had got accustomed to diving through the surf. if i go surf-logging again i will take a change of trousers--got on shoes, the natives standing three deep to see the sahib get sand off his feet, extremely curious but quite polite. the rupee i gave my man pleased him very much, and the others all wanted to take me out again, or at least to have a rupee too. they were a nicer, bolder-looking lot of men than those in the town by a very long chalk. we then went to another temple that was also worth seeing. there is a tank near it that would be beautiful, but for a monumentally ugly iron railing that has recently been put round it. it is distinctly british--who on earth did it? we were fortunate, for just before coming to the tank and temple, a christening party of hindoos in their best clothes, with yellow flowers in black hair, and priests with long chanters and tom-toms playing, came out of some houses as we were passing. in a loosely formed procession they proceeded very slowly to the temple, the principals in a closed brougham in the middle. it was just like one of tadema's pictures on the move--barring the brougham! the players led the way in white, with the dark wood chanters mounted with silver bells and mouthpieces, and made music with a little of the twang of our pipe chanter, but without the continuity and lift or crisp grace-notes. young girls, with their faces tinted yellow with saffron, followed in dull red dresses. behind the procession were classical-looking houses, and over these appeared palms and banyan trees; but in the middle was the prosaic old waler, and the hired brougham, which was very distressing, for otherwise the subject was evidently "artistic," and combined just the proportions of sentiment and positive colour, which would have insured for its faithful depiction, a warm reception at any of our royal academical exhibitions--the man in the street could see that! [illustration] then home by the wide marina, and the promenading eurasians, and well-to-do traders in carriages. the official people _must_ all be at the club and gymkhana, or at church. for choice i like the beach in the morning, the wide sweep of ocean, the full sun on the endless sandy shores, and the solitude. this is a jotting, reduced by reproduction, of a native fishing in the surf--all that i have "creeled" to-day. ... by jove--it's ten minutes to the new year--time to think of our friends and relations, who will be sitting down to lunch and thinking of us; and toasting us for a certainty. so, in the words of the song, of which these are all i know-- "here's another kind love, here's another kind love, here's a health to everybody." but first we must toast "relations and friends," and then "the memory of the dead and the health of the living," which being done, properly and in order, we may go to the window to hear the bells of st giles and the cheering at the cross.... ah! but it is too far. chapter xxii st january [illustration] we have "seen the new year in," in a way, perhaps not quite so jollily as at home, but well enough however. and as we went to sleep, we did hear a little cheering, some jovial north country soldiers, i suppose; and the dogs were howling, and the moon shining, and the mosquitoes singing. they got their fill last night--came through a hole in the mosquito curtains, and our raid on them in the morning ended eight of their lives; but we were desperately wounded! g. got eight bites on one hand, which is serious, and means poulticing. [illustration] various natives hung about this morning, and gave us each a lime and many salaams, and we are supposed to return the compliment in coin. it is rather an ingenious plan, and it is a dainty little yellow present, and costs them nothing, and flatters you; at least it does if you are a newcomer, and a very small tip pleases them. called at government house on this first day of a.d. , and signed lord and lady ampthill's great new visitors' volumes. then we prowled round the fort, and the canon of st mary's kindly left his work and showed us records and plate of the company days, dated , and some of which was given to the church by the governor yale, afterwards the benefactor of yale college of the united states of america. we saw clive's marriage in the church records, with wellesley's signature, and on the walls of st mary's church saw the names of many scots and english and irish whose bones lie here and there in indian soil, all lauded for "courage, devotion, and care of their men." truly, "warlike, manly courage and devotion to duty" seem the flowers that flourish hereaway. we saw the old colours of the madras fusiliers, now the royal dublin fusiliers, the first british regiment of the east indian company, and in which sir john malcolm, sir harry close, and lord clive served. [illustration] in afternoon went a long rickshaw ride through blacktown to the north beach. there saw a number of well dressed eurasians, boys and girls, paddling so timidly, they let the water come over their toes and no more; also saw a net lifted outside the surf, full of fish like spent herring. what a scramble there was for them on the beach by all classes--what fun and laughter, each one robbing the other. the fish were out of condition and not of market value. i saw one blow struck but it was not returned, the man hit merely looked dreadfully offended, and the jabbering and laughing went on in a second. what a pity it is the railway spoils the north shore--it is the same in bombay, dundee, edinburgh, and madras, the best parts of our towns sacrificed. i believe if we owned naples we would put a railway round the bay. i had the satisfaction of seeing the surf log-rafts at work again, and also saw one put together. when not in use the logs lie apart, to dry i suppose, and acquire buoyancy. it took not more than eight minutes to pull the four legs into position and string them together. the roping was done with a thin one-inch coir rope quickly and neatly, not so tight as to make all quite rigid. the actual roping took about two minutes. here is a jotting of the way they are made. the logs at longest are about seventeen feet. it is as well to take note of these sort of things; you never know when your turn at the desert island may come, and young relations have desert islands at home. or again, such a craft might come in handily in some out-of-the-way highland or norwegian loch, with one boat on it, and the trout rising in the middle. [illustration] st january--_continued_.--this is a terribly long yarn for one day and it is not done yet! we went to the government house reception in the evening in our best war paint. it is a yearly reception, i believe, given to all and sundry to keep them loyal, the very thing to do it too! and i know another country, north and west, where such shows might have this effect--if it is not too late--drove there in our hired victoria in the hot dusk, and dust, in a rout of carriages, gharries, rickshaws, dog-carts, and every sort of wheeled craft imaginable; nabobs and nobodies, spry young soldiers in uniform, minus hats, driving ladies in chiffons and laces, natives, civilians, eurasians, now one ahead then the other, till we met in a grand block at the great gates, and then strung out orderly-wise and went on at a walk. as we drove up the park we saw through great trees with dark foliage, the white banqueting hall with its very wide flights of steps and tall ionic pillars bathed in moonlight, and closer, found there were two lines of native lancers, in dull red and blue, lined up the centre of the steps. the carriages pulled up three at a time, and the guests went flocking up the steps in the greenish silvery light to the top, where the warm yellow light met them from the interior, also an aide-de-camp as friend and guide to strangers, such as ourselves. inside all was highly entertaining and splendid, and western with a good deal of the orient thrown in--i don't suppose any other country in the world could give a show a patch on this--not even egypt; the banqueting hall is splendidly large and well proportioned;[ ] with white pillars down the sides supporting galleries. at the far end there is a raised dais with red satin and gold couches and chairs, and mirrors and palms; above these, white walls, and the king's portrait in red and blue and framed in gold: and round the sides, under the pillars, are more full-length portraits of governors and their wives, lord elphinstone, lady munro, the marchioness of tweedale, wellesley, napier, and ettrick, grant duff, connemara, and others. excepting the king's they all looked rather dark against so much marble-white wall space. overhead, i am told, there was once a line of crystal chandeliers, which must have given a perfect finish to the room; but these have been improved away for rather insignificant modern lights, and all over the roof are these hideous whirling electric fans which spoil the whole effect of the classic georgian style--the swinging punkah can at least be good to look at, and even tolerable, if it is far enough off. [ ] feet long, feet broad. built to commemorate the fall of seringapatan. but here is a sketch of what i remember; the guests divided up the room, blacks on one side, whites on the other, whether by accident or by design i know not, i should think and hope by intention. (so sorry this is not reproduced in colour.) [illustration] lord and lady ampthill then came in, and preceeded by aides-de-camp in various uniforms, four abreast and at arm's length, marched up the length of the room to the dais, with measured steps, not too short and not too slow--a very effectively carried out piece of ceremony, for the principals suited their parts well. lord ampthill is exceptionally tall, he wore a blue court coat, well set-off by the white knee-breeches and stockings; and lady ampthill is taller than other ladies and is very gracious. perhaps you can make out in my sketch lord ampthill on the dais talking to some of the house party, and the tall lady on the right, talking to some of our party may stand for lady ampthill, escorted by major campbell. the fireworks after the reception were, in my humble opinion, very fine indeed, but i confess my experience of these displays is extremely limited. the effect was enhanced by the soft colourfulness of the eastern night, framed by great white arches round the verandah, and the groups beneath these, of ladies, fair, and dark, in soft raiment. as we came away the wide steps were covered with groups of ladies, officers, and natives, standing and sitting, with arms and jewels, white gloves, silks and laces glittering in moonlight or lost in shadow; above on the terrace the glow of lamps from the hall shone on the last departing guests, and the tall moonlit pillars led the eye up to the blue night sky. i daresay five men out of six would have found the whole show a bore, possibly even more tiresome than this account of it, but our friend and his wife enjoyed it all, for they paint, and see things, which makes all the difference. nd january.--drove to binney's for last time, and secured tickets to rangoon. the berths are not allocated till you get on board, a cheerful arrangement: and they _are_ dear! loafed about harbour watching many cargoes and many people; tried in blacktown to get women's draperies such as i'd seen in bangalore and dharwar, but all we saw were more crude in colour and overdone with patterns--couldn't get the simple blues or reds with yellow or blue margins. not an eventful day, but in the afternoon we drove again to the sands at the mouth of the adyar to collect shells and we saw more than we could carry away in memory, watched the crabs scuttling over the sands like mice, and into regular burrows in the sand, collected seeds from various trailing plants, and saw a glorious sunset--someone told me indian sunsets were poor things! and made a jotting or two, too hasty to be of use to the world in general. rd.--painted, and wrote these notes in spite of mosquitoes and these three times cursed crows. chapter xxiii th.--half-an-hour's drive across the town brought us to the harbour, and then we had a hot walk to the end of the wharf. such a struggle there was at the slip down to the small boats; four or five boats were trying to land natives, and at the same time as many were trying to take passengers and natives off. it would have been impossible for a single lady. the native police in neighbourhood were of no use. i'd have thought british port authorities would have done something better. we rowed out to the steamer in the middle of harbour, our four rowers bucking in for a place, and scrambled on to the ship's gangway, without any attention from anyone on board. other boats with native passengers trying to scramble over us required a shove and a heave or two on my part to keep them off. i'd made a great effort to secure berths clearly and distinctly at the british india s. s. agency, made various expeditions to the agents to see that all was right, but when we got to our cabin some young men were also allotted berths in it. they were most polite, but all the same it was uncomfortable for them and for us to have all their belongings moved. ... four was the hour to sail. now it is six and no sign of up anchor. but why hurry? there is life enough to study for weeks, the main deck a solid mass of natives, all sitting close as penguins or guillemots, each family party on a tiny portion of deck, with their mats and tins and brass pots beside them, and what a babble! and pungent smell of south indian humanity. the sun goes down and madras resolves itself into a low coast line, purple against streaks of orange and vermilion: some palms and a few chimney stalks break the level of houses and lower trees. the _renown_ lies near us waiting to go for the prince to convoy him to rangoon; its white hull looks green against the orange sunset. [illustration] there was nothing but necessity made the old settlers drop anchor here; a bend of the silvery cooum[ ] gave them slight protection inland, but there was nothing in the way of roads or shelter. the sandy coast is dead straight. they did not know the qualities of the surf at first. two experienced men were sent ashore from the "globe" in , and were promptly swamped and one nearly drowned; that was further up this coromandel coast, when the company was only beginning to try to find footing here. it was not till that they bought the land where madras stands to-day, for the company. these old fellows coming back to-day from the sea would not see any great change in the appearance of the land; the trail of smoke going levelly south-west from a tall smoke stalk would be the most conspicuous change. [ ] the cooum is silvery to look at, but it is by its smell that people remember it. two steamers lie near us, just heaving perceptibly, as if breathing before taking the high road. outside it blows a very little, a warm, damp wind; there will be a roll in the bay of bengal and we will head into it, and the natives' jollity will change to moans. i should think the ship's boats in emergency could hold a sixth of them. i hear there are some , the three decks are choked with them fore and aft. our tiny saloon and cabins are right astern and to port and starboard, and forward of it, are these natives; we are only separated from them by a board or two with a port-holes in it, and, the difference of fare! we pay ninety rupees each to rangoon and they pay one each; if we open our port we might as well be all together, except that they get the first of the air. unless we keep the blind pulled, night and day, we are subjected to "their incorrigible stare," which the portuguese pioneers found so remarkable; their odour and noise is intolerable. for my _boy_ i've paid twelve rupees, and he has the same deck space as the other natives, that is, barely sufficient room to lie down in. the only deck space we first class passengers have, is above the saloon, where the second class deck is, on the p. & o., a nice enough place if it wasn't overlooked by the natives amidship, and over-smelt by the whole coolies. fortunately to-day, the th, there's a lovely north-east breeze which takes away some of the monkey-house smell and noise. we count that there are forty natives in each of the two alleyways on either side of our cabins, so eighty rupees (a rupee is s. d.), less profit to the company, and we could all have been decently comfortable. but even without moving them, one a.b. told off to keep them quiet would have allowed us to sleep at night. sunday morning.--all night, all day, whiffs of pure north-east air, and solid native; alternating, and all the time rising and falling, shouting, singing, arguing, quarrelling. heaven be thanked we have a pleasant enough company among ourselves, and the natives don't intrude more than parts of their bodies into the saloon doors and ports when the squeeze at the outside gets very strong, but they gaze stolidly on us at meals through the ports and doors! it is pleasant enough on deck this sunday afternoon under the awning. we have a piano in the middle of the deck, and a captain in the east yorks is playing--he was one of the men who so politely, in fact anxiously, vacated the cabin he found occupied by a married couple; four men play bridge near us, and as we are not a large company we have all got to know each other--the common infliction of the native crowd makes a bond of sympathy. a young englishman beside me is overhauling madras b. a. exam, papers, and works hard, so that he may have a clear holiday in burmah. he hands me some of the papers to read, essays on edwin harrison's "life of ruskin." they are both funny and pathetic; we laughed at the absurd jumble of ideas in some, and felt sorry that natives should have to study the thoughts and sayings of a man, who, after all, did not himself understand the very simple beauties of a whistler. then i dropped on an essay, eight pages foolscap, in scholarly handwriting, with perfect grasp of subject, and concentrated, pithy expression. i could with difficulty accept the assurance that it was written by a madrassee and not by some famous essayist! so, perhaps, if one eastern can grasp ruskin's best thoughts it may be worth the effort of trying to teach thousands who can't? is it not folly, this anglicising of the indians, irish, and scots by the english schoolmaster, who knows as little of sanscrit as of erse scottis or gaelic; calls england an island! and wishes to teach everyone "the ode to a skylark," "silas marner,"[ ] and "tom browne's schooldays." (my own dear countrymen you will not be taken in by this chaff for ever, will you?) why not study campbells tales in gaelic, or sir david lindsay, or the psalms by waddell or barbeurs bruce. [ ] prescribed by indian university curriculum. just to make the groups on deck complete we ought to have children playing, but there are none with us, their route lies always westwards; they would be a pretty foil to the serious restfulness of the deck scene. now a lady sings "douglas tender and true," and sings it so well, we could weep were we not so near port; a group in the stern beside the wheel watches a glorious sunset, which fills the space we sit in under the awning with a dull red and across the light a missionary paces, aloof and alone; a melancholy stooping silhouette against the glorious afterglow--to and fro--to and fro--a lanky, long-haired youth, his hands behind his back, looking into his particular future, a life devoted to convert the gracious, charitable followers of gautauma buddha to--his reading of christ's simple teaching. chapter xxiv rangoon gymkhana [illustration] january th.--we danced--i danced with ladies in gainsborough hats, their feathers tickling my eye, in pork pie hats, and watteaus, and picture hats like sparrows' nests; and there were little dumpy ladies and tall, stately, junos, _i.e._, compared with eastern women. and it was so funny to see men in suits of blue serge, tweeds, or tussore silk, whirling round with ladies in muslins of every lovely colour. if the men had only worn bowlers and smoked cigars, how it would have taken me back to student days in antwerp at carnival time, not so jolly of course, but very different from anything at home. and how stately are the club-rooms--really they are well off these relations of ours "out east"--don't believe their groans altogether! it is hot now, they say, but look at the fun they have, especially ladies. there are ladies' billiard-rooms, card-rooms, music-rooms, reading-rooms inside, and outside, lawns and flowers and attendants to fetch and carry, and swains to admire them, and they have latest dresses, dances, balls, riding, tennis all the time, and royalties and viceroys at intervals. compare this to the humdrum life of our women in scotland with their brothers and cousins, "a wede awa" to the uttermost ends of the empire, and never a viceroy or royalty of any description to show above their level horizon--that is intolerable. then home to dinner, very full of interest and wonder at the sights of the day, and scribbled the above dance scene, and dressed and walked over the way in the soft dust in the soft moonlight and dined with friends and relations, and talked in the dark teak-wood bungalow of other friends and relations and home things, and looked at curios and sketches; and little lizards looked out at us from the walls, and a huge piebald fellow up in the shadows of the wooden roof, a foot and a half long if an inch, a _chuck-tu_, didn't frighten our hosts in the least! then across the strip of moonlit, to sleep my lone, under the hospitable teak roof-trees of "a binning!" here there seems to be a hiatus in these notes of mine--it is rather a jump from the british india steamer to a gymkhana dance? but such a break gives relief to the mind, and has sometimes even a dramatic effect. i have twice observed such breaks in journals; the first in edinburgh, in the journal of the city clerk. the break occurs when the provost and clerk lay cold on floddon field, and the entries are taken up in a new hand with a minute which begins--"owing to a rumour of a disaster in the south." the second break, i saw the other day in the madras records. it occured when the french called at fort george in . the break in my journal is simply the result of yesterday being so full of interest that i did not write up till this forenoon, after a pause for rest and refreshment. so to hark back. the landing at rangoon and coming up the river was the best part of the journey from madras. for descriptions of coming up the rangoon river see other writers. g. and i had been kept awake for several nights by the natives[ ] and finally had to shut our port and snatched an hour or two of sleep without air so as to be without noise,--this after various expeditions to try and quiet the beasts outside, but nothing but drowning would have stopped their horrid exuberance. [ ] native in burmah stands for native of india, not a burman. the peace that you feel in iona seemed to lie over the country as we came up the rangoon river. the golden pagoda stands up very simply and beautifully above the flat country, and beneath it palms and ship's masts look very lowly things indeed. it seems a perfect conductor of thought from earth to sky; the gentle concave curves of its sides are more natural lines of repose than those of our challenging spires. i had been prepared for little--pictures and photographs have dwarfed the thing--they do not give the firmness and delicacy in form and the sentiment that it inspires. it is like the burmans religion; there's a sense of happiness in the way its wide gold base amongst nestling green palms and foliage of trees gradually contracts till the point rises quietly against the blue and fleecy clouds, where the glint of gold and flash from jewels seems to unite heaven and earth. the spire is feet, two feet higher than st paul's, but the terrace from which it rises is feet from the level of the ground, and as lower burmah is very flat, it is visible twenty-two miles from rangoon. it was unmitigatedly hot when we got from the tender to the wharf. relatives who met us said it was their hottest weather, so we hugged the shade. but this was unseasonable, it ought to be fairly cool at the time of year. we drove in gharries a mile or two to the bungalow, through crowds of _natives_ of india--how ugly they look compared with the burmese! though why one should compare them at all is beyond reason, for the burman is to an indian as a frenchman to a hottentot. after dividing ourselves and baggage between two bungalows on either side of tank road, we drove with mrs e. to see the lake and her favourite views of the pagoda; and--i was about to contradict myself! have i not said india was the most perfectly fascinating country for picturesque scenes of people and streets, and trees and parks and colour! now, i withdraw; for burmah puts india quite in the shade! so you, my artist friends, who have no academical leanings (you are few), come here, right away, though you have to work your passage on a b.i., or have even to travel first on that line as we did! you can come direct by the henderson line for £ , sailing from glasgow or liverpool--£ for a month on the blue sea, on a comfortable ship with lots of deck-room. this line gives specially reduced fares for _bona-fide_ missionaries, so artists _should_ be taken free--over page is one of their liners. in madras i saw mr talbot kellie's book on burmah and thought burmah had been "done," and it was futile for other artists to try to paint anything new there. but thanks be, we are each given our own way of seeing things, though perhaps not the same patience to put them down; so when i saw the wide stairs and the arcades up to the pagoda, and the terrace or platform from which it rises, it was new as could be to me, and as if it had never been painted or described before. here follow notes i see about painting--much talk and little done, owing to the novelty and variety of sights, and the relaxing damp warmth of the climate. the mean temperature yesterday was ° with damp air and a stuffy, thunderous feeling and the dust hanging in the air under bilious looking clouds, which made people talk of earthquakes--we perspire, we melt--we run away in rivers, and our own particular temperature is °. how annoying to feel unfit to paint when there is so much to do at hand.... started fairly early this morning for the pagoda, and sat outside it in a gharry pulled up opposite the entrance porch and steps. it takes courage to attempt to sketch such a scene of shifting beauty! these architectural details, carvings in gold and colour, ought to be ground at till the whole is got by heart--then brush and colour let go, with a prayer to the saints. [illustration] the "gharry" makes an excellent perambulating studio--it is a small, high, wooden cab, with little lattice shutters instead of glass which pull up all round so that you can let down those you need for view, aft or forward, or at either side, and pull up the others and thus have privacy and light and air, and you need no stove or hot pipes, for you could roast a partridge inside! a "native" policeman ("a native," be it clearly understood, in burmah stands for a native of india) hovered round as if he thought my stopping in mid-street opposite the pagoda porch might be his affair, but my boy explained on this occasion that i was a "collector," why, i do not know; however it had the desired effect, but it seemed to me rather a drop from his usual title of chief justice to a mere collector. [illustration: entrance to the shwey dagon pagoda, rangoon.] it grew so hot! and then hotter, and the picturesque flower sellers on the eleven white steps outside put their white torch cheroots into their mouths--you could see neither red ash nor smoke in such light--folded their parasols and took their roses and baskets and went up the steps and sat themselves down in the porch in the shade and were as pretty as ever--tadema's best pictures on the move! through the arabesque wood carvings of the arcade roof, away up the flight of steps, shafts of light came through brown fretted teak-wood and fell on gold or lacquered vermilion pillars and touched the stall-holders and their bright wares in the shadows on either side of the steps, and lit up groups of figures that went slowly up and down the irregular steep stairs, their sandals in one hand and cheroot in the other. some carried flowers and dainty tokens in coloured papers, others little bundles of gold leaf, or small bundles of red and yellow twisted candles to burn. their clothes were of silks and white linen, the colours of sweet peas in sun and in shadow, and the air was scented with incense and roses and the very mild tobacco in the white cheroots. it was hot in the gharry! to my surprise an english buddhist lady i know, pulled up in front of me and got out of her carriage with a large paint box, took off her very neat brown shoes at the foot of the steps and went up in brown open-work stocking soles, and began to paint higher up the flights of steps, and a little crowd of polite burman children gathered behind her. and a britisher, a scot, i think, came down, a little dazed-looking and delighted, and melting, and spoke to me, a stranger, out of sheer wonder and _per fervidum_ at the charm of colour, and of course we agreed that it all "beggared description." i must have seen people of many races and religions going up the steps, chinese, shans, kachins, mohammedans, hindoos, americans, french, and british. i think in the space of two or three hours one of almost every nation must go up; not that there is any crowd at all, but the people are wonderfully varied, the greater number being, of course, exquisitely clothed burmese. to lunch at o'clock, which is considered late here, in my bachelor friends' quarters--poor bachelors so far from home and home comforts! _figurez-vous_, a princely hall, princely bedrooms, splendid teak floors and walls hung with many trophies, heads of tiger, of buffalo, sambhur, gaur, tsine boar, etc., etc., and in the long dining-room a sideboard gleaming with silver, white damask, white roses, and red lilies, perfect waiters and a perfect chef behind the scene--upstairs, verandahs spread with lounges and long chairs, tables with latest papers and latest books, and if this is not enough, they have every sort of social function within arm's length.--they are not to be only pitied, for all their punkahs, and the damp heat. rangoon, th january.--the shan camp. to this we were invited by mr b. s. carey, c.i.e. he dined with us at the e.'s bungalow and told us much of interest of the people he had brought from these states that lie between burmah and china. as acting-superintendent in place of sir george scott,[ ] he has brought these people's representatives to meet their royal highnesses the prince and princess of wales. mr carey's brother, and mr fielding hall were also at dinner, and my bachelor host a. binning, so between these people and g.'s host and hostess, mr and mrs e., information about burmah and its dependencies, its social, commercial, or political prospects was available at first hand and to any extent. [ ] author of "the burman, his life and notions--a delightful description of burmah, shway yoe." but to the shan camp, in our best array, the ladies in toilets most pleasing to western ladies, if not to shan princesses--we drove a mile or so into the country, turned off the high road by a new cutting into the jungle, and came on a clearing of perhaps two acres surrounded by bamboos and trees, and in the twinkling of an eye we were transported from european rangoon to tribal life in jungle land. a village of pretty cane houses had been built, and there were princes and princesses, and chieftains with their followings; i think there were thirteen different tribes represented, and there were twenty times thirteen different costumes. we were presented first to the chiefs; they were in the most magnificent, shimmering brown silk robes of state, all over gold and precious stones, and had pointed seven-roofed pagoda crowns of gold. there were three princesses, willowy figures, one in an emerald-green tight-fitting jacket of silk and clinging skirt, and a spray of jewels and flowers in her black hair; she was pretty, by jove she was, and at anyrate uncommonly capable and shrewd looking. she had come about six hundred miles to see their royal highnessess, had ridden three hundred miles to mr carey's rendezvous up north-east, missed the party there, rode on here post haste, other two hundred miles, and looked as if another thousand wouldn't turn a hair--said hair was black and glossy and dressed in a top knot, set off with a spray of diamonds and rubies! i think she was considered the great lady of the day, as the country her husband rules is in chinese territory. the other ladies of the shan states were also beautifully dressed. never in my life have i seen such delicate blending of silks and faces and jewellery and flowers. i did not know which was the more interesting, the gorgeousness and fantastic form of the princes' garments, or the exquisite harmonies and simplicity of shape of the princesses. the willowy emerald-green princess, who came from fairyland, i am sure, shook hands with us and gave us tea and sugar and cream and a buttonhole, heavily scented, likewise a cigar, and if i hadn't had fever and could have spoken her language i'd have been enchanted. but first i should have described the wonderful umbrellas that ornamented the camp. when we got out of our carriage our ladies and ourselves were escorted to the clearing, each by one of these potentates with a liveried servant holding up one of these orange or white and crimson umbrellas over us. the princesses walked with the ladies and i walked with an elderly prince, with a jolly and kindly wrinkled face--it felt so very odd to be walking in western modern garments beside this very old-world costume; his wings touched my shoulder, and the vane of his pagoda-spired crown or hat waggled above my head. round the centre of the dealing, in a circle round us, were arranged many retainers in tribal costumes; some of them held golden umbrellas, others silver-mounted swords, spears, crossbows, and flags. the arrangements and effect was so picturesque that it is to be hoped the prince and princess will see these people in the same situation. the various tribes danced each their characteristic dance; there were too many to remember each distinctly. a bamboo instrument[ ] with the softest bell-like notes pleased me, and gentle but abrupt gong notes were frequently struck. in some dances the dancers stood close together in rows, hand in hand, and moved their feet and bowed their heads in time to very sad music, which i was told was to represent marriage! another was full of movement and suggested a war dance, the dancers whirled swords and postured; all the movements were silent and the music low, with only occasional loud notes on gong and hollow bamboo, and so were much in harmony with forest stillness and the shades of jungle round the camp. [ ] yang lam. the most extraordinary dress was worn by the padaung women, a kilt and putties of dark cloth, with round the hips and upper part of kilt, many rings of thin black lacquered cane; round the neck were so many brass curtain-rings of graduated circumference, narrowing from the chest to the ear, and so many of them that the neck had become so elongated that the head either actually was dwarfed or seemed to be so small as to be quite out of proportion to the body. of course the proud wearer could not move her head in the very least, and wore an expression like that of a hen drinking. ten chiefs were present; i wrote down their names, but it is difficult to decipher them now. there was the sawbwa of keng-tung, forty days' journey from his capital east and south of mandalay, and north of siam; the sawbwa of yawnghwe; the sawbwa of lawksak; and the myosa of this state, and the myosa of that, and their wives. the princess with the green jacket was sao nang wen tip, wife of the ruler of the chinese state keng-hung, and half-sister of the sawbwa of keng-tung; her journey to rangoon took fifty days; and she is well-known in western china and our shan states as a states-woman and woman of business. her neat, small, well-set on head, with pretty face and slightly oblique eyes, one could not forget quickly--it was feline and feminine, and through and through as a _poignarde ecossaise_. her sister, sao nang tip htila, was the only lady who rode on an elephant at the delhi durbar procession. she is also known as a clever business woman; at present she rules the state of keng kham during the minority of her son. she lost her jewels in the hoogley on the road to delhi durbar, and thought that as nothing to put against the satisfaction of having "shaken hands with the king-emperor's brother," the duke of connaught, the memory of whose graciousness is treasured by the shans to-day. ... g. and i went to the pagoda and admired. it is the richest colour i've seen in the world, and, please heaven, let me come back. otherwise rangoon is not so very interesting; there are wide macadamised roads in the european parts, with large, two-storied villas in dark-brown teak wood on either side, with handsome trees in their compounds, thousands of nasty raucous crows, and indian servants everywhere, and a very few burmans. but the pagoda is almost purely burmese; a group of sinister-looking southern indian natives sometimes passes up or down the steps in their dirty white draperies, and seem to bring an evil atmosphere with them, and a band of our clean, sturdy red-necked soldiers in khaki may go up, flesh and fire-eating sons of odin, with fixed glittering bayonets and iron heels clinking on the stone steps--gautama forgive us!--but they don't break the picture nearly so much as the "natives," their frank expression is more akin to the burman's, they have not got the keen hungry look of the indian; or the challenging expression of some of our own upper classes. who can describe the soft beauty of the pagoda platform--the sun-lit square at top of the long covered stairway--with its central golden spire supporting the blue vault of sky, surrounded at its base with serene golden buddhas in little temples of intricate carving, in gilded teak and red lacquer, and coloured glass mosaic, with candles smoking before them and flowers dying. the square is paved, and round the outside against graceful trees and palms are more shrines and more golden-marble buddhas facing into the square, and some big bells hang on carved beams, and children strike them occasionally with deers' horns, half in play, half as a notice to the good spirits that they and their seniors have been there to worship. they have a very soft, sweet tone, and the crown of the sambhur's horn seems suited to bring it out. on the pavement are some favoured chickens and some children and a dog or two, and here and there devout people in silks, kneeling on the flags with folded hands repeating the precepts of the perfect law of gautama buddha. to overcome hatred with love, to subdue anger, to control the mind, and to be kind to all living things, and to be calm. that this is the greatest happiness, to subdue the selfish thought of i. that it is better to laugh than to weep, better to share than to possess, better to have nothing and be free of care than to have wealth and bend under its burdens. such teachings we have at home; but the buddhist believes too, what the west forgets, what the old druid murdoch, before he died, taught to columba on iona: that all life in nature is divine, and that there is no death, only change from one form to another. so they reverence trees and flowers and birds and beasts, and each other, and believe that, "he prayeth best who loveth best all things both great and small." therefore their happiness and calm and the look of peace on the faces of the very old people, and their great kindness to each other and to animals, and the little offerings you see to the spirits of trees. it is very peaceful, for the repetitions of the worshippers in the open air are not disturbing; and from far overhead comes a little tinkling from the light Æolian bells moved by the breeze high up on the hte. if you look up you see the hte against the blue. it is an elaborate piece of metal work on the tip top of the pagoda; you cannot make out its details but you can see it is made of diminishing hoops with little pendant bells hung from these, that the wind rings sometimes; and you are told that one little bell may be so bejewelled that it may be worth £ , and the whole hte that looks so light and delicate is really of heavy golden hoops encrusted with jewels; for which a king of upper burmah gave £ , , and the burmese people £ , more in voluntary subscriptions and labour. this was since our occupation of lower burmah. the priests in their yellow robes, draped like roman togas, come and go just like other people; they are greatly reverenced, they teach all the boys of the nation their faith, reading, writing and simple arithmetic, but they do not proselytise or assume spiritual powers, nor do they act in civil affairs, and they "judge not;" they live, or try to live a good life, and to work out each his own salvation, and you may follow their example if you please, but they won't burn you if you do differently or think differently.... if any one wants to have the wrinkles rolled out of his soul--let him _go_ and rest in the quiet, and sun, and simple beauty of the shwey dagon pagoda, with its tapering golden spire and the blue sky above. [illustration] [illustration: a sacred lake near rangoon.] chapter xxv "the blairin' trumpet sounded far, and horsemen rode weel graith'd for war." _the battle of preston_. the horsemen were mostly civilians such as two of our friends in these bachelor quarters, and very smart they looked in their neat white uniforms and white helmets with a glitter of gold lace. another attraction this for the young man from home; he may be only in commerce, say in rice, and yet may be of some official service on high days and holidays, and prance on a charger with a sword like any belted knight. the reason of the stir was, of course, the prince's arrival. rangoon is all bedecked--_pandals_ at every turning--these are triumphal arches with seats inside erected by the burmese, chinese, indians, parsees, and children of rangoon. they are all very brilliant and almost as beautiful as boxes of crackers, and through these and the decorated streets for days, have been driven rehearsals of the prince and princess's procession. only those behind the scenes can compute the work that making these arrangements gave to the already overworked officials in this trying climate. yesterday they had the last rehearsal, when a young member of the lieutenant governor's staff filled the part of the prince in the great reception tent or shamiana. various city dignitaries were presented to him and made their bows, and to each of them in turn he addressed gracious and suitable words, such as the following to mr smith, known in rangoon for his thriftiness: "very pleased indeed to meet you, mr smith. allow me on behalf of my royal father, to thank you, for the very excellent decorations you have made on your house and compound in honour of our visit." and mr smith got quite red, for he had not made any at all! ... the prince and princess came up the river early and landed at a wharf and were led through a narrow canvas tunnel into a wide low tent--so all danger of hats being spoiled by a shower or a squall was avoided, also all spectacular effect. perhaps it is idiocyncrasy, but i can't help feeling that the crucial point of the prince's tour was his landing on his foreign possessions, say at bombay or rangoon; that the landing should have been made magnificent and historic. here was an opportunity just such as there was at bombay; all the material at hand for a splendid spectacle, light, water, sky, ships, masts, boats, wharfs, the most beautifully dressed crowds and people of every nationality for background. a fraction of fancy was all that was necessary to have set up the most magnificient composition,--something to go down in the history of the country. but the prince and princess were ushered through the canvas alley-way into a dim tent, full of damp exhausted air, hired american chairs, and people in stiff western clothes, and sat on two high-backed chairs with their backs to the little light and listened to speeches. it was a royal pageant arranged as we do these things at home by men of t square and double entry, energy and goodwill. what is needed for such shows, in the first place, is a knowledge of historical precedents, and imagination, then organisation and reckless regard for weather, with say an artist, a historian, a general, and a cashier, for working committee. there was a beautiful thing in the reception shamiana, but you had to have your eye lifting to note it. as you entered this tent from the town side, there were on either side three tiers of burmese ladies sitting one above the other, their faces becomingly powdered with yellowish powder, and their eyebrows strongly pencilled, and they each had a yellow orchid in their black hair, and their dresses were of silks of infinite variety of tint--primrose, rose, and delicate white--"soft as puff, and puff, of grated orris root" and they glittered with diamonds and emeralds, and each held a silver bowl marvellously embossed, filled with petals of flowers and gold leaf. their attitudes were studied to their finger tips, and as the prince and princess went out they stood and dropped a shower of petals before them. the arrangements for the procession through the streets were perfect, and the crowds in the streets were great! and best of all were the groups of burmese country people coming in to town in their bullock carts, the rough dry wood of the wheels and arched sun-bitten covers in such contrast to the family parties tucked up inside, in their short white jackets and skirts and kilts of brightly coloured silks. how happy they are, old and young--you begin to wish you had been born a burman when you hear their laughter and jollity. but i fear we will soon change all that with our progress and law of orderly grab and necessary ugliness. everyone is on the move but the priests, for they do not take part in worldly affairs. there was a garden party at government house in the afternoon. g. and her hosts went. i was told i positively must not go without a frock-coat and top hat, so i stayed at home. it is pretty far east here, so frock-coats and toppers are necessary, at bombay they are still worn occasionally; there you might have seen royalty at a garden party actually chatting to men in pith helmets and tussore silks--gone at the knee at that! in the evening the park and lake were beautifully lit up, and a local shower of rain came, just in time to put out half the lamps on the trees, so there was not too much light, as i am sure there would have been had some not been extinguished; but everyone moaned--said it was "so sad" and "you should have seen it last time." there must have been a vast concourse of people. we were in the boat club grounds, and it was damp and hot. we waited about the lawn at the water's edge, and people chatted and smoked away the evening. everyone seemed very jolly, and to know everybody else, and we were given the names of many people and the letters after their names; they all had them, but one would need to live in official circles for a long time to learn their meanings. i thought of whistler's "cremorne gardens" and his "valparaiso," for this was such a night effect as he could have painted, and so i thought of the m'nab's saying, "the night is the night if the men were the men."--someone, a neish perhaps, may see the connection of ideas here, i admit it is slight. [illustration] the prince and princess were floated across the calm water of the lake in a fairy galley all over lamps. i made a jotting from recollection, so i will put it in here. it had three spires and each spire had seven roofs tapering to a hte, and two great heads of paper geese were at the bow, and hundreds of glowing lamps lit the royal suite on board. besides the great state barge there were many boats fancifully decorated with glowing arrangements of lamps and flowers. the prettiest, i thought, a great water lily with a dainty little burmese girl in green ("the jewel in the lotus") in its petals, posturing and singing. the heavy white petals in lamplight and rosy lights in the reddish buds and leaves against the dark water were charming, and the burman in charge, with the usual red strip of cloth round his black hair, brown face, and white jacket, caught a little of the warm light and so blended into the picture. burmese crews in dug-out war canoes, towed the royal barge across the lake, and as each canoe crossed the paths of light reflected from the illuminated boats, the figures paddling stood out clearly and were then lost in darkness. they sang in full chorus with a reed piping between each line, liquid quiet music; who was it said--like the sound of grass growing? for a moment the charm was broken by the brass band behind us beginning, but mercifully some one stopped it, and the royal passengers landed to gentle native music. [illustration: h.r.h. prince and princess of wales landing at the boat club, rangoon] here is, as nearly as possible, in colour, what i remembered of the prince and princess landing on the lawn, and neither more nor less, i hope--but one is so apt to put in more from careless habits of accuracy--to count the spokes of the moving wheel. the words the crews sang were of "our king emperor, who is of the lineage of world emperors (mandat), and who on the lustrous throne of britain was crowned." they compare our king to the resplendent indian sun; "our king emperor" begins each stanza with the catch of the stroke, or rather, the dig of the paddle. "our king emperor, who enjoys his imperial pleasures in the golden palace[ ] in london, and with especially distinguished intellectual powers rules over a kingdom whose inhabitants are like the nimmanarati gods delighting in self created pleasures.... the illustrious royal couple come from the palace of flowers over distant seas in the _renown_ surrounded on all sides by the blue expanse of wave after wave, through the indian empire escorted by guards of honour, and amidst echoes of the royal salute from the artillery.... for long life extending over a hundred years for our sovereign's heir-apparent and for his royal consort, the princess of wales, who is like a wreath of the much prized tazin (orchid) flowers on a bed of roses...." it is pretty in bits, i think, the blue expanse, wave after wave, and the wreath of tazin on a bed of roses quite take my fancy. [ ] all the burmese royal residencies were and are still covered with gilding. shwey or gold, is also a burmese term for royalty. the illuminations, like the reedy music, went out slowly, and the brass band had its turn and pom-pomed away finely, as the prince and princess stood a little, on a knoll under the club trees, in a glow of hundreds of lamps. their coming down the winding path from the knoll was picturesque. i've a thumb-nail jotting of it, our people's faces on either side were so enthusiastic, and the prince looked so pleased and the princess looked so handsome and queenly, and the cheering--each man seemed to think depended on himself alone. it was really very pretty, the ladies' dresses, and uniforms and many black coats and the lamps on the trees made a gay piece of colour. we do shine on occasions, we people of the occident, but the burmese shine all the time. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . th.--now we are moving on, up the river, by the irrawaddy flotilla co. paddle boat, instead of going to mandalay by train and down by boat as is more customary, this for the reason that all the comfortable bogie carriages are away north with the prince's following, and night in an old carriage is not to our tastes. we go south down this rangoon river a little way, then about sixty miles from the sea, cut across the delta west by the bassein creek, and get into the navigable irrawaddy, spending a night on the way tied up in the creek at a place where, i am told, we will probably be attacked by a very powerful tribe of mosquitoes, then next day higher up we will, according to messrs cook, see mountains again! [illustration: sunset on the irrawaddy] chapter xxvi th january.--on the irrawaddy flotilla company's s.s. "java"--after our british india s.s. experience it is delightful, the quiet utterly soothing. it is hot it is true--hot as in the hot weather they say, but the air is clean on the river. we are now on the bassein creek, twenty-five miles long, going across the delta west from rangoon river to the irrawaddy to steam up it for five days, tying up at night. it is better even than we were told! this steamer is long, low, and wide decked, with a nice saloon forward on the upper deck, eight cosy cabins on either side, and a promenade in front of them, on the fo'csle head as it were. aft, divided from us by the pantry and a wire partition, there is a long stretch of deck going right to the stern, all covered by a roof; on this deck sit and lie burmans, singly or in family groups, in pretty silks, on neat mats and mattresses and pillows with tidy little bundles of luggage beside them. we do not stop steaming to-night, for we have barely enough of the flood to take us over the shallow midway part of the creek, where the east and west tides meet, so as the sun went below the flat shore and reeds, and it grew dark, the search-light on the lower deck was turned on. now we have wonderful theatrical pictures continually changing--bluey-green round pictures framed by the night, first on one bank then on the other, as the light sweeps from side to side, and always down its rays a continuous shower of golden insects seems to come rushing towards us. in the dark behind the lantern, the deck below is crawling with them. the trees we light up on the banks have the green of lime-lit trees on the stage, and the same cut out appearance. fantastic boats suddenly appear out of the velvet darkness. they have high sterns elaborately carved, and the red teak wood and the brown bodies of the rowers pushing long oars glow in the halo of soft light; other figures resting on their decks are wrapped up in rose and white and green draperies, and each soft colour is reflected quivering in the ripple from the oars. by the way, as we slept the bassein mosquitoes did come on board, and answered their description--they do raise lumps! horses have to be kept in meat safes on shore, and they say you can tell a man who has lived in the district years afterwards, by the way he slips into a room sideways, and closes the door after him. two or three bites make a whole limb swell; therefore travellers, bring mosquito curtains if you travel here for pleasure. th.--fresh--cool--sun--and this is a wide river in fairyland, for the colours of foliage, water, and sky are too delicate and bright for any real country i have ever seen. where, in reality, do you see at one glance, delicate spires in gold and white rising from green foliage, and dainty bamboo cottages of matting and teak; and women in colours as gay as butterflies, coming from them into the morning sun; and fishermen in hollowed logs with classic stems and sterns, their clothing of the colour of china asters, their faces coppery gold, and their hair black as a raven's wing, drawing nets of rusty red, of the tint of birch twigs in winter, out of muddy water enamelled with cerulean. every now and then you meet with an extra big bit of fairyland coming down stream in the shape of a native ship with high crescent stern and a mat house near its low bow; all in various tints of a warm brown teak. the crew stand and row long oars and sing as they swing, and you think of vikings, pirates, and argosies.... but down in the lower deck beside denny's engines it feels quite homely, as if you were going "doon the water" in sunny june--the engines running as smoothly and quietly as if they were muscles and bones instead of hard steel and h.-p.--engineers, engines, and hull all frae glasgie, all from banks of old cleutha. ... now the river widens to nearly a mile, and the tops of ranges of hills appear over the plains. what variety you have in the course of two half days--yesterday amongst crowds and houses and ocean going craft, to-day the calm of the open country with fresh, balmy air, and only river boats.... here comes difficult navigation though the river is so wide; and we ship a pilot who comes off from a spit of sand in a dug-out canoe.... we surge round hard aport then astarboard, following the channel, through overfalls and eddies like the dorris more or corrie bhriechan in good humour, and there are a few sea swallows to keep us in mind of the sea. it is pleasant to hear the rush, and the calm, of tide race, alternating. [illustration] we stop at a village on the river side, and there's a pageant of little boats, a little like norwegian prams, perhaps sampans is the nearest name for them; they are brightly coloured. the only passenger besides ourselves, mr fielding hall,[ ] leaves our steamer here, which we greatly regret; he has told us a little about burmah, and something of a book he has now in the press, "a nation at school," and we would very willingly hear more. i gather that its purport is that the burmans under our rule are really going forward, and that our organisations, hospitals, and factories in rangoon are proofs of this, though they appear, at the first glance, to be the opposite and that "_toute est pour le mieux_...." i am painting now in the cabin he vacated, and ought to be inspired! this java makes a perfect yacht--granted a cabin apiece--but even with two in a cabin it is very a. . [ ] the author of "the soul of a people," an exquisite description of burmese life. the colouring and sandbanks this first day are undoubtedly suggestive of the nile, but the irrawaddy is wider; the sand edge falls in the same kind of chunks; the nile is silvery and blue, with colourless shadows, here everywhere rainbow tints spread out most delicately, and here instead of egyptians in floppy robes you have refined people exquisitely dressed. as the river is low, we do not see much beyond the edge of the banks. they are topped with high grass and reeds and low palm ferns, and over these appear cane matting roofs of cottages and fine trees. paints feel poor things, and a camera can't get these wide effects, at least mine won't--a cinematograph would be the thing. every five minutes a new river scene unrolls itself. at present, as i look from my large cabin-window, i see a belt of feathery grass, and then the blue sky. a flight of white herons rise, and the sand throws yellow reflected light under their wings; a long, dug-out canoe passes down with a load of colour, red earthenware pots forward, a copper-faced man amidship, in white jacket and indian-red kilt. he is paddling, behind him are green bananas, and in the stern a lady sits in pink petticoat and white jacket. the clothes of men and women are somewhat similar; the man's coloured "putsoe," or kilt, often of tartan, is tied in a knot in front of his waist, and comes down to the middle of his calf. the woman tucks her longer skirt or "tamaine," above her bosom, as you might hitch a bath-towel, and it falls rather tightly to her ankles, and both men and women wear a loose white cotton jacket, which just comes to their waist, with wide sleeves that come below the waist. the men wear their hair long, tied up with a bright silk scarf, and the women wear theirs coiled on the top of their heads with a white crescent comb in it, and often a bunch of yellow orchids. i've heard europeans say there is little to distinguish the men from the women in figure or dress: but, to me, their figures and faces seem very prettily distinguished. [illustration] we stop the night at henzada, and dine on deck, shut off from the night by a glass partition. the captain tells us how in the company was formed to take over from the government four river steamers previously used for carrying troops and stores; and how the fleet has steadily grown with the development of the province until it now consists of vessels, of all sorts and sizes. captain terndrup also tells us of the occupation of upper burmah. he brought down the last of the europeans before we attacked upper burmah, and took up the staff of our army. government hired these flotilla ships for the purpose. he also had to do with the beginning of these gold dredgings in northern tributaries of the irrawaddy, which are to make mountains of gold! a new passenger joins here, a woods and forest man. he is full of interesting information about both lower and upper burmah, the mergui archipelago and natural history. we are lying one hundred yards off the shore. from the jungle comes the sound of burmese music. a pwé is being held--a theatrical entertainment given by someone to someone in particular, and to anyone else who likes to attend; generally, in the open air, they go on a whole moonlight night. th february.--almost afraid to get up--the last two days so full of beautiful scenes--positively fear a surfeit--sounds nonsense but it is true to the letter. cool and sunny in the morning, the river violet, and the sun faint yellow through wisps of rising mist. we are coming to a village on the bank, palms and trees behind it, and a white pagoda spire rising from them, and one in gold above the village. the cottage roofs are of shingle, buff-coloured and grey, with a silvery sheen. people are coming down the dried mud-bank and across the sand to meet us, red lacquered trays of fruit and vegetables on their heads, and some with their baggage on their heads--their clothes of most joyous colours-- "the world is so full of such beautiful things, i am sure we should all be as happy as kings." to quote robert louis stevenson, and so these cheery villagers, with their flowers and pretty garments, seem to think. here is one nation in the world that has attained peace if not happiness: that has preserved the happy belief of the druids and all primitive peoples, of the relationship of the inorganic to the organic, which scientists now accept and divines begin to consider. mr fielding hall[ ] said the other evening "their ideal is untenable in a world of strenuous endeavour and capitalism"--they, of course, do not believe in strenuous endeavour or capitalism, and laugh at "work for work's sake." but we have brought the great "law of necessity" to them, and they must come out of their untenable happiness and fall in line with the advance of civilisation, and give up flowers and silks and simple beauty and cultivate smoke stacks. our occupation of burmah really does these people good; witness the hospitals in rangoon, and the veil of soot from its factories! [ ] but see this author's latest book "the inward light"--a most exquisite description of what the burman believes is the teaching of buddha. within a hundred years i can see a few odd burmans going about with hair long and some little suggestion of the old times, a red silk tie perhaps, and a low collar. foolish fellows, with quaint ideas about simplicity of life, fraternity, and jollity, and old world ideals of beauty. they will be called artists, or bohemians, men without any firm belief in the doctrine of necessity, or of the beauty of work for work's sake; men who, when they get to heaven, will say, "first rate, for any sake don't spoil it--don't make it strenuous at any price!" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . we go ashore, the captain and i, and mr buchanan, the woods and forest man. the air is brisk and the sun hot--such a change from rangoon. we climb the clay steps and walk along the tiny village to the native (indian) store, to buy a famous headache medicine for g. it is the principal thing they sell. the owner of the store got the recipe from a british medico, and sells it now all over burmah, to the tune of , rupees profit per month--if i may believe my informant! burmese suffer a great deal from headaches; the sun is strong, and they don't wear hats. there were six native clerks occupied with the sale of this nostrum. i deposited my half rupee for six doses--i'd have taken a ton with hope some years ago. then mr b. showed us his teak logs tethered alongside the banks, waiting for high water to take them on their road south. some logs are said to take nine years to come down from the upper reaches to rangoon. then he rode away on a pretty white pony, first asking me to come and stay in the jungle with him, and don't i wish i could. you feel inclined to stop at henzada for ever, it is so picturesque and fresh, and the walks by the river under the high trees are very pretty, and there's no dustiness or towniness. i am sorry mr buchanan went; there's much to ask, about what he knew; of trees and beasts and people, or of the geology of these mountains that are beginning to appear to our left and right: to the west, the southern spine of the arrakan mountains, and to the east, the ranges of the shan highlands, which divide the irrawaddy valley from the valley of the salwin river.[ ] [ ] for short concentrated descriptions of burmah and shan states, _see_ holdich's "india." i ought to be painting these boats that pass--but there's breakfast-bell--boats my friends, with the colours of loch fyne skiffs, as to their sails and woodwork, a little deeper in colour, perhaps, and set off with brighter figures, with here and there a rose pink turban or white jacket. the hulls have a quaint dignity about them, and the carvings on their sterns are as rich as the woodwork in a belgian cathedral. prome.--the sandbanks withdraw, and the wooded ranges of blue hills show more firmly in the background. it is as if we were at the beginning of a very wide norwegian valley. fishermen's mat shelters break the monotony of some long sandbanks--isolated signs of life, each on its sharply-cast purple shadow; a naked boy and his sister run along the freshly broken edge of a sandbank, and wave to us. round, bend after bend, each a splendid delight to the eye--till two o'clock we look, and look, loath to leave the deck, though our eyes are sore and appetites keen--then lunch, watching the passing scenes--and prome. [illustration] looking out of our windows, to our left across the river, the scenery reminds me of loch suinnart or loch swene in argyll: there are knolly hills, with woodcock scrub, and terns, or sea-swallows, dipping in the current. to the right the shore is flat, then rises steeply to the road on the bundar, above which we see the tops of brown teak bungalows, set amongst rich green trees like planes, and beyond these again, stand grey stemmed teak trees, and over all, the deep blue sky, and the shwe sandaw pagoda spire glittering with gold, with lower spires of marble whiteness. pagoda spires are all along the river side every mile or two, but they do not bespeak a population; most of them are in ruins, they are simply built with sun-dried bricks, some are white-washed, others gilt, only the famous pagodas are ever repaired, for a burman obtains more evident merit by building a new one. to judge by their number, one might think there must be so many people that game could not abound, but this is not the case at all. we go ashore by the gangways (two broad planks) past indian coolies and burmese laden with bales and boxes slung from either end of bamboos balanced across their shoulders, through ramparts of bales and sacks piled on the sand and gravel shore. on either side of the path there are women sitting with snacks of burmese food to sell to travellers, sugar-cane, sweet cakes, cheroots, soda-water, and ngapi; this is a great burmese delicacy and has a peculiar smell! it is composed of pounded putrid fish--as unpleasant to us as a lively old stilton-cheese would be to a burman. up the bank some forty feet we find we are again in the track of the royal procession! there are tiny decorations going up amongst the trees. a triumphal arch, quite twenty feet high, is being covered with coloured paper and tinsel, and a line of flags and freshly cut palm leaves leads to the little siding on the line that goes to rangoon. the place is so pretty that you feel it is a pity that its natural features should be disturbed by ornament however well intentioned. we go to the pagoda and climb slowly up the steps, for they are high and steep, and at every flight there are exquisite views out over the jungle of trees, palms, and bamboo, and knolly "argyll hills," and looking up or down the stairs are more pictures; on both sides are double rows of red and gold pillars, supporting an elaborately panelled teak roof, with carvings in teak picked out with gold and colour. groups of people with sweet expressions, priests, men, women, and children pass up and down. on the platform there is heat and a feeling of great peace, the subdued chant of one or two people praying, the cluck of a hen, the fragrance of incense, and now and then the deep soft throb of one of the great bells, touched by a passing worshipper with the crown of a stag's horn. there are spaces of intense light, and cool shadows and shrines of glass mosaic, inside them buddhas in marble or bronze--the bronzes are beautiful pieces of _cire perdu_ castings--flowers droop before them, and candles are melting, their flame almost invisible in the sunlight, and two little children play with the guttering wax. [illustration] as we come down the stairs we meet khaki-clad indian soldiers, with high khaki turbans, and indecently thin shanks in blue putties. they do not fit their uniforms or boots, or the surroundings, and only the sergeants seem to feel their rifles less than a burden. they are told off to posts in the jungle at each stage of the ascent, and we feel our retreat is menaced, but it is only a rehearsal for the royal visit to-morrow. little prome is all agog! for the prince comes down the river and is to land here and train to rangoon. before we go aboard we walk through the marketplace by the side of the river; it is lit with a yellow sunset from over the river, the umbrellas stand out brown against the sky, and the burning tobacco of the girls white cheroots begins to show red, and the oranges have a very deep colour, the blue smoke hangs in level wisps in the warm dusty air--and you could lean up against the smell of the ngapi. it is in heaps, and of finest quality they say. here is a jotting from a sketch in colour; i made also one in line to immortalise the prome triumphal arch. [illustration] there are more than a dozen flags on it now, and you see two natives putting up two lamps; and the governor, you can imagine--he is training his pair of carriage ponies to stand this unusual display. they go up and down the mile of high road on the bundar in such a lather, one nearly out of its skin with excitement. what would be better than an arch, and would please every one, would be to collect all the burmese residents in the district in their best dresses, and allow them to group themselves as their artistic minds would suggest; their grouping and posing would be something to remember. burmese woman study movement from childhood, and nothing more beautiful could be conceived than their colour schemes; i've seen arrangement of colours to-day in dresses, delicate as harmonies in polar ice, and others rich and strong as the colours of a tropical sunset. but one line more about the town.--before the christian era, prome was within six miles east of being one of burmah's many ancient capitals; it marked the ancient boundary between ava and pegu, otherwise upper and lower burmah. it is seventy five miles above rangoon, and has , inhabitants, and has streets here, and a law court there, and an anglican church, so it is moving--one way or the other. chapter xxvii thayet myo, january th.--after leaving prome we have a good long wait here; we have the prince's mails on board. their royal highnesses are coming down river from mandalay, so we wait their steamer. as we lunch on deck we watch the villagers collecting, coming in bullock carts and canoes. the flotilla company have painted their steamer for the prince all white--given her a buff funnel, and she flies the royal standard with the quarterings wrong, as usual, and looks mighty big and fine as she surges south over the silky, mirror-like surface of the river. there is a blaze of sun, and three dug-out canoes, with men in pink and white, flying bannerets, go out to meet her. with their gay colours, the white steamer, and the gleam of brass-work, you have a subject for a picture after the style of van beers--if there was only time! i just make a modest grab at it with an inky pen. [illustration] burmans come streaming along the yellow sandy shore in rainbow tints, and two of our soldiers in khaki, almost invisible but for the boots and red necks, sweat along the loose sand with them. up the bank are seated groups of girls and women, quietly filling their souls with the joy of gazing at the white ship that contains the imperial ti. ... put in the night at minhla.--after dropping anchor, our new passengers, mrs jacobs and daughter, and their guests and ourselves sit round the deck-table and talk of the celebrations in rangoon, and we all turn in at ten, for we grudge an hour taken off these days of light. they got off at yenangyat further up the river, a place where there are oil springs and works. st.--we get up early these days, because the country is so beautiful, and because it is a little chilly out of the sun, and morning tub begins to have attractions again; it is so cold and exhilarating, and you feel fifty times more energetic up here than in rangoon; you feel you must not miss any of the river's features, so tumble out betimes. possibly the anchor coming up at daybreak awakened you, and if that did not, a dear little burmese boy's cock and hen must have done so; the cock sends out such clarion challenges to all the cocks ashore before daybreak. the boy in green silk kilt with touch of pink, holding his two white pets with their red combs, makes a most fetching piece of colour. we begin to think thicker clothing would not be amiss--but a quick walk on shore makes one's blood go merrily. we decided to come here again with some sort of a house on a keel of our own, and stop and shoot here and there, and paint; perhaps drift down river from bhamo through the defiles, with sport wherever one wanted it--four kinds of deer, elephant, jungle fowl, francolin, snipe, geese, duck, possibly leopard or tiger, and a few miles inland there are rhino and gaur--there's a choice!--and i'd have a net too--four weeks out, by "henderson" or "bibby," four here, and four back--i wonder if my presence could be spared at home. mimbu.--here are splendid trees, like those in watteau's pictures, on the top of the banks, their foliage drooping over cottages. these are very neatly built on teak-wood legs. you can see into some of them through the bamboo walls and floors, and see touches of rich colour in their brown interiors--ladies in emerald silk and powdered faces, jet black hair and white torch cheroot, and, perhaps, the goodman coming in, in green cloth jacket, pink round his hair, and say, a crushed strawberry _putsoe_ down to the middle of his sturdy brown calves. a number of burmese get off here. up the sandy bank are collected about fifty carts. the bullocks in them are finely bred, and are coloured like fallow deer, and look fat and well-cared for. the carts are sand-coloured and sun-bleached, with great thick wheels, and the contrast of the dainty passengers--women and children with neat packages--getting into these is very pleasant. the men busy themselves yoking the oxen; they are dressed in bright silks and cottons, several have m'pherson tartan _putsoes_. a mother lifts her butterfly-coloured children into the clean straw and gets in herself, and the eldest daughter, with white jacket and prettily-dressed hair, steps in demurely, tucks up her knees in her exquisite plum-coloured silk skirt, and away they go in dust and sun and jollity--verily, i do believe, that solomon in his very sunday best was not a patch to one of these daintly dressed figures.... i walk along the country road and have a glimpse of the white and gold of a pagoda, and a glimpse of the river through tree trunks in shadow, and wish the steamer's horn for recall would not sound for many days. st january.--past mimbu--sands wide and whitey-grey. there are white cirri on blue--sky and sand repeated on the river's surface. at the ends of the sand-spits are waders--oyster catchers i vow--one might be at arisaig in a splendid june instead of the irrawaddy in january.... long rafts of teak logs pass us occasionally, drifting slowly down with the current. the three or four oarsmen, when they see us, run about over the round logs and give a pull here and a pull there at long oars, and try to get the unwieldy length up and down stream; they wear only a waist cloth, and look so sun-bitten; there is but one tiny patch of shadow in the middle of their island under a lean-to cottage of matting, with a burgee on a tall bamboo flying over it. our wash sends their dug-out canoe bobbling alongside their raft, and splashes over and between the logs, and the raftsmen have to bustle to keep their herd together, and we pass, and they go and dream, of--well i don't know what; that's the worst of being only a visitor in a country--without the language, you can only guess what the people think by their expressions. we drop anchor off yenangyaung. there are sandy cliffs here, riddled with holes made by blue rock-pigeons (?)--more shooting going a-begging! and there is a bungalow on a sandy bluff, and picturesque native craft lie along the sandy shore, altogether rather a sandy place. the oil works don't show from the river very much[ ]. the jacobs' party get off here. mr jacobs manages this particular source of burmah's wealth. they go ashore in a smart white launch. [ ] crude oil production of burmah in -- million gallons, of which million came from yenangyaung. in the burmese oil fields yielded nearly million gallons, valued at the rate of gallons for a sovereign--del mar's "romantic east." there is the wreck of a river steamer on a sandbank off yenangyaung, its black ribs lie about like the bones of disintegrated whale; it is not pleasant to look at. she went on fire, and about burmans were drowned, and no one would save them, though there were many canoes and people within three hundred yards. a scotsman could only get one boat's crew to go off, and they saved the captain and others, the rest jumped overboard and were drowned. burmese are said to be good swimmers, but i have not so far seen a burman swim more than two or three strokes, though i see hundreds bathing every day. the chittagong indians who form our crew swim ashore with a line every time we tie up, and they are about the worst swimmers i have ever seen; they jump in on all fours and swim like dogs or cattle. in this case of the drowning people, the lookers on would say it was not their affair, just as they would, with the utmost politeness, if you chose to worship in a way different from them; a _reductio ad absurdum_, from the point of view of those in the water, of a very charming trait. the burman is naturally brave, but his philosophy is that of the christian socialist, it is not his creed to be heroic, or to take life, or thought for the morrow; and if a man smites him on the cheek, though he may not actually turn the other, he doesn't counter quick enough in our opinion--doesn't know our working creed--"twice blest is he whose cause is just, but three times blest whose blow's in first;" so we took his country--and make it pay by the sweat of our brows--poor devils. we are steaming now north by east, a very winding course, for the water is shallow though the river is wide. at high water season i'd think there must be too much water for appearance sake--it must feel too wide for a river and too narrow for the sea. we stop at another village. popa mountain detaches itself from surroundings, thirty or forty miles to the east; it is faint violet and rises from a slightly undulating wooded plain. it is a great place for game and nats. most powerful nats or spirits live there, and if you go shooting you get nothing, unless you offer some of your breakfast as a peace-offering to these spirits in the morning. this has been found to be true over and over again by those who have shot there. the day closes, the arrakan mountains far away in the west are violet. the river here is wide as a fine lake and so smooth it reflects the most delicate tints of cloud-land. in front of us a low promontory stretches out from the east bank; we have to spend the night there. it is heavily clad with trees, delicate pagoda spires, white and gold, rise from the dark foliage and gleam with warm sunset light against the cool grey sky in the north. trees and spires, sands, cliffs, cottages, and the canoes with bright-coloured paddlers, are all reflected in the smooth water. as we get within ten yards of the shore six of our chittagong crew plunge into the glittering water with a light rope, and are ashore in a minute and are hauling in our wire hawser; the setting sun striking their wet bodies, makes them almost like ruddy gold, and their black trousers cling to their legs. it seems an elementary way of taking a line ashore; i think that with a little practise two men in a dinghy would be quicker and would look more seamanlike--but probably it was the way in the ark, so the custom remains. the burmese villagers gather in groups and sit on the top of the bank in the growing dusk. we can just see a suggestion of their gay colours and the gleam of their cheroots. g. and i go ashore and stumble along a deep, sandy road; on either side are little and big trees with open cottages behind them, made of neatly woven bamboo matting, lit with oil crusies. we come to a pagoda, and tall white griffins at its entrance staring up into the sky, strange, grotesque beasts--the white-wash they are covered with looks violet in the fading light. at dinner, yarns on the fore-deck, big beetles humming out of the night against our lamp, and the captain telling us deep-sea yarns--how he signed articles as a cabin boy, and of the times before the annexation of upper burmah, when the white man skipper was of necessity something of a diplomatist and a soldier. some sailors can't spin yarns, but those who can--how well they do it! as we were at coffee there was a gurgling and groaning came from the people aft, so we took our cigars, and went to see the row, and order restored. there was a little crowd struggling and rolling in a ball, and it turned out there was a long sikh in the middle of it in grips with a diminutive chinaman, who might have been a wizened little old woman from his appearance. it was the big sikh who had done the horrible gurgling; the silly ass had joined in with several chinese, professional gamblers, and of course lost, and unlike a burman or a chinaman, the native of india can't lose stolidly. he vowed he'd been set on from behind, and had been robbed of fifty-four rupees. the captain assessed probable loss at two rupees, and the first officer took him down the companion to the lower deck, the sikh standing two feet higher than the little scot. later, the long black man went hunting the shrimp of a chinaman round the native part of the ship, and caught him again and asked the captain for justice, and looked at me as he spoke, which made me uncomfortable, for i could not understand, but guessed he expected the sahib to stick up for a sikh against any damn chinee. i would have liked to photograph the two--they were such a contrast as they sat on their heels beside each other, the wizened little expressionless, beady-eyed chinaman with his thread of a pigtail, and his arm in the grasp of the long sikh, with black beard and long hair wound untidily round his head. [illustration] nd january.--another very distinctive charm about this river is that the two sides are generally quite different in character. on one side this morning, the sun is rising over a wilderness of level sandbank, buff-coloured against the sun, over this there is a low range of distant mountains, with popa by itself, lonely and pink; and looking out on the other side from our cabin window we find we are steaming close under steep, sunny banks, overhung with luxuriant foliage. where there is a break in the bank we look up sandy corries that come down from hills, clad with park-like trees and scrub--the very place for deer! there are no inhabitants on the river side, though we pass every mile or two a ruined pagoda spire. passing pagan we see the tops of some of its nine hundred and ninety-nine pagodas. many of them are different in shape from the bell-shaped type we have seen so far. at breakfast we watch them as we pass. the flotilla company does not give an opportunity of landing to see these "fanes of pagan," which is very disappointing. so this ancient city, one of the world's, wonders, is seldom seen by europeans. there are nine miles of the ruined city; "as numerous as the pagodas of pagan" is, in burmah, a term for a number that cannot be counted. mrs ernest hart, in "picturesque burmah," describes them in a most interesting chapter. the authorities on indian architecture, fergusson, colonel yule, and marco polo, all agree that they are of the wonders of the world. mrs hart compares them in their historical interest to the pyramids, and in their architecture to the cathedrals of the middle ages. she says of gaudapalin temple, which is the first temple seen on approaching pagan, that the central spire, which is feet, recalls milan cathedral. it was built about the year a.d. colonel yule says that in these temples "there is an actual sublimity of architectural effect which excites wonder, almost awe, and takes hold of the imagination." mr fergusson is inclined to think this form of fane was derived from babylonia, and probably reached burmah, via thibet, by some route now unknown. they have pointed arches to roof passages and halls, and to span doorways and porticoes; and as no buddhist arch is known in india, except in the reign of akbar, and hardly an arch in any hindoo temple, this disposes of the idea that the burmese of the eleventh and twelfth centuries derived their architecture from india. there are besides temples and fanes, many solid bell-shaped pagodas of the shwey dagon type. the ananda temple is the oldest. it is built in the form of a greek cross, the outer corridors are a hundred feet. the interior, from descriptions i've read, must be splendidly effective and impressive. we stop at oil works, yenangyat. the people come on and off in boat loads of bright colours, and women come and sit on the sand beside the ship. each woman has an assortment of lacquered ware, orange and red, delicately patterned cylindrical boxes, with neatly fitting trays and lids, and bowls, trays, and priests' luncheon baskets--large bowls with trays and smaller bowls inside each other, rising to a point with a cup over the top. this ware is made of finely woven cane, and some of woven horse-hair, alternately coated with a tree varnish, ash, and clay, polished in laths and covered with faintly raised designs and colours between, and brought to a polished surface. the best is so elastic that one side of a tumbler or box can be pressed to meet the other without cracking the colour inlay. they seem to cost a good deal, but when you examine them, the intricacies of the designs of figures and foliage account for the price. the groups of sellers on the shore were interesting, but there was altogether loo much orange vermilion for my particular taste--a little of that colour goes far, in nature or art. the women wore rose red tamiens or skirts, and these, plus the red lacquer work and reddish sand, made an effect as hot as if you had swallowed a chili! after pagan, the traveller may snatch a rest for wearied eyes. the sandbanks and distance are so level that the views are less interesting than they were below, but, after all, appearances depend so much on the weather effect. to-day, sky, water, and sand are so alike in colour, that the effect is almost monotonous. at the next village every one seemed jolly and busy, men and women humping parcels, sacks, and boxes ashore, up the soft, hot sands into bullock-carts. now, after our lunch and their day's work, the men are coming down the banks to bathe--social, cheery fellows, they all go in together, wading with nothing on but their kilts tucked round their hips, showing the tattooed designs, that all grown burmans have over their thighs. they give a plunge or two, and soap down, and gleam like copper. then they put on the dry kilt they have taken out with them, slipping it on as they came out, modestly and neatly. the women pass close by and exchange the day's news, and walk in with their skirts on too, and also change into their dry garments as they come out with equal propriety. no towelling is needed, for the air is so hot and still--but the water is pretty cold--i know! another entertainment we have at lunch; on a sandbank a little to our right, a long net; some fathoms, is being drawn ashore, and people in canoes are splashing the water outside and at the ends to keep in the fish. there must be twenty men, boys, and women, working at it; beyond them, there is a rolling distance of woodland, and with solitary popa in the distance--this mountain begins to grow on one, it is so constantly the view from so many places. two new passengers, a captain in r. a., i think, and his wife, came on board here--came riding out of the greenery and along the shore on two pretty arabs, through the bustling crowd of burmans and natives. he tells me he got with another gun, couple of snipe yesterday, which is a little unsettling for me. however, my gun is in rangoon, and i will leave it there, and hang on to my pencil! i find our fellow passenger, who is somewhat deaf, is an artist, studied in paris, and draws little character figures in most excellent style; so he and g. and i draw all day! one encourages the other. [illustration] at myingyan we tie up for the night, and we all go ashore together, that is, captain terndrup, g., and i and the artist and his friend and walk on the flat on the top of the sandy banks, and here is the view down the river from where we landed, a yellow and violet sunset. bullock carts go slowly creaking past us; the dust they raise hangs in yellow clouds in the sunset light. there are crops here, a little like potatoes, which suggest partridges. i am told there are quail; some day i must come back to see for myself.[ ] there are deer about, for two heads came on board, like our red deer, but with only a brow antler, and a well-curved single switch above that--some fellow sending them to be set up for home? i begin to feel awfully sorry i did not bring up gun and rifles and fishing tackle, especially as there's any amount of space on board for stowing luggage. [ ] since return have seen messrs colonel pollock and thorn's book on sport in burmah, upper and lower, and wish i had read it before going out. th january.--the air gets more and more exhilarating as we get north,--there's a strathspey in the air now in the morning when you waken; but what poor rags we felt only a few days ago down at rangoon! it is said that men in the woods and forests with fever come from the jungle to the river, get on board a flotilla steamer, and recover immediately. this is our last day's journey on this boat, but we are to stay on board her to-night at mandalay, and perhaps to-morrow night, till we get on board the upper river cargo boat, which is slightly smaller than this mail boat. the cargo boats go slower than the mails, for they stop oftener, and tow _two_ flats or barges, one on each side. after mandalay, bhamo will be our objective; it is the most northerly british cantonment in burmah, and is near the chinese frontier. all the way there trade is carried on at the stopping places between the traders' booths on the flats and the riverside villagers. we expect to find this trade mightily interesting, as we shall see men and women of the wild mountain tribes. i hope to see the shan sword-makers particularly; they make splendid blades by the light of the moon, for secrecy, i am told, like ferrara, and also because they can then see the fluctuating colour of the tempering better than in daylight--and perhaps because it is cooler at night! chapter xxviii seven hundred and eight miles we have come to-day from the sea, a regular argo trip, yet we are far from wearied, and, allowed a day to stop here and there, would willingly proceed in the same manner to the arctic circle. the farther we go, the more are we impressed with the apparent wealth of this country; the soil is fertile to a degree, the climate is better than egypt; there's coal, oil, minerals, precious stones, gold, marble, alabaster, and such a magnificent waterway. had i a hundred years to live i'd scrape capital together to put into this recently "acquired" land; as it is perhaps it would be cheaper and better to stay here now, and learn burmese philosophy, and make capital out of the flowers that blow. ... that settles the matter--i get my gun sent up from rangoon, or go down for it myself--over splendid geese along a sandbank! within yards! i could count their feathers with my glass. the captain tells me you just need to drift down in a native canoe and make a bag with ease. rather a shame, you say; for the burmans are not supposed to take life, so the geese are not afraid of a dug-out canoe. but a burman is delighted to eat what others kill, and besides, i have been so often outwitted by geese at home, that i'd just like to have one chance, to retrieve past misfortunes. between mandalay and bhamo, the captain says, they are even more numerous than here. beyond bhamo, he describes the river water as so clear you can count the pebbles thirty feet below its surface, and describes the whacking big mahseer, the gold dredging, and the game alongside--peacocks--leopards--buffaloes! as we were talking, the rock pilot came alongside in a launch and handed aboard a bunch of geese, the same as those we had seen;[ ] he is out of shot and powder, and i believe we have no cartridges on board. the geese weighed five and a half pounds each, but they put on some three pounds before the end of the season, before they go north, possibly to some lake in the himilayas or western china, to breed. [ ] barhead and grey lag geese are the two kinds commonly seen. at saigang we fairly draw a breath with astonishment at the beauty of the panorama that opens before us. the river widens to two miles, and comes to us in a grand curve from the north and east. mandalay is at the bend, some nine miles up. it is like a beautiful lake edged with a thread of sand--a lake that turner might have dreamed of. above saigang on our left are green woods, capped with white and gold minarets, with white stairs and terraces leading up to them. to the north one or two canoes, with bright sails, and distant mountains with purple corries, and fleecy clouds, are mirrored on the tranquil river: these distant hills are of very delicate warm violet tints, on their shoulders we can just make out the forms of forests, and heavy white cumuli hang above them in a hazy blue. the white saigang pagodas on our left in the distance look like scottish-baronial or french chateaux, embowered in foliage. across the swelling river ("swelling" is the right word, i am sure, for the river's surface _seems_ to be convex) and to our right the country is flat, and in the green woods are the overgrown ruins of the once splendid city of ava. certainly, of my most pleasant recollections, this wide landscape, and all its light tints of mother-of-pearl, will remain one of the most delightful. mandalay is at the upper end of this lake-like part of the irrawaddy; it lies back and behind the river bank or _bunda_, so it is not visible from the river. our steamer pulls up against a flat that lies against the sandy shore, exposed, at this time of year, by the lowness of the river. there are no wharfs as i had expected, only two or three floating sheds, and two or three steamers like our own. the sandy shore slopes up some thirty feet to the bundar, and over that we see palms and trees. up and along the sandy shore we drove in a gharry, a man on either side to prevent it upsetting in the ruts, and if it had not been for the honour of the thing i would as soon have walked! on the top of the bundar we struck a macadamised road and rattled gaily along to see the town. it is almost pure burmah here, and the native of india is beautifully scarce; but chinese abound, and are uncommonly nice-looking people. we drive a mile or so with rather dingy teak and matting houses on trestle legs on either side of the road, overhung with palms and trees, and see the domestic arrangements through open verandahs--women and children winding yellow silk in skeins and cooking, the vivid colours of the silks in sudden contrast to the sombre dusty red and brown wood of the houses. we stop at a wooden building with gilded pillars in a clear space of dry foot-trodden mud, surrounded with tall palms and some teak trees with grey-green leaves big as plates. the short lower wooden pillars support a gallery, and this again has other gilded pillars supporting one roof above another in most fantastic complication; green glass balustrades and seven-roofed spires wrought with marvellous intricacies of gilded teak-wood carving. indian red underlies the gilding, and the weather has left some parts gold and some half gold and red, and other bits weather-worn silvery teak. the pillars and doors from the gallery into the interior shrines were all gold of varying colours of weather stain. shaven priests, with cotton robes of many shades of orange, draped like roman senators, moved about quietly; they had just stopped teaching a class of boys to read from long papyrus leaves--the boys were still there, and seemed to have half possession of the place. overhead green paroquets screamed, flying to and fro between carved teak foliage and the green palm tops. the interior of the building was all gilded wood--a marvel of carpentry; there were lofty golden teak tree pillars and gilded door panels with gilded figures in relief, and yellow buff cane mats on the floor. light only came in through doorways and chinks in the woodwork in long shafts, but such light! golden afternoon sun into a temple of gold, you can imagine the effect when it struck gilding--how it flamed, burned, and lit up remote corners of the shadowy interior with subdued yellows! as we looked in, a kneeling priest near us waved to us to enter, and went on with his devotions, his old wrinkled, kindly, brown face and neck and close cropped head, and deep orange drapery all in half tone against a placque of vivid lemon yellow gold in sunlight. these priests, or phungyis, in their old gold cotton robes form one of the most distinctive features of burmese life in town and country. they are greatly respected by the people for their simplicity of life. they teach all the boys in the country reading, writing, and simple arithmetic, and how to try to follow the example of the life of their great gautama. theoretically they do this for love alone, or to "earn merit." what alms they receive is not in payment--gifts are accepted but not asked for. the people do not pay taxes for their clergy, nor do these literally free kirk ministers perambulate the country, and ask children for their saturday pennies for a sustentation fund. one of the most interesting sights here is to see their young novitiate priests in the morning going round the bazaars and the boats and the stalls on the strand in their yellow robes, bowl in hand, silently waiting for a dole of boiled rice or fruit, and passing on if it is not quite ready, to come another day. all burmese men are priests for a certain time, even though it be but for a few months; for that time they must wear the simple yellow dress and renounce all worldly desires[ ]. so it was in the earliest scottish church; the culdee clergy were teachers as well as preachers, and taught arts and crafts as well as their faith. [ ] for exhaustive and interesting accounts of life and education in the monastery, _see_ "picturesque burmah," by mrs ernest hart. the observances of the phungyis are almost austere, but the teaching that gautama buddha passed to the laity was less so. the burman says, "life is a vale of tears, so be happy as possible and make others happy and you will be good"--the religion of the actor and the artist--the rose and to-morrow fade, and "loves sweet manuscript must close," but do what you may, as beautifully as you can--be it a pastel or a matinée. this monastery is called the queen's golden kyoung; it was erected by thebaw's queen, supayalat, in the early eighties--and now king thebaw and his queen are in durance near bombay. though it was getting late we drove on to another place, the arrakan pagoda. we had heard of it pretty much as a burman coming to europe might hear of a place called st peter's. it was a long, fatiguing, jolting drive in the rattling gharry, fatiguing physically and mentally, for along both sides of the road were such interesting things, chinese cafés lighting up, huge paper lanterns outside, and stalls of every kind, makers of golden umbrellas and burmese harness-makers, almost every stall showing some pretty colour and rembrandtesque lamplight effect. the entrance was like that of other pagodas, two white griffins looking up at the sky, with busy modern life at their feet. there was a long approach of shallow steps between double rows of red pillars with much wood-carving overhead, and panels of poor fresco; but it was rather dark to see details, and the stall-holders from either side were departing, and we could see little but the flare of these ladies cheroots. as we got up towards the centre of the temple, a light or two appeared, and worshippers came in from the shadowy outside. as the candle light increased it showed that we were under gilded italian renaissance arches, and in the centre, where the four arcades met, were lofty elaborate ornate iron gates round a centre of great light. before the gates were curious umbrellas of pink and white silk, and pendant chrystals and ornate vases of china and lacquer with peacocks feathers in them; and a golden chest and huge silver bowl (full of flower-petals) were in shadow to one side. more and more candles and hanging glass lamps from green-coloured beams were lit, and gradually worshippers collected and knelt before the great gates facing the strong light with the blue evening shadows behind them. they brought with them strange tokens in shapes like marriage cakes but in brilliant colours, gold, emerald, pink, and vermilion; these they placed on the pavement in front of them. there were dark-robed people, men and women from somewhere towards china, some of them old and tottering, and chinese, burmese, shans, kachins, karens, and people of asia that i could not place, all kneeling, sitting, and bowing in the warm glow of light that comes from the great golden buddha behind the gates. amongst them were golden and red lacquered boxes and bowls and a mélée of effects and things, that suggested a curiosity shop, yet withal a _bigness_ in the golden arches and a simplicity of worship that was simply grand. ghost of rembrandt!--could you have but seen this and depicted it in your most reverend and inspired moment! or rubens--he would have caught the grandeur of effect, but would he also have caught the meekness and the piety of the old women's and men's faces. there was a dog and a chinese boy beside the peacock feathers, in a blue silk shirt and trousers edged with black; a burmese woman sweeping; two little brown half naked children--a boy and girl playing on the stone pavement with the guttering wax of candles at the side of the arches; and the kneeling youths and seniors bowing and repeating their sonorous prayers, all within a few yards of each other, without one disturbing or apparently distracting the other. only i felt out of place, a long standing western figure from the western world in topee and flannels with a sketch book, scribbling: but a boy kindly held half of some worshipper's candle to light my sketch book; priests in yellow robes stood behind looking on, and made no remark. [illustration] i fear an occidental must look uncouth in such an oriental setting; you feel you ought at least not to stand up in a place like that; i mean for æsthetic reasons--you overbalance the composition. how great and unexpected was the change from the morning on the river in the sun and clear air to the evening and the glow of lamps and colour and the chanted, prayers in this centre of buddhism, the mecca of this far east! we came out and caught a tram-car home, _i.e._ to the "java"--an electric car made in london--ye gods--the short circuit of ideas! th january.--this morning i have to try to paint the groups in the arrakan pagoda, but in the bright daylight it is difficult to take one's attention from these phrynes, who come down to bathe beside our steamer--phrynes, as to figure i mean. one of the two nearest has a little white jacket and a tight hunting green cloth skirt and black velvet sandals; her movements are deliberate, almost languid, and she is fairly tall, very well proportioned, and when her white jacket comes off, the colour of her shoulders is very pretty in contrast to the jet black hair and undergarment of blue. this garment, with its white band tight across her bust, remains on when the green kirtle drops to her feet. her friend is dressed in the same way in different colours. they walk in and swim a few strokes--if you may call it swimming--with other women already in the water. then they wash themselves very carefully with soap, and when the first comes out in her blue tight garment, she slips the green kirtle over her head and the blue dress drops off underneath it. there is no drying--the sun does that, and they are hardy. a yard or two on this side of them, two men tuck their waist clothes round their hips and go in with their oxen; both the yellowy-brown men and the oxen seem to enjoy it, and come out with the sun in high lights on their tautened muscles. immediately at hand a native (indian) woman, a madrassee, with her brass chatty, wades into the water all standing--dirty white canopies and all--and futilely washes, without soap, and rubs her teeth with a finger, spits and makes ugly noises and faces, looking now and then critically at the burmese women farther up the bank, as if she would fain copy their more graceful ways and movements. then she polishes her brass chatty religiously with mud, and fills it with water where she has been dabbling, and goes ashore and up the sand, a bedraggled-looking creature, and conceited at that! next comes a burmese mother and her two young daughters, their bathing dress a smile and a christmas orchid in the hair. the eldest is a thing of beauty, with lines to delight a phidias. alas! why must we hide all beauty of form except that of animals--hide fearfully god's image? men, women, and children here all seem fit and fairly well shaped; you rarely see a deformity, except at show places such as the big temples. it would be the same with us were we to pay more attention to form, and proportion, than to dress. i intended to paint at the arrakan pagoda to-day, but a pleasant looking man came on board with a chitsaya harp; i had to try and make a jotting of him. g. and captain turndrup brought him. he sat and played tunes for hours--epic tunes, which i'd have given anything to remember. his boat-shaped harp of thirteen strings was tuned in minor thirds, so you could readily pick out celtic tunes on it. i am told sir arthur sullivan came here and listened to his music and made many notes. the harp belonged to prince dabai, thebaw's step-brother, and i confess i bought it; but i will restore it if it is required for any national burmese museum or palace. whilst i painted him, the phungyi boys in yellow robes came along the shore to collect food from the people on the river boats alongside the sand, and from one or two stalls on the shore. they stood silently with the big black lacquer bowls in their arms against their waists, looking humbly down, and a stall holder placed large handfuls of the rice she was cooking into a bowl. then the close-cropped bare-headed lad came to the fifty foot dug-out canoe beside us, but the food there was only being cooked so he moved on without a word. [illustration: a burmese harpist] half an hour's gharry to the pagoda, an hour there sketching and trying to remember things, and half an hour's rattle back in the dark, wound up my day's study. [illustration] the mandalay gharry, a "dog kennel on wheels," is a frightfully ramshackle thing; doesn't the very name suggest a rickety, rattling sort of a machine? they are of hard wood, loosely built, with wooden seats, iron tyres, loose wooden blinds, and springs of iron--i doubt if there are any! and it is hauled by a tiny burmese pony, licked by a native of india. ... th.--a faint mist lifting off the shore. the sun is hardly risen, but already the bullock carts with heavy wooden wheels are squeaking and groaning along the sand. there is just enough mercantile life to be comprehensible and picturesque; some four or five irrawaddy flotilla steamers are fast to the bank, and between them are some sixty native canoes with round mat houses on them. the cargoes of the steamers are piled on the sand in bales, so you see the whole process of its being discharged and loaded on the carts and taken away. as the sun rises the dust does the same, and so do the voices of the people, old and young, and the geese and the children join in, but the babel is not unpleasant, it is not too loud; there are pleasant low notes and laughter all the time. the general tone of the voices is not unlike that of a french crowd in good humour. we have received a kind invitation to go and stay with people on shore, but we resisted the temptation for the meantime. for here on the "java," we see such interesting scenes; and our up-river boat ought to be here immediately, and to shift our belongings along the shore some thirty yards on to her, will be much less trouble than flitting to our friends' bungalow; so we go on drawing here. the phryne in hunting green is down again, languorously dropping her green kirtle. it has an orange vermilion band round the top that clips the green above her breast. she isn't a swell swimmer; all the women do in that way is with their hands and they raise their heels out of the water, and smack down their shins and toes together and just get along, this possibly on account of the tightness of the lungye or tamien. the men have various strokes, mostly sort of dog strokes, and get along but slowly. i have not seen either a man or woman dive. we have gone up the bank now a few yards to the cargo boat and installed ourselves in it with our luggage--a very easy "flitting"--and we find the cargo steamer just as perfectly comfortable as the mail boat we have left--cabins, mess table, promenade on the upper deck in the bows. there are curtains round the bows to drop if there is too much draught, and thick handsome carpets on deck. to compare price, comfort, and beauty of scenery with a nile trip would be hard luck on old nile and its steamers. i should say this is a third cheaper and six times more comfortable, and many times more interesting. with regard to mosquitoes there are more at this present moment of writing than i have had the misfortune of meeting elsewhere, but it isn't so all the road. i still think, however, that those mosquitoes of the bassein creek are incomparable. we (that is merely "i" this time) went to-day with a very european party of mandalay residents up and across the river to mingun in a sort of large picnic on a government launch. we went to see the second biggest bell in the world and a pagoda that would have been one of the biggest buildings, if it had ever been finished! both are great _draws_, and neither is of any account. the view of the winding river from the top of the ruins of the pagoda is certainly exquisite, and for ever to be remembered. but it's a pretty stiff climb to get there, and you should let your enemy go behind, for the loose bricks sometimes go down through the shrubs like bolting rabbits. the trees too are splendid, and the distant ruby mountains are very exquisite, but as for dancing on a government boat's deck, and tea and small talk--such things may be had at home, and brass bands too--_mo thruaigh_! the big bell weighs about ninety tons; it is hung on modern girders, far enough off the ground to let you crawl inside, and it has a poor tone. the diameter of the lip is sixteen feet. the masonry, otherwise the base for the proposed pagoda, contains , , cubic feet, is feet high and feet square, and is cracked through the middle and tumbling to pieces owing, some say, to an earthquake and thunderbolts--i think from bad building and the natural inclination of loose bricks to find their angle of repose. to-night we gharried to the grahams to dinner, over the ups and downs and deep sand and ruts of the shore, over cables and round timber heads and teak logs till we got to the hard, a man on each side holding up the conveyance, and two men with lanterns. [illustration] there were splendid roses on the dinner-table and strawberries down from the shan highlands, as fine as any i have seen. then after dinner we saw collections of the most recherché burmese and chinese art, in which mr graham evidently has a very critical taste. there was exquisite silver work and brass, gold, and amber carvings, dahs or swords in silver and velvet sheaths with ivory handles, long shaped books of papyrus with the heavy black print on lacquered gilded leaves, and buddhas in gold and marble, and a little chinese box carved in root amber, which i coveted--it suggested a picture by monticelli--besides wonders of burmese carvings in wood and ivory: then music, and good voices, and the piano sounding so well in the large teak drawing-room--and home again, rattling in the gharry over the hard macadam and the soft ups and downs and ruts along the sand, as here depicted in black and white, to our new quarters on the shores of mandalay where the big mosquitoes play and sing us to sleep--"only a temporary plague," they say here, and we hope so! g. invented a plan of slaying them. when you are under the net, you can't bang them against the swaying muslin--this plan obviated that difficulty, and is effective, only it needs a candle and matches inside the net, and might, at any moment, set the ship and mandalay in a blaze: i mentioned this dire possibility, and g. said she would not do it if i were not near! [illustration] th, friday.--still aboard the s.s. "mandalay," turned out bright and early--a delicious morning, dew lying on the short grass above the shore. went to the bazaar with my native boy--wish i had a burmese servant, as neither of us can speak a word of burmese. i'd advise any tourist to try and get a burmese servant for guide and councillor. it is horrid being tongue-tied amongst such kindly-looking people. there does not seem to be much love lost between the burmans and the natives of india, and i think the foolish indian natives actually fancy themselves superior! i have never seen, no, not in india, so much paintable "stuff" in so small a space. the stalls were sheltered by tall umbrellas made of sun-bleached sacks, over them the blue sky, and under them masses of colour in light and shade, heaps of oranges, green bananas, red chillies, and the girls and women sitting selling them, puffing blue smoke from white cheroots big as roman candles, or moving about from shade to light like the brightest of flowers, no hurry, no bustle; a chatter of happy voices, nothing raucous in sound or colour, and all the faces good and kind to look at, except when a foxy indian came across the scene. there is also near this open-air bazaar an immense market under cover. the light is not so picturesque in it, but the women are of a better class. there's much colour at the stalls where they sell silks, and talk to the passer-by, and brush their black hair, and powder their faces between times. if you could talk to them it would be fun, for they are as jolly and witty as can be. i understand burmese girls of almost all families keep stalls at the bazaars when they "come out," which accounts for the burmese women's great intelligence in business affairs. then to the arrakan pagoda, and felt inclined to stay all day listening to the sonorous recitations of the kneeling people. back in a tram-car, an excellent place to sketch faces, your topee over your eyes, and sketch book behind a newspaper--no one knows you are drawing. the following tram-car notes are of burmese faces, except the face behind, with a look of cankered care on it; he is some kind of an indian. after lunch to the palace--a longish drive inland from the river. thebaw not at home, and supayalat out too, so we called on the britishers, resting on long deck chairs in the golden rooms now used as a club. what a rude contrast western chairs and tables and newspapers were to the surroundings! i believe lord curzon has arranged that this æsthetic immorality shall be put right, and a proper place appointed for the club, and divine service. [illustration] i'd like to have been here at the looting of this particular palace, you hear such fascinating descriptions of thebaw's barrels of jewels--emeralds and rubies to be had by the handful. how angry the soldier man is when you speak of it. he will explain to you, with the deepest feeling, that military men were put on their parole not to bag anything, and they did not; but the men in the civils came on ponies, and went away with carts. the palace grounds are surrounded by four crenellated walls, each a mile long; each wall has three seven-roofed gates in it, and each gate has a bridge across the wide moat. the palace rooms are nearly splendid; they are supported on many teak pillars, low at the sides of the rooms, and up to sixty feet in the middle. these are all gilt, and show "architectural refinements," for the teak trees they are made of are not absolutely straight, and they have an entasis that is quite natural where they taper away into the golden gloom of the sloping timber roofs. the rooms are lofty, and all on one floor, because the burmese do not like to live in rooms with people above. there are infinite intricacies of gilded teak carving, and some rooms glitter like herring shoals with silvery glass mosaics and mirrors and crystals. how delightful it must have been to see these courts, and gardens, and palaces, and throne-rooms in their full brilliancy before our "occupation," but i suppose one would have had to crawl on all fours or lose one's head at the nod of supayalat. she and thebaw and their parents were very much in-bred, and, though she was otherwise particularly charming, she had a strongly-developed homicidal mania. however, the people wept when they saw their king and queen being so unexpectedly hurried away in a gharry to go "doon the water" in denny's steamer, in november . they had far more fun, they say, before we came; a rupee went farther, and so on; and i quite believe it--we did not grab the country to amuse them! th.--painted till from in half-hearted way. to the grahams, then to the arrakan pagoda again, too tired and mosquito-bitten to do much after getting there--a nostalgia of colour these last few days--but saw the golden buddha. the florid iron gates were open, and an immense light shone on the seated and kneeling worshippers in front. it is the most effective scene in the world for the amount of staging. a glare of golden light from unseen lamps--electric, i believe--gleams all over the calm golden figure. it is raised so that the arch in front just allows you to see up to the top of the statue; it is over twelve feet high, and the base is about six feet off the ground. i must come back; on this journey i have already seen so much on the way here--some day i will come out direct and paint this one scene, and perhaps one or two in the shwey dagon pagoda--"if i'm spaired," as they say in the lowlands, instead of knocking under the table. ... on board to-night; burmans and natives are making up their booths and stalls on the flats alongside, and on the after-decks of this boat, so there is a good deal of hammering during dinner-time. afterwards we sit round the table on the fore-deck and tolerate the mosquitoes, and tell yarns, and i turn in with a picture in my mind, from a story of the captain's, of an east african coast, and a tramp steamer on a bar, the surf coming over her stern, and the shore lined with drunk niggers, and green boxes of square-faced dutch gin--at four shillings and sixpence the dozen, box included. chapter xxix "away to bhamo, then fare ye well you mandalay girl we're away---- to the bhamo strand." _new verse to old chantie_. [illustration] sunday, th.--the steamer blows a second time, and the friends and relations of our traders, sisters, cousins, and aunts get ashore across the flat or barge alongside, and the crowd of gharries, ox-carts, and fruit and food sellers begins to disperse up the sandbank. i see the tall beauty in green kirtle get a friend to raise her flat basket of oranges on plaintain leaves on to her head, a slow elegant movement she may have learned in dancing. here, when the women dance, there is little movement of the feet, but the angular movements of the body, arms, and hands and fingers are very subtle and studied, and are done very slowly; they have time!--in fact, they have to look forward to so many re-incarnations before they even become men, that they must feel entirely superior to time! we had a quieter night, leastwise quieter than we expected. a child cried, and a burman built his booth a little aft of our cabin, with box lids and french nails, and the hammering went on till about two. then all was quiet, and traders and passengers and their families were asleep, stretched round the deck aft of our portion--burmans, phunghis, shans, karens, chinese, sikhs, wrapped in various coloured sheets, in lines fore and aft and from side to side, dimly lit from above by lamps--the same in the two decks of the flat which we are to take up the river with us alongside. these cargo steamers usually take up two flats,[ ] one on each side, and the amount of trade done on these each voyage up and down, i am told, is considerable, and must annually give great profit to the countries whose goods we carry; two-thirds of these goods are continental--german, swiss, austrian, italian, and some are japanese. the deduction to be drawn from this will be equally clear to protectionist or free trader. [ ] i am told this steamer is feet, beam , flats , beam , and the mail steamer was , beam . we made a false start; the mail steamer from the south we had been waiting for appeared just as we had cleared off the shore. she had been delayed by fog, so we anchored for an hour or so to tranship the mails and burmese passengers. meantime i took a spell of painting, then krishna and i hunted up a bamboo, got out snake-rings, fishing book, and reel, and had a rod fixed up in no time. what with gun, cartridges,[ ] and painting things, my cabin looks quite interesting--to my mind. we have but one other passenger, so we may utilise two cabins, one as sleeping-room, the other as sitting-room, gun-room, and studio combined. as such it might be even bigger with advantage, but for situation it would be impossible to beat--for changing views from the window or swirling tide and passing boats with people in them, like bunches of flowers flaring in the sun, and then all soft and delicate as they float past in our shadow. the priests in these boats, with their yellow robes and round palm leaf fans have a decorative effect of repetition, and we are told these fans keep their thoughts from wandering from righteousness to pretty girls. palm leaves, robes, and their bare right shoulders and arms are all in harmonious browns and yellows; the water is bluish mother-of-pearl. the men row their boats as all southerners do, italians, and the rest, standing and backing them like gondolas; only the burman uses two oars. [ ] telegraphed to cook, rangoon, who sent them to mandalay by train. but to the fishing rod and line; we started with bait and did underhand casting from lower deck up and down the ship's side. the rod was excellent, a split new cane, if not exactly the "hardy split," and it did not lie wholly between two points--it meandered a little, but i've got salmon on worse. we got nothing, and yet i saw a burman in a dug-out log, with a no whit better rod, pull up a beauty like a sea trout of two pounds, as he drifted past; so next stopping place i hope you will hear of fish "grassed" or "creeled," as they say in the papers. we pass mingun, half-an-hour up the river from mandalay. i've mentioned this place before and its bell. the bell is big, so the traveller is expected to make every effort to see it. to me, the size of a bell is not very interesting, and one heap of stone (pyramids included) seems as interesting as another. it's the design that counts. the flotilla steamer does not always stop at mingun; we went steaming past it on our left. the reflections of the trees and ruin in the smoothly running stream were crossed by rippling bands of lavender, where a breeze touched the water: and sea swallows poised and dipped, screaming and flashing after each other. on the far side of the river were level white sands, green sward, and distant blue mountains. [illustration] there's a pleasant sense of swelling fullness about the river; it may be an optical delusion, but i am inclined to believe it is a fact that the surface is slightly convex, like an old-fashioned mirror, perhaps an inch or two higher in the middle than at the sides. there is not much depth to spare, already we have touched bottom. it was a curious and almost incredible statement made to me that we draw four and a half feet, and can go over sand bars only covered four feet. it is true, however; the steamer after touching is backed astern a yard or two, and when her own following swell comes up to her, she goes ahead over the bar, on the swell. at lunch we pass a great number of geese on the edge of a sandbank--our table is right in the bows, and we have a clear view of the banks on either side as we go along, even at meal times we have the field-glasses handy to pry into the scenes of animal life on river side--the captain, who generally has his gun handy, said, "yes, certainly we must have a shot at them," and for a moment i hoped he would drop anchor, and that we would go off in a boat and stalk them, but i gathered sadly the "shot" was to be underway at yards--and i'd rather not--another lost opportunity! now we pass a regular regiment of birds i do not know--cranes, i think--some four feet high, the colour of oyster catchers, long red bills and legs, and black and white plumage. the irrawaddy valley is here a little like the valley of the forth. there is a centre hill for a wallace monument, and the distant hills are like those in perthshire, but both the valley and the river are wider; and the delicious summery sun and air are too ideal--we only had such summer weather when we were children. painted all afternoon, passing scenes. g. did a broad daylight effect of blue sky and distance, and the blue ruby mountains and flecks of white cumuli and calm water, an effect in much too high a key for me to attempt; and i did a punghis' bathing pool, in lower tones, a more getatable effect for my brush.... we have to drop anchor at sunset in mid-stream, somewhere below kyonkmyoung, to wait for the mail, and because we have no searchlight we cannot go on at night. the mountains are closer now, and towards evening they are reflected in voilet and rose in the wide river. ... the lights go on, and i assure you our open air saloon, with its table set for dinner with silver, white waxy champak flowers, and white roses in silver bowls are delightful against the blue night outside. the scent of the champak would be too heavy, but for a pleasant air from up-stream, which we hope will help to clear out the piratical longshore crew of mandalay mosquitoes which we brought with us. we are only a few miles short of our proper destination for the night, but no matter, _we_ are not in a hurry; the burmans up-stream, waiting for their market, are not either, they will just have to camp out for the night. [illustration: mid-day on the irrawaddy, distant ruby mountains] before bedtime, g. and i and miss blunt, the only other passenger, go round the booths and make small purchases, and try to make ourselves understood by the jolly burmese shopkeepers: the indian shopkeepers speak english. a little later the family groups go to sleep in their stalls, their merchandise round them. a father and mother and child i saw, in pretty colours under a lamp, curled up in the space a european could barely sit on. and near our cabins there is a couple asleep on the deck, a dainty burmese woman, her figure so neat, with narrow waist and rounded hip, and her hand and cheek on a dainty pillow, her husband lies opposite, and between them, also asleep, on the deck their mite of a child. almost touching them is a priest still sitting up, his thoughts his company--possibly they are of paternity. they all keep pretty quiet, they are not like those beasts on the b.i. boat; i daresay the quiet here is also due to better management. now as i write the electric light goes out, and we light our candles--the ship is quiet fore and aft, the only sound the rippling of the irrawaddy against our anchor chain and plates. th.--second day from mandalay. we have stopped three times at the river-side to-day. at each place a cascade of elegant people in heavenly colours came smiling down to our gangway planks, and when these were fixed, trooped on board; to buy purple velvet sandals, strips of silk, seeds, german hardware, american cigarettes, and goodness knows what else. i suppose i shall forget all these groups--and, colours, and expressions, in time--that is the gall and the wormwood of seeing beauty; i'd fain remember them longer and more vividly than i do. at the first place we stopped two hours, so i went on shore, got a burman as guide, and in a half-hour's run, got seven snipe and twelve pigeon. pigeons, i was told, would help the larder; they were very tame, otherwise i'd hardly have cared to have let off at them. [illustration] sabendigo for the night. in afternoon, stopped painting with reluctance, and if i'd stopped sooner might have beaten my small records at snipe. the ladies elected to walk with me on shore, so, to give a sense of security, i took my gun! and as we went across the gangway, picked up a burman, who i was told knew where there was game of some description, and the captain sent one of the chittangong crew, and other two burmans joined unofficially, so we made quite a party. the ladies shortly began to collect flowers, and not being so keen about sauntering as the second charles, i set off at a mighty quick walk, the burmans following at a dog-trot, whither, i'd no idea; but it was nice going, through lanes at first, past an occasional transparent house of cane and matting, past cow-byres and cattle feeding, then into a sandy track through jungle of tall trees and thick undergrowth. then the bamboo clumps got thicker and met overhead, and the afternoon sun came through in golden threads and patches on the whitey-grey sand of the path. we hoped to see jungle-fowl in some of the more open places, and for an hour we dog-trotted, till we got a trifle warm--but never a sign of any really open snipe ground, and i almost turned back; but my burmans pointed on and we soon turned to the left, crawled under thick bamboos and came on a clearing with water and paddy fields, and hope revived. but we walked round the edges of two or three fields without seeing anything, then just as the sun went down, the first snipe got up and flew straight at a burman behind me, so it got away, and in five minutes--no, one minute--we were in ground absolutely alive with snipe, thick as midges and about as visible. i saw faintly a wisp get up, fired at one and it dropped somewhere, and heard the old familiar scraik, scraik on all sides as snipe got up at the shot, but it was hopelessly dark. it was a horrid sell, barring the satisfaction there always is in finding your game--i am not sure that killing it adds much--then we dog-trotted home to the river, along the soft sand track; it was very dark under the bamboos, but a new moon helped in the more open land. it was pretty going, all afternoon, with scenes like pictures by rousseau and daubigny, and twice, in the shadows of bamboo groves i saw veritable monticelli's, when we met people and ox carts labouring through the sand; when forms and colours were all soft and blended, and the glow of day changed to night--art is consoling when the bag is empty, even the purse sometimes! had a cast before we left with fly in the morning; fish were rising, had one on for a moment--saw a fish taken from a balance net on shore, seemed about seven to ten pounds, bright and silvery as a salmon, with a rather forked tail, should think said fish might be taken on a blue phantom or devon. i have both here, and, granted a stay of any time, will try harling. the shores of the river now are closer together, wooded and steep, showing here and there boulders through the sand rather like the lower reaches of namsen in norway, which perhaps only describes the appearance to rather a restricted number of fortunates. we saw two elephants grazing by the river-side; i believe they were wild. [illustration: a priests' bathing pool] chapter xxx th january .--fog-- o'clock a.m.--half daylight, and the anchor chain comes clanking on board--a cheery sound, the steady clink clank of the pall-pin in the winch--a comforting sound, and bit of machinery to anyone who has hauled in anchor overhand--what say you baldy--or mclntyre, do you remember rue breichnich or lowlandman's bay, before we got a winch, and the last three fathoms out of green mud?--and the kink in the back before breakfast, and the feeling you'd never stand straight again in your life? we barely have the anchor up and fast and have steamed less than ten minutes when we run into a fog bank set cunningly across the stream by some river nat. the bell rings, "stop her"--and plunge goes the anchor with the chain rattling out behind it, and we lie still again in the silence of the fog. sea swallows come out of the mist and give their gentle call and flit out of sight, they give a regular flavour of the sea; the mist hangs on our clothes and drips from the corrugated iron roof of the flat, and our iron lower decks are shining wet. o'clock.--the mist very gently rises off the river and wanders away in the tree-tops and climbs the distant mountains slowly, and the warm sun comes out to dry everything. the anchor is up again and its "paddle and go,"--the leadsman is at his chant again. all the way up from rangoon to mandalay and from mandalay here, two of the crew, one on either side of the bows, takes sounding with a bamboo, alternately singing out the feet in a sing-song melancholy cadence that briskens and changes a little when the water suddenly shoals. [illustration] we draw four feet, and yesterday went over a bar covered by three feet nine inches only,--went towards it, backed, and went over it on our own following wave! kyankyet--we take on more wood faggots here to fill our bunkers. the wood smoke gives rather a pleasant scent in the air--pretty much like last halting place, same sunny dusty banks, plus a few rocks, and similar village of dainty cottages and of weather-bleached cane and teak showing out of green jungle. above the place we stop at, a spit of sand runs into the river with a hillock and on it, there is a little golden pagoda amongst a few trees and palms: a flight of narrow white steps leads up to it, and below in the swirl of the stream are wavering reflections of gold, and white, and green foliage. and as usual there are figures coming to the ship along the shore, each a harmony of colours, each with a sharp shadow on the sand. whilst the wood goes on board we wander through the village and look at people weaving fringes of grass for thatch, much as grooms weave straw for the edges of stalls; then to the pagoda on the hillock, and up the narrow flight of steps. it is not in very first-class repair, the river is eating away its base. to obtain merit the burman prefers to build anew rather than to restore, and this one has done its turn. we saw several bronze and marble buddhas under a carved teak shed; some fading orchids lay before them. two men were making wood carvings very freely and easily in teak. miss b. and g. coveted a little piece of furniture in brown teak, covered with lozenges of greeny-blue stone. it looked like a half-grown bedstead, the colour very pretty. if we had had an interpreter, we might have saved it from the ruin. what i carried away was a memory of the blue above, the gliding river below, hot sun and stillness, and the hum of a large, irridescent black beetle that went blundering through scarlet poinsettia leaves into the white, scented blossoms of a leafless, grey-stemmed champak tree. i am told there are barking deer and jungle fowl within an hour of the ship, elephant, rhinoceros, sambhur, and much big game within thirty miles, but we are on the move again, and my heart bleeds.--i cannot try for these for i have neither battery, guides, nor camp equipment. at tagaung, stopping-place for the ruby mines, we tie up for the night--a charmingly wooded country. in "wild sports of burmah and assam," by col. pollock and w. s. thom, published in , you read that "some of the best big game shooting in the world, with the least possible trouble and expenditure, can be had in upper burmah," and this is the place to set out for it--from mandalay, some seventy-seven miles. mercifully, i did not read this till after we had left burmah, or i'd have felt frightfully unhappy passing it all. even now, as i read their descriptions, i feel vexed, to a degree, that i did not know more about the possibilities of sport in upper burmah before starting north. the above book must be invaluable to any keen sportsman who goes to burmah; but keen he must be, and prepared to _hunt_ for his quarry; game is not driven up to him, the jungle is too dense. i will now proceed to write about fish. as the sun set they were rising beside us, making rings in the golden flood, and the reflected woods of the far side of the river, so i put on a loch leven fly cast, and got a beauty right away, of about one pound; a shimmering, silvery fish, between a sea-trout and a whiting as to colour, and i missed other rises. a woods and forests' man on board told me he had recently caught a similar fish on a small fly rod; it weighed five pounds and leapt like a sea-trout, but no one apparently knows much about the possibilities of fishing here with rod and modern tackle. we then got a hand-line and a cod-hook from the engineer, and baited with squeezed bread, the size of a pigeon's egg, and fished on the bottom, and almost at once had on a heavy fish. it pulled tremendously and got a lot of line out, and wandered up and down the middle of the river; on a salmon rod it would have played long and heavily. we got it hand over hand alongside, aft the paddle-box, and a burman in a canoe hitched a noose over its tail, and we hoisted it on board. i couldn't see the beast very clearly, as it was growing dusk, and all hands crowded round us to give advice. it looked rather like a cod, and weighed thirty-five lbs. i'd have guessed it to be eighteen lbs., but its weight was quite out of proportion to its measurements. shortly after we got another--twenty lbs. they have red firm flesh, and to eat are like sturgeon, they say. the sporting silvery fish was called mein and butter fish, and they are said to be very good to eat, but they have a beard, which doesn't answer to my standard of a game fish. i got about a dozen of these smaller fellows of about one lb. each, not a bad way of putting in an hour or so, when the time does not allow of gunning ashore. st--tegine.--this morning we passed on our right the elephant kedar camp, where natives are preparing to rope in wild elephants as they do in mysore. the bank was steep, about level with the top of our funnel. the low jungle had been cleared, and we saw screens and houses of green thatch and palm leaves. a very brown britisher came out of his tent as we passed, his face half white with soap lather, and his shirt sleeves rolled up; he did unintelligible semaphore signalling with both arms, a razor in one hand, paper in the other. he likewise spoke to us in words that were barely audible for the sound of the rush of the water. when we pieced together what each had heard, it came to "what the blankety blank has come over your--tut tut-down-stream cargo boat? she was to bring me tea and sugar! and i've no whiskey, and--" but there was a stiff turning just at this part of the river, and the skipper and pilot and everyone on board gave it all their attention, or we'd have been ashore. soon after we met the dilatory down-river cargo boat, and waited where the channel was wide and she passed, its master shouting to us that the channel somewhere further up was "only four feet six, and very difficult." she had stranded somewhere for twenty-four hours or so. there were apparently only two passengers on board! i don't think these good days for passengers can last, the crowd is bound to come. [illustration] next small item in to-day's entertainment. an otter, rather larger than any i've seen at home, performed to us on a sandbank, danced, and rolled over its own shadow, or possibly a fish, in apparent exuberance of spirit. it was a very pretty sight through the glass, and i think i could have got him with a rifle, but it was rather far to risk a shot and wounding with my browning's colt pistol--the woods and forest man, by the way, had a browning colt, and rather fancied himself as a shot. he told me his terrier puts up otters pretty often in the streams in the jungle, in family parties, greatly to the amusement of the otters. so there's another heading for a game book here; that might begin with elephant and finish up with mouse-deer and button-quail. what a list of water-fowl there would be, and where would turtle go?--under game or fish? they lay their eggs on the sandbanks in numbers, and these fetch quite a big price, four annas each. i'd willingly sacrifice a night's sleep to see one come out of the water up the sand, and to "turn it" would make me feel at the ultima thule of the world abroad. [illustration] all the way along the edge of the river, where there are not trees, there is kaing or elephant grass--grass that waves some eighteen feet high and runs far inland, and here and there are bits of tree jungle. every now and then we see some bird or beast which we have not seen before outside of a zoo; a grand eagle is in sight just now, no vulture this fellow; he looks twice the size of our golden eagle, and sits motionless on a piece of driftwood in the middle of a sandbank. i can only just make out his or her mate soaring against the woods on the hills behind. on a bank to our right there's a whole crowd of large birds--as we get closer i can count their feathers with my glasses; they are not beauties--vultures of some kind, and gorged at that, to judge from their lazy movements; their plumage is a grey, chocolate colour; their lean bare neck and heads are black or deep plum colour. on the very edge of the sandbank there's a string of white sea-swallows, sitting each on its own reflection. there are several kinds, and they rise as we pass, and i see, for the first time, the roseate tern, a sea-swallow with deep lavender and black feathers, rather telling with its scarlet bill. to complete this menagerie's inventory we pass four elephants bathing; two on the bank are dry, and blow sand over themselves from their trunks, and are the same dry khaki colour as the banks; the other two lie in the water, their great tubby sides, big as a whale's back, are black as sloes. through the glass we see them rise slowly and stalk up the bank, getting their little feet all sandy again. we went aground about five or six p.m., and are aground, and will probably take root here. the chittagong crew are _talking_ and working like niggers to kedge her off, and she won't budge. i'm sorry for the captain; it seems running things rather fine to expect him to take his ship drawing four feet, over a bar only covered three feet. in the pause, with the glasses i spy geese on a distant point, so with the steward as interpreter, engage a dug-out that came alongside to trade to take me in pursuit, but as i get out the gun, a burman's boat comes down and passes within a few yards of them and they shift. the boatman tells me there are deer about--points to woods and jungle within a mile on the river's right bank, but time will not allow us to go after them. so we make a shooting engagement for the "morn's morn" if we are still on the sandbank. the crew struck work and singing at ten and left things to providence; the captain didn't believe in this; he remarked "all things come to those who wait, but i know a plan much slicker; for he who bustles for what he wants, gets things a d----d sight quicker!"--and called on them in their quarters--he had a whole stick when he went in--and they got to work again. he believes that if the river was buoyed by a white man instead of a native we wouldn't be fast now. i should think it is just the sort of work that would need a european, but i rather think after watching the soundings we made, that there was no deeper channel over the sand anywhere--at any rate none could be found from our small boat. they kept at this kedging till midnight, and later, dropping the anchor ahead from the small boat, then hauling the ship up to it by the chain and steam windlass--with the variations splendid exercise for all hands. at first the flat, as it drew less than we did, was left behind a little, and our ship did this fighting with sand and water alone. they started again to the work early in the morning and by breakfast time, by constant steaming ahead and backing, had burrowed a channel in the sand; then went back and clawed on to the flat and steamed away for chittagong distant a mile or two. as we went the anchor chains were unshackled and overhauled to get the twists out of them; and both anchors and chains were bright as silver from their rude polishing in the sand. it is perishingly cold at chittagong, _i.e._, in shade in the early morning, but it is bracing, a. . weather for doing things. last night i had three blankets and two sleeping suits and felt cold at that. the sides and windows of our cabin being made of open lattice woodwork we fix up some newspapers and a mat or two we have over these, which makes all the difference. we had only half-an-hour for the bazaar at chittagong. by the way i can't vouch for the spelling of this or any other names of places en route, but this is the way our first mate spells it. we have no good map on board to give the names, but there are a number of books, and a piano, and many other comforts that one would hardly expect on a cargo steamer, so i think the company, having done so well for their passengers, might run to a framed map of upper and lower burmah. at kalone the people stood in splendid groups at the jungle edge waiting for the arrival of the market. it was absolutely a fête champêtre, but more brilliant and classic than watteau ever can have seen. there were no houses visible, just the steep sandy bank with roots dangling out of it, and splendid trees above like sycamores and ash, some with creepers pouring from their highest branches. against the green depths were these groups of happy people in delightful colours, some sitting and others standing, some in the full sunlight, others further in the jungle amongst the shadowy trunks and fern palms. [illustration] my conscience pricked me and said "draw," but i said, "i'm bothered if i do, let's get into the jungle, if it's only for an hour, and see more new things, close," so we did, got a guide, and arranged to return at first blast of the steamer's horn, and away we went _ventre à terre_ to a jheel said to be near, and had not more than enjoyed a glance at this pretty watery opening in the woods when up got a snipe with its old sweet song, and along with the snipe were any number of other waders--what a place for a naturalist! the first wisp went straight towards some paddy workers so i only got one flanker, and just as i was in the middle of them, beginning a record bag the horn sounded--the vexation of it! we turned and hoofed it back; under shadows of grand trees, over brown fallen leaves, past sunbeam lit girls in velvet sandals, coming from the ship, with bundles of purchases poised on their heads, and on board by the last plank of the gangway, muddy and hot and desperately annoyed at having to cut short a good morning's shooting. some of the snipe were larger and deeper in colour than those i am familiar with--painted snipe i believe. a delightful country this would be for a holiday in a native river boat. what a pity it is so far from home; with a party and a boat i believe one could have a splendid time drifting down, there would be fishing, walks, rowing, sailing, shooting, sketching, and all in a delicious climate, and all the sport bar elephants free, and amongst courteous people with all the supplies of "the saut market" at arm's length from the flotilla company's steamers. why not charter a big native dug-out up the river at bhamo--sink it for a day or two--for reasons--then drift and row down. you could get up to bhamo in a week or less, or in two or three days shortly, when there's a railway, and take, say three weeks down to mandalay. kalone to katha is interesting all the way. at katha the mountains on the west come closer to the river. there is a short railway branch from this place to the line to mandalay. i hardly like to mention a railway up here, it sounds so prosaic and so unassociated with any of the wild surroundings; but there--it's a solid fact, you can come up here from rangoon in next to no time and see nothing on the way, by train. we walk past the little station, the first piece of blackened ground we have seen for many a day--a ballast truck, ashes, and coals--impossible! from the wire fence round the station-house and from its wooden eaves hang numbers of orchids, nameless and priceless--impossible again! it is a pleasant country round katha, once you get away from the line. there is low ground cleared for crops then knolly wooded hills within easy reach, and higher hills beyond. the air was still and wisps of wood-smoke from distant village fires hung in level bands above the plain. miss b. and g. went to see the pagoda, i did the same, and also took my gun in case of a wet place and snipe. they saw a procession to a priest's funeral--one of the regular shows of burmah, i only saw jungle, and brakes of white roses with rather larger blossoms than our sweet briar, growing to about twenty feet high. these grew many feet below the level of the river in the wet season, so i gather they spend several months in the rains under water: i also saw vultures, eagles, hawks, and a big kind of lapwing and snipe; but the snipe here were cunning, and got up wild and flew far, so i only got a small bag. but putting the afternoon's stravaig and the morning's ramble together made quite a decent day's exercise; and i believe the two or three hours in the jungle with its strange sights and sounds, flowers, birds, and beasts, were as interesting as a phoungies' funerals. chapter xxxi nd february.--there was a river mist this morning, the sun shining through, and we "slept in" for there was no engine to awaken us. when we did awaken, it was to the tune of reed instruments like our pipe chanters. these headed a single and double file procession to the pagoda along the top of the river bank. the arrangement might have been taken from the procession of the parthenon. most of the people were women, some carried offerings in lacquer bowls on their heads, others carried between them pagodas and pyramids in wicker-work hung with new pots and pans and, odd bits of pretty colours and flowers. others carried round palm leaf fans, the whole effect through the sunny morning mist was exquisite in colour and perfectly decorative. i think it was part of the phoungie funeral of last night. we got fairly cold looking at it from the deck in dressing-gowns. ... it gets cold truly--morning tub makes one gasp, but the burmans are bathing and soaping themselves this morning alongside, apparently enjoying the cold water as much as they do down south. the fog lifts and we swing out and into the current at eight o'clock; the mail boat that came up last night just ahead of us, and we go surging up in her wake, two mighty fine children of the great cleutha; glasgow owned, clyde built and engineered-- horse-power has this mandalay, and she has twenty years behind her, and the engines run as smoothly as if she were new: and the whole ship fore and aft is so well kept, she might have come from the makers yesterday! i don't say that the mail boat in front exactly adds to the beauty of the scenery but it gives a big sense of successful enterprise. how gratifying it must be to germans and other foreigners to have the use of such a fine line of steamers for their goods. the cottages on your left after katha are rather pretty. they are on piles of course, on account of the floods in the monsoon, not "because of ye tygers which here be very plentifull," as the old travellers had it. their silvery weather-worn teak or cane showing here and there, is a pleasant contrast to the rich green foliage. we pass so close to the bank that we can see the bright colours of the women's tamaines inside them and through the trees we get glimpses of the blue hills to the west-- d---- we are aground again--and my snipe shooting at moda won't come off--horrid sell! no--i believe she's over. no, she's stuck! ... but we got off--and have arrived at moda; and i think the show of native beauty crowding down the white sand here is even more effective and exquisite than any village crowds we have seen so far on either of the two sides of the river. the girls are pictures; one has a yellow orchid between her golden coloured cheek and jet black hair, another a marechal niel rose above her forehead. there are old and young; shans, burmans, chinese, kachins--the young burmese beauties vastly set off by the various northern tribes. up the sand i see, for example, a group of three, an old lady and two young things sitting under a pink parasol, each with knees tucked up in a red purple and lemon yellow silk tamaine or tight skirt. imagine the soft rose light from the parasol over the white jackets and silk and the sharp shadows on the sand. how graceful the owner of the parasol was when she stood up! i think it was her duenna who toppled off the edge of the gangway with one of the chittagong crew in the push to come aboard. the old lady's face puckered as she went over, but she was out in a second, and came aboard with the jolly crowd, smiling like the rest. the pretty girls drop their red and blue velvet sandals with a clatter on to our iron deck when they come up the gangway, shuffle their toes into them and waddle off to the stalls with an air. no--waddle is not the word, its a little body twist rather like that of our french cousins, and their frank look is spanish, but with less langour and a little more lift in it for fun! leaving all this grace and colour behind, we marched away with a gun and two men, a native and a burman, which surely proves the vandalism of our upbringing. but i may have scored by not staying and painting, granted i may never forget the charm of the mid-day stillness behind the village, and the walk through half jungle, half cultivated country with everything asleep in the quiet and warmth, and never a chance of game unless i trod on it. through the village palms and trees i came on a lakelet with short grass and tall white briar rose bushes round its edge. it was almost covered with a water plant with leaves like a strawberry, which made a dull rose tracery across the reflected blue sky. there were three white ibis, distant dark blue hills and trees, and jungle grass and their reflections; a cormorant and sea swallow were fishing, and a little pagoda, with gleaming golden hti hung its reflection in the mirror. it was so still and the air so sweet that i felt perfectly happy with never a thing to fire at but an occasional dove, or curiously coloured lapwing. the only thing i actually did fire at was a swagger bluebird whose plumage i did covet. it let me have five shots, at from seventy to eighty yards but never closer, and went off flaunting its green and blue plumage derisively, and i hurried home at top speed long after the second whistle, rather glad i'd done no damage to anything. at shewgee in the afternoon we pulled out of the sunlight on the river into the shadow of a steep bank with some sixty black-tarred wooden steps up it. creepers and foliage hung in masses over the edge and on the top were the usual groups of brightly dressed people and palms and trees in half tone, against a warm sky; and a pagoda too, of course, in white and gold, with a banner staff in white glass mosaic. the dainty figures came trooping down the long black steps and surged on board, first of all politely making way to let us go ashore. we wandered through, i think, the neatest village we have seen, each dainty mat house had a tiny compound with palms, trees, and roses and other flowers round it. we heard "the potter thumping his wet clay" and stopped and watched. he, or she, sat on the ground with feet out in front and modelled bowls round the left hand, thumping and patting the stiff clay with a little wooden spade, and without any further appliance made complicated forms perfectly symmetrical. i'd no idea such symmetry could be attained without the use of the wheel. as we came back the darkness was falling and there were fires in most of the houses on trays of earth and the light shone through the bamboo walls, and we could see figures sitting beside them, either for warmth or possibly to get away from mosquitoes. we met a gold prospector here, a lean, brown, blue-eyed man in khaki shirt and well-cut, and well-worn tweed continuations. i think all prospectors must be somewhat alike. the last i saw was a similar type--drinking beer in "the first and last,"--port stanley--he was just back from "the coast," and his rig, and particularly, his expression were much the same, but the man from terra del had found gold, "like melon seeds--g--d--two inches deep!"--this one hadn't. dinner talk suddenly interesting--the new passenger, captain kirke, r. a., commandant of the military police is just in from the hills on the west, where he has been on a punitive expedition. his three hundred sikhs and ghurkas and ponies are on a small government steamer which we have passed and repassed lately, so we have the latest news of our neighbours to the west, the "partially subdued" chins. the expedition was, i understand, to settle some family grievances of these people. one chief had taken some of a neighbouring chief's people when he wasn't at home, and had them tied to trees and little arrows fired into them, one by one, so that in the end they died. the cruel chief's wives were said to be the instigators of this "most bloody business" and the leading lady's photograph warranted the assertion. her face was tattooed and was curiously like a red indian's. i have read in a book that the chins tattoo their wives' faces to prevent them being stolen for their beauty! i gather this punitive expedition that we have come across unexpectedly, was carried out without a shot being fired, so it won't be in the papers. the wicked chief and his wives awoke one morning to find their village being looked at severely by two mountain guns, and a camera, and encircled with rifles, so they came along quietly-some ten chiefs all told. i think captain kirke was naturally a little pleased at the persuasive effect of his pet guns, and gratified that he had managed to bring them over the difficult country, and civil objections--but if i had run that show i'd have felt much inclined to have fired just one shot, for the sake of a medal and newspaper laurels. we really begin to feel at the empire's frontier now, when we have pointed out to us to the northward, the mountain tops where the military police, _i.e._, native troops and lonely british officers keep watch and ward over our furthest marches--heliographing between times to bhamo for "news from town." rd february.--we got away early this morning, and were stopped by a fog bank, so i saw the defiles. the defiles are considered the thing to see; and they are interesting enough; we passed the third defile down the river somewhere. at this the second the river narrows and the mountains rise pretty steeply on either side, and are clothed with grand trees and jungle. it is less distinctive scenery than that of the wider valleys of the irrawaddy; you might see similar features in many other rivers. at full flood the force of water down this narrow gorge must be rather tremendous, it is said to be forty fathoms deep then, and the captain told me, that when steaming up at fourteen knots, they could sometimes barely make way! coming down must be kittle steering, i'd think. it is a good country for elephants. i am told. after the defiles we stop at sinkan on the left bank, where the river spreads out again into the more usual style of irrawaddy scenery, the valley very wide, the sandy river's edge capped with a jungle of waving kaing, or elephant grass, eighteen feet high, and over and beyond bluey-green tree-clad mountains, not very high, but high enough to be interesting and to raise hope. [illustration] i made a sketch of cottages at sinkan. the blue and black of the shans, and light blue colours of the chinese dresses, begins to tell more distinctly among the tulip colours of the burmans. the men here are armed with swords. the shan's blade is slightly curved and pointed, with no guard, the hilt sometimes of ivory and the scabbard richly ornamented with silver, and the shoulder belt is of red or green velvet rope; the kachins' swords that i have seen are more simply made as regards their scabbards and are square across the end of the blade. only you who fish can understand what great restraint i was obliged to exercise here; as i painted on the fore-deck a grand fish rose in the stream that comes in beside us, within casting distance of our bow, and with the surge of a thirty pound salmon! and yet i went on painting! i confess i very nearly did not. at bhamo the river broadens into a lake again, something like what it is between saigang and mandalay--beautiful enough to travel a long way to see. there is a little desert of sand between the water's edge and bhamo, across it were trekking in single file burmans, shans, and chinese, to and from our steamer with lines of ponies, with bales of merchandise on their pack saddles. we look at the distant mountains beyond bhamo that bound the horizon--they tempt us and we wonder if we should not venture further north; and take the caravan route into china--rather a big affair for peaceful tourists. captain kirke came in strongly here, said, "go, of course--i will show you how to do it, give you ponies, and find you guide and servants." so we have taken our courage in both hands and decided to go. one of his men in the meantime, had gone and brought an elephant, an enormous beast, over the sand; i am sure it was twice the height of any i've seen in zoos. it went down on its knees and elbows, bales of cotton were piled alongside, and miss b. and g. climbed up these on to the pad, and i got up by its tail and the crupper. then up it heaved, and on we held, to ropes, and went off for half a mile over the hot, soft sand; captain kirke riding a pretty arab pony. i'd never been on an elephant before, to my knowledge, nor had i ever experienced the sensation of the black hair pricking through thin trousers, or the besom of a tail whacking my boots--i consider we entered bhamo with a good deal of éclat. [illustration] th february.--we all went shopping on the elephant, captain kirke kindly showing us round. he and his pony might have passed under our steed's girth. it made a pretty fair block in the traffic of china street, but the style of shopping seemed to take the popular taste; and from our point of view we could study at ease the various types of people. the old ladies in tall blue serge turbans and tunics and putties of the same colour rather struck me--they are shans from the east--with little shrewd twinkling black eyes, short noses and a gentle expression, and that break in the eyebrow, which i think characteristic of a certain dark celtic type. the above sketch represents a corner of the market; in the centre a kachin fairly characteristic but too tall, beside him his sturdy kilted wife, with the usual basket on her back; other figures, a burmese girl, a chinese woman, sikhs, and distant shan woman. china street, the principal street in bhamo, is only about two hundred yards long, but it is fairly wide and crammed full of interest to the newcomer; it is so purely chinese, you only see a burman, a burmese woman rather, here and there, the wife of some chinese trader. burmese women they say, incline to marry either indians or chinese, for though these men are not exactly beautiful they are great workers, whilst the burman is a pleasure-loving gentleman of the golden age. the burmese and indian cross is a sad sight. we stopped at a leading citizen's house with whom captain k. conversed in chinese, and why or how i don't know, but we found ourselves sitting in his saloon, beyond his outer court, and it was just as if i'd dropped into an old holbein interior, it was all so subdued and harmonious and perfect in finish. there was lacquer work-and ivory-coloured panels on the walls, brown beams above, and orange vermilion paper labels with black lettering hanging from them in rows, each purporting the titles of our host; he wore a loose black silk waistcoat with buff sleeves, buff shorts, black silk skull-cap, and a weedy black moustache which he touched every now and then with little pocket comb; the colouring of his dress, and complexion, and background, all in perfect harmony. he had gentle clever overhung eyes and was quite the great gentleman, entertaining us intruders with calm smiling affability. in a court which he showed us, he had a raised octagonal fish pond, and in his porch his people were unlading ponies of bales of merchandise. both the persons and the surroundings of his establishment seemed to date away back to the happy and cruel middle ages. at a shop over the way our elephant stood in the sun, the burman on its head with his white jacket and light red scarf round his hair, calmly smoking a cheroot, a welcome contrast to the busy keen chinese life; above him hung large orange-red paper lanterns with large chinese inscriptions. at the young merchant's shop over the way, we bought finely cut chinese tobacco, and a number of chinese silk satchels, note books, and other things at trifling prices. the young owner i'd like to be able to describe; i don't think i have ever seen such perfection of finish of dress, and even form; his complexion was palest coffee-colour, teeth perfectly white and symmetrical, cap and jacket of the most delicate finish, silk shoes and white socks, and baggy trousers, all as if split new and of perfection of workmanship, and he totted up his accounts and did all the business with a polished self-possessed manner! i must say my first impression of the heathen chinee at bhamo was tremendously in his favour; in many ways even the coolies, or chinese porters, struck me favourably, by their simple kit, blue tunic and shorts, and their sturdy limbs and absence of any roughness of manner. a few yards along the road brought us to the joss house. it would take many drawings, to describe the many arrangements of courts and steps and quaintly curved roofs, and the foliage and flickering shadows. in the interior were chinese and some burmese, and all the pastime of their lives seemed to go on there, prayers, feeding, gambling and theatricals, at the same or at different times without hurry. we patronised the gambling corner--gave the principal high priest who did the honours of the place to us five rupees to gamble with for us--he was a fine big man with a potent expression--he lost and won a good deal, then lost the lot and two or three more rupees, and went on playing with his own money. it was delightful to see the hearty way these gamblers laughed when they lost, and chuckled when they won: i got a respect for gambling that i'd never previously had. i've generally seen people get a little white when they lose--and--well--i do not care for their subdued expressions when they win--but there was a boyish hilarity and hardihood about this gambling that made it almost attractive. here is one view of the joss house. the chinamen were intensely interested, as i painted, and crowded round. they were perfectly polite and well-intentioned as also are the burmese, but i think the chinaman's interest in the technique is so great that he cannot keep at any distance, so it was an enormous effort to concentrate on the subject and not just to draw the nearest heads. here is one, however, a boy with fur cap, his complexion was like fine china and showed great finish of form. i noticed they were all very clean indeed, their clothes spotless, and the scent of their tobacco quite good. [illustration] i had sent my boy round to find a place where we might stay, and on our return to the steamer he told me the dak bungalow was occupied, likewise the circuit house, so we were stranded and homeless on the banks of the irrawaddy. we then went up to the club, and there found to our relief our boy was ... mistaken, and that the dak bungalow was available. a member of the club kindly introduced himself and entertained us whilst we waited for our host, we noticed his hands were both in bandages, but of this more anon. from the club we went back in the starlight to our home on the ship for one more night, our minds at rest and bodies refreshed. the ladies drove in a bullock cart, the writer walked behind--the sand and track were too rough for the bhamo gharry, and truly we considered our cart was more picturesque and comfortable. the grey wood of the cart and the ladies' white hats and dresses, and the natives' white robes and the grey white sand and white oxen, all blended into a very pretty moth-like harmony; and overhead the sky was mat blue with many solemn stars twinkling. as we crossed the little desert of sand we passed the camp and fires of the northern peoples, beside their scores of ponies, and bales of cotton, and pack saddles; everything uncovered and open on the dry sand, no need here at this season for shelter excepting from the sun at mid-day. [illustration: a chinese joss house] miss b. leaves us here, going south by what is called the ferry boat, a most excellent little steamer, with roomy, comfortable cabins. it goes down to katha, thence she goes by train to mandalay, and straight on to rangoon, and her r.e. brother in india. we decide to stick to steamers in burmah as long as we can, the extra time spent on steamers is well balanced by their comfort as against the dust and racket of a train. [illustration] the morning fog gave us a little respite--let us have an extra half-hour on board before landing our goods and chattels--but the horn was let off pretty often before we got our luggage up the loose sand on to the level. chinese coolies in blue dungaree tunics, wide straw hats and ditto shorts carried it in baskets slung from either end of bamboo poles balanced over their shoulders. they are sturdy, cheery fellows, with well-shaped calves and muscular short feet. when the steamer cleared off we were fairly marooned on the sandbank. [illustration] no bullock-carts had come, so g. and i sat on her saddle-box and sketched a departing caravan of mules and ponies, each laden with two bales of cotton,--a chinaman to every four ponies. there were eighty-four ponies, and they filed away, jingling into the morning mist that hung low on the sand flat. it was a little cold, but we got warmer as the sun rose over the bhamo trees, and pagoda, and joss house. at first the coolies stood round us, and our baggage, and took stock of us, but gradually the interest flagged, and they sat down, and we drew them, and g. made this sketch of bhamo, and the sunrise over china. ... a burmese woman came to the sand's edge with her baby, and built a shelter with a few bamboos, and some matting for roof, and the baby played in the patch of shadow. as it got hotter we grew wearied of waiting. at last our _boy_ got the two errant bullock-carts, and we went off in procession, a big bullock-cart with our luggage in front, a burman youth on top with long black hair escaping from a wisp of pink silk, a macpherson tartan putsoe round his legs, a placid expression, and a cheroot, of course. g. and her maid came behind with recent fragile purchases; pottery, in another bullock-cart, with an older burman whose face was a delight--so wrinkled, and wreathed with smiles. i tailed behind and sketched as per margin, as we went through the sand--shockingly unacademical wasn't it, to draw walking? [illustration] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . our first dak bungalow experience was short. we had just settled down when word came we were to occupy the deputy-commissioner's bungalow which is apparently empty, so we only had tiffin in the dak bungalow. chapter xxxii the d. c. bungalow is certainly very nice, bar _the mystery_. the roses are splendid, in masses; and orchids hang everywhere. i suppose the interest in them at home accounts for their being hung here on every cottage. we had almost a deck load of them on board this morning; roots that may cost a great price in britain may be bought here for a few pence. they say the road over to china is festooned with orchids, and jungle-fowl sit amongst them and crow. g. intends to get some, and take them home, which means more glass, of course: and i hope to pot the jungle-fowl, so we both feel we have an object in life, and an apology for our itinerance. but first, a word about the mystery. it was very delightful being asked to put up in such a charming bungalow--the invitation came by heliograph from a little fort up in the woods on the mountains, many miles away to the north-west, where the deputy-commisioner, mr levison, was going his rounds. there was a silence and a stillness about the house that was almost eerie; the impress on a cushion, the cigarette ash, and torn letters on the verandah looked as if the house was in use; but a second glance showed that fine dust lay over all, and made the house feel deserted. the old burmese man-servant disappeared when we arrived, so g. and i went through the house alone, to fix on our room. we had done this, and i had gone downstairs when g. called me. she had turned over a mattress, and on it was a great space of _congealed blood_ just where a man's throat might have been! i only gathered afterwards how much alarmed she was, and she only gathered afterwards how much alarmed i was. when g. went downstairs i made an exhaustive inspection; the blood was barely a day old! and on the floor i found spots, then gouts, and then marks of naked, gory feet leading to, and from the little bathroom--it looked horribly like "withered murder!" had the silent bare-footed burman...? and what had been done with the.... yes! there was a streak along the foot of the door--it had been dragged out!--or was it floor varnish? should i question the servant--would he, or could he, explain? no--i decided it was too late to do anything. so we both pretended we thought little of the matter, turned over the mattress, put our own on top, bolted the doors, put two colt-browning repeaters under our pillows, and went asleep, and in the morning were so pleased to find our throats were not slit. when captain kirke and lieutenant carter came round later, i had to thank them for their bundabust, and casually inquired if the last resident in the bungalow was known to be still alive; for the bedroom was so bloody! "why--baines!" they said, "of course; he was here two nights! you saw him yesterday at the club--the man with his hands bandaged; that's baines; he's always getting into pickles--he nearly bled to death! we had a farewell evening at the club, and in the night he got up for soda water, the bottle burst and cut his hands, then he cut his feet on the broken glass going to the bathroom to bandage his hands, got into bed, and the bandages came off in the night, and in the morning he was found in a faint--therefore the blood on the mattress." _the mystery_ was explained--and there had nearly been a tragedy. these deputy hosts of the deputy-commissioner, after so kindly relieving our minds, drove us to the polo grounds in their brake, behind unbroken ponies, along a half-made road, which was highly exhilarating--but we feared nothing after our late escape--were we not each a neck to the good? the maidan was pretty--a pleasant plain of green grass, beautifully framed with distant jungle and mountains. g. and i made the audience at first, with two or three dozen burmans and sikhs. then general macleod and mrs macleod came, and his aide-de-camp (the general is on an inspection round, of the military police stations), and mr and mrs algy of the civil police, a man whose name i can't remember, and that was all the gallery, so there was little to take away from the interest of the game, which was fast, and the turf perfection. in the evening a delightful dinner-party, the above two deputies entertaining the aforesaid company in the fort. chapter xxxiii th february.--to-day a young soldier and an artist conclude that they both had their fill of exercise yesterday. we started at break of day and didn't get home till after sunset and then had to dine at the old fort and witness a kachin pwé in the moonlight till the small hours. i confess i was tired after the day's shoot, but so was carter and he was in the pink of condition, which consoled me. it was a memorable day amongst my sporting days, because of the novelty of surroundings, not on account of the bag of snipe. we turned out before daybreak, which was neither novel nor pleasant; it was cold and very uncomfortable getting from warm blankets into the chilly morning in the draughty bungalow, and reminded me of the way we are turned out in winter starts for black game, and woodcock in morven--being routed out half awake in the dark by a certain energetic sportsman, hurricane lamp in hand. i had to meet carter at the fort where we were to take canoes, and an elephant, across the irrawaddy to a jheel, five miles through jungle. the sun came up splendidly, hot and yellow over china, and warmed me comfortably as i drove to the fort, and the mist off the plain rose and became sunlit cumuli to lie for the rest of the day on the shoulders of the kachin highlands. carter, i found in the midst of impedimenta; servants, burmese, kachins and natives, lunch boxes, cartridges, guns and a mauser rifle; for though we were going for snipe the country we were to go through holds all sorts of big game, though the chance of our seeing any was remote as the jungle is dense and covers great areas. [illustration] a quarter of a mile across the exposed sand of the river bed brought us to the canoes in which we were to cross. our elephant swam, or waded, across higher up. we divided our party into two, and we crossed in the dugouts. these are graceful long canoes, cut from a teak tree trunk, with a fine smooth surface and with a suggestion about them of being easy to roll over; bamboos lashed alongside steadied them, and allowed our kachin and burman to walk along the side when poling. we made use of a slack water on our side, and another behind a sandy reed-covered island half-way across to make up our leeway. silvery fish were jumping, pursued by some larger fish, and c. and i laid plans to try harling for them after the shannon or namsen fashion. on the far side we got all our baggage made fast to the sides of the pad--a sort of mattress on the elephant's back--as it knelt on the shore, and on the top of the pad we stretched ourselves and held on to the ropes as the elephant heaved up. quite a string of men tailed out behind us over the sands with cartridge bags, and gun cases on their shoulders. on the bank we found a burman guide at a little village beside a small white pagoda. there were yellow-robed priests walking in the groves of trees and palms, and they noticed us i daresay, but made no sign that to their way of thinking we were doing harm to ourselves by going to kill snipe--the phoungyi does not judge. we then entered the kaing grass of which we had seen so much from the steamer and realised the difficulty of getting at game in this country. for miles we rode along a narrow path and these reeds were high over our heads, and as we sat we were about ten or eleven feet from the ground![ ] tiger, gaur, deer, elephant and many other kinds of big game were all in this jungly country which extends for miles, so getting a shot at any of them is a good deal a matter of luck, or time. i expect it was lucky that we did not see anything but the tracks of these beasts, for i think my companion would have tried his small bore at anything. we had a certain anxiety about gaur, miscalled bison, for our steed had been badly gored by one--its hind quarters showed the scars--and it was warranted to bolt when it winded them, in which event we would probably have got left, as the reeds and branches would have cleared us off the pad. for five miles we followed the lane in the grass, and passed two burmans, midway, carrying fruit; they dodged into the reed stems and let us pass and laughingly admitted they were afraid. here and there we came to a place where we could see over the top of the savannah for a mile or two and expected to spot deer or elephant in the park-like scenery, till we remembered the depth of the grass. [ ] col. pollock says the grass of these savannahs runs from ten to thirty feet high--"wild sports of burmah and assam." the slow action of our steed made me think we were getting only slowly over the ground, but i noticed the men behind had pretty hard walking to keep up with us. after an hour or so, we turned off the path and trod down a road for ourselves through the reeds, and came to jungle of trees and undergrowth, with heavy foliaged creepers growing up the trees and from branch to branch, and air roots hanging from aloft, straight as bell ropes--up and down--into creeks, below undergrowth and out into the open again; the elephant being judge of where the ground would bear us, gingerly putting out its great tender feet, sinking deep into mud, making us cling on to the back stays of the pad, then dragging its feet out of the soft mud with a loud sucking sound, leaving great holes slowly filling up with black water. when a tree stump came in our path he would very deliberately crush it down with a rending sound, or if a big branch barred our way, up came the great trunk and slowly folded round it, and down it came with a crash, and was bent under foot. sometimes a branch was too thick and strong: then the mahout drew his dah, gave three or four chops within the width of an inch--the elephant waiting meantime--when up would come the trunk again, and down went the timber. these kachin dahs must be well tempered[ ] and have a fine edge, for our mahout cut filmy creepers hanging lightly as a hair, as easily as thick branches. [ ] i noticed later they were not ground to an edge, but shaved with steel spoke-shave. about ten we got to the jheel; a swamp in an open space of about sixty acres, of water and grass; of a fresh green, surrounded by low woods. fresh tracks of sambhur and other deer were round it and signs of tiger; so much big game had passed that there were deeply worn paths. i've no doubt that by waiting there, one could have had a shot at big game before long. it made me wish, with all my heart, for time and my cordite express, and i half decided to send for it to rangoon. snipe was our hope in the meantime, so we got off some clothes and plunged into the marsh and up got snipe at our first step, and we brought down three, and thought we were in for a great bag. but there was rather too much water; as we went on it came well over our knees, and every now and then up the tops of our thighs so there was too little holding ground for us or snipe. we walked in line, laboriously, halting every now and then to wait for one or the other to flounder out of a deep place; and when the sun got up the glare from the water made me think of sunstroke; however, we persevered and managed to get fourteen couple before lunch time, and i found my american five-shooter the very thing for the work. how i wish i had known of there being such good snipe shooting at mandalay, i would certainly have had a go at it there: i think couple was a recent bag to one gun in twenty-four hours. it was very odd having the elephant walking after us, it seemed so much at home; with his length and number of legs, it could walk slowly but comfortably where we bipeds had to struggle. as it went it twisted its trunk round bunches of the water grass, tore them out of the water and swished the mud off the roots by beating it to and fro across its forelegs till it was clean, and then she stowed it down her mouth, bunch after bunch--what an enormous quantity of food they must swallow! the mahout on its back was in a good place to mark down dead birds; if it had been taught to point and retrieve, it would have been even more useful. [illustration] the walking was very tiring, one leg on firm ground and the other up to the top of the thigh in mud and water for one second, and vice versa the next; and the trees kept any breeze there was off the jheel, so we streamed from the tops of our heads. i don't think i ever in my life felt so hot when shooting--or a bottle of lager at lunch so delicious!--even the rough native cheroot came in as a pure joy! the elephant stood beside us as we lunched, under the trees, flapping its ears in the shade, and occasionally adding a branch of a tree to its morning meal. the sunlight and patches of shadow on its grey skin made its great bulk blend into the background of stems and deep shadows, so that i understood what hunters say about the difficulty of seeing them in heavy jungle: it was as hard to see as an elk in pines. i wondered why it did not join its wild companions in the neighbourhood; for it was once wild, and there was nothing to prevent it going off if it pleased. after lunch we decided to try for duck; that turned out a failure, but not for anything would i have missed the experience of wandering through jungle, where, without an elephant, we could not have moved. i am glad i am not yet very keen about orchids, or how my teeth would have watered! for they clothed the branches above us; they seemed generally to grow on branches about twenty or thirty feet from the ground, towards the light and air; some trees were literally covered with them at that height. our men we had to leave behind, as there was no track, and the burman guide climbed up the crupper beside us, and we wandered away to some pools he knew, where there might be duck. i think we dozed a little--it was so hot and silent in the forest. there was a feeling of being lost, for there were no landmarks in the interminable beauty of tall trees and undergrowth. it was a puzzle for the mahout and elephant to find openings wide enough to take us and the side boxes on the pad through the tangle. often a wrong direction was taken, and a circuit had to be made to get round a tree, a mass of creepers, or a deep pool. both the burman and the elephant seemed to calculate, to a hair's breadth, the height and width of all it carried. i think the corner of one box only once touched a branch, and when we lay low no branches touched our heads; either the burman's dah or the elephant's trunk cleared them off us. the first pool was lit by a golden shaft of light through the greenery, rising fish were breaking its smooth weedy surface, but duck there were none; so we plunged on in the silence in another direction, came out into the kaing grass again, left the comparatively open forest behind us, and entered a trackless sea of reeds, which closed round us thickly on all sides. [illustration] the elephant surged through this steadily, waving its trunk in front, then pressing the reeds to right and left, or raising it high, and pulling down masses that threatened to sweep us off the pad. the dust and the heat of the sun overhead, and the monotony of the surging sound was a little oppressive.--it reminded me of moments long ago, in smaller reeds, and a small boy hunting duck round a loch in perthshire; the stuffy, closed-in feeling, the crashing of the reeds, and the silence when you stopped to listen. here we paused too, now and again, and the burman stood up on the pad and tried to get our bearings. we got pretty well lost, i believe. then on we went, the huge beast crushing through the endless savannahs, as at home in its reeds as a liner surging through pathless seas. the motion and sound kept going all night in my dreams, the slow rolling of vast bones and muscles under the pad, and the crash of the reeds giving way, and the swish as they closed behind us. here, as in the jungle, pretty blue convolvuli twisted up dead reeds nearly to our level, and peeped up at the sun. when we finally struck the long-sought for pools there were no duck, leastwise, but two, and some snake-birds, as they call a cormorant here that has a neck like an s. round the edges the grass had been regularly grazed, so i'd bet on a shot there for one who could wait, but, apart from the shot, what would one not give for the pleasure of watching some of burmah's beasts in their natural state. we were both a little tired by the time we got back in the afternoon to the path to the river, and an hour or two after, when we crossed the sands, and slid off our elephant's back at the river's edge, we had to take kinks out of our lower extremities, and even our elephant seemed very exhausted as it stood in the shallows, and slowly lifted water in its trunk and squirted it into its mouth. she and her mahout lodged the night on the far side. as we crossed the river in our canoes, the sun was setting, and carter said, "isn't this like the west highlands?" i had been thinking the same, almost admitting to myself that this country is perhaps as beautiful--certainly to the sportsman who neither rents nor owns lands at home, it must be out and away better. the view from his window in the fort to the west was splendid. the military police bungalow is on the top of the river bank, and beneath us stretched the sands, and the river reflecting violet and gold from the after-glow; then the rolling woods and the distant chin hills, in purple and red, against the sunset, with one tall rain-column, very slowly passing across the yellow sky. swing a branch of a heavy-leaved tree across the top of the wide window in japanesque arrangement, put two men, two pipes, and two pegs in the foreground, the rising bubbles sparkling yellow in the level sunset rays, and the pipe's incense ascending in blue perpendiculars, and you have a suggestion of the perfect peace and entire absence of bustle which we associate with a certain valley of pong. [illustration] it made "trop de chose," to quote the great carolus, to go out to dinner after such a full day, but the occasion was somewhat important; general macleod and mrs macleod and his staff were to be entertained at the military police mess. the dinner was beautifully done, flowers and menu could not have possibly been better, though the party was not large, only our two hosts of the military police, the general and his wife, and his aide-de-camp, and g. and myself. i learned afterwards the a.d.c. had charmed g. with tales of the dangers of crossing into china without escort and permits. we had a great entertainment or pwé after. we took out cigars and chairs outside, and sat in a half circle in moonlight and shadow. in front of us was a space of silvery grey sand, the stage we will call it; at the back of the scene was a sentinel's box on the stage right, to the left the lower part of a tree, and, between these, a low breastwork of earth, all in shadow against a moonlit distance of mist, and woods and mountains. enter left (spectators right), the supers from shade of trees, carrying lamps, they are indian soldiers, sikhs possibly, in mufti, you cannot distinguish them easily, they sit in shadow, two deep round the back of the stage on the ground and low breastwork, the lamps at intervals on the ground throw up a little warm light on their faces: the hubble-bubble is lit, and goes round from hand to hand, and the smoke of the tobacco hangs a little. enter left, dancers and musicians slowly, with shuffling steps. the quiet is broken by a note on a gong, struck softly, and there is an almost inaudible flute melody on reeds, and liquid notes struck on empty bamboos. these dusky figures are kachin men, with red turbans, and short, white, very loose kilts and bolero jackets. some of the reflected light from the sand shows their curious, serious, boyish faces. they are short, but well-knit; they dance in a slow figure in a line, hand in hand, the bare feet shuffling with a little sound in the dust. the music is very faint, but you long to be able to remember the uncommon air that seems to have caught the quiet of the hills, and the depths of the bamboo woods. these kachin players are natives of the mountains here, and to the north. they are being brought into order, and indeed, a number are enlisting in the military police. till recently, they were free, wild mountaineers, doing a little farming and raiding and vendetta business. they went off, and came back from the deep shadows of the trees with glittering swords and more strident music, and louder beating on gongs, and harsher notes on chanters, and a loud booming sound on a narrow, six-foot-six drum with bell-shaped mouth; and the figures danced quickly, going backwards, in circles, and breaking into groups, the swords whirling and flickering beautifully in the moonlight, and the audience clapped hands gently in time, and there was an occasional heugh! as used to be the way in our highland reel, before the invention of the--lowlander, the screaming "eightsome." i wish i remembered more of the pwé--how i wish i could see it over and over again, till i could remember part of one of these quiet reedy tunes, so that i could recall this scene and the charm of burmah whenever i pleased--for me, not even a scent, or colour, or form, can recall past scenes so vividly as a few notes of an air, the rhythm of some folk-song--a few minor notes, an alla--allah, and you breathe the hot air of desert, and feel the monotony of black men, and sand, and sun--thrum--thrum--thrum, and you are in the soft, busy night, in spain, and again a few minor notes, strung together, perhaps, by greig, in the saeter, and you feel the scent of the pines in the valley rising to the snow--a concertina takes me back to warm golden sunsets in the dog watches in the doldrums!--guess, i am fortunate receiving sweet suggestions from a concertina! th february.--up in the morning very early, and went with the algys to witness the review of captain kirke's kachin and native military police before the general. mrs algy looked on from the fort, and general macleod and captain kirke stood at the saluting base, mrs macleod on a white pony behind, and mr algy of the civil police, and myself represented the b.p. the newly-recruited kachins' marching and drill was perfection. their rifles and bayonets they handled with precision, and as if they loved them. they are small men, but well shaped, not quite so bombé, but even more lithe-looking than ghurkas, captain k. says they are as good for hill-work; in fact, if it is possible, they are better! they stormed a village after the march past, which was a charming sight to see. the people in the village used black powder, so you could tell from what parts of the brown, sun-dried cane houses the shots came from. they took cover wonderfully, considering it was only sham fight, ran in in sections, generally aimed at something, and fired without flinching, though they wore boots, which must have been a new and painful experience. i felt quite martial myself, and felt how excellent it must be to go fighting with some hundreds or thousands of lives to stake on an issue, and, so reflecting, my admiration increased for those private gentlemen at home, and in the colonies, who went with only their own lives to africa, for somebody else to stake. in the evening the officers came to the d.-c. bungalow, and we had music, and drank to the health of our unknown host who is still in the hills, and captain kirke pencilled a route map for our ride into china. chapter xxxiv yesterday afternoon we did a little preparation for our trek into china. mr kohn, the storekeeper in bhamo, imports to the east, the essentials of western civilization (in my opinion claret and cut virginian) and the etceteras; cross and blackwell things. and the west, he supplies with shan swords and orchids, kachin bags, ornaments in jade, gold and silver, and all sorts of curios. so we got bread from him for seven days, and tinned butter, milk, coffee, and a supply of the dried leaves of a certain aromatic shrub, for an infusion called tea, also his uisquebagh, and live ducks and hens in baskets, and six chinese ponies, and three chinamen--quite an extensive piece of shopping which took two hours at least. ... it is really very pleasant to feel we are actually going with our own mule train into the wilds, where even cook's tickets and empires peter out; there is almost the same exciting feeling as of sailing into uncharted seas, and seeing new lands. our mule train cannot exactly be called interminable; but we have four riding ponies to add to the live stock already mentioned, making a caravan of ten beasts. besides the three chinese men, there is our madrassee boy, an indian cook, in black top-coat and black delhi cap; he has a plain but honest face, and a stutter and a few words of english, and there is a youthful burman to help him, and three indian soldiers, sowars, to ride behind our illustrious selves! quite an interesting crowd when you come to think of it, for its size and babel of tongues! but, my certie! i'd nearly left out the cook's charming and stately burmese wife! she is the most decorative part of the show; with a yellow orchid in her black hair, coppery-brown lungy, green-jacket and pink scarf floating from her shoulders; she carries a black gingham umbrella in one hand, and in the other, of course, a big white cheroot, and behind her toddles her dog, liver and white, half terrier, half daschhound. we got our packages fast on the pack saddles, and the procession on the road only three hours after the time we had aimed at, which we thought not bad for beginners, and g. and i followed, in a pony trap, with the four ponies and two sowars, her maid being left in the care of the american missionary's wife. out of bhamo for some miles, the road is macadamised, broad level and straight, with grand columnar trees on either side, and leaves on its surface. every mile or so you meet or pass groups of kachins, chinese or shans, or people you can't quite place. they walk in indian file as they are accustomed to in narrow hill and jungle paths. the chinese men are without women and carry burdens, the kachins carry their swords slung under the left arm, and their women carry their burdens. some tribesmen have bows and arrows as well as swords. the kachin woman's costume is of a pretty colour, a little dark velvet jacket with short sleeves, a kilt to the knee, and dark putties, both of woven colours like tartan, in diced and in herringbone and running patterns. she carries the load in a narrow, finely-woven basket on her back, and her black hair is dressed after the fashion in whitechapel. she is short with very strong calves. her jaunty husband comes behind, with his red bonnet or turban cocked on one side, the sword and red tasselled bag hung from his left shoulder. the square kachin bag or satchel is a pure joy of bright threads and patches and wonderful needlework, and is a little suggestive of a magnificent sporran. his expression is said to be sly, but i don't think so. his head is held straight on a longish neck for his size, his dark, slightly oblique eyes are wide open and mildly startled looking--ditto his mouth, he is neater in figure than the chinese, and does not look so heavy and potent. the top of his head is wide, his nose short and jaw and chin square but not deep. as we drove through the fallen leaves and the shade on this fine road, the sun setting behind us lit up the tallest trees and branches in front of us in gold and green against the violet hills in the east. i scribbled figures in sketch-book and g. drove, and the syce sat behind with my gun handy. i also kept a corner of an eye lifting for jungle fowl, and by jove! we were not two miles out when a hen ran across the road a hundred yards ahead and the sketches flew, and out came the gun; but instead of driving on and getting down when past as i ought--we stopped, and i went on, and when i came up to the place saw a cock scurrying along, and fired just as it got behind a bamboo clump, and i said--"tut, tut," and was very disappointed; as have been many men before me, by the same trifling miscarriage. it seemed a handsome little bird, a glowing bit of orange red colour. it's as fascinating as novel, the sensation of driving through country where you may see game at any time, and which all belongs to you and is gamekeepered by government for you--it makes you feel a share of the county actually belongs to you. i have read that you should get your terrier into the trap about this part of the road; the leopards have demonstrated this by collaring those that have followed the few white men's carriages that have driven along it. you may, see big game from it--i only saw pigs; they crossed the road, grey and bristly fellows, i'd swear they were wild, but i met shans driving others in leash so like that now i am not quite sure. it gets cold and dark as we get to the end of our drive, and we are glad to get down and into a rest-house of bamboo, built on trestles; it is like a pretty little shooting-box in the midst of shooting of measureless extent. the moon shines on its thatch, and the lamp lit inside tells us our caravan has arrived before us. the country is flat here, with fields and little jungle. we see the woods rising to the hills which we will reach to-morrow, and wisps of pungent smoke from a village near hang low across the fields. a few minutes walk brings us to where a smith works under a tall solitary tree; the smith, as usual, is brawny, and sparks fly up and bellows blow, and children blink at the glow just as they do elsewhere. the apprentice works the bellows, and at a nod from the smith pulls out the glowing metal, and the two thump away at it cheerily, and shove it back and heap up the charcoal, the bellows go again, and the smith has three whiffs at his pipe; it is a dah, or sword, they are making, welding one bit of iron after another into one piece. [illustration] we dine by candle light, and the moonlight comes through the hanging screen window and through the spaces between the planks of the floor, and our music is the distant ringing of the anvil, and the intermittent liquid notes of a burmese reed instrument in the village. after dinner, the mail, which we had not time to read yesterday, and our home news from the cold north-west. two letters are from "the grey city," both from authors, one with a word picture of that most dreary sight, our empty high street on a sunday morning, the poor people in their dens and the better class in st giles; the other tells us that the "boyhood of r. l. s." does well, as of course we knew it would; so we pass the evening pleasantly enough with thoughts of east and west, and friends here and there--even though that jungle fowl did get clean away. chapter xxxv kalychet, th february.--it seems quite a long time since we were last night in the plains, in mist and haze and moonlight. it rained, and was very damp indeed during the night. our slumbers were disturbed by a groaning, creaking, wooden-wheeled lowland train of carts, that seemed to suffer agony for ages--it went so slowly past and out of hearing; perhaps it was the squeaking of the wheels that set all the cocks a-crowing. the more the wheels creak the better, for the burman believes this creaking and whistling keeps away the "nats" or spirits of things. the night seemed long and unrefreshing, and in the grey of the morning we found our blankets were wet with fog. but that was down below, now we are up on higher ground, and the air is drier and pleasant. in early morning we drove in the pony cart half the way from momouk to this kalychet, the sowars riding behind with the four ponies. the road lay through green aisles of bamboo that met overhead, and it was cold and wet under them for some hours. at mid-day we stopped and the syce went back with the pony cart, and i unpacked some fishing tackle to have a try for mahseer on a river some distance beyond our halting place. i selected a rod from the million of bamboos round us, one of decent growth, not the longest, they ran to ninty feet at a guess, and fastened snake rings on with adhesive plaster from our medical stores, the stuff you get in rolls, an adaptation of a valuable tip from _the field_;[ ] the tip was for mending rods, but it does as well, or better, for putting on temporary rings. [ ] an improvement on the splendid tip is to use the gummy tape used for insulating electric wire. it was a grand river, what i'd call a small salmon river, tumbling into pools over great water-worn boulders, with a tangle of reeds and bamboos above flood mark. it was piping hot fishing, and the water seemed rather clear for the phantom i tried. i had two on for a second, and had a number of touches from small mahseer that i saw following the minnow, but failed to land anything, so alas!--i can't swear i've caught a mahseer yet or killed a jungle fowl--my two small ambitions just now. g. collected seeds and roots of wild plants to send home, so she had a better bag than i had. we rode back to our halting place to lunch--or tiffen, or whatever it's called in these parts--a sort of solid breakfast at one o'clock,--on the side of the pony track; the chinese pack-ponies wandered round eating bamboo leaves and tough looking reeds. along the road we passed many groups of kachins, all with swords and mild wondering eyes. this halt was rather a business i thought,--all the packages unladened, pots and pans and fires, and a complicated lunch. i incline to our home fashion when living out of doors, of a crust and a drink at mid-day and a square meal after the day's outing. as we were getting our cavalcade started, along came captain kirke and carter in shirt-sleeves, riding back hard to headquarters. they are hard as nails but looked just the least thing tired, having ridden a great distance since yesterday on an inspecting tour from some hill village. they hoped to get to bhamo by night _if_ their steeds held out. for the rest of the day we rode, at first with our whole crew, latterly by ourselves and the two sepoys:--cantered a hundred yards or so and jog-trotted, ambled, walked, cantered again and climbed slowly up hillside paths; through damp hollows, between brakes of high reeds with beautiful fluffy seeds, under tall trees festooned with creepers with lilac flowers, and over hard sunny bits of the path with butterflies floating up against us, and overhead, orchids and pendant air roots and wild fruits. i suppose it was the beautiful surroundings that made the ride so enjoyable, and the change from the plain to the hill air. [illustration] towards evening we rode up a saddle ridge that crossed the valley along which we had been riding, and came out of trees and bamboos into the open. here we found another pretty public-work's dak bungalow of dark teak uprights and cross beams, with white-washed cane matting between and neat grass thatch laid over bamboos, with wide views up and down the valley of rolling woods and distant hills. to the north-east a distant range of blue hills cut across the valley, touches of sunlight showed they were covered with forest; below us the path led zigzagging into the yellow and green bamboos. looking back to the south down the valley we had come up, the chin hills bounded the horizon, but between us and them lay miles and miles of rolling woods, and a haze at the foot of the hills over the plain of the irrawaddy. the air was delicious, the views enthralling, the lodging comfortable, the country we might call our own, with no one about, except the native durwan, or caretaker, and his kachin women folk, only in the distance on a hillside were two kachins clearing a patch of jungle--otherwise solitude and peace. our ponies and baggage arrived all right but some time after us; it ought to have been looted if what recent writers say about the kachins is right--that "they do no honest labour, but live by lifting cattle, looting caravans, and stealing anything upon which they can lay their hands." krishna and all the others set at once to unpack and get ready our meal, which felt rather late--i should have timed them to arrive before us. it grew chilly in the evening, and our red blankets soon seemed uncommonly attractive. sunday forenoon.--you might, if of a contemplative mind, and not harassed by desire for sport, or movement, or travel, stay for many hours, even days, with great content at this kalychet bungalow, looking out over forest and glen, inhaling the pure air, and even run to poetry were you of the age. "watching shadows, shadows chasing," --over the forest-clad mountains which have only cleared patches here and there, where kachins have cut the bamboos, taken a crop or two and then moved on, leaving the ground to lie fallow and grow over weeds again. on the hillside there are two of these clearings across the track above us, some two acres or so in extent, with the bamboos cut and stumps of trees projecting, and in the middle of one of these there is a native hut, like a fragile boat-house, projecting from the slope of the hill. narrow footpaths through the bamboos lead from our cleared space up to them. two little kachin women are climbing up these paths, their cattle in front of them; each has a basket on her back, and she spins as she goes--now they are followed by a sprightly boy and his sister, the boy straight as a dart, with a sword slung across his back, and his gay red-tasselled satchel on his left side; both have bare feet, and neither of them seem to heed the thorns. the girl has a loose bundle of thin hoops of brass and black cane round her hips, under her short black jacket, and two great silver torques round her neck and breast; her clothes are dark blue, black, and red. [illustration] ... there is the quiet of the mountains; only slightly broken at intervals of an hour or so when a caravan passes, but sometimes these pass perfectly silently without stopping; barefooted carriers with their merchandise slung across the shoulder on bamboos, and sometimes with ponies, and bells jingling cheerily. just now, one has come from the china frontier, some ten carriers wearing pointed straw hats several feet wide. they unlimber and drink a little water from a spring that spouts out of the side of a hill through a bamboo; they are quiet people--their voices and the gurgling of the spring just reach us. then from burmah side come women carriers, shans, i think, old and young, in dark blue clothes, short petticoats and tall turbans; they come sturdily up the hill and joke with the chinese coolies as they pass without stopping down the zigzag path into the bamboos, by the path our ponies and people have already followed. but here is movement! and a cheery jingling!--a whole string of chinese pack ponies, eighty at least, coming up from bhamo, each laden with bales, a chinaman to every three ponies. at the end stalks a lean indian. i suppose he owns the show--his wife follows, a very black thing, a madrassee, to judge by her not very white and inelegant hangings. they drink and spit at the spring, and he sees us and salaams, and looks in to see the durwan, who is one of his countrymen. [illustration] but now we must be jogging too, though it is pleasant here. we leave one sowar behind, in pain he says, but i doubt if he's very ill. so we get on to our rather big polo ponies, one black, the other white, and go down the valley on the path to china--said bridle path quite dry now excepting under bamboo clumps, though it rained hard in the night. p.m.--kulong cha--"there's no place like home" they say, and i thought so; now i think there is, perhaps even better. our own highlands must have been like this before general wade and sir walter scott opened them to the tourist; the pass of leny or where bran meets tay, when there was more forest, and only bridle tracks, and men going armed, must have been like this, even to the free fishing and shooting. we are in a cup-shaped wooden glen, our rest-house eighty feet up the hillside above the track, and a brawling burn that meets the taiping a few hundred yards beyond our halting place. the burn suggests good fishing, and the taiping looks like a magnificent salmon river. it is p.m. and krishna busy setting dinner, and your servant writing these notes to the sound of many waters and by a candle dimly burning, for the sun has gone below the wooded hills and left us in a soft gloom. several camp fires begin to twinkle along the road where the caravans we overtook, and others from the east, are preparing for the night. our chinese coolies too have their fires going near us, the smoke helping to soften the already blurred evening effect. we have had, for us, a long afternoon's ride--a little tiring and hot in the bottom of the valley when the path came down to the taiping river,--a winding and twisting path, round little glens to cross foaming burns, level enough for a hundred yards canter, then down, and up, hill sides in zigzags, here and there wet and muddy with uncertain footing, through groves of bamboos and under splendid forest trees, some creepers hanging a hundred feet straight as plumb lines, others twisted like wrecked ships' cables, and flowering trees, with delicious scent every hundred yards or so. we felt inclined to stop and look, and sketch vistas of sunlit foliage through shadowy aisles of feathery bamboos, or splendid open forest views with mighty trees, and the river and its great salmon pools. there were splendid butterflies, some large and black as velvet, with a patch of vivid ultramarine, others yellow with cerulean, and another deep fig green with a blazing spot of primrose, and pigeons, and of course jungle fowl, because i had not my gun! [illustration] our caravan arriving here was picturesque. they came round the corner over the burn bridge, walking briskly, the sick sowar riding in the rear, the cook and his burmese wife leading--she so neat, with a pink scarf, green jacket, and plum-coloured silk skirt, her belongings in a handkerchief slung over her shoulder from a black cotton parasol, and in her left hand, carried straight as a saint's lilies, a branch of white flowers for g.; then came the burman youth, also with some bright colour, a red scarf round his black hair and tartan kilt; he carried my gun, and the chinamen in weather-worn blue dungarees, loose tunics and shorts, and wide yellow umbrella hats slung on their backs, with their shaggy brown and white ponies. we arrived at five, the mules and baggage at six, and already dinner is almost cooked, our belongings in place, beds made, mosquito curtains up,--and this day's journal done! ... wish somebody would write this day's log for me--i must fish! the burn in front is in grand spate, so is the taiping river, roaring down discoloured. if i know aught of highland spates, they will both be down in the hour and fishable. the glen is full of sun from behind us, and the mist is rising in lumps. it rained in the night; when we turned in, the mist had come down in ridges on us, and it felt stuffy and warm under blankets, and the sound of the waters was muffled by the mist. i awoke with a world of vivid white light in my eyes, the glen was quivering with lightning, and the gods played awful bowls overhead! green trees up the hillsides and contorted mist wreaths showed as in daylight, and then were buried in blackness and thunder. then the rain came! to put it intil scottis--a snell showir' dirlin' on the thatch. there was the bleezin cairn, and the craig that lowped and dinnled i' the dead-mirk dail, the burn in spate and the rowin flood o' the taiping dinging their looves thegither at their tryst i' the glen--ane gran' an' awesome melee. but i don't like these effects, so i buried myself in red blankets, and as the rain thundered down, thought of our coolies; i expect they got from under their hats and went below the floor of our bungalow. the atmosphere, after an hour, grew suddenly pleasant and cool--a breeze rose--there was light in the left, and the glint of many stars--and i pulled on another blanket and slept at last refreshingly. what a night the chinese up the road must have had. no jungle however thick could have kept out that rain, and it is thin where they are, for many campers have cut down the branches and bamboos for fodder and firewood. they sleep with only a piece of matting over their bodies, the wide straw hat over their head and shoulders; and their fires, of course, were extinguished. the sort of thing our volunteers enjoyed in s.a., and for which they got rheumatism and experience, and a medal, and no opportunity to wear it. one of the sepoys has cut me a bamboo, so it's time to be off to put on snake-rings, and get out tackle and try somehow to hang on to one of these mahseer that i have heard of so much and of which i know so little. local information there is none, but i have spoons and phantoms, and so--who knows! chapter xxxvi [illustration] the above notes and remarks, full of hope, were written with a little impatience to be "on the water." now, after two hours scrambling through jungle to and from the river, i've less hope and an empty basket. it was hot and still down in the glen, like the vale wherein sat grey-haired saturn, and-- "forest on forest hung about his head like cloud on cloud. no stir of air was there, not so much life as on a summer's day robs not one light seed from the feathered grass, but where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest." and fruit and flowers too lay sodden under foot. it was tough work getting through the few hundred yards of jungle of creeper thorns and boulders to the river's edge. i fished two or three sheltered runs, and came back soaking from within and without from the heat and wet foliage, scratched by thorns, with ears drumming from the noise of many waters, and no basket, and the river not down two inches and muddy as could be! we must be off again now--or at least let the pack ponies and servants go. th, monday.--nampoung, after two hours on our little gees, two hours that seemed days! hot and stuffy down in the glens in the din and roar of the taiping in spate, climbing up for a thousand feet, a hundred yards on the level, twisting round corries--such fascinating corries, stuffed with every sort of tropic growth, like the pictures one saw in stories of jules verne, but in such rich varied colouring! i vow i saw creepers of two hundred feet, wild plantains with fruit, and great ferns, heavy-leaved dark foliage and feathery bamboos, the leaves yellow and dropping and covering our path with a crisp brown carpet. [illustration] we rode generally in single file, our right sides against rocks or cuttings in the yellow earth bank, and every here and there were views through the foliage, sometimes almost straight down below us a thousand feet, where we could catch a glimpse of foaming river and hear its roar coming up to us. [illustration] the sowars cut branches for us to hold over our shoulders to keep the heat of the afternoon sun off neck and back--birnam woods _a deux_, and nampoung fort instead of macbeth's castle. nampoung--the edge of the empire!--we are now well into the kachin highlands, to feet above the sea, and the air is delicious. the last part of our ride here was very steep. g. and her pony were only just able to scrape up together. i and the sepoys had to walk. almost in the steepest part some sixty chinese mules and ponies came down, and we pulled aside at a bit of the path where two could barely pass. it was a cheery sight, the long line of ponies and the blue coats and mushroom hats, jogging, slipping, and jangling down the zigzag path, with an occasional cheery shout to the beasts as they disappeared round corners, appeared again, and finally showed a mile below, when only the sound of their bells came up to us faintly from the tropic woods in the bottom of the nampoung valley. i am not sure that having reached a point within pistol-shot of the back of china fills one with any enormous sense of accomplished endeavour. what strikes me mildly is the feeling of being at the present extremity of british possessions, and we speculate where the march may be in years to come--east or west? the tiny little frontier fort we have arrived at is on a saddle-back hill, and overlooks the angle of china between two valleys, that of the taiping and its tributary, the nampoung. as we passed through the wire entanglements on the summit, after our climb up, the indian sentinel facing china across the glen struck me as being rather a suggestive figure, so here he is. [illustration] "capin kurruk" was our effective password. kirke i suppose, had heliographed our arrival, and the subadar and the native doctor met us. the subadar, a sikh, i think, had almost the only indian face i have seen so far that i liked--big, potent, and with the appearance of a sportsman and gentleman. the doctor was of rather an opposite type, though clever-looking, and spoke a little english. the dark bungalow was a few hundred yards down the hill from the fort looking down the valley we had come up into the sunset. on these higher hills i see more kachin clearings, and with the glass make out their sturdy little figures in the tracks leading from one clearing to the other, interminable bamboo jungle above and below them. they certainly have a splendid country to hold. they are said to have come into burmah with the great mogul invasion; and when the northerners retreated, the kachins stayed and took up their quarters in the hill tops, and have raided the low countries since. the cut of their women's dress resembles the reindeer skin dress of the laps in north of norway, and the geometric ornaments are similar, and the torque or heavy penanular necklet of silver has ends like the druidical serpents head. th february.--down at kulong cha the night was warm and stuffy! last night up here at nampoung it was precious cold. we could hardly sleep, though we had on our whole wardrobe. the weak point was our having only two thin quilts underneath on the charpoys. as these bungalows are all made after one design on the principle of a meat-safe, to keep you cool in the low hot levels, they are only too effective up here. so we turned out very early to find a spot where the sun shone hot on the empire's wall. in an hour or two we will be down to the nampoung river, and it will be hot there as an oven. chapter xxxvii lives there a man who has sat by the riverside at mid-day in the glen, with a pipe and a cup, and a fish in the bag, the air hot and full of the sound of running waters, and the sun laughing in the spirals of the mountain dew, who has not felt that beautiful life could offer nothing better than another fish? (i'd have brought a "man or woman" into this already involved interrogatory sentence, but for the pipe!) so we feel, as we rest by the side of nampoung river, between china and upper burmah, after a morning's ride and an hour's fishing. there is a delicious blend of wood, and hill, and running water, and we have a good mahseer in the bag--or pot rather--a perfect beauty, though not quite up to the record weights we read of; but it played handsomely, and it comes in handily for lunch. i got it at the tail of a lovely clear running pool,[ ] just above the ford where the caravans cross from china. the river must be much netted by the coolies who camp for the night here; as i wound up before lunch one of these, a chinaman, with a boy came and cast a circular net with great skill over half the pool in which i'd landed the mahseer, but they didn't get anything, as i expect i'd driven the mahseer into the rough water at the top of the pool. down the river where it meets the taiping i am told there is splendid fishing, but i must content myself with the hope that "a time will come." it is pleasant in the meantime; there are sweet scents in the air, and pleasant colours. our little camp kitchen, one hundred yards down the river, wreaths the trees with wisps of blue smoke. the burmese girl and her brother wear bright red and white, and near us there are wild capsicums and lemon trees dangling all over with yellow fruit and sweet-scented blossoms. the fruit has rather a coarse skin, but the juice is pleasant enough under the circumstances. [ ] fresh food a treat, as larder is becoming "tinny." how good the mahseer was fried, with a touch of lemon! i daresay if it had been big enough to feed all hands it would not have had such a delicate flavour; it was rather like fresh herring. if our servants hadn't much fish, i at least, helped their larder to a crow from a swaying bough above us some forty odd yards--brought it down with a four-inch barrelled browning's colt. it and its comrades made a racket above us, and disturbed a nap g. and i were having on the bank up the river from our camp, so i drew as i lay and fired, and was fairly well pleased with the shot; but the smiles and astonishment of some chinese and kachins, who had gathered from i don't know where, and were very unexpectedly showing their heads round us, were truly delightful, and the feathers were off in a twinkling. i liked these aborigines' expressions after the shot a good deal better than before. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . then we got up and went on to china, g. on her white pony, the writer on foot, and when we came to the ford the pony wouldn't face the stream for love or a stick, so i'd to carry g. pick-a-back, and it took me to the thick of the thigh and g. well over her ankles. we walked three steps on chinese ground and stopped, and looked at the chinese riffraff soldiery that turned out from a cane house, and they likewise looked at us. as they offered no signs of welcome, we began our homeward journey, took a breath, said a prayer, and "hold tight," and waded back. these guards, i am told, lose their heads if they allow anyone to pass without a permit; we did not have one, so i can quite well understand their expressions. g. knew this before we crossed, but i did not, so i reflect. i do not suppose we could have forded sooner as the river was falling; a few hours later, it could have been crossed with less difficulty. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . so we got back to our ponies again, and followed our baggage jogging back down from china, in and out, and up and down the valleys; and it was just as nice as jogging up: we were glad to see the scenes of wood and valley and foaming rivers over again from new points of view. at kulong cha, we stopped the night in the glen of the sound of many waters. a leopard called on us in the night--came into the back verandah with a velvety thud, and so we each turned out with our browning revolvers, and when we met with candles dimly burning, each said we "heard a rat!" it probably was in search of the terrier of the burmese wife of our native cook; but it did not succeed in the quest. terriers' lives here are short and full of sport, and leopards love them. what an adventuresome day--bag one crow--one mahseer. the desperate play of the mahseer and our adventure into china had tired us, so that we left kulong cha late, after a "european breakfast"; which is to say, a breakfast at or about nine, and rode with much pleasure till lunch time. then fell in with our servants, camped in flickering shadows under bamboos beside the yellow surging taiping, the fire going and the air redolent with an appetising smell of roast duck; our last dear duck, whose fellow ducks and hens had accompanied us in the baskets at either end of a pole across a coolie's back from bhamo. in less than fifteen minutes by the watch, we had a rod cut, salmon reel attached and rings put on with the invaluable plaster, and all ready for underhand casting. i fished the most magnificent-looking salmon pool; there were fresh leopard tracks on a bank of sand beside it, and g. and the burmese woman made a great collection of orchids and bulbs, and ants and stinging beasts as they climbed the trees. but alas, i got only one fish, and it was no beauty! i rather think the taiping water is too discoloured and sandy for mahseer. if the ride in the morning was pleasant, that in the afternoon and evening was even more so. as we came down the glens to kalychet,--the gold of the evening faded in front of us, and left us in soft sweetly-scented darkness. the fire-flies lit up, and their little golden lamps flickering alongside through the intricacies of the dark bamboo stems helped to show us the track. [illustration] ... how tired we were when we at last reached the rest-house: tired of the delight of the day and the difficulty of riding in the dark. it blew a little during the night and grew cold, but we thought of the heat of the day and made belief that we were very snug, though the wind did play freely through the open floor and cane walls. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . from kalychet to momouk in the sun in the morning was perhaps our most enjoyable ride, such heat, and light, and exhilarating air, the air of norway with southern colour. butterflies, huge black fellows with dazzling blue patches, fluttered off the sandy bits of road, their shadows blacker than themselves, the ponies' feet crackled the great hard teak leaves. out of forest and creepers into bamboo thickets; then into glades with flowering kaing grass and wild fruit, redder than tomatoes, hanging from creeping plants; across slender wooden bridges, over roaring streams, always getting lower till the path came out on the plains again on the wide macadamised road. ... it was rather sad getting on to the plain again. we left our hearts in the kachin highlands, and thought, with a little melancholy, how long it would be before we breathed clean hill air again. our train got a little disorganised getting into momouk, the pack-ponies' backs were the worse of wear, and our boy had fallen out with sore feet--the poor fellow had been working up to his collar. he crept in hours after the others and collapsed, his bare soles cracked and legs in pain. silly fellow won't wear shoes for some caste or religious superstition; he is more fitted for his clerks work than for tramping. i held his pulse and tried to look as if i knew what to do with a sick hindoo, tucked him up in his blanket under the bungalow and left him in charge of the native durwan, and arranged to send out a conveyance for him on the morrow from bhamo. then we took the hard high road again in the pony cart, and it felt very hum-drum trundling along on wheels on the straight level road across the plain. groups of kachins passed us going homewards to the high ground we had left, and we envied them; for hills are elevating and plains depressing, whatever shopenhaur or the fleet street philosopher may have said to the contrary. as the evening came on, we passed the mission house, and the cemetery, and the dak bungalow and the club, pretty nearly all there is of european interest in bhamo, excepting the fort, and pulled up at the deputy-commissioner's bungalow. the d.c., mr leveson, was at home this time, and gave us a very hospitable welcome. ... the military police officers to dinner. the conversation mostly on sport; what constitutes a "good snipe shot," what may be called a "good bag of snipe," and the many ramifications of these subjects. then music, our host singing, "when sparrows build," and kirke sang and played his own "farewell to burmah," of which both music and words expressed the very essence of the charm of this country, and a little of the sweet sadness there is in glens and rivers, and of the peace of evening when the kaing grass is still and the white ibis and crows flight home across the broad river into the sunset. you who know the song of dierdre of naoise, fairest of the sons of uisneach, and the charms of each glen she sings of in alba--you will know the quality i mean.... "beloved, the water o'er pure sand, oh, that i might not part from the east, but that i go with my beloved." [illustration] i think percy smith was strongest at coon songs, and trail sang all sorts, and g. and kirke played accompaniments, whilst the writer picked out his own to a chantie respecting the procedure to be taken with an inebriated mariner--such a merry evening!--the best of which, to me, was the jolly rattle of witty talk of these youthful administrators, the oldest, if you please, well under thirty, talking of the other soldier men as boys. we finished our concert at one, and the young soldiers had to get home, and start up the river before daybreak for warlike manoeuvres--(or polo?) at myitkyna, miles north-west of bhamo; there will be a jolly reunion i gather, of men who have been for long months keeping watch and ward from their lonely mountain eyries o'er the furthest marches of the british empire! [illustration] th february.--i vow that there is this morning, at the same time, a suggestion in the air of both spring and autumn. there is a touch of autumn grey, and the plants in the garden droop a little as they do at home before or after frost. a level line of cloud rests half-way up the steel blue hills, it has hung there motionless for hours since the sun rose, and the air is very pure, with a sweet scent of stephanotis and wood-smoke and roses. possibly it is the stephanotis and the wood-smoke combined that makes me think of spring--spring in paris; but more probably paris is brought to my mind this morning by the interview we had yesterday with m. ava about our berths on the cargo boat down to mandalay; he is the bhamo agent for the flotilla company. m. ava left paris at the time of the birth of the prince imperial, and came to burmah with his own yacht, and has stayed here ever since. i wish he would write a book on the changes of life he has seen; about the court life of the empire, and his semi-official yachting tour, and of his long residence with thebaw and his queens, of the intrigue and ceremonies in their golden palaces, the thrilling episodes of which he was witness, and of the many changes of fortune he has himself experienced. ... someone said last night, "how interesting it would be if an artist were to paint the various types of the tribes here," and my conscience smote me for not seizing the occasion. so to-day i got my boy to ask the native cook, to ask his burmese wife, to ask her kachin female assistant to pose for me, and here she is. isn't she sweet?--and seventeen, she says, and she is so shy!--and has a queer, queer look in the back of her narrow eyes that i'd fain be able to translate; perhaps there's a little pride of race, and perhaps a little of the timidity of a wild thing from the jungle--perhaps all the histories of old mongol invasions and retreats if we could but read! her dress is rather rich, jacket black velvet, edged with red, tall turban of blue frieze cloth, and kilt and putties of the colours of low-toned tartan made of hand-woven cloth, in diced and herring-boned patterns. she has a silver torque round her neck of the druidical shape, the ends of the circle almost meeting, and bent back with two shapes like flat serpents' heads. in her ears are silver ornaments the size and shape of manilla cheroots, enamelled and tasselled with red silk. as i drew her, the rest of mr leveson's domestics, burmese and native, sat round on the lawn and helped by looking on, and were greatly delighted in seeing the buxom beauty reproduced in colour on paper. [illustration: a kachin girl] a burmese matron then came along with her daughter to sell two silver swords with ivory handles, and i got the swords, and a sitting of a few minutes from the daughter, and here she is: a fairly average burmese girl, but not nearly one of the prettiest. the green broadcloth jacket you see up here frequently, but further south the girls all wore thin white jackets. as i painted, g. and the servants packed orchids, box after box--i must be at my packing too; leopards' skins, and kachin and silver-mounted shan dahs are my most interesting trophies. dined with the algys of the civil police force--captain massey there, a pleasant bungalow, a wealth of roses on the table, heavy red curtains against white and pale blue plastered walls; a wood fire and lots of open air and music, and talk of sport and big game. i am asked to a great drive of geese, sambhur, and syn, but cannot accept for want of time--was there ever anything more annoying! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . th february.--good-bye, sweet bhamo. you weep, and we weep; but we go with a hope we may return. how it pours! the chinese ponies on the sandbank huddle together. a burmese lady goes up the bank to loosen the painter of her canoe; she wears a pink silk skirt and white jacket, and carries a yellow paper umbrella and apparently thinks little of the downpour. i've noticed heaps of these pretty oiled paper umbrellas in the bazaars, i suppose being prepared for this kind of weather. even in pouring wet, bhamo is beautiful. good-bye again; we will tell our friends at home that there is such a desirable quiet country on this side of heaven, where the mansions truly are few, but the hosts are very kind. now we let go our wire rope from the red and black timber head in the sand, slip away quietly into the current and leave the sandbank to the chinese ponies and a few bales of cotton, all in the dripping rain. the kaing grass is drooping with the downpour, but it will be dry as tinder in an hour or two, dry on the top at least. now, great irrawaddy--take us safely down your length, and preserve us from sandbanks and let us spend some more hours on your lovely banks; and we will go down with your rafts of bamboos, and teak, and pottery, and canoes, and we will avoid all trains till you fraternise with old ocean again in rangoon river. then we will bid you good-bye, it may be for years, but we hope not for ever. ... at katha again. the wet pigeon-grey sky lifting, the river the colour of the seine. the decorative fig and cotton trees have leaves just budding, and through the grey stems of the leafless champaks with wax white flowers we see groups of figures in dainty colours in the quiet light, and of course there is the glint of white and gold of a pagoda. ... in the morning we woke early and drank in the beauty of the clouds lifting off the river and floating up the corries in the distant hills. we did not awake early intentionally; the wet mist in the night tautened the cord of the fog horn, and when the steam pressure rose, off it went loud and long enough to waken seventy sleepers. ... we pass villages quickly on our way down. we have a flat on either side, but there is only a half-hearted bazaar in one, and the other is empty, so we can use it as our promenade. by lunch time the sky had all cleared into a froth of sunshine and blue and white clouds. the sand and distant forest and hills became well nigh invisible in the bright light, and the river seemed a shield of some fine metal, that took all the sky and smoothed it and reflected it with concentrated glitter. for our foreground we have the white table on deck in shade, with a heap of roses and white orchids in a silver bowl; the fallen petals blend into the half-tone of the table cloth, and there's peace and quiet and sleep, to the pulsation of the paddles and the hissing of the foaming water passing astern. [illustration: a girl of upper burmah] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . at tayoung in the evening we swing round, head up stream, and lie along the shore--too late to go shooting, so we put on a cast of flies and cast over rising fish, and get a dozen very pretty fish in half-an-hour. i confess i put a tiny piece of meat on each fly, but hardly enough to call it bait fishing. these were all silvery, "butter fish," excepting one, which was rather like a herring. meantime we had the heavy sunk line baited with dough, and by and bye it began to go out into the stream, and we paid out line rapidly, and then suddenly hauled taut and were fast to a "big un." it was pull devil, pull baker for about five to ten minutes, when the big fish came alongside, and we got a noose round its tail and hauled it on board. it weighed twenty-eight lbs! ... the nd.--i think, but who can tell?--for each glorious hot day is as monotonously beautiful as the day before; all bright and shining, the blue and white sky reflected in the endless silky riband of the river down which we steadily paddle, between silver strands and bowery woods, stopping only for the night, and possibly for an hour or two in the day, when we go ashore to sketch, or sometimes to shoot. i have been trying to make up my mind which of two perfect days' shooting was the best. this afternoon's shoot and tramp through the jungle--bag, my first brace francolin, to my own gun, or a day last year in stubble and turnips, and twenty-five brace partridges to my own gun and black pointer. i think the jungle day has it, though the bag was so small, by virtue of its beauty, as against the trim fields of the lothians. we started together, g. and her maid to collect seeds and roots and orchids, and i wandered on to shoot with a burmese guide. some of the tall trees have shed their leaves, and are now a mass of blossom. one high tree had dropped a mat of purple flowers, as large as tulips, across the dried grass and brown leaves at its foot. another tree with silvery bark had every leafless branch ablaze with orange vermilion flowers. "fire of the forest," or "flame of forest," i heard it called in india,--its colour so dazzling, you see everything grey for seconds after looking at it. then there were brakes of flowering shrubs like tobacco plants with star like white flowers, and the scent of orange blossom; and others with velvety petals of heliotrope tint, and masses of creepers with flowers like myrtle, and a fresh scent of violets and daisies--the air so pure and pleasant that each scent came to one separately; and, as the most of the foliage is dry and thin just now, these flowers and green bushes were the more effective. certainly the surroundings were more beautiful than those we have in low ground shooting at home, and the smallness of the bag was balanced by this, and the delightfully unfamiliar sensation of both shooting and right-of-way, being free to you or your neighbour. with a shade of luck, i'd have had quite a decent bag; but you know how some days things just miss the bag--you can't exactly tell why--so it was this afternoon; there should have been two hares, and two quail, and two birds that seemed very like pheasants. one fell in impenetrable thorns, and we could not get nearer than about ten yards, and i missed another sitting. to restore my reputation with the burmese boy, i had to claw down some high pigeons from untold heights on their way home to roost. after this, as i was loading, a partridge got up from some stubbly grass in a clearing, with an astonishingly familiar whirr, and went clear away, and i'd barely loaded when a button quail whipped over some bushes, and it dropped, but in impenetrable thorns! i'd not heard of burmese partridges, but the flight and whirr were unmistakeable, though the bird was larger than those at home. so we went on, longing for the company of my silky, black-coated pointer flo, and a couple of hardy mongrel spaniels--together we would soon have filled the bag!... it is such fun going through new country, without a ghost of an idea which direction to take or what method to pursue, or what game to expect. at the next cleared space we came to, two birds, mightily like pheasants, were feeding on some ground that had once been tilled, so, by signs to the burmese boy (he cleans the knives on board) i easily made him understand he was to drive them over me, and we each made a circuit, he round the open, the gun behind a brake of dog roses and plantains, and the birds came over with rather too uncertain flight for pheasants. i got one, and the other fell far into thorns, but they were, after all, only a large kind of magpie, but with regular gamey-brown wings, blue-black heads, and long tails that gave them on the ground a passing resemblance to pheasants. the next open space seemed absolutely suited for partridges, and, as we walked into the middle, up got two and came down to quite a conventional right and left, and our glee was unbounded when we found them in the dried grass. the colours of their plumage was handsome, not quite so sober as that of our partridge at home, and their size and shape was almost between that of a grouse and a partridge; francolin,[ ] i've since heard they were. two hares i just got a glimpse of, greyish in colour, and very thin-looking beasts. then the sun got low, and we heard deer barking in knolly ground, and would fain have sat the evening out quietly, and waited, and watched the night life of the jungle. [ ] there is not a specimen quite like them in s. kensington. it was dark when we made for the river and the soft, dusty track through the green grass at its edge. big beetles passed us humming, and we met some children with lamps swinging, and they sang as they went, to keep away the nats or spirits of things. our steamer looked pleasantly homelike, lying a yard from the shore. the purdahs were up and showed the lamp-lit table on deck, set for dinner, and flowers, books and chairs, a cosy picture. the light was reflected in the grey river, and waved slightly in the ripple of the current from the anchor chain. a cargo steamer, forsooth! a private yacht is the feeling it gave. there are only two passengers besides ourselves, a mr and mrs s. with the master and mate we make six at dinner, and the concert after, in which the first mate plays piano accompaniments to all the chanties we can scrape together--"stormy long,"--"run, let the bulgine run,"--"away rio:" cheerful chanties like "the anchor's weighed," with its "fare ye well, polly, and farewell sue," and sad, sad songs of ocean's distress, like "leave her, johnnie; its time to leave her." neither the master nor mate have seen salt water for many a day, but i know their hearts yearn for the wide ocean and tall ships a-sailing; for all the beauties of all the rivers in the world pale beside the tower of white canvas above you, and the surge and send of a ship across the wide sea. ... rd february.--kyonkmyoung--not pronounced as spelt, and spelling not guaranteed. we spent the night at above village. now we are passing a wooded shore, and two remarkable pagodas side by side, like two italian villas, with flat roofs and windows of western design, each has a white terrace in front with a small pagoda spire, and in the trees there are many white terraces and steps up to them from the river's edge. ... the up-river mail has passed us, it had been delayed on a sandbank; we ship an american family party from it. having lost some hours on the sandbank, they cannot now proceed up the river to bhamo, as they had intended, so they returned with us to mandalay. the first gangway plank was hardly down when they were ashore and away like a bullet, with a ricochet and a twang behind; a silver king, they say, and a future president!--how rapidly americans travel, and assimilate facts, and what extraordinary conclusions some of them make. [illustration] we slow-going scots hang on at mandalay for a little. we have not half seen the place, and wish to spend hours and hours at the pagoda, watching the worshippers there, and trying, if possible, to remember enough expressions and forms and colours to use at home. our fellow passengers, mr and mrs s., elect to stay on board. they have some days to spare, waiting for a down-river steamboat, wisely preferring that, to the bustle through to rangoon in the train. ... mr s. is playing the piano, g. and i are painting, mrs s. sewing, and all the morning, from the lower deck, there comes the continual chink of silver rupees, where captain robinson and his mate are settling the trade accounts of the trip, blessing the burmese clerk for having half a rupee too much; funny work for men brought up to "handle reef and steer." three steamers, similar to our own, with flats, lie alongside the sandbank, all in black and white, with black and red funnels and corrugated iron roofs, and "glasgow" painted astern. bullock-carts bump along the shore in clouds of dust, and the bales come and go, and trade here is still really picturesque; there are no ugly warehouses or stores, and everything is open and above board--just, i suppose, as trade went on in the days of adam or solomon. went to the railway station, we were obliged to do so. we must leave the river to get down to rangoon and western india, to catch our return p. & o. from bombay. we have decided to return by the north of india, and not by ceylon, though we are drawn both ways. ceylon route by steamer all the way, seems so much easier for tired travellers, than going overland in trains; but what would friends at home say if we missed benares, agra, and delhi. [illustration] ... a native stationmaster, in a perfunctory manner, points out the kind of st class carriage we have to travel in. it is not inviting, and we get back to the river, and make a jotting of our steamer and the shore against the evening sky, and the bullock-carts slowly stirring the dust into a golden haze.... then we go to live on shore with friends for a day or two. i despair of making anything, in the meantime, of the arrakan pagoda, and the great golden buddha with the wonderful light on it, and the kneeling tribesmen and women from over asia. it is one of the finest, if not _the_ finest, subject for painting i have ever seen, and yet i can't see one telling composition. looking at the people kneeling, from the side, you can't see the buddha, and, looking at the buddha, you only see the peoples' backs. chapter xxxviii from the train to rangoon, you see very little of the country: we felt rather unhappy in it after the comfort of the steamer. a native stationmaster lost half our luggage for us--vowed he'd put it on board. i knew that he knew that he had not done so, but i could do nothing. it was glaringly hot at the station; several europeans wore black spectacles, and i had to do the same, for needle like pains ran through my eyes since the day on the snipe jheel at bhamo. the first part of the journey was smooth enough, but bless me! they brought up the royal train from rangoon at ten miles an hour faster than we travel down! how uneasily must have lain a head that is to wear a crown. we couldn't sleep at night for the carriage seemed to be going in every direction at once--waggled about like a basket, and we shook so much we laughed at a mosquito that aimed at a particular feature. but in the early morning we did actually sleep for a little, and about or a.m. were awakened, for tea, and plague inspection at a.m., about two hours before getting into rangoon!--a plague on tea and inspectors at that hour of the morning! it wasn't pure joy that journey. ah! and it was sad too, getting to the cultivated plains round rangoon--eternal rice fields and toiling indians--uglier and uglier as we neared civilisation. the saddest sight of all, the half-bred burman and indian woman or man--the woman the worst; with, perhaps, a face of burmese cast, over-shadowed with the hungry expression of the indian, and a black thin shank and flat foot showing under the lungy, where should be rounded calf and clean cut foot. we may be great colonists we britons, but i fear our stocking burmah with scourings from india is only great as an evil. now i will pass rangoon in my journal. we stayed a day or two at a lodging in a detached teak villa in a compound which contained native servants, and crows _ad nauseum_--it was dull, stupid and dear, and we were sorry we had not gone to the hotel, and our greatest pleasure was visiting the shwey pagoda again, and the greatest unpleasantness was getting on board the british india boat the "lunka" for calcutta. we were literally bundled pell mell on board, some twenty passengers and baggage, and some five hundred native troops all in a heap in the waist on top of us--what a miserable muddle. the french passengers smiled derisively at the inefficacy or rather total absence of any system of embarkation of passengers, and the americans opened their eyes! always they repeat on board--"why, you first class passengers don't pay us." on the irrawaddy river boats they say this too, but they make you jolly comfortable for all that. it was six hours of struggle, mostly in the sun, before i got our things into our cabin, and half our luggage lay on deck for the night with natives camping on it! the officers on board were very pleasant and agreeable, as they were on board the last british india boat we were on, but the want of method in getting passengers and their baggage off the wharf and into boats and on board was almost incredible....[ ] there was a vein of amusement, i remember, when i can get my mind off the annoying parts of our "embarkation." i got a chanter from a chinese pedlar in the street in the morning--heard the unmistakeable reedy notes coming along the street as i did business in the the cool office of messrs cook & co., and leaving papers and monies went and met the smiling chinese pedlar of sweetmeats who sold me his chanter. the position of the notes is the same as on our chanter, and the fingering is the same; afterwards on board when i played a few notes on it the beady black eyes of the ghurkas in the waist sparkled, and they pulled out their practice chanters from their kit at once--and there we were!--and the long-legged, almond-eyed sikhs on their baggage looked on in languid wonder. [ ] getting off at calcutta was indescribable--if possible worse than the embarkation--_a sauve qui peut_. would you like a description of calcutta? i wish i could give it. it was a little different from what i expected, smaller, and yet with ever so much more life and bustle on the river than i'd expected. commerce doesn't go slow on account of heat, and here, as in burmah, i was surprised to see so much picturesque lading and unlading of cargoes going on by the river banks, and the green grass and trees running from the banks into the town. but we will jump calcutta, i think, it is too big an order; but before going on may i say that the architecture is, to my mind, better than it is said to be. in holdich's "india" it is unfavourably compared with that in bombay, but do you know, i almost prefer the classic style of calcutta to the scientific rococco bombay architecture, but i offer this opinion with the greatest diffidence, for i know the author of "india" is an artist--still--"i know what i like," as the burglar said when he took the spoons. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . benares.--one evening we took train from calcutta to benares. flat fields of white poppies were on either side, and english park-like scenes, without the mansions, and we thanked our stars we had not to live in what the norse call "eng" or meadow land. the things of interest in benares are in order--first the ghats, then a river called the ganges, and the monkey temple; of course there are a great many natives, but from a cursory impression of the faces in the crowds, i think they rank after the monkeys. we arrived on a feast day with the golden beauty of burmah and its people fresh in our minds, and found these natives were painting the town red. they slopped a liquid the colour of red ink over their neighbours' more or less white clothes, and threw handfuls of vermilion powder over each other--an abominable shade of vermilion--so roads and people and sides of houses were all stained with these ugly colours; in fact, at the ghats or terraces at the river side, where many thousands were congregated, the air was thick with the vermilion dust. from the water's edge up the steps to the palaces and temples and houses at the top, the terraces swarmed with thousands of people, and the talk and mirthless laughter rose and fell like the continuous clamour from a guillemot rookery. the scenes we met in the streets were only to be described in language of the elizabethan period. if to-day at home we pass obscurantism for morality, the indian does the reverse; he tears the last shreds from our ideas of what phallic worship might once have been. i think the ghats are the most nauseating place in the world; there, is idolatry, in capital letters--the most terrible vision that a mind diseased could picture in horrible nightmare! for you see thousands of inferior specimens of men and women dabbling in the water's edge, _doing all and every particular of the toilet in the same place almost touching each other_, and right amongst them are dead people in pink or white winding sheets being burned, and the ashes and half-burned limbs being shoved into the water--and i forgot--there's a main sewer comes into the middle of this. we got on to a boat with a cabin on it, and sat on its roof on decrepit cane chairs, and the rowers below with makeshift oars gradually pulled us up and down the face of the ghats--what oars, and what a ramshackle tub of a boat--too old and tumble-down for a fisherman's hen run at home. holy gunga! what a crowd of men and women line the edge of these steps knee deep in the water, and babble and jabber and pray, day after day, and pretend to wash themselves, without soap! only one man of the thousands i saw was proportionably shaped; and one woman was white, an albino, i wish i could forget her bluey whiteness! and i saw boys doing sandow exercises, evidently trying to bring up their biceps--poor little devils--how can they? they haven't time--they will be married and reproducing other little fragilities like themselves, before they are out of their teens! the monkey temple is full of monkeys, and they have less apish expressions than the priests. the prince of wales saw it the patron told me, and added, "princess give handsome presents--also maharajahs--from rupees to ." so i gave one, very willingly, to get out, and thought it cheap at the price. besides the nastiness of the monkeys, there was much blood of sacrifices drying on the ground and altars, and this was covered with flies; there are some abominable rites in this temple, but they are now _not supposed_ to sacrifice children. perhaps it was because i was tired with sight-seeing, perhaps because the ghats are really so terrible that i felt their picturesqueness was lost on me, so i told my guide to direct my rowers' little energy towards the far side of the river where there are no houses, and there is quiet and clean river sand. [illustration] on the sands we found a fakir had established his camp--quite a low church fellow, i suppose, to the brahmin mind. he sat over against this sacred benares, and told those freethinkers, who came across at times, that his was the only one and true religion, and that the phallic saturnalia on the opposite shore was damned, and the ganges water was of no use whatever in the way of religion. his camp covered an acre of sand and was fenced with cane, and he had camels and cows and many followers, and though they had only one yellow waist-cloth between them all, which he wore, he must have been well enough off to provide the loaves and fishes for so many. he sat all the time with his legs crossed, and read sanskrit in a low, very well modulated voice, whilst people from far and near came and bowed, and sometimes, if they were worthy, touched his feet, and he would give them a little look from his quiet intense eyes, and the least inclination of his head, a movement and look a king might have envied, it was at the same time so reserved and yet graciously beneficent. his hair and beard were long and slightly curling and tawny at the ends, and his face was dusted with grey ash which emphasised his rather potent eyes. his features in profile were pure greek, and on his low forehead there was a touch of gold. his particular followers or disciples had the silly expression of a mesmerist's subjects; they sat in the dust stark naked and unashamed, and looked happy and exceedingly foolish. the way this fakir made money i was told, is simplicity itself; he merely gives a pass with his hand above his head, and lo there is a sovereign in his palm, or he makes a pass at his toe and there is another! my mohammedan guide, who told me about this fakir, was rather a fine specimen and had read much; and though he did not belong to the same church as the fakir, he held him in great respect, and he told me very seriously--that he could raise the dead--he knew a man who knew another man who had actually seen it done! the fakir sat on a little dais in front of a hut with an awning over him. he passed word to a satellite in a cloak that he would be pleased were i to land, and i told my guide to tell him i would be pleased to alight from my ramshackle tub and make his portrait, and he gently inclined his head, so i descended from my barge roof, and stood opposite him on the sand and drew, and after half-an-hour or so he saw that i was tired standing and sent for a seat, but i of course could not change my point of view, and no doubt his followers wondered why i bothered standing in the sun when i might have easily sat in the shade and done nothing. next day i went on the river and stopped in passing his place and showed him the coloured portrait, of which he gently expressed his approval and signified that he would be pleased to accept a copy. so i made one, and it is now glazed and framed and worshipped by his disciples. he gave me his blessing in exchange--he did not make any passes for sovereigns--but he gave me a seed or two to eat for a particular purpose, and there is no result so far--and though he did not convert me i left him with a certain respect for his great dignity of manner, and for his evident desire and ability to obtain power over men's minds. perhaps with all his study and knowledge he still wonders why a man should stand some hours in the heat playing with pencil and paper and water colours. i am told he believes in only one god, unfortunately i forget which; but there are , , gods in india, so perhaps it's a matter of no great consequence to them, or the deity, or us. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . one is conscious at benares just now of a pervading effort to proselytise. there is this fakir on one side of the river with his troop, covering their nakedness with a little dust and ashes, and priests of all kinds and the populace painting themselves red on the other side; then there is mrs besant running some new sort of hindooism or "damned charlatanism," as lafcadio hearn would have put it. and there are various scottish and english church missions making special efforts to secure converts, but they pay far more than my fakir does per head--soul i mean. the fakir has secured two hundred recognised converts and disciples in his own camp; he, however, has the advantage over other missionaries in his method, which i have described, of obtaining supplies. each disciple costs him only one rupee per day, so my guide tells me, and he says he is absolutely reliable; so they must do themselves well. if i stayed a few days longer i'd start some new philosophy myself, or revive an old one. and now i think of it, i believe mine once floated would knock all the others endways--to begin with i'd have my benares or mecca in some art bohemia, and i'd raise a blue banner inscribed with the word beauty in gold, and that would be the watchword.... no one to enroll who could not make, say a decent rendering of the milo in sculpture or drawing--or write or play.... [illustration: a fakir at benares] our places of study would be the churches that are empty during the week--we surely could not be refused the use of them for the five or six days they are not used! the last half of the sixth day would give us time to remove all our beautiful things, so they would be the same as usual on sundays--nothing like detail in going in for a scheme of this kind. and he or she who could produce something beautiful in either sculpture, colour, music, or being, or even making a hat, would be high in the priesthood, and might receive offerings of food and raiment in return for instruction given (like the burmese phoungies from the general public), so the general public would obtain merit, and men like sargent (if they could drop their academical degrees), la touche, anglada camarassa, sarolea, sidannier would be very high in the priesthood; and we'd have velasquez and whistler, montecelli and the like for saints and--i see i have left no place for scientists and musicians. but we'd have heaps of room for them, of course. this isn't all nonsense you know!--in fact it is possibly all sense. i'd like to see the philosophy carried out experimentally say for three years in a bad district, such as between edinburgh castle and holyrood. i believe the people would look handsomer and happier than they are at present after the second year. given beauty for our standard and first goal, goodness, mercy, courage, manliness, and womanliness, and good looks, would surely follow, and the creator might be trusted for the rest. i am positively anxious, in the present condition of things, about what will happen when some of us come to the gates of heaven.--i very much doubt if a knowledge of the ten commandments will pass us in--and even if we do get in, and secure a mansion, and it is really as beautiful as described, how uncomfortable many of us will feel who have not been made familiar with the subject of beauty below! i fear there may be awkward questions put about what we have learned besides the ten commandments; we may be asked what we have observed of god's works. for example, "what is the colour of wood smoke across a blue sky," or "the colour of white marble against a yellow sunset." perhaps you may be passed in with even a solfeggio, but just think!--suppose you are asked to "describe the most expressive movement in the action of a man throwing a stone," or "how many heads there are in the milo!"... such philosophising is quite the thing here at benares--everyone does. but to go back to the people and the ghats i must--for my own protection--for some one who reads these notes may have also waded through the exquisite writing of pierre loti on the subject, and may conclude i am untruthful. he says, he saw on the steps bathing, people "à la fois sveltes et athlétiques," and lovely women, dead and alive, with clinging draperies that resemble the "victoire aptére,"--well, i vow!--i've studied the human form for about twenty-five years and i repeat that what i say is true, that of the hundreds of men i saw distinctly of the thousands bathing, i only saw one man passably well made. i saw very finely built sikhs from northern india in burmah, and others at madras, but all the people on the banks of the ganges had very poor muscular development. and these lovely women whom pierre loti sees in such numbers--they have no calves--whoever saw beauty without the rudiments of a calf! but perhaps pierre loti does; if he can write about india, sans les anglais--(he means british[ ]) he may fancy hamlet without the prince, or venus with an indian shank. but we forgive him; for that picture, off iceland, "the stuffy brown lamplit cabin in the fishing lugger, the tobacco smoke and the madonna in the corner, and outside on deck the silvery daylight and the pure air of the arctic midnight." [ ] "l'inde sans les anglais." . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . i think military life in benares must be slow, the soldier seems to have so much routine work in india when there is no frontier campaign going on. it must be irksome for anyone fond of fighting. my cousin here (a captain) is cantonment magistrate, which means he has to turn his sword into a foot rule and do government's factory work--lets you a plot of land for your house and sees your neighbour hangs out his washing in proper order--then will hang a man for murder or fine another for selling you goat instead of mutton, and so on and so forth. multifarious little things on to many of which might hang a history--for instance taking a stray bull across the river with the respect due to such a sacred encumbrance and without hurting the religious feelings of the emperor's hindoo subjects. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . another soldier host we had in india in delhi--a fettesian by the way; in his palace we studied the red chuprassie and received an inkling of how states are governed, and how the hot-bed of mohammedan and hindoo revolution is kept in order. five to five were his office hours, you advocates of eight hour bills! in the rest of the twenty-four hours he was on the alert for sudden duty calls, yet he painted with me after five, with more keenness than professional artists i know at home. so within a few months out here i have met more men of arms, art, and manners than i meet in as many years at home. it is a very sad part this of our extended empire--the good men taken from home to the frontiers, and i don't know that we can afford it. personally i'd rather have our little country as it was in the time of james iv.--well defended--with our good men at home, a chivalrous court, and the best fleet of the time, than to be as at present without a name or court--a milch cow to the empire. i had the pleasure of seeing this host engaged in a congenial duty--that of raising the statue to nicholson. we were taken to the spot where he fell, and saw where roberts stood, and heard tales of many other great "englishmen"--be--dad! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . we lived almost on the ridge and its russet-coloured boulders, and looked slightly down to delhi (i'd always pictured the besiegers looking up at the walls). how astonishingly fresh it all is; the living deadly interest. gracious--the stones on the wall haven't yet rolled into the ditch from the bombarding--you can almost smell the powder smoke in the air--and it is still hot! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . it was very hot going to agra. i've a recollection of the journey which seems funny now; "when pleasure is, what past pain was." we had been saving a thirst all morning, and at a junction went absolutely parched with heat and fatigue for ice and soda, and perhaps a little mountain-dew, for we were very faint. and there was no soda water!--and there was no ice!--but there was whisky--and warm lemonade! i'd to sprint along the metals to our carriage in the white heat, and there got two bottles of hot soda. so we finally had a little tepid toddy, and sat and grimly studied our countrymen's expressions as they came into the restaurant hot and tired, from different trains, and asked for the drink of our country. you'd have thought they would have sworn, but they did not, which gives you an idea of the climate; they mostly looked too tired; at mid-day on an indian railway one has barely sufficient energy left to say tut-tut! [illustration: a delhi street scene] getting near agra from the plains was very pleasant!--the ground rises a little and becomes sandier and less cultivated, so the air is clean and refreshing. we saw the taj at first in distance over this almost white sandy soil and grey ferash bushes--saw it slightly blurred by the quivering heat off the ground, and against a pale, hot, blue sky, and through thin hot brown smoke from our engine, and its general outline in the distance was that of a cruet stand--and as we came within a mile it seemed to be made of brick, white-washed! then we whirled into the station and came out amongst solid mogul architecture of dull, red, sandstone--splendidly massive and simple--what a surprise! then we visited the taj mahal, and ever hence, i hope the vision of white marble and greenery will be ours! chapter xxxix agra.--i find india generally speaking is a little vexatious, and think that perhaps the youth who stays at home may after all score over the youth who is sent to roam. there is a little feeling all the time which you felt as a child on seeing all sorts of delights arranged for dinner guests, and you had toast and eggs in the nursery. here we have just time to see what sport there is; jolly social functions, pig-sticking, picnics, shooting of all kinds, riding, splendid things to paint, and subjects to study, pleasant people to meet--and have to cut up our time between trains and guides and sights. i think if i were to come to india again, i'd spend the cold weather in one place, get to know the white people and the surrounding districts, and merely listen to tales of fair cashmere. this preamble leads to notes of a somewhat qualified day at black buck: two day's dip into sport against time. i got one buck the first day, and could have taken more, they were literally in hundreds: this is how the story unrolls itself. got away at . a.m., before dawn, in a two-horse open carriage, a shikari on the box, a syce behind, and interpreter on the front seat, and beside me a regular indian luncheon basket big enough for an army, and a great double cordite express that would have done for the burmese gaur. the roads and mud huts were all the one warm clay-colour, and the light was becoming violet, with a faint pink in the sky. in the country the roads and fields were almost milk-colour, and trees with yellow flowers were on either side. we met white donkeys with their burdens, and white oxen drawing heavy wooden-wheeled carts all dust coloured, and the only black in the soft colouring was that of the early crows. ... on the plains to either side there are patches of green crop, and away to our right the minarets of the burial place of akbar. doves, pigeons, starlings, kites, green parrots sit or flutter overhead as we pass, all as tame as hens. gradually the trees throw long shadows, and old sol comes up behind us, and grins at our overcoats. from the eighth milestone i see a doe, and the shikari spots it at the same instant; and two adjutant cranes, silvery grey with dark heads like ostriches--about six feet high, and a pair of horn-bills pass overhead--lots to interest one every mile of the drive. at ten miles out i spotted three does, and we got out to see if there wasn't a buck somewhere, and a few minutes after i found him (first, being some inches taller than the shikari). there was only a chance of getting within range by a barefaced walk-round and then a crawl behind a knoll of old clay wall--this we did, and i let off at about fifty yards and went over the buck's shoulder and couldn't get in a second. truth to tell i wasn't quite sure whether i wasn't dreaming, the whole proceeding was so unexpected and unfamiliar--ten miles out from a town, at eight in the morning and to have a shot at a deer with no one to say you nay, i could hardly believe it. and besides, to add to the unfamiliarity of this kind of deer shooting, there were native cultivators all round, within every half mile or so, in groups of two or three. i was very sad. the shikari said nothing, but counted it out at seventy yards. looking over the top of the dyke i'd thought it a hundred and probably took too full a foresight; anyway it was an abominably easy shot to miss. i wished very much i'd taken a few practice shots with the cumbersome weapon. ... we wander many a mile and it begins to get warm. we rest in the shade of a group of mangrove trees on the hard, dry earth, and beside us waves a patch of green corn. i am very sad indeed--i have missed two beautiful black buck, or worse, the last i fired at, a lying down shot (on thorns), after a run and a stalk to about yards, was a trifle too end-on, and i hit the poor beggar in the jaw i believe, and we followed it for miles. then my heart rejoiced, for a native said it had fallen behind some bushes, but another said he'd seen it going on, very slowly, and on we went after it; meantime we saw many other buck and does, but we did our best and failed to pick up the one fired at. so at ten we rest and i sit like gautama buddha under a tree and think life is all a misery, and my followers bring food and drink and i refuse almost all, but smoke a little and swear a lot. overhead a pigeon tries to coo to the end of its sentence and loses the word at the end every time, and a green parrot fights with a crow and finally drives it into another tree, and flies eat my lunch, or breakfast rather, and ants eat me, and i gnaw my pipe with vexation. i go over all excuses--new rifle--far too heavy--accustomed to single barrel--unaccustomed to blaze of light,--really, at the first shot, the rising sun on backsight and foresight made them sparkle like diamonds, and the buck in shadow was a ghost--and being out of condition with travel--and so on and so on--and say fool at the end.--we get up after half-an-hour, but my belief in my luck is shaken; we walk into the heat again and dazzling light and white hard sandy soil and come to bushes and patches of corn here and there, and natives lifting water for them from wells. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . i've had a grand day's exercise, and feel much more human and fit again. i've sent a soul into the invisible so my man tells me--shot a buck at full split--shot it aft a bit. as its gore dyed the hard hot earth and its exquisite side, i asked my tall mohammedan guide, when it was dead, where its soul had gone. "to god," he said shortly--"and where will mine go?" "to hell," he replied quite politely but firmly, but he added to qualify the statement, something about some mohammedans believing in reincarnation. i suppose i am damned in his opinion because i am not a follower of the prophet, not because i have taken life, but damned or not it wasn't a bad shot; it was the fourth time too, i spotted deer before my shikari, and pulled him back in time, and so in a way i felt comforted for bad shooting. five does and no buck were visible, but we trusted the buck was hidden by some of the soft feathery green ferash bushes they were feeding in. we made a circuit and came close to a group of natives and oxen drawing water, and for some reason or another, possibly the guide i'd left behind alarmed the deer, they came galloping past and a buck with a very good head in the middle; a doe beyond, passing to the front made me hit him a little far back in lumbar region, instead of behind the shoulder. it restored my faith in hand and eye a little, and yet the killing qualified the day's enjoyment. i suppose we will never quite understand whether we should or should not kill. i suppose killing this buck will save a little of the natives' corn, and they will have some meat and i shall have a head to show. to see these exquisitely graceful deer galloping across the plains is a sight never to be forgotten: it is the nearest thing to flying. the bucks with their twisted black horns and blackish brown coats and white underneath, the does cream-coloured and white, almost invisible against the soil in the glare of light. all spring into the air with their feet tucked up at the same spot, with a spurt of dust as if a bullet had struck the soil beneath their feet. you see poor sheep trying to do the same thing. some natives carry the dead buck. we have about five miles to tramp, partly over waste ground, partly, along almost unshaded road. after three miles the deer carriers sit down and "light up" under a tree, so we follow their example, and send a message on for the carriage. the men are joined by various native wayfarers who stop and pass the time of day: they light a little smouldering fire of leaves and twigs to keep the sociable pipe going. it is a little earthen cup without a stem; they hold this in the points of their fingers and suck the smoke between their thumbs so the pipe touches no one's lips, and they have a drink from a well, poured from a bowl into the palms of their hands. my hindoo shikari i find will take a nip with pleasure from my flask in his little brass bowl, but he would loose caste if he took soda water in the same way, so he tramps to the well and at great trouble draws a cup. the tall snub-nosed mohammedan looks on with scorn at the inconsistency and touches neither water nor spirit. we have a longish wait, but there's lots to look at, still new to me. the girls and boys at the well, and weeding the barley, a vulture and its ugly mate on household affairs bent, in a tree, and green parrots and squirrels all busy. it seems to me the squirrels are rooting out the white ants from their earthy works up the tree trunks above me. possibly they are just doing it to put dust in my eyes. then we drive homewards, the buck on the splashboard, and pass a splendid group of peacocks and peahens under two small trees, nearly a dozen of them within seventy yards, and i handle my big rifle, then my browning colt, and nearly fire, for i'd fain add a peacock to my pistol-bag, but they look so tremendously domestic that i haven't the heart, and besides, they are sacred i am told, and possibly it would be unlucky to shoot them. my men say "shoot," but not encouragingly, and its my unlucky day; i'd possibly miss, and hit a native beyond. how you manage to fire a bullet in this country without killing a black buck or a native is a wonder. coming near agra, i passed a group of young officers in khaki riding out; they and their mounts looked as hard as nails; they were going pig-sticking, they were to be envied. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . th march.--the choice lay between an early rise to see the taj by moonlight, and an early rise to drive fifteen miles to a place where black buck do abound. my primeval instinct prevails against the perhaps better suggestion of my better half. at a.m. the carriage has not yet come so i have twenty minutes to make a lamplit study and reflections generally--have rifle ready, some soda water, tobacco, and a new stock of hope and faith in my aim. ... here come my men at last, with stealthy steps so as not to disturb the sleeping travellers in our caravansary. the shikari has covered his everyday dress of old harris tweeds with a white sheet, and might be anyone, and my long mohammedan guide and interpreter is also in white this day. we get all on board very quietly, and rumble away along the dark dusty road. we go along at a good rate, with two good horses, and two further on waiting to change; our landau runs smoothly, though it must date to before the mutiny. its springs are good, and the road we follow, which akbar made, is smooth of surface. there is pale moonlight, and the air is fragrant. the hours before dawn dreamily pass, and we nod, and look up now and then to see clay walls and trees dusky against the night sky, and our thoughts go back to the grand old buildings we leave behind us to the north in agra. the red stone fort, and palace, and taj, and the marble courts seem to become again alive, and full of people and colour and movement, a gallant array, and the fountains bubble, and akbar plays living chess with his lovely wives, in colour and jewels, on his marble courts. ... and we dream on; and we are on the dusty road in the moonlight, riding along, dusky figures at our side, knee to knee; the dust hangs on their mail, and dulls the moon's sparkle on the basinets. we are jogging south on akbar's road with akbar's men on a foray, or is it a great invasion? then there comes a shout, from in front, and an order and we awake--and it is only some bullock-carts in the way, all dusty: and on we go again. and akbar's soldiers go back to the pale land of memory, and the light comes up, and i see my mohammedan guide's strong face, and the driver, and the little hindoo shikari in his wrappings on the box, and the light gets brighter, and, what was vague and mysterious, dust and moonlight becomes prosaic flat barley-fields, with white-clad figures picking weeds, and people at the roadside cottages going about with lights, looking after domestic matters, and men sit huddled round tiny fires and pass the morning pipe around--they, apparently feel it chilly. the very hot morning we spent wandering after elusive herds of black buck, one of which i missed. a grand black fellow, with horns i could see through the glass, beat all record, missed at yards, both barrels, couldn't get nearer, and anyone may have this double cordite express and all its patents for price of old iron. i could have smitten a bunnie both times at home at the distance--i'm sure this thing throws inches high. however, the weariness and the fret of the hot morning ends in a delicious grove of trees that might be limes, plane and ash, and in the middle of this bosky knoll there is a pool and a little temple, picturesque to a degree at fifty yards, hideous close. the light filters through the branches and falls on the dried mud and leaves. as my man lays down my bag and useless weapon at the foot of the central tree, there's a crash in the leaves above, and down and away goes a glorious peacock. i try to calculate at which end of it i would fire had i a gun. it's tail is so gorgeous you couldn't fire at it, and its neck is also too beautifully blue to touch with shot; a minute after another sails down, and goes off like a running pheasant. doves come and flutter and coo above us, and a pariah dog prowls round timidly. it looks as if it had never wagged its tail in all its sad life, and it swallows a chunk of my chicken at a gulp, and its tail never moves, poor beast. the hot winds sough through the branches, and my men murmer away to each other under a neighbouring tree, possibly about the sahib, who is such a poor shot, and, as our language is limited, i can't brag about swagger shots in other days. one needs a friend to shoot with, alone you lose half the charm. if you get hipped with a miss you can then growl out loud to a sympathetic ear, and blow smoke over the day together. there's only the pariah dog to talk to here, so i eat lunch and smoke "my lone,"--"here, old bicky, you can wolf the rest of the lunch,"--you haven't much appetite the time the bag is empty. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . an hour or two over burning sand, and i spot a doe and a fawn amongst the grey-green thorn bushes, and away they go, skipping and jumping as if anyone thought of interfering with their gentle lives!... two or three more hours tramp without a shot, and we come to the by-road again, distinguished from the rest of the dry land by wheel-ruts, and the pad of bare feet. we have six miles to walk to our carriage--my kingdom for a pony! but we must trudge along--the guide, shikari, and syce trailing away behind. they are rather tired, and the writer rather despondent. a lift of the eye to the left, and a thousand yards off, i see faint forms of does, then i spot a buck!--question, can we spare the time? four miles to walk, fifteen to drive, and the night train to catch at seven. we risk the time, and fortune smiles, for we have not gone yards off the path, when another lot grows out of the ground to my left, and again a beautiful buck with splendid horns in their midst--a quick standing shot got him through the heart, and no pain or death struggle. then more trudging--it is hot, and the sand deep, and the thirst the worst i've had--so dry we were, that we could hardly speak--but no matter, we have succeeded, and there is a bottle of soda water four miles ahead; it will be warm though. the dust rises along the horizon and moves along in gentle whirlwinds, and the few trees there are, are close cropped of both branches and foliage, to feed the natives' goats and sheep. it is a famished, parched land, with far too many people. driving to agra, we came across another herd of deer, and got the best buck almost within a hundred yards of the trunk road. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . we are in the train again--pullman car restaurant train--electric light and cool air, and a sweep of blue moonlit plain and sky passing the windows, a change from the heat and the baked white plain of the day. it is the smoothest going carriage we have been in, in india, and there are waiters in white to bring iced drinks, and an excellent dinner ... and we think of lunch again, in the grove by the temple, and the peacocks bustling their grandeur out of the verdure. if i could invent stories, i'd come and live at agra, and write about the moguls, as irving wrote the tales of the alhambra, poor little alhambra, it has its own charm, and it is rather a shame to drag it in beside the buildings of northern india; how little it seems, its architecture, and ornament, and its stories, compared with these mogul palaces, forts, and gardens, and the love and war associated with them. i see i have page after page in my journal of attempts to describe the taj mahal and its gardens, and now i find them very difficult to understand; so i think it would not be wise to try to put them down here, at the end of rather a rag-tag journal--to try to describe perhaps the most perfectly beautiful thing in the world. no--it is too beautiful, to be treated of in the last pages of a journal. ... if i were asked what three scenes in the world pleased me most, they would all be white.--a ring, miles wide, of square-topped icebergs in the antarctic, rose pink in the midnight sun, refracted and reflected in a calm, lavender sea--the white marble court and white domes of the pearl mosque of agra, and the blue overhead in stillness of hot mid-day, and the taj mahal in late afternoon, with its marble growing grey, and the flowers in the gardens closing to sleep. [illustration: sha jehan, builder of the taj mahal.] glossary academical privileges, academy teachers, aden, aden, barren rocks of, adyar river, Æolian bells, african coast, agra, akbar, alhambra, ampthill, lady, apollo bundar, ananda temple, antarctic, ants, arctic, argo, ariakan mountains, arsikere, , art, atlas mountains, auld reekie, badminton, balearic isles, bangalore, , bank manager, barbara, bassein, belgaum, benares, bhamo, black buck, bombay, bonita, bugle call, cafÉ basso, callum bhouie, cargo steamers, carlos place, carmichael, alex, carmina gadelica, catamaran, cauvery river, cavalry, caves of elephanta, channapatna, china, china street, chins, chittagong, club, club boat-house, coburg, , cocoa-nuts, cockburnspath, colaba, columba, coquelin, corregio, crete, criterion, crawford market, crow, curzon, lord, cyrano, dagon pagoda, dak bungalow, , dancing, d'artagnan, daudet, defiles, delhi, dharwar, , , dogs, druids, "duck," duck-shooting, dumbie, edinburgh, egypt, , e. h. a., , elephants, england, eurasians, , , euroclydon, , fanes of pagan, fergusson, fire-worship, first impressions, fishing, , , , fishing rod, flotilla company, francolin, , fraser, frenchwoman, furgusson, jock, gaelic, gairsoppa, ghat, granada, ghosts, government house, "green hills of tyrol," gautier, gulf of lyons, , hall, fielding, hart, ernest, henner, henzada, history of india, holdich, , hunter, sir, w. w., james iv., jungle fowl, jura, kalone, kandala, kalychet, , katha, , kedar camp, kelly, talbot, kintyre, kirkee, kulong cha, , kyankyet, kyonkmyoung, , lacquer, lamington, lord, levanter, lipari islands, "little england," log-rafts, london, mackay, aberich, madras, mahseer, , , malabar hill, , marco polo, marina, marseilles, mediterranean, mimbu, minto, lord, mistral, moda, modellers, moguls, momouk, , monkeys, monticelli, moors, mount street, mutiny, muzii colours, myitkyna, mysore, , nampoung, ngapi, nile, , north sea, orchids, orient-pacific guide-book, orpheus, otter, outer isles, padaung, pagan, painted snipe, parsees, , parsi, partridge, pavilion, piccadilly circus, plague inspection, poona, popa mountain, , port said, precedence, prome, punitive expedition, punkah, , queen mary, reception, , reception at government house, red chupprassies, red sea, regent street, réjane, _renown_, roseate tern, royal dublin fusiliers, russell viper, sabendigo, sailing ship, st abb's head, st thomé, st vincent, sanskrit, scents at sea, scottish nobility, sea-swallows, seine net, serang, seringapatam, shan states, shewgee, siddons, mrs, sinkan, sirens, skuas, snake charmer, snake-rings, snipe, , , , , southern maharatta railway, , spanish women, spaniards, spanish coast, spanish dancing, squirrel, straits of gibraltar, stromboli, suez, surf rafting, . surf rafts, swords, tagaung, tagus, taiping river, taj hotel, taj mahal, tangiers, tartarin, tayoung, teak, teak logs, terms of union, theatre, "the bay," the canal. the heroes, "the mail," thayet myo, "the prince," the princess, the rock, the taj, "the union," tilbury, tip htila, tippoo sultan, trollies, ulysses, van beers, , viceroy, vino riojo, water-gate, wen tip, whaler, whistler, , "wild sports of burmah," wood-carving, yacht club, , , yale, elihu, yenangyat, , yenangyaung, yule, printed at the mercat press, edinburgh a procession of the kings of scotland from duncan and macbeth to george ii. and prince charles stewart with the principal historical characters in their proper arms and costumes from seals, coins, and contemporary portraits by w. g. burn murdoch, f.s.a. scot., f.r.s.g.s. [illustration] the above illustration is a reproduction on a reduced scale of a part of the procession, the actual size of which is inches long by inches deep (exclusive of roller). the design is primed in black and white on tough japanese paper, with names and dates of the kings and people printed in gold underneath. with the roll there is a book ( pages) which describes the figures, and forms a brief history of scotland, and of the changes of arms and costumes. the scroll rolls up on a gold crowned roller, and may be had either in soft brown leather binding, or in royal stewart tartan binding. this design is being utilised in american schools, so it may be found to be useful in scottish schools and homes, when our children begin to be taught the history of their own country. the sole agents are-- messrs. douglas & foulis, castle street, edinburgh. _price s._ transcriber's notes: some words are apparently spelled to reflect the scottish dialect. page vi: [bands p aying god save the king--edward the--? - ] typo: p aying changed to playing. page : [there that set his neighbours and my neice and] typo: neice changed to niece. page : [card! to meet their royal hignesses, the prince and] typo: hignesses changed to highnesses. page : [old trail--the midlands to indiar, and indiar to the midlands, with bwidge between.] possible typo: 'bwidge'. i believe it was intentional. unchanged. page : [have, between a thoroughbred's and a man's. they were yellowish beards and black faces and black ends to their] typo: changed were to wore. page : [and rather monkeyish in apperance; still, some were not] typo: changed apperance to appearance. page : [lean out and see our little narrow guage train crawling] typo: changed guage to gauge. page : [pageants, elephant kedar camps, and the right royal enterments] typo: changed enterments to entertainments. page : [that these early forms of various races are not mor often] typo: changed mor to more. page : [<i>house</i>, or if you exhibit any symptons of plauge or deadly] typo: plauge changed to plague. typo: symptons changed to symptoms. page : [about twenty-five to thirty feet over all, with pratically flat] typo: changed pratically to practically. page : [here is considerd to be very damping.] possible typo: 'considerd'. unchanged as the author uses this form reasonably often. page : [bar across its mouth, and to to the right views of the] double word: 'to to' changed to single 'to'. page : [edge of the receeding wave, then turned lavender laced] possible typo: 'receeding'. unchanged. page : [floor, overhead a domed roof with chrystal chandeliers, and smaller crystal lights round the sides.] typo: chrystal left unchanged as it is used elsewhere. page : [three deep to see the sahib get sand of his feet, extremely] typo: changed of to off. page : [some out-of-the-way highland or norwegian loch, with on boat on it, and the trout rising in the middle.] typo: changed on to one. page : [jungle comes the sound of burmese music. a pwe is] changed pwe to pwé for consistency. page : [them; a _reductio ad absuurdum_, from the point of view of] typo: changed absuurdum to absurdum. page : [it on as they came out, modesly and neatly. the women] typo: changed modesly to modestly. page : [as we were talking, the rock pilot came alonside in a] typo: changed alonside to alongside. page : [wordly desires[ ]. so it was in the earliest scottish church;] typo: changed wordly to worldly. page : [with elephant and finish up with mouse-deer and button-quail.] typo: changed qauil to quail. page : [along the top of the river bank. the arrangemant might] typo: changed arrangemant to arrangement. page : [another bullock-cart, with an older burman whose face was a delight--so wrinked, and wreathed with smiles. i] typo: changed wrinked to wrinkled. page : [on it was a great space of _eongealed blood_ just where] typo: changed eongealed to congealed. page : [vividly as a few notes of an air, the rythm of some folk-song--a] typo: changed rythm to rhythm. page : [to ninty feet at a guess, and fastened snake rings on with] possible typo: ninty may have been an old spelling for ninety. unchanged. page : [but where the dead leaf fell, their did it rest."] incorrect use of their. changed to there. various: some a.m. are small capped, others are not. changed all to a.m. to be consistent. hyphenation--words occur both ways in the original. unchanged. afterglow/after-glow barefooted/bare-footed bathrooms/bath-rooms dreamlike/dream-like eyelashes/eye-lashes forefathers/fore-fathers humdrum/hum-drum lamplight/lamp-light lamplit/lamp-lit midday/mid-day password/pass-word pothole/pot-hole riverside/river-side sandbank/sand-bank searchlight/search-light splashboard/splash-board sunlit/sun-lit waterfowl/water-fowl womenfolk/women-folk words spelled ways. crusies/cruisies crystal/chrystal pandal/pandol paroquet/parroquet phoungie/phunghi/phoungyi lives of the three mrs. judsons: _mrs. ann h. judson_, _mrs. sarah b. judson_, _mrs. emily c. judson_, missionaries to burmah. by arabella w. stuart, (mrs. arabella m. willson.) a self-denying band, who counted not life dear unto them, so they might fulfil their ministry, and save the heathen soul. boston: lee and shepard, publishers. new york: charles t. dillingham. entered according to act of congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five, by miller, orton & mulligan, in the clerk's office of the district court of the northern district of new york. [illustration: mrs. ann h. judson.] [illustration: mrs. emily c. judson.] preface. among the many benefits which modern missions have conferred on the world, not the least, perhaps, is the field they have afforded for the development of the highest excellence of female character. the limited range of avocations allotted to woman, and her consequent inability to gain an elevated rank in the higher walks of life, has been a theme of complaint with many modern reformers, especially with the party who are loud in their advocacy of woman's rights. that few of the sex have risen to eminence in any path but that of literature, is too well known to admit of denial, and might be proved by the scantiness of _female_ biography. how few of the memoirs and biographical sketches which load the shelves of our libraries, record the lives of women! the missionary enterprise opens to woman a sphere of activity, usefulness and distinction, not, under the present constitution of society, to be found elsewhere. here she may exhibit whatever she possesses of skill in the mastery of unknown and difficult dialects; of tact in dealing with the varieties of human character; of ardor and perseverance in the pursuit of a noble end under the most trying discouragements; and of exalted christian heroism and fortitude, that braves appalling dangers, and even death in its most dreadful forms, in its affectionate devotion to earthly friends, and the service of a heavenly master. compared with the true independence, the noble energy, the almost superhuman intrepidity of the mrs. judsons, how weak and despicable seem the struggles of many misguided women in our day, who seek to gain a reluctant acknowledgment of equality with the other sex, by a noisy assertion of their rights, and in some instances, by an imitation of their attire! who would not turn from a female advocate at the bar, or judge upon the bench, surrounded by the usual scenes of a court-house, even if she filled these offices with ability and talent, to render honor rather to her, who laying on the altar of sacrifice whatever of genius, or acquirement, or loveliness she may possess, goes forth to cheer and to share the labors and cares of the husband of her youth, in his errand of love to the heathen? and it seems peculiarly appropriate that woman, who doubtless owes to christianity most of the domestic consideration and social advantages, which in enlightened countries she regards as her birthright, should be the bearer of these blessings to her less favored sisters in heathen lands. if the christian religion was a gospel to the _poor_, it was no less emphatically so to woman, whom it redeemed from social inferiority and degradation, the fruit for ages of that transgression which "brought death into the world, and all our wo." never until on the morning of the resurrection "she came early unto the sepulchre," was she made one in christ jesus (in whom "there is neither in male nor female") with him who had hitherto been her superior and her master. nor does she seem _then_ to have misunderstood her high mission, or to have been wanting to it. the 'sisters' in the infant churches rivalled the brethren in attachment and fidelity to the cause, and to their "ministry" the new religion was indebted in no small degree for its unparalleled success. perhaps an apology may be deemed necessary for _another_ memoir of the distinguished females whose names adorn our title-page. with regard to the _first_ mrs. judson, it has been thought that a simple narrative of her life, unencumbered with details of the history of the mission, would be more attractive to youthful readers than the excellent biography by mr. knowles. of the _second_, though we cannot hope or wish to rival the graceful and spirited sketch by fanny forrester, still it is believed that a plain, unembellished story of a life which was in itself so exceedingly interesting, may also find favor with the public. as to the last of these three christian heroines who has so lately departed from among us, as full a sketch as practicable is given, from a wish to embalm in one urn--perhaps a fragile one--the memories of _all_ those whose virtues and affections have contributed so largely to the happiness and usefulness of one of the noblest and most successful of modern missionaries--the rev. adoniram judson. the approval of several of the friends of the subjects of these memoirs, has encouraged us in our undertaking, and it is our sincere desire that the manner of its execution may be found acceptable, not only to them, but to the friends of missions in general. and should the work gain favor with our youthful readers, especially with female members of sunday-schools and bible-classes, and prompt them to a noble emulation of so illustrious examples, the author's fondest hopes will be more than realized. contents. part i. the life of the first mrs. judson chapter i. page mrs. judson's birth.--education and conversion, chapter ii. her marriage and voyage to india, chapter iii. her arrival at calcutta.--difficulties with the bengal government.--voyage to the isle of france.--death of mrs. newell.--change of sentiments.--voyage to rangoon, chapter iv. description of burmah, its boundaries, rivers, climate, soil, fruits and flowers--burman people, their dress, houses, food, government and religion, chapter v. rangoon--letters from mrs. judson, chapter vi. learning the language.--mrs. j. visits the wife of the viceroy.--her sickness.--her voyage to madras.--her return to rangoon.--birth of a son, chapter vii. difficulty of inculcating the gospel.--death of her son.--failure of mrs. judson's health.--arrival of mr. and mrs. hough at rangoon, chapter viii. missionary labors.--female intellect in burmah.--description of a pagoda.--burman worship, and offerings, chapter ix. distressing events.--mr. judson's absence from rangoon.--persecution of mr. hough.--his departure for bengal.--mrs. judson's heroic fortitude.--mr. judson's return, chapter x. intolerance of the burman government.--first edifice for christian worship erected.--instruction of natives.--conversion of a native.--his baptism.--that of two timid disciples.--messrs. judson and colman visit ava, chapter xi. reception of messrs. colman and judson at ava--their return to rangoon.--their resolution to leave rangoon.--opposition of disciples to this measure.--increase of disciples.--their steadfastness.--failure of mrs. judson's health, chapter xii. mr. and mrs. judson visit bengal and return.--mrs. judson's health again fails.--her resolution to visit america.--her voyage to england and visit there, chapter xiii. mrs. judson's arrival in america.--influence of her visit.--hostile opinions.--her person and manners.--extracts from her letters, chapter xiv. further extracts from her letters.--her illness.--her history of the burman mission.--her departure from america with mr. and mrs. wade, chapter xv. messrs. judson and price visit ava.--their reception at court.--their return to rangoon.--mrs. judson's return.--a letter to her parents describing their removal to ava.--description of ava, chapter xvi. war with the british.--narrative of the sufferings of the missionaries during the war, chapter xvii. narrative continued and concluded.--their deliverance from burman tyranny, and protection by british government, chapter xviii. influence of these disasters on the missionary enterprise.--testimonials to mrs. judson's heroic conduct.--letter from mr. judson.--his acceptance of the post of interpreter to crawford's embassy.--mrs. judson's residence at amherst.--her illness and death.--death of her infant, * * * * * part ii. the life of the second mrs. judson. chapter i. birth and education.--poetical talent, chapter ii. conversion.--bias toward a missionary life.--acquaintance with boardman, chapter iii. account of george dana boardman, chapter iv. marriage of miss hall and mr. boardman.--they sail for india--letter from mr. b.--letters from mrs. b.--another letter from mr. b., chapter v. stationed at maulmain.--attack of banditti.--missionary operations.--danger from fire, chapter vi. removal to tavoy.--idolatry of the people.--letter from mrs. b.--baptism of a karen disciple.--some account of the karens, chapter vii. letter from mrs. b.--mr. b's. visit to the karens in their villages.--defection of disciples.--its effect on mr. and mrs. b., chapter viii. death of their first-born.--letters from mrs. b., chapter ix. revolt of tavoy.--letter from mr. b., chapter x. missionary labors of mr. boardman--his ill health.--letter from mrs. b.--death of a second child.--letters from mrs. b., chapter xi. letter from mrs. boardman.--illness and death of george dana boardman, chapter xii. letters from mrs. b.--her decision to remain in burmah.--her missionary labors.--her trials.--schools, chapter xiii. correspondence between mrs. boardman and the superintendent.--her tours among the karens.--her personal appearance.--her acquaintance with the burman language.--dr. judson's translation of the bible, chapter xiv. mrs. boardman's second marriage.--removal to maulmain.--letter from mrs. judson.--her son sent to america.--her husband's illness, chapter xv. illness of her children.--death of one of them.--her missionary labors, and family cares.--her declining health.--poem.--her last illness and death, * * * * * part iii. the life of the third mrs. judson. chapter i. remarks on her genius--her early life.--conversion.-- employments--tales and poems--acquaintance with dr. judson.--marriage.--voyage to india--biography of mrs. s.b. judson.--poem written off st. helena--poem on the birth of an infant.--lines addressed to a bereaved friend--letter to her children.--prayer for dear papa.--poem addressed to her mother.--her account of dr. judson's last illness and death, chapter ii. reflections on the death of emily c. judson--the delicacy of her constitution and her final malady--her sufferings at rangoon, and the good effect upon her health of a removal to maulmain--precarious state of her health--her resignation--death of dr. judson--decides to leave burmah, and returns to her maternal home, in hamilton. n.y.--her death--the traits of her character--domestic attachments--her missionary life and literary labors, part i. life of mrs. ann h. judson, first wife of rev. adoniram judson, d.d. chapter i. mrs. judson's birth, education, and conversion. when an individual attains a position of eminence which commands the admiration of the world, we naturally seek to learn his early history, to ascertain what indications were given in childhood of qualities destined to shine with such resplendent lustre, and to discover the kind of discipline which has developed powers so extraordinary. but in no researches are we more apt to be baffled than in these. few children are so remarkable as to make it worth while, even to a parent, to chronicle their little sayings and doings; and of infant prodigies--though there is a superstitious belief that most of them die early, which is expressed in the adage-- "whom the gods love, die young," those that live commonly disappoint the hopes of partial friends, who watched their infancy with wonder and expectation. there are certain qualities, however, which we shall rarely miss even in the childhood of those who attain eminence by a wise employment of their talents and acquirements. these are: firmness of purpose, industry and application, and an ardent, and sometimes enthusiastic temperament. these qualities were possessed in no common degree by ann hasseltine, the subject of this memoir. she was born in bradford, massachusetts, on the d of december, . in a sketch which she has given of her life, between twelve and seventeen years of age, we find evidence of an active, ardent, and social disposition, gay and buoyant spirits, persevering industry, and great decision of character. whatever engaged her attention, whether study or amusement, was pursued with an ardor that excited the sympathy and love both of her teachers and schoolfellows. though little of her writing at this period is preserved, and the generation that knew her personally is mostly passed away, yet her whole subsequent career gives evidence of an intellect of a very high order, carefully cultivated by study and reflection. she seems scarcely to have been the subject of serious impressions before her seventeenth year. until that time she enjoyed the pleasures of the world with few misgivings and with a keenness of relish which led her to think herself, as she says, "the happiest creature on earth." she adds, "i so far surpassed my friends in gayety and mirth, that some of them were apprehensive i had but a short time to continue in my career of folly, and should be suddenly cut off. thus passed the last winter of my gay life." during the spring of , she began regularly to attend a series of conference meetings in bradford, her native town. she soon felt that the spirit of god was operating on her mind. amusements lost their relish; she felt that she must have a new heart or perish forever; and she often sought solitude, that she might, unseen by others, weep over her deplorable state. soon, however, her fears that her distress might be noticed by her companions, were merged in her greater terrors of conscience, and she "was willing the whole universe should know that she felt herself to be a lost and perishing sinner." her distress increased as she became more and more sensible of the depravity of her heart, and the holiness and sovereignty of god. her mind rose in rebellion against a being, who after all her prayers and tears and self-denial, still withheld from her the blessing of pardon and peace. she says, "in this state i longed for annihilation, and if i could have destroyed the existence of my soul with as much ease as that of my body, i should quickly have done it. but that glorious being who is kinder to his creatures than they are to themselves, did not leave me to remain in this distressing state." the plan of salvation through a crucified redeemer, gradually unfolded itself before her; she began to take delight in those attributes of god which before had filled her with abhorrence; and although she did not at first imagine that this was the new heart for which she had sought so earnestly, yet she was constrained to commit all her interests for time and eternity unreservedly to that saviour, who now seemed infinitely worthy of the service of her whole existence.[ ] the change in her from extreme worldliness to a life of piety and prayer was deep and permanent. hers was no half-way character. while she was of the world, she pursued its follies with entire devotion of heart; and when she once renounced it as unsatisfying, and unworthy of her immortal aspirations, she renounced it solemnly and finally. her ardor for learning did not abate, but instead of being inspired, as formerly by a thirst for human applause and distinction, it was now prompted by her sense of responsibility to god for the cultivation of the talents he had given her, and her desire to make herself increasingly useful. in the sketch referred to she remarks, "i attended my studies in school with far different feelings and different motives from what i had ever done before. i felt my obligation to improve all i had to the glory of god; and since he in his providence had favored me with advantages for improving my mind, i felt that i should be like the slothful servant if i neglected them. i therefore diligently employed all my hours in school in acquiring useful knowledge, and spent my evenings and part of the night in spiritual enjoyments." "such was my thirst for religious knowledge, that i frequently spent a great part of the night in reading religious books." a friend says of her: "she thirsted for the knowledge of gospel truth in all its relations and dependencies. besides the daily study of the scripture with guise, orton, and scott before her, she perused with deep interest the works of edwards, hopkins, belamy, doddridge, &c. with edwards on redemption, she was instructed, quickened, strengthened. well do i remember the elevated smile that beamed on her countenance when she first spoke to me of its precious contents. when reading scripture, sermons, or other works, if she met with anything dark or intricate, she would mark the passage, and beg the first clergyman who called at her father's to elucidate and explain it." how evidently to us, though unconsciously to herself, was her heavenly father thus fitting her for the work he was preparing for her. had she known that she was to spend her days in instructing bigoted and captious idolaters in religious knowledge, she could not have trained herself for the task more wisely than she was thus led to do. while, under the guidance of the spirit of truth, she was thus cultivating her intellect, that same spirit was also sanctifying and purifying her heart. she loathed sin both in herself and others, and strove to avoid it, not from the fear of hell, but from fear of displeasing her father in heaven. in one place she writes: "were it left to myself whether to follow the vanities of the world, and go to heaven at last, or to live a religious life, have trials with sin and temptation, and sometimes enjoy the light of god's reconciled countenance, i should not hesitate a moment in choosing the latter, for there is no real satisfaction in the enjoyments of time and sense." on the fourteenth of august, , she made a public profession of religion, and united with the congregational church at bradford, being in her seventeenth year. very early in her religious life she became sensible that if unusual advantages for acquiring knowledge had fallen to her lot, she was the more bound to use her talents and acquirements for the benefit of others less favored than herself. actuated by such motives, she opened a small school in her native place, and subsequently taught in several neighboring villages. her example in this respect is surely worthy of imitation. perhaps no person is more admirable than a young lady fitted like miss hasseltine by a cultivated mind and engaging manners to shine in society, who having the choice between a life of ease and one of personal exertion, chooses voluntarily, or only in obedience to the dictates of conscience, the weary and self-denying path of the teacher. and probably such a course would oftener be chosen, were young persons aware of the unquestionable fact, that the school in which we make the most solid and rapid improvement, is that in which we teach others. an extract from her journal will sustain what we have said of her conscientiousness and purity of motive in endeavoring to instruct the young: "_may , ._--have taken charge of a few scholars. ever since i have had a comfortable hope in christ, i have desired to devote myself to him in such a way as to be useful to my fellow-creatures. as providence has placed me in a situation in life where i have an opportunity of getting as good an education as i desire, i feel it would be highly criminal in me not to improve it. i feel, also, that it would be equally criminal to desire to be well educated and accomplished, from selfish motives, with a view merely to gratify my taste and relish for improvement, or my pride in being qualified to shine. i therefore resolved last winter to attend the academy from no other motive than to improve the talents bestowed by god, so as to be more extensively devoted to his glory, and the benefit of my fellow-creatures. on being lately requested to take a small school for a few months, i felt very unqualified to have the charge of little immortals; but the hope of doing them good by endeavoring to impress their young and tender minds with divine truth, and the obligation i feel _to try to be useful_, have induced me to comply. i was enabled to open the school with prayer. though the cross was very great, i felt constrained by a sense of duty to take it up. o may i have grace to be faithful in instructing these children in such a way as shall be pleasing to my heavenly father." such being the principles by which she was actuated in commencing the work of instruction, we cannot doubt that her efforts _to be useful_ were blessed not only by the temporal, but the spiritual advancement of her pupils, some of whom may appear, with children from distant burmah, as crowns of her rejoicing in the last great day. footnotes: [footnote : she thus describes more particularly the exercises of her mind, in an entry in her journal a year later. "july . it is just a year this day since i entertained a hope in christ. about this time in the evening, when reflecting on the words of the lepers, '_if we enter into the city, then the famine is in the city and we shall die there, and if we sit still here we die also,_'--i felt that if i returned to the world, i should surely perish; if i stayed where i then was i should perish; and i could but perish if i threw myself on the mercy of christ. then came light, and relief, and comfort, such as i never knew before."] chapter ii. her marriage, and voyage to india. in , the calm current of miss hasseltine's life was disturbed by circumstances which were to change all her prospects, and color her whole future destiny. from the quiet and seclusion of her new england home, she was called to go to the ends of the earth, on a mission of mercy to the dark browed and darker minded heathen. it is perhaps impossible for us to realize now what was then the magnitude of such an enterprise. our wonderful facilities for intercourse with the most distant nations, and the consequent vast amount of travel, were entirely unknown forty years ago. a journey of two hundred miles then involved greater perplexity and required nearly as much preparation, and was certainly attended with more fatigue than a voyage to england at the present day. the subject of evangelizing the heathen in foreign countries had scarcely received any attention in europe, and in this country there was not even a missionary society. that a female should renounce the refinements of her enlightened and christian home, and go thousands of miles across unknown oceans "to the farthest verge of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes," to spend her life in an unhealthy climate, among a race whose language was strange to her ear, whose customs were revolting to her delicacy, and who might moreover make her a speedy victim to her zeal in their behalf,--a thing so common now as to excite no surprise and little interest--was then hardly deemed possible, if indeed, the idea of it entered the imagination. to decide the question of such an undertaking as this, as well as another question affecting her individual happiness through life, was miss hasseltine now summoned. * * * * * mr. judson, a graduate of brown university, "an ardent and aspiring scholar," was one of four or five young men in the then newly founded theological seminary at andover, whose minds had become deeply impressed with the wants of the heathen, and a desire to go and labor among them. by their earnestness and perseverance, they so far awakened an interest in their project, that a board of commissioners for foreign missions was appointed, and the young men were set apart as missionaries. during the two years in which mr. judson and his associates were employed in efforts to accomplish this result, he had formed an acquaintance with miss hasseltine, and made her an offer of his hand. that he had no wish to blind her to the extent of the sacrifices she would make in accepting him, his manly and eloquent letter to her father, asking his daughter in marriage, abundantly proves. he says: "i have now to ask whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure for a heathen land, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of india; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death? can you consent to all this for the sake of him who left his heavenly home, and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing immortal souls; for the sake of zion and the glory of god? can you consent to all this in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with a crown of righteousness, brightened by the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her saviour from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair?" the writer of this letter, who, after nearly forty years of missionary labor in which he endured all and more than all he has thus almost prophetically described, has just gone to join "the noble army of martyrs" and "those who came out of great tribulation," in his final home,--as he looks back on the hour when he thus gave up his life and what was more precious than life to the service of those souls, dear as he believed to the redeemer, though perishing for lack of vision,--with what deep and serene joy must he contemplate the sacrifice! and she-- "not lost, but gone before," who was there to meet and welcome him to "happier bowers than eden knew," where they rest from their labors, does she now regret that to his solemn appeal, she answered, "i will go?" mr. and mrs. judson were married at bradford on the fifth of february, , and on the nineteenth of the same month embarked on the brig caravan, bound for calcutta. mr. and mrs. newell, also missionaries sailed in the same vessel. we will here give some extracts from letters written by mrs. judson to her friends at home, dated "at sea." to her sister she writes, "i find mr. judson one of the kindest, most faithful and affectionate of husbands. his conversation frequently dissipates the gloomy clouds of spiritual darkness which hang over my mind and brightens my hope of a happy eternity. i hope god will make us instrumental of preparing each other for usefulness in this world, and greater happiness in a future world." "_june _.--day before yesterday, we came in sight of land, after having been out only one hundred and twelve days. we could distinguish nothing but the lowering mountains of golconda. yesterday we were nearer land ... and the scene was truly delightful, reminding me of the descriptions i have read of the fertile shores of india--the groves of orange and palm trees. yesterday we saw two vessels.... you have no idea how interesting the sight--a vessel at the side of us, so near we could hear the captain speak--for he was the first person we have heard speak since we sailed, except what belong to our ship. "_tuesday_.--last night was the most dangerous, and to me, by far the most unpleasant we have had.... to-day the scene is truly delightful. we are sailing up the river hoogly, a branch of the ganges, and so near the land that we can distinctly discover objects. on one side of us are the sunderbunds, (islands at the mouth of the ganges.) the smell which proceeds from them is fragrant beyond description. "_wednesday_.--on each side of the hoogly are the hindoo cottages, as thick together as the houses in our seaports. they are very small, and in the form of hay-stacks, without either chimneys or windows. they are situated in the midst of trees which hang over them and appear truly romantic. the grass and fields of rice are perfectly green, and herds of cattle are everywhere feeding on the banks of the river, and the natives are scattered about, ... some fishing, some driving the team, and some sitting indolently on the bank of the river. the pagodas we have passed are much handsomer and larger than the houses. there are many english seats near the shore.... oh, what reason we have to be thankful for so pleasant and prosperous a voyage.... "well, sister, we are safe in calcutta harbor, and almost stunned with the noise of the natives. mr. judson has gone on shore to find a place for us to go. the city is by far the most elegant of any i have ever seen. many ships are lying at anchor, and hundreds of natives all around. they are dressed very curiously--their white garments hanging loosely over their shoulders. but i have not time to describe anything at present. "_thursday_.--harriet and i are yet on board the vessel, and have not been on land. mr. judson has not yet gained permission for us to live in the country. he and mr. newell are gone again to-day, and what will be their success i know not. the east india company are violently opposed to missions, and have barely given permission to their own countrymen to settle here as preachers. we have nothing to expect from man, and everything from god.... if god has anything for us to do here, he will doubtless open a door for our entrance, _if not he will send us to some other place_." chapter iii. her arrival at calcutta.--difficulties with the bengal government.--voyage to the isle of france.--death of mrs. newell.--change of sentiments.--voyage to rangoon. mr. and mrs. judson landed at calcutta on the th of june, , and were hospitably received by the venerable dr. carey, who immediately conducted them to his home in serampore. there they found a delightful mission family, consisting of messrs. carey marshman and ward, with their wives and children who welcomed them most cordially, and invited them to remain until the arrival of their brother missionaries. of the arrangements in this truly christian family--the schools, the religious exercises, the cultivation of the gardens belonging to the establishment, and the instruction communicated to the natives, they express themselves in the highest terms of eulogy. hitherto the course of our missionaries in their enterprise had indeed run smooth, and they had begun to flatter themselves that they had over-estimated the trials and dangers of the life they had chosen; but sad reverses awaited them. they had been in serampore but ten days, when messrs. judson and newell were summoned to calcutta, where an order from government was read to them, commanding them immediately to leave the country, and return to america. the british east india company were at that time unfriendly to missions, and especially intolerant to missionaries from america. the idea of returning, without effecting the object for which they had left their native land, was too painful to be endured by the missionaries, and they immediately attempted to gain permission to go to some country not under the company's jurisdiction.--burmah, the field to which they had been assigned by their brethren at home, seemed, for various reasons, utterly inaccessible; but they finally got leave to take passage in a ship bound for the isle of france. the vessel would, however, accommodate but two passengers, and the health of mrs. newell requiring that she should be in a place of quiet, it was agreed that she and her husband should embark in it. for three months the rest of their company remained in calcutta, watched with jealousy by the british government, but unable to find a vessel to convey them away. at length they had peremptory orders to embark in a vessel bound to england. all hope of escape seemed now cut off, when mr. judson accidentally learned that a ship was about sailing for the isle of france. they applied for a passport to go on board of her, but were refused. they informed the captain of the vessel of their circumstances, and were allowed to go on board without a pass. they had got but a few miles down the river, however, when a government despatch overtook them, commanding the pilot to conduct the ship no further, as there were persons on board who had been ordered to england. by advice of the captain, the missionaries left the ship, and went on shore, while the pilot wrote a certificate that no such persons were on board. the captain being angry at the detention of his vessel, ordered them to take their baggage from it immediately, but at length consented to let it remain on board until he should reach a tavern sixteen miles further down the river. mrs. judson also remained in the ship until it came opposite the tavern, "where," she says, "the pilot kindly lent me his boat and a servant to go on shore. i immediately procured a large boat to send to the ship for our baggage. i entered the tavern _a stranger_, a _female_ and _unprotected_. i called for a room and sat down to reflect on my disconsolate situation. i had nothing with me but a few rupees. i did not know that the boat which i had sent after the vessel would overtake it, and if it did, whether it would ever return with our baggage; neither did i know where mr. judson was, or when he would come, or with what treatment i should meet at the tavern. i thought of _home_ and said to myself, _these are some of the trials attendant upon a missionary life, and which i have anticipated._ in a few hours mr. j. arrived, and toward night our baggage." after two or three days of great perplexity and distress, and when they had given up all hope of being able to proceed to the isle of france, they unexpectedly received from an unknown friend a magistrate's _pass_ to go on board the creole, the vessel they had left. their only difficulty now was that she had probably got out to sea, as it was three days since they had left her. however they hastened down the river seventy miles, to saugur, where, among many ships at anchor, they had the inexpressible happiness to find the creole, on which they embarked for the isle of france, their first destination. their dangers on the passage to the isle of france were great, the vessel being old and leaky; and when they reached there, they found little encouragement to remain. while on the island, mrs. j. had a severe attack of illness, as well as much depression of spirits from the uncertainties of their situation. after much deliberation they determined to establish themselves on an island near malacca, to reach which they must first go to madras, and they accordingly sailed for that place. war having broken out between england and america, the hostility of the east india directors to american missionaries was of course much increased, so that it would be impossible for them to make any stop at all in madras, without incurring the danger of being sent back to america. what, then, was their distress on their arrival there, to find no ship bound for the island they wished to visit! their way seemed entirely hedged up, for the only vessel in madras harbor ready for sea, was destined to burmah, a country pronounced by all their friends in india, utterly inaccessible. in her journal, at this time, mrs. j. writes: "oh, our heavenly father, direct us aught! where wilt thou have us to go? what wilt thou have us to do? our only hope is in thee, and to thee only do we look for protection. oh, let this mission live before thee!" "to-morrow," she adds, at a somewhat later date, "we expect to embark for rangoon, (in burmah.) adieu to polished, refined, christian society. our lot is not cast among you, but among pagans, among barbarians, whose tender mercies are cruel. indeed, we voluntarily forsake you, and for jesus' sake choose the latter for our associates. o may we be prepared for the pure and polished society of heaven, composed of the followers of the lamb, whose robes have been washed in his blood!" everything combined to render the passage to rangoon unpleasant and perilous;--sickness, threatened shipwreck, and the want of all comforts;--but at length on the th of july, , about eighteen months from the time they left salem, in massachusetts, they set their 'weary, wandering feet' on that shore which was to be their future home. among the depressing circumstances that had occurred in this gloomy period, not the least painful was the death of mrs. judson's early friend, and companion in her eastern voyage, mrs. harriet newell. of less mental and physical vigor than mrs. judson, this amiable and ardent christian had gladly relinquished all other objects in life, for that of sharing the privations and soothing the cares of a husband to whom she was tenderly attached, in his labors among the heathen. but this privilege was denied her; she was not even permitted to reach a scene of missionary labor. her heart-broken husband was compelled to bury her in a far distant isle of the ocean, and finish his short earthly course alone. but he lived to see the grave of that young martyr missionary visited by many pilgrim feet, and her name embalmed in many admiring hearts. how keenly mrs. judson felt her loss, may be learned from a letter written from the isle of france, whither she and her husband went on being driven from calcutta:--"have at last arrived in port; but oh, what news, what distressing news! harriet is dead. harriet, my dear friend, my earliest associate in the mission, is no more. oh death, could not this wide world afford thee victims enough, but thou must enter the family of a solitary few whose comfort and happiness depended so much on the society of each other? could not this infant mission be shielded from thy shafts!" "but be still, my heart, and know that god has done it. just and true are thy ways, oh thou king of saints!" another heavy trial, was the separation of herself and husband from the church in which they were both educated, from the missionary association on which they depended for support, and from the sympathies of those christians in their native land who had hitherto given them the most cordial encouragement in their enterprise. this separation was in consequence of a change in their sentiments in regard to baptism. so liberal has the church become at this day, that all now look upon this change as having decidedly advanced the cause of missions by enlisting a large and respectable body of christians in this country, not hitherto engaged in it. but in , a step like this on the part of beneficiaries of the board, could not but be regarded with much disfavor and prejudice, render those who had taken it highly unpopular, and even subject their motives to unworthy imputations. whatever may be thought of the soundness of their new views, therefore, there is not the shadow of a reason to doubt their conscientiousness in adopting them. that they did it in the face of every worldly motive, their letters and journals abundantly prove. mrs. judson writes: "it is extremely trying to reflect on the consequences of our becoming baptists. we must make some very painful sacrifices." "we must be separated from our dear missionary associates, and labor alone in some isolated spot. we must expect to be treated with contempt, and to be cast off by many of our american friends--forfeit the character we have in our native land, and probably have to labor for our own support wherever we are stationed." "these things are very trying to us, and cause our hearts to bleed for anguish--we feel that we have no home in this world, and no friend but each other." "a renunciation of our former sentiments has caused us more pain than anything which ever happened to us through our lives." thus "perplexed but not in despair, cast down but not destroyed," they reached rangoon, then the capital of the burman empire, and established themselves in what they regarded as their future home. here, "remote, unfriended" and solitary--"reft of every stay but heaven"--they were destined to pass nearly two years, before their hearts could be cheered by the intelligence from america, of the general interest awakened for them there in the denomination with which they had connected themselves; and the formation of a baptist board of missions, which had appointed them its missionaries. of one thing, however, they must have felt sure, that they were conducted there by the special providence of god. the honor of commencing the burman mission, says prof. gammell, "is to be ascribed rather to the divine head of the church, than to any leading movement or agency of the baptist denomination. the way was prepared and the field was opened by god alone, and it only remained for true-hearted laborers to enter in and prosecute the noble work to which they had been summoned." chapter iv. description of burmah.--its boundaries, rivers, climate, soil, fruits and flowers.--burman people.--their dress, houses, food, government and religion. the burman empire being thus the place to which the feet of the first "bringers of good tidings" from america were so signally directed, and having been now, for nearly forty years, missionary ground of the most interesting character, it is proper to pause here and give something more than a passing glance at its natural features, its government and religion, and the character of its population. for information on these points we are indebted chiefly to the researches of the rev. howard malcom. burmah, or the burman empire, lies between the salwen river on the east, and the burrampooter on the northwest and north, while its western and southern shores are washed by the great bay of bengal, which separates it from the peninsula of hindustan. besides the noble rivers which form its eastern and north-western boundaries, its entire length from north to south is traversed by the irrawaddy, which after a course of miles, empties by many mouths into the bay of bengal. its territory is generally so much elevated above the level of the sea, that it enjoys, though in the torrid zone, a comparatively salubrious and temperate climate. the heat is rarely excessive; while winter in our sense of the word, is unknown. "the general features of a country so extensive are, of course, widely diversified. it may be said of it as a whole, in the language of dr. hamilton, that in fertility, beauty and grandeur of scenery, and in the variety, value, and elegance of its natural productions, it is equalled by few on earth." in the parts of the country lying near the sea there are two seasons, the wet and the dry. about the th of may showers commence, and increase in frequency, until, in the latter part of june, it begins to rain almost daily, and this continues until the middle of september. heavy rains then cease, but showers continue, diminishing in frequency until the middle of october, when "the air is cool, the country verdant, fruits innumerable, and everything in nature gives delight." even in the rainy season, the sun shines out a part of the day, so that the rankest vegetation covers everything; even walls and buildings, unless smoothly coated with plaster, are not exempt from grass and weeds. of the climate during the warmest portion of the year, dr. malcom thus writes: "i have now passed the ordeal of the entire hot season, and of nothing am i more convinced, both from experience and observation, than that the climate is as salubrious and pleasant as any other in the world. i have suffered much more from heat in italy, and even in philadelphia, than i have ever done here; and have never found a moment when i could not be perfectly comfortable by sitting still. to go abroad at mid-day, is, however, for any but natives, eminently hazardous." the soil, in the maritime provinces, is represented as unsurpassed in fertility, and under the imperfect cultivation of the natives, yields from eighty to a hundred fold, and sometimes more. the heights are crowned with forests, while the low lands are jungle, that is, "a region of many trees, but scattered; with much undergrowth;" and the haunt of tigers and other wild animals. the fruit-trees are numerous, and of names and kinds unknown in america. there is found the mangosteen, with a fruit said by travellers to be the most delicious in the world; the noble mango, growing to the height of one hundred feet, and of vast diameter, and bearing as great a variety of delicious fruit as the apple-tree does with us; the cocoa-nut, whose fruit we are acquainted with, and whose husk is formed into excellent cordage; the plantain, that invaluable blessing to the natives of the torrid zone, as it supplies them bread without much labor; a circumstance of importance in countries where hard labor is oppressive by reason of heat; the splendid tamarind, with wide-spreading limbs, and a dense foliage of vivid green, among which appear clusters of beautiful yellow flowers, delicately veined with red, and the long shining pods which contain the fruit; the custard-apple, with its pulpy fruit contained in a husk resembling the pineapple in shape; and the curious palmyra, whose leaves furnish the natives with paper, while its trunk yields a liquor much prized by them as drink, and capable of being boiled down into sugar, like the juice of our maple. hundreds of other trees might be named, many valuable for their fruit, others for their timber, and some for both. most of the trees are evergreen, that is, few of them shed their leaves annually and at once; but a constant succession of leaves makes the forest always verdant. besides the fruits which grow upon trees, there is a variety of others such as berries, tomatoes, pineapples, &c.; and among roots are found the ginger, licorice, arrow-root, sweet-potatoe, irish potatoe, asparagus, ground-nut, &c. the country abounds in flowers of most splendid colors, but generally deficient in fragrance; though some have a fine perfume. the favorite food of the country being rice, this is, of course, the grain most extensively cultivated. there are no _farms_ as with us; cultivators of the soil always reside in villages, for mutual protection against wild beasts and robbers. each family cultivates a patch of the neighboring jungle, and brings the produce into the village, where the cattle are also brought for security. besides rice, they cultivate wheat, indian-corn, sugar-cane, millet and indigo; but generally in a slovenly and unskilful manner. in the dry season, the land is watered by artificial means, some of which are quite ingenious. of animals there is, of course, a vast variety, one of the most useful of which is the buffalo, which is used to draw their carriages, as well as to perform the labor that the ox does with us. elephants are the property of the king, but great men are allowed to keep them. the birds in burmah, though of gay plumage, have little melody in their song; splendid as they are, we would scarce exchange for them our cheerful robin and merry bobolink. reptiles and insects, though numerous, are not so troublesome or so venomous as in many parts of the torrid zone. the white ant is perhaps as destructive as any other insect, and the greatest precaution hardly preserves one from its intrusion. the burmans are, as a race, superior to the hindoos, being more athletic and vigorous, and more lively and industrious. they are less tall than americans, their complexions dark, their noses flat, and their lips thick and full. the hair is very abundant, black and glossy, but generally rather coarse. "men tie it in a knot on the _top_ of the head, and intertwine it with the turban. women turn it all back, and without a comb, form it into a graceful knot _behind_, frequently adding chaplets of fragrant natural flowers strung on a thread. both sexes take great pains with their hair, frequently washing it with a substance which has the properties of soap, and keeping it anointed with sweet oil." the custom of blacking the teeth is almost universal. when asked the reason of this custom, the answer is, "what! should we have white teeth like a dog or a monkey?" smoking and chewing are also universal. malcom says, "i have seen little creatures of two or three years, stark naked, tottering about with a lighted cigar in their mouth." tobacco is not used alone for these purposes, but mixed with several other substances. the dress of the men is a cotton cloth about four and a half yards long, covering, when the man is not at work, nearly the whole body in a graceful manner. a jacket, with sleeves generally of white muslin but often of broadcloth or velvet, is sometimes added, especially among the higher classes. on the feet, when dressed, are worn sandals of wood or cowhide, covered with cloth, and held on by straps, one of which passes over the instep, the other over the great toe. on entering a house, these are always left at the door. women wear a _temine_, or petticoat, of cotton or silk, lined with muslin, extending from the arm-pits to the ankles. over this is sometimes worn a jacket, open in front with close, long sleeves. both sexes wear ornaments in the ears. men wear mustachios, but pluck out the beard with tweezers. women, in order to render their complexions more fair, rub over the face a delicate yellow powder; and they occasionally stain the nails of the fingers and toes with a scarlet pigment. all ranks are exceedingly fond of flowers, and display great taste in arranging them. the houses are made of timbers, or bamboos, set in the earth, with lighter pieces fastened transversely. the sides are covered, some with mats, more or less substantial and costly, others with thatch, fastened with split ratans. the roof is very ingeniously made and fastened on, and is a perfect security against wind and rain. the floor is of split cane, elevated a few feet from the earth, which secures ventilation and cleanliness. the windows and doors are of mat, strengthened with a frame of bamboo, and strongly fastened at the top. when open they are propped up with a bamboo, and form a shade. of course, there are no chimneys. cooking is done on a shallow box a yard square, filled with earth. we must not judge of the architectural skill of the people by their private houses. a burman conceals his wealth with as much care as we exhibit ours, for a display of it only subjects him to extortion from the officers of government. malcom describes some of their zayats, pagodas and bridges, especially in and near ava, as truly noble. rice may be said to be the universal food. it is generally eaten with a nice curry, and sauces of various vegetables are added. wheat is not made into bread by the natives, but boiled like rice. its name in burmah is "foreigner's rice," which shows it is not native to the country. * * * * * the natural good traits of the burman character are almost rendered nugatory by their religion, and the oppressive nature of their government. the latter is an absolute despotism. the king has a nominal council with whom he may advise, but whose advice he may, if he chooses, treat with utter contempt. it is not, however, the direct oppression of the monarch that causes most suffering among his subjects. it is rather that of the inferior officers of government whose rapacity and extortion renders property, liberty, and life itself insecure. deceit, fraud and lying are the natural, if not necessary consequences of a system which leaves the people entirely at the mercy of those who bear rule over them. the religion is buddhism, one of the most ancient and wide-spread superstitions existing on the face of the earth. its sacred divinity, or buddh, is gaudama, who has passed into a state of eternal and unconscious repose, which they consider the summit of felicity; but which seems to us to differ little from annihilation. images of this god are the chief objects of worship. these are found in every house, and are enshrined in pagodas and temples, and in sacred caves which appear to have been used from time immemorial for religious purposes. the wealth and labor bestowed on the latter show how great the population must have been in former ages. dr. malcom describes one cave on the salwen, which is wholly filled with images of every size, while the whole face of the mountain for ninety feet above the cave is incrusted with them. "on every jutting crag stands some marble image covered with gold, and spreading its uncouth proportions to the setting sun. every recess is converted into shrines for others. but imposing as is this spectacle, it shrinks into insignificance compared with the scene presented on entering the cavern itself. it is of vast size, and needs no human art to render it sublime. the eye is confused and the heart appalled at the prodigious exhibition of infatuation and folly. everywhere--on the floor, over head and on every jutting point, are crowded together images of gaudama--the offerings of successive ages. a ship of five hundred tons could not carry away the half of them." pagodas are innumerable. in the inhabited parts there is scarcely a peak, bank, or swelling hill, uncrowned by one of these structures. in general, they are almost solid, without door or window, and contain some supposed relic of gaudama. the religious system of the burmans contains many excellent moral precepts and maxims, which, however being without sanction or example, are utterly powerless to mould the character of the people to wisdom or virtue. a curious feature of buddhism is, that one of the highest motives it presents to its followers is the "obtaining of merit." merit is obtained by avoiding sins, such as theft, lying, intoxication, and the like; and by practising virtues and doing good works. the most meritorious of all good works is to make an idol; the next to build a pagoda. it confers high merit, also, to build a zayat, to transcribe the sacred books, to erect any useful public edifice, to dig public wells, or to plant shade or fruit-trees by the wayside. if they give alms, or treat animals kindly, or repeat prayers, or do any other good deed, they do it entirely with this mercenary view of obtaining merit. this "merit" is not so much to procure them happiness in another world, as to secure them from suffering in their future transmigrations in this; for they believe that the soul of one who dies without having laid up any merit, will have to pass into the body of some mean reptile or insect, and from that to another, through hundreds of changes, perhaps, before it will be allowed again to take the form of man. this reliance on 'merit,' and certainty of obtaining it through prescribed methods, fosters their conceit, so that ignorant and debased as they are, "there is scarcely a nation more offensively proud." it also renders them entirely incapable of doing or appreciating a disinterested action, or of feeling such a sentiment as gratitude. if you do them a favor, they suppose you do it to obtain merit for yourself, and of course feel no obligation to you; the simple phrase, "i thank you," is unknown in their language. like the ancient romans, the burmans believe in dreams, omens, and unlucky days; observe the flight and feeding of fowls, the howl of dogs, and the aspect of the stars; they regard the lines in the hand, the knots in trees, and a thousand other fortuitous circumstances, and by these allow their actions to be governed. the priesthood in burmah is arranged into a regular hierarchy. the highest functionary is a kind of archbishop, who presides over all the other priests in the empire, and appoints the presidents of the monasteries. he resides at the imperial court, where he has a high rank, and is considered one of the greatest men in the kingdom. below him are various ranks of priests, each having his appointed sphere and appropriate duties, and all supported by the so-called _voluntary_ contributions of the people. the number of priests is exceedingly great, and their sway over the minds of the people almost unlimited. "but great and potent as the priests of buddh are," says a writer in the foreign quarterly review, "there is a kind of sacred personage still greater than the highest of them, and next in rank to the sovereign; this is no other than that diseased animal, the white elephant, far more highly venerated here than in siam. the creature is supposed by the burmans to lodge within its carcass a blessed soul of some human being, which has arrived at the last stage of the many millions of transmigrations it was doomed to undergo, and which, when it escapes, will be absorbed into the essence of the deity." this most sacred personage has a regular cabinet composed of a prime minister, secretary of state, transmitter of intelligence, &c., possesses estates in various parts of the country, and receives handsome presents from foreign ambassadors. his residence is contiguous to the royal palace, and connected with it by a long open gallery, at the further end of which a curtain of black velvet embossed with gold, conceals his august person from vulgar eyes. his dwelling is a lofty hall splendidly gilded, and supported by sixty-four pillars, to four of which he is chained with massive silver chains. his bed is a thick mattress, covered with blue cloth, over which is a softer one of crimson silk. his trappings are magnificent, being gold, studded with diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and other precious stones; his betel-box, _spittoon_, and the vessel out of which he feeds, are of gold inlaid with precious stones. his attendants, according to hamilton, from whom we take a part of this description, amount to over a thousand persons. "buddhism in its moral precepts is perhaps the best religion ever invented by man. the difficulty is, its entire basis is false. it is a religion of atheism. instead of a heavenly father forgiving sin, and filial service from a pure heart, as the effect of love--it presents nothing to love, for its deity is dead; nothing as the ultimate object of action but self; and nothing for man's highest and holiest ambition but annihilation." "their doctrine of merit, leaves no place for holiness, and destroys gratitude either to god or man." it also ministers to the grossest pride, for the very fact of his being _now a man_, assures the buddhist that in numberless former unremembered transmigrations, he must have acquired incalculable merit, or he would not now occupy so distinguished a rank in the scale of being. their system of balancing evil with good, reduces all sin to a thing of little importance. "if any man sin" in burmah, his religion tells him of no "advocate with the father" on whose altar he may lay the tribute of a believing, penitent, obedient and grateful heart; but instead, it tells him he may repeat a form of words, he may feed a priest, he may build a pagoda, he may carve an idol, and thus balance his iniquity with merit. if any man suffer in burmah, his religion points him to no place where "the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest," and where "god himself will wipe away all tears from all faces;" but it dictates a proud submission to unalterable fate, and flatters him that his sufferings here may purchase immunity from torment in some unknown future existence; and finally if any man die, in burmah, his religion tells him of no saviour who has "passed through the grave and blessed the bed," and "swallowed up death in victory;" but it threatens degradation, perhaps into a soulless brute; or at best, a place of expiatory misery;--in short, "living or dying," the burman may be said emphatically to be "without hope, and without god in the world." such was the stupendous system of superstition and ignorance, which two feeble missionaries armed like david when he met the philistine with "trust in the lord his god," ventured to attack, and hoped to subdue. chapter v. rangoon; letters from mrs. judson. rangoon, one of the chief seaports of the burman empire, situated on one of the numerous mouths of the irrawaddy, and having a splendid harbor, is yet one of the meanest, and most uninteresting cities that can well be imagined. it is situated in a flat, marshy plain, and is merely a vast collection of bamboo huts, with narrow streets, and here and there an ugly building of brick or wood, and would give a stranger a most unfavorable impression of the noble country to which it is the entrance. on their arrival at this city, mr. and mrs. judson took up their abode in a deserted mission-house just outside the wall, which had formerly been occupied by some baptist missionaries from serampore. the house was large and not unsuited to the climate, but unfinished and comfortless. however, it had a garden full of flowers and fruit-trees, and the scenery around it was rural and pleasant. here they found one christian female, the only person remaining of the former mission family, and she was a native of the country. mrs. judson's peculiar trials and encouragements at this time will be best learned by extracts from her letters and journal. _july , _, she writes: "we felt very gloomy and dejected the first night we arrived, in view of our prospects; but we were enabled to lean on god, and to feel that he was able to support us under the most discouraging circumstances. "the next morning i prepared to go on shore, but hardly knew how i should get to mr. carey's house; it was, however, concluded that i should be carried in an arm-chair; consequently, when i landed one was provided, through which were put two bamboos, and four of the natives took me on their shoulders. when they had carried me a little way into the town, they set me down under a shade, when great numbers of the natives gathered round, having seldom seen an english female. being sick and weak, i held my head down, which induced many of the native females to come very near, and look under my bonnet. at this i looked up and smiled, on which they set up a loud laugh. they again took me up to carry, and the multitude of natives gave a shout which much diverted us. they next carried me to a place they call the custom-house. it was a small open shed, in which were seated on mats, several natives, who were the custom-house officers. after searching mr. judson very closely, they asked liberty for a native female to search me, to which i readily consented. i was then brought to the mission-house, where i have nearly recovered my health." "_july ._--it is now a week since we arrived here. my health is quite restored, and i feel much more contented and happy than i ever expected to be in such a situation. i think i enjoy the promises of god in a higher degree than ever before, and have attained more true peace of mind and trust in the saviour. when i look back to my late situation in that wretched old vessel, without any accommodations--scarcely the necessaries of life--no physician--no female attendants--so weak that i could not move--i hope i am deeply sensible of the kind care of my heavenly father in carrying me safely through the peculiar dangers of the voyage, and giving me once more a resting-place on land. "still, were it not for the support we derive from the gospel of jesus, we should be ready to sink down in despondency in view of the dark and gloomy scenes around us. but when we recollect that jesus has commanded his disciples to carry the gospel to the heathen, and promised to be with them to the end of the world; that god has promised to give the heathen to his son for an inheritance, we are encouraged to make a beginning, though in the midst of discouragement, and leave it to him to grant success in his own time and way." "i find here no female friends with whom i can unite in social prayer, nor even one with whom i can converse. i have, indeed, no society at all except that of mr. judson, yet i feel happy in thinking that i gave up this source of pleasure, as well as most others, for the sake of the poor heathen." in her journal we find the following sentiment: "though we find ourselves almost destitute of all those sources of enjoyment to which we have been accustomed, and are in the midst of a people who are at present almost destitute on account of the scarcity of provisions[ ]; though we are exposed to robbers by night and invaders by day, yet we both unite in saying that we never were happier, never more contented in any situation than the present. we feel that this is the post to which god hath appointed us; that we are in the path of duty; and though surrounded with danger and death, we feel that god can with infinite ease, preserve and support us under the most heavy sufferings. "oh, if it may please the dear redeemer to make me instrumental of leading some of the females of burmah to a saving acquaintance with him, my great object will be accomplished, my highest desires gratified, i shall rejoice to have relinquished my comforts, my country and my home." "oh lord, here i am; thou hast brought me to this heathen land, and given me desires to labor for thee. do with me what pleaseth thee. make me useful or not as seemeth good in thy sight. but oh, let my soul live before thee; let me serve none but thee; let me have no object in life but the promotion of thy glory." "_aug. ._--i have begun to study the language. find it very hard and difficult, having none of the usual helps in acquiring a language, except a small part of a grammar, and six chapters of st. matthew's gospel by mr. carey, now at ava." "_aug. ._--have been writing letters this week to my dear friends in america. found that a recollection of former enjoyments in my own native country, made my situation here appear less tolerable. the thought that i had parents, sisters, and beloved friends still in existence, and at such a distance that it was impossible to obtain one look or exchange a word, was truly painful. while they are still in possession of the comforts i once enjoyed, i am an exile from my country and my father's house, deprived of all society and every friend but one, and with scarcely the necessaries of life. _these privations would not be endured with patience in any other cause but that in which we are engaged._ but since it is thy cause, blessed jesus, we rejoice that thou didst give us so many enjoyments to sacrifice, and madest it so plainly our duty to forsake all in order to bring thy truth to the benighted heathen. we would not resign our work, but live contented with our lot, and live to thee." "_sept. ._--yes, i do feel thankful that god has brought me to this heathen land, and placed me in a situation peculiarly calculated to make me feel my dependence on him and my constant need of the influences of the holy spirit. i enjoy more in reading the scriptures, and in secret prayer than for years before; and the prosperity of this mission, and the conversion of this people, lie with weight on my mind, and draw forth my heart in constant intercession. _and i do confidently believe that god will visit this land with gospel light, that these idol temples will be demolished_, and temples for the worship of the living god be erected in their stead." let us here pause for a moment and contemplate the picture brought by these words before our imagination. let us survey the scene in which the lonely missionary penned this prediction. a vast country not waste and uninhabited, but enriched by the partial sun with every natural gift to cheer the sense and gratify the taste of man; swarming with human beings endowed with capacities for advancement in knowledge, and virtue, and temporal enjoyment, as well as for immortal happiness; yet who, having said in their heart there is no god 'that minds the affairs of men,' have built up for themselves a fabric of absurd superstitions, and unmeaning rites, and senseless formalities, to which they cling with a stubbornness that nothing but the power of god can subdue; on such a shore are cast by the providence of god two 'pilgrim strangers,' not endowed with apostolic gifts; not able to control disease, or raise the dead, or even to speak in a foreign tongue without long and patient and assiduous study to acquire it; and yet with a simple and sublime faith in the clear and sure word of their master, "go--preach my gospel--lo, i am with you," these pilgrim strangers can confidently believe that god will visit this land with gospel light, and that those gilded fanes which now glisten in the morning and evening sun, on every hill-top, will fall, and those poor idolaters will say, "what have we to do any more with idols?" "our trust is in the name of the lord that made heaven and earth." in one of the last paragraphs of her private journal which has been preserved, dated oct. th of the same year, she says: "to-day i have been into the town, and i was surprised at the multitude of people with which the streets are filled. their countenances are intelligent; and they appear to be capable under the influence of the gospel, of becoming a valuable and respectable people. but at present their situation is truly deplorable, for they are given to every sin. lying is so universal among them that they say, 'we cannot live without telling lies.' they believe the most absurd notions imaginable. my teacher told me the other day, that when he died he would go to my country; i shook my head, and told him he would not; but he laughed, and said he would. i did not understand the language sufficiently to tell him where he would go, or how he could be saved. oh thou light of the world, dissipate the thick darkness that covers burmah. display thy grace and power among the burmans--subdue them to thyself, and make them thy chosen people." footnotes: [footnote : the war had almost produced a famine.] chapter vi. learning the language.--mrs. judson visits the wife of the viceroy.--her sickness.--her voyage to madras.--her return to rangoon.--birth of a son. those who have acquired a modern european language with the aid of grammars, dictionaries, and other suitable books, can scarcely estimate the labor of learning without such aids, such a language as the burman. in fact mr. judson thinks more progress can be made in the _french_ in a few months, than in the burman in two years. mrs. judson took the whole management of family affairs on herself, in order to leave her husband at liberty to prosecute his studies and the consequence was, that being obliged constantly to use all the burman she knew, in her intercourse with servants, traders, and others, her progress was more rapid than his. one cause of difficulty in learning their language was that their books were made of palm-leaves, marked or engraved with an iron style or pen, _without ink_. we who are accustomed to clear characters on paper can hardly imagine the difficulty of tracing out these obscure scratches on the dried palm-leaves. another was that in writing, "their words are not fairly divided like ours by breaks, and points, and capitals, but run together in a long continuous line, a sentence or paragraph seeming like one long word." another difficulty was, that in their idiom, a great variety of verbs must be used to express one action, either as performed by persons of different rank, or as done under different circumstances. thus there are three or four ways to speak of eating rice, sleeping, dying, &c. one of which is always used of the king, another of priests, another of rulers, and another of common persons, and it would be an insult to use a phrase lower than one is entitled to. again, for our term to _wash_, for instance, there are many words; one is used for to _wash the face_, another, the hands, another, linen, another, dishes, &c. they have in their language eleven vowels and thirty-three consonants, but of these there are so many combinations, that about one thousand characters must be used in printing. printing, however, was unknown to the burmans until our missionaries introduced it. as no progress at all could be made in their missionary labors until the language was mastered, they applied themselves cheerfully and diligently to its acquisition. an interesting incident is related by mrs. judson under date of dec. th, , her first visit to the wife of a man in power. "to-day for the first time i have visited the wife of the viceroy. i was introduced to her by a french lady who has frequently visited her. when we first arrived at the government house, she was not up, consequently we had to wait some time. but the inferior wives of the viceroy diverted us much by their curiosity, in minutely examining everything we had on, and by trying on our gloves, bonnets, &c. at last her highness made her appearance, richly dressed in the burman fashion, with a long silver pipe in her mouth, smoking. at her appearance all the other wives took their seats at a respectful distance, and sat in a crouching posture without speaking. she received me very politely, took me by the hand, seated me upon a mat and herself by me. one of the women brought her a bunch of flowers, of which she took several and ornamented my cap. she was very inquisitive whether i had a husband and children, whether i was my husband's first wife,--meaning by this whether i was the highest among them, supposing that mr. judson, like the burmans, had many wives; and whether i intended tarrying long in the country. "when the viceroy came in i really trembled, for i never before beheld such a savage-looking creature. his long robe and enormous spear not a little increased my dread. he spoke to me, however, very condescendingly, and asked whether i would drink some rum or wine. when i arose to go, her highness took my hand again, told me she was happy to see me, and that i must come to see her every day. she led me to the door, i made my _salam_ and departed. "my object in visiting her was, that if we should go into any difficulty with the burmans, i could have access to her, when perhaps it would not be possible for mr. judson to have an audience with the viceroy." in pursuing his study of the language, mr. judson had fortunately secured as a teacher a burman of more than ordinary intelligence, and who had a perfect knowledge of the grammatical construction of the burman dialect, and also of the _pali_, or language of the sacred books. day after day he sat with his teacher in the open verandah which surrounded their dwelling, reading, writing, and talking, joined by mrs. judson in every interval she could spare from family cares, and thus were they fitting themselves to teach to the poor idolaters the new religion. nor did they neglect such opportunities of doing good as presented themselves even then; but every effort to inculcate their sentiments was met with the objection, "your religion is good for you, ours for us." "you will be rewarded for your good deeds in your way, we in our way." they found they had to deal with one of the proudest and most conceited races on earth. their very religion, as we have before said, encourages this conceit, by leading them constantly to make "a merit" of their good actions, or what they suppose such; while it inculcates neither contrition nor penitence. the peculiar doctrines of christianity, its justification through the merits of another, its humility and charity, were in the last degree opposed to the character of the burman race. the missionaries were made daily more sensible that the spirit of god must come "with power," before the truth could ever enter those darkened understandings. prayer was therefore their only reliance, as it was their only comfort. but even this enjoyment, as far as it was social, was soon broken in upon by the increasing illness of mrs. judson, which obliged her to try the effect of a change of scene and climate. she could not think of taking mr. judson from his labors, and therefore embarked alone in january, , for madras. we may imagine the joy experienced by the missionary, thus left behind, on receiving during her absence letters from this country, containing an account of the general movement in america in favor of the mission, and the formation of the baptist general convention. his heart overflowed with gratitude, and the thought that though he had no friend near him, there were yet hundreds in his native land praying and laboring in the same cause, inspired him with new zeal in his beloved enterprise. mrs. judson's journey, though solitary, was prosperous and successful. friends appeared for her where she least expected them. the influence of her engaging person and winning manners is observable in one obliging attention she received even from strangers. the viceroy appointed a woman to accompany her free of expense; the captain refused money for her passage; and the physician at madras, from whom she had received visits for six weeks, returned the fee which she sent him, saying he was happy if he had been of service to her. her health being perfectly restored she returned to rangoon after an absence of three months, and "on the th of september, was made the happy mother of a little son." she soon resumed her studies, and though she saw little other result of her labors, was cheered by noticing that she and her husband were gradually gaining the confidence of the natives, who, as she says, would say to each other "that they need not be afraid to trust us, for we do not tell falsehoods as the burmans do." the indolent and deceitful burmans saw with surprise that these two christians always kept themselves busily employed, and paid every debt they contracted with strict punctuality. thus was laid the foundation of respect for the new religion. chapter vii. difficulty of inculcating the gospel.--death of her son.--failure of mr. judson's health.--arrival of mr. and mrs. hough at rangoon. in a letter which mrs. judson wrote to her sisters in december, , she says: "doubtless you expect by this time that some of the burmans have embraced the christian religion, or at least are seriously inquiring respecting it." "but you cannot imagine how very difficult it is to give them any idea of the true god and the way of salvation by christ, since their present ideas of deity are so very low." "they have not the least idea of a divinity who is eternal, without beginning or end. all their deities have been through the several grades of creatures, from a fowl to a god...." "they know of no other atonement for sin, than offerings to their priests or their pagodas." she goes on to mention some instances of serious inquiry among the people, which from time to time had raised their hopes, only to dash them again by the relapse of the inquirers into indifference; but adds "these things do not discourage us. it is god alone who can effectually impress the mind with divine truths; and though seed may lie buried long in the dust, yet at some future period it may spring up and bear fruit to the glory of god." in this letter she gives an account of the recall of the viceroy from rangoon to ava, the imperial residence, and the consequent confusion of the people, ten thousand of whom accompanied him to ava. she regretted his departure, as both he and his lady had ever treated her with civility and kindness. the newly appointed viceroy was a stranger, and might not be equally kind to them. she says, "oh how i long to visit bradford; to spend a few evenings by your firesides, in telling you what i have seen and heard. alas! _we_ have no fireside, no social circle. we are still alone in this miserable country, surrounded by thousands ignorant of the true god." ... "but we still feel happy in our employment, and have reason to thank god that he has brought us here. we do hope to live to see the scriptures translated into the burman language, and a church formed from among these idolaters." her next letter details "with all the pathos of a mother's sorrow," a new trial to which they were called by him, who though "clouds and darkness are about him" yet "doeth all things well." "_may th, ._--my dear parents,--little did i think when i wrote you last, that my next letter would be filled with the melancholy subject upon which i must now write. death, regardless of our lonely situation has entered our dwelling, and made one of the happiest of families wretched. our little roger williams, our only little darling boy, was three days ago laid in the silent grave. eight months we enjoyed the precious little gift, in which time he had so completely entwined himself around his parents' hearts that his existence seemed necessary to their own. but god has taught us by affliction, what we would not learn by mercies--that our hearts are his exclusive property, and whatever rival intrudes, he will tear it away." "he was a remarkably pleasant child--never cried except when in pain, and what we often observed to each other was the most singular, he never during his little existence manifested the least anger or resentment at anything. this was not owing to the want of intellect, for his tender feelings of sensibility were very conspicuous. whenever i or his father, passed his cradle without taking him, he would follow us with his eyes to the door, when they would fill with tears, his countenance so expressive of grief, though perfectly silent, that it would force us back to him, which would cause his little heart to be as joyful as it had before been sorrowful. he would lie hours on a mat by his papa's study-table, or by the side of his chair on the floor, if he could only see his face. when we had finished study or the business of the day, it was our exercise and amusement to carry him round the house or garden, and though we were alone, we felt not our solitude when he was with us." ... her account of his last sickness and death follows, and she adds: "thus died our little roger: 'short pain, short grief, dear babe, was thine-- now joys eternal and divine.' we buried him in the afternoon of the same day, in a little enclosure, the other side of the garden. forty or fifty burmans and portuguese followed with his afflicted parents the last remains to the silent grave. all the burmans who were acquainted with us, tried to sympathize with us and console us under our loss." ... "we do not feel a disposition to murmur, or inquire of our sovereign why he has done this. we wish rather to sit down submissively under the rod and bear the smart, till the end for which the affliction was sent shall be accomplished. our hearts were bound up in this child; we felt he was our earthly all, our only source of innocent recreation in this heathen land. but god saw it was necessary to remind us of our error and strip us of our little all. oh may it not be in vain that he has done it. may we so improve it that he will stay his hand and say, 'it is enough.'" a while after this she writes: "since worship i have stolen away to a much loved spot, where i love to sit and pay the tribute of affection to my lost, darling child. it is a little enclosure of mango-trees, in the centre of which is erected a small bamboo house, on a rising spot of ground, which looks down on the new-made grave of our infant boy. here i now sit, and though all nature around wears a most delightful, and romantic appearance, yet my heart is sad, and my tears frequently stop my pen. you, my dear mrs. l. who are a mother, may imagine my sensations, but if you have never lost a first born, an only son, you can never know my pain. had you even buried your little boy, you are in a christian country, surrounded by friends and relatives, who could soothe your anguish and direct your attention to other objects. but behold us, solitary and alone, with this one source of recreation! yet this is denied us, this must be removed, to show us that we need no other source of enjoyment but god himself. "do not think though i write thus, that i repine at the dealings of providence. no! though he slay me yet will i trust in him!... though i say with the prophet, behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, yet i would also say, it is of the lord's mercies that we are not consumed because his compassions fail not. god is the same when he afflicts, as when he is merciful, just as worthy of our entire trust and confidence now, as when he entrusted us with the precious little gift. there is a bright side even to this heavy affliction." the following tender and beautiful effusion was written by the rev. j. lawson of the serampore mission and presented to mrs. judson on this occasion. as it has not been published in former notices of mrs. j. we take pleasure in inserting it here. "hush'd be the murmuring thought! thy will be done o arbiter of life and death. i bow to thy command--i yield the precious gift so late bestowed; and to the silent grave move sorrowing, yet submissive. o sweet babe! i lay thee down to rest--the cold, cold earth a pillow for thy little head. sleep on, serene in death. no care shall trouble thee. all undisturbed thou slumberest; far more still than when i lulled thee in my lap, and sooth'd thy little sorrows till they ceased.... then felt thy mother peace; her heart was light as the sweet sigh that 'scaped thy placid lips, and joyous as the dimpled smile that played across thy countenance.--o i must weep to think of thee, dear infant, on my knees untroubled sleeping. bending o'er thy form, i watch'd with eager hope to catch the laugh first waking from thy sparkling eye, a beam lovely to me as the blue light of heaven. dimm'd in death's agony, it beams no more! oh yet once more i kiss thy marble lips, sweet babe i and press with mine thy whitened cheeks. farewell, a long farewell!--yet visit me in dreams, my darling; though the visioned joy wake bitter pangs, still be thou in my thoughts and i will cherish the dear dream, and think i still possess thee. peace, my bursting heart! o i submit. again i lay thee down, dear relic of a mother's hope. thy spirit, now mingled with cherubic hosts, adores that grace that ransomed it, and lodg'd it safe above the stormy scene." she then gives an interesting account of a visit paid them by the wife of the viceroy, who on hearing of the death of the 'little white child' as she called him, came to condole with his parents. she was attended by about two hundred of her officers of state and members of her household, expressed great sympathy in mrs. judson's affliction, and reproached her for not having sent her word that she might have come to the funeral. mrs. judson says, "i regaled her with tea, sweetmeats, and cakes, with which she seemed much pleased." she adds, "i sometimes have good opportunities of communicating religious truths to the women in the government-house, and hope i shall have an opportunity of conversing with the wife of the viceroy herself." ... "oh that she might become a real disciple of jesus!" in the same melancholy letter she relates another affliction--mr. judson, who had frequently been asked by the natives, 'where are your religious books?' had been diligently employed in preparing a tract in the burman language called 'a summary of christian truth;' when his nervous system, and especially his head became so afflicted, that he was obliged to lay aside all study, and seriously think of a voyage to calcutta as his only means of restoration. but he was prevented from executing his design by the joyful news that two additional missionaries were about to join them. mr. and mrs. hough, from america, arrived in rangoon in october, ; and brought with them as a present from the mission at serampore, a printing press, with a fount of types in the burman character than which nothing could have been more acceptable. can we wonder that after laboring in loneliness and sorrow three years, such an event as this should fill their hearts with joy and consolation? the burmans are very generally taught to read, though having little that is attractive in their own literature, and books being scarce and dear, they could not at the time of which we write, be said to be a reading people. still the fact that numbers were able to read, was a strong encouragement to print tracts and books for them. on the occasion of printing the tract above-mentioned, and a catechism, mr. hough writes thus: "these two little tracts are the first printing ever done in burmah; and it is a fact grateful to every christian feeling, that god has reserved the introduction of this art here, for his own use." chapter viii. missionary labors.--female intellect in burmah.--description of a pagoda, of burman worship and offerings. a circumstance still more cheering to the hearts of the missionaries than even the arrival of companions from their beloved native land, was a visit of a burman who having read the "two little books" from the press of mr. hough, came to inquire further into the new religion. when mr. judson first heard from the lips of an idolater the confession that "god is a being without beginning or end, not subject to old age or death, but who always is,"--his feelings were indescribable and overpowering. here at length was a germination of that seed they had so long been sowing in tears! for if one heathen heart could be thus led by the spirit to investigate the truth, why not more.--why not many? and why might not the same spirit lead them to him who is not only the truth, but the way,--the way to heaven? they soon received visits from other burmans who had seen the tracts issued by them; and who seemed desirous of learning the truth, but still very fearful of being known as inquirers. it became necessary therefore to seek the patronage of the government, and mr. judson determined, so soon as he should have finished his dictionary of the language, to proceed to ava, the residence of the emperor. mrs. judson met every sabbath a society of fifteen or twenty females, to whom she read the scriptures, and talked about god. they were attentive, and willing to ask and answer questions, but for a long time experienced no abiding convictions of sin or of duty. some were willing to serve christ if they could do it without renouncing dependence on their own merits. others would serve god, if they might serve gaudama also. as there is a tendency in enlightened minds to feel a contempt for the intellect of barbarians; and as some have even felt that time spent as mrs. judson's was with those native females, was thrown away, we will here record her testimony to the intelligence of the burmese women. "the females of this country are lively, inquisitive, strong and energetic, susceptible of friendship and the warmest attachment, and possess minds capable of rising to the highest state of cultivation and refinement.... this is evident from their mode of conversing," and may be illustrated by some particulars in the experience of one of them, named may-meulah. previous to the arrival of the missionaries in her country, her active mind was led to inquire the origin of all things. who created all that her eyes beheld? she inquired of all she met, and visited priests and teachers in vain; and such was her anxiety, that her friends feared for her reason. she resolved to learn to read, that she might consult the sacred books. her husband, willing to gratify her curiosity, taught her to read himself. in their sacred literature she found nothing satisfactory. for ten years she prosecuted her inquiries, when god in his providence brought to her notice a tract written by mr. judson in the burmese language, which so far solved her difficulties, that she was led to seek out its author. from him she learned the truths of the gospel, and by the holy spirit those truths were made the means of her conversion. "she became an ornament to her profession, and her daily walk and conversation would shame many professors in christian countries." christians in america, was mrs. judson's time thrown away, when she was leading burmese females to the knowledge of the truth as it is in jesus? one of the most splendid buildings in the empire is a pagoda at rangoon, in which is enshrined a relic of gaudama. at this pagoda, a yearly feast is celebrated which lasts three days, and draws people together from all parts of the country. mrs. judson says--"if dr. young could have seen the devotion of this people to their idolatry, he might well have exclaimed, 'o for a heathen zeal in christian hearts!' even while i am writing my ears are stunned with the noise and confusion of preparation for an approaching festival. could you, my dear sir, but once witness this annual feast, could you behold the enthusiasm of their devotions, you would readily admit that nothing short of an almighty arm could break down these strong barriers, and cause the introduction of the gospel." the pagoda itself is thus described by dr. malcom. "two miles from rangoon stands the celebrated pagoda called shooda-gôn. it stands upon a small hill surmounted by many smaller pagodas, and many noble trees. the hill has been graduated into successive terraces, sustained by brick walls; and the summit, which is completely leveled, contains about two acres. "the two principal approaches from the city are lined on each side, for a mile, with fine pagodas, some almost vieing for size with shoodagon itself. passing these, on your way from the city, you come to a flight of time-worn steps, covered by a curious arcade of little houses of various forms and sizes, some in partial decay, others truly beautiful. after crossing some terraces, covered in the same manner, you reach the top and passing a great gate, enter at once this sad but imposing theatre of gaudama's glory. one's first impressions are, what _terrible_ grandeur; what _sickening_ magnificence; what absurd imagery; what extravagant expenditure; what long successions of devotees to procure this throng of buildings of such various dates; what a poor religion which makes such labors its chief meritoriousness! before you, stands the huge shoodagon, its top among the clouds, and its golden sides blazing in the glories of an eastern sun. around are pompous zayats, noble pavements, gothic mausoleums, uncouth colossal lions, curious stone umbrellas, graceful cylindrical banners of gold-embroidered muslin hanging from lofty pillars, enormous stone jars in rows to receive offerings, tapers burning before the images, exquisite flowers displayed on every side filling the air with fragrance, and a multitude of carved figures of idols, griffins, guardians, &c. "always in the morning, men and women are seen in every direction kneeling behind their gift, and with uplifted hands reciting their devotions, often with a string of beads counting over each repetition; aged persons sweep out every place, or pick out the grass from the crevices; dogs and crows struggle around the altars, and devour the recent offerings; the great bells utter their frequent tones; and the mutter of praying voices makes a hum like the buzzing of an exchange. "every worshipper brings a present, often a bunch of flowers or a few green twigs plucked on the way; but generally the nicest eatables ready cooked, beautiful bunches of flowers, articles of raiment, &c. the amount of offerings here is very great. stone vases, some of which will hold fifty or sixty gallons, stand round the pagoda, into which the devotees carefully lay their leafy plates of rice, plantain, cakes, &c. as these are successively filled, appointed persons empty them into their vessels, carefully assorting the various kinds. the beautiful flowers remain all night and are swept out in the morning. no one ever objected however to my gathering them at pleasure. a gift once deposited is no more regarded by the worshipper." "i could not but feel as i gazed upon the rich landscape and bright heavens, and marked the joy of the young men and maidens as they passed on, that he who has so long forborne with them, will in his abundant mercy, give them pastors after his own heart, who shall feed them with knowledge and understanding." after reading this description, who can wonder at the difficulty of turning this semi-barbarous people from a religion of such a gorgeous and imposing ceremonial, and of such perfect congeniality with the unhumbled heart, to the spiritual, self-denying, pride-abasing doctrines of the cross? mrs. judson in a letter to a friend, mentions the splendor and costliness of some of the religious offerings, one of which cost three thousand tickals, or twelve hundred dollars. after a description of the pagoda and its worshippers, she says: "the ground on which the pagoda is situated, commands a view of the surrounding country, which presents one of the most beautiful landscapes in nature. the polished spires of the pagodas, glistening among the trees at a distance, appear like the steeples of meeting-houses in our american seaports. the verdant appearance of the country, the hills and valleys, ponds and rivers, the banks of which are covered with cattle and fields of rice; each in turn attract the eye, and cause the beholder to exclaim, "was this delightful country made to be the residence of idolaters?" ... oh my friend, scenes like these, productive of feelings so various and so opposite, do notwithstanding, fire the soul with an unconquerable desire to rescue this people from destruction, and lead them to the rock that is higher than they." * * * * * under date of january , , mrs. judson writes that they still live quietly, unmolested by government, and that they receive much respect and affection from the viceroy and his family. she had some opportunities of private religious conversation with the vicereine, to whom she presented a translation of matthew's gospel and a catechism. still the heart of the lady appeared unaffected, though she ordered her daughters to be instructed in the new catechism. the inquirer who was mentioned as having afforded mr. judson such lively satisfaction, had been appointed to a government in a distant province, so that they saw little of him, but were gratified to learn that his interest in religious books still continued. chapter ix. distressing events.--mr. judson's absence from rangoon.--persecution of mr. hough.--his departure for bengal.--mrs. judson's heroic fortitude.--mr. judson's return. we have now to relate some distressing events connected with the mission, which for a time threatened its very existence. mr. judson having decided to commence a course of public preaching to the natives, thought best to secure the assistance of a native convert from the province of arracan, who spoke the burman language, to assist him in his first public efforts. he therefore embarked for that province, leaving mrs. judson to continue her efforts with the females under her instruction; while mr. and mrs. hough were to prosecute the study of the language. he intended to be gone but three months, but at the end of that period, when his return was daily expected, a vessel from chittagong, the port to which he had sailed, arrived at rangoon, bringing the distressing tidings, that neither he, nor the vessel he sailed in had been heard of at that port. letters received by mrs. judson from bengal, also brought similar intelligence. while the missionaries left in rangoon were in this state of fearful alarm and suspense, mr. hough received an order to repair instantly to the court house with a threat, that "if he did not tell all the truth in relation to the foreigners, they would write with his heart's blood." this message spread consternation among the native teachers, domestics and adherents, some of whom heard that a royal order had arrived for the banishment of all foreign teachers. mr. hough was detained at the court-house from day to day on the most flimsy pretences, ignorant of the language, and with no one to intercede with the government in his behalf, for it was contrary to etiquette for a woman to appear before the viceroy, his family being absent. mrs. judson being at length convinced that the petty officers of government were acting in this matter without authority, and for the purpose of extorting money from mr. hough, with the intrepidity that always marked her character, "taking her life in her hand", went boldly to the palace with a petition for his release. the viceroy immediately granted it, and commanded that mr. hough should receive no further molestation. to add to the distresses of the missionaries, the cholera now raged around them with fearful violence and there were rumors of war between england and burmah. six months had passed, and still the fate of mr. judson was a fearful mystery. the english vessels were hastening their departure from the harbor and soon they would have no means of leaving the country, whatever might occur. mrs. judson writes: "mr. hough has been for some time past desirous to have mrs. hough, his children and myself go to bengal. but i have ever felt resolved not to make any movement till i hear from mr. judson. within a few days, however, some circumstances have occurred which have induced me to make preparations for a voyage. there is but one remaining ship in the river; and if an embargo is laid on english ships it will be impossible for mr. judson (if he is yet alive) to return to this place. but the uncertainty of meeting him in bengal, and the possibility of his arriving in my absence, cause me to make preparations with a heavy heart. sometimes i feel inclined to remain here, alone, and hazard the consequences. i should certainly conclude on this step, if any probability existed of mr. judson's return. this mission has never appeared in so low a state as at the present time. it seems now entirely destroyed, as we all expect to embark for bengal in a day or two. alas! how changed are our prospects since mr. judson left us! how dark, how intricate the providence that now surrounds us! yet it becomes us to be still, and know that he is god who has thus ordered our circumstances." a fortnight later, she writes: "alone, my dear friends, in this great house, ... i take my pen to record the strange vicissitudes through which i have passed within a few days." on the th of this month, i embarked with mr. hough and family for bengal, having previously disposed of what i could not take with me.... my disinclination to proceed had increased to such a degree that i was on the point of giving up the voyage; but my passage was paid, my baggage on board, and i knew not how to separate myself from the rest of the mission family. the vessel however was several days in going down the river; and "before putting out to sea was to be detained a day or two longer at its mouth." "i immediately resolved on giving up the voyage and returning to town. accordingly the captain sent up a boat with me, and agreed to forward my baggage the next day. i reached town in the evening,--spent the night at the house of the only remaining englishman in the place, and to-day have come out to the mission-house, to the great joy of all the burmans left on our premises. mr. hough and his family will proceed, and they kindly and affectionately urge my return. i know i am surrounded by dangers on every hand, and expect to see much anxiety and distress: but at present i am tranquil, and intend to make an effort to pursue my studies as formerly, and leave the event with god." thus did this heroic woman, with that divine "instinct that seems to guide the noblest natures in great emergencies, decide to return alone to the mission-house, there to await the return of her husband, or the confirmation of her worst fears concerning his fate." it was a wonderful exhibition of courage and constancy; "and gave assurance of all the distinguished qualities, which at a later period, and amid dangers still more appalling, shone with such brightness around the character of this remarkable woman. the event justified her determination; and within a week after her decision was taken, mr. judson arrived at rangoon, having been driven from place to place by contrary winds, and having entirely failed of the object for which he undertook the voyage. "mr. and mrs. hough, after long delays, reached bengal, carrying with them the press and all the implements of the printing-house. their removal was subsequently productive of many embarrassments to the mission, and seems never to have been fully justified either by mr. judson or the board of managers in america."[ ] footnotes: [footnote : gammell.] chapter x. intolerance of the burman government.--first edifice for christian worship erected.--instruction of natives.--conversion of a native.--his baptism.--that of two timid disciples.--messrs. judson and colman visit ava. a few weeks after the return of mr. judson, the prospects of the mission were still further brightened by the arrival of messrs. colman and wheelock, who, with their wives, had been appointed by the board in america, missionaries to burmah. they were young men of good talents, fervent piety, and extraordinary devotion to the object of evangelizing the heathen. mr. judson, considering himself sufficiently master of the language to preach publicly, decided to build a small zayat, on a much frequented road, where he could preach the gospel, and converse with any native who might desire it, and where mrs. judson could meet female inquirers, and hold a school for religious and other instruction. he knew that this might draw upon them the displeasure of the higher powers, which had hitherto favored them because of the privacy of their life, and their small influence with the natives; for this government, as they afterwards discovered, though remarkably tolerant to foreigners, is highly intolerant to its own subjects in religious matters. dr. malcom remarks: "foreigners of every description are allowed the fullest exercise of their religion. they may build places of worship in any place, and have their public festivals and processions without molestation. but no burman may join any of these religions, under the severest penalties. in nothing does the government more thoroughly display its despotism, than in its measures for suppressing all religious innovation, and supporting the established system.... the whole population is thus held in chains, as iron-like as caste itself; and to become a christian openly, is to hazard everything, even life itself." but the missionaries not being at this time at all aware of the rigor of this intolerance, resolved to make the attempt, and trust in the lord for protection. in april, , mr. judson preached in his new zayat to a congregation of fifteen or twenty persons, most of them entirely inattentive and disorderly. but feeble as was this beginning, it was regarded by the missionaries as an event of no ordinary importance. here was the first altar ever erected for the worship of the true god in that country over which century after century had rolled, each sweeping its millions of idolaters into eternity; and rude and lowly as were its walls, compared with the magnificent temples that surrounded it, it was perhaps the fitter emblem of that spiritual religion which delights not in temples made with hands, but in the service of the heart, 'which is in the sight of god of great price.' the building, which they called a _zayat_ from its similarity to the public buildings of that name in burmah, had three apartments; the first a mere verandah thatched with bamboo, open to the road, and the place where mr. judson received all occasional visitors and inquirers; the second or middle one, a large airy room, occupied on sundays for preaching and on week days as a school-room; and the last division, a mere entry opening into the garden leading to the mission-house. during the week mrs. judson occupied the middle room, giving instruction in reading, &c., to a class of males and females; and also in conversing with female inquirers. here she also studied the siamese language, much spoken in rangoon, and translated into that language a catechism, and the gospel of matthew. the th of april, , was made memorable by the first visit of an inquirer who became a convert to the christian faith. on the th of may mr. judson says in his journal, "it seems almost too much to believe that god has begun to manifest his grace to the burmans, but this day i could not resist the delightful conviction that this is really the case. praise and glory to his name for evermore. amen." from this time we learn from mr. judson's journal, that the verandah of the zayat where he sat to receive visitors, was constantly thronged with natives, who, impelled, some by curiosity and idleness, and some by better motives, came to talk about the new religion. so much however was to be dreaded, in the opinion of most of these, from the "lord of life and death," as they called the emperor, that few dared follow out their convictions. moung nau, however, the convert above mentioned, adhered steadfastly to his now faith, and desired baptism. not having any doubt of the reality of his conversion, mr. judson administered the ordinance to him on sunday, june . on the following lord's day, the missionaries had the unspeakable satisfaction of sitting down at the lord's table for the first time with a converted burman; and as mr. judson writes, he had the privilege to which he had been looking forward many years, of administering the communion in two languages. many of the expressions of this young convert are very interesting. we find them in a letter from mrs. judson. "in our religion there is no way to escape the punishment due to sin; but according to the religion of christ, he himself has died in order to deliver his disciples. how great are my thanks to jesus christ for sending teachers to this country! and how great are my thanks to the teachers for coming!" on hearing the fifth chapter of matthew read, he said "these words take hold on my very heart, they make me tremble. here god commands us to do everything that is good in secret, and not to be seen of men. how unlike our religion is this! when burmans make offerings to the pagodas they make a great noise with drums and musical instruments that others may see how good they are. but this religion makes the mind fear god; it makes it of its own accord fear sin." in the same letter she mentions a very interesting meeting with the females before mentioned, fifteen in number, who had for some time received from her religious instruction. their love for, and confidence in their own religion seemed to be taken away; the truth seemed to have forced itself upon their understandings; but the sinfulness of their hearts, which among heathen as well as christian nations is the great obstacle to salvation, could only be removed by the holy spirit, and oh how earnest and fervent were the prayers of their teacher for the presence of that heavenly agent! mr. wheelock, one of the recently arrived missionaries, was obliged on account of his failing health to try a sea-voyage; but during the passage to bengal, in a paroxysm of fever and delirium, he threw himself overboard and was drowned. some of the inquirers at the zayat had no inconsiderable powers of reasoning and argument; one in particular, named moung-shwa-gnong; who would spend whole days at the zayat, and engage mr. judson in endless discussions.--not satisfied with the buddhist faith he had become a confirmed skeptic, and disputed every gospel truth before he received it with much subtilty and ingenuity. but after a while he found that his visits at the zayat had attracted the notice of government, that the viceroy on being told he had renounced the religion of his country, had said, 'inquire further about him,' and the missionaries for a time saw him no more. the two candidates that next presented themselves for baptism, were urgent that the ordinance should be performed, not absolutely in private, but at sunset and away from public observation. the missionaries discussed their case long with them and with each other. mr. judson's remarks on the subject, as well as his description of the baptism, are so full of that tenderness and pathos which is eminently a 'fruit of the spirit,' that we must give them in his own words. "we felt satisfied that they were humble disciples of jesus, and were desirous of receiving this ordinance purely out of regard to his command, and their own spiritual welfare; we felt that we were all equally exposed to danger, and needed a spirit of mutual candor and forbearance, and sympathy; we were convinced; that they were influenced rather by desires of avoiding unnecessary exposure, than by that sinful fear which would plunge them into apostasy in the hour of trial; and when they assured us that if actually brought before government, they could not think of denying their saviour, we could not conscientiously refuse their request, and therefore agreed to have them baptized to-morrow at sunset." " . lord's day. we had worship as usual and the people dispersed. about half an hour before sunset the two candidates came to the zayat, accompanied by three or four of their friends; and after a short prayer we proceeded to the spot where moung-nau was formerly baptized. the sun was not allowed to look on the humble, timid profession. no wondering crowd crowned the overshadowing hill. no hymn of praise expressed the exulting feeling of joyous hearts. stillness and solemnity pervaded the scene. we felt, on the banks of the water, as a little, feeble, solitary band. but perhaps some hovering angels took note of the event with more interest than they witnessed the late coronation; perhaps jesus looked down on us, pitied and forgave our weaknesses, and marked us for his own; perhaps if we deny him not, he will acknowledge us another day, more publicly than we venture at present to acknowledge him." there was a great falling off in the attendance at the zayat after moung-shwa-gnong's defection. none dared call to inquire from religious principle, and curiosity respecting the religion had been fully gratified. it became highly desirable to take some measures to secure the favor of the emperor. if he could be made propitious, the converts and the missionaries would have nothing to fear. messrs. judson and colman, therefore, leaving their families at rangoon, set out on their visit to ava, to lay their case--as a burman would express it--before 'the golden feet.' they carried with them, as presents to his majesty, the bible, in six volumes, covered with gold leaf in the burman style, each volume enclosed in a rich wrapper; and many other articles as presents to the different members of the government. chapter xi. reception of messrs. colman and judson at ava.--their return to rangoon.--their resolution to leave rangoon.--opposition of disciples to this measure.--increase of disciples.--their steadfastness.--failure of mrs. judson's health. the passage up the irrawaddy to ava, or rather amerapoora, which was then the capital, was made in safety in a little more than thirty days. they soon found the house of their old friend the former viceroy of rangoon, who now enjoyed a high post under government. here they were kindly received, and promised a speedy presentation to the "golden face," _i.e._ the emperor. the next day, moung yo, a favorite officer of the viceroy, came to take them to the imperial palace. he first introduced them to the private minister of state, who met them very pleasantly, received their presents, and a petition they had prepared to the emperor, which latter he was examining when some one announced that the 'golden foot' was about to advance; when the minister hastily rose up, put on his state-robes, and prepared to present them to the emperor. they were conducted through various splendor and parade, up a flight of steps into a magnificent hall. mr. judson says "the scene to which we were now introduced, really surpassed our expectation. the spacious extent of the hall, the number and magnitude of the pillars, the height of the dome, the whole completely covered with gold, presented a most grand and imposing spectacle. very few were present, and those evidently great officers of state. our situation prevented us from seeing the further avenue of the hall, but the end where we sat opened into the parade which the emperor was about to inspect. "we remained about five minutes, when every one put himself into the most respectful attitude, and moung yo whispered that his majesty had entered. we looked through the hall as far as the pillars would allow, and presently caught sight of this modern ahasuerus. he came forward, unattended--in solitary grandeur--exhibiting the proud gait and majesty of an eastern monarch. his dress was rich but not distinctive, and he carried in his hand the gold-sheathed sword, which seems to have taken the place of the sceptre of ancient times. but it was his high aspect and commanding eye, that chiefly rivetted our attention. he strided on. every head excepting ours, was now in the dust. we remained kneeling, our hands folded, our eyes fixed on the monarch. when he drew near, we caught his attention. he stopped, partly turned towards us--'who are these?' 'the teachers, great king,' i replied. 'what, you speak burman?--the priests that i heard of last night? when did you arrive? are you teachers of religion? are you married? why do you dress so?' these and other similar questions we answered; when he appeared to be pleased with us, and sat down on an elevated seat--his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes intently fixed on us." moung zah now read their petition, which set forth that they were teachers of the religion of their country, and begged the royal permission to teach the same in his dominions; and also prayed that no burman might be subjected to molestation from government for listening to or embracing that religion; and the emperor after hearing it, took it himself, read it through and handed it back without saying a word. in the meantime mr. judson had given moung zah an abridged copy of the tract called a "summary of christian doctrine," which had been got up in the richest style and dress possible. the emperor took the tract "our hearts," says mr. j., "now rose to god for a display of his grace. oh have mercy on burmah! have mercy on her king!" but alas! the time had not yet come. he held the tract long enough to read the two first sentences, which assert that there is one eternal god, who is independent of the incidents of mortality and that besides him, there is no god; and then with an air of indifference, perhaps disdain, he dashed it down to the ground! moung zah stooped forward, picked it up and handed it to us. moung yo made a slight attempt to save us by unfolding one of the volumes which composed our present and displaying its beauty, but his majesty took no notice. our fate was decided. after a few moments moung zah interpreted his royal master's will in the following terms: "in regard to the objects of your petition, his majesty gives no order. in regard to your sacred books, his majesty has no use for them--take them away." ... "he then rose from his seat, strode on to the end of the hall, and there, after having dashed to the ground the first intelligence he had ever received of the eternal god, his maker, preserver, his judge, he threw himself down on a cushion, and lay listening to the music, and gazing at the parade spread out before him." they and their presents were then hurried away with little ceremony. the next day they "ascertained beyond a doubt, that the policy of the burman government is precisely the same as the chinese; that it is quite out of the question whether any subjects of the emperor who embrace a religion different from his own, will be exempt from punishment; and that we, in presenting a petition to that effect, had been guilty of a most egregious blunder,--an unpardonable offence." we cannot prevail on ourselves to give the sequel of this narrative in any other than the beautiful and picturesque language of mr. judson which we have so often quoted. "it was now evening. we had four miles to walk by moonlight. two of our disciples only followed us. they had pressed as near as they ventured to the door of the hall of audience, and listened to words which sealed the extinction of their hopes and ours. for some time we spoke not. 'some natural tears we dropped, but wiped them soon. tho world was all before us, where to choose our place of rest, and providence our guide.' and as our first parents took their solitary way through eden, so we took our way through this great city. "arrived at the boat, we threw ourselves down, exhausted in body and mind. for three days we had walked eight miles a day, the most of the way in the heat of the sun, which in the interior of these countries is exceedingly oppressive; and the result of our toils and travels has been--the wisest and best possible--a result, which, if we could see the end from the beginning, would call forth our highest praise. o slow of heart to believe and trust in the over-ruling agency of our own almighty saviour!" they returned to rangoon by an easy and rapid passage down the river, and calling the few disciples together frankly disclosed to them the result of their mission. to their surprise and delight it only increased their zeal and attachment for the religion they had professed. they became in turn the comforters of the missionaries, vieing with each other in trying to convince them that the cause was not yet desperate. above all were they solicitous that the missionaries should not carry out a design they had formed to leave them, and try to find a field more favorable for their labors. one assured them he would follow them to the end of the world. another, who having an unconverted wife, could not follow them, declared that if left there alone, he would perform no other duties but those of christ's religion. but what had most weight with mr. and mrs. judson in inducing them to remain, was the fact that inquiry seemed to be spreading in the neighborhood, and that there seemed a further prospect of usefulness, in spite of the fear of persecution. they therefore concluded to remain for the present at rangoon; while mr. and mrs. colman should proceed to arracan and form a station there. thus again were mr. and mrs. j. alone; but not now exclusively among heathen idolaters. the affectionate zeal of the disciples rejoiced their hearts; and others, and among them the old disputant, moung-shwa-gnong, seemed sincere and hopeful inquirers. three women, induced by him, also visited mrs. judson to learn the way of life. one of these (the one we have before alluded to) was characterized by superior discernment and mental power, but exceedingly timid through fear of persecution. in one of her conversations she expressed her surprise that the effect of the religion of christ upon her mind was to make her love his disciples more than her dearest natural relations. this showed that she was a real disciple, though a timid one. but surely it is not for us who sit under our own vine with none to make us afraid, to be severe on these poor heathen, for not at once overcoming the dread of suffering, so natural to the human heart! before we judge them, let us be very sure that _our_ faith would endure the fires of persecution and even of martyrdom which threatened them. they knew of instances where their countrymen who had embraced the _roman catholic_ faith, had been subjected to the punishment of the iron-mall, an instrument of torture more dreadful than any employed against the scottish covenanters, in the times of their bitterest persecution. sudden execution they might have braved, though that will appal almost any heart; but lingering torture was what they might fear, to which death should succeed only when nature could bear no more. females in christian countries, who think much of your self-denials and sacrifices, when 'a moment's pain, a passing shower, is all the grief ye share,' how could _your_ hearts endure if called to such trials, as might at any moment befall your poor sisters in burmah! mrs. judson's health had for some time been failing, and at length after having gone through two courses of salivation for the liver-complaint, she was obliged to try a sea-voyage. her situation was too critical for her to think of going alone, and mr. judson concluded to accompany her to bengal. two converts expressed the strongest desire to profess christ, before the missionaries should leave them. they were accordingly baptized. the ship being detained, the speculative, hesitating, but now sincere disciple, moung shwa-gnong, casting aside his fears and scruples, boldly avowed his faith, and desired baptism. of course he was joyfully received. the scene at his baptism had such an effect upon mah meulah, the female who has been before mentioned, that she too could no longer delay a public profession of faith in christ. on returning to the house after receiving the rite, she said, "now i have taken the oath of allegiance to jesus christ, and i have nothing to do but to commit myself, soul and body, into the hands of my lord, assured that he will never suffer me to fall away!" surely if no other proof existed of the power of gospel truth to renew the heart of men, a sufficient one would be furnished here. in the face of threatened persecution not only were old converts strengthened in their faith in, and attachment to christ, but new ones eagerly pressed forward to unite themselves with the despised and humble flock. nine males and one female had now been baptized at the hazard of their lives; a grammar and dictionary had been compiled and printed; a portion of the scriptures translated and printed; tracts had been issued; and so greatly had the missionaries gained in favor with the people, that as they went down to the ship which was to carry them to bengal, more than a hundred natives followed them, testifying sincere grief at their departure. chapter xii. mr. and mrs. judson visit bengal and return.--mrs. judson's health again fails.--her resolution to visit america.--her voyage to england and visit there. they arrived in calcutta on the th of august, . the voyage was of no essential benefit to mrs. j.'s health, neither was her visit to calcutta; but at serampore she so far recovered as to make them desirous to return to rangoon, where they arrived on the th of january, . the converts received them with the utmost affection; their old friend the vicereine again occupied her former palace and welcomed mrs. judson with friendly familiarity, and new inquirers presented themselves at the zayat. in translating the scriptures, the acute and fertile mind of moung shwa-gnong was an invaluable assistance, while another convert of cultivated intellect was equally useful in other missionary labors. though through fear of being subjected to extortion, some of them had been obliged to flee to the woods, not one disciple had disgraced or dishonored his profession. a violent effort and been made by some of moung shwa-gnong's enemies, to ruin him in the opinion of the viceroy, by complaining of him that he was making every endeavor "to turn the priests' rice-pot bottom upwards." "_what consequence?_" said the viceroy, "_let the priests turn it back again._" all the disciples from that time felt sure of toleration under mya-day-men, (the name of the viceroy.) the history of the next few months presents nothing novel in the life of this little christian community, to which there were however some accessions. but mrs. judson was gradually sinking under the disease which had so long troubled her, until at length it was found essential to her _life_ even, that she should seek some more propitious climate. after much anxious deliberation it was resolved that she should sail for bengal, and thence to america. her feelings on leaving the 'home of her heart,' and the husband of her youth, as well as the spiritual children that god had given them in that heathen land--to try alone the perils of a long and tedious voyage, in a state of health which rendered it doubtful whether she would ever reach the land of her nativity, or return to that of her adoption--can scarcely be conceived, much less described. her own words are: "those only who have been through a variety of toil and privation to obtain a darling object, can realize how entirely every fibre of the heart adheres to that object when secured. had we encountered no difficulties, and suffered no privations in our attempts to form a church of christ, under the government of a heathen despot, we should have been warmly attached to the individuals composing it, but should not have felt that tender solicitude and anxious affection, as in the present case. "rangoon, from having been the theatre in which so much of the power, faithfulness and mercy of god have been exhibited; from having been considered for ten years past as my home for life, and from a thousand interesting associations, had become the dearest spot on earth. hence you will readily imagine, that no ordinary consideration would have induced my departure." she arrived in calcutta sept. d, . finding when she reached there that the american captains of vessels declined taking passengers, without an exorbitant price, she decided not to take passage to america. on mentioning her circumstances to a lady in calcutta, the latter strongly recommended the advantages of a voyage to england, on account of the superior accommodations, medical advice, and female passengers in english ships. a pious captain offered to take her for about one third of the price demanded for a voyage to america, provided she would share a cabin with three children, who were going to england an offer which she immediately accepted. the father of the children subsequently arrived in calcutta, and generously paid the whole price of the cabin, which enabled her to go without any expense to the board. she writes: "if the pain in my side is entirely removed while on my passage to europe, i shall return to india in the same ship, and proceed immediately to rangoon. but if not i shall go over to america, and spend one winter in my dear native country. "ardently as i desire to see my beloved friends in america, i cannot prevail on myself to be any longer from rangoon than is absolutely necessary for the preservation of my life. i have had a severe struggle relative to my immediate return to rangoon instead of going to england. but i did not venture to go contrary to the convictions of reason, to the opinion of an eminent and skilful physician, and the repeated injunctions of mr. judson. "my last letter from rangoon was dated oct. . moung shwa-gnong had been accused before the viceroy, and had disappeared. mr. judson had felt much anxiety and distress on his account, fearing he had done something in the way of retraction, which prevented his visiting him. but in a fortnight he was agreeably surprised at seeing him enter. he informed mr. j. that having been accused, he had thought it the wisest way to keep out of sight; that he had put all his family on board a boat, and was going up the country among the sect of heretics with whom he once associated, and had now come to take leave, obtain tracts, gospels, &c. mr. judson furnished him with what was necessary, and bid him god speed. he will no doubt do much good among that class of people, for it is impossible for him to be any time with his friends without conversing on the subject of religion. moung ing had returned, as steadfast and as much devoted to the cause as ever. he and moung shwa-ba spend every evening in reading the scriptures, and finding the places where the apostles preached, on a map which mr. judson has made for them. another burman has been baptized, who gives decided evidence of being a true christian. have we not, my dear sir, every reason to trust god in future, when we see what he has done in rangoon. could you see at once the difficulties in the way of the conversion of the burmans, the grace of god would appear ten times as conspicuous as it now does. when we hardly ventured to hope that we should ever see one of them truly converted, how great is our joy to see a little church rise up in the midst of that wilderness, consisting of thirteen converted burmans." on her passage to england, her old enemy, the liver-complaint, again attacked her; but bodily illness did not prevent her from endeavoring to benefit the souls of her fellow-passengers; and with regard to two of them, her efforts did not seem unsuccessful. on arriving in england, she was cordially invited by the hon. joseph butterworth, m.p., to make his house her home. he afterward, at a public meeting, referred to her visit as "reminding him of the apostolic admonition, 'be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.'" at his house she met many persons, distinguished for literature and piety, among whom were sumner, babington and wilberforce. after spending some time at cheltenham, to which place she had been sent for the benefit of its waters, she accepted a pressing invitation to visit scotland, where, as in england, she received valuable presents and innumerable acts of kindness. the piety of her english friends seemed to her of the most high-toned character, and their ardent friendship called forth her warmest affections. though on her way to a still dearer country, the land of her birth, she could not part with them without the tenderest regret. chapter xiii. mrs. judson's arrival in america.--influence of her visit.--hostile opinions.--her person and manners.--extracts from her letters. in the meanwhile events of some interest were transpiring in burmah. in consequence of the persecution against moung shwa-gnong which had obliged him to flee for his life, and the new vigilance of priests and officers in respect to converts,--the inquirers withdrew altogether from the mission-house, and mr. judson was obliged to close the zayat, and suspend public preaching on the sabbath, though still the converts visited him privately, for instruction and consolation. mr. j.'s solitary condition was however soon relieved by the arrival of dr. and mrs. price, who came to share his labors among the heathen; and also by the return of mr. and mrs. hough from serampore, bringing with them the printing press, whose absence had occasioned no small delay and inconvenience to mr. judson in his labors. on the th of september, , mrs. j. arrived in america. her feelings on revisiting her native land, are best learned from a letter to mr. judson's parents, dated sept . "with mingled sensations of joy and sorrow, i address a few lines to the parents of my beloved husband,--joy, that i once more find myself in my own native country, and with the prospect of meeting with loved relatives and friends--sorrow, that he who has been a participator in all my concerns for the last ten years, is not now at hand to partake with me in the joyful anticipations of meeting those he so much loves. "i left liverpool on the th of august, and arrived at new york harbor day before yesterday. on account of the prevalence of yellow fever, prudence forbade my landing. accordingly i embarked on board the steamboat for this place, where i arrived a few hours ago. it was my intention to pass a week in philadelphia and then go to providence, and thence to you in woburn, as it would be on my way to bradford, where i shall spend the winter. but dr. stoughton wishes me to go to washington, which will detain me in this part of the country a week longer. however i hope to be with you in a fortnight from this time. my health is much improved since i left england and i begin to hope the disorder is entirely eradicated." of this visit of mrs. judson to america, professor gammell remarks in general, as follows: "her visit to the united states forms an epoch of no inconsiderable importance in the progress of interest in missions among the churches of various denominations in this country. she visited several of the leading cities of the union; met a large number of associations of ladies; attended the session of the triennial convention at washington; and in a multitude of social circles, alike in the south and in the north, recited the thrilling narrative of what she had seen and experienced during the eventful years in which she had dwelt in a heathen land. "but relaxation and travelling for health and interviews with religious friends, were not her only occupation. in her retirement, in addition to maintaining an extensive correspondence, she found time to prepare the history of the mission in burmah which was published in her name, in a series of letters addressed to mr. butterworth, the gentleman beneath whose roof she had been a guest during her residence in england. these records, which were principally compiled from documents which had been published before, contained the first continuous account of the burman mission ever given to the public. the work was widely read in england and america, and received the favorable notice of several of the leading organs of public criticism. "the influence which she exerted in favor of the cause of missions during her brief residence of eight or nine months in the united states, it is hardly possible now to estimate. she enlisted more fully in the cause not a few leading minds who have since rendered it signal service both by eloquent vindications and by judicious counsels; and by the appeals which she addressed to christians of her own sex, and her fervid conversations with persons of all classes and denominations in america, as well as by the views which she submitted to the managers of the mission, a new zeal for its prosecution was everywhere created, and the missionary enterprise, instead of being regarded with doubt and misgiving, as it had been by many, even among christians, began to be understood in its higher relations to all the hopes of man, and to be contemplated in its true grandeur, and ennobling moral dignity." such is the opinion of her visit expressed by an elegant and enlightened scholar, now that more than a quarter of a century has passed, bringing triumph to the missionary cause, and honor to its first founders and advocates; but such we regret to say was not the universal sentiment of her contemporaries. many persons well remember the unfounded stories put in circulation respecting her, by some whose motives we will not inquire into, as they would scarcely bear investigation, in regard to her actions, her intentions, and even her apparel. as her biographer remarks in introducing some of her letters at this period: "it was said that her health was not seriously impaired, and that she visited the south with a view to excite attention and applause. to persons who would put forth or circulate such calumnies, a perusal of her letters, in which she utters her feelings to her friends without reserve, will, it is hoped, minister a rebuke sufficiently severe to awaken shame and penitence; and to those who may unwarily have been led to form unfavorable opinions respecting mrs. judson, we cannot doubt that these letters will afford welcome evidence of her modest and amiable disposition, consistent and exemplary demeanor, ardent piety, and steady, irrepressible devotion to the interests of the mission." * * * * * the person and manners of mrs. judson at this time, were, according to the testimony of some who well recollect her, engaging and attractive in no common degree. her sweet and ready smile, her dark expressive eye, the animation and sprightliness of her conversation, and her refined taste and manners, made her a favorite in all circles. her dress, for which she was indebted to the liberality of british friends, was more rich and showy than she would have chosen for herself, and as has been said, excited unkind remarks from some who did not care to investigate her reasons for wearing it. elegant as it was said to be, it was certainly far better she should wear it, even at the risk of seeming inconsistency, than to put her friends to the expense of other and plainer clothing. as to the imputation that she preferred the eclat of life in a southern city, to the retirement of her new england home,--it is sufficient to answer, that a constitution relaxed and enfeebled by ten years' residence in a tropical climate, was ill-fitted to bear the rigors of a new england winter, and as her whole object in her visit, was the restoration of her health, she conceived it her duty to choose such a place of sojourn as should seem most favorable to it. * * * * * after a stay of six weeks with her parents in bradford, mrs. j. found it necessary to seek a milder climate, and was advised to try that of baltimore. she had a pleasant journey to that city, stopping one day with friends in new york, and arrived there on the th of december. from her letters written about this time we proceed to give some extracts. "my journey to this place was pleasant, though fatiguing. i passed one night only in new york, and spent a most pleasant evening in the society of a large party of good people who were collected for the purpose of prayer. many fervent petitions were presented in behalf of the perishing burmans, and the little church established in that country. it was an evening to me full of interest; but i found at the conclusion, that my strength was quite exhausted, and i began to fear whether i should be able to continue my journey." ... "how much of heaven might christians enjoy even here on earth if they would keep in view what ought to be their great object in life. if they would but make the enjoyment of god their main pursuit how much more consistent their profession would be with their conduct, how much more useful their lives and how much more rapidly they would ripen for eternal glory." "christians do not sufficiently assist one another in their spiritual walk. they are not enough in the habit of conversing familiarly and affectionately on the state of each others' souls, and kindly encouraging each other to persevere and get near to heaven. one degree of grace attained in this world, is worth more than every earthly enjoyment." "i ought to have mentioned that i found much of the true missionary spirit existing in new york. "i began this letter some days ago, but a violent cold has prevented my finishing it. i am very thankful that i am no farther north than baltimore, for i feel confident the cold would soon destroy me. i have not been out of the house since i arrived, and hardly out of my chamber. my health is certainly better than when i left boston, though i have a heavy cold and some cough. "what can be done to excite a missionary spirit in this country? i dare not engage in the subject till i am better. it would take up my whole soul, and retard my recovery. a little while, and we are in eternity; before we find ourselves there, let us do _much_ for christ." chapter xiv. further extracts from her letters.--her illness.--her history of the burman mission.--her departure from america with mr. and mrs. wade. in a letter to a friend at waterville, mrs. judson gives a full account of the reasons that determined her to pass the winter at the south. she says: "i had never _fully_ counted the cost of a visit to my native country and beloved relatives. i did not expect that a scene which i had anticipated _as so joyous_, was destined to give my health and constitution a shock which would require months to repair. "during my passage from england my health was most perfect, not the least symptom of my original disorder remained. but from the day of my arrival, the idea that i was once more on american ground banished all peace and quiet from my mind, and for the first four days and nights i never closed my eyes to sleep! this circumstance, together with dwelling on the anticipated meeting with my friends, occasioned the most alarming apprehensions. "i reached my father's about a fortnight after my arrival in the country--and had not then been able to procure a single night's sleep. the scene which ensued brought my feelings to a crisis, nature was quite exhausted, and i began to fear would sink. to be concise, my health began to decline in a most alarming manner, and the pain in my side and cough returned. i was kept in a state of constant excitement by daily meeting my old friends and acquaintances; and during the whole six weeks of my residence at my father's, i had _not one_ night's quiet rest. i felt the cold most severely, and found, as that increased, my cough increased." she goes on to say that under these circumstances, she was strongly urged by dr. judson, a brother of her husband, who was then in baltimore, to remove to the south, and take up her residence for the winter with him at his boarding-house. she says that painful as it was to leave her dear family, yet as she knew that freedom from company and excitement, as well as a milder climate, were absolutely essential to her recovery, she was induced to go. she adds that her health is so far re-established that she is able to give five hours a day to study and to the compilation of her history of the burman mission, a work she had very much at heart. the next passage in the letter is of touching interest, as showing the meekness of the christian spirit in receiving a rebuke, whether merited or not. "your kind hint relative to my being injured by the lavish attention of our dear friends in this country, has much endeared you to my heart. i am well aware that human applause has a tendency to elate the soul, and render it less anxious about spiritual enjoyments, particularly if the individual is conscious of deserving it. but i must say, that since my return to this country, i have often been affected to tears, in hearing the undeserved praises of my friends, feeling that i was far, very far from being what they imagined: and that there are thousands of poor obscure christians, whose excellences will never be known in this world, who are a thousand times more deserving of the tender regard of their fellow-christians than i am. "yet i trust i am grateful to my heavenly father for inclining the hearts of his children to look on me with a friendly eye. the retired life i now lead is much more congenial to my feelings, and much more favorable to religious enjoyment, than when i was kept in a continual bustle of company. yes, it is in retirement that our affections are raised to god, and our souls refreshed and quickened by the influences of the holy spirit. if we would live near the threshold of heaven, and daily take a glance at our promised inheritance we must avoid not only worldly, but religious dissipation. strange as it may seem, i do believe there is something like religious dissipation, in a christian's being so entirely engrossed in religious company, as to prevent his spiritual enjoyments." in baltimore, through the influence of dr. judson, she had the best medical advice and attendance the city could give; and was put upon a course of mercury in order to produce salivation. she denied herself to company, and thus secured time for writing, in which employment she was assisted by "a pious excellent young lady," whom she engaged as a copyist. her correspondence was extensive, and occupied much of her time. one interesting letter from england informed her that mr. butterworth had put at interest for her burman school £ sterling, and that a larger sum had been collected. her english physicians insisted that she could _not live_ in india, and urged her and her husband to come to england, but her determination to return to burmah was unalterable. on the th of february she writes to her friend in waterville: "your kind and affectionate letter found me in bed, so weak that i was obliged to read it at intervals; but it afforded heartfelt consolation. thanks to our heavenly father whose guardian care and love i have _so largely_ experienced. i am now much better, and once more enjoy the prospect of gaining that degree of health which will allow my return to burmah, there to spend my remaining days, few or many, in endeavouring to guide immortal souls to that dear redeemer, whose presence can make joyful a sick chamber, a dying bed. "for the last month i have been _very ill_. the disease seemed to be removed from the liver to the lungs. i have raised blood twice, which the physicians thought proceeded from the lungs, though i am inclined to think it was from the throat. i was however bled so frequently and so largely that my strength was quite reduced. at present i am free from every unfavorable symptom, but am still weak. "i am rejoiced to hear that mr. boardman has offered himself to supply dear colman's place. if actuated by motives of love to god, and concern for precious souls, tell him he will never regret the sacrifice, but will find those spiritual consolations which will more than compensate him for every privation. i shall rejoice to afford him every assistance in the acquisition of the language which my health will allow, though i fear he will not be ready to sail so early as i hope to embark. "this is the third day i have been writing this letter, on account of my weakness. but i am gaining a little every day. yesterday i had a little female prayer-meeting in my chamber--trust the blessed saviour was near us. oh it is good to get near to god, and feel whether in life or death, we are his. "let us, my dear sister, so live, that our union to christ may not only be satisfactory to ourselves but to all around us. on earth we serve god--in heaven enjoy him--is a motto i have long wished to adopt. when in heaven we can do nothing towards saving immortal souls." in a subsequent letter she mentions receiving a journal kept by her husband, with the joyful intelligence of the accession of five more converts to the little church there, three of whom were females, and members of her wednesday meeting. "they have," she says "set up of their own accord a female prayer-meeting. is not this encouraging?" dr. price had been ordered to ava on account of his medical skill, and mr. judson was about to accompany him to make a further effort for toleration. in march, mrs. judson went to washington to superintend the printing of her history of the mission, and here she was detained contrary to her wishes until the last of april. however, this detention gave her an opportunity of meeting the baptist general convention which held its session there at that time. a committee was appointed to confer with her respecting the burman mission, and at her suggestion several important measures were adopted. when the printing of her work was completed, she presented the copy-right to the convention. the work was favorably noticed in several leading journals of the day, and has circulated extensively both in europe and this country. it was of great service not only to the cause of the particular field of which it was the history, but to the cause of missions generally, in awaking the public mind from that strange apathy in regard to our saviour's parting command in which for seventeen centuries it had for the most part quietly slumbered. we say _for the most part_, for we do not forget the self-denying labors of the roman catholics in propagating their doctrines in various parts of the world; indeed this has always been the bright redeeming feature of that system of semi-pagan christianity. well would it be if protestant christians would imitate their zeal and self-devotion! how strange that centuries passed, even after the reformation, before christians began to recognize as binding that solemn injunction, "go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature, with its encouraging promise, lo i am with you always even unto the end of the world!" this _apathy_ in respect to the cause nearest her heart, was a great source of grief to mrs. j. in a letter to dr. wayland, written in washington, after stating that she had found that her strength was not sufficiently restored to undertake a journey to the north, she says, "this, together with the hope of exciting more attention to the subject of missions among the members of the general convention which will soon meet here," has induced me to remain.... "oh my brother, my heart sickens at the apathy and unconcern relative to the subject of missions which are in many places exhibited. i sometimes say to myself, will not the missionary flame become entirely extinct, and the mission already established in burmah, die for want of support?... where are our young men, fired with the love of christ and compassion for immortal souls, who are _desirous_ to leave their comforts and their homes for a few years, to serve their redeemer in foreign lands? who is willing to obey this last, this most benevolent command of our lord, go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature? but i must stop. loss of sleep for this night will be the consequence of indulging myself thus far." at the above-mentioned convention, mr. jonathan wade of new york, and mr. george d. boardman of maine, had offered themselves as missionaries to the east. mr. wade was soon after regularly appointed by the board, and with his wife, was directed to take passage for india with mrs. judson. the latter writes to her sister from boston, upon her arrival there from the south, "we arrived in safety at six o'clock on thursday. we were immediately informed that mr. and mrs. wade would sail with me to india. this was animating intelligence, and i felt that the hand of god was in it, for he had heard my prayers. "yesterday we went on board the ship, chose my cabin, and agreed with the captain to take us all for twelve hundred dollars. the accommodations are excellent, clean and airy. it is a most beautiful ship, and the captain seems disposed to do all in his power for our comfort.... i am now making preparations for my passage. monday we have a prayer-meeting, and on tuesday we go to plymouth. i am doubting whether i ought to go to bradford again or not. my nerves are in such a state that i have to make every possible exertion to keep them quiet. it will only increase my agitation to take a formal leave of my friends and home." on the d of june, , they sailed from boston amidst every demonstration of personal attachment and christian sympathy. they carried with them a valuable present and a letter from the convention to the burman emperor, sent in the hope of conciliating his favor toward the missionaries. chapter xv. messrs. judson and price visit ava.--their reception at court.--their return to rangoon.--mrs. judson's return.--a letter to her parents describing their removal to ava.--description of ava. it was mentioned that during mrs. judson's absence from burmah, dr. price, the fame of whose medical skill had reached the 'golden ears,' had been ordered to ava, and that mr. judson had determined to make another attempt to procure toleration for the christians by a second visit to the capital. in a boat furnished by government, they left rangoon, embarked for ava, then the capital, and were immediately introduced to the king. dr. price was graciously received, but at the first interview mr. judson was scarcely noticed. of the second interview, we will give the account in mr. judson's own words. "to-day the king noticed me for the first time.... after some time he said, 'and you, in black, what are you? a medical man too?' 'not a medical man, but a teacher of religion, your majesty.' he proceeded to make a few inquiries about my religion, and then put the alarming inquiry whether any had embraced it. i evaded by saying 'not here.' he persisted 'are there any in rangoon?' 'there are a few.' 'are they foreigners?' i trembled for the consequence of an answer which might involve the little church in ruin; but the truth must be sacrificed or the consequences hazarded; and i therefore replied, 'there are some foreigners and some burmans.' he remained silent a few moments, but presently showed he was not displeased, by asking a great variety of questions on religion, and geography and astronomy, some of which were answered in such a satisfactory manner, as to occasion a general expression of satisfaction in all the court present. "after his majesty retired, a royal secretary entered into conversation, and allowed me to expatiate on several topics of religion in my usual way. and all this took place in the presence of the very man, now an atwenwoon, (one of the highest officers) who many years ago, caused his uncle to be tortured under the iron mall, for renouncing buddhism and embracing the romish religion!... "thanks to god for the encouragement of this day! the monarch of the empire has distinctly understood, that some of his subjects have embraced the christian religion, and his wrath has been restrained." he afterwards had another interview, in which the king inquired much about america, and authorized him to invite her ships to his dominions, assuring them of protection and facilities for trade. he mentions much flattering attention paid him by a prince of the empire and his wife, who was the king's sister, both of whom urged him not to return to rangoon, but to bring his wife and reside at ava. in fact, several dignitaries of the empire were so far attracted by the new theories in religion and science, as to enter into animated discussions with the missionaries respecting them. the prince above mentioned was an interesting character. mr. judson went so far as boldly to urge upon him the duty of making personal religion his immediate care. for a moment he was moved, but soon replied, that he was young, only twenty-eight. that he was desirous of enlarging his mind by an acquaintance with all foreign science, and then he could judge whether christianity was worthy of his adoption or not. but, said mr. judson, suppose you change worlds in the meantime? his countenance fell, and he said sadly, "it is true, i do not know when i shall die." how true it is that "as in water face answereth to face, so doth the heart of man to man." left without excuse, this poor impenitent burman, like thousands in america, almost, but not altogether persuaded to be christians, postponed what he could not but purpose to a more convenient season. on another occasion, so many persons of high rank expressed themselves favorably to the christian faith that one who had not hitherto ventured to defend the missionaries in the presence of the king was bold enough to say, "nearly all the world, your majesty, believe in an eternal god; all but burmah and siam these little spots!" his majesty remained silent, and soon abruptly rose and retired. before returning to rangoon mr. judson had an interesting interview with the king. "why," asked the latter, "does the teacher return to rangoon? let him and price stay together. if one goes, the other must remain alone, and will be unhappy." some one present explained that he was going for his wife and goods, and would soon return. his majesty said, "will you then come again?" and expressed a wish that he should do so and remain permanently. he and dr. price had previously erected a house near ava on some land granted them by the king, which house was to be occupied by dr. p. until mr. judson's return. the following letter from mr. judson dated dec. , , announces the arrival of his wife in rangoon. "i had the inexpressible happiness of welcoming mrs. judson once more to the shores of burmah, on the th instant. we are now on the eve of departure for ava. "my last letter from brother price mentions that the king has inquired many times about my delay, and the queen has expressed a strong desire to see mrs. judson in her foreign dress. we sincerely hope her majesty's curiosity will not be confined to dress. "mr. and mrs. wade appear to be in fine health and spirits, and i am heartily rejoiced at their arrival just at the present time." rumors of a war between the british and burmans were growing more and more prevalent, and alas, proved but too well founded. from the very last letter written by mrs. judson before this most unhappy and disastrous war, we shall now make some extracts. "ava, february, , . "my dear parents and sisters, after nearly two years and a half wandering, you will be pleased to hear that i have at last arrived at home, so far as this life is concerned, and am once more quietly and happily settled with mr. judson. when i retrace the scenes through which i have passed, the immense space i have traversed, and the various dangers, seen and unseen, from which i have been preserved, my heart is filled with gratitude and praise to that being, who has at all times been my protector and marked out all my way before me. we had a quick and pleasant passage from calcutta to rangoon, and in seven days after our arrival there we were on our way to this place. our progress up the river was slow indeed. the season however is cool and delightful, we were preserved from dangers by day and robbers by night, and arrived in safety in six weeks. the irrawaddy is a noble river; we often walked through the villages on its banks, and though we never received the least insult, we always attracted universal attention. a foreign female was a sight never before beheld, and all were anxious that their friends and relations should have a view. crowds followed us through the villages, and some less civilized than the others, would run some way before us, in order to have a _long_ look as we approached them." ... after relating a conversation with the natives on the subject of religion, and a narrow escape from drowning; she comes to their arrival at ava, where they had difficulties such as she had never before experienced. dr. price urged their going immediately to the house he had just erected; but it was of brick, and the walls still so damp that they did not dare occupy it. she says, "we had but one alternative, and that was to remain in the boat till they could build a small house on the piece of ground which the king gave to mr. j. last year. and you will hardly believe it possible, for i almost doubt my senses, that in just a fortnight from our arrival, we moved into a house built in that time, which is large enough to make us comfortable. it is in a most delightful situation, out of the dust of the town and on the bank of the river.... our house is in a healthy situation, is raised four feet from the ground, and consists of three small rooms and a verandah. we hardly know how we shall bear the hot season which is just commencing, for our house is built of boards, and before night is heated like an oven. nothing but brick is a shelter from the heat at ava, where the thermometer even in the shade frequently rises to degrees. we have worship every evening in burman, when a number of the natives assemble, and every sabbath mr. judson preaches the other side of the river in dr. price's house. we feel it an inestimable privilege that amid all our discouragements we have the language, and are able constantly to communicate truths which can save the soul." she then mentions that she has commenced a female school with three little girls, two of them given her by their parents, fine children, who improve very rapidly, and that she has a prospect of more pupils. they did not immediately visit the palace, as the royal family were absent on a visit at amarapoora, their old capital, where they were to remain until the new palace in ava should be finished. she found her old friend the viceroy's wife now degraded by the death of her husband to a low rank, but a sensible woman, and more capable, mrs. j. thought, of receiving religious truth than when in public life. she adds that in consequence of war with the bengal government, foreigners are not in as much esteem at court as formerly--even americans shared the same disfavor as englishmen, for being similar in features, dress, language and religion, it is not surprising that the burmans should have confounded them as subjects of one government. from the circumstance of money being remitted to them through english residents in ava, they were even suspected of being paid spies of the east india company--but this was at a somewhat later period. * * * * * the capital of burmah is not fixed, but changes with the caprice of the monarch, for wherever he fixes his imperial residence, there, for the time, is the capital. ava, the former capital, having been forsaken during the reign of the old king for amarapoora, was again to be the royal residence, and for this purpose a magnificent palace had been there erected, of which the emperor was now to take possession. on these occasions, all the gorgeousness of oriental magnificence has its full display. such a scene the missionaires witnessed soon after their arrival at ava. mrs. judson gives an animated description of that splendid day, when majesty with all its attendant glory entered the gates of the golden city, and amid the acclamations of millions, took possession of the palace. the numerous horses, the immense variety of vehicles, the vast number and size of richly caparisoned elephants, the myriads of people in their gala dresses, the highest officers in the kingdom drawn from the most distant as well as the nearer provinces to grace the occasion, each in his robes of state, the magnificent white elephant, caparisoned with silk and velvet, and blazing with jewels, the king and queen, in simple majesty, alone unadorned amid the gaudy throng, surpassed any pageant ever exhibited in the western world. alas! this pomp and pride were soon to receive a disastrous humiliation. chapter xvi. war with the british.--narrative of the sufferings of the missionaries during the war. in news reached america of the breaking out of war between burmah and british india. this of course excited the most anxious interest for the fate of the americans in that country. at length anxiety was somewhat relieved by the intelligence that messrs. wade and hough with their families, who had remained at rangoon, were, after dreadful sufferings, safe under british protection. but over the fate of mr. and mrs. judson hung the silence of death, or of a suspense worse than death, for more than two years, until hope itself died in the hearts of their friends and kindred. but although in this long period of doubt and darkness, busy fancy had pictured many scenes of terror and many forms of violent death, as the possible lot of the missionaries; yet in her wildest nights she never could have conceived of the terrible reality which they endured, not for days and weeks only, but for _eighteen_ weary months. the wildest tale of fiction has never depicted more cruel anguish, more appalling suffering borne with more heroic energy, and more sublime fortitude--the wildest fiction would not dare to portray woman's love and faith and christian hope, so long triumphant over insult and outrage, and torture and death itself. who after reading the following narrative of an heroic female's unparalleled endurance, will ever say that woman's is a feeble nature, incapable of withstanding the rude shocks of adverse fortune? nay, who will not rather say, that in woman, hope and faith, and fortitude and energy, make even the frail _body_ immortal, till her labor of love is accomplished, and its cherished object is rescued from peril? * * * * * "the war which now broke out between the burman government and that of the english in bengal, forms an important era in the history of the mission. "its first effect was to put an end to the labors of the missionaries, and involve them in unspeakable sufferings, yet in accordance with a mysterious though beneficent law of human affairs, its ultimate issues have proved favorable not only to the interests of that particular mission, but also to the further extension of christian civilization among the thickly peopled countries of eastern india. the war had its origin in feuds which had long existed on the frontiers of chittagong." some burman criminals had escaped to that territory, where as it was alleged they were protected by british power. the burman monarch determined to chastise the english by making war on their government, and had raised thirty thousand troops under the command of his greatest warrior bandula; but the east india company anticipated his movements, and landed their forces at rangoon so suddenly and unexpectedly, that the city fell into their hands with scarcely a show of resistance. this was the first news that reached ava of the commencement of hostilities. it surprised the court there, but by no means alarmed them. never having come into collision with the english, and having the most extravagant conceit of their own invincibility, they did not for a moment doubt their power to drive the invaders from their country; and even sent by one of their generals a pair of golden fetters with which to chain the governor-general, and bring him captive to ava. the first effect of the intelligence of the war upon the situation of the missionaries, was an order that no man wearing a hat should enter the palace. this was somewhat startling, still nothing of importance occurred for several weeks, during which mrs. j. continued her school, while her husband went on building a house. but at length suspicion having been excited that the englishmen who resided in ava were spies, they were seized and put in confinement. dr. price and mr. judson were strictly examined also, but nothing being proved against them, they were left at liberty. they might probably have escaped further molestation, had it not been found in examining the accounts of one of the englishmen, that he had paid over considerable money to the missionaries. ignorant of money transactions as carried on by foreigners, this was an evidence to the natives, that the teachers were in the pay of the british, and probably spies. this being represented to the king, he gave an angry order for their arrest. on the th of june, mr. judson's house was rudely entered by an officer, followed by eight or ten men, one of whom, by the hideous tattooing on his face, they knew to be the executioner, or 'son of the prison.' on seeing mr. judson--"you are called by the king," said the officer, the usual form of arrest. in an instant the spotted-faced man threw him on the floor, and drew forth that instrument of torture, the small cord. mrs. judson tried in vain to bribe him with money. "take her too," said the officer, "she also is a foreigner." but this order mr. judson prevailed on them to disregard. all was now confusion and dismay, the children crying, the neighbors collecting around and in the house, while the executioner bound mr. judson with the cords, and took a fiendish pleasure in making them as tight as possible. mrs. judson gave moung ing money that he might follow and procure a mitigation of this torture, instead of which, mr. judson was again thrown down, and the cords so tightened as almost to prevent respiration. then he was hurried on to the court-house, thence to "the death prison," into which he was hurled, and moung ing saw him no more. we may imagine the intolerable agony of mrs. judson when the faithful disciple returned with the sad news of his master's fate. retiring to her room, she tried to find consolation in casting her dreadful burden of fear and suspense on her covenant god. but soon her retirement was invaded by the magistrate of the place, who ordered her to come out and submit to an examination. of course she was obliged to obey, but before doing so she destroyed every writing she possessed, letters, journals, everything, lest her correspondence with her british friends should confirm the suspicions of their persecutors. when the magistrate had satisfied himself with the examination, he placed a guard of ten ruffians about the house, with orders that no one should enter or leave it on pain of death. taking her four little burman girls into an inner room she barred the door, and obstinately refused to come out, although the guard, bent on tormenting her, threatened to break the door down if she did not. she prevented this outrage by a threat to complain of their conduct in the morning to higher authorities, but in revenge they bound her two bengalee servants fast in the stocks in a most painful posture. by bribes and promises she at length induced them to release the servants; but their dreadful carousings, and horrid language, combined with her suspense in regard to her husband's fate, rendered that long night one of unmitigated wretchedness. in the morning, moung ing, whom she had sent to the prison, returned with the intelligence that all the white foreigners were in the death-prison chained with three pairs of fetters each to a pole, to prevent their moving! "the point of anguish now was," she says, "that i was a prisoner myself, and could make no efforts for their relief." she earnestly but vainly begged the magistrate to allow her to go and state the case to some government officer; she even wrote a letter to the queen's sister, who was civil, but afraid to interfere in their behalf. "the day," she says, "wore heavily away, and another dreadful night was before me. i endeavored to soften the feelings of the guard, by giving them tea and segars for the night; so that they allowed me to remain inside my room, without threatening as they did the night before." but, haunted by the idea of her dear husband's tortures, which she was neither permitted to share nor alleviate, she of course passed another night of anguish. the next day she sent a message to the governor of the city, to allow her to visit him with a present. this was successful, and the guards had orders to permit her to go into town. she was pleasantly received, stated the situation of the teachers, and assured the governor that being not englishmen but americans, they had nothing to do with the war. she was referred to a head officer with whom she might consult as to the means of making the prisoners more comfortable; _but their release was out of the question_. the first sight of this officer, whose face exhibited the working of every evil passion, inspired her with dread, but he was the only one who could assist her. "he took me aside, and endeavored to convince me that myself, as well as the prisoners, was entirely at his disposal--that our future comfort must depend on my liberality in regard to presents--and that these must be made in a private way, and unknown to any officer of government! what must i do, said i, to obtain a mitigation of the sufferings of the two teachers? 'pay to me,' said he, 'two hundred tickals, (about a hundred dollars,) two pieces of fine cloth, and two pieces of handkerchiefs.' at length however he consented to take what money she had about her, which was a considerable sum, and promised to relieve the teachers from their most painful situation. she goes on: "i then procured an order from the governor for my admittance into the prison, but the sensation produced by meeting my husband in that _wretched, horrid_ situation, and the scene that ensued, i shall not attempt to describe. he crawled to the door of the prison--for i was never allowed to enter--gave me some directions relative to his release; but before we could make any arrangement, i was ordered to depart by those iron-hearted jailers, who could not endure to see us enjoy the poor consolation of meeting in that miserable place. in vain i pleaded the order of the governor for my admittance; they again harshly repeated, 'depart, or we will pull you out.'" the same evening all the foreigners succeeded, by the payment of money, in being removed from the common prison to an open shed, where mrs. judson was allowed to send them food, and mats to sleep on, but for some days was not permitted to see them. nothing but her own eloquent words can do justice to the transactions that followed. we copy as before from her letter, written two years subsequent to these events, to her brother-in-law, dr. judson. "my next object was to get a petition presented to the queen, but no person being admitted into the palace who was in disgrace with his majesty, i sought to present it through the medium of her brother's wife. i had visited her in better days, and received particular marks of her favor. but now, times were altered, mr. judson was in prison, and i in distress, which was a sufficient reason for giving me a cold reception. i took a present of considerable value. she was lolling on her carpet as i entered, with her attendants around her. i waited not for the usual question to a suppliant, 'what do you want?' but in a bold, earnest yet respectful manner, stated our distresses and our wrongs, and begged her assistance. she partly raised her head, opened the present i had brought, and coolly replied, 'your case is not singular; all the foreigners are treated alike.' but it _is_ singular, said i, the teachers are americans; they are ministers of religion, have nothing to do with war or politics, and came to ava in obedience to the king's command. they have never done anything to deserve such treatment; and is it right they should be treated thus? 'the king does as he pleases,' said she, 'i am not the king, what can i do?' you can state their case to the queen and obtain their release, replied i. place yourself in my situation--were you in america, your husband, innocent of crime, thrown into prison, in irons, and you a solitary, unprotected female--what would you do? with a slight degree of feeling, she said, 'i will present your petition; come again to-morrow. i returned to the house, with considerable hope that the speedy release of the missionaries was at hand. but the next day, the property of mr. gouger, (one of the englishmen,) amounting to , dollars, was seized and carried to the palace. the officers on their return, politely informed me, that they should _visit our house_ on the morrow. i felt obliged for this information, and accordingly made preparations to receive them by secreting as many little articles as possible; together with considerable silver; as i knew if the war should be protracted, we should be in a state of starvation without it. but my mind was in a dreadful state of agitation, lest it should be discovered, and cause my being thrown into prison. and had it been possible to procure money from any other quarter, i should not have ventured on such a step. "the following morning, the royal treasurer, the governor of the north gate of the palace, who was in future our steady friend, and another nobleman, attended by forty or fifty followers, came to take possession of all we had. i treated them civilly, gave them seats, and tea and sweetmeats for their refreshment; and justice obliges me to say, that they conducted the business of confiscation, with more regard to my feelings than i should have thought it possible for burmese officers to exhibit. the three officers with one of the royal secretaries alone entered the house; their attendants were ordered to remain outside. they saw i was deeply affected, and apologized for what they were about to do, by saying that it was painful for them to take possession of property not their own, but they were compelled thus to do by order of the king. "where is your silver, gold, and jewels?" said the royal treasurer. i have no gold or jewels, but here is the key of a trunk which contains the silver--do with it as you please. the trunk was produced, and the silver weighed. this money, said i, was collected in america by the disciples of christ, and sent here for the purpose of building a kyoung, (the name of a priest's dwelling;) and for our support while teaching the religion of christ. is it suitable that you should take it? (the burmans are averse to taking religious offerings, which was the cause of my making the inquiry.) "we will state this circumstance to the king," said one of them, "and perhaps he will restore it. but is this all the silver you have?" i could not tell a falsehood. the house is in your possession, i replied, search for yourselves. "have you not deposited silver with some person of your acquaintance?" my acquaintances are all in prison, with whom should i deposit silver? they next ordered my trunk and drawers to be examined. the secretary only was allowed to accompany me in this search. everything nice or curious which met his view, was presented to the officers for their decision whether it should be taken or retained. i begged they would not take our wearing apparel, as it would be disgraceful to take clothes partly worn into the possession of his majesty, and to us they were of unspeakable value. they assented, and took a list only; and did the same with the books, medicines, &c. my little work-table and rocking-chair, presents from my beloved brother, i rescued from their grasp, partly by artifice, and partly through their ignorance. they left also many articles which were of inestimable value during our long imprisonment." chapter xvii. narrative continued, and concluded.--their deliverance from burman tyranny, and protection by the british government. as soon as the search was completed, mrs. judson hastened to the wife of the queen's brother, in hopes of having a favorable answer to her petition; but to her heavy disappointment she learned that the queen had refused to interfere. with a sad heart she turned her steps to the prison-gate, but here she was denied admittance, and for ten days she found the prison-door closed against her. "the officers who had taken possession of our property," continues mrs. judson, "presented it to his majesty, saying, 'judson is a true teacher; we found nothing in his house but what belongs to priests. in addition to this money, there are an immense number of books, medicines, trunks of wearing apparel, &c., of which we have only taken a list. shall we take them or let them remain?' 'let them remain,' said the king, 'and put this property by itself, for it shall be restored to him again, if he be found innocent.' this was in allusion to the idea of his being a spy." while the officers were at mr. j.'s house, they had insisted on knowing the sum that had been paid to bribe the governor to allow the prisoners more liberty. this sum they afterwards demanded of the governor, which so enraged him that he threatened to thrust them back into the inner prison. when mrs. j. waited on him the next morning, his first words were, "you are very bad; why did you tell the royal treasurer you had given me so much money?" "the treasurer inquired, what could i say?" she replied. "say that you had given me nothing," said he, "and i would have made the teachers comfortable in prison; but now i know not what will be their fate." "but i cannot tell a falsehood," she replied; "my religion differs from yours; it forbids prevarication, and had you stood by me with your knife raised, i could not have said what you suggest." this answer so pleased the wife of the governor, who sat by, that she ever afterwards was a firm friend to mrs. judson. the latter then by the present of a beautiful opera-glass, a gift from her english friends, and by promises of future presents, induced the governor to let her husband remain where he was; but poor dr. price was confined as at first, and was only relieved at the end of ten days, by his promising a piece of broadcloth, and presents from mrs. judson. sometimes she was summoned before the authorities to answer the most absurd charges, and daily she was subjected to the most harassing annoyance, from the desire of each petty officer to get money through their misfortunes. notwithstanding her repulse in her application to the queen, hardly a day passed for seven months that she did not visit some one of the members of government, or branches of the royal family, in order to gain their influence in behalf of the teachers, though the only benefit was that their encouraging promises preserved her from despair. she did however in this manner gain friends, who sometimes assisted her with food, and who tried to destroy the impression that they were concerned in the war. the extortions and oppressions to which the prisoners were subject were also indescribable. sometimes mrs. judson was forbidden to have any intercourse with them during the day; and therefore she would have two miles to walk after dark, in returning to her house. she says, "oh how many, many times have i returned from that dreary prison at nine o'clock at night, solitary and worn out with fatigue and anxiety, and thrown myself down in that same rocking-chair you and deacon s. provided for me in boston, and endeavored to invent some new scheme for the release of the prisoners. sometimes, for a moment or two, my thoughts would glance toward america and my beloved friends there, out _for nearly a year and a half, so entirely engrossed was every thought with present scenes and sufferings, that i seldom reflected on a single occurrence of my former life, or recollected that i had a friend in existence out of ava_. "you my dear brother, who know my strong attachment to my friends, and how much pleasure i have hitherto experienced from retrospect, can judge from the above circumstance, how intense were my sufferings. but the point, the acme of my distress, consisted in the awful uncertainty of our final fate. my prevailing opinion was, that my husband would suffer violent death; and that i should of course become a slave, and languish out a miserable though short existence, in the tyrannic hands of some unfeeling monster. but the consolations of religion in these trying circumstances, were neither few nor small. it taught me to look beyond this world, to that rest, that peaceful, happy rest, where jesus reigns, and oppression never enters." in the meantime, the burmese government was sending army after army down the river to fight the english; and constantly receiving news of their defeat and destruction. one of its officers, however, named bandoola, having been more successful, the king sent for him to ava, and conferred on him the command of a very large army, destined against rangoon. as he was receiving every demonstration of court favor, mrs. judson resolved to wait on him with a petition for the release of the prisoners. she was received in an obliging manner, and directed to call again when he should have deliberated on the subject. with the joyful news of her flattering reception, she flew to the prison, and both she and her husband thought deliverance was at hand. but on going again with a handsome present to hear his decision, she was informed by his lady--her lord being absent--that he was now very busy, making preparations for rangoon, but that when he had retaken that city, _and expelled the english_, he would return and release all the prisoners. this was her last application for their enlargement, though she constantly visited the various officials with presents in order to make the situation of the prisoners more tolerable. the governor of the palace used to be so much gratified with her accounts of the manners, customs and government of america, that he required her to spend many hours of every other day at his house. mrs. judson had been permitted to make for her husband a little bamboo room in the prison enclosure far more comfortable than the shed he had occupied and where she sometimes was allowed to spend a few hours in his society. but her visits both to the prison and to the governor were interrupted by the birth of a little daughter--truly 'a child of misery, baptized in tears!' about this time the burmese court was thrown into consternation by news of the disastrous defeat of bandoola, the vain-glorious chief who was to expel the english from the kingdom; and the rapid advance of the british troops towards ava. the first consequence of such intelligence would of course be increased rigor towards the white prisoners; and accordingly, before she had regained her strength after her confinement, mrs. judson learned that her husband had been put into the inner prison, in five pairs of fetters, that the room she had made for him had been torn down, and all his little comforts taken away by his jailers. all the prisoners had been similarly treated. mrs. judson, feeble as she was, hastened to the governor's house. but in her long absence she had lost favor; and she was told that she must not ask to have the fetters taken off, or the prisoners released, for _it could not be done_. she made a pathetic appeal to the governor, who was an old man, reminding him of all his former kindness to them, and begging to know why his conduct was so changed to them now. his hard heart melted and he even "wept like a child." he then confessed to her that he had often been ordered to assassinate the prisoners privately, but that he would not do it; and that, come what would, he would never put mr. judson to death. at the same time he was resolute in refusing to attempt any mitigation of his sufferings. the situation of the prisoners was now horrible in the extreme. there were more than one hundred of them shut up in one room, with no air but what came through cracks in the boards, and this in the hot season. mrs. judson was sometimes permitted to spend five minutes at the door, but the sight was almost too horrible to be borne. by incessant intreaties, she obtained permission for them to eat their food outside, but even this was soon forbidden. after a month passed in this way, mr. judson was seized with fever, and nothing but death was before him unless he could have more air. mrs. judson at length succeeded in putting up another bamboo hut in the prison enclosure, and by wearing out the governor with her entreaties, she got her husband removed into it, and though too low for them to stand upright, it seemed to them a palace in comparison with the prison. disastrous news of the war continued to arrive, and at length the death of bandoola seemed to be the climax of misfortune. who could be found to take his place? a government officer, who had for some time been in disgrace with the king, now came forward with a proposal to conquer the english and put an end to the war, provided an army was raised on a new plan. his offers were accepted, and he was clothed with full powers. he was a man of talent and enterprise, and a violent enemy to foreigners. the missionaries feared everything from his malignancy; and their fears were but too well founded. they had been in their comfortable hut but a few days, when mrs. j. was suddenly summoned before the governor, and detained by trifling pretexts for some time, in order--as she afterwards found--to spare her the dreadful scene that was enacted at the prison in her absence. on leaving him she met a servant running to tell her that all the white prisoners were carried away he knew not whither. she ran from street to street inquiring for them, until at length she was informed they were carried to amarapoora. she hastened to the governor, who professed his ignorance, but promised to send off a man to inquire their fate; and said significantly, "you can do nothing more for your husband; _take care of yourself_." she returned to her room, and sank down almost in despair. this was the most insupportable day she had passed. she resolved to go to amarapoora; packed up some valuables in trunks to leave with the governor; and took leave of ava, as she supposed, forever. she obtained a pass for herself and infant, her two burman girls and cook, and got on board a boat, which conveyed them within two miles of amarapoora. there she procured a cart, but the heat and dust, with the fatigue of carrying her infant, almost deprived her of reason. but on reaching the court-house, her distress was further aggravated, by finding that she must go four miles farther to a place called oung-pen-la. there in an old shattered building, without a roof, under the burning sun, sat the poor prisoners, chained two and two, and almost in a dying condition. she prevailed on the jailer to give her a shelter in a wretched little room half filled with grain, and in that filthy place, without bed, chair, table, or any other comfort, she spent the next _six months_ of wretchedness. the account given her by mr. judson of his sufferings since she had seen him was almost too dreadful to repeat. dragged from the prison, and stripped of their clothing, they were driven under a broiling sun, over the hot sand and gravel until their naked feet were all one wound, and they earnestly longed for death to put an end to their tortures. when night came on, finding that one of the prisoners had dropped dead, and that the others were utterly unable to walk, their driver had halted till the next morning, and then conveyed them the remainder of the distance in carts. on arriving and seeing the dilapidated condition of the prison, they confidently thought they had been brought here for execution, and tried to prepare themselves to meet a dreadful and perhaps lingering death. from this apprehension they were relieved by seeing preparations made to repair the prison. mrs. judson had brought from ava all the money she could command, secreted about her person. and she records her thankfulness to her heavenly father that she never suffered from want of money, though frequently from want of provisions. hitherto her health and that of her children had been good. but now commenced her personal, bodily sufferings. one of the little burman girls whom she had adopted, and whom she had named mary hasseltine, was attacked on the morning after her arrival with small-pox. she had been mrs. judson's only assistant in the care of her infant. but now she required all the time that could be spared from mr. judson, whose mangled feet rendered him utterly unable to move. mrs. judson's whole time was spent in going back and forth from the prison to the house with her little maria in her arms. knowing that the other children must have the disease, she inoculated both, and those of the jailer, all of whom had it lightly except her poor babe, with whom the inoculation did not take, and who had it the natural way. before this she had been a healthy child but it was more than three months before she recovered from the dreadful disorder. the beneficial effects of inoculation in the case of the jailer's children, caused mrs. judson to be called upon to perform the operation upon all the children in the village. mr. judson gradually recovered, and found his situation much more comfortable than at ava. but mrs. judson, overcome by watchings, fatigue, miserable food, and still more miserable lodgings, was attacked by one of the disorders of the country; and though much debilitated, was obliged to set off in a cart for ava to procure medicines and suitable food. while there, her disorder increased so fearfully in violence, that she gave up all hope of recovery, and was only anxious to return and die near the prison. by the use of laudanum she so far checked the disease, that she was able to get back to oung-pen-la, but in such a state that the cook whom she had left to supply her place, and who came to help her out of the wretched cart in which she had made part of the journey, was so overwhelmed by her altered and emaciated appearance that he burst into tears. to this poor cook she was indebted, during the next two months for everything, and even for her life and that of those dearest to her. he would walk miles to procure and carry food for the prisoners, then return to do everything he could for mrs. j. though a bengalee, he forgot his caste, and hesitated not at any office or service which was required of him. it was afterwards in their power amply to reward him for his labor of love, and they never forgot their debt of gratitude. at this time poor little maria was the greatest sufferer, and her mother's anguish at seeing her distress while she was unable to relieve it, was indescribable. deprived of her natural food by her mother's illness, while not a drop of milk could be procured in the village, her cries were heart-rending. sometimes mr. judson would prevail on his keepers to let him carry the emaciated little creature around in his arms, to beg nourishment from those mothers in the village who had young children. now indeed was the cup of misery full. while in health, the active, ardent mind of mrs. judson bore up under trials, every new one suggesting some ingenious expedient to lighten or avert it; but now to see those cherished ones suffering, and be herself confined by sickness, was almost too much to bear. it was about this time they learned the death of their enemy, whose elevation to power was the cause of their removal from ava, and whose purpose in sending them to oung-pen-la, was indeed their destruction. suspected of high-treason, and of embezzling public money, he was executed without a moments delay. another officer was appointed to command the army, but with far less sanguine expectations of success. after his death, the prisoners were released from the prison, and conducted to ava. the cause of the change was soon evident. mr. judson was wanted to act as interpreter between the burmese government and the advancing army of the british. for six weeks he was kept in maloun, steadily at work in translating, and suffering as much as when in prison except that he was not in irons. mrs. judson, who had remained at ava, was seized soon after he left her with spotted fever of the most malignant character. she lost her reason, and for a long time was insensible to everything around her. but she records with lively gratitude, that just before her senses left her, a portuguese woman had unexpectedly come and offered herself as nurse to her little daughter; and about the same time, dr. price, being released from prison, visited her. he represents her situation to have been the most distressing he ever witnessed, and he had no idea she could survive many hours. at one time a burmese neighbor, who had come in with others to see her die, said "she is dead; and if the king of angels were to come in, he could not recover her." her head was shaved, blisters were applied to it and to her feet, and she gradually revived; although the fever having run seventeen days, she was of course a long time in recovering. while in this debilitated state, she learned through her servant that his master had arrived in town, under the charge of several burmans, and that it was reported that he was to be sent back to the oung-pen-la prison. being too weak to bear ill tidings, the shock had well nigh destroyed her. when she had in some measure recovered her composure, she sent moung ing to her old friend, the governor of the north gate, begging him to make one more effort for mr. judson. moung ing then went in search of 'the teacher,' and at length found him in an obscure prison. her feelings while he was gone, mrs. judson thus describes: "if ever i felt the value and efficacy of prayer, i did at this time. i could not rise from my couch; i could make no efforts to secure my husband; i could only plead with that great and powerful being who has said, 'call upon me in the day of trouble and _i will hear_, and thou shalt glorify me;' and who made me at this time feel so powerfully this promise, that i became quite composed, feeling assured that my prayers would be answered." she afterwards learned that as soon as mr. judson was found of no farther use at maloun as interpreter he was transferred without ceremony to ava, where happening to meet no one who knew him, he was ordered to be taken whence he came, when he went to maloun, viz: oung-pen-la. but at the instance of, mrs. judson's faithful messenger, moung ing, the governor of the north gate presented a petition to the high court of the empire, became security for mr. j., obtained his release, took him to his house, and removed mrs. judson thither also as soon as her health permitted. the english army, which had all along offered peace on condition of the payment of a certain sum of money, offers which the burmans had constantly rejected, had now advanced so far as to threaten the golden city itself. the burmans were thus compelled to negotiate, and all their negotiations from beginning to end, "were conducted by drs. judson and price, though they were often interrupted or entirely broken off by the caprice and jealousy of the burman monarch and his officers." the king placing no confidence in the english, and having the most absurd ideas of his power to force them to his own terms, sent messengers at every stage of their advance to induce sir archibald campbell to abate his demands and alter his conditions. no pains was spared to fortify the golden city, even while dr. price and other english prisoners were engaged in the business of negotiation. mrs. judson had the pain of seeing their house without beautiful enclosure of fruits and flowers, entirely destroyed, to make a place for the erection of cannon. a new message now arrived from sir archibald. no smaller sum than the one stipulated, (about five million dollars) would be received, but it might be paid at four different times; the first payment to be made within twelve days, or the army would continue its march. in addition, the prisoners were to be given up immediately. the king, who had learned the value of mr. judson's services, declared that those foreigners who were not english, were his people, and should not go. the missionaries were ordered to go again to the english camp, to propose to them to take a third of the money and give up their demand for the missionaries; and threatened that if unsuccessful in their embassy, they and their families should suffer. their situation was now truly perilous, for the burman arrogance was at this time heightened by the boast of one of their generals, that he would so fortify the ancient city of pugan, which lay in the route of the british toward ava, that they could never advance beyond it; and that in fact he would destroy or drive them from the country. the invincible english took the city, however, with perfect ease; and the king being enraged that he had listened for a moment to the braggart, and thus provoked the british officers, had him executed without ceremony, and gave out that it was to punish him for violating his command 'not to fight the english.' the same night, dr. price was sent with part of the money, and some of the prisoners, but returned with the alarming intelligence, that the general was angry, would not communicate with him, and was marching upon ava. all was now confusion in the palace; gold and silver vessels were melted up, and the money weighed out; and mr. judson was hurried into a boat, and sent to the british camp. he was instructed by the english general that every foreigner who _wished_ to leave the country, must be permitted to go, or peace would not be made. the members of government now had recourse to solicitation, and promised to make mr. judson a great man if he would remain. to avoid the oduim of expressing a wish to leave his majesty's service, he told them that sir archibald had ordered that all who desired it, should go; that his wife had often expressed that desire, that she therefore must be given up, and that he must follow. the prisoners were then all released, and on a cool moonlight evening, with hearts overflowing with gratitude and joy, they took their passage down the irrawady, bidding a final adieu to the scene of their sufferings, the _golden_ city of ava. with what delight did they the next morning hail the sight of the steamboat that was to conduct them to the british camp. "with what unspeakable satisfaction did they again find themselves surrounded by the comforts and refinements of civilized life." the kindness of general campbell was more like that of a father to his own family, than that of a stranger to persons of another country. indeed it was to him they owed their final release from ava, and the recovery of all their confiscated property. mrs. judson thinks no people on earth were ever happier than they were at that time; the very idea that they were free from burman treachery and tyranny, and under british protection, filling them with gratitude and joy too exquisite for expression. "what shall we render to the lord for all his benefits to us," was the constant utterance of their hearts. peace was soon settled; they left the camp, and after an absence of two years and three months were again in rangoon. chapter xviii. influence of these disasters on the missionary enterprise.--testimonials to mrs. judson's heroic conduct.--letter from mr. judson--his acceptance of the post of interpreter to crawford's embassy.--mrs. judson's residence at amherst.--her illness and death--death of her infant. mrs. judson concludes her long, melancholy, but most interesting letter to her brother, as follows: "a review of our trip to and adventures in ava, suggests the inquiry, why were we permitted to go? what good has been effected? why did i not listen to the advice of friends in bengal and remain till the war was concluded? but all that we can say is--_it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps_.--so far as my going round to rangoon at the time i did, was instrumental in bringing those heavy afflictions upon us, i can only state that if ever i acted from a sense of duty in my life, it was at that time; for my conscience would not allow me any peace, when i thought of sending for your brother to calcutta, in prospect of the approaching war. our society at home have lost no property on account of our difficulties; but two years of precious time have been lost to the mission unless some future advantage may be gained, in consequence of the severe discipline to which we ourselves have been subject. we are sometimes induced to think that the lesson we have found so very hard to learn will have a beneficial effect through our lives; and that the mission may in the end, be advanced rather than retarded." in reference to this timid and hesitating hope of some benefit which _might possibly_ accrue to the cause of missions, from her terrible experience, the remarks of dr. dowling in a recent work, are so appropriate, that we will introduce them here. "previous to the commencement of these sufferings, though a few american baptists were partially awake to the salvation of the heathen, ... yet the contributions for the mission were meagre, and the interest it had excited was comparatively small. something of a thrilling, exciting character was needed to arouse the churches from their indifference and lethargy; something that should touch their hearts, by showing them somewhat of the nature and extent of the sacrifices made by those devoted missionaries whom they were called upon to sustain by their benefactions and their prayers. "such a stimulus was afforded, when after two years of painful suspense, during which it was not known whether the missionaries were dead or alive, the touching recital of their unparalleled sufferings for christ's sake, and of their wonderful deliverance, at length burst like an electric shock upon the american churches. and that shock has not yet spent its force, as we have recently seen in the effect produced by the simple, silent presence, in the assemblies of the saints, of the venerated man of god, who can say with an apostle--'i bear in my body the scars of the lord jesus!'"[ ] that worn veteran had but to arise in a christian assembly, and a thrill of sympathy was sent through the audience, and thousands upon thousands of dollars were pledged on the spot to that cause which his silent presence so powerfully advocated. another consequence of the war, was to secure british toleration and protection to a large territory, hitherto almost inaccessible to the missionaries. of this we shall speak more fully hereafter. mrs. judson proceeds: "we should have had no hesitation about remaining at ava, if no part of the burman empire had been ceded to the british. but as it was, we felt that it would be unnecessary exposure, besides the missionary field being more limited in consequence of intoleration. we now consider our future missionary prospects as bright indeed, and our only anxiety is to be once more in that situation when our time will be exclusively devoted to the instruction of the heathen. ... "this letter, dreadful as are the scenes herein described, gives you but a faint idea of the awful reality. the anguish, the agony of mind, resulting from a thousand little circumstances impossible to delineate on paper, can be known by those only who have been in similar situations. pray for us, my dear brother and sister, that these heavy afflictions may not be in vain, but may be blessed to our spiritual good, and the advancement of christ's church among the heathen." * * * * * the following is extracted from a tribute to mrs. judson which appeared in a calcutta paper, after the war. it was written by a fellow-prisoner of mr. j. "mrs. judson was the author of those eloquent and forcible appeals to the government, which prepared them by degrees for submission to terms of peace, never expected by any who knew the haughtiness and inflexible pride of the burman court. "and while on this subject, the overflowings of grateful feelings on behalf of myself and fellow-prisoners, compel me to add a tribute of public thanks to that amiable and humane female, who, though living at a distance of two miles from our prison, without any means of conveyance, and very feeble in health, forgot her own comfort and infirmity, and almost every day visited us, sought out and administered to our wants, and contributed in every way to alleviate our misery. "when we were all left by the government destitute of food, she, with unwearied perseverance by some means or other, obtained for us a constant supply. ... "when the unfeeling avarice of our keepers confined us inside, or made our feet fast in the stocks, she, like a ministering angel, never ceased her applications to the government, until she was authorized to communicate to us the grateful news of our enlargement, or of a respite from our galling oppressions. "besides all this, it was unquestionably owing, in a chief degree, to the repeated eloquence and forcible appeals of mrs. judson, that the untutored burman was finally made willing to secure the welfare of his country by a sincere peace." well may professor gammell write of her: "history has not recorded, poetry itself has seldom portrayed a more affecting exhibition of christian fortitude, of female heroism, and of all the noble and generous qualities which constitute the dignity and glory of woman. in the midst of sickness and danger, and every calamity which can crush the human heart, she presented a character equal to the sternest trial, and an address and a fertility of resources which gave her an ascendency over the minds of her most cruel enemies, and alone saved the missionaries and their fellow-captives from the terrible doom which constantly awaited them." we will conclude this account of the terrible _two years_, by an extract from a letter of mr. judson dated rangoon, march , . "through the kind interposition of our heavenly father, we have been preserved in the most imminent danger, from the hand of the executioner, and in repeated instances of most alarming illness, during my protracted imprisonment of one year and seven months, nine months in three pairs of fetters, two months in five, six months in one, and two months a prisoner at large.... the disciples and inquirers have been dispersed in all directions. several are dead; moung-shwa-ba has been in the mission-house through the whole, and moung ing with mrs. judson at ava.... i long for the time when we shall enjoy once more the stated worship and ordinances of the lord's house." "one result of the burman war, was the acquisition by the british of several provinces previously under the government of the king of burmah. thus a safe asylum was provided for the missionaries, and for the christian natives where they might worship god in peace, under the shelter of the english government." one of these provinces was fixed upon as the seat of the mission, and the new town of amherst was to be the residence of the missionaries. native christian families began to assemble there, and mrs. judson made vigorous preparations to open a school. mr. crawford of the british embassy after long solicitation, succeeded in persuading mr. judson, that by accompanying him in the capacity of interpreter to the court of ava he might secure to the mission certain advantages he had long had greatly at heart, and he reluctantly consented to go. leaving mrs. judson and her infant daughter in the house of the civil superintendent at amherst, he proceeded to the burman capital. the journey was every way unfortunate; attended with long delays, and in its result, as far as mr. judson was concerned, quite unsuccessful. but it was chiefly disastrous because it detained him from the sick and dying bed of that devoted wife to whom he was bound by every tie that can attach human hearts to each other; and compelled her to end her troubled pilgrimage _alone_. that god who "moves in a mysterious way," had ordered it that she who had lived through appalling dangers and threatening deaths until her mission of love toward those she had cherished so fondly was accomplished, was--now that her trials seemed nearly ended, and the hopes of her heart seemingly in a train of accomplishment--suddenly called from the scene of her labors to that of her "exceeding great reward." it was as if a noble ship after encountering storms and tempests, after being often nearly wrecked, and as often saved almost by miracle, should when already in port and in sight of anxious spectators, suddenly sink forever. in a letter to the corresponding secretary, dated ava, dec. , , mr. judson writes: "the news of the death of my beloved wife, has not only thrown a gloom over all my future prospects, but has forever embittered the recollection of the present journey, in consequence of which i have been absent from her dying bed, and prevented from affording the spiritual comfort which her lonely circumstances peculiarly required, and of contributing to avert the fatal catastrophe, which has deprived me of one of the first of women, and best of wives. i commend myself and motherless child to your sympathy and prayers." from a letter from mr. judson to mrs. hasseltine we learn, that when he parted from his wife, she was in good health and comfortably situated, with happy prospects of a new field of missionary labor, and the expectation of seeing her husband again in three or four months at farthest. his last letter from her was dated the th of september. she says, "i have this day moved into the new house, and for the first time since we were broken up at ava, feel myself at home. the house is large and convenient, and if you were here i should feel quite happy.... poor little maria is still feeble.... when i ask her where papa is, she always starts up and points toward the sea. the servants behave very well, and i have no trouble about anything except you and maria. pray take care of yourself.... may god preserve and bless you, and restore you again to your new and old home is the prayer of your affectionate ann." another letter from a friend confirmed the statement with regard to his wife's health, though it spoke unfavorably of that of the child. "but," continues mr. judson, "my next communication was a letter with a black seal, handed me by a person, saying he was sorry to inform me of the death of the child. i know not whether this was a mistake on his part, or kindly intended to prepare my mind for the real intelligence. i went to my room, and opened the letter with a feeling of gratitude and joy, that at any rate the mother was spared. it began thus: 'my dear sir,--to one who has suffered so much and with such exemplary fortitude, there needs but little preface to tell a tale of distress. it were cruel indeed to torture you with doubt and suspense. to sum up the unhappy tidings in a few words--_mrs. judson is no more_.' at intervals," continues mr. judson, "i got through the dreadful letter and proceed to give you the substance, as indelibly engraven on my heart." after adding that her disease was a violent fever, which baffled the skill of the physicians and after eighteen days carried her to the grave, he continues: "you perceive i have no account whatever of the state of her mind in view of death and eternity, or of her wishes concerning her darling babe, whom she loved most intensely. i will not trouble you, my dear mother, with an account of my own private feelings--the bitter, heart-rending anguish, which for some days would not admit of mitigation, and the comfort which the gospel subsequently afforded, the gospel of jesus christ which brings life and immortality to light." after his return to amherst, mr. judson writes: "amid the desolation that death has made, i take up my pen to address once more the mother of my beloved ann. i am sitting in the house she built--in the room where she breathed her last--and at a window from which i see the tree that stands at the head of her grave.... mr. and mrs. wade are living in the house, having arrived here about a month after ann's death, and mrs. w. has taken charge of my poor motherless maria.... when i arrived mr. wade met me at the landing-place, and as i passed on to the house, one and another of the native christians came out, and when they saw me they began to weep. at length we reached the house; and i almost expected to see my love coming out to meet me as usual, but no, i only saw in the arms of mrs. wade, a poor puny child, who could not recognize her father, and from whose infant mind had long been erased all recollection of the mother who loved her so much. she turned away from me in alarm, and i, obliged to seek comfort elsewhere, found my way to the grave, but who ever obtained comfort there? thence i went to the house in which i left her; and looked at the spot where last we knelt in prayer, and where we exchanged the parting kiss.... "it seems that her head was much affected and she said but little. she sometimes complained thus: 'the teacher is long in coming, and the missionaries are long in coming, i must die alone and leave my little one, but as it is the will of god, i acquiesce in his will. i am not afraid of death, but i am afraid i shall not be able to bear these pains. tell the teacher that the disease was most violent, and i could not write; tell him how i suffered and died; tell him all you see.'... when she could not notice anything else, she would still call the child to her, and charge the nurse to be kind to it, and indulge it in everything till its father should return. the last day or two she lay almost senseless and motionless, on one side, her head reclining on her arm, her eyes closed, and at eight in the evening, with one exclamation of distress in the burman language, she ceased to breathe." from the physician who attended her he afterwards learned that the fatal termination of her disease, was chiefly owing to the weakness of her constitution occasioned by the severe privations, and long-protracted sufferings which she endured at ava. "and oh!" adds her husband, "with what meekness, patience magnanimity and christian fortitude, she bore those sufferings; and can i wish they had been less? can i sacriligiously wish to rob her crown of a single gem? much she saw and suffered of the evils of this evil world; and eminently was she qualified to relish and enjoy the pure and holy rest into which she has entered. true she has been taken from a sphere in which she was singularly qualified, by her natural disposition, her winning manners, her devoted zeal, and her perfect acquaintance with the language, to be extensively serviceable to the cause of christ; true she has been torn from her husband's bleeding heart and from her darling babe; but infinite wisdom and love have presided, as ever, in this most afflicting dispensation. faith decides that all is right." to show that mrs. judson was already appreciated as she deserved by the european society in amherst, we will subjoin part of a letter from captain f. of that place to a friend in rangoon: "i shall not attempt to give you an account of the gloom which the death of this amiable woman has thrown over our little society, you who were so well acquainted with her, will feel her loss more deeply; but we had just known her long enough to value her acquaintance as a blessing in this remote corner. i dread the effect it will have on poor judson. i am sure you will take every care that this mournful intelligence may be opened to him as carefully as possible." in the _calcutta review_ of , we find this noble tribute to her memory: "of mrs. judson little is known in the noisy world. few comparatively are acquainted with her name, few with her actions, but if any woman since the first arrival of the white strangers on the shores of india, has on that great theatre of war, stretching between the mouth of the irrawady and the borders of the hindoo kush, rightly earned for herself the title of a heroine, mrs. judson has, by her doings and sufferings, fairly earned the distinction--a distinction, be it said, which her true woman's nature would have very little appreciated. still it is right that she should be honored by the world. her sufferings were far more unendurable, her heroism far more noble, than any which in more recent times have been so much pitied and so much applauded; but she was a simple missionary's wife, an american by birth, and she told her tale with an artless modesty--writing only what it became her to write, treating only of matters that became a woman. her captivity, if so it can be called, was voluntarily endured. she of her own free will shared the sufferings of her husband, taking to herself no credit for anything she did; putting her trust in god, and praying to him to strengthen her human weakness. she was spared to breathe once again the free air of liberty, but her troubles had done the work of death on her delicate frame, and she was soon translated to heaven. she was the real heroine. the annals in the east present us with no parallel." on the th of april, mr. judson writes, "my sweet little maria lies by the side of her fond mother. her complaint proved incurable. the work of death went forward, and after the usual process, excruciating to a parent's feelings, she ceased to breathe on the th inst., at o'clock p.m., aged years and months. we then closed her faded eyes, and bound up her discolored lips, and folded her little hands--the exact pattern of her mother's--on her cold breast. the next morning we made her last bed, under the hope tree, (hopia,) in the small enclosure which surrounds her mother's lonely grave." many months later he wrote; "you ask many questions about our sufferings at ava, but how can i answer them now? there would be some pleasure in reviewing those scenes if she were alive; now i can not. the only reflection that assuages the anguish of retrospection is, that she now rests far away, where no spotted-faced executioner can fill her heart with terror; where no unfeeling magistrate can extort the scanty pittance which she had preserved through every risk to sustain her fettered husband and famishing babe; no more exposed to lie on a bed of languishment, stung with the uncertainty what would become of her poor husband and child when she was gone. no, she has her little ones around her, i trust, and has taught them to praise the source whence their deliverance flowed. her little son, his soul enlarged to angel's size, was perhaps first to meet her at heaven's portals, and welcome his mother to his own abode--and her daughter followed her in six short months." ... "and when we all meet in heaven--when all have arrived, and we find all safe, forever safe, and our saviour ever safe and glorious, and in him all his beloved--oh shall we not be happy, and ever praise him who has endured the cross to wear and confer such a crown!" footnotes: [footnote : alluding to dr. judson's visit to america.] part ii. the life of sarah b. judson. second wife of rev. adoniram judson, d.d. (_extract of a letter from mr. judson._) "i exceedingly regret that there is no portrait of the second as of the first mrs. judson. her soft blue eyes, her mild aspect, her lovely face and elegant form, have never been delineated on canvass. they must soon pass away from the memory even of her children, but they will remain forever enshrined in her husband's heart." chapter i. birth and education.--poetical talent. in an article in the _north american review_ of , we find the following admirable sentiments: "it is impossible to peruse the written life of any man or woman who has manifested great intellectual or moral power, whether in a holy cause or an unholy one, without a strong admiration and a deep sympathy, and a powerful impulse toward imitation. the soul is awakened, the active powers are roused, the contemplation of high achievement kindles emulation; and well would it be were the character of those leading minds, which thus draw after them the mass of mankind, always virtuous and noble. but in the vast majority of instances, the leaders of mankind, are individuals whose principles and motives the christian must condemn, as hostile to the spirit of the gospel. more precious therefore, is the example of that pious few who have devoted themselves with pure hearts fervently, to the glory of god, and the good of man, and whose energy of purpose, and firmness of principle, and magnanimity in despising difficulty and danger, and suffering and death, in the accomplishment of a noble end, rouse into active admiration all who contemplate their glorious career." such a 'glorious career' was that of the honored missionary whose life has been sketched in the former part of this volume; and such too was hers who forms the subject of the present memoir. sarah b. hall was the eldest of thirteen children. her parents were ralph and abiah hall, who removed during her infancy from alstead, new hampshire, the place of her birth, to salem, in the state of massachusetts. her parents not being wealthy, she was early trained to those habits of industry, thoughtfulness and self-denial which distinguished her through life. children so situated are sometimes pitied by those who consider childhood as the proper season for careless mirth and reckless glee; but they often form characters of solid excellence rarely possessed by those to whom fortune has been more indulgent. their struggle with obstacles in the way of improvement, and final triumph over them, is an invaluable preparation for the rude conflicts of life; their ingenuity is quickened by the hourly necessity of expedients to meet emergencies, and the many trials which are unavoidable in their circumstances, and which must be met with energy and resolution, give habits of patient endurance, and noble courage. from all the accounts which we have of her, sarah must have been a most engaging child. gentle and affectionate in disposition, and persuasive and winning in manners, there was yet an ardor and enthusiasm in her character, combined with a quiet firmness and perseverance, that ensured success in whatever she attempted, and gave promise of the lofty excellence to which she afterwards attained. all who have sketched her character notice one peculiarity--and it is one which commonly attends high merit--her modest unobtrusiveness. she was very fond of little children, and easily won their affections; but showed little disposition even in childhood, to mingle in the sports of those of her own age. this arose from no want of cheerfulness in her bosom; but from a certain thoughtfulness, and fondness for intellectual exercises which were early developed in her character. her principle, as well as her fondness for her mother, led her never to shrink from what are termed domestic duties, but her heart was not in them as it was in study and meditation. an illustration of this trait was recently related by her brother. sarah was repeating some lines on the death of nancy cornelius, which attracted the attention of her mother, who asked her where she had learned them. with some hesitation the child confessed that she had composed them the day before, while engaged in some domestic avocation, during which her unusual abstracedness had been noticed. her early poetical attempts evince uncommon facility in versification; and talent, that if cultivated might have placed her high in the ranks of those who have trod the flowery paths of literature; but hers was a higher vocation; and poetry, which was the delightful recreation of her childhood, and never utterly neglected in her riper years, was never to her anything _more_ than a recreation. her effusions at the age of thirteen are truly remarkable, when we consider the circumstances under which they were written. one, which is given by her biographer as it was probably amended by the 'cultivated taste of later years,' now lies before me as it was first written; and the improved copy, though greatly superior in beauty to the first, seems to me to lack the vigor and energy, which more than atone for the many blemishes of the other. our readers shall judge. we insert the _childish_ composition; the other is to be found in her graceful memoir by 'fanny forrester.' she calls it "a versification of david's lament over saul and jonathan." the 'beauty of israel' forever is fled, and low lie the noble and strong; ye daughters of music encircle the dead, and chant the funereal song. o never let gath know their sorrowful doom, nor askelon hear of their fate; their daughters would scoff while we lay in the tomb, the relics of israel's great. as strong as young lions were they in the field; like eagles they never knew fear; as dark autumn clouds were the studs of their shield, and swifter than wind flew their spear. my brother, my friend, must i bid _thee_ adieu! ah yes, i behold thy deep wound-- thy bosom, once warm as my tears that fast flow, is colder than yonder clay mound. ye mountains of gilboa, never may dew descend on your verdure so green; loud thunder may roar, and fierce lightning may glow but never let showers be seen. your verdure may scorch in the bright blazing sun, the night-blast may level your wood; for beneath it, unhallowed, were broken and thrown the arms of the chosen of god. ye daughters of israel, snatch from your brow those garlands of eglantine fair; let cypress and nightshade, the emblems of woe. be wreathed in your beautiful hair. approach, and with sadness encircle the dead and chant the funereal song-- the 'beauty of israel' forever is fled, and low lie the noble and strong. some other effusions, probably of a later date, we will here insert, not only for their merit, but to show what those powers were which she sacrificed, when she turned from the cultivation of her fancy to that of her higher and nobler faculties. encampment of israelites at elim. "slowly and sadly, through the desert waste, the fainting tribes their dreary pathway traced; far as the eye could reach th' horizon round, did one vast sea of sand the vision bound. no verdant shrub, nor murmuring brook was near, the weary eye and sinking soul to cheer; no fanning zephyr lent its cooling breath, but all was silent as the sleep of death; their very footsteps fell all noiseless there as stifled by the moveless, burning air; and hope expired in many a fainting breast, and many a tongue e'en egypt's bondage blest. hark! through the silent waste, what murmur breaks? what scene of beauty 'mid the desert wakes? oh! 'tis a fountain! shading trees are there. and their cool freshness steals out on the air! with eager haste the fainting pilgrims rush, where elim's cool and sacred waters gush; prone on the bank, where murmuring fountains flow, their wearied, fainting, listless forms they throw, deep of the vivifying waters drink, then rest in peace and coolness on the brink, while the soft zephyrs, and the fountain's flow, breathe their sweet lullaby in cadence low. oh! to the way-worn pilgrim's closing eyes, how rare the beauty that about him lies! each leaf that quivers on the waving trees, each wave that swells and murmurs in the breeze, brings to his grateful heart a thrill of bliss, and wakes each nerve to life and happiness. when day's last flush had faded from the sky, and night's calm glories rose upon the eye, sweet hymns of rapture through the palm-trees broke, and the loud timbrels deep response awoke; rich, full of melody the concert ran, of praise to god, of gratitude in man, while, as at intervals, the music fell, was heard, monotonous, the fountain's swell, that in their rocky shrines, flowed murmuring there, and song and coolness shed along the air; night mantled deeper, voices died away, the deep-toned timbrel ceased its thrilling sway; and there, beside, no other music gushing, were heard the solitary fountains rushing, in melody their song around was shed, and lulled the sleepers on their verdant bed." "come over and help us." "ye, on whom the glorious gospel, shines with beams serenely bright, pity the deluded nations, wrapped in shades of dismal night; ye, whose bosoms glow with rapture, at the precious hopes they bear; ye, who know a saviour's mercy, listen to our earnest prayer! see that race, deluded, blinded, bending at yon horrid shrine; madness pictured in their faces, emblems of the frantic mind; they have never heard of jesus, never to th' eternal prayed; paths of death and woe they're treading, christian! christian! come and aid! by that rending shriek of horror issuing from the flaming pile, by the bursts of mirth that follow, by that brahmin's fiend-like smile by the infant's piercing cry, drowned in ganges' rolling wave; by the mother's tearful eye, friends of jesus, come and save! by that pilgrim, weak and hoary, wandering far from friends and home vainly seeking endless glory at the false mahomet's tomb; by that blind, derided nation, murderers of the son of god, christians, grant us our petition, ere we lie beneath the sod! by the afric's hopes so wretched, which at death's approach shall fly by the scalding tears that trickle from the slave's wild sunken eye by the terrors of that judgment, which shall fix our final doom; listen to our cry so earnest;-- friends of jesus, come, oh, come by the martyrs' toils and sufferings, by their patience, zeal, and love; by the promise of the mighty, bending from his throne above; by the last command so precious, issued by the risen god; christians! christians! come and help us, ere we lie beneath the sod!" sarah, from her earliest years took great delight in reading. at four years, says her brother, she could read readily in any common book. her rank in her classes in school was always high, and her teachers felt a pleasure in instructing her. on one occasion, when about thirteen, she was compelled to signify to the principal of a female seminary, that her circumstances would no longer permit her to enjoy its advantages. the teacher, unwilling to lose a pupil who was an honor to the school, and who so highly appreciated its privileges, remonstrated with her upon her intention, and finally prevailed on her to remain. soon after she commenced instructing a class of small children, and was thus enabled to keep her situation in the seminary, without sacrificing her feelings of independence. her earliest journals, fragmentary as they are, disclose a zeal and ardor in self-improvement exceedingly unusual. "my mother cannot spare me to attend school this winter, but i have begun to pursue my studies at home." again: "my parents are not in a situation to send me to school this summer, so i must make every exertion in my power to improve at home." again, in a note to a little friend, "i feel very anxious to adopt some plan for our mutual improvement." how touching are these simple expressions! how severely do they rebuke the apathy of thousands of young persons, who allow golden opportunities of improvement to slip away from then forever--opportunities which to sarah hall and such as she, were of priceless value! yet it is not one of the least of the _compensations_ with which the providence of god abounds, that the very lack of favorable circumstances is sometimes _most_ favorable to the development of latent resources. thus it was with sarah. her whole career shows that her mind had been early trained and disciplined in that noblest of all schools, the school of adverse fortune. chapter ii. conversion.--bias toward a missionary life.--acquaintance with mr. boardman. amiable as she was, and conscientious in a degree not usual, sarah knew that "yet one thing she lacked;" and this knowledge often disquieted her. but her first deep and decided convictions of sin, seem to have been produced, about the year , under the preaching of mr. cornelius. her struggles of mind were fearful, and she sunk almost to the verge of despair; but hope dawned at last, and she was enabled to consecrate her whole being to the service of her maker. she soon after united with the first baptist church in salem, under the care of dr. bolles. the missionary spirit was early developed in her heart. even before her conversion, her mind was often exercised with sentiments of commiseration for the situation of ignorant heathen and idolaters; and after that event it was the leading idea of her life. the cause of this early bias is unknown, but it was shown in her conversations, her letters and notes to friends, and in her early poetical effusions. she even tremblingly investigated her own fitness to became a vessel of mercy to the far off, perishing heathen; and then, shrinking from what seemed to her the presumptuous thought, she gave herself with new zeal to the work of benefitting these immediately around her. "shortly after her conversion," says her brother, "she observed the destitute condition of the children in the neighborhood in which she resided. with the assistance of some young friends as teachers, she organized and continued through the favorable portions of the year, a sunday-school, of which she assumed the responsibility of superintendent; and at the usual annual celebrations, she with her teachers and scholars joined in the exercises which accompany that festival." "it is my ardent desire," she writes to a friend, "that the glorious work of reformation may extend till _every knee_ shall bow to the living god. for this expected, this promised era, let us pray earnestly, unceasingly, and with faith. how can i be so inactive, when i know that thousands are perishing in this land of grace; and millions in other lands are at this very moment kneeling before senseless idols!" and in her journal--"sinners perishing all around me, and i almost panting to tell the far _heathen_ of christ! surely this is wrong. i will no longer indulge the vain foolish wish, but endeavor to be useful in the position where providence has placed me. i can _pray_ for deluded idolaters, and for those who labor among them, and this is a privilege indeed." this strong bias of her mind toward a missionary life, was well known to her mother, who still remembers with a tender interest an incident connected with it. sarah had been deeply affected by the death of colman, who in the midst of his labors among the heathen, had suddenly been called to his reward. some time afterward she returned from an evening meeting, and with a countenance radiant with joy, announced--what her pastor had mentioned in the meeting--that a successor to colman had been found; _a young man in maine named boardman_ had determined to raise and bear to pagan burmah the standard which had fallen from his dying hand. with that maternal instinct which sometimes forebodes a future calamity however improbable, her mother turned away from her daughter's joyous face, for the thought flashed involuntarily through her mind, that the young missionary would seek as a companion of his toils, a kindred spirit; and where would he find one so congenial as the lovely being before her? her fears were realized. some lines written by "the enthusiastic sarah" on the death of colman, met the eye of the "young man in maine," who was touched and interested by the spirit which breathes in them, and did not rest till he had formed an acquaintance with their author. this acquaintance was followed by an engagement; and in about two years sarah's ardent aspirations were gratified--she was a missionary to the heathen. but we are anticipating events; and will close this chapter with extracts from the "lines on the death of colman," of which we have spoken. "'tis the voice of deep sorrow from india's shore the flower of our churches is withered, is dead, the gem that shone brightly will sparkle no more, and the tears of the christian profusely are shed two youths of columbia, with hearts glowing warm embarked on the billows far distant to rove, to bear to the nations all wrapp'd in thick gloom, the lamp of the gospel--the message of love. but wheelock now slumbers beneath the cold wave, and colman lies low in the dark cheerless grave. mourn, daughters of india, mourn! the rays of that star, clear and bright, that so sweetly on arracan shone are shrouded in black clouds of night, for colman is gone! * * * * * oh colman! thy father weeps not o'er thy grave; thy heart riven mother ne'er sighs o'er thy dust; but the long indian grass o'er thy far tomb shall wave, and the drops of the evening descend on the just. cold, silent and dark is thy narrow abode-- but not long wilt thou sleep in that dwelling of gloom, for soon shall be heard the great trump of our god to summon all nations to hear their last doom; a garland of amaranth then shall be thine, and thy name on the martyrs' bright register shine. o what glory will burst on thy view when are placed by the judge of the earth, the flowers that in india grew by thy care, in the never-pale wreath encircling thy brow! chapter iii. account of george dana boardman. we need offer no apology for turning aside from the immediate subject of our narrative, in order to introduce to our readers one, who must henceforth share with her our sympathy and our affection; we mean george dana boardman--the successor to colman spoken of in the last chapter. he was the son of a baptist clergyman in livermore, maine, and was born in . though feeble in body, he had an ardent thirst for knowledge, which often made him conceal illness for fear of being detained from school. at a suitable age, he was sent to an academy in north yarmouth, where he became distinguished for ardor in the pursuit of learning, and fine mental powers. it is related, that he went through the latin grammar with surprising rapidity, and then expected to be allowed to use the lexicon, but was told he must go through the grammar once or twice more. disappointed, he returned to his seat, and in an hour or two was called up to recite, when he repeated verbatim sixteen pages of the grammar. his preceptor inquired if he had got more; he answered yes; and on being asked how much, replied, "i can recite the whole book, sir, if you wish!" he afterwards manifested equal power in mathematics. at sixteen, he engaged in school-teaching, in order to obtain means for a collegiate course--the great object of his ambition--and in this employment he manifested a knowledge of human nature and of the influences which control it, truly wonderful. the most turbulent and disorderly schools, became, in his hands, models of system and regularity. in , when years old, he entered waterville college, maine. he was at this time a youth of good principles, inflexible purpose, strong affections, and independent opinions, but had hitherto given no evidence of piety. "but in this institution his thoughts were directed by a variety of circumstances, to a consideration of the vast and important topics of evangelical religion. his room-mate was a very pious and most warm-hearted man. the officers of the college did all in their power to elevate his thoughts and affections. in short, every external influence with which a young man could be surrounded, was calculated to lead his mind heavenward. under the operation of these causes, he was by the spirit of god, induced to consecrate himself, soul, body, and spirit, to religion; and in , he made a public profession of his belief and was baptized."[ ] from his letters and journals, we find that he soon turned his thoughts to the subject of missions. "in the winter of ," he says, "the thought occurred to me that i could take my bible, and travel through new settlements where the gospel was seldom or never heard, and _without sustaining the name of a preacher_, could visit from hut to hut, and tell the story of jesus' dying love. then in imagination, i could welcome fatigue, hunger, cold, solitude, sickness and death, if i could only win a few cottagers to my beloved saviour." when the news of the death of mr. judson's fellow missionary, colman, reached america, his soul was filled with desire to supply the place of that beloved laborer in the burman field. still his chief aim was to leave the _place_ of his labors entirely to the guidance of providence. on graduating at college, he accepted the office of tutor in it for one year, and so great was the promise of his future eminence, that the good president predicted that he would, at a future day, preside over the institution. but his heart was fixed on other labor, and as soon as his engagement was completed, he hastened to offer his services to the board of foreign missions, and was at once accepted as a missionary. the parting scene between boardman and his religious friends in waterville, who had assembled to bid him farewell is said by one present on that occasion, to have been exceedingly touching. "the eye of boardman was alone undimmed by a tear. in a tender and yet unfaltering tone he addressed a few words to his brethren. we all knelt down in prayer together for the last time. on arising, boardman passed round the room, and gave to each his hand for the last time. his countenance was serene, his mild blue eye beamed with benignity, and though there was in his manner a tenderness which showed he had a heart to feel, yet there was no visible emotion till he came to his room-mate. as he took _him_ by the hand, his whole frame became convulsed, his eye filled, and the tears fell fast, as if all the tender feelings of his spirit, till now imprisoned, had at this moment broken forth--'farewell!' he faltered; and then smiling through his tears, said, as he left the room, 'we shall meet again in heaven.'" he had expected immediately to leave america for burmah, in the same ship which was to take mrs. judson back to that country, but the board decided to detain him some time in this country for further preparation. in june, , he entered on theological studies in the seminary at andover, and employed all his leisure hours in reading those books in the library which treated of the manners, customs, and religions of heathen countries. in the spring of he was called to bid his country farewell. natural affection was strong, but the call of duty was stronger still. in a letter he says, "if tenderness of feeling--if ardor of affection--if attachment to friends, to christian society and christian privileges--if apprehension of toil and danger in a missionary life--if an overwhelming sense of responsibility could detain me in america, i should never go to burmah." and in his journal--"welcome separations and farewells; welcome tears; welcome last sad embraces; welcome pangs and griefs; only let me go where my saviour calls and goes himself; welcome toils, disappointments, fatigues and sorrows; welcome an early grave!" * * * * * it is easy to imagine that the sympathy and affection between two souls constituted like miss hall's and mr. boardman's, both of whom were warmed by the same zeal for the cause of christ and the welfare of the heathen, would be unusually strong; and indeed there is every evidence, that from the time they became fully acquainted, the most tender attachment subsisted between them. "you know," she wrote long afterward to her mother, "how tenderly i loved him;" and to an intimate friend, he said in a private conversation, "it was not the superiority of her personal charms, though these were by no means small, but it was her intrinsic excellence, heightened by her modest, unobtrusive spirit, that endeared her to my heart." footnotes: [footnote : north american review.] chapter iv. marriage of miss hall and mr. boardman.--they sail for india.--letters from mr. b.--letters from mrs. b.--another letter from mr. b. it was to no slight sacrifice that the parents of sarah hall were summoned, when called to consent to her departure for burmah. the eldest of a large family--arrived at an age when she could not only share her mother's duties and labors, but be to her a sympathizing friend--possessed of every quality which could endear her to her parents' hearts--emphatically their joy and pride--how could they resign her--especially how could they consent to her life-long exile from her native land; to end perchance in a cruel martyrdom on a heathen shore? can we wonder that the mother clinging to her daughter's neck, exclaimed, "i cannot, cannot part with you!" or that the moment of departure must arrive, before she could falter, "my child, _i hope_ i am willing?" her own feelings on leaving the home of her youth with him who was henceforth to supply to her the place of all other friends, are breathed in these graceful lines. "when far from those whose tender care protected me from ills when young; and far from those who love to hear affection from a sister's tongue; when on a distant heathen shore, the deep blue ocean i shall see; and know the waves which hither bore our bark, have left me none but thee; perhaps a thought of childhood's days will cause a tear to dim my eye; and fragments of forgotten lays may wake the echo of a sigh. oh! wilt thou then forgive the tear? forgive the throbbings of my heart? and point to those blest regions, where friends meet, and never, never part! and when shall come affliction's storm, when some deep, unexpected grief shall pale my cheek, and waste my form, then wilt thou point to sweet relief? and wilt thou, then, with soothing voice, of jesus' painful conflicts tell? and bid my aching heart rejoice, in these kind accents--'_all is well?_' when blooming health and strength shall fly and i the prey of sickness prove, oh! wilt thou watch with wakeful eye, the dying pillow of thy love? and when the chilling hand of death shall lead me to my house in heaven and to the damp, repulsive earth, in cold embrace, this form be given; oh, need i ask thee, wilt thou then, upon each bright and pleasant eve, seek out the solitary glen, to muse beside my lonely grave? and while fond memory back shall steal, to scenes and days forever fled; oh, let the veil of love conceal the frailties of the sleeping dead. and thou may'st weep and thou may'st joy, for 'pleasant is the joy of grief;' and when thou look'st with tearful eye to heaven, thy god will give relief. wilt thou, then, kneel beside the sod of her who kneels with thee no more, and give thy heart anew to god, who griefs unnumbered for thee bore? and while on earth thy feet shall rove, to scenes of bliss oft raise thine eye, where, all-absorbed in holy love, i wait to hail thee to the sky." on the d of july, , the marriage took place, miss hall being then years old, and mr. boardman . his slender figure, and transparent complexion, even then seemed to indicate that his mission on earth might soon be fulfilled, but both he and his bride were young and sanguine, and no misgivings for the future disturbed their happiness in each other. indeed the grief of parting with all they had ever loved and cherished, though chastened by submission to what they believed the divine call, was sufficient to merge all lighter causes of anxiety. on the day following their marriage they left salem for the place of embarkation. they were to sail first to calcutta, and if on reaching there the troubles in burmah should prevent their going at once to that country, they were to remain in calcutta, and apply themselves to the acquisition of the burman language. in expectation of their speedy departure, meetings for special prayer were held at boston, salem, new york, and philadelphia. the spirit which animated these meetings, and breathed in all the supplications offered, was indicative of deep interest in the mission, and of united and determined resolution, by the grace of god to support it. mr. and mrs. b. were everywhere received with the utmost kindness, and nothing was withheld which could contribute to animate them in their arduous undertaking, and render their future voyage pleasant and healthful. the captain and other officers of the ship asia in which they were to sail, made the most ample provision for their comfort and accommodation, and rendered them every attention in a manner most grateful to their feelings. at a concert of prayer in philadelphia, mr. boardman was called upon to give a brief account to the audience of the motives which had induced him to devote his life to the missionary service. in his reply, he took occasion in the first place to acknowledge the goodness of god to him through his whole life. when he entered waterville college--the first student ever admitted there not hopefully pious--his fellow-students, impressed with this fact, solemnly engaged with each other, unknown to him, to remember him in their supplications, until their prayers for his conversion should be answered. six months from that time he found peace in believing, and his first prayer was that god would make him useful. his mind was so impressed with the condition of our indian tribes, that he felt inclined to carry to them the message of salvation. but his venerable father, whom he consulted as to his duty, advised him "to wait on god, and he would conduct him in the right way." after some time, his choice was decided in favor of the burman mission by such indications, that he considered his call to this service distinctly and plainly marked. he adverted in a very tender manner to some peculiar indications of providence, especially to the manner in which his parents received the knowledge of his determination. their remark was, _it has long been our desire to do something for the mission; and if god will accept our son, we make the surrender with cheerfulness_.[ ] in reading this account, do we not feel emotions of moral sublimity in contemplating these tender and aged parents, who, "moved with love for a benevolent god, and for their fellow-creatures, surrender their son bright with talents and virtues, rich in learning and in the respect of all who knew him, but feeble and sickly in body, to the missionary labor--whose certain and speedy end is death?"[ ] mrs. boardman with her husband took her final leave of her beloved native land on the th of july, . to her sister, when two weeks out at sea, she writes: "we think we never enjoyed better health. that beneficent parent, who is ever doing us good, has bestowed upon us, in the officers of the ship, obliging and affectionate friends.... everything regarding our table, is convenient and agreeable as we could enjoy on shore. our family consists of the captain, two mates, two supercargoes, a physician, mrs. fowler, and ourselves. mr. blaikie, the chief supercargo, is not only a gentleman, but is decidedly pious, and strictly evangelical in his sentiments.... it is a great comfort to each of us to find one who is ever ready to converse upon those subjects which relate to the extension of the redeemer's kingdom. it is most grateful to my own feelings, but i am even more rejoiced for the sake of mr. b. religious society has ever been to him a source of much real gratification. you know very well the love he has ever manifested for social intercourse. when in america amidst our beloved friends, as i have seen him enter with all his heart into conversation--have seen joy beam from his eyes when engaged in this delightful employment--i would sigh, and say to myself, dear mr. b. how sad you will be when far removed from those whose words now so often cheer your heart. what will you do when this favorite rill of pleasure ceases to flow? but god is infinitely good, he is far better to us than our fears. he bestows upon us every blessing essential to our happiness and usefulness. it is not the _want_ of privileges that i need lament, but the _misimprovement_ of them." in another letter, she expresses her mature conviction that the missionary life if entered upon with right feelings may be more favorable than any other to the promotion of spiritual growth. and certain it is, that trials, and even persecution often develop the power of christian principle, and the strength of religious faith; while ease and outward prosperity seem to lull the souls of believers into an unworthy sloth and a sinful conformity with the world around them. the soldier of christ must maintain a warfare; and when will he be more likely to be constantly awake to his duty, than when surrounded by the open and avowed enemies of his master? from chitpore four miles above calcutta, mr. boardman writes: "it gives me much pleasure to write you from the shores of india. through the goodness of god we arrived at sand-heads on the d ult., after a voyage of days. we were slow in our passage up the hoogly, and did not arrive in calcutta until the d inst. we had a very agreeable voyage,--religious service at meals, evening prayers in the cabin, and when the weather allowed, public worship in the steerage on lord's day morning ... allow me to add that we entertain a hope that one of the sailors was converted on the passage. "the report of our being at sand-heads reached calcutta several days before we did, and our friends had made kind preparations to receive us. soon after coming in sight of the city, we had the pleasure of welcoming on board the asia, the rev. mr. hough. he informed us, that the burmese war was renewed after an armistice of several weeks, and that no well-authenticated accounts had been received from our dear friends judson and price at ava. it is generally supposed that they are imprisoned with other foreigners, and have not the means of sending round to bengal. "at noon, dec. d, we came on shore, ... and were received very kindly by the english missionaries. we found mrs. colman waiting with a carriage to bring us out to this place. the cottage we occupy was formerly the residence of mr. and mrs. eustace carey. mr. and mrs. wade, mrs. colman, mrs. boardman and myself, compose a very happy american family.... but we long to be laboring in burmah. we are not yet discouraged by the dark cloud that hangs over our prospects there. we still hope and trust, _we firmly believe_, that eventually this war will tend to advance the cause of christ in burmah. we hope our friends at home will not be discouraged, but will continue to pray for us." in another letter he says, "and now, my dear parents, i wish you could make a visit at chitpore. you would find your two fond children sitting together very happily, and engaged in writing letters to their beloved american friends. our mansion, to be sure, is but a bamboo cottage, with a thatched roof, but is a palace compared with most of the native huts around us. but you know a large house is by no means essential to happiness. food and clothing sufficient, with the presence of god, are all that is absolutely necessary. could a man have in addition, one confidential friend, who sympathized in all his joys and sorrows, and with whom he could enjoy all the endearments of social life, he might be happy indeed--and such a friend, such a wife i have, in my beloved sarah. i fear i shall never be able to discharge the obligations i feel toward you for conferring on me so great a blessing." mrs. b. also writes to some acquaintances, "unite with me, my respected friends, in gratitude to god, that he has preserved us through the dangers of a long voyage, and permitted us to land upon a heathen shore. oh may this renewed assurance of his kind care, teach me confidence in his promises, and fill me with ardent desires to be constantly employed in his service. "our voyage was remarkably pleasant, our suffering from sea-sickness was much lighter than we had anticipated; our accommodations, though by no means handsome, convenient and comfortable as we could desire. our table was well furnished with the necessaries, and many of the luxuries of life. capt. sheed, and the other gentlemen on board, treated us with the greatest kindness, and appeared solicitous to make our situation agreeable. in the society of mr. blaikie, the supercargo, we took much delight. he is a gentleman of eminent piety, belonging to the presbyterian denomination. we had evening devotions in the cabin, ... when the weather allowed we had divine service between decks on the sabbath. a precious privilege! "while at sea, my time was spent in a very agreeable, and i hope not unprofitable manner.... the principal books i read besides the bible, were the life of parsons, lowth's lectures on hebrew poetry, part of fuller's works, and of jones' church history. supposing the study of the word of god well calculated to prepare my mind for the missionary work, i directed my chief attention to that. we had one very interesting exercise,--during the week several of us collected as many passages of scripture as we were able, upon a subject previously named; and on sabbath eve, we compared our separate lists, and conversed freely upon the doctrine or duty concerning which we had written. in this manner we discussed many of the most important doctrines and duties contained in scripture. as we drew near calcutta, our anxiety respecting the fate of our dear missionaries at ava, increased. we trembled when we thought of the disturbances in burmah, and there was only one spot where we could find peace and serenity of mind. that sweet spot was the throne of grace. thither we would often repair and lose all anxiety and fear respecting our dear friends, our own future prospects, and the missionary cause in burmah. it was sweet to commit all into the hands of god. if not deceived, we felt the importance of constantly pleading for a suitable frame of mind, to receive whatever intelligence was for us; and for a disposition to engage in the service of god, at any time, and in any place he might direct. we considered it our duty to supplicate for grace to support us in the hour of trial, and for direction in time of perplexity, rather than to employ our minds in anticipating the nature of future difficulties, and in fancying how we should conduct in an imagined perplexity. this is still our opinion." then follows an account of their arrival, which we have already given in mr. boardman's letter, and she adds: "imagine, dear mrs. b. our joy at meeting those with whom we hope to be employed in labors of love among the poor burmans. i shall not attempt to describe the emotions of my heart when i entered the little bamboo cottage we now occupy. were i skilled in perspective drawing, i would send you a picture of the charming landscape seen from our verandah. in a little hut near us reside two christian converts from heathenism. oh, how your bosom would glow with grateful rapture to hear their songs of praise, and listen to their fervent prayers. we prefer living in this retired spot with dear mr. and mrs. wade and mrs. colman, to a situation in calcutta; we can pursue our studies with less interruption, and also have the advantage of mr. wade's assistance. "the war in burmah still continues, and there is at present very little prospect of our going to rangoon soon. we still look to burmah as our earthly home, and daily pray that we may be permitted ere long to enter that field of labor. we rejoice that we can commence the study of the language here. we have not for an instant regretted that we embarked in the undertaking." in another letter of a later date she writes from calcutta: "in compliance with the advice of our friends, we are now residing in a pleasant little house in calcutta. i regretted exceedingly to leave the peaceful, retired shades of chitpore for the noise and commotion of a city, but duty appeared to require it"--(the climate at chitpore is insalubrious in the hot months) "and we all cheerfully submitted. i feel, my dear friend, that we are wanderers. i can look to no place as my earthly home, but burmah.... we have not yet heard from the brethren at ava. oh that our father in heaven may prepare our hearts for whatever intelligence we may receive. "on monday last, i attended the examination of mrs. colman's schools. imagine my feelings at seeing ninety-two little bengallee girls, (whose mothers are kept in the most degraded ignorance and superstition,) taught to read the scriptures.... this was only one division of the schools. the whole number belonging to this society is nearly four hundred. there are also many other interesting schools in calcutta. "mr. and mrs. wade with mr. b. and myself still compose our family; we are very happy in each other, are blessed with excellent health, enjoy facilities for learning the language, and in short, possess all we could desire. we feel our want of ardent piety.... pray for us, for we are weak and sinful." a letter to one of her own family of about the same date, shows that her zeal for the conversion of the heathen, did not at all weaken her desire that her own kindred might be true followers of jesus. after mentioning that a burman teacher had been procured for them, &c., she says, "i often imagine myself in the midst of that dear family, where the happy hours of childhood flew away. sometimes i fancy myself entering the room in the morning, and seeing you all kneeling around the family altar. my brother, have you a heart to pray to god? have you repented and turned to him? or are you all careless and indifferent respecting your precious soul? no, i cannot believe this is the case. indulged as you are with hearing the gospel and other means of grace, you cannot be indifferent. the time is coming when the religion of jesus will be indispensable to your peace of mind. you must pass through the valley of death. how can you endure that gloom without the light of god's countenance? you must stand before a righteous god at the judgment day. what will be the state of your soul if jesus is not your friend? _think of this._" a letter from mrs. wade written in the spring following, speaks with enthusiasm of the pleasure they have enjoyed in the society of mr. and mrs. b, and, like theirs, breathes ardent wishes to be able to go to burmah. these wishes were soon to be realized. a letter from mr. boardman dated calcutta, april th, , commences: "my dear brother,--the joyful news of peace with ava, and of the safety of our friends dr. and mrs. judson, and dr. price, you will doubtless receive from other sources. we can only say that the preservation of our friends both at rangoon and at ava, seems to us one of the most striking and gracious displays of god's special care of his people and his cause, which has been experienced in modern times. "brother wade and myself, with our beloved companions, expect to leave calcutta in six or eight weeks, to join brother judson. as rangoon is not retained by the british, we do not think it best to recommence the work there, but rather to settle in some of the towns which are by treaty ceded to the british.... the members of the church in rangoon are collecting and will probably go with us. we need divine direction. "we have great reason to be thankful for the health we enjoy. we long to proceed to burmah and engage in the delightful work before us. may god's strength be made perfect in our weakness." but his cherished enterprise was still longer delayed. by the solicitation of the english missionaries, and the appointment of the american board, he was induced to remain in calcutta a while, and preach in circular road chapel, recently vacated by the death of mr. lawson. mr. wade and his wife reached rangoon on the th of november, and found there the desolate and heart-stricken mr. judson, and his feeble babe, of whom mrs. wade was able for a brief period to supply the place of a mother. the place fixed upon as the seat of government in the newly acquired british territory in burmah, was amherst, on the martaban river, about miles eastward of rangoon. this place had been laid out by british engineers under mr. judson's direction, and in an incredibly short time, became a city numbering in thousands of houses. in southern india, houses are built almost in a day, and the population fluctuates from place to place with a facility surprising to europeans. it is only necessary to make a clearing in the jungle, and erect barracks for a few soldiers, and--as water rushes at once into hollows scooped in the damp sea-sand--so do the natives of india swarm into the clearing, and create a city.' to this new city of amherst mr. and mrs. boardman came in the spring of , and joined mr. and mrs. wade and mr. judson. it was bitterly painful to them to learn that the wife of the latter, that noble and beloved woman whose life had been preserved as if by miracle in a thousand dangers, and from whose society and intercourse they had hoped and expected the greatest pleasure and profit, was the tenant of a lowly grave beneath the hopia-tree; and even more immediately distressing to find that her heart-broken husband was just about to consign to the same dreary bed the only relic remaining to him of his once lovely family, 'the sweet little maria.' one of mr. boardman's first labors in burmah was to make a coffin for the child with his own hands! and to assist in its burial. poor babe! 'so closed its brief, eventful history.' an innocent sharer in the terrible sufferings of its parents, in the midst of which indeed it came into the world; like its mother, it had survived through countless threatening deaths, and reached what seemed a haven of security, only to wring its father's heart with an intenser pang, by its unexpected and untimely death. truly the ways of god 'are past finding out,' and 'his judgments are a great deep!' from a short poem full of sympathy and pious sentiment which was written by mrs. boardman on this occasion, we select some passages. "ah this is death, my innocent! 'tis he whose chilling hand has touched thy tender frame. * * * * * thou heed'st us not; not e'en the bursting sob of thy dear father, now can pierce thine ear. * * * * * thy mother's tale replete with varied scenes, exceeds my powers to tell; but other harps and other voices, sweeter far than mine, shall sing her matchless worth, her deeds of love, her zeal, her toil, her sufferings and her death. but all is over now. she sweetly sleeps in yonder new-made grave; and thou, sweet babe, shalt soon be pillowed on her quiet breast. yes, ere to-morrow's sun shall gild the west, thy father shall have said a long adieu to the last lingering hope of earthly joy; for thou, maria, wilt have found thy rest. thy flesh shall rest in hope, till that great day when he who once endured far greater woes than mortal man can know; who when on earth received such little children in his arms, graciously blessing them, shall come again; then like the glorious body of thy lord who wakes thy dust, this fragile frame shall be. then shalt thou mount with him on angels' wings be freed from sorrow, sickness, sin and death. and in his presence find eternal bliss." footnotes: [footnote : baptist magazine, .] [footnote : north american review.] chapter v. stationed at maulmain.--attack of banditti.--missionary operations.--danger from fire. on consultation it was determined that mr. and mrs. wade should remain in amherst, and that mr. and mrs. boardman should proceed to maulmain, a town miles up the river, which had sprung into being in the same manner as amherst, and was nearly as populous; and that mr. judson should divide his time between the two stations. in pursuance of this plan mr. boardman removed his family, which had been increased by the addition of a lovely daughter, now about five months old, to the new city of maulmain. on the evening of may th mr. boardman makes this entry in his journal. "after nearly two years of wanderings without any certain dwelling-place, we have to-day become inhabitants of a little spot of earth, and have entered a house which we call our earthly home. none but those who have been in similar circumstances can conceive the satisfaction we now enjoy." ... "the population of the town is supposed to be , . _one year ago it was all a thick jungle, without an inhabitant_!" while at amherst, mrs. boardman had experienced an alarming attack of a disease incident to the climate, and had to be carried to the boat which conveyed her to her new home on a litter. on her arrival there, although she shared her husband's joy that at length they had a home on the long _promised land_ of burmah, still her woman's nature, enfeebled by suffering, could not but have trembled at the idea of living in a lonely spot, (for the mission-house was nearly a mile from the barracks,) with the neighboring jungle swarming with "serpents that hiss, and beasts of prey that howl." in addition to this cause of alarm, there was opposite them, on the burman side of the river, the old decayed city of martaban; which was the refuge of a horde of banditti, who, armed with knives and swords, would often sally forth in bands of or , urge their light and noiseless boats across the river, satiate themselves with plunder and murder in the british town, and return with their spoils to their own territory, where they were secure from british retaliation. the english general, knowing the insecurity of the mission-house, had urged mr. b. to remove with his family to the protection of the fort; but his object was to benefit the _burmans_, and to do that, he must live among them. in their little bamboo hut, therefore, so frail that it could be cut open, as mrs. boardman says, with a pair of scissors, they prosecuted their study of the language under a native teacher, and even ventured to talk a little with the half-wild natives around them, and for a few weeks were unmolested. their courage and confidence had revived, and with mrs. b., restored health brought happiness. june th she writes, "we are in excellent health, and as happy as it is possible for human beings to be upon earth. it is our earnest desire to live, labor and die among this people." with such feelings, they had probably retired to rest on the night of the th of june, but awaking towards morning, and perceiving that the lamp which they always kept burning through the night was extinguished, they suspected mischief; and on relighting it, they found to their consternation that their house had been entered by the lawless plunderers mentioned above, and robbed of nearly every valuable article it contained; but how was their horror increased, by finding two large cuts in the moscheto curtains about their bed, through which the murderers had watched their slumbers, ready to stab them to the heart had they offered the slightest resistance, or even had they waked to consciousness. but he who "giveth his beloved sleep," had kindly steeped their senses in slumbers so profound and peaceful, that not even the infant stirred, or opened its eyes which would have instantly been sealed again,--in death.--every trunk, box and bureau was rifled, looking-glass, watch, spoons, keys, were gone; and yet as the parents gazed at those rent curtains, and thought how the death-angel had grazed them with his wing as he passed by, their hearts rose in gratitude and praise to their heavenly deliverer. but mrs. boardman's feelings are best told in her own expressive words. she says, "after the first amazement had a little subsided, i raised my eyes to the curtains surrounding our bed, and to my indescribable emotion saw two large holes cut, the one at the head, and the other at the foot of the place where my dear husband had been sleeping. from that moment, i quite forgot the stolen goods, and thought only of the treasure that was spared. in imagination i saw the assassins with their horrid weapons standing by our bedside, ready to do their worst had we been permitted to wake. oh how merciful was that watchful providence which prolonged those powerful slumbers of that night, not allowing even the infant at my bosom to open its eyes at so critical a moment. if ever gratitude glowed in my bosom, if ever the world appeared to me worthless as vanity, and if ever i wished to dedicate myself, my husband, my babe, my _all_, to our great redeemer, it was at that time. "to this day not a trace of our goods has been found; leaving no doubt that they were taken immediately over the river to martaban. since our loss, we have received many kind presents from our friends, so that we now find ourselves comfortable, and we are contented and happy. yes, my beloved friend, i think i can say, that notwithstanding our alarms, never did five months of my life pass as pleasantly as the last five have done. the thought of being among this people whom we have so long desired to see, and the hope that god would enable me to do some little good to the poor heathen, has rejoiced and encouraged my heart. i confess that once or twice my natural timidity has _for a moment_ gained ascendancy over my better feelings,--and at the hour of midnight, when the howlings of wild beasts have been silenced by the report of a musket near us, we would say to each other, perhaps the next attack will be made upon _us_, and the next charge may be aimed at our bosoms. then i have been almost ready to exclaim, oh for one little, _little_ room of such materials, that we could, as far as human means go, sleep in safety. but these fears have been transitory, and we have generally been enabled to place our confidence in the great shepherd of israel who never slumbers or sleeps, assured that he would protect us.... and we have also felt a sweet composure in the reflection that god has marked out our way; and if it best accord with his designs that we fall a prey to these blood-thirsty monsters, _all will be right_." the english, hearing of this robbery, stationed a guard at the mission-house of two sepoys or native soldiers. as one of these was sitting in the verandah, a wild beast from the jungle sprang furiously upon him, but he was frightened away before the man was much injured. such occurrences however were rare, and did not make mrs. boardman desire, all things considered, to change her residence she was in the place of her choice, the country of her adoption, she had a faithful and loving husband, and a lovely and almost idolized babe; their house, though small and insecure, was beautifully situated with everything in the natural landscape around to charm her cultivated eye and taste,--these were her _earthly_ comforts. besides, even the insecurity of their habitation was daily diminishing; for houses were constantly springing up around them, and more and more of the jungle was cleared and cultivated. but what gave its chief zest to her life and that of her spiritually minded husband, was the fact that they found here a field of _usefulness_ in the only work that seemed to them worth living for. from various motives the natives began to visit them constantly, and in increasing numbers, to inquire concerning the new religion. mr. b. held a religious service on the sabbath, and opened a school for boys: mrs. boardman, one for girls, and both conversed as well as they were able with their numerous visitors, and employed all their leisure in mastering the language. on the d of july they commemorated together the saviour's dying love, in the sacrament of the lord's supper,--a solitary pair--yet not so, for the master of the feast was there to bless the "two" who thus "gathered together in his name." the population at maulmain was now increasing, and that at amherst diminishing so rapidly, that mr. judson and mr. and mrs. wade thought best to remove from the latter station to the former, and arrived at maulmain in october. two houses of public worship were erected during the year, where messrs. judson and wade were daily employed in proclaiming religious truth, and such was their success, that within a few months they admitted to the church several native members. as many native converts with their families had removed with the missionaries from amherst to maulmain, mrs. wade and mrs. boardman united their schools into one, which was attended with the most gratifying success. moung shwa-ba and moung ing, who have often been mentioned in the former memoir, read the scriptures and other religious books to all who would hear, at a sort of _reading zayat_, built for the purpose. in march, , our friends were delivered from a danger not unknown in our own country. one evening, they were startled by a roaring like that of flame, and on going to the door, discovered the whole jungle to the eastward of them enveloped in sheets of flame, which was rapidly approaching their frail cottage. seeing no hope that their house could escape, they rapidly collected a few valuables, and with their infant prepared to flee towards the river, though in much terror lest their path should be beset by leopards, tigers, and other animals, driven from their haunts by the fire. but when within a few feet of the houses, the flames were arrested by a sudden change of the wind, and the dwellings were unhurt. "thus again are we preserved," says mr. b. "when no human arm could have saved us!" truly, "the hosts of god encamp around the dwellings of the just." truly "the lord knoweth how to deliver the godly." chapter vi. removal to tavoy.--idolatry of the people.--letter from mrs. b.--baptism of a karen disciple.--some account of the karens. the permanent collection of so many missionaries at a single station was not approved by the board, nor was it deemed desirable by the missionaries themselves. in accordance, therefore, with instructions received from america, it was decided that mr. and mrs. boardman should remove to tavoy. this city is situated on the river tavoy, miles south of maulmain, and had at that time a population of burmans and foreigners. the city was the stronghold of the religion of gaudama, and the residence of two hundred priests. on every eligible point stood an emblem or image of idolatry. tall pagodas crowned every eminence, and humbler ones clustered around them, while thickly set groves of banyan and other sacred trees, sheltered shrines and images of gaudama, and on festival days were crowded with devotees, kneeling in the gloomy pathways, or festooning the sacred trees with the rarest flowers. the tops of some of the thousand pagodas in the city, are hung with innumerable little bells, which, moved by the wind, chime sweetly their calls to devotion, reminding one of a passage in moore's description of an eastern city: "but hark! the vesper call to prayer, --as slow the orb of daylight sets,-- is rising sweetly on the air from syria's thousand minarets." this change in their place of abode could not fail to be a severe trial to our missionaries. to maulmain they were bound by many ties,--the sweet companionship of fellow-christians, and the love which attaches the missionary to those spiritual children which the lord has given him;--moreover it was their first _home_, sanctified by signal deliverances and countless mercies;--nevertheless, like abraham who at the call of jehovah, "went out, not knowing whither he went,"--these "followers of them who through faith inherit the promises," obeyed the voice of duty, and feeling themselves "strangers and pilgrims on the earth," went without murmuring to their new sphere of labor. "one thing is certain," says mr. b. in a subsequent letter "we were brought here by the guidance of providence. it was no favorite scheme of ours." on arriving at tavoy, they were kindly received by mr. burney the english resident, and within ten days from their arrival, had procured a house, and begun to teach inquirers in the way of salvation much as there was to discourage them in this _city of pagoda_, "the missionary looked out on the strange magnificence of shrines and temples that lay around him,--upon the monuments that had perpetuated for many ages this idolatrous worship,--upon the priests who taught it, and the countless devotees who practised it; and as he prepared to strike the first blow at the hoary superstition which they all enshrined, he felt to the full the sublimity and greatness of the undertaking. he stood alone, the herald of truth, before this mighty array of ancient error; but he trusted implicitly in the promises of revelation, and felt assured that the day was at hand when all this empty adoration of gaudama would give place to the worship of the living god!"[ ] a new difficulty occurred here, which however was speedily surmounted by the diligence and zeal of the missionaries; the dialect of tavoy was so different from pure burmese as to be almost unintelligible to those who knew only the latter, but both, fortunately, employed the same written characters. mrs. boardman's employments at this time are enumerated in their letters. after unwearied toil, and repeated repulses and discouragements, she succeeded in establishing a girls' school, in which she employed a woman who could read, as an assistant. she describes a visit to her school thus: "i am just returned from one of the day-schools. the sun had not risen when i arrived, but the little girls were in the house ready for instruction. my walk to this school is through a retired road, shaded on one side by the old wall of the city, which is overgrown with wild creepers and pole-flowers, and on the other by large fruit-trees. while going and returning, i find it sweet and profitable to think on the shortness of time, the vanity of this delusive world,--and oh i have had some precious views of that world where the weary are at rest; and where sin, that enemy of god, and now constant disturber of my peace, will no more afflict me." in another letter of a later date, she describes herself as sitting at her table in a back porch, from which she can see her "dear husband," in a room before her, teaching nine little heathen boys; while in one of the long verandahs on each side of the house, the native christians are holding a prayer-meeting in their own language, and in the other, a chinese convert is urging three or four of his deluded countrymen to turn from their stupid superstitions to the service of jehovah. she mentions also the baptism of a _karen_, (the name of a tribe in burmah,) "a _poor man_, who had been converted while in the service of mr. judson;" little knowing the importance of the fact thus recorded. this "poor man," in fact formerly a slave, and whom the writer of an article in a former number of the _quarterly review_ would have sneered at as he did at the "fisherman," the _wonderful trophy of divine grace_, mentioned in mrs. judson's history of the mission, was the famous ko-thay-byu, whose life has been written by mr. mason, and who, by his zeal and success in missionary labor, obtained the name of "the karen apostle." he was the first to introduce to the notice of the missionaries, the tribe to which he belonged, a people so remarkable, that we are unwilling, even in our brief sketch, to pass them over without notice. the karens, according to a writer in the _north american review_, are a savage and ignorant race of men, (their _name_ in the burman language signifying _wild men_,) scattered in vast numbers over the wilds of farther india, and inhabiting almost inaccessible tracts, among the mountains and forests. their peculiar physiognomy, strange traditions, and some of their customs have led to the opinion that they were of hebrew origin, though some think they are of the caucasian variety of the human species. they differ much from the burmans, by whom they are heavily taxed and grievously oppressed, and in every way treated as inferiors.[ ] "their traditions have been preserved, like the poems of ossian, by fond memories delighting to revive the recollections of former glory and prosperity; repeated by grandsires at even-tide to their listening descendants, and sung by mourners over the graves of their elders. "they believe in a god who is denominated yu-wah," a name certainly similar to the hebrew jehovah. some of their traditional songs are curious and interesting. for instance, "god created us in ancient time, and has a perfect knowledge of all things; when men call his name, _he hears_!" and again "the sons of heaven are holy, they sit by the seat of god, the sons of heaven are righteous, they dwell together with god; they lean against his silver seat." the following stanza, says the writer above referred to, might be mistaken for the production of david or isaiah. "satan in days of old was holy, but he transgressed god's law; satan of old was righteous, but he departed from the law of god, and god drove him away." they say that god formerly loved their nation, but on account of their wickedness he punished it, and made them the degraded creatures they now are. but they say "god will again have mercy upon us, god will save us again." one verse of one of their songs is, "when the karen king arrives everything will be happy; when karens have a king wild beasts will lose their savageness." professor gammell says, in substance, that they present the extraordinary phenomenon of a people without any form of religion or established priesthood, yet believing in god, and in future retribution, and cherishing and transmitting from age to age a set of traditions of unusual purity, and containing bright predictions of future prosperity and glory. when ko-thay-byu, the poor convert already mentioned, was baptized, he naturally carried to his countrymen "the thrilling news, that a teacher from a far distant land had come to preach a new religion, a religion answering to the religion of their fathers." others came to listen, and to carry back to their secluded hamlets the joyful tidings; until "from distant hills and remote valleys and forests, karen inquirers flocked to tavoy, and thronged around _the teacher_;" listening to the new doctrines with childlike simplicity and uncommon sensibility. among other singular stories that they related to the wondering "teacher," one was, that more than ten years before, a book in a strange tongue had been left among them by a foreigner, who commanded them to worship it; which command they had faithfully obeyed. mr. boardman felt the strongest curiosity to see this _deified book_, but owing to the prevalence of the rains, he was not gratified till the following september. he was then waited on by a large deputation of karens, bringing with them in a covered basket, the mysterious volume, wrapped in fold after fold of muslin; on removing which it proved to be an oxford edition of the common prayer book in the english language! with the greatest simplicity they asked mr. b. if this book contained the doctrines of the new religion, and if so, requested to be taught its contents. mr. b. assured them that the book was good, but should by no means be made an object of worship; and accepting it from them, he gave them in its stead, portions of the scriptures, translated into a language they could understand. they entreated him to visit them in their own villages, assuring him of the readiness of their tribe to welcome him, and to receive the gospel; and, struck with their earnestness and candor, he promised at some future time to yield to their request. the sorcerer who had preserved the book, and prescribed to the simple heathen the forms of its worship, threw away his cudgel, or wand of office, and laid aside his fantastic dress; and mr. boardman sent the mysterious volume to america, to be deposited in the museum of the baptist missionary society. who the "foreigner" may have been, that thus supplied an ignorant people with a divinity, or object of worship; or what were his motives in so doing, will probably always remain a mystery. if we have devoted considerable space to this notice of the karens, their subsequent history will prove that they are not unworthy of such notice. footnotes: [footnote : gammell.] [footnote : see gammell.] chapter vii. letter from mrs. b.--mr. b.'s visit to the karens in their villages.--defection of disciples.--its effect on mr. and mrs. b. extract of a letter from mrs. boardman to a "beloved sister," dated tavoy, .--"nothing especial has occurred since i last wrote. we are still in good health, and happy in our work. we are now destitute of all religious society, and feel that our responsibilities are great indeed.... we have to suffer many little inconveniences in this country, but have no disposition to complain. we rejoice in the kind providence that has directed our steps, and would not exchange our condition. our desire is to labor among the poor heathen until called to our eternal home." she then, with characteristic earnestness and affection, inquires after her sister's spiritual state. "oh if you are a child of god, how great is your happiness; you can think of death without fear. the troubles and griefs of life do not distress you as they do the poor worldling, who looks only to the enjoyments of this life for comfort. if a christian, you have sweet foretastes of that joy which is unspeakable and inconceivable by mortals. though a sinner still, you feel that your sins are pardoned, and that through the merits of a crucified saviour you will at last be accepted of god. i would fondly hope, my dear sister, that this is your happy case. but if not, oh who can tell your dreadful danger? who can paint the alarming prospect before you? every moment exposed to death, and yet without hope. subject to disappointments and afflictions in this world, and yet no refuge for your anguished spirit. the weight of sins daily accumulating, and every day less prospect of obtaining pardon. the awful prospect of eternal banishment from all that is holy, oh my sister, reflect.... if you have not yet turned to the saviour, delay no longer.... oh may you, and all my beloved brothers and sisters, be early brought to a knowledge of the truth. i cannot express the anxiety i feel for every one of you. i also feel the solicitude of a tender sister for your temporal good. write me particulars of the health of my dear parents, grand-parents, and each of my brothers and sisters. though separated from you, i always wish to share your joys and sorrows. "your little niece is in charming health. she sends many kisses to you all, and i shall teach her to love you, though she cannot see you." we have inserted this letter, which in its spirit is a specimen of all her letters, not only for its, intrinsic excellence, but to show that even in distant burmah, and surrounded by cares and duties which would have diminished in a less affectionate breast her interest in her distant relatives, "her heart untravelled fondly turned to" them, "and dragged at each remove a lengthening chain." while laboring for the conversion of pagans, she felt more than she had ever felt before, the awful danger of those who under the full blaze of gospel light, choose to walk in darkness; and for her family, her dear brothers and sisters, her burden was almost like that of the apostle who was, as it were, willing to give up his own title to the heavenly inheritance, if by so doing he could save his "kindred according to the flesh."[ ] all her letters which we have been privileged to see, bear evidence of this. in december of the year , mrs. boardman was called to a trial which of all others was most fitted to make her feel that every earthly dependence is at best but a broken reed, and that "the spider's most attenuated thread is cord, is cable, to our strongest hold on earthly bliss; it breaks with every breeze." her almost idolized husband, her guide, her only human support, protector, and companion, was attacked by that insidious and incurable malady which was destined at no distant day to close his career of usefulness on earth, and send him early to his reward. a copious hemorrhage from the lungs warned him that his time for earthly labor was short, and seemed to increase his desire to work while his day lasted. as soon as his strength was sufficiently restored after his first attack, namely, in february , he resolved to fulfil his long-cherished intention to visit the karens in their native villages. he took with him two karens, two of his scholars, and a servant. females, who in this country of order and security, tremble at the idea of being left for one night alone in their strong and guarded dwellings, may perhaps conceive the feelings of mrs. boardman on being thus left by her protector.--her own health scarce re-established after a four months' illness,--her mind agitated by fears for her stricken husband, who under burning suns, and amid unknown wilds, exposed to the fury of the sudden thunder-gust, and the wild beast of the jungles, must be absent from her, perhaps, two or three dreary weeks in which time not one "cordial, endearing report" from him, would reach her;--in her frail hut, and with two little ones dearer to her than life, exposed to the same dangers as herself,--what could support her in such circumstances but her faith in that arm whose strength is shown to be "perfect, in weakness?" a poor karen woman, seeing her distress, tried to console her: "weep not, mama," she said; "the teacher has gone on an errand of compassion to my poor perishing countrymen. they have never heard of the true god, and the love of his son jesus christ, who died upon he cross to save sinners. they know nothing of the true religion, mama; and when they die they cannot go to the golden country of the blessed. god will take care of the teacher; do not weep, mama." blessed faith in an omnipresent heavenly father! it gives even the unlettered karen disciple, an eloquence in consolation, to which worldly philosophy is a stranger. mr. boardman's journey, though perilous from the causes above mentioned, and tedious from being performed on foot, was highly interesting on account of the eager welcome, and abundant hospitality of the simple-minded karen villagers whom he visited. on entering a village, he and his little caravan were overwhelmed with presents of provisions and fruits; and the inhabitants would exclaim, while their countenances beamed with delight, "ah, you have come _at last_; we have long wanted to see you!" he travelled more than one hundred miles, often through unfrequented and toilsome paths among the mountains, and was three times drenched with powerful rains, from which he had no sufficient shelter; but by the aid of an interpreter he preached seventeen sermons, and was cheered by finding the readiness of the people to receive his doctrines far exceed his most sanguine expectations. on his return, both he and mrs. boardman had to experience an affliction extremely trying to the heart of a missionary; the defection of some of the christian converts. their sensitive spirits led mr. and mrs. b. to fear that their own unfaithfulness might have been the cause of the fall of their disciples. mrs. boardman's self-upbraidings were bitter; her humiliation deep and sincere. "our hearts," she says, "have bled with anguish, and mine has sunk lower than the grave, for i have felt that my unworthiness has been the cause of all our calamities." so keen were her self-rebukes at this time, that they break out even in her letters to her friends. in one of them she writes: "some of these poor burmans, who are daily carried to the grave, may at last reproach me and say, you came, it is true, to the city where we dwelt, to tell of heaven and hell, but wasted much, much of your precious time in indolence while learning our language. and when you were able to speak, why were you not incessantly telling us of this day of doom, when we visited you? why, oh why did you ever speak of any other thing, while we were ignorant of this most momentous of all truths? how could you think on anything but our salvation?... you told us you knew of a being that heard your lowest whispers, and most secret sighs--why then, did you not, day and night, entreat him in our behalf?" mr. boardman in his journal says, "my dear wife became at this time so deeply impressed with divine things, and particularly with a sense of her own sinfulness, that she had no rest night or day. we both endeavored to return to the lord from whom we had strayed; but our path, especially that of mrs. b. led hard by the borders of despair.... we confessed our sins to the lord and to one another. we considered ourselves worthy to be trodden under foot of men, and were astonished to think of our pride and selfishness.... we were filled with the most distressing views of our utter sinfulness in the sight of a holy god." thus was this affliction, though "grievous," beginning to work out in her heart its "peaceable fruit of righteousness," by deepening her humility, quickening her zeal, and leading her to a more thorough consecration of herself to the work she had undertaken. footnotes: [footnote : romans ix. .] chapter viii. death of their first-born.--letters from mrs. b. in the spring of mr. boardman and his family made a short sea-voyage for the benefit of their health, mrs. boardman having experienced another attack of illness, and their little george being frail and puny. indeed none of the family seemed to have been healthy but the "plump, rosy-cheeked" first-born, the darling sarah, her mother's joy and pride, and--as her heavenly father saw--her _idol_ too! terrible was the stroke that shattered that lovely idol; but it came--so faith assured her--from a father's hand. sometime afterward she writes, "my ever dear sister, i think i have not written you since the death of our beloved sarah, which is nearly eight months ago. i have never delayed writing to you so long before. for some time after her death, little george was apparently near the grave, and i was confined to my bed for a number of weeks. as soon as my health was a little improved, the rebellion at tavoy took place, which threw us all into confusion, and this lasted until i was taken ill again about three months since. from this illness i am but just recovering. so you see, my beloved sister, my outward circumstances have been sufficient to prevent my writing. nor is this all--for some time after little sarah's departure, i was too much distressed to write; i felt assured that god had taken her away from us in love, and was also assured, that she is a happy angel in heaven; but oh the thought that we should see her no more on earth, filled me with _indescribable sorrow_. by degrees my mind became calmer; not that i forgot her, but i feel, my dear harriet, that the dearest and sweetest pleasures of this life are empty and altogether unsatisfying. i do not look for comfort from these sources as i formerly did. we have a fine, healthy boy, but i do not allow myself to idolize him as i did his dear departed sister. in her dissolution, we saw such a wreck of what was most lovely and beautiful, that it seems as if we should be kept in future from 'worshipping the creature.'" particulars respecting the child's illness and death are given in another letter of nearly the same date. "our little sarah left us july th of last year--aged years and months.... she was a singularly lovely child. her bright blue eyes, yellow hair, and rosy cheeks, formed a striking contrast to the dark little faces around her.... from the time she began to notice anything, we were the objects of her fondest love. if she thought she had incurred our displeasure, her tender heart seemed ready to burst; and she could not rest for a moment until she had said she was 'sorry,' and obtained the kiss of forgiveness. she had learned to obey us implicitly.... if either of us were ill, she would stroke our foreheads with her little soft hand, and kiss us _so_ affectionately! her love to her little brother george was unlimited. from the day of his birth till the day but one before she died, he was her idol.... three days before she died, she was lying uneasily in a large swing cradle, and george was in the same room crying. we thought it might soothe the little sufferer, for he also was very ill, to lay him down beside sarah. the proposal delighted her; with smiles she threw open her little arms and for the last time held her darling brother in her fond embrace. so great was her gratification at this privilege, that she seemed to forget her own pains. "little sarah spoke english remarkably well for so young a child, and burmese like a native; she could also say some things in the hindostanee and karen, and what seems a little singular, she never confounded two languages, but always spoke pure english to us, and pure burmese to burmans. this discrimination continued as long as she had the powers of speech. she had learned the lord's prayer and several little hymns. dr. judson's lines on the death of mee shawayee she knew by heart in burmese, and used to chant them for half an hour at a time.... these things may seem very trivial to you, but i muse upon them by the hour together; and it is only when i call my cooler judgment into action, that i can make myself believe they are uninteresting to any person on earth. i love to think of my sweet bud of immortality expanding so beautifully in my own presence; and fancy i can judge in some small degree of the brilliancy of the perfect flower, from these little developments. "a few hours before she died, she called us to her, kissed us, and passed her dear hand, still full and dimpled as in health, softly over our faces. the pupils of her eyes were so dilated that she could not see us distinctly, and once, for a moment or two, her mind seemed to be wandering; then looking anxiously into my face, she said: 'i frightened, mamma! i frightened!' ... oh with what feelings did i wash and dress her lovely form for the last time, and compose her perfect little limbs; and then see her--the dear child that had so long lain in my bosom--borne away to her newly-made grave. my heart grew faint when i thought that i had performed for her my last office of love; that she would never need a mother's hand again. my dear husband performed the funeral service with an aching, though not desponding heart. the grave is in our own enclosure, about fifteen rods from the house--a beautiful retired spot, in a grove of gangau-trees. near it is a little bethel, erected for private devotion. thither we have often repaired; and we trust that god, who in his infinite wisdom had taken our treasure to himself, often meets us there." the biographer of mrs. boardman--since her successor in the mission--mentions that a single speculative error had crept into her religious faith, on the subject of god's particular providence--that while contemplating the vastness of that agency "that ever busy wheels the silent spheres," she had almost thought it derogatory to the "majesty of heaven and earth" to conceive of him as occupied with our mean affairs, numbering the hairs of our heads, and guiding the sparrow's fall. but the blow which crushed her heart, destroyed its skepticism. she saw so clearly in this dispensation, the hand of a father chastening his erring child; she felt so keenly that she deserved the rod, for having in a measure worshipped the gift more than the giver, that she _believed_, with all the strength of an irresistible conviction, that even so lowly a thing as her own heart was indeed a theatre for the constant display of her maker's guiding and controlling power, not less than the starry heavens; that her own sanctification, and the providential means to effect it, even in their minutest details, were ordered by sovereign grace and wisdom; and from this time forth she never doubted again. but it is time to detail the spirit-stirring scenes that occurred a few months after the death of the child; to which scenes allusion was made in the first of her two letters. chapter ix. revolt of tavoy.--letters from mrs. b. the revolt of tavoy from the british government, and its consequences to the missionaries and other foreigners in the city, are so well described in a letter from mr. boardman to a friend in america, that we will give it nearly entire. "rev. and dear sir, "the province of tavoy has engaged in an open revolt against the british government. on lord's day morning, the th inst. at o'clock, we were aroused from our quiet slumbers by the cry of 'teacher, master, tavoy rebels,' and ringing at all our doors and windows. we were soon awake to our extreme danger, as we heard not only a continual report of musketry within the town, but the balls were frequently passing over our heads and _through our house_; and in a few moments, a large company of tavoyans collected near our gate, and gave us reason to suspect they were consulting what to do with us. we lifted our hearts to god for protection, and mrs. boardman and little george were hurried away through a back door to a retired building in the rear. i lay down in the house, (to escape the bullets,) with a single burman boy, to watch and communicate the first intelligence after an hour of the greatest anxiety and uncertainty i had the happiness of seeing the sepoys (troops in the british service) in possession of the city gates in front of our house. we soon ascertained that a party of about men had in the first instance attacked the powder magazine and gun-shed, which were very near our house, but a guard of sepoys had repelled them. this was a great mercy, for had the insurgents obtained the arms and ammunition, our situation would have been most deplorable. a second party of had attacked the house of the principal native officer of the town, while a third party had fallen upon the guard of the prison, and let loose all the prisoners, one hundred in number, who, as soon as their irons were knocked off, became the most desperate of all the insurgents." ... the commissioner of the province was absent at maulmain, but his lady, mrs. burney, urged their immediate removal to the government house. they hesitated at first, thinking the rebellion might soon be quelled; but hearing from a rebel prisoner that the whole province was engaged in the insurrection, and that large reinforcements might be hourly expected to join the rebels, and finding that the mission premises from their situation, were likely to be the very battleground of the contending parties,--after seeking divine direction, they concluded to abandon them. he continues his narrative, "we caught up a few light articles on which we could lay our hands, and with the native christians, fled as if for our lives. i visited the house once or twice after this, and saved a few clothes and papers, but the firing being near, rendered it hazardous to remain, and the last time i went, i found the house had been plundered. a large part of our books, furniture and clothes, which had remained behind were either taken away or destroyed. "we had been at the government house but a short time, when it was agreed to evacuate the town and retire to the wharf. in the hurry of our second removal, many things which we had brought from our house, were necessarily left, to fall into the hands of the plunderers. we soon found ourselves at the wharf,--a large wooden building of six rooms, into which, besides the europeans, were huddled all the sepoys with their baggage and ours, and several hundreds of women and children belonging to portuguese and others, who looked to the english for protection. our greatest danger at this time arose from having in one of the rooms where many were to sleep, and all of us were continually passing, several hundred barrels of gunpowder, to which if fire should be communicated accidentally by ourselves, or mischievously by others, we should all perish at once. the next danger was from the rebels, who if they could either rush upon us, or take us by surprise or stratagem, would doubtless massacre us all on the spot. we lifted up our hearts to god, and he heard us from his holy habitation. we were preserved in safety through the night, though anxious and sleepless. all our attempts to communicate intelligence of our situation to the people in maulmain and mergui were defeated, and the heavy rains soon affected the health of the sepoys. we had but a small supply of rice in the granary near the wharf, and that was continually in danger of being destroyed or burnt. but through the kind care of our heavenly father, we were preserved alive, and nothing of great importance occurred until the morning of thursday, a little before day-break, when a party of advanced upon us from the town, and set fire to several houses and vessels near the wharf. but god interposed in our behalf, and sent a heavy shower of rain, which extinguished the fire while the sepoys repelled the assailants. "at breakfast the same morning we had the happiness of seeing the diana steam-vessel coming up the river, with major burney on board. our hearts bounded with gratitude to god. it was soon agreed that the diana should return immediately to maulmain for a reinforcement of troops, and major burney had the kindness to offer a passage for mrs. boardman and our family together with his own. after looking to god for direction, i concluded to remain behind, partly in compliance with major burney's advice and desire, but particularly in the hope of being useful as an interpreter and negotiator, and a preventer of bloodshed. with painful pleasure i took a hasty leave of my dear family, and in the evening the diana left us, not however without having several shots from cannon or jinjals fired at her from the people on the city wall. the english forces, small and weak and sick as they were, were now throwing up breast-works; and on saturday the th inst. it was agreed to make an attack on the town, in order if possible to take from the walls the large guns that bore upon us, and to try the strength of the rebel party. i stood at the post of observation with a spy-glass to watch and give the earliest notice of the event, and soon had the pleasure of announcing that the officers and sepoys had scaled the walls, and were pitching down outside the large guns, that were mounted there, while friendly chinese were employed in carrying them to the wharf. the success was complete, and nothing remained but to rescue the prisoners ( in number) whom the rebels had caught and confined. after a short cessation and a little refreshment, a second attack was made, during which the prisoners escaped and the rebels evacuated the city. a second battery of guns was also taken and brought to the wharf. in the morning we walked at large through the town; but what desolation, what barbarous destruction was everywhere exhibited! everything that could not be carried away had been cut and destroyed in the most wanton manner. our own house was cut to pieces, our books cut scattered, torn and destroyed; our furniture either carried off, or cut, or broken in pieces, and the house itself and zayat converted into cook-houses and barracks. during the last three days, we have been picking up the scattered fragments of our furniture, books, &c. and repairing our house. "nga-dah, the ringleader of the rebellion, and eleven of his principal adherents, have been caught. the inhabitants are coming in with white flags and occupying their houses. the bazaar is open, and the work of repairs is going on. "yesterday morning the diana arrived with a reinforcement of european soldiers; and to-day i have come on board, expecting to proceed to maulmain immediately. my present plan is, if my brethren approve, to return with my family, and resume our missionary labors as before. the native members of our church, now scattered, will probably come into town as soon as they hear of our return. of the boarding scholars, all are with us except three karens. "my letter is already protracted to so great a length, that i can only add that our preservation and deliverance from such imminent danger, should awaken in our hearts the warmest gratitude to our heavenly father, and the most unwavering confidence in his kind care; and that the foregoing account should revive and deepen the impression made by previous events in the history of this mission, that we stand in need of the continual and fervent prayers of christians in america, not only for our preservation, but for divine guidance in all our affairs. "i remain, yours, "g.d. boardman "p.s. _saturday morning, august d._--i have just arrived at maulmain, and have the happiness to find my family and missionary friends in comfortable health. praised be the lord for his goodness. "_aug. th._--after much deliberation, it is thought best that i should leave my family here, till affairs are more settled.... i expect to embark for tavoy to-morrow morning. may the spirit of all grace go with me!" this is a "plain unvarnished" account of the terrible scene through which the missionaries were so wonderfully preserved, but to understand more fully their imminent peril we should know, that the town, at the time of the revolt, was almost defenceless. the english civil and military chief absent; the officer in command on his death-bed; no english troops in the town, and but about a hundred sepoys, who though trained to british modes of warfare are by no means equal in skill or valor to british troops; and the chief engineer disabled by sickness;--the tavoyans had well chosen the time of their attack, and they were sufficiently numerous to have carried all their plans into execution; but the result, like that of all conflicts between civilized and barbarous men, shows how greatly superior a few troops, well disciplined, are to the most numerous bodies of men, unacquainted with the art of war. but what could be more appalling to the stoutest heart, than the situation of mrs. boardman and her helpless family! forced to flee from her frail hut, by bullets actually whizzing through it, and to pass through the town amid the yells of an infuriated rabble, her path sometimes impeded by the dead bodies of men who had fallen in the conflict: driven from the shelter of the government house, again to fly through the streets to the wharf-house; and there, with three or four hundred fugitives crowded together, to await death which threatened them in every form,--hearing over their heads the rush of cannon balls, and seeing from burning buildings showers of sparks falling, one of which, if it reached the magazines under their roof, was sufficient to tear the building from its foundations and whelm them all in one common ruin,--or if they escaped this danger, to know that hundreds of merciless barbarians with knives and cutlasses might at any moment rush into the building and destroy them;--can the _female_ heart, we are ready to ask, _endure_ such fearful trial? "perchance her reason stoops, or reels; perchance a courage not her own braces her mind to desperate tone," yes, her mind was stayed by a "courage not her own," but it was "braced" to no "desperate tone;" rather its calmness was that of a child, who, in its own utter helplessness, clings to its father's arm, and feels secure. neither must we forget that a painful diversion of her thoughts from the terrors around her, was afforded by the necessities of her suffering babe, to whom the foul air of the wharf-house, and the want of all comforts, had nearly proved fatal. it was only her sleepless, vigilant care, that, under providence, prevented the poor child from sharing the fate of mrs. burney's little infant, which did not survive the dreadful scene. and with what transports of joy did this suffering company hail the sight of the thin blue smoke that heralded the arrival of a steamer from maulmain! amid what distracting fears for her husband, left in the revolted city, her infant and herself, did mrs. boardman decide to go on board the steamer returning to maulmain! and with what gratitude and joy did she, after several days of painful suspense, welcome to the same city, her husband, and hear the tidings of the triumph of british power, and the restoration of tranquillity! in her happiness at meeting him alive, she noticed not that his late exposure and sufferings had increased to an alarming degree the symptoms of his dreadful malady. inspired with something of his own enthusiasm, she saw him depart, to return to his beloved labors in tavoy, whither she hoped and expected soon to follow him. chapter x. missionary labors of mr. boardman--his ill health.--letter from mrs. b.--death of a second child.--letters from mrs. b. from mr. boardman's journal we learn that he remained through the summer and part of the autumn at tavoy, diligently prosecuting his labors among the burmese, chinese, karens, and europeans, among all which classes he had singular success. in the meantime mrs. boardman continued at maulmain, part of the time suffering from illness, and when able, assisting the missionaries there, until october, when she returned again to tavoy. the animated and even glowing recital, given by mr. boardman in his journals and letters of this year, of the spread of gospel truth among the natives; his records of preaching, travelling, teaching and baptisms, would lead one to suppose that he was in the enjoyment of the most vigorous health, and that his frame was insensible to fatigue. but careless as he was of his own bodily ease, there was an eye that watched him with the intensest solicitude; a heart that was pierced with anxiety, knowing that though "the inner man was renewed day by day," the outer man was too surely "perishing," and would soon be laid aside, forever. on the th of july, , mrs. boardman writes to her sister from maulmain, whither they had gone for the benefit of her children's health: "we must look beyond this frail fleeting world for our true peace. alas, i know by most bitter experience, that it is in vain to seek for true happiness here below. my fondest earthly hopes have again and again been dashed. torn from the bosom of my dear father's family, my heart was almost broken; and when i stood by the death-bed of my sweet, my lovely sarah, i felt indeed that earthly hopes and joys are but a dream. but a _darker cloud_ hangs over me. oh what desolation and anguish of spirit do i feel, when i think it is possible that in a few more months, my earthly guide, supporter, and delight, may be no more!... he has a cough which has been hanging about him a year, and he is very much reduced by it.... oh my sister, let us see to it that our affections are set on things above." such "desolation and anguish of spirit" as she here describes, had her husband felt for _her_ in the preceding year, when for some months before and after the birth of her second son she lay struggling with a dangerous disease, which he thought would surely terminate her life. at that time he wrote: "she still grows weaker, and her case is now more alarming. should our friends for whom i have sent to maulmain come even immediately, i can scarcely hope for their arrival before the crisis, or probably, fatal termination of my dear partner's disorder. my comfort in my present affliction is the thought, that if to our former trials, the lord sees fit to add that of removing my beloved companion, he does it with a perfect knowledge of all the blessedness which death will confer on _her_, and of all the sorrows and distresses which her loss will occasion her bereaved husband and orphan children, in our present peculiar condition. it affords me great relief to have been assured by her that the bitterness of death is past, and that heavenly glories have been unfolded in a wonderful and unexpected manner to her view." and again he says, seemingly losing for a moment his strong confidence, "what will become of my children, what will become of the schools--of the poor native women--what will become of _me_, if she die?" but she recovered, and "his thankfulness knew no bounds, his letters are eloquent in their utterance of joy and praise." in a letter of dec. , , mrs. boardman records another affliction. "god has come very near to us and wounded our hearts afresh. our youngest child, aged months, went from us to meet his sainted sister, in september last. we mourn, but not without hope; for we shall soon be in that blissful world--be pure and lovely like our departed ones in glory." and mr. boardman says: "our hearts have been pierced anew by the loss of our dear babe.... he was months old, and though generally feeble, one of the most lovely and interesting of babes. the lord has dealt with us severely, but not unkindly. he gave and he hath taken away." both these devoted missionaries knew, however, that the best defence against such trials as they endured, is found in a steady performance of duty. in trouble as well as in joy, they devoted themselves to their great object--saving souls.--how different from those who make a sort of merit of "indulging the luxury of grief;" and show their regard for the memory of the dead by neglecting their duties to the living! christianity, while it inculcates and fosters the tenderest sensibility to the chastisements of our heavenly parent, never allows us in any calamity, to fold our hands in inactive despair. our pathway is filled with duties; and, "heart within, and god o'er head," we must, like our master, "go about doing good," though we may feel "cast down, pressed out of measure," by affliction. speaking of a severe illness about this time, mr. boardman says: "death seemed near, ... but had no alarms, no terrors.... my beloved family and the perishing heathen, were all that made me in the least degree unwilling to die. and even them i could resign to the hands of a gracious and covenant-keeping god." in one of the last letters he ever wrote, he thus records his testimony to the devotedness of his beloved wife. "during my present protracted illness, and when i was at the worst stage, she was the tenderest, most assiduous, attentive and affectionate of nurses. without her, i think i should have finished my career in a few days. and even when our lamented, darling babe lay struggling in the very arms of death, though she was with him constantly, night and day, she did not allow me to suffer one moment, for lack of her attentions. i cannot write what i feel on this tender subject. but oh what kindness in our heavenly father, that when her services were so much needed, her health was preserved, and she had strength given her to perform her arduous labors." mr. boardman's life was now fast ebbing away. in september, , he had written a sort of farewell to his parents, brothers and sisters, from which it appears that even then he was daily looking for the summons--"come up hither." he says of this letter that it is his last farewell. he thanks god that he has his complaint--consumption--in its mildest form. he enumerates many circumstances of mercy with which he is favored; and adds: "but most of all for outward comfort, i have my beloved wife, whose most untiring assiduity has mitigated many of my pains, and who is ever prompt to render all the services that the purest affection can dictate, or the greatest sufferings require. and it deserves to be mentioned that she has never been so free from missionary and family cares, or from attacks of illness, as during the last three months, while i have most needed her kind and soothing attentions. bless the lord oh my soul, and praise his name!" "in thinking," he adds, "on the probability of dying soon, two or three things occasion considerable unwillingness to meet the solemn event. one is, the sore affliction i know it will occasion to my dear family, especially my fond, too fond wife. her heart will be well-nigh riven. but i must leave her with him who is anointed to heal the broken-hearted and to bind up their wounds. my dear little son is too young to remember me long, or to realize his loss. i have prayed for him many times, and can leave him in my heavenly father's hands.... then there are the perishing heathens around me.... during the last ten years, i have studied with more or less reference to being useful to the heathen. and now, if just as i am beginning to be qualified to labor a little among them my days are cut short, much of my study and preparation seems to be in vain. but i chide myself for saying so or thinking so. if i had done no good whatever here in burmah, i ought to submit and be still under the hand of god, ... but i trust he has made me of some service to a few poor benighted souls, especially among the karens, who shall be my glory and joy in the day of the lord jesus." "as to my hope and my confidence of acceptance with god, if any man has reason to renounce all his own righteousness, ... and to trust entirely and solely to grace, sovereign grace, flowing through an atoning saviour, i am that man. a perfectly right action, with perfectly right motives, i never performed, and never shall perform, till freed from this body of sin. an unprofitable servant, is the most appropriate epitaph for my tombstone." thus appeared a life of self-denying sacrifices for christ, when shone upon by the pure light of eternity. happy then that the dying man could say, "not by works of righteousness which we have done but by his mercy he saves us!" chapter xi. letter from mrs. boardman.--illness and death of george dana boardman. "tavoy, march , . "my beloved parents, "with a heart glowing with joy, and at the same time rent with anguish unutterable, i take my pen to address you. you, too, will rejoice when you hear what god has wrought through the instrumentality of your beloved son. yes, you will bless god that you were enabled to devote him to this blessed service among the heathen, when i tell you that within the last two months, fifty-seven have been baptized, all karens, excepting one, a little boy of the school and son of the native governor. twenty-three were baptized in this city by moung ing, and thirty-four in their native wilderness by mr. mason. "mr. mason arrived jan. d, and on the st, he, with mr. boardman, myself and george, set out on a long-promised tour among the karens. mr. boardman was very feeble, but we hoped the change of air and scenery would be beneficial. a company of karens had come to convey us out, mr. boardman on his bed and me in a chair. we reached the place on the third day, and found they had erected a bamboo chapel on a beautiful stream at the base of a range of mountains. the place was central, and nearly one hundred persons had assembled, more than half of them applicants for baptism. oh it was a sight calculated to call forth the liveliest joy of which human nature is susceptible, and made me, for a moment, forget my bitter griefs--a sight far surpassing all i had ever anticipated, even in my most sanguine hours. the karens cooked, ate and slept on the around, by the river-side, with no other shelter than the trees of the forest. three years ago they were sunk in the lowest depths of ignorance and superstition. now the glad tidings of mercy had reached them, and they were willing to live in the open air, away from their homes, for the sake of enjoying the privileges of the gospel. "my dear husband had borne the journey better than we had feared, though he suffered from exhaustion and pain in his side, which, however, was much relieved by a little attention. his spirits were unusually good, and we fondly hoped that a few days' residence in that delightful, airy spot, surrounded by his loved karens, would recruit and invigorate his weakened frame. but i soon perceived he was failing, and tenderly urged his return to town, where he could enjoy the quiet of home, and the benefit of medical advice. but he repelled the thought at once, saying he confidently expected improvement from the change, and that the disappointment would be worse for him than staying. 'and even,' added he, 'should my poor, unprofitable life be somewhat shortened by staying, ought i, on that account merely, to leave this interesting field? should i not rather stay and assist in gathering in these dear scattered lambs of the fold? you know, sarah, that coming on a foreign mission involves the probability of a shorter life, than staying in one's native country. and yet obedience to our lord, and compassion for the perishing heathen, induced us to make this sacrifice. and have we ever repented that we came? no; i trust we can both say that we bless god for bringing us to burmah, for directing our footsteps to tavoy, and even for leading us hither. you already know, my love,' he continued, with a look of tenderness never to be forgotten, 'that i cannot live long, i must sink under this disease; and should we go home now, the all-important business which brought us out, must be given up, and i might linger out a few days of suffering, stung with the reflection, that i had preferred a few idle days, to my master's service. do not, therefore, ask me to go, till these poor karens have been baptized.' i saw he was right, but my feelings revolted. nothing seemed so valuable as his life, and i felt that i could make any sacrifice to prolong it, though it were but for one hour. still a desire to gratify him, if no higher motive made me silent, though my heart ached to see him so ill in such a wretched place, deprived of many of the comforts of life, to say nothing of the indulgences desirable in sickness. "the chapel was large, but open on all sides, excepting a small place built up for mr. mason, and a room about five feet wide and ten feet long, for the accommodation of mr. boardman and myself with our little boy. the roof was so low, that i could not stand upright; and it was but poorly enclosed, so that he was exposed to the burning rays of the sun by day, and to the cold winds and damp fog by night. but his mind was happy, and he would often say, 'if i live to see this one ingathering, i may well exclaim, with happy simeon, lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation. how many ministers have wished they might die in their pulpits; and would not dying in a spot like this, be even more blessed than dying in a pulpit at home? i feel that it would.' "nor was it merely the pleasing state of things around him that filled his mind with comfort. he would sometimes dwell on the infinite compassion of god, and his own unworthiness, till his strength was quite exhausted; and though he told mr. mason that he had not the rapture which he had sometimes enjoyed, yet his mind was calm and peaceful; and it was plainly perceptible, that earthly passions had died way, and that he was enjoying sweet foretastes of that rest into which he was so soon to enter. he would often say to me, 'my meditations are very sweet, though my mind seems as much weakened as my body. i have not had that liveliness of feeling, which i have sometimes enjoyed, owing to my great weakness, but i shall soon be released from shackles, and be where i can praise god continually, without weariness. my thoughts delight to dwell on these words, _there is no night there_.' "i felt that the time of separation was fast approaching, and said to him, 'my dear, i have one request to make; it is, that you would pray much for george, during your few remaining days. i shall soon be left alone, almost the only one on earth to pray for him, and i have great confidence in your dying prayers.' he looked earnestly at the little boy, and said, 'i will try to pray for him; but i trust very many prayers will ascend for the dear child from our friends at home, who will be induced to supplicate the more earnestly for him, when they hear that he is left fatherless in a heathen land.' "on wednesday, while looking in the glass, he seemed at once to see symptoms of his approaching dissolution, and said, without emotion, 'i have altered greatly--i am sinking into the grave very fast--just on the verge.' mr. mason said to him, 'is there nothing we can do for you? had we not better call the physician? or shall we try to remove you into town immediately?' after a few moments' deliberation, it was concluded to defer the baptism of the male applicants, and set out for home early the next morning. nearly all the female candidates had been examined, and as it is difficult for them to come to town, it was thought best that mr. mason should baptize them in the evening. we knelt, and mr. mason having prayed for a blessing on the decision, we sat down to breakfast with sorrowful hearts. "while we were at the table, my beloved husband said, 'i shall soon be thrown away for this world; but i hope the lord jesus will take me up. that merciful being, who is represented as passing by, and having compassion on the poor cast-out infant, will not suffer me to perish. o, i have no hope but in the wonderful, condescending, infinite mercy of god, through his dear son. i cast my poor perishing soul, loaded with sin, as it is, upon his compassionate arms, assured that all will he forever safe.' on seeing my tears, he said, 'are you not reconciled to the will of god, my love?' when i told him i hoped i did not feel unreconciled, he continued, 'i have long ago, and many times, committed you and our little one into the hands of our covenant god. he is the husband of the widow and the father of the fatherless. _leave thy fatherless children, i will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me_, saith the lord. he will be your stay and support, when i am gone. the separation will be but short. o, how happy i shall be to welcome you to heaven.' he then addressed mr. mason, as follows:--'brother, i am heartily rejoiced, and bless god that you have arrived, and especially am i gratified, that you are so much interested for the poor karens. you will, i am assured, watch over them, and take care of them; and if some of them turn back, you will still care for them. as to my dear wife and child, i know you will do all in your power to make them comfortable. mrs. b. will probably spend the ensuing rains in tavoy. she will be happy with you and mrs. mason; that is, as happy as she can be in her state of loneliness. she will mourn for me, and a widow's state is desolate and sorrowful at best. but god will he infinitely better to her, than i have ever been.' on the same day, he wished me to read some hymns on affliction, sickness, death, &c. i took wesley's hymn book, the only one we had with us, and read several, among others, the one beginning 'ah, lovely appearance of death.' "on wednesday evening, thirty-four persons were baptized. mr. boardman was carried to the waterside, though so weak that he could hardly breathe without the continual use of the fan and the smelling-bottle. the joyful sight was almost too much for his feeble frame. when we reached the chapel, he said he would like to sit up and take tea with us. we placed his cot near the table, and having bolstered him up, we took tea together. he asked the blessing, and did it with his right hand upraised, and in a tone that struck me to the heart. it was the same tremulous, yet urgent, and i had almost said, unearthly voice, with which my aged grandfather used to pray. we now began to notice that brightening of the mental faculties, which i had heard spoken of, in persons near their end. "after tea was removed, all the disciples present, about fifty in number, gathered around him, and he addressed them for a few moments in language like the following:--'i did hope to stay with you till after lord's-day, and administer to you once more the lord's supper. but god is calling me away from you. i am about to die, and shall soon be inconceivably happy in heaven. when i am gone, remember what i have taught you; and o, be careful to persevere unto the end, that when you die, we may meet one another in the presence of god, never more to part. listen to the word of the new teacher and the teacheress as you have done to mine. the teacheress will be very much distressed. strive to lighten her burdens, and comfort her by your good conduct. do not neglect prayer. the eternal god, to whom you pray, is unchangeable. earthly teachers sicken and die, but god remains forever the same. love jesus christ with all your hearts, and you will be forever safe.' this address i gathered from the karens, as i was absent preparing his things for the night. having rested a few minutes, he offered a short prayer, and then with mr. mason's assistance, distributed tracts and portions of scripture to them all. early the next morning we left for home, accompanied by nearly all the males and some of the females, the remainder returning to their homes in the wilderness. mr. boardman was free from pain during the day, and there was no unfavorable change, except that his mouth grew sore. but at four o'clock in the afternoon, we were overtaken by a violent shower of rain accompanied by lightning and thunder. there was no house in sight, and we were obliged to remain in the open air, exposed to the merciless storm. we covered him with mats and blankets, and held our umbrellas over him, all to no purpose. i was obliged to stand and see the storm beating upon him, till his mattress and pillows were drenched with rain. we hastened on, and soon came to a tavoy house. the inhabitants at first refused us admittance, and we ran for shelter into the out-houses. the shed i happened to enter, proved to be the 'house of their gods,' and thus i committed an almost unpardonable offence. after some persuasion they admitted us into the house, or rather verandah, for they would not allow us to sleep inside, though i begged the privilege for my sick husband with tears. in ordinary cases, perhaps, they would have been hospitable; but they knew that mr. boardman was a teacher of a foreign religion, and that the karens in our company had embraced that religion. "at evening worship, mr. boardman requested mr. mason to read the thirty-fourth psalm. he seemed almost spent, and said, 'this poor perishing dust will soon be laid in the grave; but god can employ other lumps of clay to perform his will, as easily as he has this poor unworthy one.' i told him, i should like to sit up and watch by him, but he objected, and said in a tender supplicating tone, 'cannot we sleep together?' the rain still continued, and his cot was wet, so that he was obliged to lie on the bamboo floor. having found a place where our little boy could sleep without danger of falling through openings in the floor, i threw myself down, without undressing, beside my beloved husband. i spoke to him often during the night, and he said he felt well, excepting an uncomfortable feeling in his mouth and throat. this was somewhat relieved by frequent washings with cold water. miserably wretched as his situation was, he did not complain; on the contrary, his heart seemed overflowing with gratitude. 'o,' said he, 'how kind and good our father in heaven is to me; how many are racked with pain, while i, though near the grave, am almost free from distress of body. i suffer nothing, _nothing_ to what you, my dear sarah, had to endure last year, when i thought i must lose you. and then i have you to move me so tenderly. i should have sunk into the grave ere this, but for your assiduous attention. and brother mason is as kind to me as if he were my own brother. and then how many, in addition to pain of body, have anguish of soul, while my mind is sweetly stayed on god.' on my saying, 'i hope we shall be at home to-morrow night, where you can lie on your comfortable bed, and i can nurse you as i wish,' he said, 'i want nothing that the world can afford, but my wife and friends; earthly conveniences and comforts are of little consequence to one so near heaven. i only want them for your sake.' in the morning we thought him a little better, though i perceived, when i gave him his sago, that his breath was very short. he, however, took rather more nourishment than usual, and spoke about the manner of his conveyance home. we ascertained that by waiting until twelve o'clock, we could go the greater part of the way by water. "at about nine o'clock, his hands and feet grew cold, and the affectionate karens rubbed them all the forenoon, excepting a few moments when he requested to be left alone. at ten o'clock, he was much distressed for breath, and i thought the long dreaded moment had arrived. i asked him, if he felt as if he was going home--'not just yet,' he replied. on giving him a little wine and water, he revived. shortly after, he said, 'you were alarmed without cause just now, dear--i know the reason of the distress i felt, but am too weak to explain it to you.' in a few moments he said to me, 'since you spoke to me about george, i have prayed for him almost incessantly--more than in all my life before.' "it drew near twelve, the time for us to go to the boat. we were distressed at the thought of removing him, when evidently so near the last struggle, though we did not think it so near as it really was. but there was no alternative. the chilling frown of the iron-faced tavoyan was to us as if he was continually saying, 'be gone.' i wanted a little broth for my expiring husband, but on asking them for a fowl they said they had none, though at that instant, on glancing my eye through an opening in the floor, i saw three or four under the house. my heart was well nigh breaking. "we hastened to the boat, which was only a few steps from the house. the karens carried mr. boardman first, and as the shore was muddy, i was obliged to wait till they could return for me. they took me immediately to him; but o, the agony of my soul, when i saw the hand of death was on him! he was looking me full in the face, but his eyes were changed, not dimmed, but brightened, and the pupils so dilated, that i feared he could not see me. i spoke to him--kissed him--but he made no return, though i fancied that he tried to move his lips. i pressed his hand, knowing that if he could, he would return the pressure; but, alas! for the first time, he was insensible to my love, and forever. i had brought a glass of wine and water already mixed, and a smelling-bottle, but neither was of any avail to him now. agreeably to a previous request, i called the faithful karens, who loved him so much, and whom he had loved unto death, to come and watch his last gentle breathings, for there was no struggle. "never, my dear parents, did one of our poor fallen race have less to contend with, in the last enemy. little george was brought to see his dying father, but he was too young to know there was cause for grief when sarah died, her father said to george, 'poor little boy, you will not know to-morrow what you have lost to-day.' a deep pang rent my bosom at the recollection of this, and a still deeper one succeeded when the thought struck me, that though my little boy may not know to-morrow what he has lost to-day, yet when years have rolled by, and he shall have felt the unkindness of a deceitful, selfish world, _he will know_. "mr. mason wept, and the sorrowing karens knelt down in prayer to god--that god, of whom their expiring teacher had taught them--that god, into whose presence the emancipated spirit was just entering--that god, with whom they hope and expect to be happy forever. my own feelings i will not attempt to describe. you may have some faint idea of them, when you recollect what he was to me, how tenderly i loved him, and, at the same time, bear in mind the precious promises to the afflicted. "we came in silence down the river, and landed about three miles from our house. the karens placed his precious remains on his little bed, and with feelings which you can better imagine than i describe, we proceeded homewards. the mournful intelligence had reached town before us, and we were soon met by moung ing, the burman preacher. at the sight of us he burst into a flood of tears. next, we met the two native christian sisters, who lived with us. but the moment of most bitter anguish was yet to come on our arrival at the house. they took him into the sleeping-room, and when i uncovered his face, for a few moments, nothing was heard but reiterated sobs. he had not altered--the same sweet smile, with which he was wont to welcome me, sat on his countenance. his eyes had opened in bringing him, and all present seemed expecting to hear his voice; when the thought, that it was silent forever, rushed upon us, and filled us with anguish sudden and unutterable. there were the burman christians, who had listened so long, with edification and delight, to his preaching--there were the karens, who looked to him as their guide, their earthly all--there were the scholars whom he had taught the way to heaven, and the christian sisters, whose privilege it had been to wash, as it were, his feet. "early next morning, his funeral was attended, and all the europeans in the place, with many natives, were present. it may be some consolation to you to know that everything was performed in as decent a manner, as if he had been buried in our own dear native land. by his own request, he was interred on the south side of our darling first-born. it is a pleasant circumstance to me, that they sleep _side by side_. but it is infinitely more consoling to think, that their glorified spirits have met in that blissful world, where sin and death never enter, and sorrow is unknown. "praying that we may be abundantly prepared to enter into our glorious rest, i remain, my dear parents, your deeply afflicted, but most affectionate child, "sarah h. boardman." * * * * * well might mr. judson say, "one of the brightest luminaries of burmah is extinguished, dear brother boardman is gone to his eternal rest. he fell gloriously at the head of his troops, in the arms of victory, thirty-seven wild karens having been brought into the camp of our king since the beginning of the year, besides the thirty-two that were brought in during the two preceding years. disabled by wounds, he was obliged through the whole of his last expedition, to be carried on a litter; but his presence was a host, and the holy spirit accompanied his dying whispers with almighty influence. such a death, next to that of martyrdom, must be glorious in the eyes of heaven. well may we rest assured, that a triumphal crown awaits him on the great day, and 'well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy lord!'" this is in the spirit of montgomery's noble hymn, with an extract from which we will close the account of george dana boardman. "soldier of christ, well done! rest from thy loved employ: the battle fought, the victory won, enter thy master's joy. at midnight came the cry, to meet thy god prepare! he woke, and caught his captain's eye; then, strong in faith and prayer his spirit, with a bound, left its encumbering clay; his tent, at sunrise, on the ground, a darkened ruin lay." chapter xii. letters from mrs. b.--her decision to remain in burmah.--her missionary labors.--her trials.--schools. mrs. boardman found the society of mr. and mrs. mason a sweet solace to her sad heart. they joined her at tavoy in the spring of , and assisted her in her school, besides studying the language. her letters to her sister show a spirit chastened and saddened, but not crushed by sorrow, and still tenderly solicitous for the spiritual welfare of her dear brothers and sisters in america. she urges them by every motive, to embrace that saviour she had found so precious. after telling them of the "glorious revival among the karens," and of the baptism of seventy-three of them, she asks how they feel when they hear of the conversion of these poor children of the wilderness? "some," she says, "indeed most of those who have been baptized, were impressed with the infinite importance of religion at the first time of hearing the gospel, and gave themselves no rest till they found it in the saviour. o, i tremble and can scarcely hold my pen while i think of the awful account _you_ must render to god, if after all your privileges, you fall short of heaven at last.... how can you resist any longer? you cannot, you will not--something tells me you will give yourself immediately, unreservedly to that compassionate saviour whose love was stronger than death." her confidence was justified; for some months later she says, "dearly beloved brother and sister, a parcel of letters from america has reached us, which we eagerly opened, ... and received the delightful, heart-cheering intelligence that you have both become followers of jesus, and have openly professed his name, and that two others of the dear children are serious.... oh i have wept hours at the thought of god's goodness in giving me such joyful news in the midst of my sorrows. and is it indeed true that my own dear harriet and my dearly loved brother are adopted into the family of god's chosen ones? are your names really written in the lamb's book of life?... and do each of you when alone in your closet before your heavenly father, feel that he draws near to you, and that sweeter than all the pleasures of the world is communion with him? o i know that you do; and now do i feel a union with you unknown before. how sweet to feel, that while wandering, a lonely desolate widow, some of those whom i most love, remember me every day before a throne of grace. now when i kneel in prayer the voice of praise is on my lips. at each thought of home, my heart leaps for joy, and i feel as if relieved of a heavy burden which continually weighed down my spirits while thinking of my absent brothers and sisters.... the accounts of the glorious revivals in different parts of our dear native land have greatly refreshed our hearts, and we are ready to exclaim, surely the millennium has dawned for happy america. perhaps you think such intelligence makes me wish to return. but no, my dear brothers and sisters, it makes me feel just the reverse. i do most ardently long to labor in this dark land till the day dawns upon us, ... rather i should say till the sun of righteousness reaches the _meridian_ of burmah, for the day has already dawned, and the eastern karen mountains, enveloped for ages past in midnight gloom, are rejoicing in his bright beams. "our schools are very flourishing.... we have sixty scholars in town, and about fifty among the karens in the jungles. i feel desolate, lonely, and sometimes deeply distressed at my great and irreparable loss,--but i bless god i am not in despair. my darling george is in good health, and is a source of much comfort, though of deep anxiety to me. he is learning to read, but is not so forward as children at home. how it comforts my heart to be able to ask you to pray for him!" in a hurried postscript she adds: "there are more than eighty karens at our house, upwards of twenty of them applicants for baptism." in another letter: "death now seems nearer to me, and heaven dearer than before i was afflicted; ... my afflictions are precisely the kind my soul needed.... i receive from my dear friends the masons, every possible kindness. but alas! the hours of loneliness and bitter weeping i endure, are known only to god. but still jesus has sweetened the cup, and i would not that it should have passed my lip." three courses of life were now open to mrs. boardman. either to devote herself to her domestic duties, manage her household, educate her darling boy, and in quiet seclusion pass the weary days of her widowhood; or--looking abroad on the spiritual wants of the people around her, knowing that if one devoted laborer was gone there was the more need of activity in those that remained,--she might continue to employ her time and faculties in instructing and elevating those in whose service her husband had worn out his life; or, thirdly, she might take her child, her "only one," and return to the land of her birth, where she still had dear parents, brothers and sisters, who would welcome her with open arms, and where she could give her son those advantages which he never could have in a heathen land. to adopt either the first or the last of these courses, she was urged by her natural disposition, which was singularly modest and retiring, her feeble health, the enervating influence of the climate, and above all by the strong tendency to self-indulgence which always accompanies a heart-rending sorrow. "but oh," she says in a letter to a friend, "these poor, inquiring and christian karens, and the school-boys, and the burmese christians" ... and the thought of _these_ made her more than willing to adopt the second course; for she says, "my beloved husband wore out his life in this glorious cause; and that remembrance makes me more than ever attached to the work and the people for whose salvation he labored till death." during her husband's life-time. mrs. boardman had of course little to perform of what could properly be called missionary labor; even her teaching in the schools was very often interrupted by sickness, and the schools themselves were often broken up by untoward events which the missionaries could not control. now, however, new circumstances called her to new and untried duties. yet there was no sudden or violent change in her mode of life. the honored lips that had instructed, and guided, and comforted the ignorant natives, were sealed in death; yet still those natives continued to turn their eyes and their steps to the loved residence of their teacher whenever they found themselves oppressed with difficulty or distress and could the widow of that venerated teacher refuse to those poor disciples any guidance or consolation it was in her power to bestow? no; quietly and meekly she instructed the ignorant, consoled the afflicted, led inquirers to her saviour, and warned the impenitent to flee to him; and if insensibly she thus came to fill a place from which her nature would instinctively have shrunk, there was still about her such a modest and womanly grace, combined with such a serious and dignified purpose of soul, that the most fastidious could have found nothing to censure, while lovers of the cause she had espoused, found everything to commend. "i rejoice," writes a friend in this country to her, on hearing of her self-sacrificing labors, "that your husband's mantle has fallen upon you ... and that more than ever before, it is in your heart to benefit the heathen." that her duties were arduous, her letters fully prove. in one of them she says, "every moment of my time is occupied _from sunrise till ten in the evening_. it is late-bed time, and i am surrounded by five karen women, three of whom arrived this afternoon from the jungle, after being separated from us nearly five months by the heavy rains. the karens are beginning to come to us in companies; and with them, and our scholars in the town, and the care of my darling boy, you will scarce think i have much leisure for letter-writing." thus she toiled on, cheered by the consciousness that she was in the path of duty: that her husband if permitted from his home in heaven to watch over the spot he most loved on earth, would smile approvingly on her labors; and encouraged by the affection of many of the disciples, and the interest awakened among some new inquirers. but it cannot be doubted that her trials were at least equal to her encouragements. long before, mr. boardman had written, "the thoughts of this people," the burmans, "run in channels entirely different from ours. their whole system has a tendency to cramp their intellectual powers;--professedly divine in its origin, it demands credence without evidence; it spurns improvement, disdains the suggestions of experience, and flatly denies the testimony of the external senses. what a man sees with his own eyes he is not to believe, because his scriptures teach otherwise.... there is no fellowship of thought between them and us on any subject. everything appears to them in a different light, they attribute everything to a different cause, seek a remedy of evils from a different quarter, and entertain, in fine, a set of thoughts and imaginations totally different from ours." the karens, it is true, had fewer prejudices to be eradicated, and more easily sympathized with the missionaries than the haughty, self-sufficient burmans; but then their very docility made them liable to another danger, that of holding their new faith lightly, and parting with it easily. all these difficulties sometimes so pressed upon mrs. boardman, that she was ready to say, "it requires the patience of a job and the wisdom of a solomon to get on with this people; much as i love them, and good as i think they are." she then spoke of the _converts_; in whom was implanted that grace which, so far as it operates on the heart, makes all, in a sense, _one_ in christ jesus; how then must she have been tried with those who would not repent and embrace the only principles that could give her the least fellowship or communion with them? _jan. , ._--mrs. boardman writes of herself and her fellow-missionaries, mr. and mrs. mason, "we meet with much encouragement in our schools, and our number of day-scholars is now about eighty. these, with the boarding schools, two village schools, and about fifty persons who learn during the rainy season in the karen jungle, make upwards of one hundred and seventy under our instruction. the scholars in the jungle cannot of course visit us often but a great many have come to be examined in their lessons, and we are surprised and delighted at the progress they have made." of course they had to employ, as teachers of these schools, natives, who needed constant supervision and superintendence. some of these teachers were exceedingly interesting persons. of the death of one of them she writes, "thah-oung continued in his school till two days before his death, although for a long time he had been very ill. he felt, then, that he _must_ die, and said to his scholars, 'i can do no more--god is calling me away from you,--i go into his presence--be not dismayed.' he was then carried to the house of his father, a few miles distant, and there he continued exhorting and praying to the very last moment. his widow, who is not yet fifteen, is one of the loveliest of our desert blossoms." and afterwards in alluding to the same event, she says, "one of our best karen teachers came to see us, and through him we heard that the disciples were well; that they were living in love, in the enjoyment of religion, and had nothing to distress them, but the death of their beloved teacher. poor moung quay was obliged to turn away his face to weep several times while answering my inquiries. oh how they feel the stroke that has fallen upon them. and well they may, for he was to them a father and a guide." "the superintendence of the food and clothing of both the boarding schools," she afterwards writes, "together with the care of five day-schools under native teachers, devolves wholly on me. our day-schools are growing every week more and more interesting. we cannot, it is true, expect to see among them so much progress, especially in christianity, as our boarders make; but they are constantly gaining religious knowledge, and will grow up with comparatively correct ideas. they with their teachers attend worship regularly on lord's-day. the day-schools are entirely supported at present by the honorable company's allowance, and the civil commissioner, mr. maingy appears much interested in their success." chapter xiii. correspondence between mrs. boardman and the superintendent.--her tours among the karens.--her personal appearance.--her acquaintance with the burman language.--dr. judson's translation of the bible. an interesting letter from the gentleman mentioned at the close of the last chapter, with mrs. boardman's reply, we will give entire, as they exhibit at once her firmness of principle, and the high respect she commanded from the european residents in the country. "tavoy, aug. , . "my dear sir, "mr. mason has handed me for perusal, the extract from your letter to government, which you kindly sent him. i apprehend i have hitherto had wrong impressions in reference to the ground on which the honorable company patronize schools in their territories; and i hope you will allow me to say, that it would not accord with my feelings and sentiments, to banish religious instruction from the schools under my care. i think it desirable for the rising generation of this province, to become acquainted with useful science; and the male part of the population, with the english language. but it is infinitely more important that they receive into their hearts our holy religion, which is the source of so much happiness in this state, and imparts the hope of a glorious immortality in the world to come. parents and guardians must know that there is more or less danger of their children deserting the faith of their ancestors, if placed under the care of a foreign missionary; and the example of some of the pupils is calculated to increase such apprehensions. mr. boardman baptized into the christian religion several of his scholars. one of the number is now a devoted preacher; and notwithstanding the decease of their beloved and revered teacher, they all, with one unhappy exception, remain firm in the christian faith. "the success of the hindoo college, where religious instruction was interdicted, may perhaps be urged in favor of pursuing a similar course in schools here. but it strikes me, that the case is different here, even admitting _their_ course to be right. the overthrow of a system so replete with cruel and impure rites, as the hindoo, or so degrading as the mahometan, _might_ be matter of joy, though no better religion were introduced in its stead. but the burman system of morality is superior to that of the nations round them, and to the heathen of ancient times, and is surpassed only by the divine precepts of our blessed saviour. like all other merely _human_ institutions, it is destitute of saving power; but its influence on the people, so far as it is felt, is salutary, and their moral character will, i should think, bear a comparison with that of any heathen nation in the world. the person who should spend his days in teaching them mere human science, (though he might undermine their false tenets,) by neglecting to set before them brighter hopes and purer principles, would, i imagine, live to very little purpose. for myself, sure i am, i should at last suffer the overwhelming conviction of having labored in vain. "with this view of things, you will not, my dear sir, be surprised at my saying, it is impossible for me to pursue a course so utterly repugnant to my feelings, and so contrary to my judgment, as to banish religious instruction from the schools in my charge. it is what i am confident you yourself would not wish; but i infer from a remark in your letter that such are the terms on which government affords patronage. it would be wrong to deceive the patrons of the schools and if my supposition is correct, i can do no otherwise than request, that the monthly allowance be withdrawn. it will assist in establishing schools at maulmain on a plan more consonant with the wishes of government than mine has ever been. meanwhile i trust, i shall be able to represent the claims of my pupils in such a manner, as to obtain support and countenance from those, who would wish the children to be taught the principles of the christian faith. "allow me, my dear sir, to subscribe myself, "yours, most respectfully, "sarah h. boardman." "my dear madam, "i cannot do otherwise than honor and respect the sentiments conveyed in your letter, now received. you will, i hope, give me credit for sincerity, when i assure you, that in alluding to the system of instruction pursued by you, it has ever been a source of pride to me, to point out the quiet way, in which your scholars have been made acquainted with the christian religion. my own government in no way proscribes the teaching of christianity. the observations in my official letter are intended to support what i have before brought to the notice of government, that _all_ are received, who present themselves for instruction at your schools, without any stipulation as to their becoming members of the christian faith. i cannot express to you how much your letter has distressed me. it has been a subject of consideration with me, for some months past, how i could best succeed in establishing a college here, the scholars of which were to have been instructed in the same system which you have so successfully pursued. believe me, "yours very faithfully, "a.d. maingy "_saturday._" appropriations were afterward made by the british government for schools throughout the provinces "to be conducted on the plan of mrs. boardman's schools at tavoy;" and although the propagation of christianity in the _other_ schools was subsequently prohibited, yet in _her own_, she always taught as her conscience dictated. it had been one of mr. boardman's practices to make frequent tours among the karen villages, to preach the gospel, and strengthen the disciples and the feeble churches. even from this duty, as far as the visitation was concerned, his widow did not shrink, although she _did_ shrink from writing or speaking much on the subject; doubtless always regarding it as a cross, which although she might bear with patience, she would willingly lay down as soon as duty should permit. attended by her faithful karens, and her little boy borne in their arms,--leaving mr. mason to his indispensable task of acquiring the language, she would thread the wild passes of the mountains, and the obscure paths of the jungle, fording the smaller streams and carried over the larger in a chair borne on bamboo poles by her followers,--carrying joy and gladness to the hearts of the simple-minded villagers, and cheering her own by witnessing their constancy and fidelity. in her own inimitable style "fanny forrester" gives an account of an adventure of mrs. boardman during one of these excursions; in which the impression she made upon an english officer who encountered her far from civilized habitations, so unexpectedly that he almost mistook her for an angel visitant from a better sphere, was sufficiently pleasant to form the basis of a lasting friendship between them. indeed there are many testimonials to mrs. boardman's personal loveliness and grace of manner. in calcutta, where she resided nearly two years, she was regarded as a "finished lady;" and in a well-written tribute to her memory, published in the mother's journal, she is described as "of about middle stature, agreeable in personal appearance, and winning in manners. the first impression of an observer respecting her in her youth, would be of a gentle, confiding, persuasive being, who would sweeten the cup of life to those who drank it with her. but further acquaintance would develop strength as well as loveliness of character. it would be seen that she could do and endure, as well as love and please. sweetness and strength, gentleness and firmness, were in her character most happily blended. her mind was both poetical and practical. she had a refined taste, and a love for the beautiful as well as the excellent." but all these fine gifts and endowments were consecrated; the offering she had made on her saviour's altar was unreserved; nor do we find that she ever cast back to the world where she might have shone so brilliantly, "one longing, lingering look." she is said by her fellow missionaries to have made wonderful proficiency in the burman language, and indeed she translated into it bunyan's pilgrim's progress. she loved the language much; and used to read the scriptures in it in preference to reading them in english. she once said to mrs. mason, "i should be willing to learn burmese, for the sake of reading the scriptures in that language." the translation of the scriptures into burmese is a work for which burmah is indebted to dr. judson for many years this devoted servant of christ employed on this great work every moment he could spare from pastoral labor; and there is something truly sublime in the record he has left of the completion of it, in his journal under date of jan. , : "thanks be to god, i can now say, i have attained! i have knelt down before him, with the last leaf in my hand, and imploring his forgiveness for all the sins which have polluted my labors in this department, and his aid in future efforts to remove the errors and imperfections which necessarily cleave to the work, i have commended it to his mercy and grace; i have dedicated it to his glory. may he make his own inspired word, now complete in the burman tongue, the grand instrument of filling all burmah with songs and praises to our great god and saviour, jesus christ amen." chapter xiv. mrs. boardman's second marriage.--removal to maulmain.--letter from mrs. judson.--her son sent to america.--her husband's illness. on the tenth of april, , mrs. boardman was married to one whose character she afterwards declared to be "a complete assemblage of all that woman could wish to love and honor," the rev. dr. judson with him she removed to her new home in maulmain, which had undergone wonderful changes since she left it in . then, the only church there had _three_ native members; now she found there three churches numbering two hundred members! her duties now were different from what they had been, but not less important; and in a letter written to a very intimate friend one year after her marriage, we find her thus expressing herself: "i can truly say that the mission cause, and missionary labor is increasingly dear to me, every month of my life. i am now united with one whose heavenly spirit and example is deeply calculated to make me more devoted to the cause than i ever have been before. o that i may profit by such precious advantages." many missionaries had arrived from america and established themselves in different places; several resided at maulmain; so that mrs. judson, as we must now call her, could enjoy much christian society besides that of the natives. but neither she nor her fellow-laborers had much time to devote exclusively to social intercourse. beside schools to superintend, and bible-classes to conduct, and prayer-meetings to attend, societies were to be formed among the half-educated native females in which they could be instructed in maternal and social duties. in addition to these cares, mrs. judson took upon herself the task of acquiring a new language, in order to instruct the peguans, a people who had put themselves under the protection of the british, after revolting against the burmans. this people were so numerous in maulmain that the missionaries felt constrained to furnish them with instruction. under these labors, mrs. judson's health again failed but after some weeks of suffering, she began to recover, and for many subsequent years her health was uninterrupted. in a letter written some time after, she accounts for her enjoyment of health, in the following manner:-- "when i first came up from tavoy, i was thin and pale; and though i called myself pretty well, i had no appetite for food, and was scarce able to walk half a mile. soon after, i was called to endure a long and severe attack of illness, which brought me to the brink of the grave. i was never so low in any former illness, and the doctor who attended me, has since told me, that he had no hope of my recovery; and that when he came to prescribe medicine for me, it was more out of regard to the feelings of my husband, than from any prospect of its affording me relief. i lay confined to my bed, week after week, unable to move, except as mr. judson sometimes carried me in his arms from the bed to the couch for a change; and even this once brought on a return of the disease, which very nearly cost me my life. * * i never shall forget the precious seasons enjoyed on that sick bed. little george will tell you about it, if you should ever see him. i think he will always remember some sweet conversations i had with him, on the state of his soul, at that time. dear child! his mind was very tender, and he would weep on account of his sins, and would kneel down and pray with all the fervor and simplicity of childhood. he used to read the bible to me every day, and commit little hymns to memory by my bedside. * * it pleased my heavenly father to raise me up again, although i was for a long time very weak. as soon as i was able, i commenced riding on horseback, and used to take a long ride every morning before sunrise. after a patient trial, i found that riding improved my health; though many times i should have become discouraged and given it up, but for the perseverance of my husband. after riding almost every day, for four or five months, i found my health so much improved, and gained strength so fast, that i began to think walking might be substituted. about this time, my nice little pony died, and we commenced a regular system of exercise on foot, walking at a rapid pace, far over the hills beyond the town, before the sun was up, every morning. we have continued this perseveringly up to the present time; and, during these years, my health has been better than at any time previous, since my arrival in india; and my constitution seems to have undergone an entire renovation." in "burmah proper," that is, that part of burmah not under british government, the native christians enjoyed no toleration from the government, and often suffered bitterly; but in maulmain, and other places in british burmah, religion flourished, and converts were multiplied. mr. vinton, (a new missionary,) preached with great power in the karen churches, and that people, says mrs. judson, "flocked into the kingdom by scores." mr. judson was revising his translation of the bible--a task of five years' duration,--and preaching to the burmese church; while mrs. j. instructed in the schools and translated into peguan such tracts as were thought most calculated to acquaint that people with christian doctrine. she afterwards translated into that language the new testament and the life of christ; but on the arrival of mr. haswell, she gave up to him all her books and papers in this language, and only attended to it in future so far as to assist him in his studies. of the severest trial to which mrs. judson was called during the remainder of her life she gives an account in the following eloquent words: "after deliberation, accompanied with tears, and agony and prayers, i came to the conviction that it was my duty to send away my only child, my darling george, and yesterday he bade me a long farewell.... oh i shall never forget his looks, as he stood by the door, and gazed at me for the last time. his eyes were filling with tears, and his little face red with suppressed emotion. but he subdued his feelings, and it was not till he had turned away, and was going down the steps that he burst into a flood of tears. i hurried to my room; and on my knees, with my whole heart gave him up to god; and my bursting heart was comforted from above.... my reason and judgment tell me that the good of my child requires that he should be sent to america; and this of itself would support me in some little degree; but when i view it as a _sacrifice_, made for the sake of jesus, it becomes a delightful privilege.... i cannot but hope he will one day return to burmah, a missionary of the cross, as his dear father was.... this is in some respects the severest trial i ever met with." it would be delightful to accompany the dear boy in his perilous journey to the father-land, and to transcribe the yearning and affectionate letters of his mother, both to him, and to those to whose charge he was entrusted--they could not but heighten our opinion of her excellence in the maternal relation, as well as of the great sensibility of her heart; but we are warned that our pages are swelling to too great a number. ours is but a sketch, an outline; those who would see the full length portrait of our heroine, must consult the glowing canvass of her biographer and successor, "fanny forrester." her next trial was, to see her beloved husband suffering with a severe cough, which she feared would end in pulmonary consumption. to avert this dreaded result, he was obliged to leave her and try a long sea-voyage. the account of their parting, and her touching letters during his absence would greatly enrich our little sketch, had we room to copy them. we _must_ find a place for one short extract from the letters. "your little daughter and i have been praying for you this evening.... at times the sweet hope that you will soon return, restored to perfect health, buoys up my spirit, but perhaps you will find it necessary to go farther, a necessity from which i cannot but shrink with doubt and dread; or you may come back only to die with me. this last agonizing thought crushes me down in overwhelming sorrow. i hope i do not feel unwilling that our heavenly father should do as he thinks best with us; but my heart shrinks from the prospect of living in this dark, sinful, friendless world, without you.... but the most satisfactory view is to look away to that blissful world, where separations are unknown. there, my beloved judson, we shall _surely_ meet each other; and we shall also meet many loved ones who have gone before us to that haven of rest." her fears were not realized; in a few months mr. judson was restored to her and the suffering mission cause in greatly improved health. chapter xv. illness of her children.--death of one of them.--her missionary labors, and family cares.--her declining health.--poem.--her last illness and death. the seventh year of her marriage with mr. judson, was a year of peculiar trial to mrs. j. all her four children were attacked by whooping-cough followed by one of the diseases of the climate, with which she also was so violently afflicted that her life was for a time despaired of. she felt sure, as she afterwards said, that her hour of release was come, that her master was calling her; and she blessed god that she was entirely willing to leave all, and go to him. the only hope of recovery for any of them was a sea-voyage, and they embarked for bengal, but their passage was stormy, and they derived little benefit from their stay at serampore, where they had taken up their residence. a voyage to the mauritius was recommended, and the alarming situation of three of the children, as well as mrs. judson's feeble state, determined them to try it. but before they embarked, it was her melancholy lot to lay one of her darlings in the grave, and he, the very one about whose health she had felt the least uneasiness. he sleeps, says his mother, in the mission burial-ground, where moulders the dust of carey, marshman and ward. her tears at his burial flowed not only for him that was dead, but for another who she expected would soon follow him. to avert this calamity she hastened her voyage, which though fearfully tempestuous, proved beneficial to the sufferers, and after a short sojourn in the soft climate of the isle of france, the family returned to their home in maulmain, restored, with the exception of one son, to sound health. this son, who bore the name of his father, was called by the natives pwen, which signifies "a flower," a name adopted by his parents. after a long illness he too was restored to health. mrs. judson's labors during the latter part of her life, are recorded by her husband; and it may well excite the wonder of those women who consider the care of their own families a sufficient task, that she could find time and strength for such an amount of labor. it has been said that her translation of bunyan's pilgrim's progress is a work worth living for. her husband says, "it is one of the best pieces of composition we have published." she also translated a tract written by her husband; edited a "chapel hymn book," and furnished for it twenty of its best hymns; and published four volumes of scripture questions for use in the sabbath schools. when we consider that she was the mother of a rapidly increasing family; and the head of an establishment, which like all in the east require constant and vigilant superintendence; and that she was exemplary in the discharge of her maternal and domestic duties, we are led to fancy she must have possessed some secret charm by which she could stay the hurrying feet of time; and "hold the fleet angel fast until he blessed her." such a secret was her untiring zeal, which prompted an incessant industry. the sands of time are indeed numerous, and when each is valued as a sparkling treasure, they form a rich hoard, laid up where neither moth nor rust corrupt; but if we let them escape unheeded, or sit and idly watch their flow, and even shake the glass to hasten it, they will gather into a millstone weight to sink us in endless, unavailing regret. though she is dead, mrs. judson's works still live; and generation after generation of burmans will associate her name with that of her honored husband, as benefactors to their race. in december, , the health of mrs. judson began to decline. her anxious husband, determined to leave no means untried, to save a life so precious to the mission and so invaluable to himself and his family, decided to quit for a while his loved labors in burmah and accompany his wife to america. they in may sailed, and on reaching the isle of france, she found herself so far restored that she could no longer conscientiously detain her husband from his duties in india, and she resolved to let him go back to their home there, while she with her children, should complete the journey that still seemed necessary for her entire restoration. one of the sweetest of her poems was occasioned by this resolution. "we part on this green islet, love, thou for the eastern main, i, for the setting sun, love-- oh, when to meet again? my heart is sad for thee, love, for lone thy way will be; and oft thy tears will fall, love, for thy children and for me. the music of thy daughter's voice thou'lt miss for many a year; and the merry shout of thine elder boys thou'lt list in vain to hear. when we knelt to see our henry die, and heard his last faint moan, each wiped the tear from other's eye-- now, each must weep alone. my tears fall fast for thee, love,-- how can i say farewell! but go;--thy god be with thee, love, thy heart's deep grief to quell! yet my spirit clings to thine, love, thy soul remains with me, and oft we'll hold communion sweet, o'er the dark and distant sea. and who can paint our mutual joy, when, all our wanderings o'er, we both shall clasp our infants three, at home, on burmah's shore. but higher shall our raptures glow, on yon celestial plain, when the loved and parted here below meet, ne'er to part again. then gird thine armor on, love, nor faint thou by the way, till boodh shall fall, and burmah's sons shall own messiah's sway." but her health still sinking, her husband could not leave her, and she was borne back to the ship. her life ebbed away so rapidly, that he feared he must consign her to an ocean grave. but a kind providence ordered it, that her death did not occur till the ship anchored at st. helena. her end was as peaceful as her life had been consistent and exemplary. "no shade of doubt or fear, or anxiety crossed her mind." so writes her husband: "she had a prevailing preference to depart and be with christ. i am longing to depart! she would say; and then the thought of her dear native land, to which she was approaching after an absence of twenty years, and a longing desire to see her son george, her parents, and the friends of her youth, would draw down her ascending soul, and constrain her to say, 'i am in a strait betwixt two; the will of the lord be done.' "in regard to her children she ever manifested the most surprising composure and resignation, so much so that i was once constrained to say, you seem to have forgotten the dear little ones we have left behind. 'can a mother forget'--she replied, and was unable to proceed. during her last days she spent much time in praying for the early conversion of her children. "on the evening of the st of august, ... i sat alone by the side of her bed, endeavoring to administer relief to the distressed body, and consolation to the departing soul. at two o'clock in the morning, wishing to obtain one more token of recognition, i roused her attention and said, 'do you still love the saviour?' 'o yes,' she replied, 'i ever love the lord jesus christ.' i said again, 'do you still love me?' she replied in the affirmative, by a peculiar expression of her own. 'then give me one more kiss;' and we exchanged that token of love for the last time. another hour passed,--and she ceased to breathe." "so fades the summer cloud away; so sinks the gale when storms are o'er; so gently shuts the eye of day; so dies the wave along the shore." arrangements were made to carry the body on shore. the rev. mr. bertram from the island came on board, and was led into the state-room where lay all that was mortal of mrs. judson. "pleasant," he says, "she was even in death. a sweet smile of love beamed on her countenance, as if heavenly grace had stamped it there. the bereaved husband and three weeping children fastened their eyes upon the loved remains, as if they could have looked forever." the coffin was borne to the shore; the boats forming a kind of procession, their oars beating the waves at measured intervals, as a sort of funeral knell--the earth received her dust, and her bereaved husband continued his sad voyage towards his native land, again a widowed mourner. part iii. biographical sketch of mrs. emily c. judson. third wife of rev. adoniram judson, d.d. remarks on her genius.--her early life.--conversion.--employments.--tales and poems.--acquaintance with dr. judson.--marriage.--voyage to india.--biography of mrs. s.b. judson.--poem written off st. helena.--poem on the birth of an infant.--lines addressed to a bereaved friend.--letter to her children.--"prayer for dear papa."--poem addressed to her mother.--her account of dr. judson's last illness and death. our labor of sketching the lives of the _three_ distinguished women who were permitted to share the happiness and lighten the cares of one of the most worthy and venerated of missionaries, now brings us on delicate ground. the last wife of dr. judson, happily for her numerous friends and for his and her children, survives him. long may she be spared to train those children in the ways of lofty piety, to gladden the wide circle of friends and relatives now anxiously expecting her return to her native land, and to gratify the admirers of her genius with the graceful and eloquent effusions of her pen. graceful and eloquent they have always been, but of late--touched by a coal from that altar on which she has laid her best sacrifice, _herself_--they have gained a higher and purer flow, awakened by a holier inspiration. the world admired the brilliancy of "fanny forrester." christians _love_ the exalted tenderness, the sanctified enthusiasm of emily c. judson. much as it would gratify us, and her friends to give an extended account of her life, delicacy forbids us to do more than merely to sketch those features in it, which are already the property of much of the reading public. our outline will necessarily be meagre, but we will enrich it by several of her poems written in india, hitherto scarce published except in perishable newspapers and periodicals. we might indeed make it more interesting by incidents and anecdotes, drawn from those of her early associates who love to dwell on the rich promise of her childhood and youth; but by doing so, we should incur the risk of intruding on the sacredness of the family circle; and we forbear. she was born in eaton, a town near the centre of the state of new york. in her childhood, she exhibited an exuberance of imagination that enabled her to delight her young associates with tales, which, according to one of them, she would sit up in bed in the morning to write, and then read aloud to them. she would, even then, write verses also, but in this gift she was perhaps inferior to a sister, who died in early life, and whose numerous poems were unfortunately, and to the grief of her family, accidentally lost. at an early period she embraced religion and was baptized by the rev. mr. dean, a missionary to china, then in this country. her interest was awakened in the heathen, even at that time, and she indulged in many ardent longings to go as a missionary to them. the late dr. kendrick judiciously advised her to pursue the path of duty at home, and quietly wait the leadings and openings of providence. this advice she followed, and as a means of improving the straitened circumstances of her family, she left home and engaged as a teacher in a seminary in utica. desirous to increase still farther her mother's limited resources, she determined to employ her pen; and published some short religious tales, which, however, brought her little fame, and small pecuniary emolument. but in , by a skilful and happy letter to the conductor of the _new york mirror_, she so attracted the attention of the fastidious and brilliant editor of that magazine, that he engaged her as a constant contributor. this arrangement, though of great pecuniary advantage, was, in a religious view, a snare to her. as a writer of light, graceful stories of a purely worldly character, she had in this country, few rivals, and her name, attached to a tale or a poem, became a passport to popular favor. in a letter to her aged pastor, written a year after her marriage, she laments her extreme worldliness at that period, which she says, even led her to be ashamed of her former desire to be a missionary. yet her writings are marked by purity, and generally inculcated nothing unfriendly either to virtue or religion. but it was the religion of sentiment, and the virtue of the natural heart; of which it must be confessed we find far more in fictitious tales, than in real life. when we consider the nobleness of the motive that led her to seek a popular path to favor and emolument--to increase the comforts of her excellent and honored mother--our censure, were we disposed to indulge any, is disarmed and almost changed to admiration. during dr. judson's visit to america, in , while riding in a public conveyance with mr. g., who was escorting him to his home in philadelphia, a story written by "fanny forrester," fell into the hands of dr. j. he read it with satisfaction, remarking that he should like to know its author. "you will soon have that pleasure," said mr. g., "for she is now visiting at my house." an acquaintance then commenced between them, which, notwithstanding the disparity in their years, soon ripened into a warm attachment, and after a severe struggle, she broke, as she says, the innumerable ties that bound her to the fascinating worldly life she had adopted, and consented to become, what in her early religious zeal she had so longed to be--a missionary. and now the spell of worldliness was indeed broken. with mingled shame and penitence she reviewed her spiritual declensions, and with an humbled, self-distrusting spirit renewed her neglected covenant with the god and guide of her youth. in dr. judson, to whom she was married on the d of june, , she found a wise and faithful friend and counsellor, as well as a devoted husband. in his tried and experienced piety, she gained the support and encouragement she needed in her christian life. conscious that she had given to the world's service too many of her noble gifts, she commenced a work of an exclusively religious character and tendency, the biography of her predecessor, the second mrs. judson. in one year it was completed, and in speaking of it in a letter from india, whither she had accompanied dr. j. immediately after their marriage, she playfully remarked that her husband was pleased with it, and she cared little whether any one else liked it or not. on her passage to india, mrs. judson passed in sight of that island which must ever attract the gaze of men of every clime and nation,--the rocky prison and tomb of the conqueror of nations, napoleon bonaparte. but to her the island had more tender associations; awakened more touching recollections. it was as the grave of sarah judson, that her successor gazed long and tearfully on the isle of st. helena; and she thus embodied her feelings in song. lines written off st. helena. blow softly, gales! a tender sigh is flung upon your wing; lose not the treasure as ye fly, bear it where love and beauty lie, silent and withering. flow gently, waves! a tear is laid upon your heaving breast; leave it within yon dark rock's shade or weave it in an iris braid, to crown the christian's rest bloom, ocean isle, lone ocean isle! thou keep'st a jewel rare; let rugged rock, and dark defile, above the slumbering stranger smile and deck her couch with care. weep, ye bereaved! a dearer head, ne'er left the pillowing breast; the good, the pure, the lovely fled, when mingling with the shadowy dead, she meekly went to rest. mourn, burmah, mourn! a bow which spanned thy cloud has passed away; a flower has withered on thy sand, a pitying spirit left thy strand, a saint has ceased to pray. angels rejoice, another string has caught the strains above. rejoice, rejoice! a new-fledged wing around the throne is hovering, in sweet, glad, wondering love. blow, blow, ye gales! wild billows roll! unfurl the canvas wide! o! where she labored lies our goal: weak, timid, frail, yet would my soul fain be to hers allied. _ship faneuil hall_, sept. . on the birth of an infant, she expressed her first maternal feelings, in verses of such exquisite beauty, that they can never be omitted in any collection of the gems of poetry--least of all in any collection of _her_ poems. the following are the verses alluded to: my bird. ere last year's moon had left the sky, a birdling sought my indian nest and folded, oh so lovingly! her tiny wings upon my breast. from morn till evening's purple tinge, in winsome helplessness she lies; two rose leaves, with a silken fringe, shut softly on her starry eyes. there's not in ind a lovelier bird; broad earth owns not a happier nest o god, thou hast a fountain stirred, whose waters never more shall rest! this beautiful, mysterious thing, this seeming visitant from heaven, this bird with the immortal wing, to me--to me, thy hand has given. the pulse first caught its tiny stroke, the blood its crimson hue, from mine-- this life, which i have dared invoke, henceforth is parallel with thine. a silent awe is in my room-- i tremble with delicious fear; the future with its light and gloom, time and eternity are here. doubts--hopes, in eager tumult rise; hear, o my god! one earnest prayer:-- room for my bird in paradise, and give her angel plumage there! _maulmain_, january, . the following touching lines show that she could skilfully employ her ready pen in consoling those on whom had fallen the stroke of bereavement: lines _addressed to a missionary friend in burmah on the death of her little boy, thirteen months old, in which allusion is made to the previous death of his little brother._ a mound is in the graveyard, a short and narrow bed; no grass is growing on it, and no marble at its head: ye may sit and weep beside it ye may kneel and kiss the sod, but ye'll find no balm for sorrow, in the cold and silent clod. there is anguish in the household, it is desolate and lone, for a fondly cherished nursling from the parent nest has flown; a little form is missing; a heart has ceased to beat; and the chain of love lies shattered at the desolator's feet. remove the empty cradle, his clothing put away, and all his little playthings with your choicest treasures lay; strive not to check the tear drops, that fall like summer rain, for the sun of hope shines thro' them-- ye shall see his face again. oh! think where rests your darling,-- not in his cradle bed; not in the distant graveyard, with the still and mouldering dead but in a heavenly mansion, upon the saviour's breast, with his brother's arms about him, he takes his sainted rest. he has put on robes of glory for the little robes ye wrought; and he fingers golden harp strings for the toys his sisters brought. oh, weep! but with rejoicing; a heart gem have ye given, and behold its glorious setting in the diadem of heaven. the following letter and beautiful poems need little explanation. the letter is addressed to some of dr. judson's children, who resided in worcester, massachusetts, having been sent home from india to be educated in america. his health having failed, dr. j. had sailed for the isle of bourbon for its restoration, and it was during his absence that these effusions were penned. maulmain, april , . my very dear children, i have painful news to tell you--news that i am sure will make your hearts ache; but i hope our heavenly father will help you to bear it. your dear papa is very, very ill indeed; so much so that the best judges fear that he will never be any better. he began to fail about five months ago, and has declined so gradually that we were not fully aware of his danger until lately; but within a few weeks those who love him have become very much alarmed. in january we went down to mergui by the steamer, and when we returned, thought he was a little better, but he soon failed again. we spent a month at amherst, but he received little if any benefit. next, the doctors pronounced our house (the one you used to live in) unhealthy, and we moved to another. but all was of no use. your dear papa continued to fail, till suddenly, one evening, his muscular strength gave way and he was prostrated on the bed, unable to help himself. this occurred about two weeks ago. the doctor now became alarmed, and said the only hope for him was in a long voyage. it was very hard to think of such a thing in his reduced state, particularly as i could not go with him; but after we had wept and prayed over it one day and night, we concluded that it was our duty to use the only means which god had left us, however painful. we immediately engaged his passage on board a french barque, bound for the isle of bourbon; but before it sailed he had become so very low that no one thought it right for him to go alone. they therefore called a meeting of the mission and appointed mr. ranney. it was a great relief to me, for he is a very kind man, and loves your dear papa very much; and he will do everything that can be done for his comfort. the officers of the vessel too, seemed greatly interested for him, as did every one else. he was carried on board a week ago yesterday, in a litter, and placed on a nice easy cot made purposely for him. i stayed with him all day, and at dark came home to stay with the children. the next day found that the vessel had only dropped down a little distance, and so i took a boat and followed. i expected this would certainly be the last day with him, but it was not. on friday i went again, and though he did not appear as well as on the previous days, i was forced to take, as i then supposed, a final leave of him. but when morning came, i felt as though i could not live through the day without knowing how he was. so i took a boat again, and reached the vessel about o'clock p.m. he could only speak in whispers, but seemed very glad that i came. the natives i had sent to fan him till he should get out of the river, came to me and begged to have him taken on shore again: and so small was my hope of his recovery, that my heart pleaded on their side, though i still thought it a duty to do as the doctor had ordered. i came away at dark, and though his lips moved to say some word of farewell, they made no sound. i hope that you, my dear boys, will never have cause to know what a heavy heart i bore back to my desolate home that night. the vessel got out to sea about o'clock on monday, and last night the natives returned, bringing a letter from mr. ranney. your precious papa has revived again--spoke aloud--took a little tea and toast--said there was something animating in the touch of the sea breeze, and directed mr. ranney to write to me that he had a strong belief it was the will of god to restore him again to health. i feel somewhat encouraged, but dare not hope too much. and now, my dear boys, it will be three, perhaps four long months before we can hear from our beloved one again, and we shall all be very anxious. all we can do is to commit him to the care of our heavenly father, and, if we never see him again in this world, pray that we may be prepared to meet him in heaven * * * * * your most affectionate mother, emily c. judson prayer for dear papa. poor and needy little children, saviour, god, we come to thee, for our hearts are full of sorrow, and no other hope have we. out, upon the restless ocean, there is one we dearly love,-- fold him in thine arms of pity, spread thy guardian wings above. when the winds are howling round him, when the angry waves are high, when black, heavy, midnight shadows, on his trackless pathway lie, guide and guard him, blessed saviour, bid the hurrying tempests stay; plant thy foot upon the waters. send thy smile to light his way. when he lies, all pale, and suffering, stretched upon his narrow bed, with no loving face bent o'er him, no soft hand about his head, o, let kind and pitying angels, their bright forms around him bow; let them kiss his heavy eyelids, let them fan his fevered brow. poor and needy little children, still we raise our cry to thee we have nestled in his bosom, we have sported on his knee; dearly, dearly do we love him, --we, who on his breast have lain-- pity now our desolation! bring him back to us again! if it please thee, heavenly father, we would see him come once more, with his olden step of vigor, with the love-lit smile he wore; but if we must tread life's valley, orphaned, guideless, and alone, let us lose not, 'mid the shadows, his dear footprints to thy throne. _maulmain_, april, . sweet mother. the wild, south-west monsoon has risen, with broad, gray wings of gloom, while here, from out my dreary prison, i look, as from a tomb--alas! my heart another tomb. upon the low-thatched roof, the rain, with ceaseless patter, falls; my choicest treasures bear its stain-- mould gathers on the walls--would heaven 'twere only on the walls! sweet mother! i am here alone, in sorrow and in pain; the sunshine from my heart has flown, it feels the driving rain--ah, me! the chill, and mould, and rain. four laggard months have wheeled their round since love upon it smiled; and everything of earth has frowned on thy poor, stricken child--sweet friend, thy weary, suffering child. i'd watched my loved one, night and day. scarce breathing when he slept; and as my hopes were swept away, i'd on his bosom wept--o god! how had i prayed and wept! they bore him from me to the ship, as bearers bear the dead; i kissed his speechless, quivering lip, and left him on his bed--alas! it seemed a coffin-bed! when from my gentle sister's tomb, in all our grief, we came, rememberest thou her vacant room! well, his was just the same, that day. the very, very same. then, mother, little charley came-- our beautiful fair boy, with my own father's cherished name-- but oh, he brought no joy!--my child brought mourning, and no joy. his little grave i cannot see, though weary months have sped since pitying lips bent over me, and whispered, "he is dead!"--alas 'tis dreadful to be dead! i do not mean for one like me, --so weary, worn, and weak,-- death's shadowy paleness seems to be even now, upon my cheek--his seal on form, and brow and cheek. but for a bright-winged bird like him, to hush his joyous song, and, prisoned in a coffin dim, join death's pale, phantom throng--_my boy_ to join that grisly throng! oh, mother, i can scarcely bear to think of this to-day! it was so exquisitely fair, --that little form of clay--my heart still lingers by his clay. and when for one loved far, far more, come thickly gathering tears; my star of faith is clouded o'er, i sink beneath my fears--sweet friend, my heavy weight of fears. oh, should he not return to me, drear, drear must be life's night! and, mother, i can almost see even now the gathering blight--my soul faints, stricken by the blight. oh, but to feel thy fond arms twine around me, once again! it almost seems those lips of thine might kiss away the pain--might soothe this dull, cold, heavy pain. but, gentle mother, through life's storms, i may not lean on thee, for helpless, cowering little forms cling trustingly to me--poor babes! to have no guide but me! with weary foot, and broken wing, with bleeding heart, and sore, thy dove looks backward, sorrowing, but seeks the ark no more--thy breast seeks never, never more. sweet mother, for this wanderer pray, that loftier faith be given; her broken reeds all swept away, that she may lean on heaven--her soul grow strong on christ and heaven. all fearfully, all tearfully, alone and sorrowing. my dim eye lifted to the sky, fast to the cross i cling--o christ! to thy dear cross i cling. _maulmain_, august th, from the sad voyage which drew forth this most touching poem dr. judson never returned. he died on board the ship which was bearing him to more healthful climes; and his body was committed to the ocean. one of the most excellent of mrs. judson's productions is her account of the closing scenes in her husband's life, contained in a letter to his sister. long as it is, we cannot bring ourselves to abridge it. it will convince our readers that if the three whose lives we have sketched, have been among the first of women, they were united to one who knew and appreciated their excellence, and who was _worthy_ to share their affection. closing scenes in the life of dr. judson. by his widow. last month i could do no more than announce to you our painful bereavement, which though not altogether unexpected, will, i very well know, fall upon your heart with overwhelming weight. you will find the account of your brother's last days on board the aristide marie, in a letter written by mr. ranney from mauritius, to the secretary of the board; and i can add nothing to it, with the exception of a few unimportant particulars, gleaned in conversation with mr. r. and the coringa servant. i grieve that it should be so--that i was not permitted to watch beside him during those days of terrible suffering; but the pain, which i at first felt, is gradually yielding to gratitude for the inestimable privileges which had previously been granted me. there was something exceedingly beautiful in the decline of your brother's life--more beautiful than i can describe, though the impression will remain with me as a sacred legacy, until i go to meet him where suns shall never set, and life shall never end. he had been, from my first acquaintance with him, an uncommonly spiritual christian, exhibiting his richest graces in the unguarded intercourse of private life; but during his last year, it seemed as though the light of the world on which he was entering, had been sent to brighten his upward pathway. every subject on which we conversed, every book we read, every incident that occurred, whether trivial or important, had a tendency to suggest some peculiarly spiritual train of thought, till it seemed to me that more than ever before, "christ was all his theme." something of the same nature was also noted in his preaching, to which i then had not the privilege of listening. he was in the habit, however, of studying his subject for the sabbath, audibly, and in my presence, at which time he was frequently so much affected as to weep, and some times so overwhelmed with the vastness of his conceptions, as to be obliged to abandon his theme and choose another. my own illness at the commencement of the year had brought eternity very near to us, and rendered death, the grave, and the bright heaven beyond it, familiar subjects of conversation. gladly would i give you, my dear sister, some idea of the share borne by him in those memorable conversations; but it would be impossible to convey, even to those who knew him best, the most distant conception. i believe he has sometimes been thought eloquent, both in conversation and in the sacred desk; but the fervid, burning eloquence, the deep pathos, the touching tenderness, the elevation of thought, and intense beauty of expression, which characterized those private teachings, were not only beyond what i had ever heard before, but such as i felt sure arrested his own attention, and surprised even himself. about this time he began to find unusual satisfaction and enjoyment in his private devotions; and seemed to have few objects of interest continually rising in his mind each of which in turn became special subjects of prayer. among these, one of the most prominent was the conversion of his posterity. he remarked, that he had always prayed for his children, but that of late he had felt impressed with the duty of praying for their children and their children's children down to the latest generation. he also prayed most fervently, that his impressions on this particular subject might be transferred to his sons and daughters, and thence to their offspring, so that he should ultimately meet a long unbroken line of descendants before the throne of god, where all might join together in ascribing everlasting praises to their redeemer. another subject, which occupied a large share of his attention, was that of brotherly love. you are, perhaps, aware, that like all persons of his ardent temperament, he was subject to strong attachments and aversions, which he sometimes had difficulty in bringing under the controlling influence of divine grace. he remarked that he had always felt more or less of an affectionate interest in his brethren, as brethren--and some of them he had loved very dearly for their personal qualities; but that he was now aware he had never placed his standard of love high enough. he spoke of them as children of god, redeemed by the saviour's blood, watched over and guarded by his love, dear to his heart, honored by him in the election, and to be honored hereafter before the assembled universe; and he said it was not sufficient to be kind and obliging to such, to abstain from evil speaking, and make a general mention of them in our prayers; but our attachment to them should be of the race, ardent and exalted character--it would be so in heaven, and we lost immeasurably by not beginning now. "as i have loved you, so ought ye also to love one another," was a precept continually in his mind, and he would often murmur, as though unconsciously, "'as i have loved you'--'as i have loved you'"--then burst out with the exclamation, "oh, the love of christ! the love of christ!" his prayers for the mission were marked by an earnest, grateful enthusiasm, and in speaking of missionary operations in general, his tone was one of elevated triumph, almost of exultation--for he not only felt an unshaken confidence in their final success but would often exclaim, "what wonders--oh, what wonders god has already wrought!" i remarked, that during this year his literary labor, which he had never liked, and upon which he had entered unwillingly and from a feeling of necessity, was growing daily more irksome to him; and he always spoke of it as his "heavy work," his "tedious work," "that wearisome dictionary," &c., though this feeling led to no relaxation of effort. he longed, however, to find some more spiritual employment, to be engaged in what he considered more legitimate missionary labor, and drew delightful pictures of the future, when his whole business would be but to preach and to pray. during all this time i had not observed any failure in physical strength; and though his mental exercises occupied a large share of my thoughts when alone, it never once occurred to me that this might be the brightening of the setting sun; my only feeling was that of pleasure, that one so near to me was becoming so pure and elevated in his sentiments, and so lovely and christ-like in his character. in person he had grown somewhat stouter than when in america, his complexion had a healthful hue compared with that of his associates generally; and though by no means a person of uniformly firm health, he seemed to possess such vigor and strength of constitution, that i thought his life as likely to be extended twenty years longer, as that of any member of the mission. he continued his system of morning exercise, commenced when a student at andover, and was not satisfied with a common walk on level ground, but always chose an up-hill path, and then frequently went bounding on his way, with all the exuberant activity of boyhood. he was of a singularly happy temperament, although not of that even cast, which never rises above a certain level, and is never depressed. possessing acute sensibilities, suffering with those who suffered and entering as readily into the joys of the prosperous and happy, he was variable in his moods; but religion formed such an essential element in his character, and his trust in providence was so implicit and habitual, that he was never gloomy, and seldom more than momentarily disheartened. on the other hand, being accustomed to regard all the events of this life, however minute or painful, as ordered in wisdom and tending to one great and glorious end, he lived in almost constant obedience to the apostolic injunction, "rejoice evermore!" he often told me that although he had endured much personal suffering, and passed through many fearful trials in the course of his eventful life, a kind providence had also hedged him round with precious, peculiar blessings, so that his joys had far outnumbered his sorrows. toward the close of september of last year, he said to me one evening, "what deep cause have we for gratitude to god!--do you believe there are any other two persons in the wide world so happy as we are?" enumerating, in his own earnest manner, several sources of happiness, in which our work as missionaries, and our eternal prospects, occupied a prominent position. when he had finished his glowing picture, i remarked (i scarcely know why, but there was a heavy cloud upon my spirits that evening), "we are certainly very happy now, but it cannot be so always--i am thinking of the time when one of us must stand beside the bed, and see the other die." "yes," he said, "that will be a sad moment; i felt it most deeply a little while ago, but now it would not be strange if your life were prolonged beyond mine--though i should wish if it were possible to spare you that pain. it is the one left alone who suffers, not the one who goes to be with christ. if it should only be the will of god that we might go together, like young james and his wife. but he will order all things well, and we can safely trust our future to his hands." that same night we were roused from sleep by the sudden illness of one of the children. there was an unpleasant, chilling dampness in the air, as it came to us through the openings in the sloats above the windows, which affected your brother very sensibly, and he soon began to shiver so violently, that he was obliged to return to his couch, where he remained under a warm covering until morning. in the morning he awoke with a severe cold, accompanied by some degree of fever; but as it did not seem very serious, and our three children were all suffering from a similar cause, we failed to give it any especial attention. from that time he was never well, though in writing to you before, i think i dated the commencement of his illness, from the month of november, when he laid aside his studies. i know that he regarded this attack as trifling, and yet one evening he spent a long time in advising me with regard to my future course, if i should be deprived of his guidance; saying that it is always wise to be prepared for exigences of this nature. after the month of november, he failed gradually, occasionally rallying in such a manner as to deceive us all, but at each relapse sinking lower than at the previous one, though still full of hope and courage, and yielding ground only, inch by inch, as compelled by the triumphant progress of disease. during some hours of every day he suffered intense pain; but his naturally buoyant spirits and uncomplaining disposition led him to speak so lightly of it, that i used sometimes to fear the doctor, though a very skilful man, would be fatally deceived. as his health declined, his mental exercises at first seemed deepened; and he gave still larger portions of his time to prayer, conversing with the utmost freedom on his daily progress, and the extent of his self-conquest. just before our trip to mergui, which took place in january, he looked up from his pillow one day with sudden animation, and said to me earnestly, "i have gained the victory at last. i love every one of christ's redeemed, as i believe he would have me love them--in the same manner, though not probably to the same degree as we shall love one another in heaven; and gladly would i prefer the meanest of his creatures, who bears his name, before myself." this he said in allusion to the text, "in honor preferring one another," on which he had frequently dwelt with great emphasis. after farther similar conversation he concluded, "and now here i lie at peace with all the world, and what is better still, at peace with my own conscience. i know that i am a miserable sinner in the sight of god, with no hope but in the blessed saviour's merits; but i cannot think of any particular fault, any peculiarly besetting sin, which it is now my duty to correct. can you tell me of any?" and truly, from this time no other word would so well express his state of feeling, as that one of his own choosing--_peace_. he had no particular exercises afterwards, but remained calm and serene, speaking of himself daily as a great sinner, who had been overwhelmed with benefits, and declaring, that he had never in all his life before, had such delightful views of the unfathomable love and infinite condescension of the saviour, as were now daily opening before him. "oh, the love of christ! the love of christ!" he would suddenly exclaim, while his eye kindled, and the tears chased each other down his cheeks, "we cannot understand it now--but what a beautiful study for eternity!" after our return from mergui, the doctor advised a still farther trial of the effects of sea air and sea-bathing, and we accordingly proceeded to amherst, where we remained nearly a month. this to me was the darkest period of his illness--no medical adviser, no friend at hand, and he daily growing weaker and weaker. he began to totter in walking, clinging to the furniture and walls, when he thought he was unobserved (for he was not willing to acknowledge the extent of his debility), and his wan face was of a ghastly paleness. his sufferings too were sometimes fearfully intense, so that in spite of his habitual self-control, his groans would fill the house. at other times a kind of lethargy seemed to steal over him, and he would sleep almost incessantly for twenty-four hours, seeming annoyed if he were aroused or disturbed. yet there were portions of the time, when he was comparatively comfortable, and conversed intelligently; but his mind seemed to revert to former scenes, and he tried to amuse me with stories of his boyhood--his college days--his imprisonment in france, and his early missionary life. he had a great deal also to say on his favorite theme. "the love of christ:" but his strength was too much impaired for any continuous mental effort. even a short prayer made audibly, exhausted him to such a degree that he was obliged to discontinue the practice. at length i wrote to maulmain, giving some expression of my anxieties and misgivings, and our kind missionary friends, who had from the first evinced all the tender interest and watchful sympathy of the nearest kindred immediately sent for us--the doctor advising a sea-voyage. but as there was no vessel in the harbor bound for a port sufficiently distant, we thought it best, in the meantime, to remove from our old dwelling, which had long been condemned as unhealthy, to another mission-house, fortunately empty. this change was at first attended with the most beneficial results, and our hopes revived so much, that we looked forward to the approaching rainy season for entire restoration. but it lasted only a little while, and then both of us became convinced, that though a voyage at sea involved much that was exceedingly painful, it yet presented the only prospect of recovery, and could not, therefore, without a breach of duty, be neglected. "oh, if it were only the will of god to take me now--to let me die here!" he repeated over and over again, in a tone of anguish, while we where considering the subject. "i cannot, cannot go!--this is almost more than i can bear! was there ever suffering like our suffering!" and the like broken expressions, were continually falling from his lips. but he soon gathered more strength of purpose; and after the decision was fairly made, he never hesitated for a moment, rather regarding the prospect with pleasure. i think the struggle which this resolution cost, injured him very materially; though probably it had no share in bringing about the final result. god, who saw the end from the beginning had counted out his days, and they were hastening to a close. until this time he had been able to stand, and to walk slowly from room to room; but as he one evening attempted to rise from his chair, he was suddenly deprived of his small remnant of muscular strength, and would have fallen to the floor, but for timely support. from that moment his decline was rapid. as he lay helplessly upon his couch, and watched the swelling of his feet, and other alarming symptoms, he became very anxious to commence his voyage, and i felt equally anxious to have his wishes gratified. i still hoped he might recover--the doctor said the chances of life and death were in his opinion equally balanced--and then he always loved the sea so dearly! there was something exhilarating to him in the motion of a vessel, and he spoke with animation of getting free from the almost suffocating atmosphere incident to the hot season, and drinking in the fresh sea breezes he talked but little more, however, than was necessary to indicate his wants, his bodily sufferings being too great to allow of conversation; but several times he looked up to me with a bright smile, and exclaimed as heretofore, "oh, the love of christ! the love of christ!" i found it difficult to ascertain, from expressions casually dropped, from time to time, his real opinion with regard to his recovery; but i thought there was some reason to doubt whether he was fully aware of his critical situation. i did not suppose he had any preparation to make at this late hour, and i felt sure that if he should be called ever so unexpectedly, he would not enter the presence of his maker with a ruffled spirit; but i could not bear to have him go away, without knowing how doubtful it was whether our next meeting would not be in eternity; and perhaps too, in my own distress, i might still have looked for words of encouragement and sympathy, to a source which had never before failed. it was late in the night, and i had been performing some little sick-room offices, when suddenly he looked up to me, and exclaimed, "this will never do! you are killing yourself for me, and i will not permit it you must have some one to relieve you. if i had not been made selfish by suffering, i should have insisted upon it long ago." he spoke so like himself--with the earnestness of health, and in a tone to which my ear had of late been a stranger, that for a moment i felt almost bewildered with sudden hope. he received my reply to what he had said, with a half-pitying, half-gratified smile, but in the meantime his expression had changed--the marks of excessive debility were again apparent, and i could not forbear adding, "it is only a little while, you know." "only a little while," he repeated mournfully; "this separation is a bitter thing, but it does not distress me now as it did--i am too weak." "you have no reason to be distressed," i answered, "with such glorious prospects before you. you have often told me it is the one left alone who suffers, not the one who goes to be with christ." he gave me a rapid, questioning glance, then assumed for several moments an attitude of deep thought. finally, he slowly unclosed his eyes, and fixing them on me, said in a calm, earnest tone, "i do not believe i am going to die. i think i know why this illness has been sent upon me--i needed it--i feel that it has done me good--and it is my impression, that i shall now recover, and be a better and more useful man." "then it is your wish to recover?" i inquired. "if it should be the will of god, yes. i should like to complete the dictionary, on which i have bestowed so much labor, now that it is so nearly done; for though it has not been a work that pleased my taste, or quite satisfied my feelings, i have never underrated its importance. then after that come all the plans we have formed. oh, i feel as though only just beginning to be prepared for usefulness." "it is the opinion of most of the mission," i remarked, "that you will not recover." "i know it is," he replied; "and i suppose they think me an old man, and imagine that it is nothing for one like me to resign a life so full of trials. but i am not old--at least in that sense--you know i am not. oh! no man ever left this world with more inviting prospects, with brighter hopes or warmer feelings--warmer feelings"--he repeated, and burst into tears. his face was perfectly placid, even while the tears broke away from the closed lids, and rolled, one after another, down to the pillow. there was no trace of agitation or pain in his manner of weeping, but it was evidently the result of acute sensibilities, combined with great physical weakness. to some suggestions which i ventured to make, he replied, "it is not that--i know all that, and feel it in my inmost heart. lying here on my bed, when i could not talk, i have had such views of the loving condescension of christ, and the glories of heaven, as i believe are seldom granted to mortal man. it is not because i shrink from death, that i wish to live; neither is it because the ties that bind me here though some of them are very sweet, bear any comparison with the drawings i at times feel towards heaven; but a few years would not be missed from my eternity of bliss, and i can well afford to spare them, both for your sake and for the sake of the poor burmans. i am not tired of my work, neither am i tired of the world; yet when christ calls me home. i shall go with the gladness of a boy bounding away from his school. perhaps i feel something like the young bride, when she contemplates resigning the pleasant associations of her childhood, for a yet dearer home--though only a very little like her--for _there is no doubt resting on my future_." "then death would not take you by surprise," i remarked, "if it should come even before you could get on board ship." "oh, no," he said, "death will never take me by surprise--do not be afraid of that--i feel _so strong in christ_. he has not led me so tenderly thus far, to forsake me at the very gate of heaven. no, no; i am willing to live a few years longer, if it should be so ordered; and if otherwise, i am willing and glad to die now. i leave myself entirely in the hands of god, to be disposed of according to his holy will." the next day some one mentioned in his presence, that the native christians were greatly opposed to the voyage, and that many other persons had a similar feeling with regard to it i thought he seemed troubled; and after the visitor had withdrawn, i inquired if he still felt as when he conversed with me the night previous. he replied, "oh yes; that was no evanescent feeling. it has been with me, to a greater or less extent, for years, and will be with me, i trust, to the end. i am ready to go _to-day_--if it should be the will of god, this very hour; but i am not _anxious_ to die--at least when i am not beside myself with pain." "then why are you so desirous to go to sea? i should think it would be a matter of indifference to you." "no," he answered quietly, "my judgment tells me it would be wrong not to go--the doctor says _criminal_. i shall certainly die here--if i go away, i may possibly recover. there is no question with regard to duty in such a case; and i do not like to see any hesitation, even though it springs from affection." he several times spoke of a burial at sea, and always as though the prospect were agreeable. it brought, he said, a sense of freedom and expansion and seemed far pleasanter than the confined, dark, narrow grave, to which he had committed so many that he loved. and he added, that although his burial-place was a matter of no real importance, yet he believed it was not in human nature to be altogether without a choice. i have already given you an account of the embarkation, of my visits to him while the vessel remained in the river, and of our last sad, silent parting; and mr. ranney has finished the picture. you will find in this closing part, some dark shadows, that will give you pain; but you must remember that his present felicity is enhanced by those very sufferings, and we should regret nothing that serves to brighten his crown in glory. i ought also to add, that i have gained pleasanter impressions in conversation with mr. r. than from his written account; but it would be difficult to convey them to you; and, as he whom they concern was accustomed to say of similar things, "you will learn it all in heaven." during the last hour of your sainted brother's life, mr. ranney bent over him and held his hand; while poor pinapah stood at a little distance weeping bitterly. the table had been spread in the cuddy, as usual, and the officers did not know what was passing in the cabin, till summoned to dinner. then they gathered about the door, and watched the closing scene with solemn reverence. now--thanks to a merciful god! his pains had left him, not a momentary spasm disturbed his placid face, nor did the contraction of a muscle denote the least degree of suffering; the agony of death was passed, and his wearied spirit was turning to its rest in the bosom of his saviour. from time to time, he pressed the hand in which his own was resting, his clasp losing in force at each successive pressure; while his shortened breath (though there was no struggle, no gasping, as if it came and went with difficulty) gradually grew softer and fainter, until it died upon the air--and he was gone. mr. ranney closed the eyes, and composed the passive limbs,--the ship's officers stole softly from the door, and the neglected meal was left upon the board untasted. they lowered him to his ocean-grave without a prayer; for his freed spirit had soared above the reach of earthly intercession, and to the foreigners who stood around, it would have been a senseless form. and there they left him in his unquiet sepulchre; but it matters little, for we know that while the unconscious clay is "drifting on the shifting currents of the restless main," nothing can disturb the hallowed rest of the immortal spirit. neither could he have a more fitting monument, than the blue waves which visit every coast; for his warm sympathies went forth to the ends of the earth, and included the whole family of man. it is all as god would have it, and our duty is but to bend meekly to his will, and wait, in faith and patience, till we also shall be summoned home. chapter ii. conclusion. * * * * "last scene of all to close this sad, eventful history." scarcely four years ago,--in sickness and loneliness, and sad suspense,--in her burman home, from which had departed (alas, forever!) its light and head--emily c. judson penned the foregoing beautiful letter. read again its closing sentence,[ ] and note how short a time she has "waited in faith and patience;" how _soon_ she has been "summoned home." for _her_, it would be wrong for us to mourn. she has rejoined that circle, which she loved so well on earth, in a land where "sickness and sorrow, pain and death are felt and _feared_ no more." but to her aged parents--to the little flock to whom she was as the tenderest mother--to the literary world, which enjoyed the ripe fruits of her genius--to the christian world, of which she was a shining ornament and glory, her loss is irreparable. in her own inimitable words, we may exclaim: "weep, ye bereaved! a dearer head ne'er left the pillowing breast; the good, the pure, the lovely fled, when mingling with the shadowy dead she meekly went to rest. "angels, rejoice! another string has caught the strains above, rejoice, rejoice! a new-fledged wing around the throne is hovering, in sweet, glad, wondering love." but though one of the sweet fountains that well up here and there in our desert world, and surround themselves with greenness, and beauty, and life, has been exhaled to heaven, still it is refreshing to know that its streams, which made glad so many hearts, have not perished, for they were of "living water, springing up" into immortality. the writer is lost to us; her writings remain. by them "she being dead yet speaketh," and through them, whensoever we will, she may talk with us. mrs. judson's final malady was consumption, but for several years her health had been feeble. one who saw her just before she left america says: "looking upon her, we saw at once that it was a spirit which had already outworn its frame--a slight, pale, delicate, and transparent creature, every thought and feeling shining through, and every word and movement tremulous with fragility. * * * we said farewell with no thought that she would ever return." from her voyage across the ocean she suffered less than was apprehended, and for a time she found the climate of india rather congenial than otherwise to her constitution. her short residence at rangoon, whither her husband removed with his family soon after reaching burmah, was indeed a period of great suffering, and would have given a shock to a much hardier constitution. her narrative of their sufferings there, contained in the life of her husband, by dr. wayland, excites our wonder that she survived them. but after their removal to maulmain, she was restored to comparative health. a letter from her husband, written in the latter part of , when her little emily frances, her "bird," was one year old, gives a glowing picture of their happiness and their labors. he playfully says: "even 'the young romance writer' had made a little book, (scripture questions,) and she manages to conduct a bible class, and native female prayer-meetings, so that i hope she will yet come to some good." but a letter written to miss anable, philadelphia, in the spring of , is in a different strain: "a dark cloud is gathering round me. a crushing weight is upon me. i cannot resist the dreadful conviction that dear emily is in a settled and rapid decline." after speaking of the many means he had unsuccessfully employed for her restoration, he says "the symptoms are such that i have scarcely any hope left. * * * if a change to any place promised the least relief, i would go anywhere. but we are here in the healthiest part of india, in the dry, warm season, and she suffers so much at sea that a voyage could hardly be recommended for itself. my only hope is, the doctor declares her lungs are not seriously affected. * * * when at tavoy, she made up her mind that she must die soon, and that is now her prevailing expectation; but she contemplates the event with composure and resignation. * * * though she feels that in her circumstances, prolonged life is exceedingly desirable, she is quite willing to leave all at the savior's call. praise be to god for his love to her." some days later he adds: "emily is better. * * * but though the deadly-pressure is removed from my heart, i do not venture to indulge any sanguine hopes after what i have seen. * * * do remember us in your prayers." the doctor's predictions proved correct; mrs. judson partially recovered from this attack, although in august her husband writes: "emily's health is very delicate--her hold on life very precarious." alas! his own hold on life was more precarious still. in the following spring, the heart that had beat for her so fondly and truly was consigned to its "unquiet sepulchre;" "the blue waves which visit every coast" his only and "fitting monument;" while the object of his tender solicitude was compelled to endure four months the agony of suspense as to _his_ fate, terminated by the sad certainty of his death.[ ] after the death of her husband, mrs. judson expressed a strong desire to remain in burmah and devote herself to the cause which was so dear to her husband's and her own heart. but her health, always delicate, was so unfavorably affected by that climate that her physicians were of opinion another rainy season would terminate her life. a numerous family of children, several of whom were in this country, needed her maternal care and guidance; and for their sakes, as well as for her own, she left burmah in the winter following her husband's death, and arrived in this country in october, , after an absence of five years and three months. she found in the beautiful village of hamilton a sequestered and lovely home for herself and her family, which consisted of her aged parents, the five children of sarah b. judson, and her own "bird," emily frances. the cares of her family, and literary labors, here divided her time until the prostration of her health by her last sickness, since which period she has "set her house in order,"[ ] and calmly awaited the summons of death. peacefully and sweetly did the summons come, and on the first of june she fell asleep in jesus. with a sister poet she might have said-- "i'm passing through the eternal gates, ere june's sweet roses blow." she had often spoken of this rich and glorious month as her "time to die," and repeated bryant's hymn,-- "'twere pleasant that in flowery june, when brooks send up a cheerful tune, and groves a joyous sound, the sexton's hand my grave to make, the rich, green mountain-turf should break." nature had no more ardent lover than she; and it is pleasant to think that her dust is returning to dust in a lovely village church-yard, under the "pure air of heaven, and amid the luxuriance of flowers." pleasant also is it to read that a vast concourse of sincere admirers and loving friends, and among them all her children, eagerly testified their respect to her, by attending her remains to their burial. to her glorified spirit such manifestations may indeed be of little moment. yet even her glorified spirit may feel a new thrill of pleasure in beholding, from its serene sphere, the love that prompted them, and sought in the choice of her last resting-place to give even to the unconscious dead one more proof of affection. in so imperfect a sketch as ours, a delineation of the character of mrs. judson will not be attempted. we would not, if we could, anticipate her memoir, which, it is said, will soon be published. from documents open to the public, we shall merely glean such notices of her life and character as shall induce in our readers a desire to know those details of her personal history which will doubtless be found in her biography. from what we can learn, we infer that the prominent traits in her character were strong affections, energy, and disinterestedness. of a slight and delicate frame and constitution, and a sensibility almost amounting to sensitiveness, she at an early age engaged in duties and made sacrifices scarcely expected from the robust and vigorous. and her exertions had for their end mainly to benefit those she loved. whether she taught in the district school, or in the higher seminary, or wrote sunday-school books, or contributed to literary periodicals, her affection for her mother, and desire to lighten her burdens, seem to have stimulated her exertions and called forth her powers. in her early religious experience, the same disinterestedness manifested itself; for no sooner did she feel the renewing power of faith in her own heart, than she longed to impart even to the distant heathen the same precious blessing.[ ] unselfish affection is also, we think, a strongly marked trait in her married life. not long after their arrival in burmah, mr. judson writes: "emily loves the children as if they were her own." and again, nearly two years later: "we are a deliciously happy family;" and again, "emily has taken to my two boys as if they were her own; so that we are a very happy family; not a happier, i am sure, on the broad earth." another proof of the same trait, was her loving and sympathetic appreciation of a peculiar trait in her husband, which, had her disposition been less noble, might have caused her some annoyance. of this trait dr. wayland thus speaks: "there was a feature in dr. judson's affection as a husband, which was, i think, peculiar. he was, as it is well known, married three times, and no man was ever more tenderly attached to each of his wives. the present affection, however, seemed in no respect to lessen his affection for those for whom he mourned. he ever spoke of those who had gone before, with undiminished interest. in one of his letters to his daughter, after saying he did not believe there existed on earth so happy a family as his, he soon after adds: 'my tears fall frequently for her who lies in her lone bed at st. helena.' it was at his suggestion that mrs. emily judson wrote the life of her predecessor. he frequently refers with delight to the time when he, and all those whom he so much loved, shall meet in paradise, no more to part, but to spend an eternity together in the presence of christ. those that were once loved were loved to the end; but this did not prevent the bestowment of an equal amount of affection on a successor." to quote the words of another, speaking of mrs. mary ware, who, placed in similar circumstances to mrs. judson, showed the same noble superiority to a common weakness of her sex: "she had no sympathy and little respect for that narrow view which insists that the departed and the living cannot share the same pure love of the same true heart. with regard to a former wife--'she was the nearest and dearest to him'--she would say, 'how then can i do otherwise than love and cherish her memory?' and _her_ children she received as a precious legacy; they were to her from the first moment like her own; neither she nor they knew any distinction." since writing the above, we have seen a poem, entitled "love's last wish," addressed to her husband, by mrs. judson when she thought herself near death, which expresses so beautifully the sentiment we have here attributed to her, that, did our limits permit, we would copy the whole. we can only give an extract. "thou say'st i'm fading day by day, and in thy face i read thy fears; it would be hard to pass away so soon, and leave thee to thy tears. i hoped to linger by thy side, until thy homeward call was given, then silent to my pillow glide, and wake upon thy breast in heaven. * * * * * "i do not ask to be forgot; i've read thy heart in every line, and know that there one sacred spot, whate'er betide, will still be mine, for death but lays its mystic spell upon affection's earthliness,-- i know that, though thou lov'st me well, _thou lov'st thy sainted none the less_. * * * * * and when at last we meet above, where marriage vows are never spoken, _we all shall form one chain of love_, whose spirit-links can ne'er be broken." of mrs. judson's happiness in her married and missionary life, we feel bound to say a few words, because the tone of some articles, written since her death, would lead to the impression that, so far from having had any enjoyment as a wife, a mother, and a missionary, she had sacrificed not only all her literary aspirations, but her whole earthly happiness to her desire to benefit the heathen. thus one widely circulated article speaks of her mission-life as a "slow martyrdom of sacrifices and sorrows;" * * * as "filled with bitterness,"--speaks, too, of the agony wrung out of her heart by suspense in regard to her husband's fate, expressed in that exquisite piece to her mother, (page ,) as "one hour of the _years she suffered_ in burmah." that the life of any faithful missionary is one of exile, toil, and privation, we are not disposed to deny. the world knows it too well; and seeing that such toils are uncheered by the acquisition of fame or wealth--the only reward it can appreciate--the world considers the life of the missionary a living death, endured like martyrdom, only for the sake of its crown in the life to come. but not in this light was their life considered by the noble three whose history we have sketched in this volume, nor by dr. judson. the elevated sources of happiness opened even in this world to those who literally obey the command to forsake all for christ, cast far into the shade all merely selfish enjoyment; while the pure domestic affections, and the bliss resulting from them, are as much the portion of the missionary, as of his favored brethren at home. who can read the letters of dr. judson, in dr. wayland's memoir of him, or the exquisite letters of his widow found in this volume, without the conviction that the latter years of her life, privileged as they were with the high companionship of one so gifted and so dear as was her husband, and in the midst of social and domestic duties that brought their own exceeding great reward, were, of all her years, the richest and the happiest! but her own idea of the comparative happiness of her _two lives_, may be best gathered from her poetry, for it is a characteristic and charm of her verse that it is the pouring forth of her deepest feelings at the moment when they swayed her soul with strongest influence. we extract a few verses from a poem written at rangoon, during that period of great physical suffering to which we have alluded, but of which dr. judson writes: "my sojourn in rangoon, though tedious and trying in some respects, i regard as one of the greenest spots, one of the brightest oases, in the diversified wilderness of my life. if this world is so happy, what must heaven be?" to my husband. "tis may, but no sweet violet springs in these strange woods and dells; the dear home-lily never swings her little pearly bells; but search my heart and thou wilt see what wealth of flowers it owes to thee. the robin's voice is never heard from palm and banyan trees; and strange to me each gorgeous bird, whose pinion fans the breeze; but love's white wing bends softly here, love's thrilling music fills my ear. * * * * * the pure, the beautiful, the good, ne'er gather in this place; none but the vicious and the rude, the dark of mind and face; but _all the wealth of thy vast soul_ is pressed into my brimming bowl. * * * * * here closely nestled by thy side, thy arm around me thrown, i ask no more. _in mirth and pride_ _i've stood--oh so alone_! now, what is all this world to me, since i have found my world in thee? oh if we are so happy here, amid our toils and pains, with thronging cares and dangers near and marr'd by earthly stains, how great must be the compass given our souls, to _bear_ the bliss of heaven!" as to the sacrifice of her literary taste and reputation, this is so far from the fact, that we may assert without fear of contradiction, that the world never knew her best excellence as a writer, till it was startled, as it were, by her deathless utterances, wafted by east winds from her indian home. her memoir of her predecessor, and her appeals for burmah, have thrilled thousands of hearts that knew nothing of her "alderbrook;" and her "bird," has, perhaps, awakened in many a mother's heart its first deep appreciation of the holy responsibilities of maternity. the christian world gained much, the literary world lost nothing, when fanny forester became a missionary. but her harp is idle now, and its loosened strings will wait long for a hand to tune and draw from them such soul-moving cadences as we have been wont to hear. in purer air she sweeps a nobler lyre; and methinks her song may well be, "blessed are the dead that die in the lord; even so, saith the spirit, for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." footnotes: [footnote : page .] [footnote : see her touching allusion to that suspense in the thirteenth and fourteenth verses of her poem, "sweet mother," page .] [footnote : these are no idle words, for, says the new york recorder, "her love for the missionary enterprise found expression in an act, by which she, being dead, will long speak through the living heralds of the cross. by her will, as we learn from an authentic source, after providing for the comfortable maintenance of her aged parents and the support and education of her daughter and the other children of dr. judson, with a small portion to each as they reach maturity, and a few bequests to personal friends, whatever may remain of her property is given to the cause for which she wished to live, in the same spirit that her venerated husband so consistently exemplified. she was solicitous that the children left in her guardianship should lack no good that a christian parent could desire beyond this, and the fulfillment of filial duty, her single aim was the furtherance of his kingdom to whom her heart was supremely loyal and her life unreservedly devoted." it is interesting to learn, from the same authority, that the youngest of mrs. s.b. judson's five children, a boy of eight years, has been adopted by professor dodge, of madison university; and her own daughter, by miss anable, of philadelphia, one of the warmest friends of mrs. e.c. judson. the other children are pursuing their education under different guardians.] [footnote : see page .] transcriber's notes: the illustration tags at the beginning are for illustrations that were near the beginning of the book in the original, but the transcriber does not know exactly where. on page , the circumflex in "shooda-gôn" is a macron in the original. on page , it is unclear where the quote ends in footnote . [illustration: the pagoda steps, rangoon. _page ._] peeps at many lands burma by r. talbot kelly r.i., r.b.a., f.r.g.s. commander of the medjidieh with twelve full-page illustrations in colour by the author london adam and charles black * * * * * contents chapter page i. the land ii. rangoon iii. the people iv. the irrawaddy v. the irrawaddy (_continued_) vi. village life vii. town life viii. field work ix. the forest x. the forest (_continued_) xi. temples and religion * * * * * list of illustrations in colour by r. talbot kelly the pagoda steps, rangoon _frontispiece_ facing page "a daintily-clad burmese lady" a rest-house a native boat sailing upstream with the wind the irrawaddy entrance to a burmese village at the well the market-place in the depths of the forest a dak bungalow the queen's golden monastery, mandalay the shwe zigon pagoda, pagan shrine on the platform of the shwe dagon pagoda _on the cover_ _sketch map of burma on p. viii._ * * * * * [illustration: a sketch map of burma.] burma chapter i the land how many boys or girls, i wonder, ever turn to their school atlas for amusement, or try to picture to themselves what manner of countries those might be whose strange and unfamiliar place-names so often make their geography lesson a difficulty? yet there are few subjects, i think, which might be made more interesting than geography, and a map may often serve to suggest delightful fancies to a boy or girl of imagination. open your atlas at random and see what it has to tell you. here, perhaps in the heart of a great continent, stretches a mountain range, and from it in many directions wind those serpent-like lines which denote rivers. following these lines in their course, through narrow valleys or wide plains, we notice that upon their banks presently appear those towns and cities whose names you so often find it difficult to remember, and at length, frequently by many mouths that cut up the delta it has formed, the river eventually finds its way into the sea. these are the simple facts our map gives us, but there is a great deal of poetry behind. that mountain range is nature's means of attracting and holding the moisture-laden clouds which have been blown in from the sea, and either in the form of rain or snow it stores up the water evaporated from it. by thousands of little rills, or rushing torrents which score furrows in its sides, the mountain gives up its store of water to feed the thirsty plains, and with it yields also valuable ores and minerals, which are often carried many many miles away to enrich a people too far removed from the mountain to know the origin of their wealth. these little streamlets are not marked upon your map, but presently they join to form one combined river, by which, through the many hundreds of miles of its windings, the mountain eventually returns its gathered waters to the sea, from whence they came. how interesting to follow the course of such a river, and try to picture to oneself all it may have to show! what kind of mountain is it from among whose rugged snow peaks first sprang those plunging cascades, which, leaping and tossing over their rocky beds, join each other at its base to form the river itself? through what wild forests, filled with curious vegetation, may it not flow, and how strange, perhaps, are the people who, together with wild beasts and unknown birds, inhabit its reedy margins! as the river grows in size, the grass huts and dug-out canoes of its upper waters give place to towns which bear names, while large and strangely-shaped boats carry the produce of the country to some great seaport at its mouth, where ships of all nations are waiting to transport it over thousands of miles of ocean to supply us with those many commodities which we have come to regard as daily necessities! if boys and girls would think of such things geography, i am sure, would never be a _dull_ study. now, to turn from an imaginary case to a real one, i want to tell you something about burma, a country which, though one of the most interesting and beautiful in the world, is comparatively little known to the majority of people. this may seem surprising when it is remembered that burma now forms part of our indian empire, and has for many years carried on a large trade with england. we may perhaps better understand this if we turn to our atlas and see how the country is situated. as you will see, burma lies on the eastern side of the bay of bengal, just north of the malay peninsula, joining siam and china on the one side and the indian provinces of assam and manipur on the other, while from an unknown source in the heart of thibet its great river, the irrawaddy, flows throughout the entire length of the country, and through rangoon, the seaport at its mouth, forming the great highway for commerce and communication between the world at large and its little-known interior. looking at the map again, you will see that on each side of the irrawaddy, running north and south, are mountain ranges called "yomas" (or back-bones, as the word means), which divide the country, while other large rivers, such as the sittang and salween, flowing in deep, precipitous valleys, render any communication with siam difficult. on the north-west similar ranges of hills form a barrier between burma and the frontier provinces of india, and when i tell you that all these mountains are densely covered with forest and jungle, and that the rivers are wide, and in many cases unnavigable, you will understand how it is that burma is not better known, and that so few people undertake the arduous work of exploring its interior. only by way of one little corner in the north-east, where burma joins the chinese province of yunnan, is access from the land side easy, and here caravans of yunnanese constantly enter the country to trade at bhamo and hsipaw. otherwise, separated by its mountain chains and forests from the rest of the world, burma has for centuries remained untouched and unspoiled, and it is only since the deposition of king thebaw, in , and the assumption of its government by england that the gradual extension of the railway system is slowly bringing the interior into easier communication with the outside world, and beginning to effect a change in the character of the people. chapter ii rangoon anyone wishing to visit burma must land at rangoon, for it is not only the largest and most important of its seaports, but the only one that has direct steamer communication with england, or by river traffic and railways affords access to the interior. the harbour is formed by the tidal estuary of one of the many mouths of the irrawaddy. here it is very wide, and a large number of steamers and sailing ships ride at anchor, loading or discharging their cargoes into lighters and quaintly-shaped native boats. huge rafts of teak wood drift slowly downstream to the saw-mills below the town, where trained elephants stack the logs with almost human intelligence, and queer uptilted rowing boats, called "sampans," ferry passengers across the river, or to the various vessels in the stream. long stretches of timber-built quays and iron-roofed "godowns" (or warehouses) form the wharfs, upon which coolies of all nationalities toil under the tropical sun. european officers in white drill and sun-helmets superintend the loading of their vessels, longing to be finished and away from a spot where everything vibrates and dithers in the white glare. on shore the smoke from the rice-mills adds to the already overpowering sense of heat, while from across the water the noise of hammered iron from the repairing yards completes a picture of bustle, heat, and toil. yet rangoon is a very pleasant place to live in, and as many of my readers will, no doubt, have fathers or brothers in the east, they will like to hear something about the place, and how people live there. behind the quay and warehouses the city lies, well laid out in broad streets and squares, and having many fine shops and buildings. the houses are mostly of that curious half-italian, half-oriental style which we find in almost all southern and eastern seaports. they are usually painted white, with green shutters to the windows, and are often surrounded by broad verandas. the roofs are generally of red tiles, which look pretty among the dark foliage of the trees which often line the streets, and in spite of "topee"[ ] and umbrella, pedestrians are thankful to avail themselves of their shade, for the air is hot and the white glare of the streets is most trying to the eyes. [footnote : sun-helmet.] people of all nations throng the thoroughfares and bazaars--indians and singalese, chinese and burmans--and one's first impression is a vague confusion of picturesque costumes and unaccustomed types of mankind; for rangoon is cosmopolitan to a degree, and can hardly be called a burmese town at all. anyone visiting rangoon for the first time will, i think, be struck by the many strange trades carried on in the streets, and it is interesting to sit in the veranda of your hotel in the strand and watch the crowd as it passes. here is a water-carrier, whose terra-cotta water-jars are slung from a bamboo carried on his shoulder, another man bears on his head a tray upon which a charcoal fire is cooking a strong-smelling "tit-bit" some hungry labourer will presently enjoy. again, a chinaman, perhaps wearing black skull-cap and loose jacket and trousers, endeavours to tempt you to purchase the fans or sunshades he is hawking. huge baskets of coco-nuts or vegetables, gaudily printed calicoes and haberdashery, cheap knives and looking-glasses, and baskets of cool melons, are some of the articles carried across the shoulders of the pedlars, while porters pass to and fro bearing huge burdens from one warehouse to another. flocks of goats are driven from house to house to be milked at the doorstep, and occasionally a hill-man may be seen wandering about in the hope of finding a purchaser for the freshly-caught leopard he is leading. what will, perhaps, most strike europeans are the bullock gharries by which the heavy traffic of the town is carried on. these are carts curiously shaped and often carved, with large and very wide-rimmed wheels. they are drawn by a pair of indian bullocks, sleek cream-coloured beasts with mild and patient eyes, and often bearing enormous horns, which, somewhat after the shape of a lyre, stand four feet above their heads. excepting for a single rein which is fastened to a ring through the nose, no harness is used; but, instead, the cattle press against the wooden yoke which is fixed to the pole of the cart, and is kept in position by long pins which lie on each side of their necks. one thing which distinguishes these bullocks from our own is their hump, which nearly all eastern cattle have. this hump not only enables them the better to work under the yoke, but, as in the case of the camel, is provided by nature as a storing-place for surplus fat, upon which they can unconsciously nourish themselves when pasturage or food is scarce. large-turbaned indian police keep order in the streets, where office "chuprassies," or messengers, wearing their broad, coloured sash of office across their shoulders, come and go upon their errands, and, with the white-clad butler of a "sahib" intent upon his marketing, mingle with a crowd which is composed of all races and all stations of life, from the wizened labourer in his loin-cloth to the wealthy baboo or daintily-clad burmese lady. it is a wonderful medley of strange faces, costumes, and tongues, and among it all the self-sufficient crow fights with the "pi" dogs over the garbage, to the amusement of the children, who, often quite naked, play about the gutters. no such crowd in england could possibly have the same charm, for here dirt, hunger, and rags are always apparent, while there the dirt is lost in the glorious sunshine, and, instead of rags, we find bright colours, while the people, though often poor, seldom, if ever, go hungry. i have tried to give you some little idea of the life of the streets, and now let us see something of the life of the "sahib" in rangoon. [illustration: a daintily-clad burmese lady. _page ._] you boys and girls whose fathers are in india know that "sahib" means the englishman, the merchant or official who carries on the business affairs or government of the country, and many of you may remember something of your very young days out there, before the time arrived when it became necessary for you to leave the east and come to school in england. well, i may say that the english "sahib" works very hard indeed, and i am afraid he is already busy at his office long before we in england have thought of getting up. somewhere about six o'clock, after a light breakfast called "chota-hazri," he is at his office, which he seldom leaves till the evening. the offices are large and airy, and all the windows are shaded by jalousies, or grass mats, which in hot weather are wetted so as to cool the air as it passes through them. slung from the ceiling in long rows over tables or desks are the "punkahs," or fans, which a "punkah-wallah" outside in the veranda pulls to and fro with a rope in order to keep the hot air moving, and prevent the flies and mosquitoes from settling. every one, though clothed in the lightest suit, works with his coat off, and in many cases, so as not to interrupt the day's routine, "tiffin," or lunch, is eaten in the office. work is hard, steady, and continuous, and no one who has not been there knows how well our relations in the east earn its many compensations. life there is not _all_ work, however, and its social conditions are very attractive. from the time when his "tum-tum"[ ] arrives at the close of office-hours and the "sahib" bowls merrily homewards, a new life begins. town becomes deserted, and the suburbs awake to offer amusement and relaxation to the workers. [footnote : dogcart.] let us accompany one of our friends on his way home. the sun is declining and the air already much cooler, and the drive through the shopping streets and the squares is very enjoyable. the town is soon passed, however, and broad roads well shaded with many tropical growths lead to cantonments, as the suburbs are called. here are the military lines as well as the bungalows of the residents. these bungalows are generally large and comfortable-looking, and one can see from their broad verandas and well-shaded windows that they are designed for coolness. nearly all are built of timber, and each stands in its own compound, which is usually gay with flowers and well provided with shade-trees. separated from the house but connected with it by a covered walk are the kitchens, and in a corner of the garden are the stables, for horses are an essential in rangoon. as we drive along the quiet roads they gradually become animated. the ladies, who have been resting indoors during the great heat of the day, pass us on their way to their tennis-parties or other engagements, while, in charge of picturesquely-clad burmese or indian ayahs, the little ones take their evening walk. groups of burmans of the better class with their wives promenade the cool avenues in happy contentment, or wend their way towards dalhousie park. the whole scene is pretty and domestic, and the roads themselves form beautiful vistas in the evening light, which gilds the feathery crests of the coco-nuts and gives added colour to the deep-toned foliage of the padouk and other trees which fringe them. song-birds which are strange to us call each other from the groves, and in the bamboo clumps the grasshoppers are beginning to sing, while floating in the air, which is now fresh and cool, is the scent of many flowers from the gardens. dalhousie park is one of the many attractions of rangoon. it is large and well laid out, with a very pretty lake, which winds among the well-arranged groups of forest trees. there is a boat club here, and gliding over the still water are many rowing boats and small sailing craft. swans and ducks are swimming about as the swallow skims the surface of the water, breaking its deep reflections with a silver streak. all the paths are thronged with people, some driving, others on foot, and most of them presently congregate about the bandstand to enjoy the music or exchange the gossip of the day. it is quite an interesting sight. all the fashionable life of rangoon is represented here, and mingling with it are yellow-robed buddhist priests and natives of all classes; for the burman loves to come here in the evening, to listen to the band or watch the changing glory of the sky as the sun slowly sets behind his beloved pagoda. now the sun has set, and every one hastily puts on overcoats or wraps before driving home, for the air becomes suddenly cold, and neglect of these precautions will probably result in fever. many adjourn to the gymkhana club before returning home. this is principally a man's club, but here also on many days a band plays, and the sight is a pretty one indeed as the children and their ayahs play about the lawn, while their parents enjoy their tea at the little tables scattered about it, before the falling dew drives the little ones homewards, and their elders to the club-house for a game of billiards or a chat. all this side of rangoon life is very pleasant and very interesting, but it is not burmese. rangoon has for so long been a great trade centre that the easy-going burman is rather overshadowed; but as it is typical of many foreign places where our fathers or brothers are occupied, and where some of my readers may presently have to go, i thought it would be interesting to give you this glimpse of european life in india, and in the next chapter i will tell you something about the burmans themselves. chapter iii the people have you ever thought how the character of the various races of the world is more or less determined by the nature of the country of their origin? rugged mountains and a hard climate produce people of a similar severity of type, and, on the other hand, one naturally looks for poetry and music in a people so pleasantly and romantically situated as are the italians. in the same way the burmese are pretty much what their country has made them. the land is so very fertile that almost anything will grow there, and nature provides food for the people with the least possible effort on their own part. the climate is also damp, warm, and enervating, so that one would not expect to find among its inhabitants much energy or decision of character. their beautiful religion also makes them kind and gentle, and their isolation, which, as i have pointed out, separates them from the neighbouring countries, has left them almost entirely undisturbed by the activities of the greater world. in fact, on account of their easy-going and contented nature, the burmese are often called the "irish of the east," and i am afraid it must be said that the men are rather lazy, and, like their prototypes in some parts of ireland, leave most of the work to the women. as a rule, the burmese women are industrious and clever at business, most of which is conducted by them, while the men are more fond of sport of all kinds than employment. all, however, are gentle in character, light-hearted, and merry, and like to repeat in their clothing the beautiful tints of their forest flowers and gaily-coloured birds and butterflies. it is not surprising, therefore, that among the alien races so busily engaged in the trade of rangoon the burmans should be overshadowed and rather lost to sight; and though in rangoon itself there are many streets occupied entirely by them, it is in the quieter surroundings of the suburbs that the burman appears to advantage. many little burmese villages surround rangoon, where, half buried in the trees and creepers which envelop them, the quaint dwellings lie more or less secluded from the road. all are built of timber or bamboo, and have nothing in their design to make them noticeable. among them, however, are occasional "kyoungs," or buddhist monasteries, which are much more ornamental and striking. like their other buildings, the "kyoung" is constructed of timber, and stands upon a wooden platform raised from the ground some four or five feet by thick posts, which are usually carried through the balustrade which surrounds the platform, and terminate in a carved head, steps leading to the stage upon which the monastery is built. these "kyoungs" are very curious in design, the walls, doors, and windows being ornamented with carving, while their succession of roofs, one above the other, often rise to a great height. to afford shade to the platform below, the roofs project considerably beyond the walls, and the ridges of each are decorated with carved woodwork representing their "nats" and "beloos," as they call their good and evil spirits, and the ends of the eaves terminate in a very striking ornament supposed to represent the peacock, which, as you will see from the picture, gives the building a very quaint appearance indeed. sometimes the monasteries are gilded, and the doors and wall-panels inlaid with looking-glass, tinsel, and other glittering material, which makes them appear very gorgeous in the sunlight. these monasteries are occupied by buddhist priests, who teach the children of the neighbourhood, or instruct the pilgrims who visit them in the beauties of their religion, of which i shall have something to tell you presently. all the priests have shaven heads, and wear a simple robe of cotton, dyed to a bright yellow by the juice of the cutch-tree. gentle and hospitable themselves, they lead the most simple lives. all the food they eat is given by the people, and it is a very picturesque sight to see the daily procession of priests and novices, each carrying a bowl in which to receive the offerings of food so willingly given by the inmates of the houses they visit. no request for alms is ever made, nor any word of thanks spoken, for such gifts are freely offered by a people who believe in their religion, and do so as an "act of merit." close by the monasteries are the "zeyats," or homes for wandering pilgrims. though their roofs are ornamented in the same way as the "kyoungs," they are more simple in appearance, and often have one side entirely open to the air. built primarily for pilgrims, anyone may use them, and often a belated traveller is very thankful to take advantage of their shelter against the night dews or tropical rains. another striking feature of their architecture is the "pyathat," or spire of five or seven roofs, each smaller than the other, which finish in what they call a "ti," or umbrella of wrought iron ornamented with flowers, and from which little bells and cymbals swing and tinkle in the breeze. these spires, however, are only erected over sacred buildings or the palace of a king. [illustration: a rest house.] most beautiful of all their buildings is the pagoda, as their temples are called, and most beautiful, perhaps, of all the temples in burma is the great shwe dagon pagoda in rangoon. "shwe" means golden, and this beautiful bell-shaped pyramid, which rises feet above the mound upon which it is built, is entirely overlaid with gold. the mound itself, which is of considerable height, is artificially made, the earth having been carried there in order to form a fortress and a pedestal for the shrine. these pagodas are constructed of solid brickwork, in which is often enclosed some sacred relic. originally of small dimensions, generations of kings have from time to time added further layers of brickwork to the gradually increasing structure, until to-day this stupendous shwe dagon pagoda stands before us so immense and so beautiful as to be rightly considered one of the wonders of the world. around the base of the temple is a large number of shrines, each lofty, beautified by carved woodwork and towering pinnacles, richly embellished with gilding and coloured inlay, and each worthy itself to be a separate temple. fantastic images and carved balustrades connect the various shrines with each other and with the great temple itself, and from ornamental pedestals spring conventional representations of the sacred tree of buddha, delicately wrought in iron. tall flagstaffs, or feet high, surmounted by emblematical figures or representations of the brahminy duck, float their long streamers in the wind, while the sound of tinkling bells descends from the "tis" with which every pinnacle is crowned. surrounding all is a broad platform fringed with shops and other buildings, for the burmese love their pagoda, and many spend their days here, and the necessities of life must be provided. nowhere in all burma may a better idea of the burmese be obtained than on this pagoda platform. at all times of the day it is thronged by people, not only from rangoon, but from all parts of the country, who come to pray or wonder at its beauty. at the shrines, in which are always one or more images of buddha, groups of devout burmans pray. lighted candles burn before the images, while the worshippers, among whom it will be noticed women predominate, bear flowers in their hands, which before their departure they reverently lay upon the niche in which the "master" is enshrined. these flowers and coloured candles are sold upon the platform, leading up to which are several covered staircases, which form the best bazaar in rangoon, as in the shops on either side of the ascent almost everything from jewellery and toys to food-stuffs may be bought. the entrance from the street below is very striking. the flight of broad steps leads to a gilded and painted pavilion, on either side of which stand enormous leogryphs, the mythical guardians of the temple. passing through an archway embellished by figures of "nats" and other imaginary creatures, a long succession of steps, covered throughout the whole distance by ornamental roofs, leads to the temple above, and at all times of the day is thronged by brightly-clothed pedestrians, ascending and descending through the alternate gleams of sunlight and cool shade of the bazaar. nowhere else in burma can the people be better studied than here, all classes being represented, and it may be interesting if i describe them more closely. like their neighbours of siam and china, the burmese are mongolian in type, but, without so pronounced a cheekbone and slanting eye as the chinese, are more pleasing in appearance. indeed, the men are often handsome, and among the women and young girls i have seen many of extreme beauty. while the men are often sallow, the women are generally more ruddy in complexion, and all have hair of an almost purple blackness. their clothing is bright and clean-looking. all wear a short jacket, usually white, though ladies of the better degree sometimes adopt figured velvets and other rich materials. the men commonly wear a "lungyi," or short skirt composed of coloured silk or cloth gathered round their loins, or the more elaborate "petsoe," which is made of coloured silk and in which many yards of loose material twisted into a bunch about the waist serves as an additional scarf or head-dress should it be cold. short socks and boots of european make are now unfortunately commonly worn, while a silk scarf of bright colour tied round the head completes the male costume. the women are clad in much the same way, wearing a similar "lungyi" and jacket or the more beautiful "temaine," a skirt of rich figured silk, which is open on one side, exposing the leg up to the knee, to which is added a broad fringe of darker material, which trails upon the ground, giving it a more graceful appearance than the shorter "lungyi." wooden sandals are worn on the feet, while on their shoulders is thrown a long scarf of delicately-coloured silk. unlike the men, the women wear no head-dress, but take great pride in their hair, which is always glossy and well dressed, and almost invariably is adorned by a comb or some choice flower. endowed by nature with beautiful hands, they love to accentuate the point by a display of jewellery, which, though sometimes worn to excess, is always _good_, for the burmese lady would scorn to wear a spurious gem. pretty fans or handkerchiefs are carried in the hand, while, like a halo surrounding the head, dainty parasols, semi-transparent and hand-painted, shield them from the sun. it is difficult to give any true impression of such a burmese crowd, in which every conceivable variety of tint and texture is displayed, and permeating which is a sense of universal gaiety and lightness of heart. it is like nothing so much as a beautiful flower-garden, while the people themselves would seem to be as free from care as the butterflies that hover above the blooms. chapter iv the irrawaddy to all countries rivers serve the same purpose as the veins in one's body, being their great source of life and activity. not only do they drain and fertilize the land, but also afford the readiest and most economical means of transit for its trade; consequently on their banks are found the largest cities and most active commercial life of the country. this is particularly true of burma, for, railways still being few in number, the irrawaddy forms its great highway for traffic, and a large fleet of steamers plies regularly with freight and passengers between rangoon, mandalay, and bhamo, while thousands of native craft of all shapes and sizes assist in the carrying trade of the country. for a thousand miles the irrawaddy is alive with traffic, and on its banks have settled the greater proportion of the population of the country, for with the exception of a few isolated towns and settlements, which are surrounded by cultivated areas of limited extent, the whole country away from the river-banks is densely covered by scrub jungle and primeval forest, practically uninhabited and uncultivable. throughout the length of the river, however, is one long series of towns and villages, whose pagodas and monasteries crown every knoll, and whose population seems largely to live upon the water. the irrawaddy is a stream of great size and volume, and, like all rivers subject to periodic flood, is enclosed by high banks of alluvial deposit, between which the river winds its devious way, laden with that rich and fertile mud which, in the course of ages, has formed the delta at its mouth. in the case of the irrawaddy this delta is of large extent, and is everywhere intersected by the deep creeks which form the many mouths of the river, thus breaking up the alluvial plain into numerous islands, between which communication is impossible except by means of boats. these islands are for the most part covered with a dense jungle, which forms a lair for tigers and many other wild beasts, and so close do these tigers approach to rangoon that one was recently shot inside the great pagoda, in which it had taken refuge. while there i heard of an amusing adventure which befell the keeper of the lighthouse at the mouth of the rangoon river. he was enjoying a morning stroll along the beach, reading a book as he walked, and, as the sun was bright, he held his white umbrella before him to shield himself from the glare of sand and water. suddenly he stumbled over a tiger lying fast asleep upon the shore, and with a yell of terror the lighthouse man, dropping book and sunshade on the ground, fled away as hard as he could run in one direction, to discover presently that the tiger, just as much alarmed as himself, had made an equally precipitous flight in the other. all these lower water-ways of the irrawaddy are tidal, for they are quite close to the sea, and at high water the land is scarcely raised at all above the water level. mango-trees, dwarf palms, and reeds fringe the muddy banks, on which, raised upon poles and built partly over the water, are the huts of the fishermen, who, half naked, ply their calling in quaintly-shaped, dug-out canoes. to the north of the principal creek which connects rangoon with bassein stretches a vast plain of fertile "paddy" land, where each year is grown that enormous crop of rice which forms burma's chief export. from every landing-place cargo boats of many kinds, manned by crews of different nationalities, drop downstream to rangoon, heavily laden with "paddy," as the unhusked rice is called, which, after treatment at the mills, will be shipped abroad. though hardly beautiful, perhaps, these tidal waters are of great interest to the new-comer, who probably for the first time sees the feathery coco-nut and graceful areca-palm growing in their natural state among the many other strange trees that flourish upon the banks. at each stopping-place, also, is the picturesque native village, often surrounded by banana-groves and gardens of sesamum. high on the banks boats are being built or repaired, in readiness for next season's flood, while on the water the continuous stream of traffic is of never-failing interest. above prome, however, where the river flows between the mountain ranges which form the great backbone of burma, every mile of the journey is of great and varied beauty. the banks are high, and cut into terraces by the varying levels of the river, and are crowned by a belt of almost continuous forest-trees, among which, half hidden in the foliage, are the towns and villages which so frequently occur on both banks. behind, the rising ground, naturally rocky and broken, is entirely enveloped by a dense forest, which stretches in leafy undulations to the lofty mountains which loom in the far distance. the irrawaddy is rapid in its flow, and, like all flood rivers, is constantly changing its course, as the scour of the water washes away a portion of the bank from one spot, to form a sand-bank in the stream lower down. consequently, navigation for large steamers is difficult, and the whole course has to be marked out by buoys of bamboo, which, in some of the more difficult reaches, must be constantly changed. some of these steamers plying on the irrawaddy are very large, being over feet long, and nearly feet in width. many of them carry upwards of , passengers, mostly deck passengers, who, in the aft part of the ship, conduct a travelling bazaar for the benefit of such towns and villages on the banks as have no regular shops of their own. at each landing-place crowds of people, again mostly women, are awaiting the arrival of the steamer, carrying various goods for sale or barter, while others eagerly board the steamer to make such purchases as they require. [illustration: a native boat sailing upstream with the wind. _page _] almost every requisite of life may be bought in these floating bazaars--clothing, cutlery, or hardware, lamps and looking-glasses (which latter are always in great demand), preserved eggs from china, english flour, indian curries and sweetmeats, cooking utensils, "ngapi" (or rotted fish) from yandoon, are some of the articles offered for sale, in return for which the villagers have to offer supplies of oil, cutch, rice, native silks, and beautifully-made baskets and lacquer-work. at important stations the landing-places consist of barges moored alongside the banks, and these are moved from time to time as the varying levels of the river demand. more frequently, however, the bows of the steamer are simply run into the bank, while its crew of chittagonians jump overboard to carry the mooring rope ashore. it is amusing to watch the mass of struggling humanity who throng the landing-places on the arrival of the steamer. every one, whether landing or embarking, strives to be first upon the narrow gangway which connects the steamer's sponson[ ] with the shore, with the result that many are thrown into the water. each is intent upon conducting his business to the best possible advantage in the limited time at his disposal, for the steamer's visit does not occur every day, and its stay is short. [footnote : the small platform which connects the paddle-box with the steamer's deck.] along the margin of the river are many who, indifferent to the arrival of the mail, are engaged in washing their clothes or utensils, while boys and girls gambol on the banks, or, swimming with delightful ease, frolic round the steamer in the water. interesting though life in the steamer is, that of the river as seen from its decks is even more so. the native boats are most quaint in their designs, the most striking being the "laungzat." this is a vessel often of very large size, and capable of carrying a large amount of cargo. its bows are sharply uptilted, the cut-water frequently rising clear of the water. the hull is beautifully modelled, and the stern, rising high above the water in a sort of tower, is often elaborately carved. half its length is covered by a deck-house for the crew, on the roof of which a canopy of reeds or grasses gives shelter to the steersman, who, raised in this way, is better able to steer clear of the shoals and shallows which beset the stream, and which from the lower deck would probably not be seen. the rudder is a long paddle, also carved, which is slung in a loop over the stern, while a further decorative effect is often obtained by inverted soda-water bottles stuck upon poles along the sides. coming downstream the vessel is propelled by oars, usually twelve to sixteen, which the crew ply with a slow rhythmic swing. during the monsoons, when strong winds blow upstream, sails are used instead of oars. the mast is composed of two bamboos lashed together at the top, their lower ends being made fast to the gunwale. on this frame, from bamboo yards curved slightly upwards, is spread a curious combination of six or seven square sails, which, though only of use when running before the wind, enable the boat to travel at a great speed. there are many other kinds of boats in use, all equally distinctive in character; and even the dug-out canoe is pretty, its fore-foot rising clear of the water in a slight curve, which lends an element of beauty to what would otherwise have been simply a straight log. fishing is frequent along the river-bank, the favourite appliances being nets of various kinds. often on a sand-bank may be seen a little hut raised high above the ground, and composed of bamboo and reeds. this is the shelter for the fisherman, who with a drag-net buoyed by sun-dried gourds fishes the neighbouring shallows. hand-nets are occasionally used, but most interesting, perhaps, is the curious kind of cradle by which a net stretched upon a bamboo frame is let down into the water from the bank, particularly on the passing of a steamer, when the startled fish dart in shore and are caught in the net, which is raised at the proper moment by the watchers on the bank. very interesting also are the rafts, composed of logs of teak and pyingado, which, cut in the forests far inland, are constructed in the creeks, as the forest streams are called, and are then launched into the irrawaddy upon their voyage of often many weeks before rangoon is reached. these rafts are frequently of enormous size, and are manned by crews of shans, whose numbers vary according to their size. without means of propulsion, the rafts simply drift with the stream, but are guided to some extent by a number of paddles fixed at either end, by which the crews endeavour, not always successfully, to keep them clear of shoals and their heads downstream. in many cases the population of a raft is so considerable that quite a little village of huts is built upon it, and i have seen cows, goats, and fowls, as well as the wives and children of the crew, housed upon it. in one case at least i remember seeing a raft upon which was erected a bamboo pagoda, and frequently upon the sand-banks in the river small pagodas of the same material are erected for devout watermen. not least among the many beauties of the irrawaddy are the glorious sunsets behind the "yomas," when the colours are repeated in the limpid water, which perfectly reflects the pinnacles of "kyoungs" or pagodas, or the pretty village that lies half hidden amidst the varied foliage which in rich masses crowns the banks. chapter v the irrawaddy (_continued_) almost every morning dense mists hang upon the river, screening everything from view until the sun, slowly gaining power, presently dispels the fog and reveals the beauty of the scene. very beautiful indeed are some of these panoramas disclosed in the early sunlight. close beside the high and clear-cut bank, crowned with flowering kine-grass, our steamer lies, the silently-flowing river gurgling and bubbling under our keel. the water is quite still, and repeats every detail of the opposite shore, behind which, rising terrace upon terrace, are the wooded "yomas," in whose ravines and valleys still hangs some remnant of the fog. the foliage is of many kinds, the feathery tamarind and acacia contrasting well with the more heavily leaved banyan; betel-nut and toddy-palm rise above the mulberry or mimosa, and conspicuous among the varied tints of the forest is the delicate green of the bamboo, to the burman the most useful perhaps of all the forest growths, and everywhere abounding. life awakens with the sun. herds of cattle roam along the shore, while in the fields from raised platforms half-nude men and boys scare wild-fowl from the ripening crops. the smoke of many fires on shore and from the craft upon the water rises perpendicularly in the still air, as the frugal morning meal is being prepared ere another day's work begins. between its banks the irrawaddy sweeps in splendid curves, producing an ever-growing sense of bigness and dignity. some of its reaches are very wide, and have more the appearance of an inland lake than a river. on such sand-banks as are not already occupied by fishermen, flocks of wild-goose, storks, and other waders are roosting or fishing in the shallow pools. kingfishers dart hither and thither after their prey, and wild-duck in great numbers settle upon its smooth surface, to feast upon the teeming fish with which the river abounds. in general the scene is one of placid beauty: even the rugged mountain sides are smoothed and softened by their covering of greenery, and the warm air and limpid water combine to produce an effect of quietude and repose, which the contented character of the burman does little to disturb. at certain places, however, as in the defile above mandalay, the scenery is of a more vigorous character. here the river narrows considerably, and in its deep and silent flow winds for many miles between high hills which closely confine it, and in one place rise in a perpendicular cliff feet sheer above the water. i was fortunate in approaching the defile in the early dawn, when the morning mists still hung heavy upon the hills of lurid blackness which marked its entrance. between them was an impenetrable gloom, which seemed to promise no means of egress, and as we steamed rapidly towards it, one unconsciously felt that here was the end of all things, and that nothing could possibly lie beyond. it was a most weird sensation, which the river, so darkly flowing between banks we could hardly see, served to emphasize. presently the rising sun lit up the clouds of vapour piled high above the hills, and then for half an hour continued the most beautiful and ever-changing play of colour imaginable, as the slowly-moving fog wreaths wound about the mountain tops, now rosy in the sunlight, or again in pearly shade, while alternate gloom and gleam tipped the hills with gold or enveloped them in a purple mystery. by the time our steamer entered the defile full daylight better enabled us to observe our surroundings. here, as elsewhere, the vegetation was luxuriant; every crevice in the rocks afforded foothold for some tree or creeper, while the hilltops and more sloping sides were densely covered with forest trees. the passage of the defile occupies about two hours, and the course of the river is very tortuous. at the bends little beaches of bright shingle lie against the tree-roots. fishing cradles, such as i have described, are frequent, and cormorants in great numbers share with the fishermen the spoils of the river, for nowhere on the irrawaddy are the fish of better quality than here. altogether, in the impressiveness of its scenery, the quiet, irresistible flow of the river, and the bright tints and varied growths of the forest, the lower defile of the irrawaddy forms one of the most striking scenes i have ever enjoyed; and if the river had no other beauty than this to show, it alone would amply repay the traveller for his journey. though in general so fertile, there is one part of the river where the hills which lie on its western side are entirely barren, and the reddish-yellow rocks appear very hot and uninviting by comparison. yet this forbidding district is one of the busiest and richest of all burma, for this is the great oil-field of the country, and the chimneys of pumping stations which stretch for miles along the hills and river-bank show how actively the trade is being worked. formerly burma was obliged to import all her lamp-oil from america, but now, although a certain amount of american oil is still imported, burma not only produces sufficient for their own use, but is able to export a considerable quantity to other countries, and many of the steamers on the river use the crude or unrefined oil as fuel. here and there in the river are moored curious-looking dredgers engaged in pumping up the river sand, from which is separated the gold dust with which it is so freely mixed. the gold comes from unknown veins hundreds of miles away, and is to be found in greater or less quantities all down the river, and though the natives have always been in the habit of "washing for gold," it is only within the last few years that any real attempt has been made to work it on a large scale. [illustration: the irrawaddy. _chapters iv and v._] the irrawaddy has many tributaries, but though the larger streams, such as the chindwin and mu rivers, are always flowing, most of the smaller forest streams are dry, excepting during the monsoon, which continues from may until september. at this season, swelled into torrents by the rains, they pour into the irrawaddy, quickly raising its level to feet, and the peaceful river which i have described becomes a mighty flood, in places miles in width, full to the top of its banks and overflowing the fields and flooding the village streets, and sweeping away from its sand-banks those huts and pagodas and other temporary buildings we have noticed, while the mud which its turbid waters carry each year adds a little to the delta at its mouth. very often crossing the mouth of these tributaries you may see a framework of bamboo, over which fishing-nets are spread as the river rises, and in the pools of slack water which lie at the mouths of the forest creeks a great collection of logs lie floating. these logs have been cut in the forest long before, and have gradually been collected at some such convenient spot, where a large number of natives are busily engaged in building them into one of those huge rafts so constantly met with on the river. these rafts have a long journey before them, and constantly grounding as they do, no ropes would hold them together through all the wear and tear of their weeks upon the water, so instead of ropes rattan is used. this is a peculiarly long, tough, and flexible cane, which grows all over the forests, and is often a hundred yards or more in length. the logs are mostly of teak (about which i will tell you more presently) and pyingado or iron-wood, which is so heavy that it sinks in the water, and consequently rafts of bamboo are first built, and beneath them the pyingado logs are slung. an interesting place is bhamo, the last station for the river steamers and close to the frontier of china. the town is more chinese than burman in character, though on the banks of the river taiping are the remains of pagodas and other buildings of purely burmese origin. then, again, there are other defiles on the river beside the one i have already described, and many other points of interest which i might mention. thabeitkyan, the landing-place for the ruby-mines, three days' journey inland; the rocky island with its monastery and pagoda, whose priests are said to be able to tame the fish in the river, which they feed by hand; the great bell at mingoon, or the water-side fair at shwegu, and a host of others. it would be impossible for me to tell you about everything of interest that the irrawaddy has to show, but perhaps i have said enough to give you some little idea of how beautiful and interesting a river it is. chapter vi village life leaving the river, let us go ashore at one of the many villages on its banks, and see how the burmese live. our steamer lies alongside of the bank while the cargo is being landed, and its fuel of eng-wood is put on board. this is hard work, and is generally done by girls, who are paid by piece-work, and generally lose no time in the operation. bales and cases lie upon the bank, and are being loaded into bullock-carts or carried to the top of the "bund," as the bank is called, where pack-ponies are waiting to carry them to more distant destinations. the villagers "shikoh"[ ] as we land, and swarms of youngsters follow us on our tour of the village; but though greatly interested in ourselves and our hardly-concealed curiosity, they are always polite and never annoy us in any way. [footnote : the burmese form of salute.] the village lies close beside the river, and is, as usual, bowered in trees, which overhang the bank. its other three sides are enclosed by a stockade of thorns or wooden palings as a protection against wild beasts or attack by dacoits, bands of robbers who until recently lurked in the jungles, and often raided outlying and unprotected villages. the stockade is nearly always overgrown with creeping plants, yellow convolvulus, tropæolum, and a charming little climber like canariensis. on each side is a gate built of balks of timber, and so heavy that it must run on wheels. this gate is always shut at nightfall, so that no one can enter the village unknown to the watchman, who is called "kinthamah" and keeps his "kin" in a little booth called "kinteaine" erected close beside the gate. by the gates and at intervals along the roadside are little cupboards raised above the ground and thatched with grasses called "yaiohzin"; these contain jars of drinking water for the use of wayfarers, and are always kept replenished by the villagers. the drinking cup is usually made of a polished coco-nut shell with a long handle of some hard wood, and it is noticeable that the water is never spilled or wasted, for burma is a thirsty land and some of these watering-places are far from the river, and every one drinks with due regard to the necessities of the next comer. entering the large compound which the stockade encloses we are in the village itself. here the houses of the burmans are pleasantly situated among rows of toddy-palm, mango, padouk, and other trees, among which the peepul, or sacred ficus, is almost always found. the houses are more or less arranged so as to leave a lane or street between them, and are generally built of bamboo, though many have their principal timbers of teak or eng-wood. the floors are usually of split bamboo, and the roof of elephant-grass, or "thekka," as the thatch of dried leaves is called, forms a good protection against the summer sun or monsoon rains, while the walls are formed of bamboo mats, often coloured and woven into some pretty though simple design. as the front of the house is generally more or less open, we are able to see much of the interior arrangements. sleeping mats of grasses supply the place of beds, and no chairs are to be seen. on a low stand of carved wood is the tray upon which their simple meals are served, and cooking-pots of bronze or earthenware lie about the "chatties" which contain the fire. painted and carved boxes contain the family wardrobe, and in one corner is the stand for the large jars in which their supply of drinking-water is kept. mat partitions perhaps screen inner rooms which we cannot see, but all the domestic appliances visible are of the simplest character, but ample for the needs of the people. all the buildings are raised several feet above the ground as a protection against snakes, floods, and malaria, and the space below often forms a stable for the cattle and a useful storing-place for agricultural or other implements. these simple homes of the burmans are often very pretty as they lie among the trees which cast their broad shadows across the straggling lane, grass grown and deeply rutted by the cart-wheels. bougainvillæa and other creepers spread luxuriantly over the roofs, or drop their festoons of flowers from the eaves. bananas wave their broad leaves gracefully above the houses, in cool contrast to the richer foliage of the larger trees, and among all this greenery, alternately in sunlight or shadow, move the brightly-costumed villagers themselves, most interesting of all. here comes a pretty young mother clad in "lungyi" of apple-green and dainty white jacket. cross-legged over her shoulder is her infant, to whom she talks softly and endearingly as she walks. presently her home is reached, and all the joy of motherhood shines in her happy face as she gently swings her child to sleep in its cradle of rattan which is slung from the roof above. again, an old man passes, guided by a little boy, who is proud to assist his grandfather; for respect for the aged, no less than love for their children, is a dominant trait in the character of the burman. while many are working in the paddy-fields, other of the villagers find their occupation nearer home, and employ themselves in such work as mat and basket making (in which the children assist), the weaving of silk, and the manufacture of pottery. in sheds made for the purpose oil or sugar mills are being turned by bullocks, while in some few villages is made that pretty red and gold lacquer-work we know so well in england. notice also the village blacksmith, who, with primitive tools, hammers out those curiously shaped "dahs" and knives used by the wood-cutters, while beside him, with equally simple implements, the carpenter puts the finishing touches to the carved yoke of a gharry. in the streets the naked youngsters are playing at their games. many are like our own, and marbles, peg-tops, leap-frog or kite-flying each have their turn, while in the ditches and puddles the boys hold miniature regattas with their toy sailing-boats. in the monastery or some private dwelling in the village the children go to school, and as they become older some occupation employs their time. while the boys are engaged with the cattle or about the boats, the girls are occupied in cutting firewood in the jungle, or from the pools in the forest collect the crude oil which they burn in their lamps. roaming at will through the village are pigs and poultry, geese and cattle, and the inevitable "pi dog" of the country. these dogs are peculiar, being wild, yet attaching themselves to some particular house, whose interests they seem to make their own, and which, by vigorous barking, they make a pretence of guarding. in some villages, also, the pigs, which are long-legged and fleet of foot, seem to act in the same capacity, strongly objecting to the intrusion of strangers, and even when riding my pony i have been attacked by them and forced to retire. during the day many of the villagers have been busy in the rice-fields, for rice is their staple food and the only crop generally cultivated; even infants of a day old are fed upon it, the rice being first chewed by the mother, and each tiny mouthful washed down by a few drops of water. towards evening, when the tired cattle draw their creaking carts homewards, the streets are thronged with the labourers returning from their work, ready for the simple meal of rice and "ngapi" their wives have prepared for them. it is a simple, happy life which these villagers lead, graced by many pretty customs of domesticity. rising with the sun, with it also they retire to rest, and as the last sweet tones of many gongs from the village monastery proclaim the close of their evening prayer the stockade-gates are closed, and, save for the howling of jackals outside, or the yapping of a dog, silence reigns throughout the village. [illustration: entrance to a burmese village. _page ._] chapter vii town life owing to their primitive methods of building and choice of materials, a burmese town differs very little from a village except in point of size, though occasionally the houses are of two stories and timber-built throughout. the stockade is absent, and in its place deep ditches, partly filled with water, surround the houses, and run alongside of the streets, which are, perhaps, somewhat wider and more regularly planned. the approach to the town is often very pretty, the water reflecting the waving palm-trees and picturesque buildings, while the roads, which in burma are usually nothing but a track, have, as they near the town, some semblance of solidity. little bridges cross the ditches, and give access to the houses, round about which are often raised paths or causeways of burnt brick set "herring-bone" fashion. these prove a comfort in the rains, when the streets of the town are rivers and the whole country a sea of mud. trees in plenty shade the road and houses, and shops and small bazaars give an air of business to the town, whose principal street, however, is largely covered with grass, and affords a convenient place in which to try a pony's paces. some of the streets have side-walks, a shade less dusty (or muddy, as the case may be) than the road itself, and in the least frequented of them dwarf palmettos enjoy a lusty existence. enclosed by low palisades in front of many houses, cannas, hibiscus, poinsettia, or lilies are growing, and rare orchids hang from the eaves, to provide in their strange but lovely blossoms a flower for some woman's hair. indoors, in coloured pots or stands of often elaborate design, are other flowers, always most carefully tended, for the burmans love what is beautiful in nature. in the streets the life of the people is only a slight amplification of that of the villages, the shops with their attendant customers marking the principal difference, while in bullock-carts of more ornamental design than those of the villages, the families of the well-to-do enjoy their outing. though always two-wheeled and drawn by a pair of oxen, there is a certain amount of variety in the native carts. the wheels are generally large, and are placed very wide apart, in order to lessen the risk of capsizing in the terribly rough roads they often have to travel. in the common country carts the wheels have very wide rims, across which is fastened a single flat piece of wood instead of spokes, and in many cases the wheels are quite solid. the body is plain, but the yoke and yoke-pins are often carved, and the pole usually finishes in some grotesque ornament. when travelling the carts are covered by a hood of matting, and a mattress inside eases the jolting by day, and serves as a bed at night. the pleasure gharry, however, is quite a pretty vehicle. the wheels have a very large number of thin spokes, and the hub is always ornamental. the sides consist of an open balustrade, and the rails sweeping backward in a fine curve, to terminate in a piece of carving high above the rail. in mandalay another pretty cart is used by the ladies when out calling or shopping. this is a closed carriage built entirely of wood, each panel of which is carved, and is just high enough in the roof to permit the ladies to sit upright upon their cushions. we can see them through the little unglazed windows, looking pretty or dignified, as the case may be; but dignity disappears so soon as they attempt to dismount, for this can only be done through a small door at the back, through which the rider must crawl backwards and then drop to the ground. games, as usual, figure largely in the young life of the place. a curious kind of football called "chinlon" is very general, and the instinct for sport comes out early in the boys, who, while flying their kites, attempt by skilful manoeuvring to saw through each other's lines and so prove a "conqueror." the little girls have their amusements also, and it is pretty to see a little one being drawn about in a diminutive go-cart, or, squatting on her haunches by the doorstep, endeavouring to fathom the intricacies of doll-dressing. let us wander round the streets and see what we can find to interest us. first it will be noticed that beside every house are two long poles; one has a hook at its end, and the other is formed into a sort of broad paddle. these are provided in case of fire, when with the hook the thatch is pulled down, or the fire beaten out with the other. fires are constantly occurring, for though every house is supposed to have a separate cooking shed, carelessness, or the habit of cooking indoors, is largely responsible for them, and there is very little hope for dwellings built of such inflammable material once a fire starts. consequently in all parts of the country roofs of galvanized iron are slowly taking the place of the picturesque "thekka," even the "kyoungs" and "zeyats" being roofed by it; and unfortunately, as creepers do not take kindly to this new form of roofing, it will, i am afraid, always remain an eyesore among what is otherwise so picturesque. in many of the streets are wells, surrounded by a wall and crossed by a heavy beam of wood to which pulleys are attached, through which run ropes with hooks at their ends, by means of which the water-pots are lowered. this is a great place of congregation for the young people, and is always surrounded by animated groups of young men and maidens, who, with pretty courtesies or coyness, carry on their youthful flirtations. the burman is always delightfully natural, and seems to live in the open daylight. at the doorstep of one house are mother and daughter, busy sewing up cloth, their red lacquer box of sewing materials between them. at another a dainty housewife entertains her guests at tea, for tea is now largely drunk in burma. [illustration: at the well.] all the shops are open to the street, and we may see the various trades in operation. it is interesting to see the umbrellas being made. they are almost flat when open, the frame consisting of a multitude of thin bamboo ribs formed by splitting _one_ bamboo into many sections, so that the knots of the cane occur at the same regular distances on the ribs, so forming a kind of pattern. the common kinds are very large, some of those in use in the market-places being as big as a small tent. these are covered with calico, oiled or varnished, and form an excellent protection against sun or rain. more delicate sunshades are made of the same materials, or of silk; these are smaller, and are often painted in rings of flowers or foliage, which has a very pretty effect, and the sun shining through them throws a rich orange shade over the head and shoulders of the bearer. then, there are the silk-weavers and silversmiths, whose work is probably the best of its kind produced in any country, and in thayetmu and rangoon i have seen silver-work produced which, in my opinion, is unequalled for beauty of design or excellence of workmanship. turning enters largely into their decorative woodwork, and the turners, who use a very simple form of foot-lathe, are busily engaged in providing the various articles required--pilasters for a balcony, hubs for a cart-wheel, or the turned finials of a baby's cot. in a kindred trade the wood-carver is busy producing embellishments for the "kyoung" or "zeyat" which some wealthy resident is erecting. though the burmans occasionally become drunk on "toddy" (a beverage made from the flower of the toddy-palm), they are by habit abstemious and simple livers; rice and vegetable curries, bananas, jack-fruit, papaya, and other fruits, form their staple food, and, forbidden by their religion to take life, fish is practically the only variant to their vegetable diet, the fisherman excusing himself by saying that "_he_ does not kill the fish: they die of themselves." all smoke, however, and men, women and children equally enjoy their huge cheroots, composed of the inner bark of certain trees mixed with chopped tobacco, which are rolled into the form of a cigar in the spathe of indian corn or some similar husk, and no meal would be considered to be properly set out without the red lacquer box containing betel, which is universally chewed. betel is the nut of the areca-palm, and before being used is rolled between leaves on which a little lime is spread. the flavour is astringent and produces excessive expectoration, and, by its irritation, gives to the tongue and lips a curious bright pink colour. still, it is considered an excellent stomach tonic, and so far as one can judge has no worse effect than to blacken the teeth of the user. every village or town has its pagodas, which in some cases are very numerous. the burman spends little upon his home, which is always regarded as of a temporary nature, and in the erection of a pagoda or other religious building the wealthy native finds an outlet for his energies, and earns "merit" for himself. few of the modern village pagodas are of any particular beauty, and i cannot but think that the money spent upon them would be far better employed in restoring and preserving the many beautiful and ancient temples scattered all over the country. in many towns is a sacred tank or reservoir, so entirely covered with lotus and other plants that the water cannot be seen. large fish and turtles of great age inhabit them, but are seldom seen, on account of the heavy screen of leaves and flowers which lies upon the surface of the water, which, however, is often strongly disturbed as some ungainly monster rolls or turns below them. on the outskirts of the towns are the gardens, enclosed by hedges of castor-oil or cactus, where many kinds of fruits and spices are grown: bananas, pineapple, guava, bael, citrons, etc., are some of the ordinary kinds, while the coco-nut, tamarind, jack, and papaya grow everywhere about the streets and houses. many vegetables, such as cucumber and vegetable-marrow, are also grown, and among the shops or stalls in the market-place none are so attractive as those which display their many-coloured and sweet-smelling fruits and vegetables. every few days a market is held in one or other of the large towns of a district, and attracts to it country people from a considerable distance around. here one has a chance of seeing many other tribes and types beside the burman: shans, karens, or kachins, different in feature and costume from the natives of the town, together with chinese and natives of india, give a variety to the population, and help to swell the crowd which from early morning till sundown throngs the market-places. the market is generally held in the open space outside the town, and is generally enclosed. in it are wooden buildings, or booths of sacking or "tayan" (grass-mats), in which each different trade is gathered, so dividing the bazaar into sections. between the buildings rows of people squat upon the ground, protecting themselves and the odd assortment of wares they have for sale by screens of coloured cloth or the enormous umbrellas i have already mentioned. up and down the lane so formed move the would-be purchasers, a motley crowd in which every type and race in burma is represented. no less varied are the articles offered for sale--cotton goods and silks, cutlery and tools, lamps and combs, and various other articles of personal adornment, including the ornamental sandals which all the women of the town affect. fruit, vegetables, and food-stuffs have a ready sale; nor are sweetmeats for the children forgotten. cooking-pots and all kinds of domestic utensils may be purchased and carried away in baskets beautifully made, and often of immense size, which form a striking feature of the bazaar. all the more important stalls are kept by women, who, as i have already said, are the business backbone of the country. many of them are women of good position, but they like their work, and are very clever at driving a bargain; but though dainty enough in appearance, they can be very abusive on occasion. [illustration: the market place.] i have already said that the burman is not permitted to take life, and in consequence meat enters but little into his diet; but in all bazaars frequented by natives of india, who are under no such prohibition, the slaughter and sale of cattle is of regular occurrence, and among the most eager buyers of the meat thus offered for sale are the burmans themselves. among other articles which i have noticed are "dahs," and knives of many sorts and degrees of excellence. no burman travels without his "dah," which serves as a weapon of defence or enables him to clear his path where the jungle is thick, while the heavier knives are used for chopping the domestic fuel. some of these "dahs" are very finely finished, the handle and sheath of wild plum being bound by delicately plaited bands of bamboo fibre, in which the ends are most skilfully concealed, and the blade, often feet long, is excellently wrought and balanced. at various times of the day groups of priests and novices move up and down the market collecting offerings from the people, while some "original" or buffoon gives the scene its touch of humour. at sunset, when the bazaar is closed, long lines of people, some on foot, some in hooded carts, wend their ways towards their distant homes; and long after darkness has fallen on the land may still be heard the faint creaking of some laden cart as it slowly disappears along its lonely forest path. chapter viii field work if you are up very early in the morning you may see large herds of buffaloes and bullocks being driven to the paddy-fields. these surround the village, sometimes extending for miles in different directions; but often they are simply small clearings scattered through the jungle. the cattle are always driven by the children of the village, and it is curious to see how docile these huge buffaloes are under the control of some diminutive native, while with europeans they are obstinate, ungovernable, and often dangerous. the children always ride the cattle to the fields, sitting well back on the haunches, for they frequently have to travel a long, and often broken, path to their destination, and during the rains they are thus enabled to cross the streams and flooded areas, which it would have been impossible for them to do on foot. it will interest you to know something about the manner in which the burmans produce their rice-crop. rice, as you know, requires a great deal of moisture, especially in the early days of its growth; consequently the ground upon which the rice-crop is to be sown must be _level_, so that the water with which the fields are covered may flow equally over the whole surface. the water is kept in by little dikes, or "bunds," as they are called, which surround each field, or the part of it to be irrigated; and as during a considerable portion of each year these cultivated areas are under water, and are always more or less in a boggy condition, these "bunds" form the most convenient, if not the only, means of traversing the district. tortuous and winding as they are, it is not easy to decide upon your route, and you need not be surprised if the little causeway upon which you have set out eventually brings you back to your first starting-point, and you must make another attempt in a different direction. i remember once being hopelessly lost among the "bunds" in my endeavour to cross a patch of paddy-land, and although it was not more than a mile in width, two hours of valuable time were spent before i solved the problem of this labyrinth, and struck the road on its farther side. rice cultivation begins towards the end of the monsoon, when the rains have thoroughly saturated the soil and filled the fields with water, often to the top of the dikes. then ploughing begins, and the grass with which the fields were recently covered is turned over in clods, as we do at home, by means of a curious wooden plough shod with bronze or iron. these ploughs are drawn by the bullocks and buffaloes, or by elephants when they are available, the operation being often carried out under water. after this all the cattle in the district are driven on to the fields in order to break up and trample down the clods, and sometimes harrows, much like our own, are used for the same purpose. then the sowing begins, the rice being scattered very freely over one or two selected portions of the whole area, for which they serve as nursery gardens; for the rice is not sown generally over the fields, but the young plants transferred from these small nurseries to the larger fields. this work is done by the men and women, who, wading in the water, plant out the young growth or inches apart, and one may notice that during this operation all wear leggings or stockings of straw as a protection against the leeches which in enormous numbers infest the muddy water. the rice now may be left to itself, excepting for the necessity of keeping it constantly supplied with water, which is raised from the neighbouring river or creek by many ingenious appliances, and carried to the fields by pipes of bamboo or channels in the mud. while the crop is growing the cattle have an idle time, for with the exception of the bullocks which draw the market-carts, and a few which may perhaps be working in the oil or sugar mills, there is nothing for them to do. for the rest, the time between the sowing and reaping is passed enclosed in large pens or roaming by hundreds in the jungle. the harvest begins in october, and lasts until december or later, according to the district. when ripe, the rice is to feet in height, each plant growing several ears, the grain being slightly bearded, like barley; and in good soil, where the water-supply has been continuous, its growth is so dense that it is impossible for weeds to grow. i know few prettier sights than a harvest-field in an early autumn morning. through the steamy exhalations from the ground, and dancing on the dewdrops which hang heavy upon every blade or ear, the early sun is shining. everything is mysterious in the haze, through which the belt of forest which surrounds the cultivated land is grey and ghost-like; huge cobwebs hang between the bushes laden with glittering beads of moisture, and the whole scene is bathed in a curious opalescent light in which all sense of distance is destroyed. scattered through the fields are the harvesters, whose brightly-coloured "lungyi" and gay head-scarf are the only spots of definite colour. the rice is cut with sickles a little above the ground, so as to leave sufficient straw to serve as fodder for the cattle or to fertilize the land. the grain is bound into sheaves much as we do at home, and after remaining in the fields for a day or two in order to dry, it is carried to the threshing-floor. this is simply a piece of selected ground where the surface is dry and hard, on which the sheaves are placed in the form of a large circle and the grain trodden out by cattle. when the threshing is complete and the straw removed, there remains a huge pile of grain and husks freely mixed with dust. this has to be cleaned and winnowed, which is done by a very simple process, the grain being thrown into the air by means of large shallow trays made of bamboo, when the wind, blowing away the dust and loose husks, leaves the grain tolerably clean in a pile at the worker's feet. the rice is not yet fit for use, however, the grain still being enclosed in its hard husk, which has to be removed by another process. in travelling through burma one may often notice standing outside a native dwelling a large and deep bowl composed of some hard wood in which lies a rounded log about feet in length, much like a large mortar and pestle. these are the "pounders," in which by a vigorous use of the pestle the husk is separated from the rice, which is again winnowed and washed, and is then ready for use. though generally eaten in its simple state, bread and cakes are often made from rice-flour, which is ground in a hand-mill consisting of two flat circular stones, and is identical with the hand-mill of scripture. from the large areas the bulk of the rice-crop is shipped to rangoon, sufficient for the needs of the people being stored in the villages in receptacles formed of wicker-work covered on the outside with mud. i have described the process of rice cultivation which is followed in districts where a perpetual water-supply is available, but in other and drier zones a different kind of rice and other crops, such as sugar, maize, and sesamum, are grown; but while these, as well as many fruits and vegetables, are cultivated in the neighbourhood of every town or village, rice may be considered to be practically the only agricultural crop in burma, and forms perhaps its most important article of export. though not cultivated by man, the country produces another crop which to the burman is second only to rice in value. i mean the _bamboo_, which grows in enormous quantities in every forest or jungle in the country. there are many varieties of bamboo, some comparatively small, others growing to a height of or feet, the canes being often upwards of feet in circumference at the base. each species has its separate use, and, as we have already seen, there are few things for which the burman does not employ it. his houses are very often entirely built of it: canes, either whole or split, form its framework and flooring; the mats which form the walls are woven from strips cut from the outside skin; the thatch is often composed of its leaves; while no hotter fire can be used than one made from its debris. split into finer strands, the bamboo furnishes the material of which baskets are made, while its fine and flexible fibres, plaited and woven into shape, form the foundation for their beautiful bowls and dishes of red lacquer. bows and yokes for the porters, sheaths of weapons and umbrella frames, and a host of small articles of domestic furniture, are of the same material, and a section cut from the giant bamboo forms an excellent bucket, which is used all over the forests. chapter ix the forest and now i want to tell you something about the forest, which, as we have seen from the river, practically covers the country. we all enjoy our english woods, but these, lovely though they are, convey no idea whatever of the luxuriant and bewildering beauty of a forest in the tropics. how shall i give you an idea of it? it is so big, so magnificent, and at times so solemn. everywhere you are surrounded by trees of many kinds and immense size, whose huge trunks, springing from a dense mass of undergrowth, rise feet or more into the air. all are bound together by a tangled mass of creepers, which mingle their foliage with that of the trees to form one huge canopy of leaves, in which birds of bright plumage and beautiful song live out their happy lives. monkeys also make their home there, and strange insects and butterflies of rare beauty flit among the flowers, or hover in the few stray sunbeams which penetrate the gloom. [illustration: in the depths of the forest.] it is all very impressive, very beautiful, and still, except for the drone of insects or soft note of the songbird. perhaps the silence may be broken by a herd of wild elephants crashing heavily through the canes, or the shrill cry of the squirrel startles the forest and warns its fellows of the nearness of a snake. bewilderment and wonder grow upon anyone riding through the forest for the first time, but after a few days one gradually becomes accustomed to these luxuriant surroundings, and is able to appreciate the forest in detail. how beautiful the undergrowth is! palms and bamboos wave gracefully above a mass of flowering plants, among and over which climb convolvuli of many kinds, tropæolum, honeysuckle, and a variety of other creepers, forming natural arbours, with whose blossoms mingle those of the festoons hanging from the trees. teak, india-rubber, and cutch trees rise high above the undergrowth, and in turn are dwarfed by such giants as the pyingado and the cotton-tree. these grow to an enormous size. the pyingado, straight and smooth, often rises feet before it puts forth a branch, and i have seen ponies stabled between the natural buttresses which support the huge trunk of the silk-cotton tree, sometimes feet in height. orchids of great size grow upon the boughs, and add to the wealth of foliage, in which the large-leafed teak or rubber trees contrast with the feathery pepper or acacia; and it is interesting to notice that most of the feathery kinds bear thorns. though generally straight and tall, the trees are often twisted into curious joints and elbows, which give them a very fantastic appearance; but most strange of all are the creepers which bind these forest growths. some are very large, and stretch for immense distances, linking tree to tree in twining loops, from which their hanging tendrils reach the ground, or perhaps crossing some forest glade or stream to form an aerial bridge for the lemurs or the monkeys. one creeper in particular i must tell you about. this is called "nyoung-bin" by the natives, and is a very strange plant. it very often springs from a seed dropped by some bird into the fork of a tree, where, taking root, it sends its suckers downwards until they become firmly bedded in the ground, then, growing upwards again, it slowly envelops the parent tree until it is entirely enclosed by the new growth, which kills it, but which in its stead becomes a _new_ tree, larger and more lofty than the one which first supported it. this is one of the many species of ficus, of which its equally strange cousin, the many-trunked banyan, is another common feature of a burmese forest. naturally these forests are alive with birds. parrots and parakeets live among the tree-tops, and doves and pigeons, jays and mynahs, and a great variety of small birds, find their home here. woodpeckers are busy among the tree-trunks, sharing their spoil of insects with the lizards and the tree-frogs, and among the lesser growths tits, finches, and wagtails rear their young broods. the birds are not the only occupants of these wilds, however, for in no country is there a larger variety of game than in burma. herds of wild elephants roam the forests, in which are also tigers, panthers, and bears. many kinds of deer are there, to be preyed upon by man or beast, from the pretty little gyi or barking deer to the lordly sambur. wild pig also are very numerous, and lurking in the dank undergrowth or fissures of the rocks are many venomous snakes and large pythons. but though so abundant, all these wild creatures are shy, and one may travel many days without adventure, and any sense of danger is soon lost in admiration of the beauties of these wilds. riding through such a forest is very fascinating in the early winter months. then the ground is fairly hard, and riding would be easy were it not for the thorny vines and fallen tree-trunks which lie among the thickets. at this time, also, foliage and flowers are still luxuriant, and all kinds of wild life abundant. but from may to october the south-west monsoon, bringing in the heavily-laden rain-clouds from the sea, pours upon the country its torrential rains, which change this beautiful forest into a swamp. the quiet creeks become turbid rivers, while the hill-sides are torn by innumerable torrents, which, washing away the earth from the roots of the trees, cause them to fall crashing among the dripping undergrowth. bridges are swept away, and the paths become morasses. travelling in the forest is then wellnigh impossible, though it is this time that the native woodman and the large number of young englishmen engaged in forest-work find the busiest of the year. gradually the rains cease, and with the return of sunshine birds and flowers spring into renewed life, more beautiful than ever, and at no time of the year is the forest more lovely than immediately after the monsoon rains. presently the hot weather of march and april comes to strip the trees of their leaves, while the dak and other flowering trees are a blaze of crimson among the autumn tints. then, when everything is dry and withered, forest fires break out in many parts of the country, consuming all but the larger trees, and leaving a blackened waste where once was a paradise of flowers. it is sad to ride in the track of such a fire, but this is no doubt nature's way of _cleaning_ the country, and destroying a vast amount of decaying vegetable matter and keeping in check many venomous insects and reptiles. the forest appears to be dead until the advent of the next monsoon restores to the sun-bleached skeleton its usual luxuriant vegetation. but i hear some one asking, how do you live and travel in such a country? all through india and burma at intervals along the main routes of travel dâk bungalows have been erected for the use of travellers. these are small houses, containing two or three rooms, raised on poles above the ground. they are built of timber, with matting walls and thatched roof, much like the burmese dwellings i have described. native custodians are in charge of them, and although specially intended for the use of government servants, any traveller may use them. in the forest similar houses, called "tais," smaller and often built of bamboo, are erected, though sometimes very small huts indeed, formed of bamboo and reeds, are the only shelter available. these are draughty dwellings, and even the best-built "tai" is partly open to the air, and affords little protection from the night cold, which is often so intense that sleep is almost impossible. after a scanty breakfast by candlelight, a start is made in the early dawn, when the air is cold and damp, and the heavy dew dripping from the reeds and kine-grass quickly soaks you to the skin. the sunrise is curiously sudden, and very soon the sun is hot enough to compel the traveller to leave the open glades and seek the shelter of the denser portions of the forest. hardy little ponies, sure-footed and willing, are our mounts, while elephants carry the stores and provisions, cooking utensils, and bedding, which every traveller must take with him. in distinction to the working elephants, those employed on a journey are called "travellers," and are used for no other purpose. their drivers are called "ouzies," and sit astride the animals' necks, with their legs hanging down behind their ears. there are several ways of mounting, each pretty: sometimes the elephant will hold up its fore-foot to form a step for its driver, or will drop upon its knees and bend its trunk to form a step, by which the "ouzie" is able to reach his seat. when travelling they have a shambling sort of gait, half walk, half amble, but manage to get over the ground very quickly, and for such cumbersome animals are very nimble-footed. it is almost ludicrous to see the huge beasts picking their way along a narrow "bund" or crossing some ditch by a bridge of fallen logs, but they always do so successfully. soft and boggy land, however, is a great trouble to them, their great weight causing them to sink deep into the mud; and elephants will often show their dread of such places by loud trumpeting and great unwillingness to attempt the passage. occasionally they will tear up tufts of reeds or boughs of trees to make a foothold for themselves, and i heard quite recently of a case where a friend of mine, while out shooting from elephants, came to such a marshy place, which at first they refused to cross. then, before anything could be done to prevent it, his elephant seized the driver with his trunk and, placing him in the mud, used the poor native's body as a "stepping-stone." the driver was, of course, crushed to death, and my friend only escaped a similar fate by scrambling off his elephant by the tail. generally elephants are docile enough, but are not always fond of europeans and very much dislike a rider to approach too closely; but they rarely give trouble to their drivers, for whom they often have a genuine affection. roads in the forest are few, and at best are only bridle-tracks, difficult to ride over, and through which a way has often to be cut with knives, so rapid is the growth. travelling is slow and often difficult, and towards the great heat of midday men and animals are glad to rest, while another march in the afternoon brings us, towards sunset, to our next halting-place. then fuel for the fires must be collected to prepare the evening meal, beds made ready, and the animals attended to. the ponies are tethered underneath the "tai," while the elephants, wearing a wooden bell called "kalouk," are turned loose into the forest, where their drivers quickly track them down again in the morning by the sound of their bell. about sundown a strange hush comes over the forest, and the leaves hang limply after the great heat of the day. insects and birds give up their activities, and are preparing to roost or lying in the various hiding-places they frequent. all nature seems to be _tired_, and little wonder when the thermometer has shown ° of moist heat! suddenly with the cooling of the air a shiver and a rustle passes over the tree-tops as the sundown breeze brings relief to the tired world. immediately the forest is alive again, but with new inhabitants. the dancing fireflies weave rings of bluish light around the tree-trunks, already half lost in the gathering darkness; crickets and tree-frogs contribute to the growing sounds of the woody solitude; while the stealthy tread of some prowling animal is faintly heard among the withered debris of the undergrowth. it is no longer safe to wander from the camp-fire, whose flames, shooting upwards in straight tongues, light up the nearer trees in contrast to the blackness beyond, in which many a dangerous wild beast lurks. within the circle which our camp-fire lights is safety, and in the now cold night air its warmth is grateful. no one who has not experienced it can at all appreciate the romantic pleasure of a forest camp, never more enjoyable than in the hour before "turning in," when, in the light of our blazing logs and surrounded by the dark mystery beyond, the last pipe is smoked while listening to many exciting tales of adventure, before we stretch our tired limbs in bed. [illustration: a oak bungalow. _page ._] chapter x the forest (_continued_) though human habitations are not often met with in the forest, little native settlements occur from time to time, where, surrounded by small clearings, over which a primitive scarecrow mounts guard, sufficient rice is grown for their needs. these little hamlets are occupied by woodmen, or little communities of chins, a kindred race to the burmans, though differing from them in many customs, most curious of which is their habit of tattooing the faces of their young women _black_. here and there one meets a fowler, who, with primitive snare or decoy-bird, seeks to take his toll of the forest; and in the most remote districts may be met some picturesque burmese travelling-cart, toiling laboriously over tracks which would almost seem to be impossible for wheels. i have already mentioned the creaking of the cart-wheels which no burman would oil, for they believe that the horrible groanings they produce, together with their own loud voices, serve to ward off the evil spirits of the woods; for the burman is superstitious, and at frequent intervals may be seen tiny wicker-work representations of pagodas and "zeyats" erected to propitiate the forest "nats," and passers-by will deposit in these diminutive shrines some offering of food or ornament, and in the shan states i remember seeing one whose enclosing fence was hung with spears and "dahs," and other weapons of considerable interest and some value. by the wayside the lonely grave of some traveller or woodman, marked by its simple fence of twigs, gives a touch of pathos to the forest; and among its natural wonders are the giant ant-hills, often feet or more in height. ants are probably the most destructive of all insects in burma. voracious wood-eaters, they will attack fallen logs or growing trees, which they will entirely consume till only the hollow bark remains. this is one great reason why the wood of the teak-tree is so highly valued, as it is the only timber these ants will not touch, and consequently is the one of which all the more important buildings and dwellings are constructed. in many districts, within reach of some beautiful forest creek, teak-cutting may be seen in full operation; and it is interesting to watch the elephants at work, hauling logs or loading them on to the little trollies, by which they are carried down to the water, where, floundering along the muddy bank, they launch them in the stream. some of these creeks are very lovely, fringed as they are by flowering grasses, behind which the forest rises tier on tier above the shimmering water and gleaming sand-banks. on the banks are the footprints of many wild animals who have come down to water during the night. in the water are fish and water-snakes, which alert herons constantly harass, and, strange as it may seem, in the river-bed itself are the marks of cart-wheels, for the burmans often make a highway of these forest streams, which in the dry season are generally easier to travel than the roads. the forest itself is never monotonous, its growths varying according to the levels of the hills. sometimes the enormous trees and heavy foliage i have already described produce a depth of gloom which might well excuse the superstitious fear of the burmans, and often recalls to me the pictures in our fairy-books, where some bold knight is depicted entering the depths of an enchanted wood, in search of the dragon that well might dwell there. descending the hill-side with a suddenness which is almost startling, you may find yourself in a bamboo forest, which is a veritable fairyland for beauty. from a carpet of sand, on which lilies grow, these giant bamboos spring, fern-like, in enormous clumps, spreading their arms and feathery crests in all directions, and, meeting overhead, form avenues and lanes, which remind one of some beautiful cathedral aisle. different in many ways from the forests i have described are those of the cooler plateaus and mountain ranges of northern burma. on the higher levels oak and pines are found among the other trees, and bracken grows around the wild plums on the more open slopes. sparkling rivulets spring from the mountain-side, and, overhung by ferns and mosses, flow gurgling over their pebbly beds to the deep valley below, there to join the swiftly-flowing river, which, by many waterfalls and rapids, eventually reaches the level of the plains. from the river's edge, where reeds and wild bananas grow, the purple wistaria spreads itself over the mass of vegetation which covers the precipitous hills from base to summit. bamboos of many kinds wave among the trees or grow in masses by themselves, and climbing geranium and ferns mount from one foothold to another over tree-trunks or rocks, rooting as they go. nests of wasps and weaver birds hang from the canes. jungle-fowl and pheasant, snipe and partridge, are there to provide the traveller with food, and often, flying heavily from tree to tree, a peacock offers a welcome addition to your larder. the forest is dense, and in places almost impenetrable, and as you ride or cut your way through the thick undergrowth, monkeys of large size follow you through the tree-tops, scolding and chattering at your intrusion; and lemurs, fear overcome by curiosity, approach you closely, as though to see what kind of creature is this that penetrates these wilds. wildness best describes these leafy solitudes in which roads are almost unknown, and which the larger beasts as well as men appear to shun. along the river-bank, however, are many little hamlets, where in dug-out canoes the natives fish the rivers, using many ingenious nets and traps, or weirs which stretch from bank to bank. carts are never used here, and such traffic as is carried on must be done by means of pack-ponies, whose loads are so contrived that, should they stumble on their rugged path, they can easily free themselves of their burden. we are now near to the chinese frontier, and many straggling groups of chinese, shans, and shan-tilok (which is a mixture of the two) may be met bearing bales or baskets of produce on their backs to some distant settlement; or occasionally a family party, bent upon some pilgrimage or journey, carry their household goods and young children in baskets slung from bamboo poles, which cross their shoulders. on the lower levels, where paths are more frequent, little bridges of picturesque design cross the streams, from which rise warm miasmic mists. in the early morning dense fogs fill the valleys, often accompanied by frost; but as the sun gains power and the mists are sucked up, the heat is intense; and these extremes of heat and cold, combined with the smell of rotting vegetation and exhalations from the ground, render this region a perfect fever-den, in which no white man can safely live. though the general character of the country consists of lofty mountains and deep valleys, through which wide rivers flow, there are at intervals considerable stretches of flat land, which are under partial cultivation. here villages of some size are found, and among the people which inhabit them are strange types we have not previously seen in burma, and customs which are curious. the shans, for instance, have the habit of tattooing their faces and legs and centre of their chests, while, their scanty clothing not permitting the use of pockets, they carry upon their backs little baskets of wicker-work, in which are placed their knives, tobacco, and such other articles as a pocket might have accommodated. the yunnanese, wearing huge plaited hats of straw and curious slippers of the same material, but whose other garments are so thin and baggy as to mark them indifferent to the cold, are in marked contrast to the kachins, who wear an elaborate costume of heavy woollen material of many colours. the men, whose hair is long and tied in a knot on the top of the head, after the manner of the burmese, wear a simple scarf tied round the head in place of a hat, while the women, who wear a costume much like the men, have as their head-covering a handkerchief or scarf folded flat upon the head. all have their ears bored, the lobes being so large as not only to enable them to wear ear ornaments of unusual size, but often to serve as a handy receptacle for a cigar! when travelling the kachins usually carry in their hands double-ended spears, whose shafts are covered with a kind of red plush from which large fringes hang; but these are only ceremonial weapons, and show that their intentions are pacific. like the shans, they dispense with pockets in their clothing, but instead wear suspended under their arm a cloth bag, which is often prettily embroidered. though, as i have mentioned, the forests of mid-burma--and, indeed, generally throughout the country--abound in game, which ranges from elephant and rhinoceros down to the smallest deer, and while every tree and thicket is a home for birds, all forms of animal life appear to avoid the fever-infested highlands of north-east burma. in some places, however, strange freaks of nature occur. on the high plateau through which the myit-nge river flows, though the forest and jungle is more or less deserted, scattered over the plain are conical limestone crags, which are alive with monkeys; and while the innumerable species of insects which infest the warmer forests are absent, nowhere in all burma have i seen butterflies more numerous or more beautiful than here. it is singular, also, to notice how human habitations will attract certain forms of animal life, and in some mysterious manner, though the surrounding forest may be otherwise deserted, pigeons and doves and the various kinds of crow quickly install themselves in the neighbourhood of a newly-established settlement or camp. it is impossible in two short chapters to describe the infinite variety and charm of these burmese forests--the rushing mountain torrents, the sweeping rivers, and noble waterfalls; the sluggish streams, which reflect the glories of the surrounding forest; its teeming life, its solitude, and the wonderful effects of light and colour; but perhaps i have said enough to convey to you some idea of that wealth of exuberant beauty which has forced upon me the conclusion that nothing in all the world is quite so beautiful as a tropical forest. so far i have not given you any example of the many adventures which may befall a traveller in such wilds, but they are naturally of frequent occurrence. often while painting, and quite unarmed, i have found myself in unpleasantly close proximity to wild beasts of many kinds, and on more than one occasion i have narrowly escaped the fatal bite of some deadly snake which i have killed. every one has a natural horror of poisonous snakes, but sometimes an adventure with them has its element of amusement. i remember an instance where one of my companions, having come into camp from his work in the forest, lay down outside his tent to rest, and, the better to enjoy it, took off his riding-boots and loosened his breeches at the knee. while his "tiffin" was being prepared he went to sleep, but presently awoke with a horrible sensation of something lying cold against his thigh. to his alarm, he discovered this to be a large cobra, which had sought shelter from the sun. remaining quite still, he called his native servant, and explained the position, and the snake was soon secured and dispatched, while my friend suffered nothing worse than a fright. though so docile as a rule when tamed, elephants in their wild state are most dangerous, and i have heard of many narrow escapes from them in burma. panthers, also, though shy of human beings, are fierce when at bay, and i have been told that a scratch from their claws nearly always results in fatal blood-poisoning. [illustration: the queen's golden monastery, mandalay. _page ._] it is the tiger, however, which is most to be feared. general throughout the country, a traveller through jungle or forest must be ever alert, so stealthy are its movements, and so audacious is it in its depredations. its great strength, however, which is not so generally recognized, the following will serve to show. close beside our lonely camp on the nan-tu river a tiger killed a sambur, upon which the natives saw him feeding. being unarmed themselves, they ran for the "sahib" to come and shoot him; but, on regaining the spot, they found that the tiger had gone, carrying the huge carcass with him. following the trail, they came up with their quarry at the river's bank; but the tiger, still retaining its hold upon its prey, took to the water, and, although impeded by its heavy burden, succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. the sad part of the story is that a native, armed with a "dah," who had followed the tiger into the river, though an extremely powerful swimmer, was swept away by the current, and drowned in the rapids below. chapter xi temples and religion burma has been called the "land of pagodas," and nothing could be more true, for from syriam, below rangoon, to myitkyina, in the far north, is one long succession of these beautiful temples. not only on the river-banks do these pagodas crown the hills, but in every town and village throughout the country; and in many remote districts, far from present habitations, some shrine, however simple, has been raised. we have seen something of the great shwe dagon pagoda in rangoon, but there are many others almost equally beautiful, if not so large: the exquisite shwe tsan daw at prome, the arracan near mandalay, while in old pagan, pegu, moulmein, and a host of other places, are temples which one might well think could not be surpassed for beauty. i have told you that these pagodas are usually bell-shaped--a delicate and most elegant form of design, which gains very much in effect from the habit the burmese have of building their temples on a hill, so that the gradually ascending ground, on the different levels of which the pinnacles of the "kyoungs" are visible above the trees, leads gradually upward from one point to another until the temple itself is reached, towering gracefully above the other forms of beauty with which the hill is sometimes covered. another pretty effect is gained by building them close to the water, either on the river-bank or beside some artificial pool or "tank," in which they are reflected. nothing could be more beautiful than the effect of these golden piles glittering in the sunshine among the deep green of the trees, especially when repeated in some placid sheet of water, dotted over perhaps with pink and purple lotus. and, then, the little bells which hang from every "ti"--how they tinkle as they swing in the breeze, in their numbers forming one general harmonious note, most musical, and with a strange sensation of joy and contentment in its sound. these little bells are not the only ones in the temples, however, for in all of them are others of very large size, which, raised a foot or more from the ground, hang between two posts set in the platform which surrounds the "zedi," as the bell-shaped temple is called. these are used by the worshippers, who, with a stag's horn, strike the bell after praying, to call the attention of the "nats" of the upper and lower worlds to the fact that they have done so. you will see these bells in one of the pictures, but there are some others of immense size, that at mingun weighing eighty tons; but, as a rule, the tone of the very large bells is poor, and not to be compared with that of those of more moderate size. there are one or two places in burma particularly rich in pagodas--pagan, sagaing, and mandalay. i want to tell you just a little about each. let us go to mandalay first, for i have no doubt that you have been wondering why i have not already told you something about the capital of burma. as a matter of fact, mandalay is little better than an enlarged village, and is built much in the same way as the towns i have already described, and has really only two points of great interest--its religious buildings and the "fort." i am referring, of course, to the _burmese_ town, for surrounding the fort are a large number of well-built bungalows, and streets of shops built of stone or brick; but these are for the use of europeans and indian or chinese traders, the burmans here, as elsewhere, contenting themselves with their thatched houses of timber. it may appear surprising that a people who could erect their marvellous temples should be satisfied with such poor dwellings. the reason is to be found in their custom of removing their capital on each change of dynasty, and since a.d. the capital of burma has been moved no less than eight times! mandalay itself is only fifty years old, so that it hardly appeared to them worth their while to build more substantial dwellings, which might so soon have to be deserted; and in this way they came to regard their homes as temporary, expending their energies and wealth in the building of temples and monasteries instead. the streets of mandalay are wide, and laid out in rectangles, as in rangoon, and, like all towns in burma, the roads are heavily shaded by trees. foreign types are common in mandalay, but the burmese life here is very pretty. nowhere else are the people better dressed, and the ladies rival the silk bazaar in the variety and beautiful colour of their clothing. until recently this was a royal city, and the ladies pay great attention to the demands of fashion, whether it is in their delicately-tinted garments, their embroidered sunshades or fan, or the lace handkerchief with which they love to toy; and nothing in the way of crowd could be nicer than these daintily-dressed and usually prepossessing men and women. fashion, however, has always _some_ drawback. the ladies in many cases smear their faces with a paste called "thannakah," which has the effect of whitening the skin. the result is very unfortunate, for it is not always put on evenly, and only serves to make the ugly more forbidding, while it destroys the soft warmth of colour and skin texture which so often makes these women beautiful. another unfortunate custom is their habit of smoking such huge cheroots, which no mouth of ordinary size could possibly hold without distortion. all roads in mandalay lead to the fort, lately the residence of the court. this consists of a huge square, - / miles each way, entirely surrounded by battlemented walls, and further protected by a wide and deep moat. quaint bridges cross the moat, and lead to gateways, each surmounted by a "pyathat." within the walls are the palace of the king, and many other buildings of highly ornate and purely burmese character. many of them have lately been destroyed by fire; but what will interest us most is the rambling but most picturesque palace, the lofty "pyathat" which is erected over thebaw's throne being the finest in the country, and so much admired by the burmans as to be called "the centre of the universe." all these buildings are of timber, only the finest teak being used, and the many columns which support the roofs of the halls of audience consist of single tree-trunks of unusual size and great value. the moat serves to supply mandalay with its drinking-water, and is fed by a conduit from the hills. i am afraid the water is not very clean, but it is a very pretty sight to see the people coming to fill their jars from the little stages which jut from the banks, while the whole surface is at some seasons of the year a mass of purple lotus and white water-lily, and, although in the middle of the city, paddy-birds and other ibis wade about its margins. mandalay is a station for our troops, who are quartered inside the fort, which was only captured after severe fighting. the stockade, which offered so great an obstacle to our men, has been swept away, and "tommy atkins," as well as indian troops, now inhabit the palaces of king thebaw's time! but it is an unhealthy station, and nowhere in burma have i seen such crowds of mosquitoes, the common cause of fever in europeans. the most beautiful of mandalay's pagodas, "the incomparable," has been destroyed by fire; but a large number remain, one of which is very interesting. this is the "kuthodaw," a temple built by mindon min, king thebaw's father. the central dome is not remarkable, but on each side of the large flagged space which surrounds it are rows and rows of miniature temples, each with an ornamental cupola, supported upon pillars. each of these cupolas contains a slab of alabaster, on which is inscribed a chapter of the pali bible. the entrance-gates, also, are large, and unusually ornate in design. each quarter of the town has one or more large pagodas, and others surround its outskirts from the river-bank to the top of mandalay hill; but these differ from the others we have noticed in one respect, being covered by carved plaster-work, each stage of which is beautified by some elaborate or striking pattern, so that the dome of pure white, broken by sharp contrast of light and shade, is quite as rich in effect as the gilded temples of rangoon or prome. most remarkable of all the buildings in mandalay, however, are the monasteries, of which there are a large number, many of great interest, the principal one being the "queen's golden monastery," for beauty of design and elaborate embellishment unquestionably the finest structure of its kind in burma. across the river from mandalay is a very pretty scene. low conical hills rise from the banks of the river, each crowned by a pagoda, around which are many "kyoungs" and "zeyats." scattered over the hill-sides are many others, gleaming white against the warm earth tints and the foliage which surround them. this is old sagaing, once a capital of burma; but the city has gone, and only its temples now remain. crossing the river in sampans painted red, blue, and yellow, or landing on the pearly shingle of the beach, are crowds of well-dressed burmans from mandalay and ava, bent on a pilgrimage to one or other of the many shrines, which are reached by long flights of steps, whose entrance is guarded by enormous leogryphs. a pretty legend gives the origin of these monsters, which, often of enormous size, invariably guard the entrance to a temple. long ago in the dim past a princess was stolen by "nats," and hidden away in the dark recesses of the forest. the king made every effort to find the hiding-place of his daughter, but without success, until one day a lioness rescued the princess, and restored her to her home. ever since then the lion, which in the course of centuries has gradually become changed into the leogryph (or half-lion, half-griffin), has been accepted by the people as the emblem of protecting watchfulness. close to mandalay on the south is amarapura, another of burma's many capitals, and though we cannot hope to see all the many interesting monuments that remain, it has one pagoda in particular which well repays us for our long and dusty journey. this is the arracan pagoda, one of the most famous shrines in burma, and the one most frequented by the shans and other hill tribes, whose time of pilgrimage occurs "between the reaping and the sowing." there is no ascent to this temple, which, through a series of ornamented doorways, is approached by a long flat corridor, which, as usual, serves the purpose of a bazaar. here perhaps the best burmese gongs may be purchased, and the stalls for cut flowers display a rich profusion of blooms, whose scent fills the whole temple precincts. the temple itself is different in design from any others we have seen, being built in the form of a square tower, above which rises a series of diminishing terraces, each beautified by carved battlements and corner pinnacles, the whole being richly gilt. [illustration: the shwe zigon pagoda, pagan. _page ._] beneath the central tower is the shrine, before which a constant stream of devotees succeed each other in prayer. this contains an enormous brass image of buddha, feet in height, thickly plastered with the pilgrims' offerings of gold-leaf. behind the temple are the sacred tanks, whose green and slimy water is alive with turtles, too lazy or too well fed to eat the dainty morsels thrown to them by the onlookers, but which are pounced upon by hundreds of hawks, who often seize the tit-bits before they reach the water. the courtyards are, as usual, thronged, and pastry-cooks and story-tellers, soothsayers and musicians, provide refreshment and amusement to the ever-moving crowd of happy people, at whom we never tire of looking. and now, having seen something of the principal pagodas, with their crowds of worshippers or loiterers, let us take one glimpse of the ancient city of pagan. splendidly placed upon a commanding site on the river-bank, pagan was at one time a populous and wealthy centre. to-day it is the city of the dead, and the domes and pinnacles of its temples, which cover an area of square miles, remain silent monuments to its former greatness. save for a few priests and scattered families of the poorest of the people, its population has disappeared centuries ago, and the land, once fertile, is now covered with aloe, cactus, and thorn, while an air of weary heat and desolation envelops it. some idea of its size may be formed when i tell you that a thousand of its pagodas are known by name, while as many more are little but a heap of ruinous brickwork. many of its temples are of the greatest historical interest. the ananda, built years ago, is larger than st. paul's, and its elongated dome and innumerable pinnacles render it as graceful as it is imposing. there are other temples even larger, while the picture facing page will give you some little idea of the beauty and interest of the shwe zigon. throughout the country temples abound, and in lonely places where no temple has been built, the lofty "tagundaing" marks some holy spot. you will find no statues to her kings in burma, but in every temple, in little wayside shrines, and even in the most unfrequented wilds, the burmans have erected images of buddha, founder of their faith. nearly one-third of the world's population are buddhists, and this fact alone would seem to show how beautiful is the religion they profess. buddhism was founded by an indian prince called gautama, about years before the birth of christ. this prince, though heir to a kingdom, and surrounded by every luxury, left his palace and his beautiful wife and their little son, to become a wanderer in the search for truth, and for six years he lived as a hermit in the wilderness, attended only by a few disciples. one day, while seated beneath a "bo" tree, lost in contemplation, revelation came to him, and from that time he became a preacher, striving to raise men and women to his own lofty and pure standard of what life should be. few europeans really understand buddhism, but many of its principles we can all appreciate. thus, men are taught truthfulness, purity, obedience, and kindness, which forbids the giving of pain to any living creature. charity, patience, humility, and the habit of meditation are early instilled into the minds of the boys, who, without exception, spend at least a portion of their lives as inmates of a monastery, and with the priests and novices are not ashamed to collect the daily offering of food. in their consideration for animals, their love for their children, and great respect for age, as well as in their consideration for each other, the burmans act well up to the beauty of their faith; for a beautiful religion it is, beautifully expounded in arnold's "light of asia," which i hope many of you will presently read. it is not difficult to understand how their religion, combined with their own happy, contented natures, and the enervating effect of climate, renders the burmans little able to withstand the pressure from without which has lately been brought to bear upon them. largely content with what nature provides for them, and without social grades to spur them to ambition, their sports and races and amusements of many kinds occupy the chief attention of the men, who quickly succumb to their more energetic and businesslike rivals from india or china. the women, more capable and rather despising the idleness of the men, are more and more prone to marry among other races, while western civilization also is doing much to destroy the primitive charm of the people. sad it is to think that the burman as a pure race is slowly disappearing, and there are few, i think, who know them but will view this prospect with sincere regret. but if it is inevitable that this picturesque and lovable people must be in time replaced by others, at least their beautiful country always will remain. and now, as i close this chapter, there recurs to my mind a pretty picture which embodies so much of the spirit of the country that it may well form our last peep at burma. far away in the jungle on the crest of a lonely hill stands a ruined pagoda. the white ornamental plaster-work which once beautified it has long since disappeared, and in the rents and fissures which seam its rich red brickwork venomous serpents hide. the niche which formerly contained a buddha is unoccupied, but, as though to soften its decay, kindly creepers have covered its rugged exterior with a bower of foliage and flowers, while the leogryphs which once marked the entrance to its enclosure are buried in vegetation. all around are trees of many kinds, which tower above the jungle, among which large and beautiful butterflies flit among the flowers, while birds of gay plumage gambol among the tree-tops to the distant song of the bulbul. it was a pretty scene, but sad in its loneliness, to which a touch of pathos was added by the figure of a solitary priest praying before the empty shrine. wondering what had brought him so far from any known habitation, i watched him long as he prayed. just as the sun set and the day closed he plucked a lovely flower from the scrub and placed it reverently on the shrine where buddha once had stood, and as i turned my pony's head in the direction of my distant camp, the slowly-retreating figure of the "hpungi" became lost in the glory of the sunset. the end * * * * * list of volumes in the peeps at many lands series each containing full-page illustrations in colour each / net burma egypt england france holland holy land india italy japan morocco scotland south africa south seas switzerland wales published by adam and charles black soho square, london, w. agents america the macmillan company & fifth avenue, new york canada the macmillan company of canada, ltd. richmond street west, toronto india macmillan & company, ltd. macmillan building, bombay bow bazaar street, calcutta australasia. oxford university press, melbourne * * * * * _by the same artist and author_ burma by r. talbot kelly, r.b.a. _containing full-page illustrations in colour. square demy vo., cloth, gilt top_ price /- net (_post free, price s. d._) "his landscapes--in which nature is seen unforced by the hands of colour-loving men and women, and seen, more often than not, by early morning or evening light--have an exquisite delicacy."--_athenæum._ "the result is a narrative delightful in its quiet zest, and a series of pictures that have the hues of landscapes hung in a heaven of dreamland."--_speaker._ "if ever there was a poet in colours mr. kelly is one. his volume is bright to read and beautiful to look at."--_liverpool post._ "those of our readers who have seen mr. kelly's 'egypt' know that he uses pen and brush with equal facility, and in this volume we find again beautiful and faithful pictures, accompanied by admirably graphic descriptions."--_aberdeen journal._ egypt by r. talbot kelly, r.b.a. _containing full-page illustrations in colour. square demy vo., cloth, gilt top_ price /- net (_post free, price s. d._) "how marvellously faithful his work is, every one who knows egypt will see in the seventy-five exquisite paintings which make his book a perfect treasure of beauty.... no series of drawings has ever conveyed to us so perfect an impression of egyptian scenery as these."--_saturday review._ "rarely can this old, old country have received more beautiful homage than here ... the happily inspired work of a true artist revealing her countless charms."--_bookman._ "this is beyond all question the most beautiful book on modern egypt that we have ever seen."--_spectator._ "this is a magnificent production of his, abounding with fine pictures, beautifully reproduced, and teeming with fine descriptive touches and bright anecdotal matter."--_black and white._ "few more attractive gift-books have fallen into our hands of late than this splendidly-illustrated volume, the text of which is in perfect harmony with the pictures."--_standard._ published by a. & c. black, soho square, london, w. * * * * * a bachelor girl in burma by g. e. mitton author of "a bachelor girl in london," "jane austen and her times," etc. _containing illustrations from photographs._ _sq. demy vo_., cloth._ price /- net (_post free, _price s. d._) some press opinions "she has written a delightful book on a delightful country, and the ninety-five illustrations, from photographs taken by herself and others, add greatly to its readable and instructive character, as well as to its beauty."--_scotsman._ "she has altogether succeeded in writing a delightful account of her trip."--_westminster gazette._ "a most entertaining and agreeable narrative."--_burlington magazine._ "her book will please and amuse all lovers of travel."--_world._ "she has cleverly tinged her descriptions with much of that rich colour which ornaments the east, and any who might be tempted to visit a land as yet little travelled by the sightseer will in these pages find much information that may prove of value in their preparation for such a trip."--_daily telegraph._ "a delightful account, illustrated with many attractive photographs."--_world's work._ "miss mitton has excelled herself in her last work."--_tatler._ published by a. & c. black, soho square, london, w. * * * * * on the irrawaddy: a story of the first burmese war by g. a. henty illustrated by w. h. overend. contents preface. chapter : a new career. chapter : the outbreak of war. chapter : a prisoner. chapter : a ruined temple. chapter : with brigands. chapter : among friends. chapter : on the staff. chapter : the pagoda. chapter : victories. chapter : the advance. chapter : donabew. chapter : harry carried off. chapter : preparing a rescue. chapter : in the temple. chapter : the attack. chapter : rejoining. chapter : the pride of burma humbled. chapter : in business again. illustrations stanley is brought before bandoola, the burmese general. stanley gave a sudden spring, and buried his knife in the leopard. they forced the canoe behind bushes, so as to be entirely concealed. the burmese make a great effort to capture pagoda hill. stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut. the great snake moved his head higher and higher, hissing angrily. in vain the burmese tried to force their way into the chamber. the old burmese general was carried from point to point in a litter. preface. with the exception of the terrible retreat from afghanistan, none of england's many little wars have been so fatal--in proportion to the number of those engaged--as our first expedition to burma. it was undertaken without any due comprehension of the difficulties to be encountered, from the effects of climate and the deficiency of transport; the power, and still more the obstinacy and arrogance of the court of ava were altogether underrated; and it was considered that our possession of her ports would assuredly bring the enemy, who had wantonly forced the struggle upon us, to submission. events, however, proved the completeness of the error. the burman policy of carrying off every boat on the river, laying waste the whole country, and driving away the inhabitants and the herds, maintained our army as prisoners in rangoon through the first wet season; and caused the loss of half the white officers and men first sent there. the subsequent campaign was no less fatal and, although large reinforcements had been sent, fifty percent of the whole died; so that less than two thousand fighting men remained in the ranks, when the expedition arrived within a short distance of ava. not until the last burmese army had been scattered did the court of ava submit to the by no means onerous terms we imposed. great, indeed, was the contrast presented by this first invasion of the country with the last war in , which brought about the final annexation of burma. then a fleet of steamers conveyed the troops up the noble river; while in a solitary steamer was all that india could furnish, to aid the flotilla of rowboats. no worse government has ever existed than that of burma when, with the boast that she intended to drive the british out of india, she began the war. no people were ever kept down by a more grinding tyranny, and the occupation of the country by the british has been an even greater blessing to the population than has that of india. several works, some by eyewitnesses, others compiled from official documents, appeared after the war. they differ remarkably in the relation of details, and still more in the spelling of the names both of persons and places. i have chiefly followed those given in the narratives of mr. h. h. wilson, and of major snodgrass, the military secretary to the commander of the expedition. chapter : a new career. a party was assembled in a room of an hotel in calcutta, at the end of the year . it consisted of a gentleman, a lady in deep mourning, a boy of between fourteen and fifteen, and two girls of thirteen and twelve. "i think you had better accept my offer, nellie," the gentleman was saying. "you will find it hard work enough to make both ends meet, with these two girls; and stanley would be a heavy drain on you. the girls cost nothing but their clothes; but he must go to a decent school, and then there would be the trouble of thinking what to do with him, afterwards. if i could have allowed you a couple of hundred a year, it would have been altogether different; but you see i am fighting an uphill fight, myself, and need every penny that i can scrape together. i am getting on; and i can see well enough that, unless something occurs to upset the whole thing, i shall be doing a big trade, one of these days; but every half penny of profit has to go into the business. so, as you know, i cannot help you at present though, by the time the girls grow up, i hope i shall be able to do so, and that to a good extent. "i feel sure that it would not be a bad thing for stanley. he will soon get to be useful to me, and in three or four years will be a valuable assistant. speaking hindustani as well as he does, he won't be very long in picking up enough of the various dialects in kathee and chittagong for our purpose and, by twenty, he will have a share of the business, and be on the highway towards making his fortune. it will be infinitely better than anything he is likely to find in england, and he will be doing a man's work at the age when he would still be a schoolboy in england. "i have spoken to him about it. of course, he does not like leaving you, but he says that he should like it a thousand times better than, perhaps, having to go into some humdrum office in england." "thank you, tom," mrs. brooke said with a sigh. "it will be very hard to part with him--terribly hard--but i see that it is by far the best thing for him and, as you say, in a monetary way it will be a relief to me. i think i can manage very comfortably on the pension, in some quiet place at home, with the two girls; but stanley's schooling would be a heavy drain. i might even manage that, for i might earn a little money by painting; but there would be the question of what to do with him when he left school and, without friends or influence, it will be hopeless to get him into any good situation. "you see, herbert's parents have both died since he came out here and, though he was distantly related to the earl of netherly, he was only a second cousin, or something of that kind, and knew nothing about the family; and of course i could not apply to them." "certainly not, nellie," her brother agreed. "there is nothing so hateful as posing as a poor relation--and that is a connection rather than a relationship. then you will leave the boy in my hands?" "i am sure that it will be best," she said, with a tremor in her voice, "and at any rate, i shall have the comfort of knowing that he will be well looked after." mrs. brooke was the widow of a captain in one of the native regiments of the east india company. he had, six weeks before this, been carried off suddenly by an outbreak of cholera; and she had been waiting at calcutta, in order to see her brother, before sailing for england. she was the daughter of an english clergyman, who had died some seventeen years before. nellie, who was then eighteen, being motherless as well as fatherless, had determined to sail for india. a great friend of hers had married and gone out, a year before. nellie's father was at that time in bad health; and her friend had said to her, at parting: "now mind, nellie, i have your promise that, if you should find yourself alone here, you will come out to me in india. i shall be very glad to have you with me, and i don't suppose you will be on my hands very long; pretty girls don't remain single many months, in india." so, seeing nothing better to do, nellie had, shortly after her father's death, sailed for calcutta. lieutenant brooke was also a passenger on board the ava, and during the long voyage he and nellie pearson became engaged; and were married, from her friend's house, a fortnight after their arrival. nellie was told that she was a foolish girl, for that she ought to have done better; but she was perfectly happy. the pay and allowances of her husband were sufficient for them to live upon in comfort; and though, when the children came, there was little to spare, the addition of pay when he gained the rank of captain was ample for their wants. they had been, in fact, a perfectly happy couple--both had bright and sunny dispositions, and made the best of everything; and she had never had a serious care, until he was suddenly taken away from her. stanley had inherited his parents' disposition and, as his sisters, coming so soon after him, occupied the greater portion of his mother's care, he was left a good deal to his own devices; and became a general pet in the regiment, and was equally at home in the men's lines and in the officers' bungalows. the native language came as readily to him as english and, by the time he was ten, he could talk in their own tongue with the men from the three or four different districts from which the regiment had been recruited. his father devoted a couple of hours a day to his studies. he did not attempt to teach him latin--which would, he thought, be altogether useless to him--but gave him a thorough grounding in english and indian history, and arithmetic, and insisted upon his spending a certain time each day in reading standard english authors. tom pearson, who was five years younger than his sister, had come out to india four years after her. he was a lad full of life and energy. as soon as he left school, finding himself the master of a hundred pounds--the last remains of the small sum that his father had left behind him--he took a second-class passage to calcutta. as soon as he had landed, he went round to the various merchants and offices and, finding that he could not, owing to a want of references, obtain a clerkship, he took a place in the store of a parsee merchant who dealt in english goods. here he remained for five years, by which time he had mastered two or three native languages, and had obtained a good knowledge of business. he now determined to start on his own account. he had lived hardly, saving up every rupee not needed for actual necessaries and, at the end of the five years he had, in all, a hundred and fifty pounds. he had, long before this, determined that the best opening for trade was among the tribes on the eastern borders of the british territory; and had specially devoted himself to the study of the languages of kathee and chittagong. investing the greater portion of his money in goods suitable for the trade, he embarked at calcutta in a vessel bound for chittagong. there he took passage in a native craft going up the great river to sylhet, where he established his headquarters; and thence--leaving the greater portion of his goods in the care of a native merchant, with whom his late employer had had dealings--started with a native, and four donkeys on which his goods were packed, to trade among the wild tribes. his success fully equalled his anticipations and, gradually, he extended his operations; going as far east as manipur, and south almost as far as chittagong. the firm in calcutta from whom he had, in the first place, purchased his goods, sent him up fresh stores as he required them; and soon, seeing the energy with which he was pushing his business, gave him considerable credit, and he was able to carry on his operations on an increasingly larger scale. sylhet remained his headquarters; but he had a branch at chittagong, whither goods could be sent direct from calcutta, and from this he drew his supplies for his trade in that province. much of his business was carried on by means of the waterways, and the very numerous streams that covered the whole country, and enabled him to carry his goods at a far cheaper rate than he could transport them by land; and for this purpose he had a boat specially fitted up with a comfortable cabin. he determined, from the first, to sell none but the best goods in the market; and thus he speedily gained the confidence of the natives, and the arrival of his boats was eagerly hailed by the villagers on the banks of the rivers. he soon found that money was scarce; and that, to do a good business, he must take native products in barter for his goods; and that in this way he not only did a much larger trade, but obtained a very much better price for his wares than if he had sold only for money; and he soon consigned considerable quantities to the firm in calcutta and, by so doing, obtained a profit both ways. he himself paid a visit to calcutta, every six months or so, to choose fresh fashions of goods; and to visit the firm, with whom his dealings, every year, became more extensive. but, though laying the foundations for an extensive business, he was not, as he told his sister, at present in a position to help her; for his increasing trade continually demanded more and more capital, and the whole of his profits were swallowed up by the larger stocks that had to be held at his depots at sylhet, chittagong, and at the mouths of the larger rivers. twice since he had been out he had met his sister at calcutta, and when she came down after her husband's death, and heard from tom's agents that he would probably arrive there in the course of a fortnight, she decided to wait there and meet him. he was greatly grieved at her loss, and especially so as he was unable to offer her a home; for as his whole time was spent in travelling, it was impossible for him to do so; nor indeed, would she have accepted it. now that her husband was gone, she yearned to be back in england again. it was, too, far better for the girls that she should take them home. but when he now offered to take the boy she felt that, hard as it would be to leave stanley behind, the offer was a most advantageous one for him. the boy's knowledge of indian languages, which would be of immense advantage to him in such a life, would be absolutely useless in england and, from what tom told her of his business, there could be little doubt that the prospects were excellent. stanley himself, who now saw his uncle for the first time, was attracted to him by the energy and cheeriness of manner that had rendered him so successful in business; and he was stirred by the enterprise and adventure of the life he proposed for him. more than once, in the little-frequented rivers that stretched into kathee, his boats had been attacked by wild tribesmen; and he had to fight hard to keep them off. petty chiefs had, at times, endeavoured to obstruct his trading and, when at manipur, he had twice been witness of desperate fights between rival claimants for the throne. all this was, to a boy brought up among soldiers, irresistibly fascinating; especially as the alternative seemed to be a seat in a dull counting house in england. he was, then, delighted when his mother gave her consent to his remaining with his uncle; grieved as he was at being parted from her and his sisters. the thought that he should, in time, be able to be of assistance to her was a pleasant one; and aided him to support the pain of parting when, a week later, she sailed with the girls for england. "i suppose you have not done any shooting, stanley?" his uncle asked. "not with a gun, but i have practised sometimes with pistols. father thought that it would be useful." "very useful; and you must learn to shoot well with them, and with fowling-piece and rifle. what with river thieves, and dacoits, and wild tribes--to say nothing of wild beasts--a man who travels about, as i do, wants to be able to shoot straight. the straighter you shoot, the less likely you are to have to do so. i have come to be a good shot myself and, whenever we row up a river, i constantly practise--either at floating objects in the water, or at birds or other marks in the trees. i have the best weapons that money can buy. it is my one extravagance, and the result is that, to my boatmen and the men about me, my shooting seems to be marvellous; they tell others of it, and the result is that i am regarded with great respect. i have no doubt, whatever, that it has saved me from much trouble; for the natives have almost got to believe that i only have to point my gun, and the man i wish to kill falls dead, however far distant." two days after the departure of mrs. brooke, her brother and stanley started down the hoogly in a native trader. "she is a curious-looking craft, uncle." "yes; she would not be called handsome in home waters, but she is uncommonly fast; and i find her much more convenient, in many ways, than a british merchantman." "is she yours, uncle?" "no, she is not mine, and i do not exactly charter her; but she works principally for me. you see, the wages are so low that they can work a craft like this for next to nothing. why, the captain and his eight men, together, don't get higher pay than the boatswain of an english trader. "the captain owns the vessel. he is quite content if he gets a few rupees a month, in addition to what he considers his own rate of pay. his wife and his two children live on board. if the craft can earn twenty rupees a week, he considers that he is doing splendidly. at the outside, he would not pay his men more than four rupees a month, each, and i suppose that he would put down his services at eight; so that would leave him forty rupees a month as the profit earned by the ship. "in point of fact, i keep him going pretty steadily. he makes trips backwards and forwards between the different depots; carries me up the rivers for a considerable distance; does a little trade on his own account--not in goods such as i sell, you know, but purely native stores--takes a little freight when he can get it, and generally a few native passengers. i pay him fifteen rupees a week, and i suppose he earns from five to ten in addition; so that the arrangement suits us both, admirably. "i keep the stern cabin for myself. as you see, she has four little brass guns, which i picked up for a song at calcutta; and there are twenty-four muskets aft. it is an arrangement that the crew are to practise shooting once a week, so they have all come to be pretty fair shots; and the captain, himself, can send a two-pound shot from those little guns uncommonly straight. "you will be amused when you see us practising for action. the captain's wife and the two boys load the guns, and do it very quickly, too. he runs round from gun to gun, takes aim, and fires. the crew shout, and yell, and bang away with their muskets. i take the command, and give a few pice among them, if the firing has been accurate. "we have been attacked, once or twice, in the upper waters; but have always managed to beat the robbers off, without much difficulty. the captain fires away, till they get pretty close; and i pepper them with my rifles--i have three of them. when they get within fifty yards, the crew open fire and, as they have three muskets each, they can make it very hot for the pirates. i have a store of hand grenades and, if they push on, i throw two or three on board when they get within ten yards; and that has always finished the matter. they don't understand the things bursting in the middle of them. i don't mean to say that my armament would be of much use, if we were trading along the coast of the malay peninsula or among the islands, but it is quite enough to deal with the petty robbers of these rivers." "but i thought that you had a boat that you went up the rivers in, uncle?" "yes; we tow a rowboat and a store boat up, behind this craft, as far as she can go; that is, as long as she has wind enough to make against the sluggish stream. when she can go no further, i take to the rowboat. it has eight rowers, carries a gun--it is a twelve-pounder howitzer--that i have had cut short, so that it is only about a foot long. of course it won't carry far, but that is not necessary. its charge is a pound of powder and a ten-pound bag of bullets and, at a couple of hundred yards, the balls scatter enough to sweep two or three canoes coming abreast and, as we can charge and fire the little thing three times in a minute, it is all that we require, for practical purposes. "it is only on a few of the rivers we go up that there is any fear of trouble. on the river from sylhet to the east and its branches in kathee or, as it is sometimes called, kasi, the country is comparatively settled. the goomtee beyond oudypore is well enough, until it gets into kaayn, which is what they call independent. that is to say, it owns no authority; and some villages are peaceable and well disposed, while others are savage. the same may be said of the munnoo and fenny rivers. "for the last two years i have done a good deal of trade in assam, up the brahmaputra river. as far as rungpoor there are a great many villages on the banks, and the people are quiet and peaceable." "then you don't go further south than chittagong, uncle?" "no. the burmese hold aracan on the south and, indeed, for some distance north of it there is no very clearly-defined border. you see, the great river runs from rangoon very nearly due north, though with a little east in it; and extends along at the back of the districts i trade with; so that the burmese are not very far from manipur which, indeed, stands on a branch of the irrawaddy, of which another branch runs nearly up to rungpoor. "we shall have big trouble with them, one of these days; indeed, we have had troubles already. you see, the burmese are a great and increasing power, and have so easily conquered all their neighbours that they regard themselves as invincible. until the beginning of the eighteenth century, the burmese were masters of pegu; then the people of that country, with the help of the dutch and portuguese, threw off their yoke. but the burmese were not long kept down for, in , alompra--a hunter--gathered a force round him and, after keeping up an irregular warfare for some time, was joined by so many of his countrymen that he attacked and captured ava, conquered the whole of pegu and, in , the english trading colony at negrais were massacred. "this, however, was not the act of alompra, but of the treachery of a frenchman named levine, and of an armenian; who incited the burmese of the district to exterminate the english--hoping, no doubt, thus to retrieve, in a new quarter, the fortunes of france, which in india were being extinguished by the genius of clive. the english were, at the time, far too occupied with the desperate struggle they were having, in india, to attempt to revenge the massacre of their countrymen at negrais. "very rapidly the burman power spread. they captured the valuable tenasserim coast, from siam; repulsed a formidable invasion from china; annexed aracan, and dominated manipur, and thus became masters of the whole tract of country lying between china and hindustan. as they now bordered upon our territory, a mission was sent in to them from india, with a proposal for the settlement of boundaries, and for the arrangement of trade between the two countries. nothing came of it, for the burmese had already proposed, to themselves, the conquest of india; and considered the mission as a proof of the terror that their advance had inspired among us. "after the conquest by them of aracan, in , there had been a constant irritation felt against us by the burmese; owing to the fact that a great number of fugitives from that country had taken refuge in the swamps and islands of chittagong; from which they, from time to time, issued and made raids against the burmese. in these fugitives, in alliance with some predatory chiefs, invaded aracan in force and, being joined by the subject population there, expelled the burmese. these, however, soon reconquered the province. the affair was, nevertheless, unfortunate, since the burmese naturally considered that, as the insurrection had begun with an invasion by the fugitives in chittagong, it had been fomented by us. "this was in no way the fact. we had no force there capable of keeping the masses of fugitives in order; but we did our best, and arrested many of the leaders, when they returned after their defeat. this, however, was far from satisfying the burmese. a mission was sent, to ava, to assure them of our friendly intentions; and that we had had nothing whatever to do with the invasion, and would do all we could to prevent its recurrence. the burmese government declined to receive the mission. "we, ourselves, had much trouble with the insurgents for, fearful of re-entering burma after their defeat, they now carried on a series of raids in our territory; and it was not until that these were finally suppressed. nevertheless, the court of ava remained dissatisfied; and a fresh demand was raised for the surrender of the chiefs who had been captured, and of the whole of the fugitives living in the government of chittagong. the marquis of hastings replied that the british government could not, without a violation of the principles of justice, deliver up those who had sought its protection; that tranquillity now existed, and there was no probability of a renewal of the disturbances; but that the greatest vigilance should be used, to prevent and punish the authors of any raid that might be attempted against aracan. "a year later a second letter was received, demanding on the part of the king the cession of ramoo, chittagong, moorshedabad, and dacca; that is to say, of the whole british possessions east of the ganges. lord hastings simply replied that if it was possible to suppose that the demand had been dictated by the king of ava, the british government would be justified in regarding it as a declaration of war. to this the burmese made no reply. doubtless they had heard of the successes we had gained in central india, and had learned that our whole force was disposable against them. "three years ago the old king died, and a more warlike monarch succeeded him. since they have been mixed up in the troubles that have been going on in assam, where a civil war had been raging. one party or other has sought their assistance, and fighting has been going on there nearly incessantly and, two months ago, the burmese settled the question by themselves taking possession of the whole country. "this has, of course, been a serious blow to me. although disorder has reigned, it has not interfered with my trading along the banks of the river; but now that the burmese have set up their authority, i shall, for a time anyhow, be obliged to give up my operations there; for they have evinced considerable hostility to us--have made raids near rungpoor, on our side of the river, and have pulled down a british flag on an island in the brahmaputra. we have taken, in consequence, the principality of cachar under our protection--indeed its two princes, seeing that the burmese were beginning to invade their country, invited us to take this step--and we thus occupy the passes from manipur into the low country of sylhet." "i wonder that you have been able to trade in manipur, uncle, as the burmese have been masters there." "i am not trading with the capital itself, and the burmese have been too occupied with their affairs in assam to exercise much authority in the country. besides, you see, there has not been war between the two countries. our merchants at rangoon still carry on their trade up the irrawaddy; and in assam, this spring, the only trouble i had was that i had to pay somewhat higher tolls than i had done before. however, now that cachar is under our protection, i hope that i shall make up for my loss of trade, in assam, by doing better than before in that province." "i thought you called it kathee, uncle?" "so it is generally named but, as it is spoken of as cachar in the proclamation assuming the protectorate, i suppose it will be called so in future; but all these names, out here, are spelt pretty much according to fancy." while this conversation had been going on, the boat had been running fast down the river, passing several european vessels almost as if they had been standing still. "i should not have thought that a boat like this would pass these large ships," stanley said. "we have a good deal to learn in the art of sailing, yet," his uncle replied. "a great many of these indian dhows can run away from a square-rigged ship, in light weather. i don't know whether it is the lines of their hulls or the cut of the sails, but there is no doubt about their speed. they seem to skim over the water, while our bluff-bowed craft shove their way through it. i suppose, some day, we shall adopt these long sharp bows; when we do, it will make a wonderful difference in our rate of sailing. then, too, these craft have a very light draft of water but, on the other hand, they have a deep keel, which helps them to lie close to the wind; and that long, overhanging bow renders them capital craft in heavy weather for, as they meet the sea, they rise over it gradually; instead of its hitting them full on the bow, as it does our ships. we have much to learn, yet, in the way of ship building." the trader had his own servant with him, and the man now came up and said that a meal was ready, and they at once entered the cabin. it was roomy and comfortable, and was, like the rest of the boat, of varnished teak. there were large windows in the stern; it had a table, with two fixed benches; and there were broad, low sofas on each side. above these the muskets were disposed, in racks; while at the end by the door were tom pearson's own rifles, four brace of pistols, and a couple of swords. ten long spears were suspended from the roof of the cabin, in leather slings. the floor, like the rest of the cabin, was varnished. "it looks very comfortable, uncle." "yes; you see, i live quite half my time on board, the rest being spent in the boat. my man is a capital cook. he comes from chittagong, and is a mug." "what are mugs, uncle?" "they are the original inhabitants of aracan. he was one of those who remained there, after the burmese had conquered it, and speaks their language as well as his own. i recommend you to begin it with him, at once. if things settle down in assam, it will be very useful for you in arranging with the burmese officials. you won't find it very easy, though of course your knowledge of three or four indian tongues will help you. it is said to be a mixture of the old tali, sanscrit, tartar, and chinese. the tartar and chinese words will, of course, be quite new to you; the other two elements will resemble those that you are familiar with. "i talk to the man in hindustani. he picked up a little of it at chittagong, and has learned a good deal more, during the two years that he has been with me; and through that you will be able to learn burmese." a week later the dhow entered the harbour. stanley had passed most of his time in conversation with khyen, tom's servant. the facility his tongue had acquired in the indian languages was of great benefit to him, and he speedily picked up a good many burmese sentences. for the next six months he continued, with his uncle, the work the latter had carried on; and enjoyed it much. they sailed up the sluggish rivers, with their low, flat shores, in the dhow; towing the rowboat and the store boat behind them. the crews of these boats lived on board the dhow until their services were required, helping in its navigation and aiding the crew when the wind dropped and sweeps were got out. the villages along the banks were for the most part small, but were very numerous. at each of these the dhow brought up. there was, in almost all cases, sufficient water to allow of her being moored alongside the banks and, as soon as she did so, the natives came on board to make their purchases and dispose of their produce. in addition to the european and indian goods carried, the dhow was laden with rice, for which there was a considerable demand at most of the villages. as soon as he had learned the price of the various goods, and their equivalent in the products of the country, stanley did much of the bartering; while his uncle went ashore and talked with the head men of the village, with all of whom he made a point of keeping on good terms, and so securing a great portion of the trade that might, otherwise, have been carried by native craft. three times during the six months the dhow had gone back to calcutta, to fetch fresh supplies of goods and to take in another cargo of rice; while the trader proceeded higher up the river, in his own boats. while on the voyage, stanley always had the rifle and fowling piece that his uncle had handed over, for his special use, leaning against the bulwark, close at hand; and frequently shot waterfowl, which were so abundant that he was able to keep not only their own table supplied, but to furnish the crew and boatmen with a considerable quantity of food. they had had no trouble with river pirates, for these had suffered so heavily, in previous attacks upon the dhow, that they shunned any repetition of their loss. at the same time every precaution was taken, for, owing to the intestine troubles in cachar and assam, fugitives belonging to the party that happened, for the time, to be worsted, were driven to take refuge in the jungles near the rivers; and to subsist largely on plunder, the local authorities being too feeble to root them out. the boats, therefore, were always anchored in the middle of the stream at night and two men were kept on watch. to the south as well as in the north, the trading operations were more restricted; for the burmese became more and more aggressive. elephant hunters, in the hills that formed the boundary of the british territory to the east, were seized and carried off; twenty-three in one place being captured, and six in another--all being ill treated and imprisoned, and the remonstrances of the indian government treated with contempt by the rajah of aracan. it was evident that the object of the burmese was to possess themselves of this hill country in order that they might, if they chose, pour down at any time into the cultivated country round the town of ramoo. "there is no doubt, stanley," said his uncle one day, "we shall very shortly have a big war with the burmese. the fact that these constant acts of aggression are met only by remonstrances, on our part, increases their arrogance; and they are convinced that we are in mortal terror of them. they say that in assam their leaders are openly boasting that, ere long, they will drive us completely from india; and one of their generals has confidently declared that, after taking india, they intend to conquer england. with such ignorant people, there is but one argument understood--namely, force; and sooner or later we shall have to give them such a hearty thrashing that they will be quiet for some time. "still, i grant that the difficulties are great. their country is a tremendous size, the beggars are brave, and the climate, at any rate near the sea coast, is horribly unhealthy. altogether it will be a big job; but it will have to be done, or in a very short time we shall see them marching against calcutta." chapter : the outbreak of war. on the last day of september, --just a year after stanley had joined his uncle--the dhow sailed into chittagong; which had now taken the place of sylhet as the traders' chief depot, the latter place being too near the burmese, in assam, for him to care about keeping a large stock of his goods there. he went ashore as soon as the dhow cast anchor, stanley remaining on board. "the fat is all in the fire, stanley," tom pearson said, when he returned. "the burmese have attacked and killed some of our troops, and it is certain that the government cannot put up with that." "where was it, uncle?" "down at the mouth of the naaf. as you know, that is the southern boundary of the province, and there was a row there in january. one of our native boats laden with rice was coming up the river, on our side of the channel, when an armed burmese boat came across and demanded duty. of course, our fellows said they were in their own waters, whereupon the burmese fired upon them and killed the steersman. there were reports, then, that bodies of burmese troops were moving about on their side of the river, and that it was feared they would cross over and burn some of our villages. accordingly, our guard at the mouth of the river was increased to fifty men, and a few of these were posted on the island of shapuree. "this island lies close to our shore and, indeed, the channel between can be forded at low water. it has always formed part of the province of chittagong, and there has never been any question raised by the burmese as to this. however, the viceroy of aracan called upon our resident here to withdraw the guard, asserting the right of the king of ava to the island. "since then letters have passed to and fro, but i hear that the burmese have settled the question by landing on shapuree. one night last week they attacked our post there, killed and wounded four of the sepoys, and drove the rest off the island. the indian government have put up with a great deal, rather than engage in so costly and difficult an operation as a war with burma, but it is impossible that we can stand this." the indian government, however, used every endeavour to avert the necessity for war; although the rajah of aracan lost no time in writing a letter to the government of calcutta, stating that he had occupied the island of shapuree, and that unless they submitted quietly to this act of justice, the cities of dacca and moorshedabad would be forcibly seized. in order, however, to postpone, at any rate, the outbreak of war, the government of bengal resolved to give the court of ava an opportunity to withdraw from the position taken up. they therefore acted as if the attack on the guard at shapuree had been the action of the viceroy of aracan alone, and addressed a declaration to the burmese government, recapitulating the facts of the case, pointing out that shapuree had always been acknowledged by burma as forming part of the province of chittagong, and calling upon the government to disavow the action of the local authorities. the burmese considered this, as it was in fact, a proof that the government of india was reluctant to enter upon a contest with them; and confirmed burma in its confident expectation of annexing the eastern portions of bengal, if not of expelling the english altogether. in the meantime, shapuree had been reoccupied by us. the burmese--after driving out the little garrison--had retired and, two months after the attack, two companies of the th native infantry arrived by sea, from calcutta, and landed there. a stockade was built, and two six-pounders placed in position. another company was stationed on the mainland, and the planet and three gunboats, each carrying a twelve-pounder, were stationed in the river. the burmese at once collected large bodies of troops, both in aracan and assam. the government of bengal made preparations to defend our frontier, and especially the position in the north, as an advance of the burmese in this direction would not only threaten the important towns of dacca and moorshedabad, but would place the invaders in dangerous proximity to calcutta. accordingly, a portion of the th and rd native infantry, and four companies of the rungpoor local force, were marched to sylhet; and outposts thrown forward to the frontier. seeing that the burmese operations would probably commence in the north, tom pearson had, after completing his arrangements at chittagong, sailed north to remove his depots from sylhet, and other places that would be exposed to an attack from that direction. they reached sylhet the first week in january. by this time stanley, from his constant conversation with his uncle's servant, had come to speak burmese as fluently as the indian languages. he was now nearly sixteen, tall for his age, and active but, owing to the hot climate and the absence of vigorous exercise, he was less broad and muscular than most english lads of his age. they found on landing that news had arrived, two days before, that a powerful army of burmese had entered cachar, from manipur, and had defeated the troops of jambhir sing; that burmese and assamese had advanced from assam into cachar, and had begun to stockade themselves at bickrampore, at the foot of the bhortoka pass; and that the third division was crossing into the district of jyntea, immediately to the north of sylhet. there was a complete panic in the town, and the ryots were flocking in from all the surrounding country, with their families and belongings; and were making their way down the country, in boats, to dacca. "i am afraid, stanley, there is an end of trade, for the present. what we see here is, doubtless, taking place all over cachar; and it would be just as bad down at chittagong. it is a heavy blow, for i have done remarkably well this year, and was building up the foundations for a good business. no doubt, when this trouble is over. i shall be able to take it up again; and it may be, if we thrash the burmese heartily, which we are sure to do in the long run, it may even prove a benefit. still, there is no doubt that it is a very bad business for me. however as, just at present, there is nothing whatever to be done, i propose, as soon as the goods are all on board, to take a holiday, and go out and have a look at the fighting." "you will take me with you, uncle?" stanley asked eagerly. "certainly, lad. we don't mean to do any fighting ourselves, but only to look on; and it may be that, after it is over, you may be able to make yourself useful, if they want to ask questions of any burmese prisoners." "you think that there is no chance of their beating us?" "i should think not, though of course there is no saying; still, i don't think these fellows will be able to stand against our troops. of course, they have no idea, whatever, of our style of fighting, and have never met any really formidable foes; so that i imagine we shall make pretty short work of them. however, as we shall be mounted--for i will hire a couple of horses, there have been plenty of them driven into the town--we shall be able to make a bolt of it, if necessary. of course, we will take our rifles and pistols with us." the goods were not placed on board the dhow, but in what was called the store boat; as the trader had determined to take up his abode in his rowboat, which could move about much faster than the dhow; and to allow the captain of that craft to make a good thing of it, by taking down to dacca as many of the fugitives as she would hold. finding that the burmese division that had entered jyntea was intrenching itself, at a few miles' distance, major newton, the officer commanding on the sylhet frontier, concentrated his force at jatrapur, a village five miles beyond the sylhet boundary. tom pearson had introduced himself to major newton, and asked permission to accompany his force; saying that his nephew would be able, if necessary, to communicate with the burmese either before or after the action, and that both would willingly act as aides-de-camp. the offer was accepted with thanks, and they rode out with him, on the evening of the th of january, , to jatrapur. at one o'clock in the morning the troops were roused, and marched an hour later. at daybreak they came in sight of the stockade, and a few shots were at once fired upon the advanced guard by the burmese. a portion of their force was lying in a village hard by. major newton at once divided his command into two bodies. one of these was led by captain johnston against the front of the stockade. the other, under captain rowe, attacked the village adjoining. the burmese stationed there gave way, after a very faint resistance. they were accustomed to rely always on stockades; and this attack upon them, when not so protected, shook them at once. those in the stockade, however, made a resolute resistance. captain rowe, after gaining possession of the village, and seeing the occupants in full flight, moved his force to aid the other division; and the burmese, dispirited by the defeat of their countrymen, and finding themselves attacked on two sides, gave way and fled, leaving a hundred dead behind them; while on the british side but six sepoys were killed. the burmese fled to the hills, at a speed that rendered pursuit hopeless by the more heavily-armed troops; and the fugitives soon rallied, and effected their junction with the division advancing from manipur. after the action major newton returned to sylhet, and a few days later mr. scott, who had been appointed commissioner, arrived there and, advancing to bhadrapur, opened communications with the burmese. as, however, it became evident that the latter were only negotiating in order to gain time to intrench themselves near jatrapur, to which they had returned, he again placed the matter in the hands of the military commanders. the burmese force amounted to about six thousand men. they had erected strong stockades on each bank of the river surma, and had thrown a bridge across to connect them. captain johnston advanced with a wing of the th native infantry, a company of the rd native infantry, and a small party of men of a local corps. small as was this force, he divided it into two parties. one of these, under captain rowe, crossed the river; and then both moved against the enemy. the burmese opened fire as they advanced, but the sepoys marched gallantly forward, and drove the enemy out of their unfinished intrenchments at the point of the bayonet. the assam division retreated hastily to the bhortoka pass, while the manipur force stockaded itself at doodpatnee. the assam division was first attacked, and the stockade carried at the point of the bayonet. lieutenant colonel bowen, who now commanded, then moved against the position at doodpatnee. this was very strong. steep hills covered the rear; while the other faces of the intrenchments were defended by a deep ditch, fourteen feet wide, with a chevaux de frise of pointed bamboos on its outer edge. although the position was attacked with great gallantry, it was too strong to be captured by so small a force; and they were obliged to withdraw to jatrapur, with the loss of one officer killed and four wounded, and about one hundred and fifty sepoys killed and wounded. however, their bravery had not been without effect, for the burmese evacuated their stockade and retreated to manipur, leaving cachar free from its invaders. thus, in less than three weeks, the burmese invasion of the northern provinces had been hurled back by a british force of less than a tenth of that of the invaders. stanley and his uncle had been present at all these engagements and, in the absence of any cavalry, had done good service in conveying messages and despatches; and the lad had several times acted as interpreter between the officers and burmese prisoners. both received letters from the commissioner, thanking them for the assistance that they had rendered. "that last affair was unfortunate, stanley; and it is evident that these stockades of theirs are nasty places to attack, and that they ought to be breached by guns before the men are sent forward to storm them. however, as the burmese have gone, our repulse does not matter much. "well, i felt sure that we should thrash them, but i certainly gave them credit for having a great deal more pluck than they have shown. as it is, if there is nothing fresh takes place here, the natives and little traders will soon be coming back from dacca, and business will be better than before; for the burmese have been talking so big, for the last three years, that no one has bought more than would just carry him on; while now they will be more inclined to lay in good stocks of goods. "tomorrow we will start for chittagong. you see, i have a considerable store there; and there is a chance of much more serious fighting, in that quarter, than this little affair we have seen. the governor of aracan has, all along, been the source of troubles; and we may expect that he will cross into the province at the head of a large force, and may do an immense deal of damage, before we can get enough troops there to oppose him." descending the river they coasted along until they arrived, early in march, at chittagong. they found that great alarm reigned there. in january, bandoola, the greatest military leader of the burmese, who was known to have been one of the most strenuous supporters of the war policy at the court of ava, had arrived at aracan and taken the command of the troops collected there, and had brought with him considerable reinforcements. a wanton outrage that had been committed by the burmese showed how intent they were upon hostilities. owing to the unhealthiness of the islet of shapuree, the sepoys stationed there had been withdrawn; and the company's pilot vessel, sophia, was ordered to join the gunboats off that island. four deputies from the burmese court arrived at mungdoo, on the opposite shore; and these invited the commander of the sophia to come on shore, in order that they might talk over with him, in a friendly way, the situation of affairs. he unsuspectingly accepted their invitation and landed, accompanied by an officer and some native seamen. the party were at once seized and sent prisoners to aracan, where they were detained for a month, and then sent back to mungdoo. this wanton insult was followed by a formal declaration of war, by the government of india; and a similar document was issued by the court of ava. the force at sylhet was reinforced, and that in chittagong increased. it consisted of a wing of the th and of the th native regiments, and a battalion of the rd, with a local levy, amounting in all to some men. of these a wing of the rd, with two guns, and a portion of the native levies were posted at ramoo, which was the point most threatened by an invasion from aracan. it was in the north that hostilities first commenced, a force moving into assam and driving the burmese before them. several sharp blows were dealt the enemy and, had it not been for the setting in of the wet season, they would have been driven entirely out of assam. "i think, stanley," his uncle said, after he had been a short time at chittagong, "you had better go up to ramoo, and see about matters there. of course, until the burmese move we cannot say what their game is likely to be; but it will be as well to get the stores ready for embarkation, in case they should advance in that direction. if they do so, get everything on board at once; and you can then be guided by circumstances. as the dhow came in yesterday, i can spare both our boats; and shall, of course, ship the goods here on board the big craft. even if the burmese come this way, i have no fear of their taking the town; and shall, of course, lend a hand in the defence, if they attempt it. you can do the same at ramoo, if you like. "i was chatting with colonel shatland yesterday. he tells me that a large fleet has been collected, and that an expedition will be sent to capture rangoon so, in that case, it is likely that bandoola and his force will march off in that direction. "i think government are wrong. it will be impossible for the troops to move, when the wet season once sets in; and they will lose a tremendous lot of men from sickness, if they are cooped up in rangoon. they had very much better have sent a few thousand men down here, to act on the defensive and repel any attempted invasion, until the rains are over; when they could have been shipped again, and join the expedition against rangoon. it seems to me a mad-headed thing, to begin at the present time of the year. we have put up with the insults of the burmese for so long that we might just as well have waited for the favourable season, before we began our operations in earnest." accordingly, on the following day stanley started south for ramoo and, on arriving there, took charge of the trading operations. shortly after, meeting captain noton--who commanded there--in the street, he recognized him as an officer who had been stationed at the same cantonment as his father; and whom he had, four years previously, known well. "you don't recognize me, captain noton," he said. "i am the son of captain brooke, of the rd." "i certainly did not recognize you," the officer said, "but i am glad to meet you again. let me think; yes, your name is stanley, and a regular young pickle you used to be. what on earth are you doing here? of course, i heard of your poor father's death, and was grieved, indeed, at his loss. where is your mother? she is well, i hope." "she went back to england with my sisters, two months after my father's death. i joined my uncle, her brother. he is a trader, and carries on business in the district between here and sylhet, trading principally on the rivers; but of course the war has put a stop to that, for the present. we saw the fighting up in the north, and then came down to this district. he has remained at chittagong, and i am in charge of goods here. i speak burmese fairly now and, if i can be of any use to you, i shall be very glad to be so. there is not much business here; and the parsee clerk, who is generally in charge, can look after it very well. i acted as interpreter with the troops in the north, and have a letter from mr. scott, the commissioner, thanking me for my services." "i remember you used to be able to talk four or five of the native languages, but how did you come to pick up burmese?" "from a servant of my uncle's. we thought that there would be sure to be war, sooner or later; and that, after it was over, there would be a good chance of profitable trade on the burmese rivers. i had no great difficulty in learning it from my uncle's man, who was a native of aracan." "i have no doubt you will find it very useful. what a big fellow you have grown, stanley; at least, as far as height is concerned. let me see. how old are you, now?" "i am past sixteen," stanley replied. "i have had several touches of fever--caught, i suppose, from the damp on the rivers--but i think that i am pretty well acclimatized, now. i know i don't look very strong, but i have not had much active exercise and, of course, the climate is against me." "very much so. i wonder that you have kept your health as well as you have, in this steamy climate. "i am going to the mess room, now. you had better come and lunch with me, and i will introduce you to the other officers. we are very strong in comparison to the force for, counting the assistant surgeon, there are ten of us." "i shall be very glad, sir," stanley said. "i have certainly been feeling rather lonely here; for i know no one, and there is very little to do. during the last year, i have often gone up one of the rivers by myself; but there has always been occupation while, at present, things are at a standstill." "i tell you what, brooke, if you would like it, i can appoint you interpreter. there is not one of us who speaks this mug language--which is, you know, almost the same as burmese--and the officers in charge of the native levy would be delighted to have some one with them who could make the fellows understand. i can appoint you a first-class interpreter. the pay is not very high, you know; but you might just as well be earning it as doing nothing, and it would give you a sort of official position and, as the son of a british officer, and my friend, you would be one of us." "thank you very much, captain noton. i should like it immensely. should i have to get a uniform?" "there will be no absolute necessity for it; but if you get a white patrol jacket, like this, and a white cap cover, it will establish you in the eyes of the natives as an officer, and give you more authority. oh, by the way, you need not get them, for one of our lieutenants died, the other day, of fever. his effects have not been sold, yet; but you may as well have his patrol jackets and belts. we can settle what you are to pay for them, afterwards. it will only be a matter of a few rupees, anyhow." they now arrived at the house that had been taken for the use of the officers. on entering, captain noton introduced him to the others and, as several of these had at various times met his father, in cantonments or on service, he was heartily welcomed by them and, at luncheon, they listened with great interest to his accounts of the fighting, in cachar, with the burmese. "i fancy we shall find them more formidable, here, if they come," captain noton said. "bandoola has a great reputation, and is immensely popular with them. from what you say, a considerable proportion of the fellows you met up there were assamese levies, raised by the burmese. i grant that the burmese, themselves, do not seem to have done much better; but they would never have conquered all the peoples they have come across, and built up a great empire, if there had not been good fighting stuff in them. i have no doubt that we shall thrash them, but i don't think we shall do it as easily as our troops did in the north." the time now passed pleasantly with stanley. he had, after thinking it over, declined to accept payment for his services; for this would have hindered his freedom of action, and prevented his obeying any instructions that his uncle might send him. he therefore joined as a volunteer interpreter, and was made a member of the officers' mess. he was specially attached to the native levy and, soon acquiring their words of command, assisted its officers in drilling it into something like order. early in may a burmese division, strong, crossed the naaf and established itself at rutnapullung, fourteen miles south of ramoo. as soon as captain noton learned that the burmese had crossed the river, he sent news of the fact to chittagong, with a request that reinforcements should be at once sent to him; and then moved out with his force from ramoo, to ascertain the strength of the enemy. the burmese were seen upon some hills, where they were constructing stockades. the small british force advanced against them, drove them off the hills and, following them, prepared to attack them in the plain beyond. the guns, however, had not come up; partly owing to the cowardice of the elephant drivers, and partly to the fact that it was found that several of the essential parts of the guns had been left behind. without their assistance to clear the way, captain noton felt that it would be imprudent to attack so great a force; and therefore fell back to ramoo. here he was joined by three companies of the th native infantry, bringing up his force to close upon a thousand; of whom about half were sepoys, and the rest native levies. had any energy, whatever, been shown by the officer in command of chittagong, in sending up reinforcements--which he could well have spared, now that the point of attack by the burmese had been made clear--captain noton might have taken the offensive, in which case serious disaster would have been avoided, and the burmese would have been driven back across the naaf. none, however, came and, on the morning of the th of may, the enemy appeared on the hill east of ramoo, being separated from the british force by the river of the same name. there was some difference of opinion, among the officers, as to whether it would be better to maintain a position outside the town, or to retreat at once; but the belief that reinforcements might arrive, at any hour, caused captain noton to determine to keep in the open, and so to cover the town as long as possible. on the evening of the th, the burmese came down to the river as if to cross it; but retired when the two six-pounder guns opened fire upon them. that two small guns should produce such an effect confirmed the british officers in their opinion that the burmese, although they might defend stockades well, were of little use in the open. the next morning, however, the enemy effected the passage of the river farther away and then, advancing, took possession of a large tank surrounded by a high embankment. captain noton placed his force in an enclosure, with a bank three feet high. his right flank was protected by the river; and a small tank, some sixty paces in front, was occupied by a strong picket. on his left, somewhat to the rear, was another tank, and at this the native levies were placed. the main position was held by the sepoys, with the two six-pounders. as the burmese advanced, a sharp fire was opened upon them; but they availed themselves of every irregularity of the ground, and of cover of all kinds, and threw up shelter banks with such rapidity that the fire was, by no means, so effective as had been expected. during the day news came that the left wing of the rd native infantry had left chittagong on the th and, as it should arrive the next day, captain noton determined to hold his ground; though the burmese continued to press forward, and a good many men, as well as two or three officers, had been wounded by their fire. at nightfall, a consultation was held. the reinforcements were expected in the morning and, although the native levies had shown signs of insubordination, and evidently could not be relied upon to make a stand, if the burmese attacked in earnest, it was resolved to retain the position. during the night, the burmese pushed forward their trenches. a heavy fire was maintained on both sides during the day, but it was with considerable difficulty that the officers in command of the levies kept the men from bolting. "things look very black," captain pringle said to stanley, when the firing died away, at nightfall. "reinforcements should have been here, today. it is scandalous that they should not have been pushed forward, at once, when we asked for them. still more so that, when they once started, they should not have come on with the greatest possible speed. i doubt whether we shall be able to hold these cowardly curs together till tomorrow. if they bolt, the sepoys will be sure to do so, too; in fact, their position would be altogether untenable, for the burmese could march round this flank and take them in rear. "i wish to heaven we had two or three companies of white troops, to cover a retreat. there would be no fear of the sepoys yielding to a panic, if they had british troops with them; but when they are outnumbered, as they are now, one can hardly blame them if they lose heart, when the enemy are ten times their strength, and will be twenty to one against them, if our fellows here bolt." the next morning, the burmese had pushed up their trenches to within twelve paces of the british lines, and a tremendous fire was opened. at nine o' clock, in spite of the efforts of their officers to keep them steady, the native levies bolted; and the officers with them dashed across the intervening ground towards the main body. one of them fell dead, and two others were wounded. stanley was running, when he fell headlong, without a moment's thought or consciousness. the burmese occupied the tank as soon as the levies had abandoned it, and their fire at once took the defenders of the main position in flank. a retreat was now necessary, and the sepoys drew off in good order but, as the exulting burmans pressed hotly upon them, and their cavalry cut off and killed every man who fell wounded from their ranks, they became seized with a panic. in vain their officers exhorted them to keep steady. reaching a rivulet, the men threw down their rifles and accoutrements as they crossed it, and took to headlong flight. the little group of officers gathered together, and fought to the end. captains noton, truman, and pringle; lieutenant grigg, ensign bennet, and maismore the doctor were killed. three officers, only, made their escape; of these, two were wounded. the fugitives, both natives and sepoys, continued their flight; and when, two or three days later, they straggled into chittagong, it was found that the total loss in killed and missing amounted to about two hundred and fifty. those taken prisoners numbered only about twenty. all these were more or less severely wounded, for no quarter had been given. they had, in the pursuit, been passed over as dead; and when, after this was over, they were found to be alive, they were spared from no feeling of humanity, but that they might be sent to ava, as proofs of the victory obtained over the british. the number actually found alive was greater, but only those were spared that were capable of travelling. among these was stanley brooke. he had remained insensible, until the pursuit had been discontinued. a violent kick roused him to consciousness and, sitting up, he found that half a dozen burmese were standing round him. his first action, on recovering his senses, was to discover where he was wounded. seeing no signs of blood on his white clothes, he took off his cap and passed his hand over his head; and found that the blood was flowing from a wound just on the top, where a bullet had cut away the hair and scalp, and made a wound nearly three inches long, at the bottom of which he could feel the bone. looking up at the burmese, he said, in their own language: "that was a pretty close shave, wasn't it?" two or three of them laughed, and all looked amused. two of them then helped him to his feet; and the group, among whom there were some officers, then took him some distance to the rear, where he was ordered to sit down with three wounded sepoys who had been brought in. chapter : a prisoner. the little group of prisoners received several additions, until the number mounted up to twenty. the spot where they were placed was close to the bank of the river and, as all were suffering severely from thirst, stanley asked and obtained permission from the guard to fetch some water. he first knelt down and took a long drink; then he bathed his head and, soaking his handkerchief with water, made it into a pad, placed it on the wound, and put his cap on over it. then he filled a flask that he carried, and joined his companions. these were permitted to go down, one by one, to the river to drink and bathe their wounds. stanley had already learned, from them, all they knew of what had happened after he had been stunned by the bullet. two of them had crossed the rivulet, before being wounded; and these said that they believed all the white officers had been killed, but that they thought most of the troops had got away. "it is more than they deserved," stanley said indignantly. "i don't say much about the mugs. they had very little drill or discipline and, naturally, were afraid of the burmese, who had long been their masters; but if the sepoys had kept together under their officers, they might all have escaped, for the burmese would never have been able to break their ranks." "some of the officers had been killed, and most of them wounded, before the retreat began, sahib," one of the sepoys said apologetically, "and they were ten to one against us." "yes, i know that; but you who had fought before should have known well enough that, as long as you kept together, you could have beaten them off; and they would have been glad enough to have given up the pursuit, at last. no doubt they all wanted to have a share in the plunder of ramoo." "what do you think that they are going to do with us, sahib?" "from what they said as they brought me here, i think that we shall be sent to ava, or amarapura. they lie close together, and the court is sometimes at one place and sometimes at the other. what they will do with us when we get there, i don't know. they may cut off our heads, they may put us in prison; anyhow, you may be sure that we shall not have a pleasant time of it. "all we have to hope for is that the capture of rangoon, by our fleet, may lower their pride and bring them to treat for terms. it sailed nearly six weeks ago from calcutta, and was to have been joined by one from madras and, allowing for delays, it ought to have been at rangoon a fortnight since, and would certainly capture the place without any difficulty. so possibly by the time we reach ava we shall find that peace has been made. "still, the burmese may not consider the loss of rangoon to be important, and may even try to recapture it--which you may be sure they won't do, for i heard at chittagong that there were some twenty thousand troops coming; which would be quite enough, if there were but good roads and plenty of transport for them, to march through burma from end to end." in the evening food was brought to the prisoners and, talking with some of the burmese who came up to look at them, stanley learned that bandoola himself had not accompanied the force across the naaf, and that it was commanded by the rajahs who ruled the four provinces of aracan. upon the following morning the prisoners were marched away, under a strong guard. six days later they reached the camp of bandoola. they were drawn up at a distance from the great man's tent. he came down, accompanied by a party of officers, to look at them. he beckoned to stanley. stanley is brought before bandoola, the burmese general. "ask him if he is an officer," he said to an interpreter, standing by his side. the man put the question in hindustani. stanley replied, in burmese: "i am an officer, your lordship, but a temporary one, only. i served in the mug levy, and was appointed for my knowledge of their tongue." "how is it that you come to speak our language?" bandoola asked, in surprise. "i am a trader, your lordship, but when our trade was put an end to, by the outbreak of the war, i entered the army to serve until peace was made. i learned the language from a servant in the service of my uncle, whose assistant i was." the burmese general was capable of acts of great cruelty, when he considered it necessary; but at other times was kindly and good natured. "he is but a lad," he said to one of his officers, "and he seems a bold young fellow. he would be useful as an interpreter to me, for we shall want to question his countrymen when we make them all prisoners. however, we must send him with the others to ava, as he is the only officer that we have taken; but i will send a message to some of my friends, at the court, asking them to represent that i consider he will be useful to me; and praying that he may be kept for a time and treated well, and may be forwarded to me, again, when i make my next move against the english." the following day the prisoners started under the escort of twenty soldiers, commanded by an officer of some rank, who was specially charged to take them safely to ava. it was a fortnight's march to the irrawaddy. until they neared the river the country was very thinly populated but, when they approached its banks, the villages were comparatively thick, standing for the most part in clearings in a great forest. on the march the burmese officer frequently talked with stanley, asked many questions about england and india; and was evidently surprised, and somewhat sceptical, as to the account the lad gave him of the fighting strength of the country. he treated him with considerable indulgence, and sent him dishes from his own table. when not talking with him, stanley marched at the head of the little party of prisoners--all of whom were sepoys, no quarter having been given to the native levies. of an evening, stanley endeavoured to keep up the sepoys' spirits by telling them that probably, by this time, the british expedition had arrived at rangoon, and captured it; and that peace would most likely follow, and they might be exchanged for any burmese who fell into the hands of the english. when they reached a village on the banks of the river the population, on seeing them, came round and would have maltreated them; had not the officer interfered, and said he had bandoola's orders to carry them safely to the court, and that anyone interfering with them would be severely punished. the head man of the village bent low, on hearing the general's name. "i ask your pardon, my lord. the prisoners shall not be touched. but have you heard the news?" "i have heard no news," the officer said. "it arrived here yesterday, my lord. the barbarians have had the audacity to sail up, with a great fleet of ships, to rangoon. they had vessels of war with them and, though our forts fired upon them, they had so many cannon that we could not resist them, and they have captured the town. this happened a fortnight since." the officer stood thunderstruck at what appeared, to him, to be an act of audacious insolence. however, after a moment's pause, he said wrathfully: "it is of little matter. the town was weak, and in no position for defence; but a force will soon go down to sweep these barbarians away. now, get ready your war galley, as soon as possible." each village on the river was compelled, by law, to furnish a war galley for the king's service whenever it might be required. these carried from fifty to a hundred men, and some three hundred of these boats were always available for service, and constituted one of the strongest divisions of the fighting force of the burman empire. the village was a large one, and in half an hour the crew of the galley were on board and, rowing forty oars, started up the river. "what think you of this news?" the officer said, beckoning to stanley to take his place in front of him. "these men must be mad, to tempt the anger of the lord of the golden stool, the mighty emperor. had you heard aught of this?" "i heard but a vague rumour that a fleet had been collected, but i heard nothing for certain as to its destination." "it is madness," the officer repeated. "we shall sweep them into the sea. how many of them are there, do you think?" "as to that i can say little, my lord. i only heard a report that some ships and troops were to sail--some from madras and some from calcutta--but of the number of the men and ships, i know nothing for certain." "they have taken evil council," the officer said, gravely. "i have heard that they gained some slight advantage, in cachar; but there they had but irregular troops to meet, largely assamese, who are but poor cowards. this little success must have turned their heads. they will now have our regular forces to deal with, and these will number a hundred thousand--or twice as many, if necessary. think you that the handful that would be transported in ships can stand against such a host?" "there may be more than you think, my lord. many of the ships will be very big, much bigger than those that trade with rangoon; and some of them will carry as many as five hundred men." "even so," the officer said scornfully; "if there were twenty-five such ships, or even fifty, the force would be as nothing to us. they will have to take to their vessels, as soon as our army approaches." "it may be so, sir; but i think that they will scarce go without fighting. i would represent to you that, although much fewer in numbers than your army which attacked us, at ramoo, the troops made a stout fight of it; and that they fought steadily, until the mugs ran away. after that, from what i hear, i admit that they fled shamefully. but the troops that come to rangoon will be better than those were, for there will be white regiments among them; and though these may, as you say, be overpowered with numbers and destroyed, i do not think that you will see them running away." "and you think that they will really venture to withstand us? "i think that they will endeavour to do so." "why, there will scarce be an occasion for fighting," the officer said, disdainfully. "they were mad to come; they are madder, still, to come now. the rainy season is just at hand. in another week it will be upon us. the rivers will spread, the flat country will be a marsh. even we, who are accustomed to it, suffer. in places like rangoon fever and disease will sweep them away and, when the dry season comes and our troops assemble to fight them, there will be none left. they will die off like flies. we shall scarce capture enough to send as prisoners to the emperor." stanley felt that, in this respect, the burman's prophecies were but too likely to be fulfilled. he knew how deadly were the swamp fevers to white men; and that in spite of his comfortable home on board the dhow and boat, he had himself suffered although, during the wet season, his uncle made a point of sailing along the coast, and of ascending only rivers that flowed between high banks and through a country free from swamps. he remembered that his uncle had spoken, very strongly, of the folly of the expedition being timed to arrive on the coast of burma at the beginning of the wet season; and had said that they would suffer terribly from fever before they could advance up the country, unless it was intended to confine the operations to the coast towns, until the dry season set in. it would indeed have been impossible to have chosen a worse time for the expedition but, doubtless, the government of india thought chiefly of the necessity for forcing the burmese to stand on the defensive, and of so preventing the invasion of india by a vast army. unquestionably, too, they believed that the occupation of rangoon, and the stoppage of all trade, would show the court of ava that they had embarked in a struggle with no contemptible foe; and would be glad to abate their pretensions, and to agree to fair terms of peace. the bengal force that had been embarked consisted of two british regiments--the th and th--a battalion of native infantry, and two batteries of european artillery, amounting in all to men. the madras force--of which one division was sent on at once, the other was to follow shortly--consisted of the st and th regiments, the madras european regiment, seven battalions of native infantry, and four batteries of artillery, amounting to men; making a total of fighting men, of whom nearly five thousand were europeans. in addition to the transports, the bengal force was accompanied by a flotilla of twenty gun-brigs and as many row-boats, each armed with an eighteen-pounder; the larne and sophia sloop, belonging to the royal navy; several of the company's cruisers; and the steamboat diana. general sir a. campbell was appointed to the chief command, and colonel m'bean, with the rank of brigadier general, commanded the madras force. the bengal squadron sailed from saugur in the middle of april; and reached the rendezvous, port cornwallis, in the andaman islands, at the end of the month. the madras first division sailed at the same time, and joined them a few days later; and the whole force, under the escort of h. m. frigate liffey and the slaney, sloop of war, left port cornwallis on the th of may, and arrived on the th at the mouth of the irrawaddy. forces were detached for the capture of the islands of chuduba and negrais. on the th the fleet entered the river and anchored within the bar and, on the following morning, proceeded with the flood tide up to rangoon, the liffey and the larne leading the way. a few shots were fired as they went up the river; but the burmese were taken wholly by surprise, the idea that the english would venture to invade them never having entered their minds. there was considerable disappointment on board the fleet, when rangoon came into sight. it was situated on the north bank of the main branch of the river, thirty miles from the sea. it extended about nine hundred yards along the bank, and was six or seven hundred yards wide, at its broadest part. beyond the town were some suburbs, outside the palisade that inclosed it. the palisades were ten or twelve feet high, strengthened by embankments of earth thrown up against them, on the inner side. one face of the defences ran along the river bank, while the others were protected by a shallow creek communicating with the river. the town itself consisted, for the most part, of miserable and dirty hovels; and of a few official buildings of larger size. at twelve o'clock the liffey anchored abreast of the principal battery, close to the water gate; the transports being ranged in a line in rear of her. a proclamation had been sent on shore, on the previous day, giving assurances of protection to the people at large, and to all who should offer no resistance. when the guns of the fleet were loaded, a pause ensued. the town was evidently incapable of offering resistance, and it was hoped that it would capitulate. the burmese were seen standing at their guns, but they also remained inactive, apparently paralysed at the appearance of this great fleet of vessels--of a size hitherto undreamt of by them--and the threatening guns pointed towards them. however, they were at last goaded, by the orders and threats of their officers, to open fire upon the ships. the frigate at once replied with a broadside. in a very few minutes, every gun on shore was silenced, and the burmese fled in confusion from their works. as soon as they did so, the signal for disembarkation was made. the troops crowded into the boats, which rowed for the shore; and the soldiers entered the town without resistance, and found it completely deserted. the whole of the population had been driven out by the governor on the previous day and, according to burmese custom, the men had all been formed into a levy, while the women and children were held under guard, as hostages for their husbands and fathers--their lives being forfeited in case of desertion, or cowardice, by their male relations. the foreigners in the town had all been seized. they were few in number, consisting of some eight or ten british traders and american missionaries. these, after being fettered, were taken to the custom house prison. they were brought up and tried, early on the morning of the attack, and were accused of having arranged the assault on the town. they naturally urged that, if they had had the least knowledge that it was going to be made, they would have left the place in time. but the burmese at once condemned them to death, and they were taken back to the prison to be executed. the sentence was not carried out. the burmese had intended to execute them on the walls, in sight of their countrymen; and the authorities had all assembled at the prison for the purpose when, fortunately, a shot from the first broadside fired passed through the building, causing an instant stampede. the chiefs at once left the city; and the prisoners, heavily chained, were marched some distance into the country. a party of british troops were, however, pushed forward in advance of the town, as soon as it was occupied; and the guard, in alarm for their own safety, placed the prisoners in a house and made off; and a patrol found them there, on the following morning, and brought them into the town. the great pagoda, standing two miles and a half from the town, was at once occupied as an advanced position by the british. it stood upon a conical hill, rising seventy-five feet above the plain. the area on the top was somewhat over two acres; and in the centre rose the pagoda, three hundred and thirty-eight feet high. every boat on the river was found to have been removed. in spite of proclamations promising good treatment, none of the inhabitants returned to the town, being prevented from doing so by the burmese authorities and troops. no stores whatever had been found and, till the end of the wet season, the army had to depend entirely upon the fleet for provisions; and remained cooped up in the wretched and unhealthy town, suffering severely from fever and malaria. the boat in which stanley and the other prisoners were conveyed was changed at every village going up the river, as the officer was carrying the despatches from bandoola to the court. a flag was hoisted as the boat came in sight of a village. this was the signal that another was required and, within two or three minutes of their arrival, the prisoners, their guard and officer were on their way again. thus they proceeded, night and day and, in four days, arrived at ava. leaving the prisoners in charge of the guard, the officer at once proceeded to the palace. in an hour guns were fired, drums beat, and the bells of the pagodas rung, to give notice to the population that a great victory had been won over the english, and their army annihilated, by bandoola and his valiant troops. this obliterated the impression produced by the news that had arrived, a few days previously, of the landing at rangoon; and there were great rejoicings among the population. an officer from the palace presently came down to the boat, and the prisoners were marched through the streets to a jail, amid the jeers of the mob. stanley was surprised at the meanness of the town; the great majority of the houses being built of bamboo, and thatched with grass, and having a very poor appearance. the public buildings and the houses of the great officers were constructed of planks, and tiled; but were heavy and tasteless, and it was only upon the innumerable pagodas, in and around the town, that any care seemed to have been bestowed. he had wondered much at the numerous pagodas that they had seen, near every town and village, as they passed up; but the officer had informed him that these were all private property, and that it was considered the most meritorious of actions to erect one; consequently every man who had means to do so built a pagoda, large or small in proportion to the sum that he could bestow upon it. on stanley's remarking upon the great number that were in ruins, the officer replied that it was considered so much more meritorious an action to build a pagoda than to repair one that, after the death of the founder, they were generally suffered to fall into decay. for some days the prisoners were taken out, every day, and marched about the town for some time, so as to afford the population ocular proof of the victory gained by bandoola. the place in which they were confined was small and filthy but, at the end of a week, stanley was taken out and placed in a room by himself; and here the officer who had had charge of him paid him a visit, an hour or two later. "i have expressed to the court," he said, "the wishes of the general, and have had permission accorded for you to receive different treatment from the others; partly because you are an officer, but principally because the general thinks that you may be made useful to him. i have informed the officer of the prison that you are to be at liberty to walk about in the city, when you please; but that to protect you from violence, an officer and two soldiers are to accompany you, so long as you may think such a precaution necessary. i have ordered a dress of our fashion to be brought to you as, otherwise, you could not go into the streets without being mobbed." stanley expressed his gratitude to the officer for obtaining these indulgences, and the latter replied: "i acted upon the orders of the general, but it has been a pleasure to me; for i see that you are a young man of merit, and i have learned much from you about your people during the journey; and have seen that, foolish as they have been to undertake to match themselves against us, there are yet some things that might be learned from them; and that, if they had remained in their island, many months' journey away from here, they might have been worthy of our friendship." a short time after the officer had left, a soldier brought up some food of a very much better nature than that with which stanley had been hitherto supplied. half an hour later, the dress arrived. it was that of a burmese officer of inferior grade; and consisted of a tunic of thick cloth, coming down to the knees; leathern sword belt; a sort of tippet resembling that of an english coachman, with three layers of cloth thickly quilted; and a leathern helmet going up to a point in the centre, with a flap to protect the neck and ears. with it were worn tight-fitting stockings of cloth, and low shoes. presently an officer came in. "i am ordered to go out with you, once a day, at whatever hour you may desire. i am a relative of the officer who brought you here, and he has requested me to look after your safety." "i am much obliged to you, sir," stanley said, "and shall be glad, indeed, to go out to see the city. your kinsman has kindly sent me a dress; but if i am not to be noticed, it will be necessary for me to stain my face and hands, somewhat." "that i have thought of," the officer said, "and have brought with me some dye which will darken your skin. it would be worse than useless for you to dress as a burman, unless you did so; for it would seem even more singular, to the people in the streets, that a white man should be seen walking about dressed as an officer, than that a white prisoner should be taken through the streets under a guard. "i am ready to go out with you now, if you wish it." "i shall be ready in a few minutes," stanley replied and, on being left alone, at once changed his attire and stained his face and hands. he had just finished when the officer returned. he smiled and said: "there is no fear of your being suspected, now; and you might really go about safely without a guard, unless you were to enter into conversation with anyone. you speak the language very well, but your accent is not quite the same as ours, here, though in aracan it would pass unremarked." as they went out from the prison, the officer told two soldiers who were waiting there to follow, at a distance. "do not approach us," he said, "unless i call you up." the houses were not constructed in continuous rows, but were very scattered, each house having its inclosure or garden. the population was very small, in comparison to the area occupied by the town. this was divided into two parts--the inner and outer town. the whole was surrounded by a brick wall, five miles and a half in circumference, some sixteen feet high and ten feet in thickness, strengthened on the inside by a great bank of earth. the inner town was inclosed by a separate wall, with a deep ditch on two sides, the river irrawaddy on the third, and a tributary river on the fourth. a considerable portion of the inclosed area was occupied by the royal quarter; containing the palace, the court of justice, the council chamber, arsenal, and the houses of the ministers and chief officials. this was cut off from the rest by a strong and well-built wall, twenty feet high, outside which was a stockade of the same height. the total population of ava was but , . the officer did not take stanley to the royal quarter, observing that it was better not to go there as, although he had leave to walk in the town, it might give offence were he to show himself near the palace; but after going through the wall, they visited two or three of the markets, of which there were eleven in the town. the markets consisted of thatched huts and sheds, and were well supplied with the products of the country. here were rice, maize, wheat, and various other grains; sticks of sugar cane, tobacco, cotton, and indigo; mangoes, oranges, pineapples, custard apples, and plantains were in abundance; also peacocks, jungle fowl, pigeons, partridges, geese, ducks, and snipes--but little meat was on sale, as the burman religion forbids the killing of animals for food. venison was the only meat allowed to be sold in the markets; but there were lizards, iguanas, and snakes, which were exposed freely for sale; and there were large quantities of turtle and tortoise eggs, which had been brought up from the delta. stanley saw that there had really been no great occasion for him to stain his skin, as the people were, for the most part, lighter in colour than the hindoos. many of the men had, however, stained their faces to a darker colour; and all were tattooed, more or less. men, women, and children were all smoking; and frequently, when both hands were required for any purpose, thrust their cigars into the large holes bored in the lobes of their ears. both men and women were somewhat short in stature, but squarely built and muscular and, in the majority of cases, inclined to be fat. the men wore a sort of kilt, consisting of a double piece of cloth, wrapped round the body and falling to the knee. over this was a loose tunic, with sleeves open in front. the headdress was a scanty white turban. the dress of the women was somewhat similar to that of the hindoos, consisting of a single garment like a sheet wrapped round the body, fastening under the arms and falling to the ankles. those of the upper classes were more elaborate. the rank among the women was distinguished, so stanley's guide pointed out to him, by the manner in which the hair was plaited and twisted, and by the ornaments in it. the men, like the women, wore their hair long but, while the men wore theirs in a knot at the top of the head, the women gathered it in at the back. their faces were broad at the cheekbones, but narrowed in sharply, both at the forehead and chin. the narrow and oblique eyes showed the relationship between the burmese and their chinese neighbours. they seemed to stanley a light-hearted, merry people, going about their business with much chatter and laughter; and the sound of musical instruments could often be heard, inside the houses. several men, in bright yellow garments, mingled with the crowds in the market. these were priests, the officer told him; and it would be a mortal act of sacrilege, were anyone else to wear that colour. stanley remarked upon seeing so few soldiers, and the officer told him that there was no regular army in burma. every man capable of carrying arms was obliged to serve in case of war but, with the exception of the king's bodyguard, and a very small body of men who were police, rather than soldiers, there was no force permanently kept up. every man was expected to know something of military duty, and all were able to build stockades. from the fact that the flesh of wild fowl formed one of the principal articles of food, the peasantry throughout the country were all accustomed to the use of the gun, and were fair marksmen. "but you yourself are an officer," stanley said. "at present, yes; but tomorrow i may return to my land. it is the same with the highest minister. one day he may be a trader but, if recommended to the king as one possessing ability, straightway he is chosen to be a high official. if he does not please the king, or fails in his duties, then the next day he may be selling cloth in the bazaar again. "everything is at the will of the king. nobody is born with fortune or rank, for everything belongs to the king and, at a man's death, all goes back to him. thus everyone in the land has an equal chance. in war the bravest becomes a general, in peace the cleverest is chosen as a councillor." walking about, stanley soon found that there were a great variety of dialects talked in the streets, and that the language of the burmese of the coast, of the natives of pegu and the central province, and of those from districts bordering on the shan states or the frontiers of china, differed as widely as those of the most remote parts of great britain did from each other. this being so, he was convinced that there would be no difficulty, whatever, in passing as a native, without attracting any observation or inquiry, so far as the language went. his features and, still more, the shape of his face might, however, be noticed by the first comer, in the daytime. he thought, indeed, that a little tinge of colour in the corner of the eyes, so as to lengthen their appearance and give an oblique cast to them, would make a difference. the general shape of the head was unalterable, but the burmese nose and mouth did not differ very greatly from the european; except that the nostrils were smaller and, in shape, were round rather than oval. for three weeks he continued the same life, and then the burmese officer, with whom he had now become very friendly, said when he entered one morning: "you must not go out today. there is news that your people have made two forward marches. the first was against a stockade, which they took, and killed many of our men; the other time they marched out four or five miles, had a fight with our troops, and again killed many. these things have angered the king and the people. of course it is nothing, for our troops are only beginning to assemble; but it is considered insolent in the extreme, and the king's face is darkened against your countrymen. four of the prisoners have been taken out this morning and publicly executed and, if the news of another defeat comes, i fear that it will be very dangerous, even for you." "what had i best do, my friend?" "i would fain save you, for we have come to know each other; and i see that there is much good in your ways, though they differ greatly from ours. were i to take you out, as usual, you might be killed in the streets; were you to slip away and escape, i should assuredly be put to death; but if in any way i can help you, i would fain do so. my relation who brought you up here left, a fortnight since, to rejoin bandoola; so his influence cannot serve you. "i do not say that you might not escape from this prison--since you are not, like the others, confined in a dungeon--but i see not what you could do, or where you could go. were you to disappear, orders would be sent down the river to every village, and every passing craft would be examined, and you would be sure to be detected; while it would be well-nigh impossible to travel the country on foot, for it is but thinly inhabited. there are often very long distances between the villages, and much of the country is swamp and forest, without paths; for the village trade goes by the river, and they have little communication with each other. "i know that, from what you say, you think that your troops will beat ours, even when we assemble in large numbers. were this so, i fear that there would be little chance of your life being spared. were it not for that, i should say that, bandoola having recommended you, you would be in no danger here, and had better remain until peace is made. "what think you, yourself?" "it is very difficult to reply, at once," stanley said, "but i thank you greatly for your offer to befriend me, in any way you can. i do not say that i had not thought of escape, for i have of course done so. but it seemed to me a thing in the distance; and that, at any rate until the rains were over and the rivers had sunk, it would be useless to attempt it. i see, now, that it will be safest for me to try without delay. if you will come in again, this afternoon, i will tell you what i have thought of." "i will do so; and i, myself, will try to think how best the matter can be managed. we must remember that the great thing is for you to find concealment, for the present. after the search for you has been made for some time, it will die away; and it will then be the easiest plan for you to make your way down the river." chapter : a ruined temple. after the officer left him, stanley sat thinking for a long time. he himself inclined strongly towards the river; but he saw that, at present, the difficulties would be very great. the war boats were passing up and down, and bodies of troops were being carried down in large craft. in every village the men, he knew, were assembling and drilling. even in ava he could see the difference in the population, the proportion of men to women having markedly decreased since his arrival. as to the journey by land, it appeared to him impossible. he was, too, altogether without money and, whether by water or land, it would be necessary to go into the villages to buy provisions. indeed, money would have been almost useless, for there was no coined money in burma; payments being made in lead, for small amounts, or in silver for large ones--the quantity necessary being cut off from small sticks or bars, or paid in filings. it seemed to him that the best thing would be to take to the forest, for a time; and endeavour to subsist upon wild fruits or, if these were not to be found there, to go out into the fields and orchards at night, and so manage to hold on for a few weeks. his friend told him that, in the forests along the principal lines of route to the capital, were many bad characters--persons who had committed crime and fled from justice. some were cultivators who, having been unable to pay their taxes, had deserted their land and taken to the woods. all committed depredations, and traders coming into the town from the shan states, or from the country where rubies and emeralds were found, always travelled in caravans for mutual protection. at times levies were called out, and many of these marauders were killed. stanley, then, had hit upon nothing definite when the officer returned in the afternoon and, in reply to the latter's question, he acknowledged at once that the only thing he could see was to take to the forest, until the active search for him had ceased. "you would find it difficult to maintain yourself. i have thought of a better way than that. i am acquainted with a phongee, who lives in a temple in a lonely spot, four miles away. he is a good man, though somewhat strange in his habits; and i feel sure that, on my recommendation, he would take you in. there would be little chance of your being discovered there. you could not go dressed as you are, but must disguise yourself as a peasant; though it might be well to retain your present attire, which may be useful to you, afterwards. i fear that you will fare badly with him, in the way of food; there will be enough to eat, but it will be of the simplest." "so that there is enough to keep life together, it matters little what it is." "then that is settled. "now, about making your escape from here. your door is closely barred, at night; and there is no window save those four little holes, high up in the wall, which scarce a bird could get through." "i could cut through the thatch above," stanley said, "if i had but something that i could stand upon to do so. there are some bamboos lying just at the bottom of the steps. with these and some cord i might make a sort of ladder, and should then be able to get at the thatch." "i will bring you some cord, tomorrow, for that and to let yourself down to the ground. then i will arrange where to meet you, and will guide you out of the town and take you to the priest. i will bring a disguise for you, and some stain for your body and arms for, as a peasant, you would be naked to the waist. i can think of nothing better." "i thank you most heartily," stanley said, "and trust that you may get into no trouble for the kindness that you have shown me." "there is no fear of that, my friend. no one will know that i have been away from the town. i am greatly afraid that this will be all that i shall be able to do for you; for i am told that i am to go down the river with the next batch of troops, which will start in three days. i have only been informed of it since i saw you this morning. had it not been for you i should have been glad; for it is in war time, only, that one can obtain honour and promotion." "i am sorry that you are going, sir. i shall miss your kindness, sorely; but i can understand your desire to go to the front. it is the same with us; when there is a war, every officer and soldier hopes that his regiment will be sent there. however, i shall see you again. "has bandoola's army moved yet?" "no; nor do i think that it will do so. it is a long march down to rangoon from ramoo; and i believe that he will remain where he is, until he sees how matters go at rangoon. as soon as your people are driven out, he will be joined by a great army, and will march to dacca. there our troops from the north will join him; and then he will go to india, we think." "i fancy," stanley said with a smile, "if he waits until we are turned out from rangoon, his stay at ramoo will be a long one." the next day the officer brought several yards of strong cloth, such as was worn by the peasants; a piece of muslin to make the circular band that was worn by the lower class, instead of a complete turban; and a lot of horse hair to be worn on the top of the head. "now," he said, "strip to the waist, and i will dye your body. i have dyes of two colours here; one for the skin, and the other to draw lines on the face, so as to make you look older; and with this i can also imitate tattoo marks on your chest and shoulders. here is a long knife, such as everyone wears, and here is the cord. "as soon as it is getting dark you must carry up two of the bamboo poles, taking care that no one observes you do so. there is seldom anyone in the courtyard. i have had the knife sharpened, and it will cut through the thatch, easily enough. when you get away, walk straight to the market that lies nearest to us. i will be at its entrance. it will take you, i suppose, two hours to make your ladder and get out. you cannot begin until the guard closes your door. you tell me he never comes in." "no, he brings the last meal an hour before sunset. i generally sit on the top of the steps, till he comes up to lock the door, which is about nine o'clock; and i do not see him again until he unbars the door in the morning. i should not think that it will take as long as two hours to make the ladder, and cut the thatch; at any rate, by eleven i ought to join you. "i suppose the gates are open." "oh, yes! they are never closed, though of course they would be, if an enemy were near. there is no guard anywhere." after staining stanley's skin, the officer waited a quarter of an hour for it to dry thoroughly; and then proceeded to draw lines on his face, across the forehead, and from the corners of his eyes; and then spent nearly an hour in executing rough tattoo marks on his body and arms. "this dye is very good, and will last for weeks before it begins to fade. i will bring with me another bottle, tonight, so that you can at least re-dye your skin. "here is some wax. you must turn your hair up from the neck, and plaster it in its place with it. the turban will prevent anyone seeing how short the hair is. here is a little bottle of black dye, with which you had better colour it, before fixing it with the wax." stanley's hair had not been cut for some time before he had been captured by the burmese and, in the two months that had since elapsed, it had grown very long; and could therefore be turned up as the officer suggested. putting on his usual garments, he sat at his place, at the door of the cell, until the guard brought up his evening meal. having eaten this, he dyed his hair and, half an hour later, turned it up, plastering it with wax, and tied a bit of fibre round where the turban would come. by this time it was getting dusk. he sat at the door at the top of the steps, until he saw that the courtyard was deserted; the guard at the gate having gone outside, to enjoy the coolness of the air. then he ran down the steps, took two bamboo poles about ten feet in length, and two short pieces of the same wood no thicker than his finger and, hurrying up the steps with them, laid them down against the side of the room. then he went to the steps again, and sat there until he saw the guard coming across to fasten his door; when he went in and, as soon as he heard the bars put up, began his preparations. first he lashed the short pieces across the ends of the two bamboos, so as to keep them a foot apart; then he put ratlines across, and soon had the ladder completed. he made up his clothes into a bundle, wrapped the rough cloth round his waist, adjusted the knot of horse hair on the top of his head, and fastened it there with wax. he wound the turban round below, and his disguise was complete. fixing the ladder against the wall he climbed it, and it was not long before he cut a hole through the thatch of sufficient size to pass out. the work had taken him longer than he had expected, for it had to be done in absolute darkness; however, he was sure that he was well within his time. fastening the end of the rope to one of the bamboo rafters, he descended the ladder and picked up his bundle; then climbed up again, got halfway out of the hole, and listened intently. everything was quiet in the street and, in another minute, he stood on the ground. when he turned into the principal street, there were still many people about. sounds of music and singing came from the windows, for the burmese are very fond of music, and often pass the whole night in playing and singing. there was no risk whatever of detection now, and he stepped briskly along until he came to the open space, with its rows of little thatched huts. here he paused for a minute, and the officer stepped out from behind a house and joined him. "i was not sure at first that it was you," he said. "your disguise is excellent. you had better follow me, now, until we get beyond the busy streets." keeping some twenty yards behind his guide, stanley went on until, after nearly half an hour's walking, they passed through a gate in the city walls. he now closed up to the officer and, after another half-hour's walk across a cultivated country, they entered a forest. the ground now rose steadily and, after keeping on for two miles, they emerged from the trees at the top of a hill. the space had been cleared of timber, but it was nearly covered with bushes and young trees. in the centre were the ruins of a temple, that had evidently existed long before the burmese dynasty occupied the country, and had been erected by some older race. it was roofless; the walls had, in places, fallen; and the ruins were covered with vegetation. the burman ascended some broken steps, entered the temple, and crossed to one of the opposite corners. a dim light was burning in a small apartment, which had been roofed with thatch. a man was lying, dressed, on a heap of leaves at one side. he started up as the officer entered. "who is it who comes here at this hour?" he asked. "thekyn," the officer answered. "i am glad to see you," the phongee said, "whatever may bring you here. you have not fallen into trouble, i hope?" "in no way, good priest. i am starting, in two days, down the river to fight the barbarians; but before i go, i want you to do me a favour." the phongee smiled. "beyond naming you in my prayers, thekyn, there is but little that a hermit can do for any man." "not so, in this case," the officer said. "i have one here with me who needs rest, and concealment. i would rather that you did not ask who he is. he has done no crime, and yet he is in danger; and for a month, maybe, he needs a shelter. will you give it him, for my sake?" "assuredly i will," the priest said. "your father was one of my dearest friends, in the days when i dwelt in the city. i would gladly do all in my power for his son, and this is but a small thing that you ask. let him enter." stanley went in. the priest took down the little lamp, from a shelf on which it stood, and held it near the lad's face. then he turned, with a smile, to thekyn: "the painting is but clumsily done," he said, "though maybe it would pass without close examination. he is a stranger, and comes of a race unknown to me but, as you said, it matters not to me who he is; suffice that he is a friend of yours. he is welcome to a share of my shelter, and my food; though the shelter is rough, and the food somewhat scanty. of late few, indeed, have sought me for, as i hear, most of the men have gone down to the war." "i have brought you some food," the officer said; for stanley had observed that he also carried a bundle, a larger one than his own. "here is a supply of rice, that will last for some time; and this, with your offerings, will suffice to keep things going. my friend is not, like you, bound by his religion not to take life; and i know that snakes are very plentiful round here." snakes had formed a frequent article of his diet, since he had been captured; and stanley had lost the repugnance to them that he at first felt, so the prospect of their forming the staple of his food was not disagreeable to him. it would also afford him some employment to search for and kill them. "i shall be well content," he said, "with anything that i can get, and trust that i shall be no burden upon you." "you will assuredly be none," the priest replied. "here must be at least thirty pounds of rice which, alone, would keep two men alive for a month. as regards the snakes, though i may not kill them, i may eat them when killed; and indeed, there are few things better. in truth, i should not be sorry to have some of the creatures out of the way; for they swarm round here so thickly that i have to pay great heed, when i walk, lest i step upon them." "have you been troubled with robbers, of late, father?" thekyn asked. "they trouble me not at all," the priest said. "men come, sometimes. they may be robbers, or they may not. i ask no questions. they sometimes bring fruit and other offerings, and i know that i need not fear them. i have nought to lose, save my life; and he would be indeed an evil man who would dare to lift his finger against a priest--one who harms not anyone, and is ready to share what food he has with any man who comes to him hungry." "well, father, i will say goodbye. i must be back to the city before men are about, as i would not that my absence should be discovered." "peace be with you, my son. may you come back safe from the wars. my prayers will be said for you, night and morning. "be in no uneasiness as to your friend. if any should ask me about my companion, i shall reply that he is one who has undertaken to rid me of some of the snakes, who dispute the possession of this place with me." thekyn motioned to stanley to come outside the hut with him and, when he did so, handed to him a small but heavy bag. "this is lead," he said. "you will need it, when you start on your journey down the country. there are eight pounds of it and, from what you have seen in the market, you will know how much food can be got for a small amount of lead. i would that i could do more for you, and assist your flight." "you have done much indeed, very much and, should i regain my friends, i will endeavour to do as much by one of your countrymen, for your sake. i hope that, when this war is over, i may meet you again." "i hope so," the burman said warmly. "i cannot but think that you will succeed in getting away." "my son," the old priest said, when stanley returned to his cell, "i am going to my prayers. i always rise at this hour, and pray till morning; therefore you may as well lay yourself down on these leaves. there is another cell, like this, in the opposite corner of the temple. in the morning you can cut boughs, and roof it like this; and make your bed there. there is no room for another, here; and it will doubtless be more pleasant for you to have a place to yourself, where you can go and come as you like; for in the day women come up to consult me, and ask for my prayers--but mind how you enter it for the first time as, like as not, there will be snakes sheltering there." stanley lay awake for a time, listening to the monotonous voice of the priest as he repeated his prayers; but his senses soon wandered, and he slept soundly till daybreak. his first step was to cut a stout stick, and he then proceeded to the other cell, which was partially blocked up with stone from the fallen roof. it took him two hours to carry this stuff out, and he killed no less than nine snakes that he disturbed in his work. the prospect of sleeping in a place so frequented was not a pleasant one, especially as the cell had no door to it; and he resolved at once to erect some sort of bed place, where he might be beyond their reach. for this purpose he cut two poles, each three or four inches longer than the cell. one end of each he sharpened, and drove in between the interstices of the stone, at a distance of some two feet and a half apart and four feet from the ground. the other ends he hammered with a heavy stone against the opposite wall, until they would go down no farther. then he split up some more wood and lashed strips, almost touching each other, underneath the two poles, by the aid of some strong creepers. then he filled up the bed place, between the poles, with dry leaves. one end of the bed was some inches higher than the other. this was immaterial, and he felt satisfied that even the craftiest snake could not reach him. as to the roof, he was by no means particular about it. in this part of burma the rainfall is very small, the inundations being the effect of heavy rains in the distant hill country which, as they come down, raise the level of the rivers, in some cases, as much as eighteen feet, and overflow the low-lying country. before beginning to construct the bed, he had carried the snakes into the phongee; after first cutting off their heads which, as he knew, the burmans never touch. "this is good, indeed, my son," the priest said. "here we have our breakfast and dinner. i will boil some rice, and fry four of them for breakfast." the bed was but half completed, when he heard the priest sound a bell. it was doubtless used as a call to prayer. however, stanley rightly conjectured that, in this case, it was a summons to a meal; and was soon seated on the ground by the side of the priest. little was said at breakfast, which stanley enjoyed heartily. "so my friend thekyn is starting for the wars. what think you of it, my son? shall we easily overpower these barbarians? we have never met them in war before and, doubtless, their methods of fighting are different from ours." "quite different. their men are trained as soldiers. they act as one man, while the burmese fight each for himself. then they have cannon with them, which they can drag about quickly, and use with great effect. although they are few, in comparison with the armies going down to attack them, the latter will find it very difficult work to turn them out of rangoon." "do you think that they will beat us, then?" "that i cannot say, but i should not be surprised if it were to prove so." "the burmese have never been beaten yet," the priest said. "they have been victorious over all their enemies." "the burmese are very brave," stanley agreed, "but, hitherto, they have only fought against people less warlike than themselves. now they have to deal with a nation that has made war a study, and which always keeps up a large army of men who are trained to fight, and who spend all their time in military exercises. it is not that they are stronger than the burmese, for the burmese are very strong men; but only that men who are trained to act together must, necessarily, possess a great advantage over those who have had no such training--who simply take up arms for the occasion and, when the trouble is over, return to their homes and lay them by, until called out to fight again. "besides, their weapons are better than yours; and they have many cannon which, by practice, they can load and fire very quickly; and each of which, when the armies are near each other, can fire fifty or sixty bullets at once." "i have heard a strange story that the barbarians have a ship without sails, with a great chimney that pours out quantities of black smoke, and a wheel on each side and, as the wheels move round, the vessel can go straight up the river against the tide, even if the wind is blowing strongly down." "it is true, father, there are many such ships; but only two or three that have made the long voyage across stormy seas to india." "it is wonderful how these men can force fire to be their servant, and how it can make the wheels of the ship to move round." "that i cannot tell you, father. i have never seen one of these vessels, though i have heard of them." the priest said no more, but evidently fell into a profound meditation; and stanley, getting quietly up, returned to his work. the priest came in, just as he had completed his bed. "that is well," he said, looking at it approvingly. "i myself, although i know that, until my time has come, no creature can harm me, cannot resist a shudder when i hear one rustling amid the leaves of my bed; for they come in, although some of my friends have had a door placed to exclude their entry at night. i wander but little from my cell, and always close the door after me; but they enter, sometimes, when i am meditating, and forgetful of earthly matters, and the first i know of their presence is the rustling of the leaves in the bed, at night. were i as strong in faith as i should be, i would heed it not. i tell myself so; but my fear is stronger than my will, and i am forced to rise, turn up the leaves with a stick until i find them, and then i open the door and eject them, with as much gentleness as may be." "i should get no sleep at all," stanley said. "i don't think that even a door would make me feel any safer, for i might forget to shut it, sometimes. tomorrow, father, i will wage war with them, and see if i cannot decrease their numbers considerably." stanley's first task was to clear the bushes away from the court of the temple; and this, after several days' hard work, he carried out; although he soon saw that by so doing he would not diminish the number of the snakes, for the greater portion of the area was covered with blocks of fallen stone, among which the reptiles found an impenetrable shelter. the clearance effected, however, was so far useful that, while the creatures were before altogether hidden from sight by the bushes, they could now be killed when they came out to bask in the sun on the uncovered stones; and he could, every day, destroy a dozen or more without the slightest difficulty. ten days after he had finished the work, he heard the sound of men's voices and, peeping out, saw a burmese officer with a party of eight armed men going to the phongee's cell. it was possible that they might have come on other business, but it was more probable they had come in search of him. some of the women who had come up to the hermit had seen him at work; and might have mentioned, on their return, that the priest had a man at work clearing away the bushes. the matter might have come to the ears of some officer anxious to distinguish himself, and the idea that this was the prisoner for whom a search was being made occurred to him. stanley shrank back into his cell, took up the bundle of clothes that served as his pillow, got on to the bed and, standing on it, was able to get his fingers on to the top of the wall. he hoisted himself up, made his way through the boughs of the roof, and dropped on to the ground outside. then he went round by the back of the temple, until he stood outside the priest's cell, and could hear the voices within without difficulty. "then you know nothing whatever of this man?" "nothing whatever," he replied. "as i have told you, he came to me and asked for shelter. i gave him such poor assistance as i could, as i should give it to anyone who asked me. he has been no burden upon me, for he has killed enough snakes for my food and his own." "you know not of what part he is a native?" "not at all; i asked him no questions. it was no business of mine." "could you form any idea from his speech?" "his speech was ours. it seemed to me that it was that of a native of the lower provinces." "where is he now?" "i know not." "you say that, at present, he is away." "not seeing him in front, i thought he had gone out; for he comes and goes as he pleases. he is not a hired servant, but a guest. he cut down the bushes here, in order that he might more easily kill the snakes; for which, indeed, i am thankful to him, not only for the food that they afford, but because they were in such abundance, and so fearless, that they often came in here, knowing that they had naught to fear from me." "then you think that he will return soon?" "as he told me not of his intention of going out at all, i cannot say. he is away, sometimes, for hours in the forest." "well, in any case, we shall watch here until his return. it may be that he is some idle fellow, who prefers killing snakes to honest work; but it may also be that he is the escaped prisoner of whom we are in search." "i hear little of what passes in the town," the priest said, quietly. "news would disturb my meditations, and i never question those who come here to ask for my prayers. i have heard of the escape of no prisoner." "it was a young english officer who got away. there has been a great stir about it. every house in the town has been searched, and every guard boat on the river has been warned to allow no boat to pass, without assuring themselves that he is not on board." "this was a brown man, like ourselves, clad only in a petticoat of rough cloth, like other peasants." "he may have dyed his skin," the officer said. "at any rate, we will stay until he returns, and question him. two of my men shall take their places just inside the entrance, and seize him as he enters. has he arms?" "none, save his knife and the stick with which he kills the snakes. it may be that he has seen you coming hither and, if he has committed any crime, he would flee, and not return here at all." "if he does not come back before it is the hour when i must return to the town, i shall leave four men to watch for him; and they will wait here, if it is for a week, until he comes back again." "you can do as you please," the priest said, "only i pray you withdraw your men from the neighbourhood of this cell. i would not that my meditations were disturbed by their talk. i have come hither for peace and quietness, and to be apart from the world and its distractions." "you shall not be disturbed," the officer said respectfully, and stanley heard a movement of feet, and then the closing of the door. thinking it probable that the officer might make a search round the temple, he at once made off into the wood behind the temple. as soon as he was well among the trees, he exchanged his cloth for the disguise he had worn in the town and, folding it up to be used as a blanket at night, he went further into the wood, sat down, and proceeded to think what his next step had best be. it was evident that he could not return to the temple for the present; and it was clear, also, that the search for him was still maintained, and that it would not be safe to attempt to descend the river. he regretted that he had been obliged to leave the place without saying goodbye to the priest, and again thanking him for the shelter that he had given him; but he was sure that, when he did not return, the old man would guess that he had caught sight of the officer and his party entering the temple, and had at once fled. had he not known that the guard would remain there, he would have waited until they returned to the town, and would then have gone in and seen the priest; but as they would remain there for some days, he thought it was as well to abandon all idea of returning, as the suspicions that he might be the man sought for would be heightened by his continued absence, and the watch might be continued for a long time, on the chance of his coming back. he concluded that, at any rate, his best course would be to endeavour to make his way for a considerable distance down the country; and then to try and get a boat. he knew that the country near the river was comparatively thickly populated, and that the distances between the villages were not great, so that he would find no great difficulty in purchasing provisions. the dress he had brought with him was not altogether unfavourable for such a purpose, as he could easily pass as a sub-officer, whose duty it was to inquire whether the villages had each sent all their able-bodied men to the war. the only drawback to it would be that, if instructions for his arrest had been sent down to the villages along the road, as well as those by the river, they would have probably been directed to specially look for one clad in such attire. however, it would be open to him, at any moment, to take to his peasant's disguise again. he at last determined to make a start and, by nightfall, had traversed several miles through the great forest stretching along by the side of the panlaung river. he had asked many questions of his friend the officer, as they went up to the temple, as to the roads. he was told that there was one running almost due south to ramuthayn, by which he could travel down to rangoon, by way of tannoo. this, however, would take him a long distance from the main river, and he decided that he would presently strike the road that ran about halfway between the hills and the irrawaddy. he would follow that for a time, and would try and strike the river somewhere between meloun and keow-uan. below this point there was a network of rivers, and but few villages, and the country was swampy and unhealthy. he infinitely preferred the risks of the descent by the river to those by road; and it seemed to him that, if he could but obtain possession of one of the small native fishing boats, he could drop down at night, unnoticed, as the width of the river at ava was upwards of a thousand yards and, below that town, often considerably exceeded that breadth. when it became too dark to proceed further, he sat down at the foot of a tree. he regretted that he had no means of lighting a fire; and determined that, at any risk, he would obtain the means of doing so at the first village that he came to--for he knew that there were both tigers and leopards in the jungles. he thought, however, that they were not likely to be numerous, so near the capital; and the old priest had never alluded to them as a source of danger though, indeed, it had never occurred to him to ask. in the morning he continued his way. he had gone but a mile when he heard a sudden scream in the wood, a short distance to his left. feeling sure that it was a human being, in great fear or pain, he drew his knife and ran, at the top of his speed, in the direction of the cry; thinking that it might be some man, or woman, attacked by the robbers of the forest. suddenly he came upon a small open space, some twenty yards in diameter. he hesitated, when his eyes fell on a group in the centre. two men were lying on the ground, and a leopard stood with a paw on each of them. they had guns lying beside them, and a fire was burning close by. he guessed that the animal had sprung from a tree, one of whose boughs extended almost as far as the centre of the opening. probably it had killed one of the men in its spring for, at the moment when he saw the animal, it was licking the blood from the shoulder of the man on whom its right paw rested. the other was, as far as stanley could see, unhurt. illustration: stanley gave a sudden spring, and buried his knife in the leopard. his tread in the light burmese shoes had been almost noiseless; and the leopard, which was keeping up a low growling, and whose back was towards him, had apparently not noticed it. he hesitated for a moment, and then decided to endeavour to save the man who was still alive. creeping up stealthily, he gave a sudden spring upon the leopard, and buried his knife to the hilt in its body, just behind the shoulder. with a terrible roar, it rolled over for a moment, and then struggled to its feet. the time had been sufficient for stanley to pick up and cock one of the guns and, as the leopard turned to spring at him, he aimed between its eyes and fired. again the beast rolled over, and stanley caught up the other gun, thrust the muzzle within a foot of its head, and fired. the leopard gave a convulsive quiver, and lay dead. chapter : with brigands. stanley uttered an involuntary hurrah as the leopard expired; and at the sound the burman, who had been lying motionless, leapt to his feet. he looked at the leopard, and then at his rescuer, and exclaimed in a tone of astonishment: "you have slain the beast alone, and with no weapon but your knife!" "no," stanley replied; "i began the fight with my knife, only; but caught up one of those guns when i wounded him, and fired as he charged me. then i finished him with the other." "comrade," the burman said, "you have done a great deed, with courage. i, who am esteemed no coward, would never even have thought of attacking that great leopard with but a knife, and that to save the life of a stranger." "i saw the guns lying on the ground. had it not been for that, i should not have dared to attack the leopard, for it would have been certain death." "certain death, indeed. but tell me, first, how you did it. it seems to me well nigh a miracle." "i was passing along, not far distant, when i heard your cry," stanley said. "thinking that it was some person in distress, i ran hither, and saw you both lying, with the leopard's forepaws upon you. the beast's back was turned to me and, as it was growling, it had not heard my approach. seeing the guns lying there--and having no doubt that they were loaded--i stole up, sprang suddenly on the leopard, and drove my knife into it behind the shoulder. the blow rolled it over, and gave me time to pick up the gun. the rest was easy." the man, without a word, examined the body of the leopard. "it is as you say," he said. "it was well struck, and would probably have been fatal; but the animal would have torn you in pieces before he died, but for the guns. "well, comrade, you have saved my life; and i am your servant, so long as i live. i thought all was over with me. the leopard, as it sprang, threw its full weight on my comrade, here. we had just risen to our feet; and the blow struck me, also, to the ground. i raised that cry as i fell. i lay there, immovable. i felt the leopard's paw between my shoulders, and heard its angry growlings; and i held my breath, expecting every moment to feel its teeth in my neck. "i had but one hope, namely, that the beast would carry off my comrade--who, i was well assured, was dead--to the jungle to devour him, and would then come back to fetch me. i managed to breathe once, very quietly, when i felt a movement of the leopard and, hearing a low sound, guessed that he was licking my comrade's blood; but slightly as i moved, the leopard noticed it, and stood straight up again over me. i dared not breathe again, but the time had come when i felt that i must do so, though i was sure that it would be the signal for my death. "then i knew not what had happened. there was a sharp pain as the leopard's claws contracted, and then there was a loud roar, and its weight was removed from me. then i heard it snarl, as if about to spring. then came the sound of a gun, a fall, and a struggle; and then the sound of another gun. then i heard your shout, and knew the beast was dead. "now, sir, what can i do for you? shall i first skin the leopard?" "i care not for the skin," stanley said. "it would be of no use to me." "then, with your permission, i will take it off, and keep it as long as i live, as a remembrance of the narrowest escape that i ever had." "is your comrade dead?" "yes," the man replied. "the leopard struck him between the shoulders as you see; and the force of the blow, and the weight of the spring, must have killed him instantaneously." "then i will take his sword, gun, and cartridges." so stanley undid the sword belt, and buckled it round him; put the bandolier of cartridges over his shoulders; and took up the gun and reloaded it, while the man was at work skinning the leopard. this operation the man performed with great speed. it was evidently one that he had done before. as soon as the beast was flayed, he rolled up the skin and placed it on his shoulder. "you are an officer, sir?" he asked. "no; i am a fugitive." while he had been watching the man, stanley had debated over whether he should confide in him; and thought that, after the service he had rendered him, he could do so with safety. "i am an englishman--i was captured by bandoola, at ramoo, and sent a prisoner to ava. i have escaped, and want to make my way down to rangoon; but i heard that orders had been sent along the river to arrest me, and i do not, at present, know how to make my way down." "come with me," the man said. "i have friends in the forest, some distance from here. they will receive you gladly, when i tell them what you have done for me; and you will be safe until you choose to go. we are outlaws but, at present, we are masters of the forest. the government has its hands full, and there is no fear of their disturbing us." stanley thought over the matter, for a minute or two. doubtless it was a robber band that he was asked to join, but the offer seemed to promise safety, for a time. "i agree," he said, "so that you do not ask me to take part in any deeds of violence." "about that, you shall do as you like," the man said; "but i can tell you that we make good hauls, sometimes. our difficulty is not to capture booty, but to dispose of it. "have you a turban? for that helmet of yours is out of place, in the woods. the rest of your dress has nothing peculiar about it, and would attract no attention." "i have a turban. i have been, lately, in the dress of a peasant. the cloth i wore lies fifty yards away; i dropped it as i ran. it will be useful to cover me at night, if for nothing else." stanley exchanged the helmet for the turban that he had before worn, and fetched the cloth. "will you bury your companion?" he said. "it would be useless. he will sleep above ground, as well as below and, if we are to reach my comrades tonight, it is time for us to be moving." they at once set out. after five hours' walking, they came upon the river myitnge, the tributary that falls into the irrawaddy at ava. it was some four hundred yards across. the burman walked along its banks for a short distance, and then pulled from a clump of bushes a small boat, that was just capable of carrying two. he put it in the water. they took their seats, and paddled across to the other side; where he carefully concealed it, as before. "that is our ferry boat," he said. "it is not often used, for our headquarters are in the great forest we shall presently come to; but it is as well when, occasionally, parties are sent out to hunt us, to have the means of crossing to the other side." another two hours' walking, through cultivated fields, brought them to the edge of the forest. "here you are as safe as if you were in rangoon," the burman said. "in another hour we shall reach my comrades. as a rule, we change our headquarters frequently. at present there is no question of our being disturbed; so we have settled ourselves, for a time." "why were you and your comrade on the other side of the river? "his village lies five miles beyond that forest," the man said. "at ordinary times, he dared not venture there; but he thought that, at present, most of the able men would be away, and so he could pay a visit to his friends. he asked me to accompany him and, as i had nothing better to do, i agreed to go. a convoy of traders, too strong to be attacked, had passed down from the hill country the morning before we started. there was not much probability that anyone would come again, for a few days." "they bring down rubies from there, do they not?" "the mines are the property of the emperor," the man said, "and the gems are sent down, once every two months, under a strong guard; but for all that, many of the traders bring rubies down from there--of course, secretly. the men who work the mines often conceal stones that they come upon, and sell them for a small sum to the traders; besides, sometimes the peasants pick them up elsewhere--and these, too, make haste to sell them for anything that they can get. we do not care for them much, for it is a risky business going down to ava to sell them; and the traders there, knowing that, at a word from them, we should be arrested and most likely executed, will give us next to nothing for them. we prefer silver and lead for money; and garments, arms, and set jewels. "each man takes his share of what is captured and, when we have enough, we go home to our villages. a pound of silver, or two or three pounds of lead, are generally quite enough to buy the goodwill of the head man of the village. we give out that we have been working on the river, or in ava, since we left; and everyone knows better than to ask questions." in another hour, they reached the encampment. it was now dusk, and some five-and-twenty men were sitting round a great fire. a number of leafy arbours had been constructed in a circle beyond them. "what, returned so soon!" one of the men said, as stanley's guide came near enough for the firelight to fall on his face; "but where is ranji, and whom have you brought here--a new recruit?" "not exactly, parnik, but one to whom i have promised shelter, for a while. ranji is dead. i should have been dead, too, and eaten; had it not been for my comrade, here. here is the skin of the beast who slew ranji and, when i tell you that the leopard stood with one paw on me, you may guess that my escape was a narrow one." "the brute was a large one," one of the other men said, as meinik--for such was the name of stanley's companion--unrolled and held the skin up. "i see it had a bullet between the eyes, and another just behind the ear; and there is a knife cut behind the shoulder. it must have been hot work, when it came to knives, with a beast of that size." "give us some food, and cocoa; we have eaten nothing today, and have walked far. when we have fed, i will tell you my story." the burman's recital of the adventure with the leopard excited great applause, and admiration, from his comrades. "'tis wonderful," one said, "not so much that our new comrade should have killed the leopard, though that was a great feat; but that, armed only with a knife, he should attack a beast like this, to save the life of a stranger. truly i never heard of such a thing. has he all his senses?" meinik nodded. he had received permission from stanley to say who he was. stanley had consented with some reluctance, but the man assured him that he could trust his companions, as well as himself; and that it was much better to tell the truth, as it would soon be seen that his features differed altogether from their own and that, therefore, he was some strange person in disguise. "he is in his senses," he said, "but he does not see things as we do. he is one of those english barbarians who have taken rangoon, and against whom our armies are marching. he was captured at ramoo; and sent by bandoola, as a prisoner, to ava. he has made his escape and will, in a short time, go down the river; but at present the search is too hot for him. so you see that he is, like ourselves, a fugitive." "what is his age?" one of the men asked, after a silence, during which they all gazed at the newcomer. "he is but a lad, being as he tells me between sixteen and seventeen; but you see his skin is stained, and his face marked, so as to give him the appearance of age." "if the men of his race are as brave as he is, meinik, our troops will truly have harder work than they think to drive them into the sea. does he speak our tongue?" "yes," stanley answered for himself. "i have been more than two years in the province of chittagong, and learned it from one who was in our service." "and would many of your people risk their lives in the way you did, for a stranger?" "certainly. many men constantly run risks as great to save others." "one life is all a man has," the burman said. "why should he give it for a stranger?" "i don't think that we stop to think of that," stanley said. "it seems to us natural that if we see another in danger of his life, we should try to save it; whether it is a man or woman, whether it be from fire or from any other fate." "you must be a strange people," the burman said gravely, "and i should scarce have credited it, had i not heard that you had done it, yourself. but it is wonderful; and you, too, a lad who has not yet come to his full strength. "we should be glad to have such a man for our comrade, my friends. whether he be burman or english matters little. he has risked his life for one of us; and he is our brother as long as he likes to stay with us." there was a warm exclamation of assent, round the circle; and stanley felt that he had no cause for uneasiness, as long as he remained with them. in the evening the men sang many songs and, at their request, stanley sang some english ones, choosing some with lively airs. the burmese were much pleased and surprised at these, and joined merrily in the chorus. half a dozen of them then set to work with their knives, cut down some saplings and boughs, and constructed for stanley an arbour similar to the others; and he lay down well satisfied with the results of his adventure, and feeling that he could remain with these merry fellows, criminals though they might be, until it would be safe to make his way down the river. in the morning the men started early, leaving him in charge of the fire. they went off in parties of four or five, to watch the various roads leading to the capital; two or three of them, dressed as peasants, going to towns where travellers would halt, so as to gain information as to any party coming down. when they gathered again, at dusk, one party only had had any success. they had met six merchants coming down with horses laden with spices, indigo, and cotton. these had offered no resistance, and they had taken as much as they could carry, and then allowed them to go on with the rest of their goods. there was a general feeling of regret that the party had not been more numerous; and some expressions of anger, at the spies on the road by which the traders had come, for not letting them know beforehand, so that they could have placed their whole force there and carried away all the goods. "these are the things that suit us best," meinik said to stanley. "you see, one can go down with a parcel of cinnamon or pepper, or a bag of dyes, or fifty pounds of cotton into the town; and sell it in the market, at a fair and proper price. of course, one dresses one's self as a small cultivator; and there is no suspicion, whatever, that all is not right. "we shall keep a sharp lookout for the men, as they come back again, and relieve them of the silver or goods they may have taken in exchange; that is, if they come by the same road--but it is more likely that, after their adventure today, they will choose some other, or take a guide and travel by village tracks. no doubt they think that they have got off easily, for they have not lost more than a quarter of their goods. it is war time now, and there is no fear of a force being sent against us; but usually we do not take so much as a quarter of the merchandise. were they to lose everything, they would make complaints; and then we should have a force sent up against us, and be obliged to move away, for a time. but as it is, they are so pleased with getting the greater part of their goods safe to market that they do not care to make a fuss about it; for they might have to pay the court officials, and others, more than the value of the goods lost." "they do not often resist, then?" "not often. if a man loses his goods, he can gather more again; but when his life has gone, everything has gone. besides, as a rule we take care that we are so strong that they see, at once, that resistance would be hopeless. sometimes they bring armed guards with them. these are men who make it their business to convoy traders down, when the times are troubled. sometimes we have fights with these but, as a rule, we seldom attack them unless we are so strong that they do not dare to oppose us. still, we do have fights sometimes, for these shan guards are brave fellows. their convoys are generally rich ones, for it would not pay small traders to hire men to protect them. "in times of peace, we seldom stop long in one neighbourhood for, when it once becomes known what road we are lying near, they come along in parties too strong to be attacked and, as it matters little to us where we live, we move away perhaps a hundred miles, and then settle on another line of traffic. we have not been here long; we were last down by tannoo, and did well for a long time there; until at last the governor raised all the villagers, and hunted the woods, and we found that we had to leave. i expect we shall stay here some time, now. there is no fear of troops being sent out, and we can afford not to press too hardly on travellers; for we have done so well, of late, that we could separate and return to our homes, each with a good store of booty. half our number did leave, when we came up from the south; and more of us would go, if it were not for this order that everyone shall join the army. it is much pleasanter to live here, free to do as we like, than to be driven down like a herd of beasts, to fight. besides, we have no quarrel with your people. it was the officials at aracan who began it; let them fight, if they like." stanley remained a fortnight with the band. at the end of that time, they heard that a party of thirty traders were coming down together, and that they had with them ten armed guards. this, they no doubt supposed, was ample protection for, as the band generally worked in such small parties, it was believed that there were but a few outlaws in the forest. all the band went out, and returned in the evening, laden with spoil. two or three of them were wounded, but not severely. "so you had resistance today, meinik." "it lasted only for a minute," the man said. "as soon as they saw how strong we were, the guard were glad enough to put up their swords and let us bind them hand and foot, while we searched the merchants. as you see, we have made a good capture, though we have not seized more than a fifth of what they brought down with them; but it will take them some time to pack their bales again, for we searched everything thoroughly, and made all the merchants strip, and searched their clothes and their hair." "what did you do that for?" "well, it was this way. i said to my comrades, as we went along this morning: "'the englishman is going to leave us, in a day or two. i have not forgotten what i owe him, and should like to make him a present. i propose that we search all the party thoroughly, today. from what we heard, some of them come from the ruby country, and are pretty sure to have gems concealed about them, or in their baggage. i propose that all the stones we find we will give to our friend.' "they all agreed at once for, as you know, they all like you; and rubies, as i told you, are of little use to us, for we cannot dispose of them without great risk. so they did as i proposed, and had good fortune. twelve out of the number had gems hidden about them, and some of them a good lot. you need not hesitate to take them, for you may be sure that they bought them, for next to nothing, from poor fellows who had risked their lives to hide them. "there they are. we have not looked at them, but just emptied the parcels into this bag, as we found them. of course, they are all rough stones. you must take them as a present, from all of us; and as a proof that a burman, even if he is but a robber, is grateful for such a service as that you rendered him." stanley felt that he could not refuse a gift so offered, even though the goods were stolen. as meinik said, the gems were of little use to the robbers, since they were afraid to try and dispose of them; and their owners had themselves broken the law in having purchased them, and had doubtless given sums bearing no proportion to their real value. therefore he thanked meinik very heartily; and also, after they had had their meal, the rest of the band, who made very light of the matter. the things were useless to them, they said. if it had been silver, or even lead, it would have been different; but to endeavour to sell rubies they had to risk their lives. the goods that they had got that day would fetch them far more money than the rubies, and could be sold without difficulty and, as soon as the war was over and they could go down to their villages, the band would break up. they had enough silver and lead hidden away to keep them for years, even if they never did any work, whatever. "what do you do with it, when you get back?" "we hide it. it would never do to enter a village with ten or twelve pounds' weight of silver, and three or four times as much lead, for the headman might take it into his head to have us searched. so we generally dig a hole at the foot of a tree, in some quiet spot; and take, perhaps, a pound of silver and two or three of lead with us. a gift of half that silver is enough to convince the headman that we are honest fellows, who have been working hard since we went away; and from time to time we can go to our store and get what we want from it, and can build a house and marry, and take up a field or two, and perhaps become headmen ourselves, before very long." "well, i am sure i wish you all well," stanley said. "you have all been very kind to me, since i joined you; and i shall be glad to think of you all as settled quietly down in your villages, rather than as remaining here when, some day or other, you might all be captured and harm come to you." the next morning stanley started with meinik, who was a native of a small village on the river, some forty miles below ava, and who had resolved to accompany him down to rangoon. "i shall be able to get a boat and some nets, for a pound or two of lead. if we are hailed, i can do the talking; and can land and buy provisions, if wanted. i have arranged with my comrades to take my share of the silver and lead we have stored up, at once; for it is likely that they will also have gone to their homes before i shall have returned, and we have changed everything into money, except what we took yesterday." before starting stanley was again dyed, and the tattoo marks imitated--far more carefully than before, three or four of the men operating upon him, at once. his face was almost entirely covered with these marks. some liquid was applied that extracted the colour from his eyebrows, and left them snow white. some of his hair was similarly treated and, looking at himself in a pool of water, stanley did not in the slightest degree recognize himself; and felt certain that no one would suspect him of being the young english captive. resuming his peasant's cloth, he took a hearty farewell of the band and started with meinik. the latter carried a bundle, slung on his gun. it contained some clothes, and did not look heavy; but in the centre were two parcels that weighed some forty pounds. stanley carried a bundle with his other clothes, and several pounds of rice. two days' walking took them to meinik's village. once out of the forest they travelled at night, and reached the village just as the people were astir. the place consisted of ten or twelve huts, and meinik created quite an excitement among the few people who inhabited it. these consisted of two or three old men, some women, and children. "where have you been for the last year and half, meinik, if i may ask?" "working near ava," he said; "but as i should have to go to war if i had remained there, i thought that i would come back, and see how you all were. i have saved a little money, and may settle down; but whether here or elsewhere i have not yet made up my mind." "you will have to go to the war," one of the old men said. "there is scarce a day that one of the war canoes does not stop here, to see if there are any able-bodied men. they have taken eight, and they will assuredly take you." "then i shall get a boat," he said, "and take to fishing. the war cannot last long, and i shall do my best to keep out of the way of the war canoes, until it is over. if any of you have a boat to sell, i will buy it." "i will sell you mine," the old man said. "both of my sons have been taken to the war, and i am too old to work it myself. it is a good one; my sons made it only last year. "whom have you with you?" stanley had remained a short distance off, while meinik was talking to his friends. "he is an old man i joined along the road," he said. "he is a skilful fisherman; and he has agreed to go with me, if i can get a boat. "is there an empty hut?" "yes, six of them. of course, when the men were taken they carried off the wives and children, as usual, as hostages for their conduct." meinik nodded. he felt no surprise, as it was the custom in burma to hold the women and children of all the men going to the war, as guarantees that their husbands would not desert or show cowardice in battle. in either event their relatives would be, at once, put to death. "my companion is tired," he said. "we walked all night, so we will cook some food and he will sleep." they at once took possession of one of the empty huts, which was just as it was left by its proprietor. one of the women brought a brand or two from her hearth. an earthen cooking pot was filled with water and placed above it, and a few handfuls of rice dropped in. two or three snakes, cut up into small pieces, and some pepper pods were added; and then meinik went out, talked to his acquaintances, and arranged for the purchase of the boat. stanley watched the fire. in an hour, meinik returned. "the boat is a good one," he said, "and the nets in fair order. i have bought them for two pounds of lead; and have promised that, when the war is over and the man's sons return, it is to be free to them to buy it back, at the same price." after eating their meal, they both lay down and slept until late in the afternoon. then meinik bought an earthenware pot, and a flat slab of the same material for making a fire on; some peppers and capsicums, and a little cinnamon and nutmeg; a basket of mangoes, and some tobacco. as soon as it became dusk, they took their places in the boat, meinik carrying down two or three faggots of wood. the boat was a canoe, hewn out of a pine log. it would have carried four people comfortably, and there was plenty of room for them both to lie down at full length. it was very light, the wood having been cut away until it was little thicker than cardboard. this was the almost universal method of construction: even the war canoes, that would carry sixty paddlers--sitting two by two on a bench--and thirty soldiers, being hewn from great single logs of teak. the nets were stowed one, at each end. in the middle was the fireplace, on which the brands of the fire had already been laid. near it were the faggots and stores. meinik and stanley sat on the nets, each with a paddle. the former had hidden the greater portion of his store of money in the ground, before entering the village. as soon as they had fairly started, stanley said: "had we not better get rid of the fire, meinik? its light would draw attention to us." "that matters little," the burman replied. "there are not likely to be war canoes about at night, and i expect that most of them will have gone down the river. people fish either by night or by day and, even if a war canoe came along, they would not trouble about it for, of course, many men too old to go to the war remain here, and go on fishing. people cannot starve because there is fighting. the old men and women must cultivate the fields and fish, or both they and the people of the towns would starve. "many even of the young men do not go. they keep away from their villages during the day, and work in the fields; and the headmen shut their eyes, for they know that if the fields are not cultivated, the people cannot pay their share of the taxes. "still, it is as well to be on the safe side. when the fire has burnt low we will lay a cloth over the top of the boat, so that the glow of the embers will not be seen." they kept their course near the middle of the river; partly because the current there was stronger, partly because any war canoes that might be coming up would keep close to one bank or the other. they kept on their way until there was a faint gleam of light in the sky; and then paddled into the shore, chose a spot where some bushes drooped down into the water and, forcing the canoe in behind these, so as to be entirely concealed from the sight of any passing boat, cooked some food and, having eaten their breakfast, lay down and slept until evening. illustration: they forced the canoe behind bushes, so as to be entirely concealed. night after night the journey was continued. their supply of food was ample to last them; and there was, therefore, no occasion to stop at any village to purchase more. the river, at the point where they started, was about two miles wide; but at some points it was double that width, while at others it contracted to little over a mile. its level was much lower, now, than it had been when stanley ascended it, two months before. sometimes at night they towed one of their nets behind them, and obtained an ample supply of fish for their wants. each night they made, as stanley calculated, about forty miles and, after ten days' travel, they came to the point where the great river divided, one small arm running down to rangoon; another descending to bassein, and then falling into the sea at cape negrais; while a large proportion of the water found its way down by innumerable branches between the rangoon and bassein rivers. for the last two or three days they had been obliged to observe great caution for, below prome, there were numbers of boats all going down the river laden with men and stores. these, however, only travelled by day; and the canoe was always, at that time, either floating in the shelter of bushes, or hauled up on the bank at spots where it could be concealed from view by thick growths of rushes. "we shall never be able to get down to rangoon by water," said meinik. "the river will be crowded with rowboats near the town; and there will be no chance, whatever, of making our way through them. at the next village we come to, i will go in and learn the news. your countrymen may have been driven out by this time and, in that case, there will be nothing to do but to travel north on foot, until we reach chittagong." "i have no fear that we shall be driven out, meinik." this conversation had occurred on the night when they had passed the point of division of the two arms of the river. they had caught a larger supply of fish than usual and, as soon as the boat was laid up, meinik started along the bank, with a number of them, for the nearest village. he returned in two hours. "it is well i landed," he said, "for the point where the greater portion of our people are gathered is henzawaddy, only some fifteen miles further on. "you were right; your people have not been driven out. a large number of our troops are down near rangoon but, in the fighting that has taken place, we have gained no advantage. your people marched out at the end of may, carried a stockade; and advanced to joazoang, and attacked some villages defended by stockades and carried them, after having killed a hundred of our men. then a great stockade on a hill near the river, three miles from rangoon--which our people thought could not be taken, so strongly was it protected--was attacked. the guns of your people made a great gap in a stockade a mile in front of it. two hundred men were killed, and also the commander. "then your people marched on to the great stockade at kemmendine. your troops, when they got there, saw how strong it was and were afraid to attack it. they lay down all night, close to it; and we thought we should destroy them, all when they attacked in the morning; but their ships that had come up with them opened fire, at daybreak. as the stockades were hidden from the sight of those on the river, we had thought that the ships could do nothing; but they shot great balls up into the air, and they came down inside the stockade, where they burst with an explosion like the noise of a big gun; and killed so many that the troops could not remain under so terrible a fire, and went away, leaving it to your people to enter the stockade, without fighting." chapter : among friends. "it certainly seems to me," stanley said, when he heard the burman's account of the state of things below, "that it will not be possible for us to go any further, by water." "it would be very dangerous," meinik said. "it is certain that all the men in this part of the country have been obliged to go with the army and, even were we both natives, and had no special reason for avoiding being questioned, we should be liable to be seized and executed at once, for having disregarded the orders to join the army. assuredly we cannot pass down farther in our boat, but must take to the land. i should say that we had best get spears and shields, and join some newly-arrived party." "but you forget that, though my disguise as a native is good enough to mislead anyone passing us on the road, or in the dusk after sunset, i should certainly attract attention if travelling with them, by day." "i forgot that. i have grown so accustomed to seeing you that i forget that, to other people, your face would seem strange; as it at first did to me, in the forest. indeed you look to me now like one of ourselves; but were we to join a band, someone would be sure to ask questions concerning you, ere long. what, then, do you think we had best do?" "from what i heard of the country from one of your comrades, who is a native of this province, it would be impossible for us, after crossing the river, to make our way down on the opposite side, since the whole country is swampy and cut up by branches of the irrawaddy. on this side there are few obstacles of that kind but, on the other hand, we shall find the country full of troops going down towards rangoon. your comrade told me that the hills that we saw to the east, from the forest at ava, extended right down into tenasserim; and were very high, and could not be traversed, for that no food could be obtained, and that tigers and wild animals and other beasts abounded. but he said that the smaller hills that we crossed on the way to your village--which he called the pegu yoma hills--some of whose swells come down to the bank, extend all the way down to the sea between the irrawaddy and the sittang rivers; and that, from them, streams flowed to one river or the other. therefore, if we could gain that range, we should avoid the swamp country, altogether. "a few miles back we passed a river coming in from the east and, if we follow that up as far as there is water, we shall be among the hills. he said that there were no mountains at all, there; but just rounded hills, with many villages and much cultivated ground, so there ought to be no difficulty in making our way along. we shall be able to gather food in the fields; or can go into villages and purchase some, for the men will all be away. besides, we can get spears and shields, and can say that having been away from home on a journey--when the men were all ordered to war, we returned too late to go with the rest of the villagers, and are making our way down to join them. many others must be doing the same, and the story will be likely enough. "in that way we can get down till we are close to the troops round rangoon, and must then take our chance of getting through them." "that seems better than the other way," meinik said. "there is such a river as you speak of, above sarawa. we can paddle back tonight, and hide near the town; then i can go there in the morning, and buy a couple of spears and shields, and get some more rice and other things. we have plenty of ammunition for our guns; which we may want, if we meet any wild beasts." "you don't think that there will be any danger in your going in there, meinik? of course, there is no absolute occasion for us to have spears and shields, as we have guns." "we ought to have shields," meinik replied, "and it were better to have spears too, and also for us to carry axes--everyone carries an axe in war time, for we always erect stockades and, though a very poor man may only have his knife, everyone who can afford it takes an axe. most people have such a thing, for it is wanted for cutting firewood, for clearing the ground, for building houses, and for many other things; and a burman must be poor, indeed, who does not own one." "by all means, then, get them for us, meinik; besides, we may find them useful for ourselves." they now lay down and slept until evening; and then started up the river again, keeping close in under shadow of the bank and, two hours before daylight, concealed the canoe as usual, at a spot two miles above sarawa. meinik started at daybreak, and returned three hours later with two axes, spears, and shields. that night they turned into the river running to the east and, for four nights, paddled up it. the country was now assuming a different character, and the stream was running in a valley with rising ground--from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet high--on each side, and was narrowing very fast. towards morning on the fifth day the river had become a small stream, of but two or three feet deep; and they decided to leave the boat, as it was evident that they would be able to go but a short distance further. "we may as well hide her carefully," stanley said. "it is certainly not likely that we shall want her again, but there is never any saying and, at any rate, there is no great trouble in doing it." they cooked a meal and then started at once, so as to do a few hours' walking before the sun became high. they determined to keep on eastward, until they reached the highest point of the dividing ridge between the two main rivers, and then to follow it southward. the country was now well cultivated, and they had some trouble in avoiding the small villages dotted thickly about, as the course they were following was not the one they would take if making straight to join the army. they slept for three or four hours in the heat of the day; and then, pushing on, found themselves before sunset on what seemed to them the highest point of the divide. to the right they could see the flat country stretching towards the irrawaddy, to the left the ground was more sharply undulating. two miles away was a stream of fair size, which they judged to be the river that runs down to pegu, and afterwards joins the rangoon river below the town. stanley thought that the hill on which they stood was some five hundred feet above the low country they had left. a great part of the hills was covered with trees although, at the point where they had made their way up, the hillside was bare. they went on until they entered the forest, and there set to work to chop firewood. meinik carried a tinderbox, and soon had a fire blazing, and by its side they piled a great stock of wood. "i do not know that there are any leopards so far south as this," he said, "but at any rate it will be safer to keep a big fire blazing. i never used to think much about leopards but, ever since i had that great beast's foot upon my back, i have had a horror of them." the next morning they continued their journey south, going along boldly and passing through several villages. "you are late for the war," an old man said, as they went through one of them. "i know we are," meinik replied, "but we were away with a caravan of traders when the order came; and so, instead of going down the river, we have had to journey on foot. but we shall be there in time. from what we have heard, there has not been much fighting, yet." "no; the white barbarians are all shut up in rangoon. we have not attacked them in earnest, but we shall soon do so and, moreover, they will soon be all starved, for the country has been swept clear of all cattle for twenty miles round, the villages deserted, and everything laid waste; and we hear that half their number are laid up with sickness, and that a great number have died. i wish that i were younger, that i, too, could help to destroy the insolent foes who have dared to set foot on our sacred soil." there was no need for haste, now, and they travelled by easy stages until, by the smoke rising from different parts of the forest, they knew that they were approaching the spot where the burmese forces lay around rangoon and, indeed, could see the great pagoda rising above the surrounding country. they had heard, at the last villages through which they had passed, that there had been an attack made upon the pagoda on the st of july. on that day the burmese, in great force, had moved down in a line parallel to the road between the pagoda and the town, along which a considerable number of our troops were encamped. they had advanced until within half a mile of rangoon, then had changed front and attacked the british position near the town. they occupied a hill near our line, and opened fire from there with jingals and small cannon; but two british guns firing grape soon silenced their guns, and a madras regiment charged the hill and recaptured it. this entirely upset the plan of the wongee in command of the burmese. the signal for the whole of the army to attack was to have been given, as soon as their left had broken through the british line, and had thus cut off all the troops on the road leading to the pagoda from the town. seeing that this movement had failed, the general did not give the signal for the general attack, but ordered the troops to fall back. he had been recalled in disgrace to ava; and a senior officer, who arrived just after the battle, assumed the command. he at once set to work to make a very strong stockade at kummeroot, five miles from the great pagoda; and also fortified a point on the river above kemmendine--the stockade that had been captured by the british--and intended from this point to send down fire rafts to destroy the british shipping and, at the same time, made continuous attacks at night on the british lines. the rains at this time were falling incessantly, and the burmese did not think that the british would be able to move out against them. the position on the river was connected with that at kummeroot by strong stockades; and the burmese general was convinced that, if an attack was made, it could be easily defeated. however, eight days after the repulse of the burmese first attack, the vessels came up the river, while a land column moved against kummeroot. the position was a strong one. the river was here divided into two branches and, on the point of land between these, the principal stockade was erected and was well provided with artillery; while on the opposite banks of both rivers other stockades with guns were erected, so that any attack by water would be met by the direct fire from the great stockade, and a cross fire from those on the banks. four ships came up, and the burmese guns opened upon them, but the heavy fire from the men-of-war was not long in silencing them; and then a number of boats full of troops had landed, and stormed the stockade, and driven out the burmese. the land column had been unable to take guns with them, owing to the impossibility of dragging them along the rain-sodden paths; and the burmese chiefs, confident in the strength of their principal post--which was defended by three lines of strong stockades, one above another--and in their immensely superior force, treated with absolute contempt the advance of the little british column--of which they were informed, as soon as it started, by their scouts thickly scattered through the woods. the general, soomba wongee, was just sitting down to dinner when he was told that the column had nearly reached the first stockade. he directed his chiefs to proceed to their posts and "drive the audacious strangers away," and continued his meal until the heavy and rapid musketry of the assailants convinced him that the matter was more serious than he had expected. as a rule, the burmese generals do not take any active part in their battles; but soomba wongee left his tent and at once went towards the point attacked. he found his troops already retreating, and that the two outer stockades had been carried by the enemy. he rallied his men, and himself led the way to the attack; but the steady and continuous fire of the british rendered it impossible for him to restore order, and the burmese remained crowded together, in hopeless confusion. however, he managed to gather together a body of officers and troops and, with them, charged desperately upon the british soldiers. he, with several other leaders of rank, was killed; and the burmese were scattered through the jungle, leaving eight hundred dead behind them. the fact that ten stockades, provided with thirty pieces of artillery, should have been captured in one day by the british, had created a deep impression among the villagers of the neighbourhood--from whom the truth could not be concealed--and indeed, all the villages, for many miles round the scene of action, were crowded with wounded. they told meinik that the army was, for a time, profoundly depressed. many had deserted, and the fact that stockades they had thought impregnable were of no avail, whatever, against the enemy, whose regular and combined action was irresistible, as against their own isolated and individual method of fighting, had shaken their hitherto profound belief in their own superiority to any people with whom they might come in contact. since that time no serious fighting had taken place. occasional night attacks had been made, and all efforts on the part of the invaders to obtain food, by foraging parties, had proved unsuccessful. the boats of the fleet had gone up the puzendown river, that joined the rangoon river some distance below the town, and had captured a large number of boats that had been lying there, waiting until rangoon was taken before going up the river with their cargoes of rice and salt fish; but they had gained no other advantage for, although the villages were crowded with fugitives from the town, these were driven into the jungle by the troops stationed there for the purpose, as soon as the boats were seen coming up the river. in some cases, however, the boats had arrived so suddenly that there had not been time to do this; and the fugitives had been taken to rangoon, where it was said they had been very well treated. great reinforcements had now come down from the upper provinces. two of the king's brothers had arrived, to take command of the army; one had established himself at donabew, the other at pegu. they had brought with them numbers of astrologers, to fix upon a propitious time for an attack; and the king's invulnerables, several thousands strong--a special corps, whom neither shot nor steel could injure--were with them. about the th of august a strong position that had been taken up, by a force sent by the prince at pegu, in the old portuguese fort of syriam had been attacked; with orders that the channel of the rangoon river should be blocked, so that none of the strangers should escape the fate that awaited them. the position was a very strong one. the trees and brushwood round the fort had been cleared away; wherever there were gaps in the old wall stockades had been erected; and great beams suspended from the parapet in order that, if an attack was made, the ropes could be cut and the beams fall upon the heads of the assailants. the british had, however, thrown a bridge across a deep creek, pushed on against the place, and carried it in a few minutes; the garrison flying, as soon as the assailants gained the ramparts, to a pagoda standing on a very steep hill, defended by guns, and assailable only by a very steep flight of steps. the troops, however, pressed up these fearlessly; and the garrison, discouraged and shaken by the reports of the fugitives from the lower fort, had fled as soon as the british arrived at the top of the steps. notwithstanding this and other, as successful, attacks upon their stockades, the burmese troops now felt confident that, with their numerous forces, they would be victorious whenever the astrologers decided that the favourable moment had arrived. meinik had ascertained, from the villagers, the name of the leader and the locality to which the corps belonged that was posted nearest to rangoon. as soon as it was dark, he and stanley entered the forest. the smoke had served as a guide, to them, as to the position of the different corps; and they were able to make their way between these without being questioned. presently, however, they came upon a strong picket. "where are you going?" the officer in command asked. "to join the corps of the woondock snodee," meinik replied. "we were away at bhanno when the order came, and the rest had gone down the river before we got to mew; so we came on by ourselves, not wishing to fail in our duty." "you are just in time," the officer said. "the woondock is a quarter of a mile away, on the left." they moved off in that direction; but soon left the track and, avoiding the camp, kept away until they reached the edge of the forest. then they crept forward through the jungle and brushwood, pausing to listen from time to time and, three times, changing their course to avoid parties of the burmese acting as outposts. on issuing from the jungle they crawled forward for three or four hundred yards, so as to be beyond musket shot of the outposts; and then remained quiet until morning broke. then they could perceive red coats moving about, in a small village before which a breastwork had been thrown up, some four hundred yards away from them and, getting up to their feet, ran towards it. several shots were fired at them, from the jungle behind; and some soldiers at once appeared at the breastwork. supposing that the two figures approaching were burmese deserters, they did not fire; and stanley and his companion were soon among them. they were soldiers of one of the bengal regiments; and stanley, to their surprise, addressed them in their own language. "i am an englishman," he said. "i am one of the prisoners whom they took, at ramoo, and have escaped from their hands. are there any of your officers in the village?" "i will take you to them," a native sub-officer said; and stanley, in a minute or two, entered a cottage in which four english officers were just taking their early breakfast, preparatory to turning out on duty. "whom have you got here, jemadar?" one of them asked, in bengalee. stanley answered for himself. "i am an englishman, sir, and have just escaped from ava." the officer uttered an exclamation of surprise. "well, sir," the senior of them said, as he held out his hand to stanley, "i congratulate you on having got away, whoever you are; but i am bound to say that, if it were not for your speech, i should not have believed you; for i have never seen anyone look less like an englishman than you do." "my name is stanley brooke, sir. i am the son of the late captain brooke, of the th native regiment." "then i should know you," one of the other officers said, "for i knew your father; and i remember seeing your name in the list of officers killed, at ramoo, and wondered if it could be the lad i knew five or six years ago." "i recollect you, captain cooke," stanley said. "your regiment was at agra, when we were there." "right you are; and i am heartily glad that the news of your death was false," and he shook hands cordially with stanley. "and who is your companion?" the major asked. "is he an englishman, also?" "no, sir; he is a native. he is a most faithful fellow. he has acted as my guide, all the way down from the point we started from, twenty miles from ava. i could never have accomplished it without his aid for, although i speak burmese well enough to pass anywhere, my face is so different in shape from theirs that, if i were looked at closely in the daylight, i should be suspected at once. i could never have got here without his aid." "how was it that he came to help you, sir?" major pemberton asked. "as far as we can see, the burmese hate us like poison. even when they are wounded to death, they will take a last shot at any soldiers marching past them." "i happened to save his life from a leopard," stanley said, "and, truly, he has shown his gratitude." "jemadar," the major said, "take that man away with you. see that he is well treated. give him some food, of course. he will presently go with this officer to the general." stanley said a few words in burmese to meinik, telling him that he was to have food, and would afterwards go with him to the general; and he then, at the invitation of the officers, sat down with them to breakfast. while eating it, stanley told them something of his adventures. after the meal was over, the major said: "you had better go with mr. brooke to the general, captain cooke. i cannot well leave the regiment. "we can let you have an outfit, mr. brooke; though we are, most of us, reduced pretty well to our last garments. what with the jungle and what with the damp, we have nearly all arrived at the last state of dilapidation; but i am sure the general would like to see you in your present disguise." "it makes no difference to me, sir," stanley said, with a laugh. "i am so accustomed to this black petticoat, now, that i should almost feel strange in anything else. i am afraid this dye will be a long time before it wears itself out. it is nearly three weeks since i was dyed last, and it has faded very little, yet." "you need not take your arms, anyhow," captain cooke said. "you will attract less attention going without them, for it will only be supposed that you are one of the natives who have been brought in by the boats." meinik was sitting on the ground, contentedly, outside the cottage, the jemadar standing beside him. "have you had any food, meinik?" stanley asked. the man nodded. "good food," he said. "that is all right. now, come along with us. you can leave your weapons here--they won't be wanted." meinik rose and followed stanley and captain cooke. there were houses scattered all along the roadside. these were now all occupied by officers and troops, and there were so many of them that it had not been necessary to place any of the men under canvas--an important consideration, during the almost continuous rain of the last three months. "why, cooke, i did not know that you talked burmese," an officer standing at one of the doors remarked, as the officer came along, chatting with stanley. "you don't know all my accomplishments, phillipson," the captain laughed, for the idea that there existed such a thing as a burmese peasant who could talk english had not occurred to the other. "i am taking him to the chief, to show off my powers;" and passed on, leaving the officer looking after him, with a puzzled expression on his face. on their arrival at sir archibald campbell's headquarters, captain cooke sent in his name and, as the general was not at the moment engaged, he was at once shown in; followed by stanley, meinik remaining without. "good morning, sir. i see you have brought in a deserter," the general said. "he is not a deserter, sir. he is an escaped prisoner, who has made his way down from ava through the enemy's lines. "this is mr. brooke. he was serving as an officer with the native levy, at ramoo, and was reported as killed. however, he was fortunately only stunned and, being the only officer found alive, was sent by bandoola as a prisoner to ava. i may say that he is a son of the late captain brooke, of the th native infantry." "you are certainly wonderfully disguised," the general said; "and i congratulate you heartily on your escape. i should have passed you by as a native without a second glance though, now that i am told that you are an englishman, i can see that you have not the wide cheekbones and flat face of a burman. how did you manage to make your way down?" "i travelled almost entirely by night, sir; and i had with me a faithful guide. he is outside. i don't think that i should ever have got down without him, though i speak burmese well enough to pass--especially as the language differs so much, in the different districts." "is he a burman?" "yes, general." "have you arranged with him for any particular sum for his services? if so, it will of course be paid." "no, sir; he came down simply in gratitude for a service i rendered him. i do not know whether he intends to go back; but i hope that he will remain here, with me." "i have brought mr. brooke here, sir," captain cooke said, "at the request of the major; thinking that you might like to ask him some questions as to the state of things in the interior." "i should like to have a long talk with mr. brooke," the general said; "but unless he has any certain news of the date they intend to attack us, i will not detain him now. the first thing will be for him to get into civilized clothes again. "by the way, poor young hitchcock's effects are to be sold this morning. i should think that they would fit mr. brooke very well. "let me see. of course, your pay has been running on, since you were taken prisoner, mr. brooke." "i am afraid, sir, that there is no pay due," stanley said. "i happened to be at ramoo at the time, looking after some goods of my uncle, who carries on a considerable trade on the coast; and as i talk the language, and there were very few who did so, i volunteered to act as an officer with the native levy. i preferred to act as a volunteer, in order that i might be free to leave, at any time, if i received an order from my uncle to join him at chittagong. "i could give an order on him, but i do not know where he is to be found. i have with me some uncut rubies; though i have no idea what they are worth, for i have not even looked at them yet; but they should certainly be good security for pounds." "we can settle that presently, mr. brooke. i will write an order on the paymaster for rupees; and we can talk the matter over, afterwards. i am afraid that you will have to pay rather high for the clothes, for almost everyone here has worn out his kit; and mr. hitchcock only joined us a fortnight before his death, so that his are in very good condition. of course, they are all uniform--he was on my staff--but that will not matter. you could hardly be going about in civilian clothes, here. "i shall be very glad if you will dine with me, at six o'clock this evening. have a talk with your man before that, and see what he wants to do. if he is a sharp fellow, he might be very useful to us." the general wrote the order on the paymaster, and captain cooke took stanley across to the office and obtained the cash for it. making inquiry, he found that the sale was to come off in a quarter of an hour. "i will do the bidding for you, if you like, brooke," captain cooke said. "i dare say you would rather not be introduced, generally, in your present rig." "much rather not, and i shall be much obliged by your doing it." "all right. i will make your money go as far as i can. of course, the poor fellow brought no full-dress uniform with him, or anything of that sort." "you will find me here with my burman," stanley said. "we will stroll round the place for half an hour, and then come back here again." there was very little to see in the town. meinik was astonished, when they mounted the river bank and had a view of the ships lying at anchor. for a time he was too surprised to speak, never having seen anything larger than the clumsy cargo boats which made a voyage, once a year, up the river. "it is wonderful!" he said at last. "who would have thought of such great ships? if the emperor could but see them, i think that he would make peace. it is easy to see that you know many things more than we do. could one go on board of them?" "not as i am, at present, meinik; but when i get english clothes on again, and rid myself from some of this stain, i have no doubt i shall be able to take you on board one of the ships-of-war. "and now, will you let me know what you are thinking of doing? i told the general what service you had rendered me, and he asked me what you were going to do. i told him that, as yet, i did not know whether you were going to stay here, or go back again." "are you going to stay here?" "i think so--at any rate, for a time. i do not know where the uncle i have told you about is, at present. at any rate, while this war is going on he can do very little trade, and can manage very well without me." "as long as you stay here, i shall stay," the burman said. "if i went back, i should have to fight against your people; and i don't want to do that. i have no quarrel with them and, from what i see, i am not so sure as i was that we shall drive you into the sea. you have beaten us, whenever you have fought; and i would rather stay with you, than be obliged to fight against you. "not many men want to fight. we heard that in the villages, and that those who have not got wives and children held, as hostages for them, get away from the army and hide in the woods. "you will be a great man now and, if you will let me stop, i will be your servant." "i will gladly keep you with me, meinik, if you are willing to stay; and i am sure that you will be better off, here, than out in the woods, and a good deal safer. at any rate, stay until after your people make their next attack. you will see then how useless it is for them to fight against us. when we can attack them in their stockades, although they are ten to one against us, and drive them out after a quarter of an hour's fighting; you may be sure that in the open ground, without defences, they will have no chance whatever. "i hope they will soon get tired of fighting, and that the court will make peace. we did not want to fight with them--it was they who attacked us but, now that we have had all the expense of coming here, we shall go on fighting till the emperor agrees to make peace; but i don't think that we shall ever go out of rangoon, again, and believe that we shall also hold the ports in tenasserim that we have captured." "the emperor will never agree to that," meinik said, shaking his head positively. "then if he does not, he will see that we shall go up the river to ava and, in the end, if he goes on fighting we shall capture the whole country; and rule over it, just as we have done the greater part of india." "i think that would be good for us," the man said philosophically. "it would not matter much to us to whom we paid our taxes--and you would not tax us more heavily than we are now--for as we came down you saw many villages deserted, and the land uncultivated, because the people could not pay the heavy exactions. it is not the king--he does not get much of it--but he gives a province, or a district, or a dozen villages to someone at court; and says, 'you must pay me so much, and all that you can get out of it, besides, is for yourself;' so they heap on the taxes, and the people are always in great poverty and, when they find that they cannot pay what is demanded and live, then they all go away to some other place, where the lord is not so harsh." "i am sure that it would be a good thing for them, meinik. the people of india are a great deal better off, under us, than they were under their native rulers. there is a fixed tax, and no one is allowed to charge more, or to oppress the people in any way. "but now we must be going. i said that i would be back at the place we started from, in half an hour." chapter : on the staff. captain cooke had done his best, previous to the beginning of the auction, to disarm opposition; by going about among the officers who dropped in, with the intention of bidding, telling them something of stanley's capture, adventures, and escape; and saying that the general had, himself, advised him to obtain an outfit by buying a considerable portion of the young officer's kit. "i have no doubt that he will put him on his staff," he said. "from his knowledge of the country, and the fact that he speaks the language well, he would be very useful and, as he has gone through all this from serving as a volunteer, without pay, i hope you fellows won't run up the prices, except for things that you really want." his story had the desired effect; and when captain cooke met stanley, he was able to tell him that he had bought for him the greater portion of the kit, including everything that was absolutely necessary. "are there any plain clothes?" stanley asked, after thanking him warmly for the trouble he had taken. "no. of course, he left everything of that sort at calcutta. no one in his senses would think of bringing mufti out with him, especially to such a country as this." "then i shall have to go in uniform to the general's," stanley said, in a tone of consternation. "it seems to me that it would be an awfully impudent thing, to go in staff uniform to dine with the general, when i have no right whatever to wear it." "well, as the general advised you himself to buy the things, he cannot blame you for wearing them; and i have not the least doubt that he is going to offer you a staff appointment of some sort." "i should like it very much, as long as the war lasted, captain cooke; but i don't think that i should care about staying in the army, permanently. you see, my uncle is working up a very good business. he has been at it, now, seven or eight years; and he was saying the last time that i was with him that, as soon as these troubles were over, and trade began again, he should give me a fourth share of it; and make it a third share, when i got to twenty-one." "then you would be a great fool to give it up," captain cooke said, heartily. "a man who has got a good business, out here, would have an income as much as all the officers of a regiment, together. he is his own master, and can retire when he likes, and enjoy his money in england. "still, as trade is at a standstill at present, i think that it would be wise of you to accept any offer that the general might make to you. it might even be to your advantage, afterwards. to have served on campbell's staff will be an introduction to every officers' mess in the country; and you may be sure that, not only shall we hold rangoon in future, but there will be a good many more british stations between assam and here than there now are; and it would be a pull for you, even in the way of trade, to stand on a good footing everywhere." "i quite see that," stanley agreed, "and if the general is good enough to offer me an appointment, i shall certainly take it." "you have almost a right to one, brooke. in the peninsula lots of men got their commissions by serving for a time as volunteers; and having been wounded at ramoo, and being one of the few survivors of that fight; and having gone through a captivity, at no small risk of being put to death the first time that the king was out of temper, your claim is a very strong one, indeed. besides, there is hardly a man here who speaks burmese, and your services will be very valuable. "here are fifty rupees," he went on, handing the money to stanley. "it is not much change out of five hundred; but i can assure you that you have got the things at a bargain, for you would have had to pay more than that for them, in england; and i fancy most of the things are in very good condition, for hitchcock only came out about four months ago. of course the clothes are nothing like new but, at any rate, they are in a very much better state than those of anyone who came here three months ago. "i have ordered them all to be sent to my quarters where, of course, you will take up your abode till something is settled about you; which will probably be this evening. in that case, you will have quarters allotted to you, tomorrow." "thank you very much. i shall devote the best portion of this afternoon to trying to get rid of as much of this stain as i can, at least off my face and hands. the rest does not matter, one way or the other, and will wear off gradually; but i should like to get my face decent." "well, you are rather an object, stanley," he said. "it would not matter so much about the colour, but all those tattoo marks are, to say the least of it, singular. of course they don't look so rum, now, in that native undress; but when you get your uniform on, the effect will be startling. "we will have a chat with the doctor. he may have something in his medicine chest that will at least soften them down a bit. of course, if they were real tattoo marks there would be nothing for it; but as they are only dye, or paint of some sort, they must wear themselves out before very long." "i will try anything that he will give me. i don't care if it takes the skin off." on returning to the quarters of captain cooke, stanley was introduced to the other officers of the regiment; among them the doctor, to whom he at once applied for some means of taking off the dye. "have you asked the man you brought down with you?" the surgeon said. "you say that he put it on, and he may know of something that will take it off again." "no; i have asked him, and he knows of nothing. he used some of the dye stuffs of the country, but he said he never heard of anyone wanting to take the dye out of things that had been coloured." "if it were only cotton or cloth," the doctor said, "i have no doubt a very strong solution of soda would take out the greater portion of the dye; but the human skin won't stand boiling water. however, i should say that if you have water as hot as you can bear it, with plenty of soda and soap, it will do something for you. no doubt, if you were to take a handful or two of very fine sand, it would help a great deal; but if you use that, i should not put any soda with the water, or you will practically take all the skin off, and leave your face like a raw beef steak; which will be worse than the stain and, indeed, in so hot a sun as we have, might be dangerous, and bring on erysipelas. so you must be very careful; and it will be far better for you to put up with being somewhat singular in your appearance, for a bit, than to lay yourself up by taking any strong measures to get rid of it." after an hour spent in vigorous washing, and aided by several rubs with very fine sand, stanley succeeded, to his great satisfaction, in almost getting rid of the tattoo marks on his face. the general dye had faded a little, though not much; but that with which the marks had been made was evidently of a less stable character, and yielded to soap and friction. before he had concluded the work two trunks arrived and, finding that his face was now beginning to smart a good deal, he abstained for the time from further efforts; and turned to inspect his purchases, with a good deal of interest. the uniforms consisted of two undress suits; one with trousers, the other with breeches and high boots, for riding. there was also a suit of mess jacket, waistcoat, and trousers; three suits of white drill; half a dozen white shirts for mess, and as many of thin flannel; and a good stock of general underclothes, a pair of thick boots, and a light pair for mess. there was also the sword, belt, and other equipments; in fact, all the necessaries he would require for a campaign. before beginning to dress, he began to free his hair from the wax with which it had been plastered up. he had obtained from the doctor some spirits of turpentine and, with the aid of this, he found the task a less difficult one than he had expected and, the regimental barber being sent for by captain cooke, his hair was soon shortened to the ordinary length. "you will do very well, now," the major said, as he went down into the general room. "you have certainly succeeded a great deal better than i thought you would. of course you look very brown, but there are a good many others nearly as dark as you are; for between the rain showers the sun has tremendous power, and some of the men's faces are almost skinned, while others have browned wonderfully. i am sure that many of them are quite as dark as yours. so you will pass muster very well." before beginning to wash and change, stanley had given meinik the clothes he had carried down with him; and when he went out to take a short look round before tiffin--for which the servants were already laying the cloth--he found the man, now looking like a respectable burman, standing near the door. he walked slowly past him, but the man did not move--not recognizing him, in the slightest degree, in his present attire. then stanley turned and faced him. "so you don't know me, meinik." the burman gave a start of surprise. "certainly i did not know you, my lord," he said. "who could have known you? before you were a poor burmese peasant, now you are an english lord." "not a lord at all, meinik. i am simply an english officer, and dressed very much the same as i was when your people knocked me on the head, at ramoo." "i know your voice," meinik said; "but even now that i know it is you, i hardly recognize your face. of course, the tattoo marks made a great difference, but that is not all." "i think it is the hair that has made most difference, meinik. you see, it was all pulled off the brow and neck, before; and it will be some time before it will grow naturally again. i had great trouble to get it to lie down, even when it was wet; and it will certainly have a tendency to stick up, for a long time. "the dress has made a good deal of alteration in you, too." "they are very good clothes," meinik said. "i have never had such good ones on before. i have had money enough to buy them; but people would have asked where i got it from, and it never does to make a show of being better off than one's neighbour. a man is sure to be fleeced, if he does. "what can i do for my lord?" "nothing, at present, meinik. i am going to lunch with the officers here, and to dine with the general, and sleep here. tomorrow i daresay i shall move into quarters of my own. "you had better buy what you want, for today, in the market. i don't know whether it is well supplied but, as we saw some of your people about, there must be food to be obtained." "they gave me plenty to eat when i came in," he said, "but i will buy something for supper. "no, i do not want money, i have plenty of lead left." "you had better take a couple of rupees, anyhow. there are sure to be some traders from india who have opened shops here, and they won't care to take lead in payment. you must get some fresh muslin for your turban; and you had better close it up at the top, this time. it will go better with your clothes." meinik grinned. "i shall look quite like a person of importance. i shall be taken for, at least, the headman of a large village." he took the two rupees and walked off towards the town, while stanley went in to luncheon. there were a good many remarks as to his altered appearance. "do you know, brooke," one of the young lieutenants said, "i did not feel at all sure that cooke was not humbugging us, when he introduced you to us, and that you were not really a burman who had travelled, and had somehow learned to speak english extraordinarily well." "clothes and soap and water make a wonderful difference," stanley laughed, "but i shall be a good many shades lighter, when the rest of the dye wears off. at any rate, i can go about, now, without anyone staring at me." after tiffin, stanley had to tell his story again, at a very much greater length than before. "you certainly have gone through some queer adventures," the major said, when he had finished his relation; "and there is no doubt that you have had wonderful luck. in the first place, if that bullet had gone half an inch lower, you would not have been one of the four white survivors of that ugly business at ramoo; then you were lucky that they did not chop off your head, either when they first took you, or when they got you to ava. then again, it was lucky that bandoola sent a special message that he wanted you kept as an interpreter for himself, and that the official in charge of you turned out a decent fellow, and aided you to make your escape. "as to your obtaining the services of the man you brought down with you, i do not regard that as a question of luck. you saved the man's life, by an act of the greatest bravery--one that not one man in ten would perform, or try to perform, for the life of a total stranger. i hope that i should have made the effort, had i been in your place; but i say frankly that i am by no means sure that i should have done so. "the betting was a good twenty to one against its being done successfully. if the brute had heard your footstep, it would have been certain death and, even when you reached him, the chances were strongly against your being able to strike a blow at the animal that would, for a moment, disable him; and so give you time to snatch up one of the guns--which might not, after all, have been loaded. "it was a wonderfully gallant action, lad. you did not tell us very much about it yourself but, while you were getting the dye off, i got hold of one of the traders here, who happened to be passing, and who understood their language; and with his assistance i questioned your fellow, and got all the particulars from him. i say again, it was as plucky a thing as i have ever heard of." a few minutes later an orderly came in with a note from the general, asking the major and captain cooke also to dine with him that evening. stanley was very pleased that the two officers were going with him, as it took away the feeling of shyness he felt, at the thought of presenting himself in staff uniform at the general's. sir archibald campbell put him at ease, at once, by the kindness with which he received him. stanley began to apologize for his dress, but the general stopped him, at once. "i intended, of course, that you should wear it, mr. brooke. i am sure that you would not find a dress suit in the camp. however, we will make matters all right, tomorrow. judging from what you said that, as you cannot join your uncle at present, you would be willing to remain here, your name will appear in orders, tomorrow morning, as being granted a commission in the th, pending the arrival of confirmation from home; which of course, in such a case, is a mere form. you will also appear in the orders as being appointed my aide-de-camp, in place of mr. hitchcock, with extra pay as interpreter. "no, do not thank me. having served as a volunteer, taken part in a severe action, and having been wounded and imprisoned, you had almost a right to a commission. after dinner, i hope that you will give us all a full account of your adventures; it was but a very slight sketch that i heard from you, this morning." the general then introduced stanley to the other members of his staff. "if you had seen him as i saw him, this morning," he said, with a smile, "you certainly would not recognize him now. he was naked to the waist, and had nothing on but the usual peasant attire of a piece of black cloth, reaching to his knees. i knew, of course, that the question of costume would soon be got over; but i own that i did not think that i should be able to employ him, for some little time. not only was his stain a great deal darker than it is now, but he was thickly tattooed up to the eyes, and one could hardly be sending messages by an aide-de-camp so singular in appearance; but i see that, somehow, he has entirely got rid of the tattoo marks; and his skin is now very little, if at all, darker than that of many of us, so that i shall be able to put him in harness at once." after dinner was over and cigars lighted, stanley told his story as before, passing over lightly the manner in which he had gained the friendship of the burman. when he had finished, however, major pemberton said: "with your permission, general, i will supplement the story a little. mr. brooke has told me somewhat more than he has told you, but i gained the whole facts from his guide's own lips." "no, major, please," stanley said colouring, even under his dye. "the matter is not worth telling." "you must permit us to be a judge of that, mr. brooke," the general said, with a smile at the young fellow's interruption of his superior officer. "i beg your pardon, major pemberton," stanley stammered in some confusion. "only--" "only you would rather that i did not tell about your struggle with the leopard. i think it ought to be told, and i am pretty sure sir archibald campbell will agree with me," and major pemberton then gave a full account of the adventure in the forest. "thank you, major. you were certainly quite right in telling the story, for it is one that ought to be told and, if mr. brooke will forgive my saying so, is one of those cases in which it is a mistake for a man to try to hide his light under a bushel. "you see, it cannot but make a difference in the estimation in which we hold you. most young fellows would, as you did, have joined their countrymen when threatened by a greatly superior enemy and, again, most would, if prisoners, have taken any opportunity that offered to effect their escape. therefore, in the brief account that you gave me, this morning, it appeared to me that you had behaved pluckily and shrewdly, and had well earned a commission, especially as you have a knowledge of the language. you simply told me that you had been able to render some service to the burman who travelled down with you, but such service might have been merely that you assisted him when he was in want, bound up a wound, or any other small matter. "now we find that you performed an act of singular courage, an act that even the oldest shikaree would have reason to be proud of. such an act--performed, too, for a stranger, and that stranger an enemy--would, of itself, give any man a title to the esteem and regard of any among whom he might be thrown, and would lead them to regard him in an entirely different light to that in which they would otherwise have held him. "i think that you will all agree with me, gentlemen." "certainly." there was a chorus of assent from the circle of officers. his narrative had, as the general said, shown that the young fellow was possessed of coolness, steadiness, and pluck; but this feat was altogether out of the common and, as performed by a mere lad, seemed little short of marvellous. "you will, of course, have hitchcock's quarters," the quartermaster general said to stanley, as the party broke up. "it is a small room, but it has the advantage of being water tight, which is more than one can say of most of our quarters. it is a room in the upper storey of the next house. i fancy the poor fellow's card is on the door still. the commissariat offices are in the lower part of the house, and they occupy all the other rooms upstairs; but we kept this for one of the aides-de-camp, so that the general could send a message at once, night or day." "of course i shall want a horse, sir." "yes, you must have a horse. i will think over what we can do for you, in that way. there is no buying one here, unless a field officer is killed, or dies. "by the way, hitchcock's horses are not sold, yet. they were not put up, yesterday. i have no doubt that some arrangement can be made about them, and the saddlery." "that would be excellent, sir. as i told the general this morning, i have some rubies and other stones. i have no idea what they are worth. they were given me by those men i was with, in the forest. they said that they were very difficult to dispose of, as the mines are monopolies of government so, when my man meinik proposed it, they acceded at once to his request, and handed a number of them over to me. "i have not even looked at them. there may be someone, here, who could tell me what they are worth." "yes, i have no doubt some of those parsee merchants, who have lately set up stores, could tell you. i should only take down two or three stones to them, if i were you. if they are really valuable, you might be robbed of them; but i am rather afraid that you will not find that they are so. brigand fellows will hardly have been likely to give you anything very valuable." "i don't think that they looked at them, themselves; they were the proceeds of one day's attack on a number of merchants. they found them concealed on them, and they were so well satisfied with the loot they got, in merchandise that they could dispose of, that i doubt whether they even opened the little packages of what they considered the most dangerous goods to keep; for if they were captured, and gems found upon them, it would be sufficient to condemn them, at once." "do you speak hindustani? if not, i will send one of the clerks with you." "yes, sir; and three or four other of the indian languages." "ah! then you can manage for yourself. "when you have seen one of these parsees, come round to my office. i shall have seen the paymaster by that time, and have talked over with him how we can arrange about the horses. i should think that the best way would be to have a committee of three officers to value them, and the saddlery; and then you might authorize him to receive your extra pay as interpreter, and to place it to hitchcock's account. you will find your own staff pay more than ample, here; as there are no expenses, whatever, except your share of the mess." "thank you very much, indeed, colonel." in the morning, stanley took one of the little parcels from the bag and opened it. it contained thirty stones, of which twenty were rubies, six sapphires, and four emeralds. they seemed to him of a good size but, as they were in the rough state, he had no idea what size they would be, when cut. there were three of the parsee merchants. the first he went to said, at once, that he did not deal in gems. the next he called on examined the stones carefully. "it is impossible to say, for certain," he said, "how much they are worth until they are cut, for there may be flaws in them that cannot be detected. now, if i were to buy them like this, i could not give more than a hundred rupees each. if they are all flawless, they would be worth much more; but it would be a pure speculation, and i will not go beyond that sum." stanley then visited the third store. the trader here inspected them a little more carefully than the last had done, examined them with a magnifying glass, held them up to the light; then he weighed each stone and jotted down some figures. at last, he said: "the stones are worth five thousand rupees. if they are flawless, they would be worth double that. i will give you five thousand myself or, if you like, i will send them to a friend of mine, at madras. he is one of the best judges of gems in india. he shall say what he will give for them, and you shall pay me five percent commission. he is an honest trader; you can ask any of the officers from madras." "i will accept that offer, if you will make me an advance of fifteen hundred rupees upon them; and will pay you, at the rate of ten percent per annum, interest till you receive the money for them." the parsee again took the gems, and examined them carefully. "do you agree to take the jeweller's offer, whatever it is?" "yes; that is to say, if it is over the five thousand. if it is under the five thousand, i will sell them to you at that sum." "i agree to that," the man said. "but do not fear; if the two largest stones are without a flaw, they alone are worth five thousand." "let us draw up the agreement, at once," stanley said. and, accordingly, the terms were drawn up, in hindustani, and were signed by both parties. the parsee then went to a safe, unlocked it, and counted out the rupees, to the value of pounds. these he placed in a bag, and handed them to stanley who, delighted at the sum that he had obtained for but a small portion of the gems, went to the quartermaster general's office. "we have just finished your business," colonel adair said, as he entered. "major moultrie, the paymaster, colonel watt, and myself have examined the horses. i know that hitchcock paid sixty pounds apiece for them, at calcutta. they are both arabs, and good ones, and were not dear at the money. our opinion is that, if they were put up to auction here, they would fetch pounds apiece; and that the saddle and bridle, holsters, and accoutrements would fetch another pounds. there are also a pair of well-finished pistols in the holsters. they were overlooked, or they would have been put up in the sale yesterday. they value them at pounds the brace; in all, pounds. "will that suit you? the major will, as i proposed, stop the money from your pay as a first-class interpreter--that is, two hundred and fifty rupees a month--so that, in four months and a half, you will have cleared it off." "i am very much obliged to you, colonel; but i have just received an advance of fifteen hundred rupees, on some of my gems which the parsee is going to send to a jeweller, of the name of burragee, at madras." "i congratulate you, for i hardly hoped that they would turn out to be worth so much. burragee is a first-rate man, and you can rely upon getting a fair price from him. well, that obviates all difficulty. "by the way, i should recommend you to get a light bedstead and bed, and a couple of blankets, at one of the parsee stores. of course, you did not think of it, yesterday, or you might have bought hitchcock's. however, i noticed in one of the parsees' shops a number of light bamboo bedsteads; which are the coolest and best in a climate like this. if you lay a couple of blankets on the bamboos, you will find that you don't want a mattress." "i don't know what my duties are, sir, or whether the general will be wanting me." "he will not want you, today. anyhow, he will know that you will be making your arrangements, and moving into your quarters. "by the way, hitchcock brought a syce with him. you must have a man for your horses, and i have no doubt he will be glad to stay on with you." two hours later stanley was installed in his quarters--a room some twelve feet long by eight wide. a bed stood in one corner. there was a table for writing on, two light bamboo chairs, and an indian lounging chair. in the corner was a small bamboo table, on which was a large brass basin; while a great earthenware jar for water stood beside it, and a piece of indian matting covered the floor. he learned that the staff messed together, in a large room in the next house; and that he would there get a cup of coffee and a biscuit, at six in the morning, breakfast at half-past eight, lunch and dinner; so that he would not have to do any cooking, whatever, for himself. he had given meinik a small sum to lay out in cooking pots and necessaries for his own use. the syce had gladly entered his employ. stanley had inspected the horses which, although light to the eye, would be well capable of bearing his weight through a long day's work. they were picketed, with those of the general and staff, in a line behind the house devoted to the headquarters. after lunch he went into the general's, and reported himself as ready for duty. "i shall not want you this afternoon, mr. brooke. here is a plan showing the position of the different corps. you had better get it by heart. when it gets cooler, this afternoon, i should advise you to ride out and examine the position and the roads; so that even at night you can, if necessary, carry a message to any of the regiments. the burmese are constantly creeping up and stabbing our sentries, and sometimes they attack in considerable force. when anything like heavy firing begins, it will be your duty to find out at once what is going on; and bring me word, as it may be necessary to send up reinforcements. "in the morning it will be your duty to examine any prisoners who have been taken during the night, and also natives who have made their way into the town; in order to ascertain whether any date has been fixed for their next attack, and what forces are likely to take part in it. you can make your man useful at this work. "by the way, i will tell colonel adair to put him down on the list of the quartermaster's native followers. he need not do anything else but this. but it is likely that the natives will speak more freely to him than they would to a white officer, and he may as well be earning thirty rupees a month, and drawing rations, as hanging about all day, doing nothing." thanking the general, stanley took the plan and, going back to his quarters, studied it attentively. he told meinik of the arrangement that had been made for him, with which the burman was much pleased. thirty rupees a month seemed a large sum to him, and he was glad that he should not be costing stanley money for his food. three hours later one of his horses was brought round, and he started on his ride through the camp. there were two roads leading through the town to the great pagoda. both were thickly bordered by religious houses and pagodas--the latter, for the most part, being in a state of dilapidation. houses and pagodas alike had been turned into quarters for the troops, and had been invaluable during the wet season. the terrace of the great pagoda was occupied by the th regiment and the madras artillery. this was the most advanced position, and was the key of the defence. leaving his horse in charge of his syce, at the foot of the pagoda hill, stanley went up to the terrace and soon entered into conversation with some of the british officers; who at once recognized him as having been, that morning, put in orders as the general's aide-de-camp. as he was unknown to everyone, and no ship had come in for some days, there was naturally much curiosity felt as to who the stranger was who had been appointed to a commission, and to the coveted post of aide-de-camp, in one day. after chatting for two or three minutes, they conducted stanley to the colonel's quarters, a small building at the foot of the pagoda. "this is mr. brooke, colonel, the gentleman who was gazetted to us, this morning." "i am glad to see you, mr. brooke; but i should be more glad, still, if you had been coming to join, for we have lost several officers from sickness, and there are others unfit for duty. when did you arrive?" "i arrived only yesterday morning, sir. i came here in disguise, having made my way down from ava." "oh, indeed! we heard a report that a white man had arrived, in disguise, at the lines of the th native infantry; but we have had no particulars, beyond that." "i was captured at ramoo, sir, while i was acting as an officer of the native levy. fortunately i was stunned by the graze of a musket ball and, being supposed dead, was not killed; as were all the other officers who fell into the hands of the burmese. their fury had abated by the time i came to myself, and i was carried up to ava with some twenty sepoy prisoners. after a time i made my escape from prison, and took to the forest; where i remained some weeks, till the search for me had abated somewhat. then i made my way down the country, for the most part in a fishing boat, journeying only at night, and so succeeded in getting in here. fortunately i speak the mug dialect, which is very closely akin to the burmese." "well," the colonel said, "i hope that you will consider the regiment your home; though i suppose that, until the campaign is at an end, you will only be able to pay us an occasional visit. you are lucky in getting the staff appointment. no doubt your being able to talk burmese has a great deal to do with it." "everything, i think, sir. the general had no one on his staff who could speak the language and, unless he happened to have with him one of the very few men here who can do so, often had to wait some time before a prisoner could be questioned." he remained chatting for half an hour, and then rode back to the town; taking the other road to that which he had before traversed. chapter : the pagoda. two days later a prisoner was captured, when endeavouring to crawl up the pagoda hill--having slipped past the outposts--and was sent into headquarters. stanley questioned him closely; but could obtain no information, whatever, from him. telling him to sit down by the house, he placed a british sentry over him. "keep your eye," he said, "on the door of the next house. you will see a burman come out. you are to let him talk with the prisoner, but let no one else speak to him. don't look as if you had any orders about him, but stand carelessly by. the fellow will tell us nothing, but it is likely enough that he will speak to one of his own countrymen." "i understand, sir." stanley went into his house and told meinik what he was wanted to do. "i will find out," meinik said confidently and, a minute or two later, went out and strolled along past the prisoner. as he did so he gave him a little nod and, returning again shortly, saluted him in burmese. the third time he passed he looked inquiringly at the sentry, as if to ask whether he might speak to the prisoner. the soldier, however, appeared to pay no attention to him; but stood with grounded musket, leaning against the wall, and meinik went up to the man. "you are in bad luck," he said. "how did you manage to fall into the hands of these people?" "it matters not to you," the burman said indignantly, "since you have gone over to them." "not at all, not at all," meinik replied. "do you not know that there are many here who, like myself, have come in as fugitives, with instructions what to do when our people attack? i am expecting news as to when the soothsayers declare the day to be a fortunate one. then we shall all be in readiness to do our share, as soon as the firing begins." "it will be on the fourth day from this," the burman said. "we do not know whether it will be the night before, or the night after. the soothsayers say both will be fortunate nights; and the invulnerables will then assault the pagoda, and sweep the barbarians away. the princes and woongees will celebrate the great annual festival there, two days later." "that is good!" meinik said. "we shall be on the lookout, never fear." "what are they going to do to me. will they cut off my head?" "no, you need not be afraid of that. these white men never kill prisoners. after they are once taken, they are safe. you will be kept for a time and, when our countrymen have destroyed the barbarians and taken the town, they will free you from prison. "there are some of the white officers coming. i must get away, or they will be asking questions." as he walked away, the sentry put his musket to his shoulder and began to march briskly up and down. a moment later the general stepped up to him. "what are you doing, my man? who put you on guard over that prisoner?" "i don't know his name, sir," the sentry said, standing at attention. "he was a young staff officer. he came to the guard tent and called for a sentry and, as i was next on duty, the sergeant sent me with him. he put me to watch this man." "all right; keep a sharp lookout over him. "i wonder what brooke left the fellow here for, instead of sending him to prison," the general said to colonel adair. "we examined him, but could get nothing out of him, even when i threatened to hang him." "i will just run up to his quarters and ask him, sir." just as he entered the house, stanley was coming down the stairs. "the general wants to know, mr. brooke, why you placed a prisoner under a guard by his house; instead of sending him to the prison, as usual?" "i was just coming to tell him, sir." "ah, well, he is outside; so you can tell us both together." "well, mr. brooke, what made you put a sentry over the man, and leave him here? the men are hard enough worked, without having unnecessary sentry duty." "yes, sir; i only left him for a few minutes. i was convinced the man knew something, by his demeanour when i questioned him; and i thought i might as well try if my man could not get more out of him than i could. so i put a sentry over him, and gave him instructions that he was to let a burman, who would come out of this house, speak to the prisoner; but that no one else was to approach him. "then i instructed my man as to the part that he was to play. he passed two or three times, making a sign of friendship to the prisoner. then, as the sentry had apparently no objection to his speaking to him, he came up. at first the man would say nothing to him, but meinik told him that he was one of those who had been sent to rangoon to aid, when the assault took place; and that he was anxiously waiting for news when the favourable day would be declared by the astrologers, so that he and those with him would be ready to begin their work, as soon as the attack commenced. the prisoner fell into the snare, and told him that it would be made either on the night before or on the night of the fourth day from this; when the invulnerables had undertaken to storm the pagoda. it seems that the date was fixed partly because it was a fortunate one, and also in order that the princes and head officials might properly celebrate the great annual festival of the pagoda; which falls, it seems, on the sixth day from now." "excellent indeed, mr. brooke. it is a great relief to me to know when the assault is going to take place, and from what point it will be delivered. but what made you think of the story that the burman was one of a party that had come in to do something?" "it was what colonel adair mentioned at dinner, last evening, sir. he was saying how awkward it would be if some of these natives who have come in were to fire the town, just as a strong attack was going on, and most of the troops engaged with the enemy. it was not unlikely that, if such a plan had been formed, the prisoner would know of it; and that he might very well believe what my man said, that some men had been sent into the town, with that or some similar intention." "true enough. the idea was a capital one, mr. brooke; and we shall be ready for them, whichever night they come. "will you please go across to the guard tent, and tell the sergeant to send a corporal across to the man on sentry, with orders to take the prisoner to the jail, and hand him over to the officer in command there? when you have done that, will you ride out to the pagoda and inform your colonel what you have discovered? it will be a relief to him, and to the men for, as the date of the attack has been uncertain, he has been obliged to largely increase his patrols, and to keep a portion of his force, all night, under arms. he will be able to decrease the number, and let the men have as much sleep as they can, for the next two nights. "the clouds are banking up, and i am very much afraid that the rain is going to set in again. they say that we shall have another two months of it." after seeing the prisoner marched away, stanley rode to the pagoda and, saying that he had come with a message from the general, was at once shown into the colonel's quarters. "any news, mr. brooke?" "yes, colonel; the general has requested me to inform you, at once, of the news that i have obtained from a prisoner; namely that, either on the night of the th or st, your position will be attacked, by the men who are called the invulnerables." "we will give them a chance of proving whether their title is justified," the colonel said, cheerfully. "that is very good news. the men are getting thoroughly worn out with the extra night duty caused by this uncertainty. you think that there is no doubt that the news is correct?" "none whatever, sir. i could do nothing with the prisoner; but my burman pretended to have a mission here, to kick up a row in the town when the attack began; and the man, believing his story, at once told him that the attack will be made on the pagoda, by the invulnerables, on the early morning of the fourth day from this--or on the next night--the astrologers having declared that the time would be propitious, and also because they were very anxious to have the pagoda in their hands, in order that the princes might celebrate the great annual festival that is held, it seems, two days after." the colonel laughed. "i am afraid that they will have to put it off for another year. the general gave no special orders, i suppose?" "no, sir; he had only just received the news, and ordered me to ride over at once to you, as he was sure that you would be glad to know that it would not be necessary to keep so many men on night duty, for the next two days." "thank you, mr. brooke. will you kindly tell the general that i am very pleased at the news? no doubt he will be up here, himself, this afternoon or tomorrow." stanley rode back fast, and was just in time to escape a tremendous downpour of rain, which began a few minutes after he returned. he went in at once to the general's, but was told that he was engaged with the quartermaster and adjutant generals. he therefore went into the anteroom where tollemache, his fellow aide-de-camp, was standing at the window, looking out at the rain. "this is a beastly climate," he grumbled. "it is awful to think that we are likely to get another two months of it; and shall then have to wait at least another, before the country is dry enough to make a move. you were lucky in getting in, just now, before it began." "i was indeed," stanley agreed, "for i had ridden off without my cloak, and should have been drenched, had it begun two minutes earlier." "i saw you gallop past, and wondered what you were in such a hurry about. was it like this when you were out in the woods?" "not in the least. there is very little rain near ava; though the country is a good deal flooded, where it is flat, from the rivers being swollen by the rains in the hills. we had lovely weather, all the time." "i should like to see a little lovely weather here. the last week has been almost worse than the rain--the steamy heat is like being in a vapour bath. if it were not that i am on duty, i should like to strip, and go out and enjoy a shower bath for half an hour." stanley laughed. "it really would be pleasant," he said. "i don't think that i gained much by hurrying back, for the gallop has thrown me into such a perspiration that i might almost as well be drenched by the rain, except that my clothes won't suffer so much." "ah, it is all very well for you," the other grumbled. "of course, after once having wandered about in the forest, painted up like a nigger, you feel cheerful under almost any circumstances; but for us who have been cooped up, doing nothing, in this beastly place, it is impossible to look at things cheerfully." "have you heard that the enemy are going to attack, on tuesday or wednesday night?" "no!" the other exclaimed, with a sudden animation. "the general only came in a quarter of an hour ago and, as he had the two bigwigs with him, of course i did not speak to him. is it certain? how did you hear it?" "it is quite certain--that is, unless the burmese change their mind, which is not likely. the princes want to celebrate the great annual festival at the pagoda, on friday; and so the invulnerables are going, as they think, to capture it either on tuesday or wednesday night. i have just been up there to tell the colonel. "as to your other question--how did i learn it--i got it, or rather my burman did, from that prisoner we were questioning this morning. he would not say anything then; but my man got round him and, believing that he was a spy, or something of that kind, the prisoner told him all about it." "are they only going to attack at the pagoda?" "that i cannot say; that is the only point that the man mentioned. i should say that it would only be there." "why should it only be there?" "because i should imagine that even the burmese must be beginning to doubt whether they could defeat our whole force and, as they particularly wish to occupy the pagoda on friday, they would hardly risk an attack on other points, which might end in disaster while, what with the propitious nature of the day, and the fact that the invulnerables have undertaken to capture the pagoda, no doubt they look upon that as certain." "i suppose that you are right, brooke. well, i do hope that the general will let us go up to see the fun." "what, even if it is raining?" "of course," the other said, indignantly. "what does one care for rain, when there is something to do? why, i believe that, if it was coming down in a sheet, and the men had to wade through the swamps waist deep, they would all march in the highest spirits, if there was the chance of a fight with the burmans at the end of the day. "however, i am afraid that there is no chance of our getting off, unless the chief goes, himself. there may be attacks in other places. as you say, it is not likely; but it is possible. therefore, of course, we should have to be at hand, to carry orders. of course, if he takes his post at the pagoda it will be all right; though the betting is that we shall have to gallop off, just at the most interesting moment." presently the two officers left the general. the latter's bell rang, and stanley went in. "you saw the colonel, mr. brooke?" "yes, sir; and he begged me to say that he was extremely glad to get the news, and much obliged to you for sending it so promptly." "there is no occasion for you and mr. tollemache to stay here any longer, now; but at five o'clock i shall ride out to the pagoda. at any rate, should i want you before then, i shall know where to send for you." this was the general order, for in the afternoon there was, when things were quiet, a hush for two or three hours. the work of the aides-de-camp was, indeed, generally very light for, as there were no movements of troops, no useless parades, and very few military orders to be carried, they had a great deal of time on their hands; and usually took it by turns to be on duty for the day, the one off duty being free to pay visits to acquaintances in the various camps, or on board ship. during the rainy season, however, very few officers or men went beyond shelter, unless obliged to do so and, from two till four or five, no small proportion passed the time in sleep. stanley had intended to pay a visit to the larne; as captain marryat, who had dined at the staff mess on the previous evening, had invited him to go on board, whenever it might be convenient to him. the larne had performed good service, in the operations against the stockades; and her boats had been particularly active and successful. her captain was one of the most popular, as well as one of the most energetic officers in the service; and was to become as popular, with future generations, as the brightest of all writers of sea stories. however, the day was not favourable for an excursion on the water. stanley therefore went back to his room where, divesting himself of his jacket, he sat down at the open window, and read up a batch of the last newspapers, from england, that had been lent him by colonel adair. at five o'clock meinik came in, to say that his horse was at the general's door. stanley hastily put on his jacket and cloak, and sallied out. the general came down in a few minutes, followed by tollemache and, mounting, they rode to the pagoda. here sir archibald had a talk with the colonel of the th, and the officer commanding the battery of the madras artillery. both were of opinion that their force was amply sufficient to resist any attack. the only approach to it from the forest was a long road between two swamps which, a short distance away, had become lakes since the wet weather set in. "had they taken us by surprise," the colonel said, "some of them might have got across, before we were quite ready for them, and might have given us some trouble but, as we shall be prepared, i don't think that any of them will reach the foot of this hill and, if they did, none of them would reach this terrace. if an attack were made from the other side, it would of course be a good deal more serious, as the ground is firm and they could attack all along the foot of the hill; but as they cannot get there, until they have defeated the rest of the army, i consider that, even without the assistance of the guns, we could hold the hill with musket and bayonet against any force that they are likely to bring against us." "very well, then; i shall not reinforce you, colonel. of course, we shall keep a considerable number of troops under arms, in case they should attack all along the line, at the same time that they make their principal effort here. "i rather hope that the rain will keep on, until this affair is over." the colonel looked surprised. "i am much more afraid," the general went on, "of fire in the town, than i am of an attack without. the number of natives there is constantly increasing. no doubt the greater number of those who come in are natives of the place, who have managed, since we cleared out their war galleys from some of the creeks and channels, to escape from the authorities and to make their way in, either on foot or in fishermen's boats; but some of them may be sent in as spies, or to do us harm. i have been having a long talk over it with colonel adair, this afternoon, and he quite agrees with me that we must reckon on the probability of an attempt to fire the town. it would be a terrible blow to us if they succeeded, for the loss of our stores would completely cripple us. they would naturally choose the occasion of an attack upon our lines for the attempt for, in the first place, most of the troops will be under arms and drawn up outside the town; and in the second place the sight of the place on fire would cause much confusion, would inspirit our assailants, and necessitate a considerable force being withdrawn from the field, to fight the fire. "if the rains continue we need feel no uneasiness, whatever, for there would be no getting anything to burn; whereas in dry weather, a man with a torch might light the thatch as fast as he could run along, and a whole street would be in a blaze in two or three minutes and, if a wind happened to be blowing, it might make a sweep of the whole place, in spite of all our efforts." "i see that, sir. i own that i had never given it a thought, before." "i shall come up here, colonel, unless we obtain sure news, before the time arrives, that the attack is going to be a general one; indeed, it is in any case the best place to post myself, for i can see over the whole country, and send orders to any point where the enemy may be making progress, or where our men can advance with advantage. the line of fire flashes will be as good a guide, at night, as the smoke by day." "i will get a cot rigged up for you, general, as we don't know which night it is to be." "thank you. yes, i may just as well turn in, all standing, as the sailors say, and get a few hours' sleep; for in this climate one cannot keep at it, night and day, as we had to do in spain." the two aides-de-camp were kept in suspense as to what the general's intentions were, and it was not until the morning of tuesday that he said to them: "i am going up to the pagoda this evening, mr. tollemache; and you had better, therefore, put some provisions and a bottle of brandy into your holsters." at nine in the evening they rode off. the rain had ceased; the moon was shining through the clouds. "it will be down by twelve o'clock," tollemache said. "i should think, most likely, they will wait for that. they will think that we shall not be able to take aim at them, in the darkness; and that they will manage to get to the foot of the hill, without loss." when they reached the platform in front of the pagoda, their syces took their horses. meinik had begged stanley to let him take his groom's place on this occasion and, laying aside the dress he ordinarily wore, assumed the light attire of an indian syce, and had run behind the horses with the others. he had a strong desire to see the fighting, but his principal motive in asking to be allowed to accompany stanley was that, although greatly impressed with what he had seen of the drill and discipline of the white and native regiments, he could not shake off his faith in the invulnerables; and had a conviction that the pagoda would be captured, and therefore wished to be at hand, to bring up stanley's horse at the critical moment, and to aid him to escape from the assailants. fires were burning, as usual, at several points on the terrace. two companies were under arms, and were standing well back from the edge of the platform, so as to be out of sight of those in the forest. the rest of the men were sitting round the fires. their muskets were piled in lines hard by. when he alighted, the general proceeded to the battery. "have you everything in readiness, major?" he asked the officer in command. "yes, sir. the guns are all loaded with grape and, as it will be very dark when the moon has set, i have pegged a white tape along, just under each gun; so that they can be trained upon the causeway, however dark it may be." "that is a very good idea," the general said. "there is nothing more difficult than laying guns accurately in the dark." the colonel now arrived, a soldier having brought the news to him, as soon as the general reached the platform. "i see that you are well prepared to give them a hot reception, colonel." "i hope so, sir. i have a strong patrol out beyond the causeway. my orders are that they are to resist strongly, for a minute or two, so as to give us time to have the whole of our force in readiness here. then they are to retreat at the double to the foot of the hill; and then to open fire again, so that we may know that they are out of the way, and that we can begin when we like. we have been making some port fires this afternoon, and i have a dozen men halfway down the hill and, directly the outposts are safely across, they are to light the port fires, which will enable us to take aim. these white tapes will be guide enough for the artillery; but my men would make very poor shooting, if they could not make out the muzzles of their guns. anyhow, i don't think that it is likely that the enemy will get across the causeway, however numerous they may be." "i don't think they will, colonel. certainly, so far, they have shown themselves contemptible in attack; and have never made a successful stand, even for a minute, when we once entered their stockades, though they defend them pluckily enough until we have once got a footing inside. "still, these fellows ought to fight well tonight for, if they are beaten, it will be a death blow to their reputation among their countrymen. besides, many of them do believe in the power they claim and, as we have found before now, in india, fanatics are always formidable." after taking a look round with the colonel, the general accompanied him to his quarters; while the two aides-de-camp remained on the terrace, chatting with the officers; and then, after a time, went with some of them to the mess tent, where they sat smoking and talking until midnight, when all went out. the troops were formed up under arms, and all listened impatiently for something that would show that the long-delayed assault would take place that night. at half-past twelve there was the sound of a shot, which sent an electrical thrill through the troops. it was followed almost immediately by others. the troops were at once marched forward to the edge of the platform. a babel of wild shouts went up at the sound of the first shots, followed by a burst of firing. the two aides-de-camp had taken their places close to the general, who was standing in the gap between the infantry and the guns; and was looking intently, through his night glasses, at the forest. "they are in a dense mass," he said. "i cannot see whether they are in any regular order, but they are certainly packed a great deal closer than i have ever before seen them. those in front have got lanterns. they are coming along fast." as yet the enemy were half a mile away, but the lanterns and the flash of their guns showed their exact position, while the fire of the outposts was kept up steadily. as the latter fell back along the causeway, the interval between the two forces decreased; and then the fire of the outposts ceased as, in accordance with their orders, they broke into the double. illustration: the burmese make a great effort to capture pagoda hill. the uproar of the advancing crowd was prodigious. every man was yelling, at the top of his voice, imprecations upon the defenders of the pagoda; who were standing in absolute silence, waiting eagerly for the word of command. suddenly the firing broke out again at the foot of the hill and, immediately, a bright light shot up from its face. the edge of the dense mass of burmese was now but some fifty yards from the wall that surrounded the foot of the hill, and the causeway behind was occupied by a solid mass of men. then came the sharp order to the artillerymen, and gun after gun poured its charge of grape into the crowd while, at the same moment, the infantry began to fire, by companies, in steady volleys. for an instant the din of the assailants was silenced, then their shouts rose again and, after a moment's hesitation, they continued their advance. but not for long. none but the most disciplined soldiers could have advanced under that storm of grape and bullets and, in ten minutes, they fled in wild confusion, leaving the causeway thickly covered with the dead. again and again the british cheers rose, loud and triumphant; then the infantry were told to fall out, but the guns continued their fire, until the fugitives were well in the forest. between the shots the general listened attentively, and examined the country towards the town through his glasses. "everything is quiet," he said. "it is probable that, if those fellows had carried the hill, they would have made a signal, and there might have been a general attack. as it is, the affair is over for the night; and the invulnerables will have some difficulty in accounting for their failure, and loss. "now, gentlemen, we may as well have up the horses, and ride back. we hardly expected to get away as soon as this." "well, meinik, what do you think of your invulnerables, now?" stanley said, as the burman, after picketing his horse, came up to his room to see if he wanted anything, before lying down on his bed in the passage. "i don't know," the burman replied, gravely. "they may be holy men; and proof, perhaps, against native weapons; but they are no good against your cannon and muskets. i understand, now, how it is that you beat us so easily. your men all stood quiet, and in order; one only heard the voices of the officers, and the crash as they fired together. "then, your guns are terrible. i have seen ours firing but, though our pieces are smaller than yours, your men fire five shots to our one. i stood by while they were loading. it was wonderful. nobody talked, and nobody gave orders. each man knew what he had to do--one did something and, directly, another did something and, almost before the smoke of the last shot was out of the gun, it was ready to be fired again. "it is clear to me that we have not learnt how to fight, and that your way of having only a few men, well taught and knowing exactly what they have to do, is better than ours of having great numbers, and letting everyone fight as he pleases. it is bad, every way. the brave men get to the front, and are killed; and then the others run away. "you were right. we shall never turn you out of rangoon, till bandoola comes. he has all our best troops with him, and he has never been beaten. all the troops know him, and will fight for him as they will not fight for these princes--who know nothing of war, and are chosen only because they are the king's brothers. when he comes, you will see." "no doubt we shall, meinik; and you will see that, although they may make a better fight of it than they have done tonight, it will be just the same, in the end." for the next two months the time passed slowly. no attacks were made by the enemy, after the defeat of the assault upon the pagoda. peasants and deserters who came in reported that there was profound depression among the burmese troops. great numbers had left the colours, and there was no talk of another attack. the troops being, therefore, relieved of much of their arduous night duty, the english took the offensive. the stockades on the dalla river, and those upon the panlang branch--the principal passage into the main stream of the irrawaddy--were attacked and carried, the enemy suffering heavily, and many pieces of artillery being captured. the rains continued almost unceasingly, and the troops suffered terribly in health. scarce three thousand remained fit for duty, and the greater portion of these were so emaciated and exhausted, by the effects of the climate, that they were altogether unfit for active operations. three weeks after the fight at the pagoda a vessel came up the river, with a letter from the officer in command of the troops assembled to bar the advance of bandoola against chittagong, saying that the burmese army had mysteriously disappeared. it had gone off at night, so quietly and silently that our outposts, which were but a short distance from it, heard no sign or movement, whatever. the burmese had taken with them their sick, tents, and stores; and nothing but a large quantity of grain had been found in their deserted stockades. the news was received with satisfaction by the troops. there was little doubt that the court of ava--finding that their generals had all failed in making the slightest impression upon our lines, and had lost vast numbers of men--had at last turned to the leader who had conquered province after province for it, and had sent him orders to march, with his whole army, to bring the struggle to a close. the soldiers rejoiced at the thought that they were at last to meet a real burmese army. hitherto they had generally stood on the defensive, and had to fight the climate rather than the foe; and it seemed to them that the campaign was likely to be interminable. the march of the burmese from ramoo to sembeughewn, the nearest point of the river to the former town, must have been a terrible one. the distance was over two hundred miles, the rains were ceaseless, and the country covered with jungles and marshes, and intersected by rivers. no other army could have accomplished such a feat. the burmans, however, accustomed to the unhealthy climate, lightly clad, and carrying no weight save their arms and sixteen days' supply of rice, passed rapidly over it. every man was accustomed to the use of an axe and to the formation of rafts and, in an incredibly short time, rivers were crossed, deep swamps traversed on roads made by closely-packed faggots and, but a few days after hearing that bandoola had started, the general learned, from peasants, that the news had come down that he and a portion of his army had arrived at sembeughewn. almost at the same time, other parties who travelled down along the coast reached donabew, a town on the irrawaddy, some forty miles in direct line from rangoon. this had been named as the rendezvous of the new army, and to this a considerable proportion of bandoola's force made their way direct from ramoo; it being the custom of the burmese to move, when on a march through a country where no opposition was to be looked for, in separate detachments, each under its own leader, choosing its own way, and making for a general rendezvous. travelling in this manner, they performed the journey far more rapidly than they could have done moving in one body, and could better find shelter and food. other forces from prome, tannoo, and other quarters were known to be marching towards donabew. it was soon reported that the dejected forces around rangoon had gained courage and confidence, at the news that bandoola and his army were coming to their aid, and that the deserters were returning in large numbers from their villages. the british sick were sent away in the shipping to mergy and tavoy, two coast towns of which we had taken possession, and both of which were healthily situated. the change had a marvellous effect, and men who would have speedily succumbed to the poisonous exhalations of the swamps round rangoon rapidly regained their strength, in their new quarters. chapter : victories. in the meantime, negotiations had been going on with siam, between which state and burma there was the bitterest enmity. it had been thought that siam would have willingly grasped the opportunity to revenge itself for the many losses of territory that it had suffered at the hands of burma. this there was no doubt that it would have been glad to do, but our occupation of several points on the coast of tenasserim roused the fears of siam, and inclined it to the belief that we might prove an even more dangerous neighbour than burma. the court of ava had, on its part, also sent urgent messages to the king of siam--when misfortunes had, to some extent, lowered its pride--calling upon him to make common cause with burma, and to join it in repelling an enemy who would doubtless be as dangerous to him as to burma. siam, however, determined to steer a middle course. an army was assembled, in readiness for any contingency; but siam believed as little as burma, itself, that the british could possibly be victorious over that power; and feared its vengeance, if she were to ally herself with us while, upon the other hand, siam had a long sea coast, and feared the injury our fleet might inflict upon it, were it to join burma. the king, therefore, gave both powers an assurance of his friendship; and marched his army down to the frontier of the province of martaban, which bordered on the great salween river on the tenasserim coast, and lay some two hundred miles from rangoon, across the gulf of martaban. the intentions of the king being so doubtful, the advance of the siamese army in this direction could not be regarded with indifference by the british. the town of martaban was the centre of the burmese military power in tenasserim, and the advance towards it of the siamese army would place it in direct communication with that of burma. on the th of october, therefore, a force, consisting of a wing of the st regiment and the rd madras infantry, sailed from rangoon against the town. the expedition was delayed by light winds and, when it arrived at the mouth of the river, found that every preparation had been made for an obstinate defence. they learned, from a peasant, that strong works had been erected on every eminence round the town; and that the road from the coast had been cut, and stockaded. approach by this route was impossible, for there were twenty miles of country to be traversed; and much of this was under water from the inundations. it was, therefore, determined to go up the river, although this was so shallow and full of shoals that the navigation was extremely difficult. at last, after great labour--incurred by the ships constantly getting ashore--they succeeded in making their way up to martaban, and anchored off the town. a heavy cannonade was carried on, for some time, between the ships and the enemy's works. then the troops were embarked in boats, which rowed for the shore under a very heavy fire from the enemy. as soon as they landed, and advanced to attack the stockades, the burmese lost heart and hastily retreated; while the inhabitants received the troops as they entered with the warmest welcome--for they were, for the most part, natives of pegu, and still entertained a deep hatred for the burmese, because of the long oppression that they had suffered at their hands. throughout the rest of tenasserim, however; and indeed, throughout the whole country traversed by the troops later on, the inhabitants appeared to have entirely forgotten their ancient nationality, and the conquest of their country by the burmans; and to have become completely absorbed by them. throughout the whole time that we occupied martaban, the people gave no trouble whatever and, indeed, offered to raise a force for service with us, if we wished it. at the end of october the rain ceased--to the intense delight of the troops--and the cold season set in. november was, however, an exceptionally deadly month--the occasional days of fine weather drawing up the exhalations from the swamps--and the number of deaths was greater than they had been at any previous time. there was, too, no prospect of a forward movement, at present. the expedition had come unprovided with boats or other means of transport, making sure that an abundant supply would be obtained, in a country where the whole trade was carried on by the rivers. the promptness with which the native authorities had, on the first appearance of the fleet, sent every boat away, had disappointed this anticipation and, although the opening of some of the other rivers had enabled the local fishermen to bring their boats to rangoon, where fish were eagerly purchased, the british troops were still, up to the end of november, without the means of sending a hundred men up the river, save in the boats of the fleet. the indian authorities--believing that, when the burmese found themselves impotent to turn us out of rangoon, the court of ava would be glad to negotiate--had not, until the autumn was drawing to a close, thought of making any preparations to supply the army with water carriage. they now, however, began to bestir themselves. five hundred boatmen were sent from chittagong, bringing many boats down with them, and building others at rangoon. transports with draft cattle sailed from bengal, and a considerable reinforcement of troops was on its way to join, at the end of december--for all the natives agreed that no movement could be made, by land, until the end of january. in november, even bandoola's army was obliged to make its approach by water. early in that month it was learned that the burmese general had given orders for the advance, and preparations were at once begun to meet what none doubted would be a very serious attack. the reinforcements had not yet arrived, and the greatly diminished force was far too small for the length of the line that had to be defended. redoubts were therefore thrown up, pagodas and other buildings were fortified; and two complete lines of works constructed, from the great pagoda to the city, one facing east and the other west. the post at kemmendine was strengthened, and was supported by h. m. sloop sophie, a company's cruiser, and a strong division of gunboats. the retention of this post was of great importance, as it barred the river approach to rangoon, and prevented the enemy sending down a huge fleet of war galleys and fire rafts to attack the town, and set fire to the merchant shipping lying off it. in the last week of november, smoke was seen to rise from many points in the forest. many fugitives came in from their villages, and reported that bandoola's army were all on their way down the river; and by the end of the month some sixty thousand men, with a large train of artillery and a body of cavalry, were assembled round our position. of this force, thirty thousand were armed with muskets. they had with them, too, a great number of jingals. these little guns carried ball of from six to twelve ounces, and were mounted on a light carriage, which two men could wheel with ease. the cannon were carried to the scene of action on elephants. the cavalry were seven hundred strong, drawn from the borders of manipur. the rest of the army were armed with swords and spears, and carried implements for stockading and entrenching. the force was accompanied by a number of astrologers; and by the invulnerables--who had, doubtless, satisfactorily explained their failure to capture the pagoda. a great semicircle of light smoke, rising from the trees, showed that the position taken up by bandoola extended from the river above kemmendine to the neighbourhood of rangoon. on the night of the st, the troops at the pagoda heard a loud and continuous stir in the forest. it gradually approached and, by morning, great masses of troops had gathered at the edge of the jungle, within musket shot of the post. the garrison there were drawn up in readiness to repel a sudden rush but, just as the sun rose, a din made by thousands of men engaged in cutting down the trees began, and it was evident that the burmese were going to adopt their usual plan of entrenching themselves behind stockades. during the time that had elapsed between the repulse of the invulnerables and the arrival of bandoola's army, stanley's work was light, and the life dull and monotonous. an hour was spent, every morning, in examining the fugitives who had, by the retreat of the burmese, been enabled to make their way back to the town; and of women who had escaped from the vigilance of the burmese police, and had come in from the villages where they had been held as hostages for their husbands. once or twice a week, he went off with the general to the hospital ship, to inquire into the state of the sick and to pay a visit to the long line of cots along the main and lower deck. almost every day he rode, in spite of the weather, to one or other of the regimental camps; and soon came to know most of the officers of the force. his previous experience on the rivers had done much to acclimatise him, and his health continued good. on the evening of the th he had, at the general's order, ridden up to the pagoda. it was considered likely that the attack would be delivered there in the first place and, at three o'clock in the morning, when it became evident that a large body of men were approaching through the forest, he galloped back to rangoon with the news and, at five, rode out again with sir a. campbell. among the garrison there was much disappointment when the sound of wood chopping announced that the burmese did not intend to attack; but the general, who had been watching the edge of the jungle through his glasses, lowered them and put them into their case with an expression of satisfaction. "i don't want them to attack, colonel," he said. "if they do, and we beat them off, we are no nearer the end than before. that sort of thing might be carried on for months; as long, in fact, as there remains a man to bring up. what we want is to inflict such a heavy blow upon them, that even the court at ava may become convinced that they cannot hope to drive us out of rangoon; in which case they may consent to negotiate, and we may bring the war to an end. "heaven knows that we have suffered enough loss, at present; and i don't want to have to undertake such a difficult operation as an advance against ava. i am glad to see that they have begun to construct stockades. i do not intend to interfere until they have completely finished their work, and gained sufficient confidence to make a general attack on us. then we shall be able to give them a heavy lesson. "ah, there they are, at work!" as he spoke, a roar of musketry and artillery broke out suddenly from kemmendine, and all eyes were turned in that direction. the spot was two miles distant, but the forest shut out, alike, the view of the river and of the works held by us. the exact position, however, was indicated by the masts of the two war vessels, rising above the trees. soon great wreaths of heavy white smoke rose above the forest, in and around kemmendine, shutting out all view. the fire continued without abatement, and it was evident that the attack was a hot and determined one. confident as all felt that the little fort would be able to defend itself successfully, the great smoke clouds were watched with some feeling of anxiety; for the garrison was, after all, but a handful. in momentary intervals of the firing, the yells and shouts of the natives could be distinctly heard and, once or twice, after a heavy broadside from the ships of war, the cheers of the british sailors could be plainly recognized. after two hours' fighting the din gradually ceased. the clouds of smoke rolled away, and the masts of the ships became visible, and the garrison of the pagoda raised three hearty cheers, to tell the defenders that their successful defence had been watched and welcomed. presently some heavy columns of the enemy issued from the forest, on the other side of the river; and marched across the plain to dalla, which faced rangoon. they moved with great regularity and order, led by their chiefs on horseback, their gilded umbrellas glittering in the rays of the sun. on reaching the bank of the river opposite rangoon, they began entrenching themselves and throwing up stockades and batteries; with the evident intention of opening fire on the shipping. soon afterwards large bodies of men issued from the forest facing the pagoda and, marching along a slight ridge, that extended from that point to the creek below rangoon, took up their position there, and began entrenching themselves all along the line. thus the british position was now completely surrounded; there was, however, no doubt that the main body of the enemy was still facing the pagoda. "we must see what they are doing," the general said. "this is too important a point for us to allow them to erect a strongly fortified position, close at hand." accordingly, tollemache was sent down with an order to the th madras infantry--supported by a detachment of the th regiment, under major sale--to advance against the enemy in the jungle. the movements of this force were eagerly watched from the terrace of the pagoda. at a rapid pace they crossed the intervening ground, and a rattle of musketry broke out from the jungle as they approached. the british made no response; but charged, with a cheer, and were soon lost to sight in the trees. their regular volleys could be heard, at short intervals, above the scattered rattle of the burmese musketeers; and their cheers frequently rose, loud and triumphant. in half an hour the red line emerged again from the jungle, having destroyed the stockades the burmese had erected; captured several guns, a quantity of muskets, and entrenching tools thrown away by the burmese; and killed a large number of the enemy. during the day the enemy made repeated efforts to send fire rafts down the river from above kemmendine. these rafts were constructed of bamboos, upon which were placed great numbers of earthenware pots, filled with petroleum. these rafts were skilfully constructed, and made in sections so that, when they drifted against an anchor chain, they would divide--those on each side swinging round, so as to envelop the ship on both sides with fire. the sailors from the sloops and gunboats rowed up to meet the rafts and, although a heavy fire was kept up by the enemy, from the jungles lining the banks, they succeeded in towing most of them safely to shore; while the rest grounded on a projecting spit, off kemmendine. so diligently did the burmese work at all points throughout the day that, by the afternoon, their whole line of circumvallation was covered with earthworks; behind which they lay, entirely hidden from sight. "if they could fight as well as they dig, and build stockades," sir a. campbell remarked, "they would be one of the most formidable enemies in the world. no european army ever accomplished the work of entrenching themselves so speedily as they have done. their arrangements have been admirable. everything has been done without confusion, and each body has taken up the position allotted to it; as is evident by the fact that there is no gap in their lines. "as to bandoola's tactics, i cannot say so much for them. in the first place, he has divided his force into two parts, separated by a river, and incapable of helping each other. in the next place, great as are his numbers, his lines are far too extended. "well, we will let them go on for a time; and then show them the mistake that they have committed." major sale's reports of the entrenchments were that they consisted of a long line of holes, each capable of containing two men. the earth was dug out on one side so as to form a sort of cave. in this was a bed of straw or brushwood, on which one man could sleep, while the other watched. each hole contained a sufficient supply of rice, water, and even fuel for its inmates. one line of these holes had been completed, and another was being dug a short distance in advance. the burmese do not relieve their men in the trenches. those who occupy the line first made remain there. fresh men dig and occupy the next line, and so the advance is continued, until close to the work to be attacked. the system has the great advantage that a shell falling into one of these holes only kills its two occupants; instead of destroying many, as it might do if it fell in a continuous trench. in the afternoon the general returned to rangoon, leaving stanley at the pagoda, with orders to ride down should there be any change of importance. in the evening a considerable force of burmese issued from the jungle, and prepared to entrench themselves near the northeast angle of the pagoda hill. major piper therefore took two companies of the th and, descending the hill, drove the burmese, in confusion, back to the jungle. in the morning it was found that the enemy had entrenched themselves upon some high and open ground, within musket shot of the north gate of the pagoda. it was separated from the gate by a large tank; but as their jingals and musketry were able, from the point they occupied, to sweep the plateau and the huts occupied by the troops, a party of the th and the th madras infantry went out, and drove them off. as soon, however, as our troops fell back the burmese reoccupied the position and, for the next few days, a constant skirmishing went on at this point; while an artillery fire was maintained, by the assailants and defenders, along the whole line down to rangoon, and the enemy's batteries at dalla kept up an incessant fire on the shipping. kemmendine was attacked time after time, and many attempts made to launch fire rafts down the river. the work was very harassing for the troops. night and day they were expecting an attack in force; and there was a general feeling of delight when, on the evening of the th, orders were issued for a general movement against the enemy. the latter had, by this time, brought the greater portion of their guns up from the jungle, and placed them in their entrenchments; and it was therefore in the power of the british to strike a heavy blow. a division of the flotilla of gunboats was ordered up the creek by the town. these opened a heavy fire upon the enemy's flank, thus attracting their attention to that point and, after the cannonade had continued for some little time, the two columns of attack--the one eight hundred strong, under major sale; the other five hundred, under major walker of the madras army--issued out. the latter was to attack the enemy facing the town, the former to force his way through the centre of their position. he had with him a troop of horse, that had landed only the previous day. major walker's force was the first to encounter the enemy. their resistance was, for a time, obstinate. major walker and several other officers fell, in the attack on the first line of entrenchments; but the soldiers carried it at the point of the bayonet and, as the enemy broke and retreated, followed them so hotly that the works in the rear fell into their hands with but slight opposition. major sale's column now began its attack on the enemy's centre. here the resistance was more feeble and, bursting through the enemy's lines, the british drove them before them in headlong flight. then, turning, they swept along the line of entrenchments; carrying all before them until they effected a junction with the other column, which was advancing to meet them. they then drove the burmese from every part of their works into the jungle, leaving the ground behind them covered with dead and wounded. except at the point first attacked by major walker, the resistance of the burmese was very feeble, and the british loss inconsiderable; and a large number of guns, entrenching tools, and muskets fell into the hands of the victors. the next day bandoola rallied the troops that had been driven from the plain, and gathered the greatest part of his force in the forest round the pagoda, where they continued to push forward their works with unabated energy. the british had a day of rest given them and, on the th, prepared to attack the enemy at this point. four columns of attack were formed, composed of detachments drawn from all the corps of the army. in the morning a heavy cannonade was opened upon the jungle; the artillery being assisted by several heavy guns which had, with great labour, been brought up by the sailors from the ships to the pagoda. the enemy returned it with a steady fire of light artillery, jingals, and musketry. while the firing was still going on, the four columns were already in motion. one had entered the jungle on the enemy's left, and another on the right. one of the central columns advanced from the foot of the pagoda hill, while the th regiment descended the stairs from the north gate and advanced, one wing on each side of the tank, against the enemy's entrenchments on the high ground. as the four columns approached the enemy, our artillery fire ceased. the burmese appeared, for a moment, bewildered at the sight of their foes advancing against them from so many directions, but they soon opened a very heavy fire upon the assailants; and kept it up with undiminished steadiness until our troops, advancing at the charge, dashed into their entrenchments and drove them headlong before them into the thick forest behind--where pursuit, which would at any time have been difficult, was now impossible; the troops, exhausted by their seven days' and nights' watching, being wholly incapable of following their active and lightly-armed enemies. there now remained but the force at dalla to cope with and, in the evening, a force composed of the th and rd madras infantry, under colonel parlby, embarked in boats. the night was dark, and the troops crossed unobserved. the alarm was not given until the british actually entered the entrenchments, and opened fire upon the enemy; who were sitting, unsuspicious of danger, round their fires. scarcely any opposition was encountered, and the whole of the works, with the guns and the stores, were soon in our hands; while the enemy were flying towards the forest. in the actions during these three days, the burmese lost some men, pieces of artillery of every kind, and a great number of muskets and vast supplies of ammunition; while the british had but killed and wounded. great numbers of bandoola's men never rejoined the army, and the whole force was dispersed through the country. bandoola himself was retiring towards donabew, with but a remnant of his army, when he met considerable reinforcements on their way to join him. during his operations he had left a reserve corps at the village of kokein, four miles from the pagoda; and these had been busily entrenching the position, which commanded the road leading from rangoon to donabew. the ground was elevated and, on his arrival there, bandoola set his troops--now some , in number--to aid in the work. in a marvellously short time the heights were completely stockaded with trunks of trees; and with a broad, deep ditch in front. beyond this were lines of felled trees, their heads pointing outwards and each branch sharpened--forming a very formidable abattis--and, believing this to be impregnable, bandoola awaited the attack of the british. as soon as his army had been dispersed, great numbers of deserters, and of the inhabitants of the villages, poured into rangoon. with the deserters were mingled a good many of the troops sent in by bandoola, himself, with instructions to fire the town. in order to lull the suspicions of the british, he caused a report to be spread that an imperial commissioner from the court of ava would arrive, in the course of a few days, to treat for terms of peace. the general, however, determined to attack bandoola before the commissioner could arrive; as it was evident that better terms could be obtained, after the total dispersion of the burmese, than if their famous general remained, with , men, in a formidable position close at hand. he was uneasy at the presence of so large a number of natives in the town, and the precautions that had been taken against fire, some time before, were now redoubled. were one to break out, not only might the whole of the stores collected for the advance of the army be destroyed but, if bandoola had his force gathered in readiness at the edge of the jungle, he might take advantage of the confusion that would be caused by the fire, and rush forward to the attack of the town. numbers of troops, and of sailors from the fleet, patrolled the streets in every direction at night but, in spite of their efforts, a week after the retreat of bandoola the dreaded cry of fire was raised. at a dozen points, on the windward side of the town, fires had been lighted by incendiaries and, as there was a brisk wind blowing, the danger was extreme. the drums beat to arms along the whole of the british lines. orders had already been issued as to what was to be done in such an emergency and, while a portion of the troops lined the trenches, the rest were marched at once to the town, and formed up between it and the jungle, to repel any attack that might be made there; leaving the troops quartered in the town, and the sailors of the fleet to battle with the flames. for a time it seemed as if the whole place would be swept away but, by levelling lines of huts, and beating out the flames at the barrier so formed, their progress was at length checked; but not until more than half the town had been destroyed. fortunately this was the half farthest from the river and--with the exception of the commissariat stores for the supply of the troops of the madras presidency--the buildings containing the food, ammunition, and necessaries for the army escaped unharmed. what had happened once might, however, happen again, in spite of all precautions. the general therefore determined to attack bandoola at once as, were his force once scattered, the motive for these incendiary fires would cease to operate. the difficulties were formidable. one or two light field pieces could, at the most, be taken with the column. they would have to march by a narrow and winding footpath, through a thick forest, exposed at any moment to a desperate attack by the enemy. moreover, it would be necessary to leave a strong force for the defence of rangoon, as bandoola would be sure to learn, from his spies, of the intended movement and, having with him men intimately acquainted with every forest track, could make a rush down upon the town during the absence of so many of its defenders. the general felt it imperative, however, to attack without delay and, early on the morning of the th, he moved out with a force of men against kokein. they marched without molestation through the forest and, on reaching its confines, could see the truly formidable nature of the works that they were to attack. the moment they issued from the forest, a dropping fire was opened upon them by parties of the enemy, in flank and rear; and no time was lost in preparing for the assault. the th light infantry and the th madras, with cavalry, under brigadier general cotton, were ordered to move round the stockade and assault it on the left rear; while the rest of the troops, some strong, with cavalry under the general himself, were to attack in front. the enemy's works consisted of a central entrenchment, connected with two large entrenched stockades on its flank, but somewhat advanced in front of it. as soon as the force under general cotton had gained its position in the rear of the enemy, a gun was fired, and the whole force moved forward to the assault.. the burmans regarded the attack by so insignificant a force upon their works with such contempt that they did not, for some time, fire a shot; but continued chanting a war song, swaying themselves to its cadence, stamping and beating time with their hands on their breasts. this delay proved fatal to them. when they opened fire, their assailants were already close to the ditch and, leaping down into this, were sheltered from the fire of the defenders. scaling ladders were speedily placed and the troops, running up them, leaped down into the entrenchment. astounded at this sudden entry into the works they had deemed impregnable, the burmese hesitated; and the assailants, being joined by their comrades from behind, rushed impetuously upon the enemy. the column in the rear had greater difficulty--for they had several strong stockades to carry before they reached the central work--and lost four officers and eight men killed, and forty-nine officers and men wounded, in the th regiment alone. fifteen minutes after the first shot was fired, the whole of the works were in our possession and the burmese, who gathered in a confused mass, had been decimated by our volleys. they were now in full flight, many being cut down by the cavalry before they reached the shelter of the woods. the british troops marched back to rangoon; while the burmese retreated to donabew, leaving strong posts on the two rivers leading in that direction. their retirement left it free to the country people to return to rangoon, and very large numbers came in, including very many of the villagers who had been forced to fight against us. all had alike suffered from famine and hardship. even the women had been compelled to labour in the work of stockading, and the sufferings of all had been terrible. the work of rebuilding the town began at once, and the wooden huts sprang up with great rapidity; markets were opened and, in a short time, supplies of fish, fruit, game, and vegetables poured in; sufficient not only for the native population, but to effect a most welcome change in the diet of the troops. as most of the natives were accustomed to the construction and management of boats, the work of preparing the flotilla by which the troops were to proceed up the rivers went on rapidly; and numbers of men were hired as servants and drivers for the commissariat--with which the force was very insufficiently supplied, as the natives of india of that class for the most part refused, on account of their caste prejudices, to engage themselves for service across the sea. reinforcements arrived; and rangoon, which but six weeks before presented a miserable and deserted appearance was, towards the beginning of january, a cheerful and bustling town. preparations were being made in other quarters to assume the offensive. some men were driving the burmese out of assam; and a force strong was marching from sylhet, to expel them from cachar and capture manipur; while , men were assembled at chittagong, and were advancing into aracan with the intention of driving the burmese from that province--and they meant, if possible, to cross the mountains and effect a junction with sir archibald campbell's force. the first part of the operations were conducted with complete success, and aracan wrested from burma; but it was found impossible to perform the terrible journey across mountain and swamp, or to afford any aid to the main expedition. chapter : the advance. but while the preparations for the advance were being made, the general's aides-de-camp had been kept at work from morning until night. there were constant communications between the military and naval authorities, for the expedition was to be a mixed one. transports were daily arriving with troops and stores; innumerable matters connected with the organization, both of the land and water transport, required to be arranged; and the general himself was indefatigable in superintending every detail of the work. it had been settled that the advance could not take place until the second week in february, as the roads would be impassable until that time, and the th was fixed for the commencement of operations. upon the day after his arrival at rangoon, stanley had written a letter to his uncle; giving him a brief account of his adventures, and stating that he had been appointed one of the general's aides-de-camp. he said that he should, of course, be guided by his uncle's wishes; but that now that he had entered on the campaign as an officer, he should certainly like to remain till the end, when he would at once resign his commission and rejoin him. he sent this to his uncle's agent at calcutta, but received no answer until the end of december. after expressing his delight at hearing that stanley had not, as he had supposed, been killed at ramoo, but was now safe and well in the british camp, he went on: "i only received your letter this morning, for i have been moving about from point to point and, owing to the falling off of trade, had no occasion to go to calcutta, until now; and was, indeed, astounded at finding your letter lying for me here, as they had not forwarded it, having no idea where i was, and knowing that the chance of any letter sent on reaching me was extremely small. "by all means, lad, stop where you are. trade is improving again for, now that bandoola's army has marched away from ramoo, the scare among the natives has pretty well subsided. still, i can manage very well without you, and it will certainly be a great advantage to you to serve for a year in the army; and to have been one of campbell's aides-de-camp will be a feather in your cap, and will give you a good position at all the military stations. "i am very glad, now, that i abstained from writing to your mother after the battle at ramoo. i thought it over and over, and concluded that it was just as well to leave the matter alone for a time; not that i had the slightest idea, or even a hope, that you were alive, but because i thought that the cessation of letters from you would, to some extent, prepare her mind for the blow, when it came. it would be very improbable that she would see the gazette, with the list of killed and wounded at ramoo and, even if she did so, she would not associate the death of ensign brooke in any way with you. when we have been trading up country, there have been, once or twice, no means of sending off a letter for a couple of months and, therefore, she could not have begun to feel seriously anxious about you before she received your letter from rangoon. "everyone says that you will not be able to advance until february; so that, no doubt, this letter will reach you long before you leave. i hear the losses have been very heavy, from fever; but i am not anxious about you on that score, for i think that you are thoroughly acclimatised. i am trying to get a contract for the supply of a couple of thousand bullocks, for the use of the army; and as i know all the country so well, from chittagong to sylhet, and can buy below indian prices, i think that i shall not only get the contract, but make a very good thing of it, and it may lead to other matters." after this, stanley was hardly surprised when, in the last week of january, his uncle walked into his quarters. after the first pleasure of meeting was over, stanley said: "i suppose you have got the contract, uncle?" "i have, lad. i have come down from ramgur with six dhows, packed full. i have brought a thousand head down and, directly i land them, am going back for the remainder; which will be ready for me by the time i get there. "i have got hold of an uncommonly good fellow. he was established as a small trader at chittagong. his business was ruined there, and he was glad to accept my offer of a berth; and he has turned out a very energetic and pushing fellow. he will come down with the next consignment. "i myself am going to work my way up along the edge of the tipperah forest; and shall pick up another thousand head, by the time that i get to the goomtee, and shall send them by water up to sylhet; and then go up by land, picking up more on the way. i have a contract for five thousand to be sent in, a thousand a month, for the force that is to move against manipur; while johnson is to send another two thousand down here. so you see, for the present the store business can wait. it is a good line that i have got into. i shall make a big profit out of it, and have hopes that it will be, to some extent, permanent; for i can get the cattle so cheap in the interior, on the rivers we know, that i can ship them to calcutta at lower terms than they can buy them in india; and i was as much as told that, if i carried out my present contracts satisfactorily, i should get the supply of the troops there. of course, that would not be a very great thing of itself but, as i could work it without trouble in connection with my own business, it would make a handsome addition to the profits." "but how about money, uncle?" "that is all right, lad. i had no difficulty, whatever, in getting an advance at calcutta, on the strength of my contract and upon the guarantee of my agents; so that i am all right, in that respect." "i asked, uncle, because i can let you have eighteen hundred pounds, if you want them." tom pearson looked at him in astonishment. "why, what on earth have you been doing--robbing the treasury of the king of ava?" "no, uncle. i had a bag of gems given me, by some burmese bandits. when i got down here, i took a few of them to a merchant. he advanced fifteen hundred rupees on them, and sent them to burragee, the jeweller at madras and, six weeks afterwards, he paid me another three thousand five hundred. i sent up another batch and, last week, i got an order from the jewellers for fifteen hundred pounds; so that i have more than eighteen hundred in hand now, and i don't think that i have sent more than a third of the gems away." "well, that is a piece of luck, stanley! why on earth did the brigands give you the gems?" "well, uncle, they are things that, from what they told me, there is great difficulty and risk in trying to dispose of. they are a royal monopoly, and nobody dare buy them or, if they do, will give next to nothing for them; because of the risk of the transaction, and because they know that the vendors are in a fix, and must sell. besides, there is a strong chance of their handing over anyone who offers such things to the authorities. that was one reason why they gave them to me. then, too, they had made a good haul of merchandise which was, to them, a great deal more valuable, as there was no difficulty in disposing of it. lastly, they had taken a fancy to me, because i saved one of their comrade's lives--the man who showed you up here." "well, lad, you shall tell me all about it, this evening. i must be going down to the commissariat yard, to arrange the landing of my beasts. i came straight to see you, directly i landed. we dropped anchor here at daybreak." "i will go with you, uncle. i will run in and see the chief, first, and get leave off for the day. i have earned a holiday, for i have been at work pretty well morning, noon, and night for the last two months. you see, i have not only the duties of aide-de-camp, but of interpreter; and have helped both the quartermaster's department and the commissariat in making their arrangements with the natives. i daresay i shall be able to help to hurry your business on, quicker than you would be able to get it done, alone." the general at once granted stanley leave, and he went with his uncle down to the commissariat office, and introduced him to the senior officer. "we shall be glad to do all in our power to help you, mr. pearson," the officer said. "we have been expecting your arrival for the last week. of course, we heard from calcutta that you had the contract for two thousand head; at least half of these were to be delivered by the tenth of february. we were getting rather anxious about it. the force will probably want to start, before that time; and we shall have to victual both the land and water columns. of course, i did not know that you were a relation of mr. brooke, or i should have mentioned to him that you were likely to come." "i should like to get off as soon as possible," tom pearson said; "for by the time that i get back to ramgur, the rest of the cattle will be in readiness for me." "i will write you an order for four large boats, at once. if you had come three weeks sooner, you might have been kept waiting some days; but such a number of native craft have, of late, come down the rivers that we are enabled to get sufficient for our work." the officer gave him a note to the one in charge of the landing arrangements. "it is lucky that you have come just at this moment," the latter said. "we have just made our last trip with the baggage of the th, and i have six boats disengaged. you may as well take them all." the craft in question were some of those that had been captured--unwieldy craft, that took fish and salt up the river. they were almost as large as the dhows in which the cattle had been brought down, but drew very much less water. they were towed off to the dhows, one by one, by two captured war canoes, each having thirty rowers. one was taken to each dhow, and the work of transhipping the cattle began at once. these were in good condition for, although closely packed, they had been well supplied with food and water on the way down; and a herdsman with four men under him had been sent, in each boat, to take care of them, as tom pearson was very anxious that his first consignment should be reported upon favourably. the animals were all landed in the course of the afternoon and, with the acknowledgment of their receipt, in excellent order, in his pocket, the contractor went off again, with stanley, to his own dhow. "i have told them to have everything in readiness to drop down the river with the tide, tomorrow morning. it will turn just about sunrise. that is a rare bit of business, stanley; and i doubt if a contractor ever got his work through so quickly, before. of course, it is principally due to you. they would never have pushed things through so quickly, had you not gone with me. i thought that very likely i might be detained here a week, before i could get all the cattle on shore--and by that time, if all goes well, i shall be at ramgur again. "now we can have a comfortable evening's talk, which is very much better than my going to dine with you at mess; for there is a great deal to hear about, and i daresay that i can give you as good a dinner as we should have had, on shore." "a good deal better," stanley said. "things have improved immensely, during the last month; still our mess cook is certainly not so good as your man and, at any rate, the quiet of your cabin makes a very pleasant change, after always sitting down with a large party." after dinner was over, stanley gave a full account of his adventures, from the time that he was taken prisoner. "you have done wonderfully well for yourself, lad; wonderfully well. certainly when you picked up burmese from my man, we had no idea that it was ever likely to turn out so useful. i thought that it would have been an assistance among the mugs on the coast; and i had, too, some idea that the war might lead to the opening of a trade up the irrawaddy; but it has turned out infinitely more useful than that. if you could not have spoken burmese, bandoola would never have thought of asking for you to be spared as an interpreter and, if he had not done so, you would have had your head chopped off, at ava. "of course that leopard business was the turning point of your fortunes but, though it has turned out so well, i must say that i hardly think that you were justified in risking your life in such a desperate act for a native; who might, for aught you know, be already dead. of course, it was a most gallant action; but the betting was ten to one against your succeeding. however, as it turned out, it was a fortunate business, altogether. i don't say that you might not have made your way down to rangoon, unaided; but the odds would have been very heavily against it. however, these rubies were a windfall, indeed." "will you take the rest of them, uncle, and sell them at calcutta--or shall i send them to madras, or home to england?" "i will take them with me to calcutta, if you like, stanley. i don't say that there are better men there than the one you sent to, at madras; but i think some of them do a larger business up-country with the native princes, who don't care what they give for good gems. at any rate, i will take them there and get them valued by an expert; and then try two or three of the leading firms, and get their offers. if these are as high as the value put on them by the expert, i would send them to england, through my agents, who would do the best they could for you." "for us, uncle. of course, it is all in the partnership business. you have just got some contracts that will pay well and, while you have been doing that, i have been getting hold of these rubies." "i don't think that that is fair, stanley," his uncle said, gravely. "it seems to me perfectly fair; and besides, the money put into the business will make a lot of difference, and will certainly pay me a great deal better than it would in any other way. i sent home pounds for my mother, directly the money came from calcutta; and told her that i hoped to be able to send home at least as much, every year." "a good deal more, lad, if you like. i calculate these contracts that i have got will bring in a pound a head so that, by the time that the war is over, i hope to have cleared pounds, which will be about what you will make by your rubies; and when trade begins again, we shall be in a position to do it on a big scale. but i still think that it will not be fair to take that money." "well, uncle, if you won't take it, i certainly won't have anything to do with the money that you make, while i am away; so please don't let us say anything more about it. shall i give you that eighteen hundred now; or will you have an order upon the paymaster, in calcutta?" "that would be the best way, if you will have it so, lad. i have left money with johnson, at ramgur, for the next herd that is to come down here; and have orders from my agent on their agents, at dalla, for those that i am going to buy for the manipur column. so i don't want the money now and, suppose the dhow were to be lost going up, the cash might go with it. so, do you get the order. you had better send it straight to bothron; and tell him to collect it, and credit it to my account. "how long do you think that this business is going to last?" "it depends how far we have to go before the burmese decide that they have had enough of it. at present, the general hope is that, as soon as we arrive at prome, they will give in. if they don't we may have to go up to ava and, in that case, we may not finish it until this time next year; for i suppose operations will have to come to a stop, when the wet season begins again, and we could hardly reach ava before that." "i expect, some day, we shall have to take the whole country, stanley. you may frighten the court into submission, when you approach the capital; but i fancy they will never keep to the terms that we shall insist upon, and that there will have to be another expedition. that is generally our way--it was so at mysore, it has been so in a dozen other places. when we have done all the work, and have got them at our mercy, we give them comparatively easy terms. as soon as they recover from the effects of their defeat, they set to work again to prepare for another tussle; and then we have all the expense and loss of life to incur, again, and then end by annexing their territory, which we might just as well have done in the first place. it may be all very well to be lenient, when one is dealing with a european enemy; but magnanimity does not pay when you have to do with orientals, who don't care a rap for treaty engagements, and who always regard concessions as being simply a proof of weakness. "there would not be half the difficulty in annexing burma that there would be, in the case of a large province in india; for all the towns, and most even of their villages, lie on rivers, and a couple of dozen gunboats would suffice to keep the whole country in order. you will see that that is what we shall have to do, some day; but it will cost us two or three expeditions to do what might just as well be done, now." "well, uncle, it is nearly twelve o'clock and, as i shall be on duty at six, i think i had better be going. i wish that you could have stayed for another two or three days, and paid a visit to the pagoda and camps. i am very glad that i have had a sight of you again, though it's a very short one." "i should be glad to stay another day or two, stanley; but it is really of importance for me to get down to ramgur, as soon as i can, and send johnson off with the cattle; for i want to set about buying the herds for the other column, as quickly as possible. i think i have left myself a fair margin of time, but there is nothing like promptitude in delivery, and i want to get a good name, for future business; and if this affair here is going to last another twelve-month, regular supplies must be sent up for, as beef is forbidden by the burmese religion, they keep no cattle except for draught purposes, and the army must get their bullocks by sea." five minutes later stanley was rowed ashore. the next morning he accompanied the general, and went down to inspect the newly-arrived cattle. "they are a capital lot," he said to stanley, "decidedly the best that we have had, yet. you see, it is a good deal shorter voyage, from ramgur, than from either calcutta or madras; and the animals probably had a much shorter land journey before they were shipped. then, too, as your uncle came down himself they were, no doubt, much better looked after than usual on the voyage. however, i will take care to mention, when i write next to calcutta, that the cattle are far above the average; and i shall be glad if they will arrange for such further supplies as we may require from the same source." "thank you, sir; that will be a great help to my uncle. hitherto he has had very uphill work of it; though he was beginning to get on very well, when the war put a stop to trade. he knows the whole country so thoroughly that he can certainly buy up cattle at many places where no european trader, save himself, has ever penetrated." "no doubt, brooke; and i hope, for your sake, that he will succeed well in this contracting business. he has certainly made an excellent start and, as he is first in the field in the country between assam and ramgur, he ought to make a good thing of this opportunity that has fallen in his way. i know that it takes a long time to build up a business but, when the foundation is laid, and a man is quick in taking advantage of an opportunity, he can do as much in a year as he might do in twenty, without it. "now, i am going over to the lines of the th, to see how they have shaken down into them." this regiment had brought out tents for, as every building was already occupied, it was necessary that they should be put under canvas. the general found that everything was arranged in order, and the encampment certainly presented a pleasing contrast to the irregular, and often crowded quarters of the troops who had passed the wet season there. the colonel and three of his officers dined with the general, that evening; the party being made up of the military staff, including the two aides-de-camp. two days later stanley, with some of the other members of the staff, dined at the th mess. stanley was introduced to several of the officers; and these were specially desirous of making his acquaintance, as they had learned that he had been a prisoner at ava, and could therefore tell them much more than they had hitherto learned of the country into which they were about to advance. among them was a young lieutenant, also of the name of brooke. stanley had, three weeks before, attained the same rank. at the time that he was appointed to the rd, there were already several death vacancies in the regiment, and disease and fighting had carried off six more officers. the whole of the ensigns had consequently obtained their step. at dinner he found himself placed next to his namesake. "it is curious, our having the same name," the other remarked, as he sat down. "it is not a very common one." "no, i have not met anyone of the same name, before," stanley said. "indeed, until the affair at ramoo i was nearly three years trading with an uncle of mine, up the rivers; and was not much in the way of falling in with white men. but, before that, i had been with my father in a good many stations in india; but i do not, as far as i can remember, recollect meeting anyone of the same name." "then your father was in the service, too?" "yes. he was a captain in the th native infantry." "indeed," the other said in surprise, "then we are connections. but i had no idea that captain brooke was ever married." "he was married just after he came out to india," stanley said; "so it is likely enough that you would never have heard of it. he died three years ago, and my mother and sisters are now in england. what is the connection between us? i have never heard my father speak much of his family." "your father was a cousin of mine--second cousin, i think. i fancy there was some row between your grandfather and the rest of the family. i don't know anything about the right or wrongs of it; for it was, of course, many years before we were born; and i never heard of your father's existence, until a fortnight before i left england. then there were some inquiries made about the family, owing to various deaths that took place in it. do you know that your father was related--distantly of course--to the earl of netherly?" "i do remember his mentioning it, once. i know he said that it was a distant connection; and that he knew nothing, whatever, about the earl or his family." "well, curiously enough, it is not so distant, now," the other said. "i was a pretty distant connection of his. he was childless; and the family, generally, don't seem to have been prolific. a good many of them died; and the result was that, the year before i left england, an uncle of mine succeeded to the title. he has no son, and my father was his next brother. my father died, two years ago; and the result is that, to my astonishment, i found that i was next heir to the title. they wanted me to leave the army, when my regiment was ordered out to india; but of course i was not going to do that, for my aunt may die, and my uncle marry again and have children. besides, i was not going to leave, anyhow, just as the regiment was ordered abroad, and might see service. "however, there was a great hunting by the lawyers in the genealogical tree; and i know it was decided that, in case anything happened to me, your father would have been the next heir, had he been alive. i don't know whether any further inquiries were made, or whether they ever ascertained that he had married. i don't suppose there were for, of course, as long as i live the matter is of no importance. "so that, as things stand now, if a burmese bullet puts an end to my career, you are the next heir to the title." "you surprise me, indeed," stanley said. "from the way my father spoke of the matter, i am sure that he had not the slightest idea there was any likelihood, whatever, that he would have any chance of succeeding to the title." "that i can well imagine, for it was not until a few years ago, when the deaths of several who stood between him and the succession occurred, that my uncle regarded his coming into it as a matter worth thinking about; and of course all our family stood between it and your father. however, as you see we have dwindled away and, if i do not get safely through this business, you are the next heir." "it is curious news to hear, at a dinner in burma," stanley said, thoughtfully. "at any rate, i can assure you honestly that the news gives me no particular satisfaction. i suppose it would be a nice thing, to come in for a peerage; but my prospects out here are good. i have no intention of staying in the army, after the end of the war; and am really in partnership with my uncle, with whom i have been for the last three years in business, which is turning out very well. i like the life, and have every chance of making enough to retire on, with ample means. certainly, i should not like to come into the title by the death of anyone that i knew." "that is the fortune of war," the other said, smiling. "we get our steps by death vacancies. we are sorry for the deaths, but the steps are not unwelcome. "by the way, my name is harry. i know that yours is stanley. i vote that we call each other by them. we are cousins, you know, and i suppose that as you are my heir, you must be my nearest male relation, at present; so i vote that we call each other by our christian names, instead of brookeing each other, always." "i shall be very glad to do so," stanley said, cordially. "i hope that we shall be close friends, as well as distant relations." then, as there was a momentary lull in the conversation, harry raised his voice and said to the colonel: "a very curious thing has just happened, colonel. brooke and myself have just discovered that we are cousins and, what is still more curious, that if anything happens to me, he takes my place as next heir to my uncle, a fact of which he was entirely ignorant." "that is certainly a very curious coincidence, brooke; very singular. then you have not met before?" "i did not even know of his existence, colonel; and had, indeed, no idea that captain brooke, his father, had been married. the cousinship is a distant one; but there is no question, whatever, as to his being next in succession to myself to the peerage." the discovery excited general interest; and quite turned the conversation, for the time, from the subject of the war and of their approaching advance. after dinner was finished, many of the officers gathered round stanley, asking him questions about the nature of the country, and his experiences as a captive in the hands of the burmese. presently colonel adair, who had also dined at the mess, joined the group. "i suppose, mr. brooke," he said, "your newly-found cousin has told you about his adventure with the leopard?" "no, colonel, he has not said anything about a leopard." "he is grievously afflicted with modesty," the colonel went on; "and so i will tell it for him, for i think you ought to know that he is not only able to speak half a dozen languages, but that he is capable of doing deeds of exceptional gallantry. "you can go and chat with the colonel, brooke. he is anxious to hear your report as to the country, and i will be your trumpeter here." stanley gladly moved away, and entered into conversation with the colonel of the th; while colonel adair related his adventures with the leopard to his cousin, and the officers standing round. "by jove, that was a plucky thing!" harry brooke said, admiringly. "it was, indeed!" the colonel agreed, as similar exclamations went round the circle. "i don't think one man in a hundred would have attacked a leopard with no weapon but a knife, except to save the life of a comrade; even then, it would be a most desperate action. i have done a good deal of big-game shooting, in india; but i am certain that nothing but a strong affection, for a comrade in the grasp of a leopard, would induce me to risk almost certain death in the way your cousin did. we should never have heard of it, if we had not got the details from the man he saved, and who has since attached himself to him as a servant; and is the man who, as i daresay he did tell you, served as his companion and guide in making his way down here. at any rate you see, brooke, your cousin is an uncommonly fine young fellow, and you have reason to be proud of the relationship." "i feel so, colonel; and it is really a pleasure to know that, if one does go down, a thoroughly good fellow will benefit by it, instead of some unknown person who might be a very objectionable representative of the family." for the next three or four days, the bustle of preparations went on and, on the fifth, a detachment was sent up, with a sloop and gunboats, to attack an advanced position of the enemy on the lyne river. although the burmese, who were posted in a strong stockade, were supported by thirty-six guns; the works were carried by storm, with little loss. the two branches of the pellang (or rangoon) river, by which the force were to advance against donabew were, on the following day, reconnoitred for some distance. a number of fire rafts were destroyed, but the burmese were too disheartened to offer any resistance. to the disappointment of the troops, the general was able to take with him only a limited force; for the difficulties of carriage were enormous and, as experience had shown that the country was likely to be deserted, and devastated, on their approach; it was, therefore, impossible for the bulk of the army to be taken on, by land. there were other points, however, where the troops left behind could be profitably employed. the capture of the important town of bassein, on the main branch of the irrawaddy, would open the river to the passage of our ships, and put an entire stop to the trade of ava. the force told off for the advance against donabew was divided into two columns. the first, strong--consisting of the th, st, and th regiments, three native battalions, the troop of bodyguard; a battery of bengal horse artillery, and part of the rocket company--was to march by land. the second column, which was to proceed by water, was strong; and it consisted of the th regiment, the th madras europeans, and of the th native infantry; a body of dismounted artillery, and the rest of the rocket company. this force was commanded by brigadier general cotton. it was to be carried in a flotilla of sixty-two boats, each armed with one or two guns; and the boats of all the ships of war at rangoon, under the command of captain alexander, r. n. major sale was, at the same time, to advance against bassein; with men of the th regiment, and the th madras native infantry, with some artillery. after occupying the town, he was to cross the country lying between the two main arms of the irrawaddy, and to join the general's force near donabew. the rest of the force--nearly men, chiefly native regiments and europeans who had not, as yet, recovered sufficient strength to take part in field operations--was to remain at rangoon, under brigadier general m'creigh; who was to form a reserve column, in readiness to move as directed, as soon as sufficient transport was collected. it was to the water force that the capture of donabew was intrusted, as it lay upon the opposite bank of the irrawaddy; while the general's force was directed against tharawa, at the junction of the two main branches of the river. here they were to be joined by general cotton's force, after the capture of donabew; then, unless the court of ava sued for peace, a united advance was to be made on the important town of prome. chapter : donabew. stanley brooke did not accompany the land column, as the general said to him, two days before: "i have been speaking with general cotton, and he said that he should be glad if i would attach you to his staff, until the force unites again. not one of his staff officers speaks burmese and, although he has two or three interpreters with him, it will be better, if bandoola sends in an officer offering to surrender, that he should be met by a british officer. "in the next place, it may be necessary for him to communicate with me and, assuredly, with your experience of the country, you would be able to get through better than anyone else. i do not apprehend that there would be any great danger, for we know that every available fighting man has been impressed, by bandoola; and the passage of our column will completely cow the villagers lying between us and the river. "i suppose," he said, with a smile, "that you have no objection, since it will save you a long and, i have no doubt, a very unpleasant march; and you will also obtain a view of the affairs at the stockades at pellang and donabew." the land column started on the th of february, the water column on the th, and the detachment for bassein sailed on the following day. stanley was delighted at being appointed to accompany the boat column. the march through the country would present no novelty to him, and it was probable that the land column would encounter no serious resistance until, after being joined by general cotton's force, it advanced against prome. his horses went, with those of general cotton and his staff, under charge of the syce and meinik. the one steamboat kept, at the start, in rear of the great flotilla of boats so that, in case of any of them striking on a sandbank, it could at once move to her assistance, and pull her off. the scene was a very bright one as, in all, upwards of a hundred craft, of various sizes, proceeded together. in front were half a dozen gunboats; next to these came the two sloops of war; followed by the rest of the boats, proceeding in irregular order. there was very little stream, for the rivers were now quite low and, although the flat country was still little more than a swamp, the rains in the hills that supplied the main body of water to them had long since ceased. the ships' boats were, of course, rowed by the blue-jackets. the other craft were, for the most part, manned by natives; though the soldiers on board occasionally lent a hand. two days after starting, the boats destroyed three newly-erected stockades, that were found unoccupied; and on the th reached pellang, where three very strong stockades had been erected. a battery was thrown up next day from which, as well as from the steamboat and sloops of war, shells were thrown into the stockade; with such effect that two of the enemy's works were evacuated, as soon as the troops took the offensive, and the main pellang stockade was also abandoned, without resistance. the two smaller works were destroyed, and a portion of the th madras infantry was left here, to maintain communication with rangoon. on the th the flotilla entered the main stream and, the next day, the advance came in sight of donabew. it was another five days before the whole force was in position, for several of the most heavily laden craft stuck fast on the sandbanks at the fork of the river. the next day donabew was summoned to surrender. bandoola, who was at the head of , men, returned a refusal; which was given in courteous terms, differing very widely from the haughty and peremptory language in which all previous communications had been couched. the next day a party of the th landed on the low-lying ground between the main stockade and the river and, in spite of the heavy fire, succeeded in ascertaining the strength and nature of the defences. the main work was in the form of a parallelogram, about a mile long, and stood on ground rising above the general level; and fifty pieces of cannon, of various sizes, were in position on the river face. two outworks, constructed of square beams of timber, with an outer ditch and a thick abbatis, defended the southern face against an attack from an enemy landing below it. it was necessary to leave a strong guard on board the flotilla, lest an attack should be made by war canoes and fire rafts. the general, therefore, had not more than men available for the assault. as the enemy's guns completely commanded the river, it was necessary to land below it; and on the morning of the th the troops were disembarked, with two six-pounder guns and a rocket detachment. forming in two columns, they advanced against the lower of the two covering stockades and, after an exchange of fire with the enemy, rushed forward and forced an entrance into it; although the enemy resisted with more resolution than they had, for some time, shown. prisoners were taken, and the rest of the defenders fled to the second work. two more guns and four mortars were landed and placed in position and, after the stockades had been shelled for a short time, a storming party--under captain rose--advanced to the assault. so heavy a fire was opened upon them that the little column was brought to a standstill, and forced to fall back; with the loss of its commander, and of captain cannon of the th, while most of the seamen with the storming party were either killed or wounded. this want of success, against a mere outwork, showed general cotton that--with the small force at his disposal--it would be worse than useless to renew the attack for, were the outwork carried, the loss would be so great that it would be hopeless to think of attacking bandoola's main position. he therefore determined to abstain from further attack, until reinforced. "now, mr. brooke," he said, as soon as the troops had been taken on board the boats again, "i must bring your services into requisition. this is just the contingency that we thought might possibly occur. i cannot advance up the river until donabew is taken, and i cannot attack the place with the force at my command. therefore i will at once write a despatch to general campbell, for you to carry. you will be accompanied by the two men of the bodyguard, who have come with me as orderlies. i shall have no use for them, here; and three of you, together, need not fear any molestation from the few people remaining in their villages, and may be able to cut your way through any of the bands of deserters, or beaten troops, dispersed over the country." "very well, general. i shall also take my burman, on my second charger. he may be useful in getting news as to roads from the natives; who will, as likely as not, fly into the jungle when they see us approaching. however, there is not much fear of our losing our way, as it will be along the river, as far as tharawa." a boat was at once sent off to the craft carrying the two orderlies and the horses of the staff. as soon as the despatch was written, stanley, after shaking hands with his companions, was also rowed to the horse barge. this was, at a signal of the general, taken in tow by the steamer, and piloted to the opposite bank. a boat, sounding ahead, presently found a spot where there was enough water for the barge to get alongside the bank. the horses were led ashore; and stanley, the two troopers, and meinik mounted. the burmese are poor riders but, during the wet season, stanley had often taken meinik, on his spare horse, when riding about in the camp; partly because he could trust him to look after the horses carefully, and in the second place to accustom him to ride on horseback so as to act, if required, as an orderly. meinik was quite of opinion that there would be no risk, whatever, in passing through villages; but thought it probable that they might fall in with disbanded troops, as it was known that the land column had, soon after starting, captured the fort of mophi; and that its garrison, between two and three thousand strong, had taken to the jungle and dispersed. "still, master," he said, "i don't think it likely that they will attack us. they will be expecting no one, and we shall come upon them by surprise; then they will run into the bushes, thinking that you must have many more troops behind you. no, it is not likely that they will have many guns; they would throw them away when they fled, partly to run faster through the forest, partly because most of them will be making off to the villages, hoping to lie concealed until the war is over; while if they had guns in their hands, it would be known that they were deserters, and they might be seized and sent across the river to bandoola, or up to prome." they rode some fifteen miles before dark, and then took up their quarters in a village. the few old men, women, and children inhabiting it fled, at their approach; but when meinik went to the edge of the jungle, and shouted out loudly that they need not fear, for that no harm would be done to any of them, and good prices would be given for food, two or three returned and, finding the statements to be true, one of them went into the jungle again, and brought the others back. fowls and eggs were brought into the hut that stanley occupied, and a good supply of grain for the horses was also purchased. thus, stanley was able to avoid breaking into the small stock of provisions they had brought with them. the inhabitants of this part of burma were a tribe known as carians. they were the tillers of the soil, and were an industrious and hardy race. the country was so rich that they not only raised sufficient for their own wants, but sent large supplies of grain and rice to ava. they were very heavily taxed but, as a rule, were exempt from conscription. nevertheless they had, on the present occasion, been forced to labour at the stockades, and in transporting food for the troops. their forest villages were small. they consisted of little huts, erected either in trees shorn of their branches, or upon very strong poles. these abodes were only accessible by rough ladders, formed by nailing pieces of wood across the trees or poles. this was absolutely necessary, on account of the number of tigers that infested the forest. the village where they had halted was, however, built upon the ground; but was surrounded by a strong stockade. the people assured stanley that none of the fugitives from mophi had come that way. there had, they said, been many, after bandoola's defeat; but they had seen none, of late. they declared that they had far greater fear of these than they had of the english; for that they plundered wherever they went and, if they could not obtain enough to satisfy their expectations, burnt the houses, and often killed many of the inhabitants. the villagers volunteered to keep watch all night, at the gate of the stockade; although they said that there was no fear of anyone approaching, as strangers could not find their way through the forest, in the dark and, even could they do so, the fear of tigers would prevent them from making the attempt. stanley agreed to pay some of them to watch, but also stationed one of his own men as sentry, relieving him every three hours. an hour after they reached the village, they saw one of the war boats rowing rapidly up the stream; and had no doubt that it was bearing a message from bandoola, saying that he had repulsed the attack of the british. beyond hearing the howling of tigers in the forest, stanley passed the night undisturbed, except when he went to change the sentry. meinik took his share of watching; and stanley, himself, relieved him an hour before daybreak. by the time the sun rose, the horses had been fed and breakfast taken. after riding some miles, the country became more open. cultivated fields succeeded the dense forest. the ground was higher, and little groups of huts could be seen, wherever a small elevation rose above the general level. the change was very welcome, for they were able to travel faster, and there was less chance of their coming suddenly upon a party of the disbanded troops. presently, just as they reached a larger village than usual, by the river bank, a thick smoke arose from one of the houses, and they could hear female screams. "come on!" stanley shouted, to the three men riding behind him. "see that your pistols are ready to hand, and draw your swords." illustration: stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut. this village was not, like the last, stockaded; being some miles away from the forest. as they dashed into it, they saw some twenty burmese. two women lay dead, in front of one house; and one of the men, with a torch, was about to fire another. absorbed in their own doings, the burmese did not notice the coming of the horsemen until the latter were close to them. then, with a cry of consternation, they turned to fly; but it was too late. stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut, and he and the others then fell upon the burmans, with sword and pistol. six of them were killed. the rest were pursued but, dashing down to the river, they plunged in, pistol shots being sent after them. stanley remained on the bank, until he saw that they had fairly started to cross the river, then he re-entered the village. two or three frightened people came out from their hiding places, when meinik shouted to them that all was safe. "they have all gone," he said, "you need not fear being disturbed by them again. see, there are six guns lying in the road; and you will find plenty of ammunition on those fellows that have fallen. there are some spears and swords, too. of course, you can do nothing if a number of these fellows come; but if there are only two or three, you and the women ought to be able to dispose of them. now we must ride on." on the third day they arrived at tharawa, and found that sir a. campbell, who had been assured by the natives that bandoola had retreated, had continued his march the day before. the place was so large that stanley thought it unsafe for them to sleep there, and they rode on to a little village, two miles away. here they were received with great deference, the passage of the troops the day before having profoundly impressed the villagers. after waiting three hours to rest the horses, they again mounted and, riding all night, arrived in the morning at yuadit--a village twenty-six miles from tharawa--and found the force on the point of starting. "no bad news, i hope, mr. brooke?" the general said, as he rode up to him. "i am sorry to say, sir, that my news is not good. here is the brigadier's despatch." "this is unfortunate, indeed," the general said, when he had run his eye over the document. "mr. tollemache, please to ride along the line, and say that the column is not to get into motion until further orders." colonel adair and the other officers of the staff had been on the point of mounting, when stanley rode up. the general called two or three of the senior officers to him. "cotton can neither take donabew, nor get past it," he said. "here is his despatch. you see, he has lost several officers and a good many men; and that in the assault on an outlying work, only. i am afraid that there is nothing for us to do, but go back to his assistance." "i am afraid not, sir," colonel adair said. "our supplies are running short already and, you see, we decided upon filling up all the carts at tharawa, where we made sure that we should be met by the boats. the country round here has been completely stripped, and it would be a very serious matter to endeavour to advance to prome, without supplies. moreover, we might expect a much more serious resistance than we have bargained for. the news that bandoola has repulsed his assailants--and you may be sure that this has been exaggerated into a great victory--will restore the spirit of the burmese. it is evident that we must turn back, and finish off with bandoola before we advance further." orders were accordingly sent, to the officers commanding the various corps, that the column was to retrace its steps and, while they passed through the village, stanley related, in much greater detail than had been given in the despatch, the events of the attack, and the nature of the defences at donabew. the troops marched along with a cheerful mien. it was, of course, an annoyance to have to plod back along the road they had before traversed but, upon the other hand, there was a general satisfaction that they were, after all, to take part in the capture of bandoola's last stronghold. colonel adair rode on with the little troop of cavalry. he was to push forward to tharawa, and was to offer rewards to the natives there for every boat brought in. there was little doubt that many of the fishermen had hauled up their craft into clumps of bushes and brush wood, to prevent their being requisitioned by bandoola and, although it was not likely that a large number would now be obtained, yet even if but a dozen were found, it would be of assistance. the rest of the force reached tharawa on the following evening, with the exception of a party left to protect the slow-moving waggons. they found that nine canoes had been obtained, and that a considerable portion of the scanty population had been, all day, employed in cutting bamboos and timber for rafts. the next morning the troops were all engaged on the same work, and in the construction of rafts; and at nightfall three hundred men of the th were taken across the river to the town of henzada, in case bandoola, on hearing of the preparations for crossing, should send a force to oppose the passage. it took four days' continuous labour to get the little army across, as it was necessary to make large timber rafts to carry the carts, horses and bullocks, guns and stores. hearing that a force was posted, some fifteen miles away, to intercept the detachment that was marching from bassein; colonel godwin, with a party, was sent off that night to endeavour to surprise it. the burmese, however, took the alarm before they were attacked; and scattered in all directions, without firing a shot. the army marched along the right bank, and arrived before donabew on the th of march. communications were opened with general cotton's force, below the town; and both divisions set to work to erect batteries. the burmese made several sorties to interrupt the work, and one of these was accompanied by bandoola's seventeen elephants. the troop of cavalry, horse artillery, and the rocket company charged close up to the elephants; and opened fire upon the howdahs, filled with troops, that they carried. in a short time most of these and the drivers were killed; and the elephants--many of which also had received wounds--dashed off into the jungle, while the infantry fled back into the stockade, into which a discharge of shells and rockets was maintained, all day. the next morning--the st of april--the mortar batteries were completed; and these, and others armed with light guns, kept up a continuous fire into the enemy's camp. at daybreak on the nd, the heavy guns of the breaching batteries also opened fire and, in a very short time, the enemy were seen pouring out in the rear of their works, and making their way into the jungle. as there had been no idea that they would so speedily evacuate the stockade, no preparations had been made for cutting them off; and the garrison, therefore, effected their escape with but little loss. the troops at once occupied the work, and found large stores of grain and ammunition there, as well as a great number of guns. from some of the wounded burmans, it was ascertained that the evacuation of the fort was due to the death of bandoola; who had been killed, by the explosion of a shell, while watching the operations from a lookout that had been erected for him, at the top of a lofty tree. his death had caused the most profound depression among the garrison. their leaders in vain endeavoured to reanimate their courage. the opening of the fire with the heavy guns completed their discomfiture, and they fled without thought of resistance. indeed, the greater part had stolen away during the night. a portion of the fleet had already passed up beyond the fort, under a heavy fire; and the rest now came up. the supplies of grain were renewed and, a guard being left to hold the works, which would now serve as a base, the army again started up the river--the water column proceeding to tharawa, the land force marching back to henzada, whence they were carried across the river in the boats. here the force was joined by the reserve column from rangoon, consisting of several companies of the royals and the th native infantry, with a supply of elephants and carriage cattle which had arrived from calcutta. on the th, yuadit was again reached. no opposition, whatever, was encountered; indeed, the whole country was deserted, the inhabitants having been ordered away by the burmese authorities, as soon as the fall of donabew was known. when within four days' march of prome, two native officials came in, with a communication to the effect that the burmese were ready to treat for peace. as it was known, however, that reinforcements were on their way down from ava, it was evident that this was merely a pretext to gain time; and the general sent word that, when he arrived at prome, he would be ready to open negotiations for peace. the country through which the army was now passing was very beautiful. in the far distance on the left, the mountains of aracan could be seen; while on the right the country was undulating, richly cultivated, and broken by clumps of timber, with a background of the range of hills running along near the pegu river. on the th the heights of prome, eight miles away, were visible; and the flotilla could be seen, lying at anchor a short distance below the town. messengers came out that afternoon, to endeavour to induce the general not to enter it; but a reply was sent that this was out of the question, that no harm would befall the inhabitants, and that--as soon as he entered--the general would be ready to receive any persons qualified to treat for peace. some hours before daybreak the army marched forward and, by sunrise, were close to the town. the position was found to be extremely strong. every hill commanding the place had been fortified, to the very summit. strong stockades ran in every direction, and it was evident that a great number of men must have been engaged, for a long time, in attempting to render the place impregnable. not a soldier, however, was to be found. a native of the place presently met them, with the news that the governor and troops had evacuated it, with the exception of a small party who were firing the town. this story was corroborated by wreaths of smoke, rising at various points. the troops pressed forward at the top of their speed. on entering the town, they found that the native population had all been forced to leave and, piling their arms, they set to work to extinguish the flames; which they did not, however, succeed in doing until nearly half the town was destroyed. fortunately the fire was checked before it reached the great magazines of grain, and other stores, for the army. the belief that the negotiations had been only pretexts to arrest the advance of the troops against the town, until the expected reinforcements arrived, was confirmed by the natives; who presently came in from hiding places where they had taken refuge, until their army retired. they said that, as soon as the news came of the fall of donabew, fresh levies were ordered to be collected in every part of upper burma; while the whole population of the province had been employed in adding to the defences of the town, which had been already very strongly stockaded. it was a disappointment to the force, which had hoped that the occupation of prome would bring about the submission of the court of ava; and enable them to be taken down the river in boats, and embark, before the rainy season again set in. nevertheless, the prospect of passing that season at prome was vastly more pleasant than if it had to be spent at rangoon. they were now inland, beyond the point where the rains were continuous. the town was situated on high ground, and the country round was open and healthy. although for some little distance round the cattle had been driven off, and the villages destroyed; it was certain that flying columns would be able to bring in any amount of cattle, before the wet season began. for a short time, it was thought that the occupation of prome would show the king and court that it was useless to continue the struggle, any longer; but these hopes were dissipated when it was known that a further levy of , men had been called out. the court, however, was apparently conscious that its commands would no longer be obeyed with the alacrity before manifested. the early levies had obeyed the call with cheerfulness; believing in their invincibility, and confident that they would return home laden with spoil after driving, without difficulty, the audacious strangers into the sea. things, however, had not turned out so. the troops that had left ava in high spirits had been routed, with very heavy losses. their great general, bandoola, had been killed; and fugitives from the army were scattered over the land, bearing with them reports of the extraordinary fighting powers of these white enemies, and of the hopelessness of attempting to resist them. the consequence was that in issuing the order for the new levy a bounty of twenty pounds, which to the burmans was a very large sum, was offered to each man who obeyed the call. the first step, on the part of the british general, was to send proclamations through the country; guaranteeing protection to all, and inviting the population to return to their towns and villages. the troops were employed in erecting, with the assistance of as much native labour as could be procured, comfortable huts outside the town; so that the natives, on returning should find their homes unoccupied and untouched. it was not long before this excellent policy had its due effect. as soon as those who first returned sent the news to their friends, the fugitives came out from their hiding places in the forests, in great numbers, and returned to the city. those whose homes were still standing settled down in them and resumed their ordinary avocations, just as if their native rulers were still in authority; while those whose houses had been burned set to work, with a cheerfulness characteristic of their race, to re-erect their light wooden dwellings. so favourable were the reports spread through the country of our conduct that, in a short time, the population of prome was considerably larger than it had been before the advance of our army. similar results were speedily manifest throughout the whole district below the town. from the great forest that covered more than half of it, the villagers poured out, driving before them herds of cattle and, in two or three months, the country that had appeared a desert became filled with an industrious population. order was established. the local civil officers were again appointed to their former posts, but their powers of oppression and intimidation were abrogated, by the order that no punishment beyond a short term of imprisonment was to be inflicted on any person, whatever, until the case had been brought before the british authorities; and soon the only fear entertained by the people of the rich district of the lower irrawaddy was that the british troops would march away, and leave them again to the oppression and tyranny of their former masters. the markets of prome were abundantly supplied with food of all sorts and, as everything was liberally paid for, any number of bullocks were obtainable for, although the burmese are forbidden by their religion to kill cattle, and therefore keep them only for draught purposes, they had no objection to our killing them; or indeed, to eat the meat, when they could obtain it. labour of all kinds was abundant, and great numbers of canoes were constructed for the purpose of bringing up supplies from the villages on the river, and for the advance of the force at the end of the wet season. until this set in in earnest, small bodies of troops marched through the forests; driving out the bands that infested them, and plundered and killed the country people without mercy. the general's aides-de-camp had a busy time of it, being constantly employed in carrying orders to the towns and villages, in hearing complaints and, in stanley's case, entering into agreements for the purchase of cattle and grain. when in prome, he spent a good deal of his spare time with his cousin who, having bought a horse, frequently obtained leave to accompany him on his excursions on duty. a warm friendship had sprung up between them. harry was two years older than stanley, and had been at eton up to the time that he entered the army. he was, however, in manner no older than his cousin; whose work, for the three years previous to the outbreak of the war, had rendered him graver and more manly than a life spent among lads of his own age could have done. meinik always accompanied stanley, wherever he went. he had now, to the latter's quiet amusement, modified his burmese costume; making it look like that of some of the whites and, indeed, he would have passed without notice as one of the goa-portuguese mess waiters, in his suit of white nankeen. when riding, or on any service away from the headquarter camp, he was dressed in a suit of tough brown khaki which he had obtained from one of the traders at rangoon. the coat differed but little from that of the suit stanley had handed over to him; except that it was somewhat shorter and without the small shoulder cape and, in fact, resembled closely the modern regimental tunic. below he wore knee breeches of the same material; with putties, or long bands of cloth, wound round and round the leg, and which possessed many advantages over gaiters. he still clung to the turban but, instead of being white, it was of the same colour as his clothes, and was much larger than the burmese turban. "burmese are great fools," he often said to stanley. "they think they know a great deal; they know nothing at all. they think they are great fighters; they are no good at fighting, for one englishman beats ten of them. their government is no good--it keeps everyone very poor and miserable. you come here; you know nothing of the country, and yet you make everyone comfortable. we ride through the villages; we see everyone rejoicing that they are governed by the english, and hoping that the english will never go away again. "what do you think, sir--will you stay here always? you have had much trouble to take the country. a great many people have been ill; a great many died. now you have got it, why should you go away again?" "it is quite certain that we shall not give it all up, meinik. it has been, as you say, a troublesome and very expensive business; and the farther the king obliges us to go up, before he makes peace, the more he will have to pay, either in money or territory. of course, i cannot say what the terms of peace will be; but i should think that, very likely, we shall hold the country from the sea up to here, with aracan and a strip along the sea coast of tenasserim." "that will be good," meinik said. "i shall never go outside the english land, again. there will be plenty to do, and a great trade on the river; everyone will be happy and contented. i should be a fool to go back to upper burma; where they would chop off my head, if they knew that i had been down to rangoon when the english were there." chapter : harry carried off. early in september, stanley was sent to purchase cattle from some of the villages near the foot of the hills and, at the same time, to make inquiries as to the movements of a large band of marauders who had been making raids in that neighbourhood. he had with him four troopers of the bodyguard. harry brooke accompanied him. although from the healthier situation of prome, the amount of illness during the wet season did not approach that which had been suffered at rangoon, a great many men were in hospital, and there were many deaths. harry had had a sharp attack of fever and, as he had now recovered, to a certain extent, the medical officer of his regiment strongly recommended that he should have a change; and he therefore, without difficulty, obtained his colonel's leave to accompany stanley, as the ground would be much higher than that on the river, and the mere fact of getting away from a camp where so many deaths took place every day would, in itself, be of great value. stanley's daily journeys were not likely to be long ones, as he had instructions to stop at all villages; and to see how things were going on, and whether the people had any complaints to make of oppression and exaction by their local authorities. "it is a tremendous pull, your being able to speak the language, stanley," harry said. "if it hadn't been for that, you would have been stuck at prome, like the rest of us. instead of that, you are always about; and you look as fresh and healthy as if you were at a hill station, in india." "yes, it has been an immense advantage to me, in all ways. of course, i should never have got my staff appointment if it had not been for that. "by the way, i have not told you that, while you were down with the fever, the gazette containing the confirmation of my appointment by the general, and the notice of my commission, dated on the day of my appointment, came out. i had quite a lump sum to draw for although, i have been paid as interpreter all along, the paymaster made a difficulty about my pay as a subaltern, until i was gazetted regularly; so i have quite a large sum coming to me, on my pay and allowances. i don't know how you stand for cash but, if you are short at all, i can let you have anything that you want." "i have got really more than i know what to do with, stanley. i bought an uncommonly good native horse, as you know, six weeks ago; and i am going to ride him for the first time now but, really, that is almost the first penny that i have spent since we left rangoon. there is nothing to buy here except food and, of course, that is a mess business. i had an idea that this was a rich country but, so far, one has seen nothing in the way of rich dress materials, or shawls, or carpets, or jewelry that one could send home as presents. why, in india i was always being tempted; but here it is certainly the useful, rather than the ornamental, that meets the eye." "i saw some nice things at ava but, of course, all the upper classes bolted as we came up the country; and the traders in rich goods did the same. are you going to take a servant with you, harry? i don't think that there is any occasion to do so, for meinik can look after us both, well enough." "yes, i am thinking of taking my native, the man i hired just after i got here. he is a very good fellow, and made himself very useful, while i was ill. i picked up a tat for him, yesterday, for a few rupees. i know that your man would do very well for us both but, sometimes, when you make a village your headquarters and ride to visit others from it, i may not feel well enough to go with you; and then he would come in very handy, for he has picked up a good many words of english. your man is getting on very well, that way." "yes; he was some time before he began for, of course, he had no occasion for it; but now that he has taken to what he considers an english costume, and has made up his mind that he will never settle down again under a burmese government, he has been trying hard to pick up the language. i found that it was rather a nuisance at first when, instead of telling him what was wanted in his own language, i had to tell him in english, and then translate it for him. however, he does understand a good deal now and, whenever he has nothing else to do, he is talking with the soldiers. of course, from his riding about so much with me, he is pretty well known, now; and as he is a good-tempered, merry fellow, he makes himself at home with them and, if the campaign lasts another six months, i think he will speak very fair english." "i fancy that you will have to make up your mind that he is a permanency, stanley. i am sure he intends to follow you, wherever you go; whether it is to england, india, or anywhere else." "i sha'n't be sorry for that, harry; certainly not as long as i am out here. in the first place, he is really a very handy fellow, and ready to make himself useful, in any way; then there is no doubt that he is greatly attached to me, and would go through fire and water for me. a man of that sort is invaluable to anyone knocking about as i shall be, when the war is over and i take up trading again. his only fault is that he is really too anxious to do things for me. of course, when i am on duty there is nothing much he can do; but if i am sitting in a room, he will squat for hours in the corner and watch me. if my cheroot gets low, there he is with a fresh one and a light, in a moment. if i drop my handkerchief, or a pen, there he is with it, before i have time to stoop. sometimes i have really to invent errands to send him on, so as to give him something to do for me. i own that i have not contemplated what position he would occupy, if i go trading; but i quite recognize that he will go with me, and that he would become a portion of my establishment, even if that establishment consisted only of himself. "will you be ready to start at four in the morning? the sun is tremendously hot now, on the days between the rain; at any rate, it will be much better for you, till you get your strength, to travel in the cool of the morning, or in the evening." "i shall be ready. i will be round here, with my servant, by that hour. by the way, what shall i bring with me?" "nothing at all. i shall take a couple of chickens, and some bread and coffee and sugar, and a bottle of brandy for emergencies; but we shall have no difficulty in getting food in the villages. the troopers will only carry their day's rations with them. after that i always act as mess caterer, and charge expenses when i get back here." accordingly, the next morning they started at four o'clock. stanley insisted that harry should ride his second horse, for the present; as his own, having been six weeks without exercise, and fed very much better than it had been accustomed to, was in much too high spirits to be pleasant for an invalid. meinik, therefore, took harry's; and the latter rode beside his cousin, whose horse had had abundant exercise, and was well content to canter quietly along by the side of his companion. by the end of ten days, harry had picked up some of his strength. they now reached a village which stanley decided to use as his headquarters, for a few days, while he made excursions to other places within a day's ride. it was a good place for a halt; standing as it did at some height on the hills, where the air was much cooler at night than in the flat country. it was surrounded by a clearing of about a hundred acres in extent; planted with cacao trees, pepper, and many kinds of vegetables. "this is delightful!" harry said, as they sat in front of the hut that had been cleared for them, and looked over the plain. "it must be twenty degrees cooler, here, than it was at prome. i think i shall do nothing tomorrow, stanley, but just sit here and enjoy myself. i know it is very lazy, for i am feeling quite myself again; still, after ten days' riding, i do think that it will be pleasant to have a day's rest." "do, by all means," stanley said. "i think you had better stay here for the three days that we shall remain. your man is a very good cook, and there is no lack of food. those chickens we had just now were excellent, and the people have promised to bring in some game, tomorrow. there are plenty of snakes, too; and you lose a good deal, i can assure you, by turning up your nose at them. they are just as good as eels, as meinik cooks them--stewed with a blade of cinnamon, and some hot peppers. i cannot see that they can be a bit more objectionable to eat than eels; indeed, for anything one knows, the eel may have been feasting on a drowned man, the day before he was caught; while the snakes only take a meal once a week or so, and then only a small bird of some kind." "i dare say that you are quite right, stanley, and i own that the dishes your man turns out look tempting; but i cannot bring myself to try, at any rate as long as i can get anything else to eat. if i knew that it was a case of snake, or nothing, i would try it; but till then, i prefer sticking to birds and beasts." the next morning stanley rode off, with two of his escort and meinik, who declined altogether to be left behind. "no, master," he said, "there is never any saying when you may want me; and what should i ever say to myself if misfortune were to come to you, and i were not to be there?" stanley had a long day's work. as a rule, the villagers had few complaints to make but, at the place he went to on this occasion, the headman had been behaving as in the old times; and stanley had to listen to a long series of complaints on behalf of the villagers. the case was fully proved, both as to extortion and ill treatment. stanley at once deprived the man of his office, and called upon the villagers to assemble and elect another in his place. "if you are not satisfied," he said to the fellow, "you can go to prome, and appeal to the general there; but i warn you that, if you do, you must give notice to the villagers of your intention so that they may, if they choose, send two or three of their number to repeat the evidence that they have given me. i have noted this fully down, and i can tell you that the general, when he reads it, will be much more likely to order you a sound flogging, than to reinstate you in your office." it was dusk when stanley arrived within two miles of the village where he had left harry. meinik, who was riding just behind him, brought his horse up alongside. "do you see that, sir? there is a light in the sky. it is just over where the village is. i am afraid there is a fire there." "you are right, meinik. i hope nothing has gone wrong." he touched his horse with his heel, and rode on at a gallop. he became more and more anxious, as he approached the village. no flames could be seen leaping up, but there was a dull glow in the sky. as he rode into the clearing, he reined up his horse in dismay. a number of glowing embers, alone, marked the place where the village had stood; and no figures were to be seen moving about. "there has been foul play, meinik. "get ready for action, men," he said to the two troopers, and they dashed forward at a gallop. two or three little groups of people were sitting, in an attitude of deep dejection, by the remains of their houses. "what has happened?" stanley shouted, as he rode up. "the robbers have been here, and have slain many, and burned the village." "where is my friend?" "they have carried him off, my lord; or at least, we cannot find his body. his servant and one of the soldiers are lying dead; but of the other soldier, and the officer, there are no signs." "this is terrible!" stanley exclaimed. "tell me exactly how it happened." "it was four hours ago, my lord. the robbers came suddenly out from the plantation, and fell upon the people. many they killed at once; but many also have escaped as we did, by running in among the plantations, and so into the forest. we heard the firing of guns, for a little time; then everything was silent, and we knew that the robbers were searching the houses. half an hour later, smoke rose in many places, and then flames; then after a time, all was quiet. a boy crept up among the bushes, and came back with the news that they had all gone. "then we came out again. twenty-three of our people had been killed, and eight carried off; at least, we cannot find the bodies. the white officer and one of his soldiers have gone, also." "which way did they go?" "the tracks show that they went up the hill. most likely they will have gone to toungoo, if they have gone to any town at all; but indeed, we think they have taken the prisoners to get a reward for them." stanley had thrown himself off his horse, as he rode up; and he stood for some time, silently leaning against it. then he said to meinik: "picket the horses, and then come and have a talk with me." then he turned to the two troopers: "there is nothing to be done now," he said. "you had better look about, and see what you can find in the way of food; and then get a grave dug for your comrade, and another for mr. brooke's servant." the two mahommedan troopers saluted, and led their horses away. meinik, after picketing the animals, returned to stanley but, seeing that the latter was pacing up and down, and evidently not disposed to speak, he went away. there were a good many fowls walking about, in a bewildered way, near the huts. they had been away, as usual, searching for food in the plantations and fields when the robber band arrived and, on their return home at dusk, had found everything changed. a boy at once caught and killed two of these, plucked them and brought them to meinik who, getting some embers from the fires, cut the fowls in two and put them on to roast. a few minutes sufficed to cook them. as soon as they were ready, meinik took them to stanley. "you must eat, master," he said. "you have had nothing since we started, this morning; and sorrow, alone, makes a poor supper. you will want to do something, i know; and will need all your strength." "you are right, meinik. yes, give me one of them, and take the other one yourself and, while we eat, we can talk. of course, i must make an effort to rescue my cousin from the hands of this band." "yes, master, i knew that you would do that." "did you ask how many there were of them, meinik?" "some say forty, some say sixty." "if we knew where they are now, and could come up to them, we might manage to get them off while the robbers were asleep." meinik shook his head. "they are sure to keep a strict guard, over a white officer," he said; "but if we rushed in and shouted, and fired pistols, they might all run away." "i am afraid not, meinik. there might be a scare for a minute but, directly they saw that there were only two of us, they would turn and kill us. your people are brave enough. they may feel that they cannot stand against our troops, owing to our discipline; but they fight bravely hand-to-hand. however, we don't know exactly which way they have gone; and it would be hopeless to search for them in the forest, during the darkness. "what should they go to toungoo for?" "i have been thinking it over, master; and it seems to me that many of them may belong there, or to the villages near. they may not dare return to their homes, because they are afraid that they would be punished for having left the army, and would certainly be sent off again to it. now they may think that, if they go back with a white officer and soldier, and tell some story of having beaten a great many english, they will be rewarded; and may even be able to remain some time in their homes, before they are sent off; or they may be ordered to march with their prisoners to ava, where they would get still more reward. i can see no other reason for their carrying off the officer." "i think very likely that is so, meinik. anyhow, we are more likely to rescue my cousin, at toungoo, than we should be while on the road. it would be next to impossible to find them among all the hills and trees and, even if we did come upon them at night, and could creep into the midst of them, we might find that my cousin is too severely wounded to travel for, as there was a fight, it is almost certain he must have been wounded before he was captured. therefore, i think it is best to make straight for toungoo. "how many miles is it from here, do you think?" meinik went over to the natives and asked the question. "about forty-five miles, they say; very bad travelling; all mountains, but ten miles to the north is a road that runs straight there." "then we had better follow that, meinik. in this broken country, and forest, we should be losing our way continually." "how will you go, master? on horse or foot?" "we will go on horseback, as far as we can; we are not likely to meet people travelling along the road, at present. another thing is that, if we can get the horses as near the town as possible, they would be very useful for, if mr. brooke has been wounded badly, he may not be able to walk far. "you do not know whether the country near the town is open, or whether the forests approach it closely?" the natives were again applied to. "it is a rich country there, they say; and well cultivated, for five or six miles round the town." "i will go and have a talk with them, presently. it will, of course, be necessary for me to disguise myself again." meinik nodded. "yes, you must do that, master." "do you think that we can get two or three men to go with us, from here?" "if you will pay them, master, no doubt they will be ready to go. they are well content with the white rulers. they find that they are not oppressed, and everything is paid for; and that the white officers treat them kindly and well. they have lost many things, in this affair today, and would be glad to earn a little money. "how many would you like to have?" "four or five, meinik. i don't exactly know, at present, what there would be for them to do; but they could help to make fires, and keep watch, while we are doing something. at any rate, they may be useful. "of course, i shall get the trooper out, too, if i can. very likely they will be confined together and, if we rescue one, we can of course rescue the other. "now i must do some writing. get me a torch of some sort, and i will do it while you are speaking to the natives." stanley always carried a notebook and pen and ink, to take down statements and complaints, as he rode about. he now sat down and wrote an account of what had taken place during his absence. "we had no previous news of the existence of the band," he went on, "and the natives, themselves, had certainly no fear of any attack being imminent. had i thought that there was the slightest risk, i should not have made the village my headquarters; or have left mr. brooke there, with only his servant and two troopers. i regret the matter, most deeply; and am about to set off to toungoo, with my man. i shall, of course, go in disguise; and shall make every endeavour to free my cousin. "i trust, general, that you will grant me leave for this purpose. i am, of course, unable to say how long it may take me but, however long, i shall persevere until i learn that my cousin is dead, or until i am, myself, killed. i trust that in starting at once, on the assumption that you will grant me leave, i am not committing a breach of duty. but if so, and you feel that you cannot, under the circumstances in which you are placed, grant leave to an officer to be absent on private business, i inclose a formal resignation of my commission, stating why i feel myself constrained, even in the presence of the enemy, to endeavour to rescue my cousin from the band that has carried him off. at any rate, it could not be said that i resigned in order to shirk danger. "i sent off two days ago, by one of the natives here, a report of my proceedings up to that date; and have now the honour to inclose the notes i took of my investigations, today, into the conduct of the headman of pilboora, and my reasons for depriving him of his office. i shall leave the two troopers of my escort here, with orders to remain until either i return, or they receive instructions from prome. i am taking a few of the villagers with me. should anything occur to me, at toungoo, they will bring back the news to the troopers; and i shall leave instructions with them to carry it, at once, to you. if i find that mr. brooke has been sent on to ava i shall, of course, follow and endeavour to effect his rescue on the road. "as it is possible, general, that i may not have another opportunity of thanking you for the many kindnesses that you have shown me, allow me to do so, most heartily, now." when stanley had concluded the letter, and written the paper offering his resignation, and giving his reasons for so doing, he called meinik to him. "well, meinik, have you found men willing to go with us?" "yes, master, i have got five men; two of them know toungoo well. all are stout fellows. i offered them the terms that you mentioned--fifty ounces of silver, to each man, if you succeeded by their aid in rescuing the officer. they were delighted at the offer, which would enable them to replace everything that they have lost. "i told them, of course, that if it were necessary to fight, they would have to do so; and that, as many of their countrymen were enlisted, as gun lascars and in other occupations, with the english; and are, of course, exposed to the attacks of their countrymen, they would only be doing what others have been willing to do. "they said that they were ready enough to fight. you were the government, now; and you were a good government, and they would fight for you and, besides, as the officer was carried off from their village, it was their duty to help to get him back. "one of them said, 'these men who attacked us are burmese soldiers. as they attack us, there is no reason why we should not attack them.' "so i think, master, that you can count upon them. the burmese have always been fond of fighting, because fighting means booty. the troops don't want to fight any more, because they get no booty, and a number of them are killed. but, now that the villagers have been forced to go to the war against their will; and have been plundered, and many killed, by burmese soldiers, they are quite ready to take sides with you. three of them have had wives or children killed, today; and that makes them full of fight." "well, you had better tell them to cook, at once, food for two or three days. at four o'clock they are to start, through the forest, to the road you spoke of. we will set out at the same time, on horseback; but we shall have to make a detour, so they will be on the road before we are. tell them when they get there to stop, until we come up." "yes, master. it is a good thing that i rode your second horse, yesterday, instead of mr. brooke's animal." "yes, he is worth a good deal more than the other, meinik, and i should certainly have been sorry to lose him." "one of the men who is going with us says that he knows of the ruins of an old temple, eight or nine miles this side of toungoo; and that this would be a good place for us to leave our horses. it is very, very old; one of those built by the people who lived in the land before we came to it, and the burmans do not like to go near it; so that there would be no fear of our being disturbed, there. even these men do not much like going there; but i told them that no evil spirits would come, where white men were." "it is rather far off, meinik; but as you say the country is cultivated, for some distance round the town, we shall certainly have to leave our horses some six or seven miles away; and two or three miles will not make much difference. we can put on our disguises there. "you had better take a couple of boys to look after the horses, while we are away." "they would not sleep there, at night," meinik said, doubtfully. "i don't think the men would, either, if you were not there." "that would not matter, meinik, if as you say, there is no fear of anyone else going there." "certainly, no one else will go there at night, master." "at any rate, if you can get two boys to go, we may as well take them. they might go there in the day, and feed and water the horses; and sleep some distance away, at night." meinik found two boys, sixteen years old, who said that they would go with them and, at the hour agreed on, stanley and meinik started on horseback. they descended the hill to the plain at its foot and, turning to the right, rode for some ten or twelve miles; when they struck into the road and, following this at an easy pace they came, in the course of another hour, upon the party of villagers sitting by the roadside. the sun was just rising, and they travelled for three hours without meeting anyone; then they drew off into the wood, at a point where a small stream crossed the road and, after eating a meal, and giving a good feed to the horses, lay down to sleep till the heat of the day abated--the natives, who were all armed with spears and swords, keeping watch by turns. at four o'clock they started again and, at ten, approached the spot where, in the depth of the wood, lay the temple. the man who knew its position declared, however, that he could not find it, at night. stanley had no doubt that he was really afraid to go there but, as he did not wish to press them against their will, he said carelessly that it made no difference if they halted there, or close by the road, and a fire being speedily lit, they bivouacked round it. meinik had procured the necessary dyes from a village, and stanley was again stained, and covered with tattoo marks, as before. "what am i to do about your hair, master?" he asked. "it will never do for you to go, like this." stanley had not thought of this point and, for a time, was completely at a loss. his own hair was now short, and could not possibly be turned up. "the only thing that i can see," he said, after a long pause, "is for you and the men each to cut off a lock of hair from the top of your heads, where it will not show. the six locks would be ample; but i don't see how you are to fasten it, below the turban." "there are berries we can get wax from," meinik said. "we boil them in water, and the wax floats at the top. with that, master, we could fasten the hair in among yours, so that it would look all right." the men had all laughed at the proposal, but willingly consented to part with a portion of their hair. meinik therefore proceeded to stain stanley's close crop black and, the first thing in the morning, the boys went out, soon returning with a quantity of berries. some water was poured over them, in an earthenware pot, and placed over the fire and, in half an hour, a thick scum of oil gathered on the surface. meinik skimmed it off, as fast as it formed and, as it cooled, it solidified into a tenacious mass, somewhat resembling cobblers' wax. the six locks of hair had already been cut off, and the ends were smeared with the wax, and worked in among stanley's own hair; then a little of the hot wax was rubbed in, and the men all declared that no one would notice anything peculiar in his appearance. the long tresses were curled round, at the top of the head, and a ring of muslin tied round. the burmans were immensely amused at the transformation that had been wrought in stanley's appearance; and followed him through the wood, to the temple, without any signs of nervousness. the ruins were extensive. a considerable portion of the building had been hewn out of the face of a precipitous rock, in the manner of some hindoo temples; and it was evident that it had been the work of a people more closely allied to the indian race than to the tartar or chinese people, from whom the burmese sprung. uncouth figures were sculptured on the walls. at these the burmese looked with some awe but, as stanley laughed and joked over them, they soon recovered their usual demeanour. "i am a great deal more afraid of tigers than of ghosts," stanley said; "a deserted place like this is just the sort of spot they would be likely to be in. at any rate, if these caves do not go any further into the hill--and there are no signs of their doing so--it may be hoped that the tigers have their superstitions about it, too. at any rate, it will be a good thing to pile a great quantity of firewood at the entrance; and i think one of you had better stay here, with the boys. they and the horses would be a great deal safer here, with a fire burning; than they would be in the woods, where a tiger might pounce upon them, at any moment. as to this folly about spirits, it is only old women's chatter." the burmese talked among themselves, and one of the men finally agreed to stay with the boys. an hour was spent in gathering a pile of brushwood and logs, and the man said that he and the two boys would gather plenty more, during the day. they were, at four o'clock, to take the horses down to the river, a mile distant, and let them drink their fill. they had brought with them a large bag of grain--which had been carried by the men--a quantity of plantains, and some fowls. therefore, the party that were to remain would be well provided. moreover, in collecting the wood a score of snakes had been killed. some of these and a chicken had been cooking while they were at work and, as soon as this was eaten, they started for the town. when they came within a mile of it, stanley entered a plantation of fruit trees, and meinik and the four men went on. they returned, in two hours, with the news that a party of ten men had arrived in the town, on the previous day, with two prisoners. one, a coloured man, had been able to walk. the other, a white man, had been carried in on a litter. they had both been lodged in the jail. by this time, the conduct of the english towards the natives, at rangoon and the territory they occupied, had had one good effect. signally as they had been defeated by them, the burmese had lost their individual hatred of the strangers. they knew that their wounded and prisoners always received kind treatment at their hands and, although the court of ava remained as arrogant and bigoted as ever, the people in lower burma had learned to respect their invaders, and the few prisoners they had taken received much better treatment than those who had been captured at the commencement of the war. as soon as it was dusk, stanley went with meinik into the town. it was a place of considerable size, with buildings at least equal to those at prome. toungoo had formed part of the kingdom of pegu, before it had been subdued by the burmese. the peculiar and characteristic facial outline of the latter was, here, much less strongly marked and, in many cases, entirely absent; so stanley felt that, even in daylight, he would pass without attracting any attention. the prison was surrounded by a strong and high bamboo fence, and in the space inclosed by this were eight or ten dwellings of the usual wooden construction. a dozen armed men were seated by a fire in the yard, and two sentries were carelessly leaning against the gate. "there should be no difficulty in getting in there with two rope ladders--one to climb up with, and one to drop on the other side," stanley said. "you may be sure that most of the guard go to sleep, at night. the first thing to ascertain is which house the prisoners are kept in and, in the second place, how my cousin is going on. we can do nothing until he is able to walk for a short distance. "let us move round to the other side of the inclosure. it may be that a sentry is posted at their door." on getting to the other side, and looking through the crevices between the bamboos, they could make out two figures squatted by the door of one of the houses; and had no doubt that this was the one in which harry brooke was confined. "now, meinik, the first thing is for you to go and buy a rope. when the place gets quite quiet, we will make a loop and throw it over the top of the palisade, behind that hut; then i will climb up and let myself down, inside, and then crawl up to the hut and see what is going on there. if my cousin is alone, i will endeavour to speak to him; but of course there may be a guard inside, as well as at the door. if he is very ill, there will probably be a light." "let me go, master!" "no, meinik, i would rather go myself. i shall be able to judge how he is, if i can catch a sight of him." chapter : preparing a rescue. stanley remained where he was until meinik returned, in half an hour, with the rope. stanley made a loop at one end; and then knotted it, at distances of about a foot apart, to enable him to climb it more easily. then they waited until the guard fire burnt down low, and most of the men went off into a hut a few yards distant, three only remaining talking before the fire. then stanley moved round to the other side of the palisade and, choosing a spot immediately behind the hut where the sentries were posted, threw up the rope. it needed many attempts before the loop caught at the top of one of the bamboos. as soon as it did so, he climbed up. he found that the position was an exceedingly unpleasant one. the bamboos were all so cut that each of them terminated in three spikes, and so impossible was it to cross this that he had to slip down the rope again. on telling meinik what was the matter, the latter at once took off his garment and folded it up into a roll, two feet long. "if you lay that on the top, master, you will be able to cross." this time stanley had little difficulty. on reaching the top, he laid the roll on the bamboo spikes; and was able to raise himself on to it and sit there, while he pulled up the rope and dropped it on the inside. descending, he at once began to crawl towards the hut. as he had seen before climbing, a light was burning within, and the window was at the back of the house. this was but some twenty yards from the palisade and, when he reached it, he stood up and cautiously looked in. the indian trooper was seated in a chair, asleep, without his tunic. one arm was bandaged, and a blood-stained cloth was wrapped round his head. on a bamboo pallet, with a dark rug thrown over it, was another figure. the lamp on the wall gave too feeble a light for stanley to be able to make out whether the figure lying there was harry, but he had no doubt that it was so. in a low tone he said, in hindustani, "wake up, man!" the soldier moved a little. stanley repeated the words in a somewhat louder tone, and the trooper sprang to his feet, and looked round in a bewildered way. "come to the window," stanley said. "it is i, your officer." the man's glance turned to the window but, surprised at seeing a burmese peasant--as he supposed--instead of the officer, he stood hesitating. "come on," stanley said. "i am lieutenant brooke." the soldier recognized the voice, drew himself up, made the military salute, and then stepped to the window. "i have come," stanley said, "to try and rescue lieutenant brooke, and yourself. i have some friends without. how is he?" "he is very ill, sir. he is badly wounded, and is unconscious. sometimes he lies for hours without moving; sometimes he talks to himself but, as i cannot understand the language, i know not what he says; but sometimes he certainly calls upon you. he uses your name often. "i do what i can for him, but it is very little. i bathe his forehead with water, and pour it between his lips. of course he can eat nothing, but i keep the water my rice is boiled in and, when it is cool, give it him to drink. there is some strength in it." "then nothing can be done, at present," stanley said. "tomorrow night i will bring some fruit. you can squeeze the juice of some limes into a little water, and give it to him. there is nothing better for fever. as soon as he is well enough for us to get him through the palisades, we will have a litter ready for him, and carry him off; but nothing can be done until then. "how are you treated?" "they give me plenty of rice, sahib, and i am at liberty to go out into the courtyard in the daytime and, now that i know that you are near, i shall have no fear. i have been expecting that they would send me to ava where, no doubt, they would kill me; but i have thought most that, if they were to send me away from here, and there was no one to look after the sahib, he would surely die." at this moment stanley felt a hand roughly placed on his shoulder. turning round, he struck out with all his strength, full in a man's face, and he fell like a log. "if they ask you who was here," he said hastily to the trooper, "say that you know not who it was. a burmese came and spoke to you, but of course you thought that he was one of the guard." then he ran to the rope, climbed up and, as he got over, pulled it up and threw it down to meinik--as he thought that there might be some difficulty in shaking it off from the bamboo--then he dropped to the ground, bringing down the pad with him. "did you kill him, master?" meinik asked, as they hurried away. "i was watching the window, and saw you talking to someone inside; then i saw a man suddenly come into the light and put his hand upon you, and saw you turn round, and he fell without a sound being heard." "there is no fear of his being killed, meinik. i simply hit him hard; and he went down, i have no doubt, stunned. it is unfortunate but, though they may set extra guards for a time, i think they will not believe the man's story; or at any rate, will suppose that it was only one of the guard who, not being able to sleep, wandered round there and looked into the hut from behind. the worst of it is that i am afraid that there is no chance of my being able to take my cousin some limes and other fruit, tomorrow night, as i said i would. he is very ill, and quite unconscious." "that is very bad, master. i will try and take him in some fruit, tomorrow. if they won't let me in, i will watch outside the gates and, when one of the guard comes out, will take him aside; and i have no doubt that, for a small bribe, he will carry in the fruit and give it to the trooper. i wonder that they put them into that hut with the window at the back." "i don't suppose they would have done so, if my cousin had not been so ill that it was evident that he could not, for some time, attempt to escape." they joined the villagers outside the town and, telling them that there was nothing to do that night, returned to the temple. they found the man and the two boys, sitting by a great fire, but shivering with terror. "what is the matter?" stanley asked. "the spirits have been making all sorts of noises outside, and there are other noises at the end of the cave, close to the horses." stanley took a brand and went over to them. they were both munching their grain quietly. "well, you see the horses are not frightened; so you may be sure that whatever were the noises you heard, there was nothing unnatural about them. what were they like?" the question was not answered for, at that moment, a sound like a loud deep sigh was heard overhead. the natives started back; and even stanley felt, for a moment, uncomfortable. "it is only the wind," he said. "there must be some opening above there; and the wind makes a noise in it, just as it does in a chimney. we will see all about it, in the morning. "now, as to the noises outside." "they were wailing cries," the man said. "pooh! they must have been tigers or leopards, or perhaps only wild cats. no doubt they smelt you and the horses, but were too much afraid of the fire to come any nearer. why, you must have heard tigers often enough to know their cries." "i thought myself that they were tigers," the man said, rather shamefacedly, "but the boys said they were certain that they were not; and i was not sure, myself, one way or the other." sitting down by the fire, stanley told the men the exact position of the prisoners; and said that he feared it would be altogether impossible to get harry out, for the present. "i would give anything to have him here," he said; "but it would be impossible to get him over the palisade." "we might cut through it, master," meinik said. "with a sharp saw we could cut a hole big enough, in an hour, to carry his litter out. the only thing is, we could not get his bed through that window." "we might get over that, by making a narrow litter," stanley said, "and lifting him from the bed on to it. the difficulty would be, what to do with him when we got him out? as to carrying him any distance, in his present state it would be out of the question; besides, the guard are sure to be vigilant, for some considerable time. i think that the best plan would be for you all to go back to your village, tomorrow, taking the horses with you; and for one of you to come over, every other day, for orders. then there would be no occasion for anyone to watch the horses. they certainly will be of no use to us, at present, for it will be weeks before my cousin is strong enough to ride. "meinik and i will take up our abode close to the edge of the forest, for that will save us some four or five miles' walk, each day. the first thing in the morning, you shall go with me and choose a spot; so that you may both know where to find us. two of you have got axes, and we will make a shelter in a tree; so as to be able to sleep without fear of tigers when we go out there, though i dare say that we shall generally sleep near the town. however, one or other of us will always be at the spot, at midday, on the days when you are to meet us. "now that i think of it, two of you may as well stay at the shelter, for the present, while the other three and the two boys go home. then there will be no occasion to take the long journey so often. when we do get my cousin out, we shall have to take up our abode, for a time, either here or in the forest, until he is well enough to bear the journey." in the morning stanley closely examined the roof of the cave, but could see no opening to account for the noise that he had heard. he had, however, no doubt that one existed somewhere. he left a man with the two boys in charge of the horses, and went with the others until they approached the edge of the forest. they kept along within the trees for half a mile, so that any fire they might light would be unseen by people travelling along the road. the men considered this precaution needless, as they declared that no one would venture to pass along it after nightfall; partly owing to the fear of tigers, and partly to the vicinity of the temple. a suitable tree was soon fixed on; and the burmese, now in their element, ascended it by driving in pegs at distances of two feet apart. once among the high branches, they lopped off all small boughs that would be in the way and then, descending, cut a number of poles, and many lengths of tough creeper and, with these, they constructed a platform among the higher branches; and on it erected a sort of arbour, amply sufficient to hold four or five people, lying down. this arbour would hardly be noticed, even by persons searching; as it was, to a great extent, hidden by the foliage beneath it. stanley told meinik that they had better buy some rope for a ladder, and take out the pegs; as these might catch the eye of a passer-by, and cause him to make a close search above. as soon as the work was finished, two of the men went back to the temple, to start at once for home with their companion, the boys, and the horses. stanley had brought with him his pistols, the two horse blankets, and other things that might be useful and, when these were stored above he, with meinik and the two men, went towards the town. he stopped, as before, a short distance outside. just as it was dusk, the men returned carrying the rope that meinik had bought, and a store of food. with these they were sent to the shelter, and stanley entered the town, where he met meinik. "i have sent in the fruit," the latter said. "i had no difficulty about it. i told the first soldier who came out, after i had bought it, that i came from the village where the white officer had been captured by the bandits. he had been very kind to us all and, as we knew that he had been carried off badly wounded, i had come over to get some fruit for him; but i found that they would not let me in at the gate. i said i would give an ounce of silver to him, if he would hand the things to the prisoner for me. "he said, at once, that he would do so. he had heard that the whites always treated their wounded prisoners very well; and that there would be no difficulty about it, for that there was a window at the back of the hut where he was lying, and he could easily pass things in there without anyone noticing it. if the prisoner was, as i said, a good man, it was only right that he should be helped. "i told him that i should look out for him, and might want him to do the same, another day. i think that he was an honest fellow, and might have passed the fruit in, even without a reward. still, everyone is glad to earn a little money. "he told me that a strange thing had happened, last night. one of his comrades had declared that he had found a giant, standing at the window where the prisoner was. he put his hand upon him, when he was struck down by lightning. no one would have believed his tale at all, if it had not been that his nose was broken. the other prisoner had been questioned but, as he did not understand burmese, they could learn nothing from him. two guards were, in future, to be placed at the back of the house, as well as in the front." "that part of the business is bad, meinik." "i dare say we shall be able to bribe them, master. you may be sure that most of them are eager to get back to their own villages and, for a few ounces of silver, they would be glad enough to help us, and then to make their escape and go off to their homes. the man i saw today might find one among them ready to do so, with him; especially if their homes happened to be on the other side of the hills, and there would then be no chance of their being seized, and sent back again, by their headman. the sentry would only have to let us know what night he would arrange for them both to be on guard, together, behind the hut; then we should be able to manage it well." "it would be a capital plan that, meinik, if it could be arranged. "well, it is a great comfort to know that the fruit has got in safely. the limes, especially, will be a great help to my cousin. next time you see the man, you must try and get him to find out how he is going on." for a fortnight, stanley remained in the forest. meinik met the soldier every other day, and sent in fruit and, at the end of the ten days, he heard that the prisoner had recovered his senses. it was said that, as soon as he was well enough to move, he was to be sent to ava. "now you had better begin to sound the man, as to his willingness to aid him to escape." "i have very little doubt about it, master, for i have already learned that his home is on the other side of the hills. he went down with bandoola; and returned after his defeat, with a number of others, travelling up the bank of the pegu river. if they had not had their military chief with them, they would have started straight for home. but they were marched here, and have been kept on duty in the town, ever since. he has heard how well off the people are on the other side of the hills, under english rule; so i feel sure that he will be glad to escape, if he sees a chance of getting off." "that is good. in the first place, let him know that the other english officer, who was at the village with the one they captured, had said that he would be ready to pay well anyone who would aid in his escape. if he says that he would willingly do so, if he also could get away, tell him that one man would be of no use but that, if he could get another to join him, so that they could both go on guard together behind the house, it could be managed. "but say that, in the first place, i must myself speak to the white officer, and learn exactly how he is, and whether he can endure a journey as far as this tree, or the temple--whichever we may decide upon as best. when i have seen him, i will send for the other men from the village. i am in no hurry to get him away, for the longer he stays quiet, the better. but at any moment the governor may decide that he is sufficiently recovered to be carried, and may send him off to ava, under a strong escort. therefore, although we will put off moving him as long as possible, we must not run the risk of his being sent away." four days later, meinik said that the man had arranged with another to join him, and that both would be on duty behind the hut, that evening, between nine and midnight. accordingly, at ten o'clock stanley arrived, with meinik and the two villagers, at the palisade. meinik had insisted upon accompanying him to the hut. "i believe that the man is to be trusted, master; indeed i am sure he is, but i do not know the second man. he may have pretended to accept the offer, only on purpose to betray his comrade, and to obtain honour and reward for preventing the escape of the white man. therefore, i must be with you, in case you are attacked. our other two men may be useful, to give the alarm, if a party is sent round to cut us off." stanley, who had brought a horse blanket with him to lay on the top of the palisade, was the first to drop into the inclosure. meinik followed him closely. nothing had been said to the guard as to the white officer, of whom meinik had spoken, being himself of the party; and stanley had purposely left his pistols behind him, lest he should be tempted to use them. in case he was attacked, he carried a spear and a long burmese knife. meinik had begged to be allowed to go forward first, while stanley remained by the rope. he pointed out that some change might possibly have been made, and that other men might have been placed on sentry. "i know you, master," he said; "if you got there, and found two strangers, and they attacked you, you would fight; then they would give the alarm, and others would come up before you could cross the palisade. i shall steal up. when i am close, i shall make a noise like the hiss of a snake. if my men are both there, they will repeat the sound. if they are not, and one comes forward to look for and kill the snake, i shall slay him before he has time to utter a sound. if the other runs forward at the sound of his fall, i shall kill him, also. "if no alarm is given, you can come forward and speak to your cousin. if there is an alarm, you must climb the rope. they will not know which way i have run, and i shall have plenty of time to get over the palisade and pull up the rope; then they will think that the guards have been killed by some of their comrades." "i hope no such misfortune will happen," stanley said, gravely, "for there would then be no chance, whatever, of our getting him away. he would probably be moved to some other place, and our one hope would be that we might rescue him on the road; which would be a difficult matter, indeed, if he were sent, as he certainly would be, under a strong escort. however, your plan is no doubt the best for, if i were killed or captured, there would be an end of any chance of his being rescued." meinik crawled forward and, in a minute or two, stanley heard a low hissing sound, followed by two others. he walked forward a step or two to meet meinik, as he came back. "it is all right, master; you can go on fearlessly." meinik returned with him to the window, and posted himself outside, standing in the shadow; while stanley stepped in through the open casement which, indeed, was provided only with a shutter outside. this would ordinarily have been closed but, owing to the illness of the prisoner, and the strong desire of the governor that he should live to be sent to ava, it had been opened to allow a free passage of air. the trooper sprung from his couch, as stanley made a slight sound before attempting to enter; but stanley said, in hindustani: "silence! it is i, mr. brooke." the trooper stared doubtfully at the dark, tattooed, half-naked figure. "it is i, runkoor, but i am disguised. i was like this when i spoke to you through the window a fortnight since, but you could not then see my figure. "are you awake, harry?" he asked in english, as he approached the pallet. "yes, i am awake; at least i think so. is it really you, stanley?" "it is i, sure enough, man," stanley replied, as he pressed the thin hands of the invalid. "did not runkoor tell you that i had been here before?" but harry had broken down, altogether. the surprise and delight was too much for him, in his weak state. "of course," stanley went on quietly, "i knew that he could not speak english, but i thought that he might make signs." "he did make a sign. each time he gave me fruit, he said 'sahib brooke,' pointed outside, and waved his arms about; but i could not make head or tail of what he meant. why he should keep on repeating my name, each time he gave me the fruit, was a complete puzzle for me. as to the signs that he made, it seemed to me that he had gone off his head. i have been too weak to think it over, so i gave up worrying about it; and it never once struck me that it was you who sent me the fruit. "what an awful figure you are!" "never mind about that, harry. i have come in to see how strong you are. i have bribed the two guards stationed behind." "i can just sit up in bed to take my food, stanley, that is all. i could not walk a step to save my life." "i did not expect you to walk. what i want to know is whether you are strong enough to be carried a few miles, on a litter. i have five men from the village where we were, and they can cut through the palisading behind the hut. i want to give you as long a time as possible; but i am afraid that, any day, the governor may have you taken out and sent in a litter to ava, under a strong escort." "i could bear being carried out, no doubt; but if i could not, i should think it would do me no harm, so long as my wounds do not break out afresh. i suppose the worst that could happen to me would be that i should faint, before i got to the end of the journey. "are you sure, old man, that this is not a dream?" "quite certain; if you were well enough, i would give you a sharp pinch. if you are willing to venture, i will make my preparations at once. i have to send to the village; but in three days i shall be ready and, the first night after that the men manage to be on guard together behind, we shall be here. it may be a week, it may be more but, at any rate, don't worry about it if they take you away suddenly. i shall try to get you out of their hands, somehow." "my dear stanley," harry said, with a feeble laugh, "do you know that you are spoiling your chance of an earldom?" "you may take it that if you don't succeed to the title, old fellow, i sha'n't; for if you go under, i shall, too. "now goodbye; it would be fatal were i to be caught here. try to get yourself as strong as you can, but don't let them notice that you are doing so." without giving harry time to reply, stanley pressed his hand and left his bedside. he paused for a minute, to inform the trooper of the plans for the escape, and then he got through the window. meinik joined him at once and, without a word being spoken, they crossed the palisade, threw down the rope and blankets, and dropped after them to the ground. on their way back to their tree, stanley told the two men that the officer was better; and that the next morning, at daybreak, one of them must start for the village to fetch their three comrades. the boys were also to come back with him, as they were big fellows and carried spears; and might, as stanley thought, be useful either in a fight or in assisting to carry harry. on the following morning, after the man had started, stanley went with meinik to examine the temple more closely than he had done before. he thought that it would be a far better hiding place than their hut in the tree. there would certainly be a hot pursuit, and the next day they might be discovered, whether in the temple or in the tree; but in the latter they would be powerless to defend themselves, for the burmese, with their axes, would be able to fell it in a few minutes; whereas in the temple a stout defence might be made for a time. moreover, the rock chambers would be far cooler, in the middle of the day, than the hut. his chief object in visiting the temple was to find a chamber with a narrow entrance, that could be held by half a dozen men against a number of foes; and it was desirable, if possible, to find one so situated that they might, in case of necessity, retreat into another chamber, or into the open air. meinik was so confident, in the white man's power to combat even evil spirits, that he approached the temple with stanley without betraying any nervousness. they had provided themselves with some torches of resinous wood, and meinik carried a couple of brands from their fire. the chamber they had before been in was apparently the largest in the temple, but there were several other openings in the rock. "that is the entrance we will try first," stanley said, pointing to one some ten feet from the ground. "you see there were once some steps leading up to it. no doubt, where we are standing there was a temple built against the face of that rock; and probably that doorway led into one of the priests' chambers." it was necessary to pile three or four blocks of stone on the top of the two steps that alone remained intact, in order to enable them to reach the entrance. "let me light the torches before you go in," meinik said. "there may be snakes." "that is hardly likely, meinik. you see, the face of the rock has been chiselled flat, and i don't think any snake could climb up to that entrance." "perhaps not, master, but it is best to be ready for them." they lighted two torches, and passed through the doorway. there was an angry hiss, some distance away. "that is a snake, sure enough, meinik. i wonder how it got here." holding their torches above their heads, they saw that the chamber was some fourteen feet wide and twenty long. in the corner to the left something was lying and, above it, a dark object was moving backwards and forwards. "it is a big boa," meinik said. "now, master, do you take the two torches in one hand, and have your knife ready in the other. if it coils round you, cut through it at once. this is a good place for fighting it, for there is nothing here for it to get its tail round; and a boa cannot squeeze very hard, unless he does that." stanley, feeling that in a combat of this sort the burman would be perfectly at home, while he himself knew nothing about it, did as he was told; determining to rush in, should it attack his follower. "you can advance straight towards him, master. i will steal round. he will be watching you, and i may get a cut at him, before he notices me." illustration: the great snake moved his head higher and higher, hissing angrily. stanley moved slowly forward. as he did so, the great snake moved its head higher and higher, hissing angrily, with its eyes fixed on the torches. stanley did not take his gaze from it; but advanced, grasping his knife. he knew that the boa's bite was harmless, and that it was only its embrace that was to be feared. he was within some eight feet of the reptile, when there was a spring. the snake's head disappeared and, in a moment, it was writhing, twisting, and lashing its tail so quickly that his eyes could hardly follow its contortions. "stand back, master," meinik shouted. "if its tail strikes you, it might do you an injury. it is harmless, otherwise. i have cut its head off." stanley stepped back a pace or two, and stood gazing in awe at the tremendous writhing of the headless snake. "it is a monster, meinik," he said. "it is a big snake, master. indeed, i should say that it must be about forty feet long, and it is as thick as my body. it would be more than a match for a tiger." "well, i hope there are not many more of them about, meinik." "that depends, master. it may have its mate, but it is more likely there will be no other. it would eat any smaller ones of its own kind, of course; but there may be some small poisonous ones about." as the writhing of the snake ceased, stanley looked round and saw a narrow doorway, in the corner opposite that in which it had been lying. "here is a passage, meinik. let us see where it goes to." meinik had, by this time, lighted two more torches. "the more light the better," he said, "when you are looking for snakes," and, holding them in one hand and his knife in the other, he passed through the doorway, which was about four feet high. stanley followed him. the apartment was similar to the last, but narrower; and was lighted by an opening not more than a foot square. "see, meinik, there is a staircase, in the corner facing us." the steps were very narrow, but in perfect preservation. without staying to examine the room, meinik led the way up; examining every step carefully, and holding the knife in readiness to strike. they mounted some forty steps, and then entered a room about ten feet square. except a window, some eighteen inches by three feet, there was no apparent exit from the chamber. "i should think that there must be some way out of this place, meinik. why should they have taken the trouble to cut that long flight of steps through the rock, just to reach this miserable little chamber?" meinik shook his head. the ways of these ancient builders were beyond him. "there must be an outlet somewhere, if we could but find it. besides, we have not found where the snake came in, yet." "he could have come in at the door, master. a small snake could not have climbed up, but that big fellow could rear his head up and come in, quite easily. we have found no little snakes at all." "well, that may be so, but i still think that there must be some way out from here. why should men go to the labour of cutting this long stair, and excavating this chamber here, without any reason whatever? let us look through the window, meinik." it was a passage, rather than a window; for the rock face had been left four feet in thickness. crawling out, stanley saw that he was fifty feet above the foot of the cliff. a yard below him was a ledge of rock, some two feet wide. it was level, and had deep grooves cut, at regular intervals, across it. he had no doubt that the roof of the outside temple had started from this point; and that the grooves were made for the ends of massive rafters, of teak or stone. at that time the passage to the chamber that he had left was, doubtless, used for an exit on to the flat roof. stepping on to the ledge, he called meinik to him. "now, meinik," he said, "we will follow this ledge. there may be some way up from it." walking with a good deal of care, stanley made his way along to a point where the ledge stopped, abruptly. looking down, he saw the remains of a wall of solid masonry, and perceived that he had been correct in his surmise as to the purpose of the ledge. then they turned, and went back to the other end of the ledge. a few feet before they reached this, meinik--who was now leading the way--stopped. "here is a passage, master." the entrance was about the same size as that through which they had stepped out on to the ledge but, instead of going straight in, it started upwards. "another flight of steps, meinik. i am beginning to hope that we shall find some way out, at the top. if we can do so, it will make us safe. we could defend those stairs and the entrance for a long time and, when we wanted to get away, we could make quietly off, without anyone knowing that we had left." chapter : in the temple. they went up the flight of steps for a considerable distance, then they found the passage blocked by a number of great stones. stanley uttered an exclamation of disgust. "it has fallen in," he said. "no doubt we are near the top of the rock. either the staircase was roofed in, or there was a building erected over the entrance; and either the roof or building, whichever it was, has fallen in. that is very unlucky. when we go down, we will climb up the hill and see if we can discover anything about it. "with plenty of food and water," he went on, as they descended into the lowest chamber, "one could hold this place for any time." "yes, master, one could store away the food; but where should we store the water? we might bring skins in that would last us for a week, perhaps two weeks, but after that?" "after that we should make our way off, somehow, meinik," stanley said, confidently. "well, there is no doubt that this is the place to shelter in. they are less likely to find us here than anywhere and, if they do find us, we can defend ourselves stoutly. i should say, too, that if we think it over, we ought to be able to hit upon some plan for making noises that would frighten them. you know how scared the man and the two boys were, at that sighing sound in the other chamber. we certainly could make more alarming noises than that." meinik nodded. "that we could, master. with some reeds of different sizes i could make noises, some as deep as the roar of a tiger, and others like the singing of a bird." "then we will certainly bring some reeds in here with us, meinik. i don't suppose they will mind, in the daytime, what sounds they hear; but at night i don't think even their officers would care to move about here, if we can but make a few noises they do not understand. "well, for the present we have done our work here; and you had best go off with the burman to buy food, to serve in case of a siege. you had better go to some of the cultivators' houses, near the edge of the wood, for rice and fruit. if you can get the food there, you will be able to make two or three journeys a day, instead of one. "but, before we start back, we will climb round to the top of the hill, and see what has happened to shut up the staircase." it took them a quarter of an hour's climbing, through the forest and undergrowth, before they reached the upper edge of the rock wall in which the chambers had been excavated. it had evidently, in the first place, been a natural cliff for, when on the ledge, stanley had noticed that while below that point the rock was as smooth as a built wall, above it was rough, and evidently untouched by the hand of man. following the edge of the cliff, until standing as nearly as they could guess above the entrance to the steps, they walked back among the trees. at a distance of some thirty yards, they came upon a ruin. it was built of massive stones, like those which strewed the ground where the temple had stood. a great tree rose on one side, and it was evident that its growth had, in the first place, overthrown the wall at this point. climbers and shrubs had thrust their roots in between the blocks that had been but slightly moved, by the growth of the tree; and had, in time, forced them asunder; and so, gradually, the whole building had collapsed. "this tree must be a very old one," stanley said, looking up at it, "for it is evident that this wall was thrown down a great many years ago." "very old, master. it is one of our hardest woods, and such trees live, they say, five or six hundred years. there are some which are known to be even older than that." "well, it is clear that the staircase came up here; but we have no means of knowing how far the point we reached is below this. i should say that the stones we saw are the remains of the pavement and roof, for you see these great blocks that formed the walls don't go as far as the middle, where there is a great depression. still, of course, the steps may have come up on one side or the other, and not just in the middle of this little temple--for, no doubt, it was a temple. "now, you see, the reason for the steps up to that little square room are explained. probably those three chambers were the apartments of the principal priests, and from them they could either go out on to the roof of the temple; or could, by taking the upper staircase to this point, leave or enter without observation. "now, let us be off." on arriving at their tree shelter, they found that the burman had got a meal ready and, after partaking of this, meinik, with the man, started to buy provisions. it was fortunate that stanley had, before starting from prome, drawn some twenty pounds' worth of silver from the paymaster. he had expected to be away for three or four weeks and, during that time, would have had to buy provisions for himself, harry, and the four troopers; and might possibly have occasion for money for other matters. he had not paid the men from the village, for he knew that one of these would willingly accompany him to prome, to receive payment for them all. a very small amount of silver sufficed for the purchase of a considerable quantity of food in burma. fruit, of which many kinds grew wild in the woods, was extremely cheap; as was rice and grain. therefore as yet, with the exception of the small sum expended in toungoo, his money was virtually untouched. the two burmans made three journeys before nightfall and returned, each time, with large baskets of fruit, grain, and rice. on the following morning, they went into the town and bought six of the largest sized water skins--such as are carried for the use of the troops in india, one on each side of a bullock. as soon as they returned with these, they started for the temple. at a stream about a hundred yards from the entrance they partially filled one of the skins and, placing a strong bamboo through the straps sewn on it for the purpose, meinik and the burmans carried it to the temple and, with stanley's assistance, lifted it into the lower chamber. the others were, one by one, placed beside it; then water was carried in the smaller skins and poured in, until they were all as full as they could hold. "there is water enough to last us for a month, if needs be," stanley said as, after securely tying up the mouths, they laid the skins down, side by side. the smaller mussucks were then filled and placed with the large skins; and then, having done a long day's work, they returned to their tree just as the sun was setting. the four men and two boys were already there, they having done the sixty miles from the village without a halt. they had already cooked some rice and some slices of venison--which meinik had brought, with the water skins, from the town that morning--and were now lying smoking their cigars with placid contentment. for the next six days meinik went to the town every afternoon. on his return on the last evening, he said that the guard had told him that the governor had paid a visit to the prison, that day, and had seen the white captive; and had decided that he was now well enough to travel, and that in two days' time he was to start for ava, the court having sent down an urgent order that he should be carried there as soon as he was well enough to bear the fatigue. "then tomorrow we must get him out," stanley said. "will our two men be on duty?" "yes, master, they have not been on since the last night we were there. they will form the second watch, and will go on guard at midnight. i have bought two very sharp saws, and have cut two strong bamboos for the litter." this was constructed the next day. it was very simple, being formed by sewing a blanket strongly to the two bamboos. two slighter bamboos, each four feet long, were tied loosely to the main poles. these were to be lashed across, as soon as they had got beyond the palisade, so as to keep the poles three feet apart--which, as the blanket was four feet, from pole to pole, would allow it to bag comfortably. the cross pieces could not be attached until they were beyond the palisade; for the window was but two feet wide, and it was therefore proposed to make the gap through the palisade the same width, only. late in the evening they entered the town, and sat down in a deserted corner until the time came for them to begin their work. at last meinik said that, by the stars, it was already past midnight; and they then proceeded to the spot where they had before climbed the palisade. here they at once set to work. the saws were well oiled and, in a very few minutes, five bamboos were cut away, at the level of the ground and six feet above it. as the stockade was bound together by cross pieces, behind, the other portions of the bamboos remained in their places. meinik and stanley went first, followed by three of the burmans, one of whom carried the litter. the other two burmans with the boys, remained on guard at the opening. all were barefooted, except that stanley wore a pair of the lightest leather sandals. they went noiselessly up to the window; the guard, as before, responding to meinik's hiss. without a word, one after another entered the chamber. the trooper had been sitting at the table, evidently anxiously expecting their arrival. stanley went up to the bed. "are you better, harry?" he asked, in a whisper. "better, but still weak." everything had been arranged beforehand. the litter was laid down on the ground, with the poles as far apart as possible. then stanley made a sign, to the trooper, to take one end of the rug on which harry was lying; while he took the other. the burmans ranged themselves on each side; and the blanket was lifted up, with the occupant and the pillow composed of his clothes, and laid quietly on to the blanket of the litter. then two burmans went outside, while the other four men lifted the poles and carried one end to the window. the burmans outside held the ends well above their heads, stanley and the trooper raising their hands similarly. the other burmans then crawled, under it, out of the window. as the litter was moved forward through the window, they took the places of stanley and the trooper at the poles, and silently moved on towards the palisade. stanley and meinik followed, joined by the two burmese guards. not the slightest sound was made, as the eight men crossed the short distance to the palisade and passed through the opening where the others, spear in hand, were awaiting them; ready to rush in and take part in the fray, should an alarm be given. stanley breathed a great sigh of relief, as they passed out. a few paces further they halted, and the cross pieces were lashed to the poles. "thank god that you are out, harry!" stanley said, as soon as they did this. "has it hurt you much?" "nothing to speak of," harry replied. "you managed it marvellously. am i really outside the place altogether?" "yes, fairly out. you will be more comfortable when we have lashed these cross pieces. you will not be lying, then, at the bottom of a bag; as you are now." when the work was completed, they proceeded at a rapid pace; for harry's weight, reduced by fever as he had been, was a trifle to his bearers. the others followed close behind and, in a quarter of an hour, they were well beyond the town. stanley spoke to harry once or twice, but received no answer; so he had no doubt that his cousin had dozed quietly off to sleep. the gentle motion of the litter would be likely to have that effect; especially as harry had probably been lying awake, for the last night or two, listening for the friends who might arrive at any time. when they reached the confines of the forest the torches, which had been carried by the boys, were all lit; and each carried two--with the exception of the bearers, who had but one each--while all kept close together round the litter. they waved their torches as they went and, although they heard the cries of several tigers in the forest, they had no fear of being attacked; as so many waving lights would deter the most hungry beast from venturing near. once in the chamber at the temple, the litter was laid down on a pile of reeds and leaves that had been gathered the day before, together with a great store of brushwood and logs. harry still sleeping quietly. in a short time a bright fire was blazing and, with this and the light of the torches, the chamber assumed quite a cheerful appearance. on the way, stanley had spoken to the two guards, thanked them for their service, and assured them that they would receive the reward promised by meinik. "i am the british officer," he said, "who was at the village with my friend, though i was absent when he was carried off. as you see, i am disguised." both had shown signs of uneasiness, when they approached the temple; but meinik had assured them that the spirits would not venture to approach a party having a white man with them, and that a night had already been passed in the temple, without any harm coming of it. a meal, consisting of slices of venison, was at once prepared and, when this was eaten, and the whole party had lighted cigars, their spirits rose at the success of the enterprise. the soldiers, however, had been disappointed at hearing that there was going to be a stay for some little time there, to enable the wounded man to gain strength. "we may not stop long," stanley said; "but, you see, with the litter we could not travel fast; and you may be sure by this time the alarm has been given for, when they came to relieve you at the end of three hours, it would be found that you were missing; and then they would, at once, discover that the captives had gone, too. by daybreak the whole garrison will be out. how many are there of them?" "there are three thousand men, in the town," the guard said. "after a party of your soldiers came within a short distance of it, two months ago, fifteen hundred men were added to the garrison." "well, you see, with three thousand men they could scour all the woods and, if they overtook us, we should be unable to make any defence. here, we may hope that they will not discover us; but if they do we can make a desperate resistance for, as only one man can enter that door at a time, it would be next to impossible for them to force their way in. you have your guns, and i have a brace of pistols and, as all the others have spears, it will be as much as the three thousand men could do, to get in through that door. if they did, there is a still narrower door in the corner to defend; and beyond that there is a long, narrow, steep flight of stairs, that one man could hold against a host. "the first thing in the morning, we will carry our stores to the upper chamber. we have water and rice enough to last us for a month, if we are careful; so that, although i hope they won't find us, i shall not be at all afraid of our beating them off, if they do so." as soon as it was daylight, the stones that had been added to the steps at the doorway were flung down; and then, by their united efforts, the two remaining steps were removed. then they helped each other up, the last man being aided by two of his comrades, above. "there," stanley said; "if they do come to search for us, they are not likely to suspect that we have got a badly wounded man up here. they may search the big chamber that we were in, before, and any others there may be on the same level; but this narrow entrance, ten feet above them, is scarcely likely to attract their attention. if it does, as i said, we must fight it out; but it will be a wonderfully hard nut for them to crack." he then ordered the men to carry all the stores to the upper chamber. just as they began the work, there was a slight movement on the bed. stanley at once went up to it. harry was looking round, in a bewildered way. "well, harry, how are you feeling? you have had a capital sleep." "oh, is it you, stanley? i was not quite sure but that i was dreaming. where am i? i must have gone off to sleep, directly we started; for i don't remember anything, after you spoke to me when they were making the hammock more comfortable." "you are in a temple--some four or five thousand years old, i should say--and this is a rock chamber. the temple itself is in ruins. we are ten miles from toungoo, and shall wait here till the pursuit for you has slackened. in another week, you will be more fit to move than you are, at present. i should not like to carry you far, as you are now. besides, if we had pushed on, they would have been sure to overtake us; for these fellows can run like hares." "but why should not they find us here, stanley?" "well, of course they may do so, but the entrance to this chamber is ten feet above the ground; and another thing is, they have all sorts of superstitions about the place. nothing would induce them to approach it, after nightfall; and even in the daytime, they don't like coming near it. lastly, if they do find us, it will take them all their time to force their way in. i have five men, and two young fellows quite capable of fighting; then there are your two guards, meinik, the trooper, and myself. so you see, we muster twelve. we have two guns, and a brace of pistols, and spears for us all; and if we cannot defend that narrow passage, against any number of burmans, we shall deserve our fate. "besides, there is another, and even narrower door, in the corner behind you. they would have to force that; and in the chamber beyond there is a narrow, straight staircase, some forty feet high, which a man with an axe ought to be able to hold against an army. they are taking the stores up there, now. we have got provisions and water for a month. when everything is straight, there we shall carry you up and, unless they sit down in front of this place and regularly starve us out, we are as safe as if we were in prome." "i wish to goodness you had that hideous dye off you, stanley. i know it is you by your voice but, what with the colour, and all that tattooing, and your extraordinary hair, i don't know you in the least." "i am in just the same disguise as that in which i made my way down from ava," stanley laughed. "i felt very uncomfortable, at first, with nothing on but this short petticoat thing; but i have got accustomed to it, now, and i am bound to say that it is cool and comfortable. "now, tell me about your wounds." "they are not very serious, stanley. i had a lick across the head with a sword--that was the one that brought me down--and a slice taken out of my arm from the elbow, nearly up to the shoulder. also a spear-wound in the side; but that was a trifle, as it glanced off the ribs. if i had been left as i fell, and somebody had bound up my wounds at once, i should have been all right by this time. the fellows did bandage them up, to some extent; but the movement of the litter set them off bleeding again, and i fancy that i lost pretty nearly all the blood in my body. i think that it was pure weakness, rather than fever, that kept me unconscious so long; for i gather, from the pantomime of the trooper, that i must have been nearly a fortnight unconscious." "yes, you were certainly so when i came the first time, harry; but i think, perhaps, on the whole, it is lucky that you were. you would probably have had a great deal more fever, if you had not been so very weak; and if you had escaped that, and had gone on well, you might have been sent off to ava before i could get all the arrangements made for your escape." "tell me all about it," harry said. "it seems to me wonderful how you managed it." stanley told him the whole story. by the time that he had finished, the stores had all been taken upstairs; and the fire most carefully extinguished, as the smoke would at once have betrayed them. the cross pieces of the litter had been taken off, to allow harry to be carried in through the door, and he was now lifted. two of the men took off their cloths, and wrapped the materials of the bed into these, carrying them up at once. as soon as they had gone on, harry was slowly and carefully taken to the upper chamber, and laid down again on the bed. stanley took his place beside him, and the rest of the party went down to the lower room; having received the strictest orders not to show themselves near the entrance, and not to smoke until well assured that their pursuers must have passed on ahead. the bamboos of the litter were converted into a rough ladder and, on this, meinik took his post at the little window in the second of the lower rooms. owing to the immense thickness of the rock wall, he did not get an extensive view, but he could see the path by which anyone coming up through the forest would approach the temple. it was now about half-past seven and, by this time, the pursuers might be at hand; in ten minutes, indeed, distant shouts could be heard, and stanley at once went down and joined the men below. he placed himself in the line of the doorway. as the wall here was four feet thick, the room was in semi-darkness and, standing well back, he was certain that his figure could not be perceived by anyone standing in the glare of sunshine outside. the sounds grew louder and louder; and in a minute or two an officer, followed by some twenty men, emerged from the trees. all paused, when they saw the temple. the men would have drawn back at once; but the officer shouted to them to advance, although showing small inclination to do so, himself. they were still standing, irresolute, when a superior officer on horseback, followed by some fifty footmen, came up the path. he shouted orders for them to search the temple and, as the fear of him was even greater than their dread of the spirits, the whole of the men made their way over the fallen stones, and up to the face of the rock. they first entered the chamber where the horses had been stabled. the officer who had first arrived went in with his men and, coming out, reported to his senior that there had been a fire made, and that some horses had also been there; but that three weeks, or a month, must have passed since then. "are you sure of that?" "quite certain, my lord. it is extraordinary that anyone should have dared to enter there, still less to stable horses when, as everyone knows, the temple is haunted by evil spirits." "i care nothing for spirits," the officer said. "it is men we are in search of. go and look into any other chambers there may be." at this moment a deep, mournful sound was heard. louder and louder it rose, and then gradually died away. the soldiers stood as if paralysed. even the high official--who had been obliged to leave his horse, and make his way across the fallen blocks on foot--stepped back a pace, with an expression of awe. he soon recovered himself, and shouted angrily to the men to go on. but again the dirge-like noise rose, louder and louder. it swelled, and then as gradually died away; but this time with a quavering modulation. the men looked up, and round. some gazed at the upper part of the rock, some straight ahead, while others turned round and faced the forest. "search!" the officer shouted, furiously. "evil spirits or no evil spirits, not a man shall stir from here, until the place is searched." then rose a shrill, vibrating sound, as if of eerie laughter. not even the officer's authority, or the fear of punishment, could restrain the soldiers. with cries of alarm, they rushed across the ruins and plunged into the forest; followed, at a rate which he tried in vain to make dignified, by the officer who, as soon as he reached his horse, leapt upon it and galloped away. the burmese keenly appreciate a joke and, as soon as the troops had fled, the villagers and guards inside the temple threw themselves down on the ground, and roared with laughter. stanley at once made his way into the upper room. "splendidly done, meinik! it was like the note of an organ. although i knew what you were going to do, i felt almost startled, myself, when that deep note rose. no wonder they were frightened." "well, at any rate, master, we are safe for the present." "for the present, no doubt, meinik; but i question if we sha'n't hear of them, again. that officer was a determined-looking fellow and, though he was scared, too, he stuck to it like a man." "that is the governor of the town, master. i saw him carried through the streets in his chair. everyone was bending to the ground, as he passed. he was a famous general, at one time; and they say that he is likely to command a part of the army, again, when fighting begins." "well, i think that we shall hear of them again, meinik. i don't suppose that he really thought that we were here for, certainly, no burman would take up his abode in this place, even to save his life. they will push on the chase through the woods all day and, by that time, they will feel sure that they would have overtaken us, had we gone straight on. then i should not be at all surprised if he tries here, again." "perhaps he will, master. like enough, he will chop off the heads of some of the men that ran away, and pick out some of his best troops for the search. still, i hope he won't think of it." stanley shook his head. "i hope so, too, meinik. there is one thing about which i feel certain--if he does find us here, he will stay here or, at any rate, leave some troops here, until he gets us. he would know that he would get into trouble, at ava, for letting the prisoners escape; and it would be all important for him to recapture them. "now we are up here, meinik, we will go and have a look at that upper staircase, again. if we are besieged, that is our only hope of safety." they again went along the ledge, and up the staircase. stanley examined the stones that blocked the passage, for some time, and at last exclaimed: "there, meinik, look along by the side of this stone. i can see a ray of light. yes, and some leaves. i don't think they are more than thirty feet above us!" meinik applied his eye to the crevice. "i see them, master. yes, i don't think those leaves are more than that distance away." "that is what i came to look for," stanley said. "it was evident that this rubbish could only be the stones of the root, and pavement over the depression in the middle of the ruin; and that these could not block up this staircase very far. the question is, will it be possible to clear them away? evidently it will be frightfully dangerous work. one might manage to get one stone out, at a time, in safety. but at any moment, the loosening of one stone might bring a number of others down, with a run; and anyone on this narrow staircase would be swept away like a straw." meinik agreed as to the danger. "well, we need not think it over now, meinik; but if we are really besieged, it is by this way that we must escape, if at all. we must hope that we sha'n't be beset; but if we are, we must try here. i would rather be killed, at once, by the fall of a stone on my head, than tortured to death." meinik nodded, and they descended the stairs, put out the torches that they had used there, and returned along the ledge to the chamber where harry was lying. "so meinik scared them away," the latter said, as stanley sat down beside him. "i could not think what he was going to do when he came up here with that long reed, as thick as my leg. he showed it to me, and i saw that it had a sort of mouthpiece fixed into it; and he made signs that he was going to blow down it. when he did, it was tremendous and, as it got louder and louder, i put my hands to my ears. everything seemed to quiver. the other row--that diabolical laughing noise--he made with a smaller one. it was frightful; but the big note was more like a trombone, only twenty times louder. "well, do you think that we have done with them?" "i hope so, harry. at any rate, you can be assured that they will never fight their way up here and, long before our provisions are finished, i have no doubt that i shall be able to hit on some plan of escape." the day passed quietly. the woods were as silent as usual. the burmans were all in high spirits at the success of meinik's horn. when it became dark, they hung a blanket before the entrance, placed one of the lads on watch just outside it, and then lighted a fire. stanley took a couple of torches and went up to harry, taking the precaution to hang a cloth before the window. "i have not said much about thanking you, old fellow," harry said, "but you must know how i feel." "you had better say nothing about it, harry. i have only done what you would have done, had you been in my place. had you been in charge of that party, and i had been carried off, i know you would have done all in your power to rescue me. you might not have succeeded quite so well, because you do not know their language; but i know that you would have tried. after all, i have not run anything like so much risk as i did when i rescued meinik from the leopard. and he, of course, was an absolute stranger to me. "besides, you are not rescued, yet; and we won't holloa until we are out of the wood." "it is very cool and pleasant here," harry said, after lying without speaking for a few minutes. "it was dreadfully hot in that hut, in the middle of the day; and i used to feel that i lost almost as much strength, in the day, as i picked up at night. i am wonderfully better this evening. of course, that long sleep had something to do with it, and the pleasure of being free and with you had still more; but certainly the coolness, and the air blowing through that opening, have counted for something." "well, we shall feed you up as long as you are here, harry; and i hope, in a fortnight, to see you pretty firm on your legs again; and then, if there is nothing to prevent it, we will carry you off triumphantly." meinik here came in, with two bowls of broth; for they had bought a few earthenware utensils on one of the visits to toungoo. "that is first rate!" harry said, as he finished his first one. "what is it made of?" "i never ask questions," stanley replied--who tried, successfully, to keep down a smile. "meinik is a capital cook, and turns out all sorts of nice little dishes. here comes his step again. "what have you there, meinik?" he asked, as the burman entered, with two plates. "a slice of mutton done on sticks over the fire, master, and some rice with it." "that is first rate!" harry said heartily, when he had finished. "they did not give me meat, in prison. i suppose they thought that i was not strong enough for it." "they eat very little meat themselves, harry. now i fancy your dinner is done, except some fruit. we have got plenty of that." there were, however, some fried bananas, and harry declared that he had feasted like a king. "if this goes on, stanley, i will wager that i shall be about in a week; and shall be offering to run a race with you, in a fortnight." "you will be a good deal longer than that, before you are fit to walk any distance. still, with a good appetite--which you are sure to have, after your illness--plenty of food, and the cool air in these caves, i do expect that you will pick up fast." the next day passed quietly. "i shall be glad when tomorrow is over," stanley said to meinik, the last thing before going up to harry's cell. "today i expect they are all marching back again and, if they pay us another visit, it will be early tomorrow morning. be sure that two men are on watch. they can relieve each other, every hour; and i shall come down myself, occasionally, to see that all is right; but i don't think that even the governor could get his men to come near this place, after dark." "we will keep good watch, master, but i have no fear of their coming." chapter : the attack. stanley got up several times during the night, and went below to the watches; as he felt sure they would be nervous for, though they had now, to a large extent, got over their superstitious fears, they would still be timid at night. they reported that everything was still round the temple, but that they had heard distant sounds in the woods; and on the first of these occasions he had, after returning to the room above, gone out on to the ledge; and from that height could see the reflection, in the sky, of a number of fires extending in a semicircle, at a distance of a mile or so from the temple. from this he felt convinced that the governor was determined to have a thorough search made in the morning. as soon as it was daylight, the sound of the blowing of horns and the beating of drums was heard in the forest and, half an hour later, a large body of men poured out from the trees, headed by the governor, himself. "now," he shouted, "this place is to be searched, in every hole and corner. "as to the evil spirits, there is no fear of them, either by day or night. did you ever hear of their attacking a large body of men? they may strangle a single traveller, who ventures into their haunts; but no one ever heard of a burmese army being attacked by them. now, every man has to do his duty; and the first who wavers, his head is to be struck off, at once. "forward!" the troops rushed impetuously across the ruins, penetrated into the various chambers in the rock and, in a few minutes, all these were reported to be empty. "there are chambers higher up," the governor said. "we will search them, and--look at that door up there, it must lead to somewhere. bring stones, and make a stair up to it." it was evident now that there was no longer any hope of concealment, and stanley stepped to the entrance. "my lord governor," he shouted, "there is a strong force here, and all your army could not gain an entrance. we do not wish to take the lives of brave men; but if we are attacked we must defend ourselves, and i pray you to withdraw with them, and not to throw away life." this address from an apparent peasant excited the wrath of the governor, who shouted: "shoot him, men!" but before the order could be obeyed, stanley had stepped back into the chamber, where he had already ordered the men to stand out of the line of the door. a number of muskets were fired, and several bullets struck the back wall of the chamber. the firing continued, and stanley said: "keep where you are, men, until they have finished; then approach the door for, directly they begin the attack, the men behind must stop firing. they will be some minutes, yet." he ran quickly up to harry's room. "they are attacking us," harry exclaimed; "oh, how i wish i could come down and help!" "they can never get in, harry. british soldiers might do it, but not these fellows. they can only enter two abreast and, with a dozen spear points facing them, what can they do? i thought that i would just come up and tell you it was all right. it will take them five minutes, at least, to pile up stones level with the doorway." stanley again joined those below. meinik, the trooper, and one of the burmese were to form the first line; the four other burmese were to stand behind, with their spears, between the men in front; the two guards with their muskets, and the boys were to act as a reserve. stanley had armed himself with one of the axes, and was to stand by the side of the entrance so that, if the spearmen were pressed back, and any of the assailants succeeded in passing the entrance, he would strike them down. presently, there was a silence outside. "keep well back," he said. "they have laid their stones, and we shall have a rush, directly; but they will most likely pour in a volley, first." the pause lasted for a minute or two. then a drum was beaten, and a hundred muskets were fired. a rain of bullets flew into the cave. "now," stanley shouted, "form up." illustration: in vain the burmese tried to force their way into the chamber. a wild yell was raised by the burmese. now they knew that they were fighting human foes, their courage returned, and there was a rush of men up the pile of stones to the entrance; but in vain they tried to force their way into the chamber. those in front fell pierced by the spears and, while the defenders could see their figures against the light, the assailants, coming out from the sunshine, could see nothing in the chamber, which was now darkened by their filling up the entrance. not once was it necessary for stanley to strike. the burmans' spears did their work thoroughly and, in two or three minutes, the entrance was nigh choked up with dead bodies, adding to the difficulty of the assailants. pressed on by those behind, the foremost fell over these obstacles, and were instantly pierced by the spears; until it was no longer possible to get through the outer entrance, much less make their way into the chamber. again and again the attack was repeated and, as often, repulsed. before advancing the burmese, each time, endeavoured to clear the passage by drawing out the bodies of their comrades; but the two guards now posted themselves in front, and shot man after man who made the attempt. at last the burmese drew off, but not till some fifty or sixty had been killed. the governor was seen gesticulating furiously to a party of officers and, presently, a final attack was made, led by several officers of rank. this was as unsuccessful as the others. the bodies, indeed, of the killed now forming a well-nigh impassable barrier and, after several of the officers and many of the bravest men had fallen, the remainder withdrew suddenly. the governor appeared to recognize that the task was an impossible one; and two or three hundred men were at once set to work felling trees and, by nightfall, a high stockade had been erected round the open ground in front of the temple. "they are going to try to starve us out," stanley said. "there is no more chance of fighting, tonight." as soon as the stockade was finished, musketeers took their place behind it and opened a dropping fire at the entrance, while the woodcutters continued to fell trees. "we must get rid of these dead bodies, if we can," stanley said, "or the place will be uninhabitable, in a day or two. "get those two bamboos we had for the litter, meinik. we will push the bodies out, one by one, beginning with those on the top of the heap. we can keep down behind the shelter of the pile, till we have got most of them out. after that, we must take our chance of a shot." it took them some hours' work but, at last, the passage was cleared, and the bodies all thrown outside. the fire was lighted in the next room; and stanley, bidding two men listen attentively for any movement, went up again to harry--to whom he had paid a flying visit, as soon as the burmese drew off. "we cannot risk having a light here, harry," he said. "i don't want them to have any idea that this chamber, which is nearly fifty feet above the entrance, is in any way connected with the rooms below. if such an idea struck them, they might lower men from above by ropes, and so take us in the rear." "did you say that we are regularly shut up, in front, by that stockade?" "yes; there is certainly no getting out, that way. behind, you know, it is a sheer wall of rock; and the only possibility, that i can see, is that we may clear a staircase which runs up through the rock, from a ledge on the level of this room, to the ruins of a building above. at present, the upper part is entirely choked up with blocks of stone and rubbish, and it will be a very awkward job to get through it; but so far, it seems to me, it is that or nothing." "what are they going on chopping down trees for?" "i believe their general is doing it to bring large numbers of his troops close up to the stockade; partly perhaps to keep up the spirits of the front line, by their company; partly to render impossible any attempt, on our part, to make our way out by a sudden rush. of course, they don't know what our strength is; but they have had so sharp a lesson, today, that they will take every precaution, in future. "well, what is it, meinik?" "we have been talking together, master; and we think that, if we were to call out that they might take the bodies away, without any interference by us, they would do so. several officers of rank have fallen there, and it is our custom always to carry off the dead, when it is possible." "it would be worth trying the experiment, anyhow, meinik. but we must all stand to arms, while they are doing it; as they might make a sudden rush. however, we would risk that, for those bodies have been worrying me very much, and i would give anything to have them taken away. i will go down with you." meinik accordingly went down to the entrance, and shouted out: "peace, peace! i am ordered, by the english officer, to say that he would wish those who have fought so bravely to be honoured, after death; and that no shot shall be fired, and no interference made, with those who come to carry away the dead." there was silence for two or three minutes, and then a voice called back: "it is well; for two hours there shall be peace between us." "i have no doubt the governor is as glad to do this as we are. it is considered a disgrace, if the dead are not carried off the ground to burial; and if he sends despatches to ava, he will be glad to be able to put in that the brave men who fell have all been buried, with due honours. besides, meinik, it would not be encouraging to his troops for them to have that pile of dead bodies before them and, indeed, would be enough to cause a pestilence, in a few days." the men were formed up again, round the entrance. the burmese did their work silently. occasionally a slight movement was heard, but no one could have imagined that a hundred men were busy outside. a number of them carried torches, and all worked steadily and in good order, under the direction of two or three officers. one of the posts of the stockade had been pulled up and through this the bodies were carried. it was less than two hours before a horn sounded, and there was a loud call of: "the peace is over; all is done." beyond the stockade great fires blazed among the trees. the work of chopping down the forest continued, and by the morning the ground had been cleared for a distance of thirty or forty yards from the paling. then the burmese raised another stockade forty feet behind the first, so that, if by carelessness or treachery the besieged should manage to pass through the first line, there would yet be another in front of them. "i expect, master," meinik said as, standing well back, he watched the men at work, "the general is building this second line, not because he thinks that there is a chance of our getting through the first, but to keep the men at work, so as to prevent them from thinking anything about the spirits. now that they have passed one night there, they will have got somewhat over their fear and, of course, every day that passes, without ill befalling them, they will think less and less about the evil ones." "do you believe in them, meinik?" meinik hesitated. "everyone knows, master, that evil spirits guard the treasures of the people that lived in the land long, long ago. no one can doubt that people who have rashly sought the treasures have been found dead, with staring eyes and swollen bodies; but as, at present, they must know well that neither we nor those outside are searching for treasure, they may not interfere." "then you think that there are treasures buried here, somewhere?" "i cannot say, master; everyone says so. the story has been handed down that this was once the greatest of the temples of the old people; and that, when they were defeated by tribes from the east--i know not whether it was us, or some people before us--the priests from all the other temples came here. the remains of their army came here, too, and fought outside the temple until all were killed. "when the conquerors entered, they found the priests all lying, in regular lines, on the pavements. all were dead. one story is that they had stabbed themselves; another, that they had taken poison. at any rate, no treasures were found; although it was known that the riches of the temple were great, and that all the other priests that had come here had brought the treasures from their temples with them. that was the beginning of the destruction of the place; for the pavement was torn up, and the walls in some places levelled, and the images of the gods broken up in search for the treasures. "the work of the guardian spirits had already begun. they say that all who took part in the search died, of a terrible pestilence that broke out. since that time, the place has been accursed. once or twice, kings have sent bodies of troops to search; and they say that some could never find the temple, but wandered about the forest for days, searching in vain for it. others found so thick a darkness, like the blackest of smoke, filling the forest, that even the bravest dare not enter. i say not that those things were so; i only say that these are the stories that have come down to us." "well, meinik, we are not going to search for the treasure; and it is evident that the spirits bear us no ill will; indeed, i feel obliged to them, for it is likely enough that the soldiers will put down their misfortune to their influence, and that even the governor may feel that it would be useless to try to get them to renew the assault. this evening we will go up, and have another look at the stairs; and see how we can best set to work to clear them. there is no great hurry about it, but the sooner we set to work, the better." all day long a dropping fire was maintained on the entrance, by the troops behind the first stockade; but as, with the exception of three men kept always on watch, the defenders were stationed in the next chamber, the bullets pattered harmlessly against the wall. during the night the accumulated dust of ages had been swept up from the floor; and this had been strewn, three inches deep, in the passage between the outer air and the chamber, so as to cover the blood that had been shed there. as soon as it was quite dark, stanley, meinik, and three of the villagers went out on to the ledge in front of the upper opening, made their way along it to the entrance of the stairs, and mounted. they carried with them two or three glowing brands from the fire, in one of the earthenware cooking pots, which was covered with a cloth to prevent the slightest glow being noticed by the enemy. the men, by stanley's order, brought with them the bamboos of the litter, the saw they had used at the stockade, a hatchet, and some blocks of firewood. when they got to the point where the steps were choked up, they lighted the two torches--the men who brought up the rear of the party holding up a rug, to prevent any reflection from the torches being seen outside. when stanley and meinik had again examined the obstacle, the latter retired; and the burmans, one by one, came up and looked at it. "what do you think of it?" stanley asked them. "it would be dangerous to touch it, my lord," one of them said. "if only one stone moved out from its place, it would be death to us all. they are firm now, quite firm; but if two or three were disturbed, the whole might come down at once." "i quite see that," stanley said. "can any of you suggest a plan by which we could get out, without much risk of setting them in motion?" the burmese were silent, "i will tell you my scheme then. i propose to cut the bamboos into lengths that will just reach across the passage. it is the lower stones that one is most afraid of. so long as these remain fixed, there is no fear of any general movement but, if they went, the whole mass might come down. this passage is less than three feet wide, and the bamboos are twelve feet long; so that each would make four, the width of the passage. i propose to drive them tightly in, and fix them firmly with wedges. they must be put in so that they will actually touch the stones, so as to prevent their making the slightest downward movement. if they began to slide, no doubt they would carry away the bamboos; but if these were fixed firmly, by wedges, they ought to be sufficient to prevent any movement from taking place--especially as there would be enough of them almost to touch each other, extending from this lowest step, on which the rocks rest, some five feet upwards--that is, to within some two feet of the roof, which would be sufficient for us to crawl through, and the bamboos would serve as a ladder. then i propose that we should work our way along the top, passing the small stones and rubbish backwards, after filling up all the cracks and crevices below us. "i see, of course, that we should meet with many obstacles. great stones may be sticking up, perhaps jammed against the roof; these would have to be broken off, or chipped in pieces. no doubt the work will take time but, at any rate, there is plenty of food for three weeks and, working by turns night and day, we ought to be able to burrow our way out. as we get on, we may not find the stones so tightly pressed together as they are, here. at any rate, as we saw the light above us, only some thirty feet up, there ought not to be above twenty feet of closely-packed stuff to get through. "no doubt the work will be dangerous, as well as hard but, as we know that if we do not succeed all our lives are forfeited, we can face the danger. everyone of us will take his share in turn; i shall do so, myself, and shall direct the work in general. what do you think of the plan?" "i think that it is possible, master," meinik said. "at any rate, we must try it; since it is the only way that offers us any chance of life." the burmese all agreed, and they at once set to work. the bamboos were first cut into lengths; and then, by means of the axe and wedges, were jammed so firmly, from side to side, that it would have required great force to dislodge them. these supports were somewhat irregularly placed, as it was necessary that they should absolutely touch the stones. as they proceeded with the work, the spaces behind the bamboos were filled tightly up with rubble, so as to solidify the whole. when the last support was in its place, stanley said: "now, meinik, do you with these three work, tonight; four others will take your place, before dawn. mind, at first i don't want you to attempt to move any fixed stones; but simply to clear away all small stones, and rubble. you can stow a good deal behind the two upper bamboos. the rest you must put on the stairs. i will see, tonight, what we can manage in the way of tools for chipping away the big stones that cannot be moved. you had better relieve each other very often. the three who are not at work should sit down on the ledge, outside, so that any stone accidentally dislodged will not fall on anyone. every ten minutes, one will come up to take the place of the man at work. be sure that each, as he passes up or down, replaces the blanket carefully." they had, indeed, before beginning to saw up the bamboos, fastened the blanket to one of the cross pieces of the stretcher and, cutting this to the width of the passage, had jammed it close up to the roof; so that the curtain, hanging down, effectually shut off the light. stanley then descended the steps, and rejoined harry below. before going down further, stanley, who had during the day informed harry of his plan, told him of the start that they had made. "of course, it all depends upon what stones you meet with," harry said. "if you come to a big solid block, i don't see how you are going to get through it." "we have the hatchets, and can whittle it away; and perhaps we can make some chisels, from the ramrods of your guards' guns. a lot can be done, with patience and plenty of hands." stanley then went down below, and explained to the others the plan proposed. the news gave them great satisfaction; for although meinik had told them there was a staircase above blocked with stones, it had seemed so impossible, to him, to clear it that he had placed no stress upon the fact; and the preparations made by the enemy to cut off any possible retreat had greatly depressed them. stanley took one of the iron ramrods and, raking some of the embers from the fire, placed it in them, about a foot from one end; then he directed the others to fan the embers, until they raised them almost to white heat. taking the ramrod out, he laid the edge of one of their knives upon it and, striking its back with a stone, soon cut through the glowing rod. he repeated the operation and had, then, three short rods of equal length. he now heated one end of each and, laying it on an axe on the ground, hammered it into chisel shape with the back of a light hatchet; repeating this several times, until it had the required shape and sharpness; then he plunged this into a pot of water. he did the same with the other two; and had, now, three chisels with which he hoped to be able to chip away the stones. the other ramrod he left intact, except that he sharpened one end. then, going up to harry's room, he lay down and slept for some hours; putting the two boys on watch, and bidding the trooper look after them. the two burmans, with one of the guards, were to go to work with him. several times he woke. the last time, on looking out, he thought that there was a faint light in the sky and, going down, called up the three men and, bidding them bring up the two heavy axes, a light hatchet, and the three short chisels, he led them up the steps to the working party. "how have you got on, meinik?" "we have cleared four feet, master; but there is a big stone sticking up, now, and we can do nothing with it." "we will have a try, and do you all go down, at once. "take off your cloth, one of you, and fill it with this rubbish on the steps. do it as quickly as you can. the day will be breaking, in a few minutes." stanley now climbed up, and investigated the passage. the bottom was level. every crack and crevice between the stones being filled up with rubbish. the obstacle meinik had spoken of evidently formed part of a flat slab. it reached within an inch of the roof and, at one side, touched the rock wall; at the other there was an interval, of some four or five inches, and the earth and rubbish had already been scraped out from behind it. putting his hand in, he found that the block was some four inches in thickness. he thought that if he could but get a fair blow at it, with the back of one of the heavy axes, he might break it off; but this was impossible. the total width of the passage did not exceed three feet; and as the men had, as they went, worked down somewhat, there was now about thirty inches between the bed of earth and rubbish, on which he was lying, and the roof. taking the handle of the axe in both hands, he used the head as a battering ram; but without any success. he then called up the slightest of the three men, and told him to crawl in beside him and, with their united strength, they pounded the stone for some time. finding that nothing could be done this way, stanley sent the man back again; and then, taking one of the three chisels and a small hatchet, he proceeded to mark a line along the bottom of the stone; and then, for ten minutes, worked away on it with the chisel and hammer. then he called up one of the others, and showed him what he was to do. all day they worked by turns and, though progress was very slow, by nightfall the groove was half an inch deep. stanley and the strongest burman then went in together and, lying on their backs again, tried the effect of the heavy axe; but still without success. then stanley told the man to get down and take out the wedge, at the top of the axe; and to cut away the wood below the head, so that the latter would slip down, four or five inches; then to take off the head of the other heavy axe and put it on above it, and replace the wedge. in a few minutes, the man rejoined him. "we must strike it as near the roof as we can," stanley said. both grasped the handle firmly. "we will sway it backwards and forwards three times and, the third time, strike. "one, two, three--hooray!" as the two-headed axe, driven with their united force, struck the stone, there was a sharp crack. "that has done it," stanley said, turning over. there was a dark line along the groove, and the top of the stone inclined back, two inches from the perpendicular; being kept in its place by the rubbish behind it. stanley put his hand into the hole, and got his fingers behind the stone; while the burmese put the chisel into the crack, and used it as a lever. in two or three minutes the stone was moved out of its position, taken out of the hole, and laid down on the steps. half an hour later meinik came up, with a trooper, another guard, and one of the boys; and was delighted to find that the obstacle, which had seemed to him fatal to their hopes, had been removed. stanley showed how they had carried out the work; and then, with his party, went down into the rock chambers. "it was pretty tiring work, harry," he said, "though we were only at it about a quarter of an hour, at a time. my wrists and arms and shoulders are aching, as if i had been beaten with sticks. tomorrow i will take up a good supply of firewood. the chisels got blunted before we had worked an hour; and we should get on a deal faster, if we could sharpen them frequently." "is the stone hard?" "no; it is a sort of marble, i think. we had the underpart of the slab on our side, and i did not think of looking when we took it down. anyhow, it was not very hard and, with a good strong chisel and a short, heavy hammer, i am sure we could have done it in an hour. "anyhow, it is a comfort that nothing came down on top of us. i examined the pile carefully, and there had not been the slightest movement among the lower stones; so that part of the difficulty seems to have been got over. "now, i must go down and get something to eat, and then i will go in for a good sleep. you are feeling all right, i hope?" "could not be doing better, stanley. i have eaten three solid meals, today; and have been sitting up on the edge of my bed, for some time. i tried standing, but it was no go; still, i do think that, in a day or two, i shall manage it." for six days the work continued. one party watched, another slept, and the third worked, by turns. some of the stones gave much greater trouble than the first they had met with; but having the fire close by proved a great assistance, as the chisels could be frequently sharpened. the men became more accustomed to the work, and the steady progress they made greatly excited their hopes. at the end of the week, but one stone barred the way. this, however, was much the most formidable that they had encountered. it seemed to have been a pillar, or a huge gate post; and was square, measuring some twenty inches on each face. the obstacle was all the more formidable, as the upper end was inclined towards them, greatly increasing the difficulty in using the chisel. beyond this, as far as they could see, there was merely a mass of smaller stones. the party who had been working upon this block were much disheartened, when stanley went up to relieve them. owing to the inclination of the stone, their chisels could get but little bite and, though they had been working for six hours at it, they had scarcely made any impression; indeed, at only one point had they so far broken the face that the chisel would cut. meinik had come down two hours before, to report to stanley the nature of the obstacle and, when he went up, he took with him the second ramrod, which had not hitherto been used. he saw at once that, as meinik had told him, it would be impossible to get through this block by the same means as before for, as the groove deepened, the labour would become greater and greater and, from the inclination of the stone, they would in time arrive at a point where the axe could no longer be used to strike the chisel. the point at which the slight indentation had been made was nearly at the corner of the stone. this was gradually enlarged, by hammering upon it with the head of the axe and, after an hour's work, the surface had been so far pounded that the chisel could get a flat hold upon it. then stanley and one of the burmans lay down, and placed the cutting end of the long ramrod against it; and the others, by turns, struck the end with the back of a light hatchet, those holding the rod turning it, slightly, after each blow. every half hour the edge of the chisel was resharpened and, by the time the next party relieved them, a hole of half an inch in diameter, and two inches deep, had been drilled in the stone. stanley remained with the newcomers for half an hour, instructing them in the work, and then went below. "well, stanley, what are you going to do with this monstrous stone meinik tells me of?" "there is only one thing to do with it, harry; that is, to blast it. the block is so inclined that one can do nothing with the chisels, and we are now drilling a hole. i don't know that i shall succeed but, at any rate, i am going to have a try. if it fails, i must hit on some other way. the provisions are holding out all right; and meinik calculates that, with a little stinginess, we could manage for another three weeks. we have drilled the hole in two inches today and, as we get more accustomed to the work, i dare say we could do three inches in each shift. the block is twenty inches through on the straight, and may be two feet on the line that we follow; so that in four days we shall be nearly through it. "in three weeks we shall have made five holes, which will weaken it so that we may be able to break it off. however, i hope we shall find one hole sufficient. i shall make it fifteen inches deep, and then charge it with the contents of a dozen cartridges. i think that ought to do it." in two days and a half, the hole was of the required depth. harry had progressed so rapidly that he was able, that morning, to walk across his room. "we must try the shot, at once," stanley said, "because if it fails, we must go on working. if it succeeds we can, if we like, wait for another week before we make off. by that time you will be strong enough to be got through that low passage, and walk for a little distance; when we can cut some poles, and rig up that hammock again. "do you know anything about mining, for i know nothing? i only had an idea how to drill the hole from seeing some engineers at work at agra, years ago; but i am sure i don't know how they fired the shot, or prepared it." "i can tell you a little about it, stanley; for i have been down a coal mine once or twice, and watched the men doing it. they first of all put in the charge; then they put in a wooden rod, just the thickness of the fuse they use; then they dropped in a little dry dust round it, which they pressed down very carefully, with a small wooden rod; then they damped some dust, and hammered that down hard. after putting in about half an inch of this, they used dust slightly moistened, beating it down as before. when it was quite full, they pulled out the centre stick, and put the fuse into the hole that it left." "we have not got any fuse," stanley said, "but i think that if we take a narrow strip of cloth, moisten it, and rub gunpowder into it; let it dry, and then roll it up, it would be all right. then we could lay a train of damp powder to it, set the end alight, and bolt." "i should think that that would do," harry agreed, "but you would have to bolt very sharp for, if it went off before you got to the bottom of the steps, it might be very awkward." "i don't think the effect of the shock will be as great as that, harry. it may crack the stone, but i should hardly think it would send anything flying out of the hole." chapter : rejoining. every day, since the siege had begun, the defenders had fired an occasional shot at the stockade; not with any idea of doing any damage, but in order that the assailants should know that they were still in the cavern. that evening, when the hole had got to the proper depth, stanley, having prepared his fuse, went up with twenty cartridges in his pocket, accompanied by meinik. the hole was charged and tamped, and the fuse inserted. this took a considerable time. the fuse had been cut so that an inch of it projected outside the hole. the other eight cartridges were then broken up, and the powder moistened; and a train some two feet long laid, from the fuse towards the entrance of the hole. then a piece of rag was wrapped round one end of the ramrod; and this, again, was tied to a long rod that had, the night before, been cut by one of the boys, who had slipped out noiselessly from the entrance. the rag had been moistened, and rubbed with gunpowder. "now, meinik," stanley said, "everything is ready. this rod is sixteen feet long, so that, lying down, my feet will be just at the edge of the hole; and i shall be able to drop down, as soon as i have lighted the train, and bolt. i shall fix a torch, a foot or so from the train; then i shall only have to lift the rod to it, light the rag, set fire to the train, and then slide down and bolt. "now, you must go down first." "no, master," meinik said firmly; "i will light the train. i do not think that there is any danger but, whether there is or not, i shall undertake it. if i am killed, it does not matter; while if you were killed all would be lost for, if the explosion did not burst the stone, i am sure that we should never be able to get through it, without you to direct us. no, master, if you stay, i stay; and that would only lessen our chances of running down the steps in time." stanley argued, and even ordered, but meinik was obstinate and, seeing that the faithful burman was not to be moved, he reluctantly left the matter in his hands, and went downstairs. he moved a short distance along the ledge, and waited. the time seemed an age to him, so that he gave an exclamation of delight when meinik suddenly came into sight, and took his place beside him. "i have lit the train, master. the powder fizzed up, but did not seem to burn very fast." it was, indeed, another two minutes before a deep muffled roar was heard. there was no further noise, but they heard shouts from the burmans, behind the stockades. "they will be wondering what the sound is," stanley said, "but they will not be able to tell from what direction it came; for i expect they were pretty nearly all sound asleep. now, let us go up and see the result." they made their way up the steps, which were now in entire darkness. the curtain still hung in its place, some ten feet below the obstacle. they lit a torch, from the embers in the pan; and then stanley climbed up into the passage, and hastily crawled along. he gave a cry of satisfaction, as he approached the end. the explosion had been completely successful--the end of the block lay on the ground. whether the whole of it had been blown off, or not, he could not see; but he felt sure that the greater portion must have split off. it was evident that it would take a considerable amount of time, and would require the strength of several men, to get the block out. they therefore descended, at once, to gladden the hearts of those below; with the news that the way out was now available to them, whenever they chose to leave. harry manifested no surprise, whatever, at the news. "i made sure that you would succeed, stanley. after getting me off, as you did; and making your own escape, before, it seems to me that you have got hold of the 'open sesame' of ali baba, and have only to use the cabalistic words to walk in and out, wherever you want to go." "i don't feel, by any means, so certain of my own powers as you seem to be, harry; and i can assure you i was very doubtful whether that shot would succeed. i hoped, at any rate, that it would blow a good bit of the stone out and, in that case, we could have got the chisels to work again. it was the slanting position of the block that beat us. however, thank goodness, the work is done now; and you have only to get a bit stronger, and we will be off." "i am quite ready to start now, stanley. i think it is absurd waiting any longer, for there is never any saying what might take place. that burmese general, who seems to be an obstinate beggar, might take it into his head to place a guard on the top of the hill; and then all your labour will have been thrown away." "that is true enough, harry; and as i really don't think that travelling now would be likely to do you any serious harm, i will decide on tomorrow. at any rate, i will take some men up, at once, and get that stone out." the task was a difficult one. the block of stone was so nearly the size of the passage that they could not get a rope round behind it and, after trying for two hours, in vain, they determined that the only course was to push it before them. they soon found, however, that this was impossible; and that a part, at least, of the stone was remaining in its place. finally, they succeeded in pushing a loop in the rope over the top of the block; and then, by main force, eight of them pulled it out of the hole, and lowered it on to the top step. by the time that they had done this, dawn was approaching; and they therefore returned, at once, to the chambers below. the men were all much pleased, when stanley told them that they would leave that night. confident as they felt that the burmese could not force their way in, a new feeling of nervousness seized them, now that the way was open, lest some unforeseen circumstances might occur to prevent their going. the rice that remained was made up into three or four packages. the meat had long before been finished. stanley had a discussion, with meinik, as to how harry had best be taken through the passage. he could, they agreed, walk along the ledge, with one before and one behind to steady him; and could then be carried up the steps, in a blanket, by four men. he must, of course, be lifted into the passage, and dragged through it to the end; after that, it would be easy enough. six men could carry him, in a blanket, until far enough away for them to chop poles, without the sound of the axes being heard by the burmese. from the time they began their work, every pains had been taken to deaden sounds. the blanket hung across the passage had acted as a muffler, to some extent; but a piece of cloth had always been tied over the hammer heads of the axes, to prevent the sharp clinking sounds of the blows on the chisels, or stone, being heard. as soon as it was dark enough for them to pass along the ledge, meinik went with stanley to examine the ground. fortunately, the portion of stone that remained above the level, and prevented the rock from being rolled back, was but small; and they were able to break it up in half an hour, with the axes. then, making their way along without difficulty for another four feet, they found themselves standing upright in the depression in the centre of the ruin. mounting six more steps, they were among the bushes that covered the site of the temple. they now carefully cleared away every fragment of stone from the floor of the passage and, returning, stanley gave orders for the start to be made. two or three shots were fired, from the lower entrance, to show the enemy that they were there and on the watch; and then all went up to harry's room. he had been dressed, for the first time, and was ready for the start. two of the strongest of the burmans went on first. "now, harry, you are to put your hands on my shoulders. meinik will follow close behind you, and will keep his arms round you, in case you need help. of course, we shall go along very slowly." "i don't think that all these precautions are necessary," harry said. "i am sure that i can walk that distance, easily enough. why, you say the stair is only about forty feet." "i dare say you could, harry; but we don't want to run any risks. your head is not very strong, at present; and you might turn giddy, or you might stumble. so, at present, you will have just to do as you are told. "let us start." harry did not find it as easy as he had expected, getting out through the lower opening; and he was by no means sorry to have the support of stanley and meinik, as he proceeded along the ledge. they moved very carefully, and slowly; and all were greatly relieved when he sat down, on a blanket laid on the steps. "now lie back, harry. we shall have no difficulty in getting you up here." two burmans took the upper end of the blanket, stanley and meinik the lower, and they were soon at the top of the steps. "you are not very heavy now, harry; but you are a good deal heavier than you were, when we brought you in below. "now, the next is the most difficult part of the work--once we get you through this passage, it will be plain sailing. you see, you will have to be dragged. the place is only two feet high, so that it would be impossible to lift you at all. we have made the floor as smooth as we can, but i am afraid that there are a good many projecting corners, that will try you a good deal." "it cannot be helped, stanley. fire away, as soon as you like." the rest of the party were now all gathered, on the steps below; and meinik and stanley, getting up first into the hole, received harry as the others lifted him and, with the aid of two of the burmans, laid him on his blanket in the passage. "now," stanley said, to the two men who took the other end of the blanket, "keep it as tight as you can and, when i say 'lift,' we will all lift together, and move him forward a few inches. do not hurry over it--we have plenty of time before us." they were packed so closely that they had each but one arm available. little by little they moved him along, gaining some six inches, each time; then all had to move, so as to place themselves for the next effort. however, in five or six minutes they had him through, and carried him up into the open air. the rest of the party at once joined them and, with three of the natives on each side of the blanket, they were soon beyond the circle of ruins, and making at a brisk pace through the forest. after going for a quarter of a mile they stopped, cut some poles for the hammock and, in a short time, were on their way again; having placed in it one of the bags of rice, as a pillow for harry. they travelled for some hours, and then halted to cook some rice. all had slept a good deal during the day so that, after resting for an hour, they proceeded on their way again. they had no fear, whatever, of pursuit; and the only danger that they could incur was from meeting with a band, similar to that which had carried harry off. when they rigged up the hammock, they had cut wood for torches, to protect themselves from tigers. these were thrown away, as soon as daylight broke. at midday they halted again, for another hour; and then, continuing their journey, arrived at the village before nightfall. they were received with great joy, the villagers setting up a shout of welcome--the friends of the men and boys being especially exuberant in their joy, for they had become extremely anxious at their long absence. the two troopers were still there; and these saluted stanley, with less than the usual stiff formality of the mohammedan soldier. he himself laughed. "i don't look much like a british officer, at present," he said, in their language. "well, has everything been quiet here?" "yes, sahib. a sowar brought us orders, from the general, to remain here; and to send at once, if we heard any news of you. we sent off one of the villagers, when the man came back to fetch the others, and said that you had good hopes of getting lieutenant brooke sahib out of the hands of the burmese." "i will write a note," stanley said. "get your horse saddled, at once. directly we have made mr. brooke comfortable, i will give you the letter." during the time that stanley had been absent, the houses had been re-erected, and the village had assumed its general appearance. a hut was at once handed over to them, and harry laid on a bamboo pallet. he had not slept, most of the way down. "you see i was quite right, stanley. i told you that the journey would be nothing." "fortunately, it has turned out so. meinik has already killed a chicken, and will make it into broth for you. it will be a change, for you, after your diet of rice. the cooking was excellent, for the first three or four days; but it fell off sadly. that was one of the reasons why i gave way to your wish to start at once. you have done wonderfully well, but a constant diet of rice is not quite the thing for building up a sick man. "now, i am going to write a few lines to the general to say that you have got safely down, but will need at least another week before you are able to sit on a horse. of course, you can be carried on; but i think that the air here is a great deal more healthy, and bracing, than it is at prome and, the longer you stay here, the better." stanley's note was a short one. it merely said that he had succeeded in getting his cousin, and the trooper who was carried off at the same time, from the hands of the burmese, but that harry was still very weak; and that, if he himself could be spared, he would stay with him at the village for another week or ten days, at the end of which time he would ride, by easy stages, to prome. three days later, the trooper returned with a note from the general. "i congratulate you most heartily on having rescued your cousin," he wrote. "by all means, stay where you are until he is quite strong again. this place is not at all healthy, at present. we shall not be moving forward for another three weeks." stanley remained at the village for another fortnight and, at the end of that time, harry had so far recovered that he was quite capable of making a short day's journey on horseback. two of the men who had aided in the rescue had gone to prome, with an order from stanley on the staff paymaster, for the rewards that had been promised to the villagers and the two burmese soldiers. they returned with the money, and the men were all highly delighted at the result of the expedition. stanley retained the services of the two soldiers, as long as he remained in the village. he had no fear, whatever, of the same band returning that had, before, visited the village; and he learned that no others had been heard of in the neighbourhood but, at the same time, he thought it as well that a man should be on guard, night and day, at each end of the village. the peasants agreed to watch at one end, while the two burmese soldiers and the troopers took charge of the other end. the bulk of the villagers were engaged in forming a strong stockade round, it to defend themselves in case of further attack; and stanley promised to send them down twenty muskets, and a supply of ammunition, as soon as he got to prome. there was real regret, on the part of the burmese, when the time came for the party to start. it had been something altogether new to them to have officials among them who paid for everything. these englishmen had treated them kindly, and were pleased and contented with everything. the money that the five men and two boys had earned had enriched the village, and had enabled them to more than replace their losses by the recent raid and, if stanley had accepted all the presents of fruit, fowls, and eggs they would have given him, he would have needed a couple of extra horses to convey them. a strong pony had been purchased for meinik and, after taking a hearty leave of the villagers, the party rode off. "i wish we had such a good cook as your man is, stanley," harry said, as they journeyed along at a walk. "i never tasted better soup than he serves up. i must really get him to teach our mess cook how to make it." "do you know what it is, harry?" "i have not the least idea; it might be anything. i think that it tasted, to me, more like stewed eels than anything else." "you are not very far out. it is made of the creatures you turned up your nose at--snakes." "nonsense, stanley!" "it is, i can assure you. i would not tell you before, because it might have set you against it. that soup you had in the cave was made from snake flesh. the recesses in parts of the caves swarmed with them, and the men laid in quite a store of them, before we were besieged. unfortunately they would not keep well, even in these cool chambers, so we had to fall back on rice. you liked it so much that, though there was no occasion to have gone on with snake soup, after we got to the village, i continued to give it to you; for it is very nourishing." "well, i am glad you did not tell me, at the time; but i must own that it was excellent, and i think that, in future, i shall have no objection to snake in that form." "they are just as good, in other ways," stanley replied. "the burmans are no fools, and i consider that snake and lizards are very much better eating than their mutton; which is tasteless stuff, at the best." "we shall have to have a big settlement, when we get back, stanley. of course, all those men you paid, and the guards you bribed, are entirely my account; to say nothing of my share of the general expenditure." "the general expenses are practically nothing, harry. i invited you to come with me and, of course, you were my guest. as to the other matter, that also is my business. i would not say so, if i had not plenty of funds, but what with my pay as interpreter, and the year of back pay that i got when the gazette came out, i have plenty out of my income to pay for it, without breaking in upon the amount i told you i had got for those rubies." "i should pay you, stanley, if you were rolling in money. not that i should mind taking money from you, if i wanted it, but my expenses since i landed here have not been anything approaching my pay and allowances; and i have besides, as i told you, an income of pounds a year of my own. you have risked your life for me, and i am not going to let you pay the piper, as well." "all right, if it pleases you, harry. i am delighted at having been able to save you and, just at present, money does not seem an important matter one way or the other; so if it really would be a satisfaction to you to pay, i will certainly not deprive you of it." although they only travelled ten miles the first day, harry acknowledged that he was as tired as a dog when he dismounted; and was so stiff, the next morning, that he had to be helped on to his horse. however, this gradually wore off and, on the evening of the fourth day, they arrived at prome. leaving harry at his regimental camp, stanley rode to the headquarters, and there dismounted. meinik had led the second horse, after harry dismounted; and now took them both across to the lines, with the air of a man who has only been away a few hours. stanley at once went up to the general. "welcome back, lad!" sir archibald said. "you have been longer away than we expected, when you started. i am glad, indeed, that you succeeded in rescuing your cousin; and we are all burning to hear about it. i wrote that note to you in a hurry, for i was on the point of going on a round of inspection of the camp, when your sowar arrived. i intended to question him concerning you, on my return; for i had no idea that, after making such a long journey, he would start back at once, but i found that he had ridden straight off, directly the note was handed to him. you must dine with me, today, and tell me all the story. i see, from the colour of your skin, that you have been in disguise again." "yes, sir. there were materials for dyeing the skin in the village, but nothing that availed to take it off. it is gradually going and, as i shall be now able to get some strong alkali, from the doctor, i hope i shall be presentable by tomorrow." "they are honourable marks," the general said, with a smile. "i don't think any of us would mind being so coloured, for a bit, if we had done such good work as you have; but i won't detain you now, for dinner will be ready in half an hour." stanley hurried to his room, took a bath, donned his mess uniform, and was ready by the time the bugle sounded. three or four of the staff were, as usual, members of the party. after the meal was over, he was requested to narrate his adventures, at full length. the story was necessarily a long one and, when he concluded, all joined the general in hearty commendation for the manner in which he had carried out the adventure. "your last story was a stirring one, mr. brooke," the general said; "but this is even more so. when i received your first note, i thought it next door to madness for you to try to get your cousin, badly wounded as you knew him to be, from the hands of the burmese. it is not an easy thing to get any man out of prison but, when the man was unable to help himself, it seemed well-nigh impossible; and i was greatly afraid that, instead of saving his life, you would lose your own. of course, the fact that you had successfully traversed the country before was strongly in your favour; but then you were unencumbered, and the two things were, therefore, not to be compared with each other. i shall, of course, put you in orders tomorrow as having performed a singularly gallant action, in rescuing lieutenant brooke of the th and a sowar from their captivity, by the burmese, in a prison at toungoo. "you have arrived just in time for, after endeavouring to fool us for the past three months, by negotiations never meant to come to anything, the enemy are now advancing in great force, and are within a few miles of the town. so we are likely to have hot work of it for from all accounts, they have got nearly as large an army together as bandoola had. i don't know whether they have learned anything from his misfortunes, but i am bound to say that the court does not seem to have taken the lesson, in the slightest degree, to heart; and their arrogance is just as insufferable as it was before a shot was fired." stanley learnt that there had already been one fight. the enemy were advancing in three columns. their right--consisting of , men, commanded by sudda woon--had crossed the irrawaddy, and was marching down the other bank; with the apparent object of recrossing, below prome, and cutting the british line of communication. the centre--from , to , strong, commanded by the kee wongee--was coming down the left bank of the river, accompanied by a great fleet of war boats. the left division-- , strong, led by an old and experienced general, maha nemiow--was moving parallel with the others, about ten miles distant from the centre, but separated from it by a thick and impenetrable forest. a reserve of , men, commanded by the king's half-brother, occupied a strongly fortified post at melloon. in addition to these, a large force was gathered near pegu, and threatened an attack upon rangoon. on the th of november, a fortnight before stanley's return, two brigades of native infantry--under colonel m'dowall--had marched out to dislodge maha nemiow; whose division threatened to turn the british right, and to move round to its rear. the force was divided into three columns; one moving directly towards the enemy's position, the others--marching by circuitous routes, so arranged as to arrive at the point of attack at the same time--were to attack in flank and rear, while the main body assailed the enemy in front. the burmese had, however, obtained information from spies of the intended movement and, advancing boldly, met the british columns half way; skirmishing with them hotly in the woods, and threatening an attack by large bodies of horse. the centre drove the burmese before them, and reached their stockaded position. colonel m'dowall, while reconnoitring it, was killed by a ball from a musket and, as the two flanking columns did not arrive as expected, the force was compelled to fall back. the retreat was conducted in good order, but the loss was heavy, as the burmese pressed hotly upon them for several miles. since this unfortunate affair, the enemy had steadily advanced. maha nemiow had moved directly upon prome; advancing slowly, and constantly stockading himself. the centre had also advanced; and was now fortifying some heights above the river five miles away, within sight of prome. sudda woon was intrenching himself on the opposite bank. all these divisions were working, day and night; advancing steadily but slowly, and erecting formidable lines of intrenchments as they went; and it seemed to be the intention of the burmese general to proceed in that manner, until the whole of his troops were gathered within a very short distance of the town, and then to rush upon it from all sides. in the morning, stanley went to the lines of the th. harry had, of course, told his story on his arrival; and the tale had circulated generally through the regiment and, as he rode in, the men ran out from their huts and cheered him heartily. no less warm a greeting did he receive from the officers, in spite of his protest that there had really been no great difficulty or danger in the affair. "what i specially admire," one of the officers said, laughing, "is that any man should have run all this risk, on purpose, to prevent himself from coming into an earldom. you had only to leave the matter alone, and there you were--heir to title and estates." "i should have been haunted by harry's ghost," stanley laughed. "it would have been as bad as banquo and macbeth; he would have sat at my table, and stood at the head of my bed. no, no; that would have been a much more serious affair, to face, than a party of burmese. the title and estates would have been too dear, at the price." "well, you behaved like a brick, anyhow," the colonel said, "and there is not a man in the regiment who would not have been proud, indeed, if he had accomplished such a feat. half my subalterns were talking, at dinner last night, of learning the language so that, if the chance fell in their way, they might emulate your doings." "it is rather a tough language to master," stanley replied. "it gave me more trouble than the four or five indian languages i speak. i am afraid the campaign will be over, a long time, before any of your officers learn to talk burmese well enough to pass as natives." after the failure of the expedition of the th, no further effort had been made against the enemy. indeed, the troops had been withdrawn from their outlying positions; and there had even been a feint made of embarking stores, as if with the intention of retiring down the river, in hopes of tempting the burmese to make an attack. the season had now come when operations could again be carried on, and the general was anxious to strike a decisive blow at the enemy, and then to set forward on the march towards ava. as to the result of the fight, no one entertained the slightest doubt; although the disparity in numbers was very great for, while the burmese commander had nearly , men at his disposal, sir archibald campbell had no more than , , of whom about one half were british. it was determined that the main attack should be made on the division of maha nemiow. this was now some six or seven miles away and, beyond the fact that it was very strongly intrenched in the jungle, no information whatever could be gained; for the most vigilant watch was kept up by them, and all efforts to pass native spies into their lines failed. but it was known that among his division were , shans, from upper burma and, as these men had not hitherto come in contact with us, it was expected that they would fight with more courage and resolution than those who had become acquainted with our power. a large number of princes and nobles were with the force; and great reliance was placed, by the burmese, upon three young ladies of high rank; who were believed by them to be endowed with supernatural gifts, and to have the power of rendering the missiles of the english innocuous. these young women, dressed in warlike costume, constantly rode among the troops; animating them by their presence, and exhorting them to deeds of courage. the english had received vague rumours of the doings of these burmese joans of arc, and thought it probable that the enemy would fight better than usual. on november th, arrangements were made for attacking the enemy on the following morning. the flotilla were to open a furious cannonade upon their works, on both sides of the river. a body of native infantry were to drive in the advance posts of the centre; while the main force was to attack their left in two columns, one moving directly against it, while the other was to attack on the right flank--thus preventing the enemy from retreating in the direction of the centre. four regiments of native infantry were left in prome. general cotton commanded the main attack and, soon after the column moved out from the camp, a tremendous cannonade showed that the flotilla was engaged with the burmese, on both sides of the river. the column, which was composed of the st and th regiments, with two battalions of native infantry, proceeded some distance before becoming engaged with the enemy's outposts; as the burmese had been deceived by the cannonade, and believed that the attack was entirely upon the centre. the troops therefore reached their main position, around two native villages, without serious opposition. illustration: the old burmese general was carried from point to point in a litter. as they issued from the jungle into the cleared space in front of the stockade they rapidly formed up, under a tremendous fire, and rushed forward to the attack. the old burmese general--who was too infirm to walk--could be seen, carried from point to point in a litter, cheering on his men, while the three amazons exposed themselves fearlessly to the fire. the ladder parties, however, rushed forward unchecked and, in spite of the opposition of the enemy, scaled the stockade at one point, and won a footing on the rampart of earth behind it. others pressed after them and, soon, a destructive fire was opened upon the crowded mass, pent up between the outer stockade and the next. the burmese method of forming stockade behind stockade was useful, against a foe of no greater dash and energy than themselves; but was absolutely fatal when opposed to english troops, who gave them no time to fall back through the narrow openings in the palings. these were soon blocked by the dying and dead. some of the shans, led by their chiefs, fought with desperate courage; but were unable to stand the advance of the british, whose steady volleys, poured in at distances of a few yards, swept them away. wounded horses, rushing wildly about in the throng, added to the terrible confusion. groups of men endeavoured to cut a way through the stockades behind, others strove to climb over. maha nemiow was killed, while bravely exhorting his men to stand their ground, and one of the heroic amazons was shot. as soon as the troops reached the spot where she fell, and saw that she was a woman, she was carried into a cottage; and there died, a few hours afterwards. stockade after stockade was carried, until the whole position fell into our hands. in the meantime the other column, commanded by general campbell himself, and consisting of the th, th, th, and th regiments, and the th madras infantry, had moved down on the other side of the nawine river; and taken up a position to command the ford there, by which the fugitives from the stockade must cross, on their way to join the centre. as the crowd of frightened men issued from the jungle, and poured across the ford, the artillery opened upon them with shrapnel, and completed their discomfiture. all thought of joining the centre was abandoned and, re-entering the jungle, they scattered; and the greater portion of them started for their homes, intent only on avoiding another contest with their foes. another of the burmese heroines was killed, at the ford. three hundred men had been killed, at the storming of the stockade; but a far greater loss took place in the retreat--very few of the shans ever regaining their country; the greater portion perishing from starvation, in the great forests through which they travelled in order to escape the burmese authorities, who would have forced them to rejoin the army. chapter : the pride of burma humbled. as soon as the victory was completed, the troops piled arms; and were allowed two hours' rest. then they marched back, to the point where general campbell's division had forded the nawine river in the morning. from this point, a path led towards the enemy's centre; this it was determined to attack, at daybreak on the following morning, before the news of the defeat of its left could reach it. the day had been a long and fatiguing one, and it was late before the troops all reached their halting place. a meal was served out, and then all lay down to rest. a messenger was sent to prome, to announce the success that had been gained; and to request the commander of the flotilla to open fire, in the morning, as soon as the foe was seen to issue from the jungle in front of the wongee's main position at napadee. long before daylight, the troops were in motion. general campbell's division led the way, along the narrow track leading towards the river; while general cotton, who followed, was ordered to break off at any path which led towards the burmese division, to make his way through the forest, and to attack the stockades directly he reached them. the main division would attack, as soon as they heard his guns. after a two hours' march, the first division came out on open ground by the river side, signalled their arrival to the flotilla, and formed up in front of the stockaded heights of napadee. the position was an extremely strong one. the enemy occupied three ranges of hills, rising one behind the other, and each commanding the one in front of it. one flank of these hills was protected by the river, the other by the almost impenetrable forest. the hills were all covered with stockades and, as they moved forward, the troops were exposed to so heavy a fire from an enemy entrenched at the edge of the jungle on the right that, before they could advance further, it was necessary to first drive them from this position. six companies of the th were sent back into the forest and, making their way through this, came down in the rear of the stockades, speedily cleared them of their defenders, and compelled the advance force of the enemy to join their main body. the troops then moved forward to the foot of the first hill, where two strong redoubts had been erected by the enemy. the fleet opened fire; but the column was halted, for a time, awaiting the sound of firing that should tell them general cotton's column was engaged. no sound, however, was heard, for this force had been unable to make its way through the dense forest; and general campbell, at last, gave the order for the attack. it was commenced by the th and th native infantry, under colonel elvington; who pushed through the jungle and forest, until they reached some of the flanking outworks on the hill. these they attacked with such dash and determination that they speedily obtained possession of them, and thus produced a favourable diversion for the main attack. this, consisting of the th, th, and th regiments, advanced steadily, without returning a shot to the incessant fire from the enemy's various entrenchments; captured the two redoubts at the bottom of the hill; and then pressed upwards, carrying position after position at the point of the bayonet, till they arrived at the summit of the first hill. the burmese fugitives, as they fled to the next line of defence, shook the courage of the troops there; and the british, pushing forward hotly on the rear of the flying crowd, carried work after work until, in the course of an hour, the whole position, nearly three miles in extent, was entirely in their possession. between forty and fifty guns were captured, and the enemy's loss in killed and wounded was very great while, by desertion alone, the wongee lost a third of his army. while the attack had been going on, the flotilla had passed the works protecting the river face of the hills, and had captured all the boats and stores, filled with supplies for the use of the burmese army. thus, two of the three burmese divisions had now been completely routed; and there remained only that of sudda woon, on the other side of the river. the troops were allowed two days' rest and, on the morning of the th, a force advanced on board the flotilla. their passage across the river was covered by the fire of a rocket brigade and a mortar battery--which had on the previous night been established on an island--and they landed at some distance above the enemy's stockades. they then marched round and attacked these in flank and rear, while the batteries and boats of the flotilla cannonaded them in front. the enemy's troops were already disheartened, by the defeat they had seen inflicted upon the wongee's army and, after a feeble resistance, fled to a second line of stockades in the jungle to their rear. the troops, however, pressed so hotly upon them that they were unable to make any effectual opposition here. numbers fell, while endeavouring to pass through the narrow entrances of the work; and the rest fled, in terror, into the woods. these extensive operations had been carried out with the loss of six officers, and some seventy or eighty men, only. it was known that the enemy had very strongly fortified several positions, in and around meaday; and it was determined to push forward, at once, on the long march of three hundred miles to ava, before the enemy could rally from their defeat, and gather for the defence of these positions. on the th the first division, under general campbell himself, started from prome. the roads were extremely bad, and they were able to move but slowly. their course was first directed inland; as it was intended to turn the enemy's position at meaday, by following a road several miles from the river, and thus forcing them to fall back as we advanced. on the next day the force reached the spot where colonel m'dowall had been killed, in the unsuccessful attack upon maha nemiow; and it then turned north, and followed the road parallel to the river. on the th tremendous rains, for some hours, converted the road into a morass and, although the march was but five miles long, the greater portion of the column failed to reach its destination. this, however, was not the worst. cholera broke out at once, and carried off a large number of victims--two of the british regiments being rendered almost unfit for service by its ravages. on the th the division encamped on dry ground, on a ridge of wooded hills, and waited for a couple of days to allow the baggage train to come up. the change greatly benefited the health of the troops, and amusement was afforded by the partridges, jungle fowl, and deer which abounded in the neighbourhood of the camp. up to this point, no single native had been seen. the villages were all destroyed, and the country was completely deserted. on the th a strong burmese fortification was taken, it being unoccupied save by a small picket, which retired on our advance. this had evidently been erected for the purpose of preventing the river fortifications from being turned, and its abandonment proved that the object of the land march had been gained; and that the enemy had abandoned the positions they had, with so much care, prepared for the defence of the river. on the th they joined general cotton's column and, the next day, entered meaday. here a terrible spectacle was met with. the town and the ground within the stockades was strewn with dead and dying; some from wounds, others from cholera--for the ravages of this plague had been as great, among the burmese, as in the british force. a number of men were found crucified on gibbets, doubtless as a punishment for attempting to desert. the air was pestilent; and the force was glad, indeed, to march on the next morning from the locality. they gained something, but not much, from the change. for the next fifty miles, dead bodies were met with at very short intervals and, each day before camping, many corpses had to be removed before the tents could be fixed. it was now known that the burmese army, in its retreat, had been concentrated at melloon, where the reserve of , men had been posted. on the th, the division encamped within four miles of that town. they had now marched a hundred and forty miles, from prome, without meeting a single inhabitant of the country, or being enabled to obtain any cattle, whatever, for the supply of the troops, so effectually had the enemy wasted the country as they retired. melloon stood on the opposite bank of the irrawaddy; and letters had arrived from that town saying that a commissioner had arrived, from ava, with full powers from the king to conclude a treaty of peace. colonel adair and stanley, accordingly, were sent off the next morning to melloon, to arrange for an immediate meeting for the commissioners. however, they could come to no arrangement, the burmese leaders insisting that so important a business could only be carried on when a favourable day arrived; and that no time could, at present, be stated. seeing that the principal object of the burmese was to gain time, the colonel informed them through stanley that, as no arrangements had been made, the troops would recommence their advance as soon as he returned to the camp and, accordingly, the next morning the division moved forward to a town immediately opposite melloon. that place stood on the face of a sloping hill and, as the irrawaddy was here but yards broad, a good view was obtained of the fortifications. the principal stockade was in the form of a square, about a mile on each face, mounting a considerable number of guns--especially on the side facing the river; and a succession of stockades extended for a mile farther along the banks. the great work was crowded with men. in front of the town lay a large fleet of war boats, and larger craft with stores. a short time after the troops reached the spot, a great noise of gongs, drums, and other warlike instruments arose on the other side, and crowds of boatmen were seen running down to the vessels. these were soon manned, and oars got out, and they began to row up the river. as, owing to the intricacy of the channel, the steamboat and flotilla had not yet arrived, a few shots were fired at the boats by the field guns. this had the desired effect, many of the boatmen jumping overboard, leaving their craft to drift down the river; while the great bulk hastily turned their vessels about, and anchored in their former position. as soon as the steamer with the flotilla came up, two war boats pushed off from shore, saluted the steamer, and rowed alongside of her until she and the flotilla were safely anchored above the town. this was so evidently a mark of a real desire for the suspension of hostilities that the two officers were again sent across the river. a truce was agreed upon, and an arrangement made for the meeting of the negotiators, upon the following day. four meetings were held, between the two commissioners and those appointed by the british general, the meetings taking place on boats moored in the centre of the river. at length the treaty was accepted and signed, by the burmese, and fifteen days' truce allowed for the ratification of the treaty by the king. as the end of that period approached, the burmese protested that they had not yet received an answer, and asked for further time; which was refused, unless on the condition that melloon was evacuated, and the burmese army fell back until the ratification of the treaty reached them. as had been for some time strongly suspected, the negotiations were simply a device to arrest our advance; and the treaty was afterwards found in the burmese camp, it never having been forwarded to ava. at midnight on the th, when the armistice came to a conclusion, the troops began throwing up earthworks, the heavy guns were landed from the flotilla and, at ten o'clock the next morning, twenty-eight guns were in position ready to open fire. in spite of remonstrances that had been made, the burmese had, night after night during the armistice, continued to work surreptitiously at their entrenchments. it was hoped for a moment that, when they saw the speed with which our batteries had been thrown up and armed, they would offer no farther resistance. as, however, they were evidently preparing for action, our guns opened fire at eleven o'clock. this was kept up for two hours. while it was going on, the troops intended for the assault were embarked in boats, some distance up the river, so as to ensure their not being carried by the force of the stream across the face of the burmese works, and exposed to the concentrated fire of the enemy. they were divided into four brigades; the first of which--consisting of the th and th regiments, under lieutenant colonel sale--were to land below the stockade, and to attack its south-western angle; while the other three brigades were to land above it, to carry some outworks there, and to attack the northern face. a strong northerly wind, and the violent current, prevented the assaults being made simultaneously. the first brigade was carried too far across and, as it passed the stockade, was exposed to the fire of the guns and musketry of the river defences; while the three other brigades were unable, for some time, to reach their intended landing places. colonel sale was among those wounded by the burmese fire but, directly the first brigade reached the shore, they formed up under the partial cover of a shelving bank and, led by lieutenant colonel frith, moved forward to the assault in admirable order. when within a short distance there was a forward rush, in spite of the storm of shot. the ladder party gained the foot of the stockade and, placing the ladders, climbed up, and leapt down among the surging crowd of the enemy. others followed and, soon, a firm footing was obtained in the works. then the men of the two regiments--whose total strength did not exceed five hundred--advanced steadily, drove before them some , armed men, and expelled them from the works that the burmese had deemed impregnable. while this was going on, the other three brigades had landed above the stockade and, now falling upon the enemy as they poured out from their works, completed their defeat. all the stockades were carried, and the whole of the artillery and stores fell into our possession. four days later, the army again began its advance. they were met by four englishmen, who had been taken prisoners; and an american, who had also been held in confinement. these had been sent to assure the english general that the king was in earnest in his desire for peace. it was but too evident, however, that no confidence could be placed in burmese negotiations; and it was, moreover, known that another army was being assembled, in the greatest haste, to bar the advance. on the th of february the british reached pakang-yay, having passed sembeughewn on the opposite shore. this was the point where the road from aracan reached the irrawaddy, and it had been arranged that the force that had been operating in aracan should, if possible, effect a junction with sir archibald campbell here. a message brought down by a native was, however, received; stating that the force had suffered very severely from fever and cholera, and that the natural obstacles were found to be too great to be overcome by troops debilitated by disease--that the attempt had, therefore, been abandoned. fortunately, the english general was well able to do without this addition to his strength. he had already proved that his command was perfectly capable of defeating any burmese force that could be brought against him, and an addition would only have increased the difficulty of transport. on the th of march the british force which, owing to the necessity for leaving strong bodies to hold melloon and other points that had been captured, now mustered less than , fighting men, advanced to attack the enemy, whose numbers were estimated at , . the new commander of the burmese adopted other tactics than his predecessors. his stockaded position was in front of the town of pagahn, but he occupied the jungle in great force, and attacked our advance guard, five miles from the town. as the enemy occupied the hills on both sides of the main road, sir a. campbell divided his force and led half of it through the jungle on the right, while general cotton led the other half through the woods on the left. the burmese fought with considerable obstinacy. general campbell and his staff, with thirty-eight troopers and fifty men of the th, were somewhat in advance of the column; when the enemy closed in on both flanks, and even got in their rear. these were, however, dispersed by the rest of the th and, driving back the burmese on the flanks, the advance was continued. presently, however, as the british issued from the jungle, a mass of the enemy's horse charged down, drove back the skirmishers and, for a time, the position of the general and his staff was one of great peril. his little body of troopers, however, dashed boldly at the assailants and held them in check, until the guns that had followed the staff were brought forward from the jungle. then the troopers divided and rode right and left; and the guns, opening fire, checked the assailants until the infantry came up. the burmese army was now seen, drawn up in the form of a semicircle, in the open. the two british columns were united and, together, moved forward to attack the centre of the crescent, disregarding the fire from its wings. when within charging distance, they went forward with a rush and, cheering lustily, fell upon the burmese; and broke their centre, thus isolating the two wings. the burmese at once retreated, with the greatest haste, to the stockaded position in their rear. as usual, the narrow entrances to the stockades caused great delay; and the british were upon them before they were, in any way, prepared to resist the assault. heralding their advance by sweeping volleys, they fell upon the burmese with the bayonet, and drove them out of their works. the enemy made an attempt to rally, behind the walls and in the pagodas of the town, but the effort was vain. they were driven out with great slaughter, hundreds were drowned in endeavouring to swim the river, and the army was finally dispersed in all directions. the effect of this victory was at once apparent. the country people--who had, on the advance of the british force from prome, been cleared out from the villages along the whole line of route--being now freed from the restraint of their troops, came flocking back in great numbers--some by the roads and some in boats--and it was evident that they regarded the struggle as definitely terminated. there was, indeed, no possibility of further resistance; as the armies of burma, raised with immense difficulty and by heavy bounties and the promises of great reward, were hopelessly scattered, and ava lay open to the british advance. in other directions their position was equally desperate. aracan had been wholly rescued from their grasp. a british force in pegu had marched up the river sitang and, after the repulse of a party of a hundred and fifty men, imprudently sent to attack sitang itself, captured the place after a sharp fight and, receiving reinforcements from rangoon, continued their way up the river and captured toungoo; while the northern force had driven the burmese out of manipur, and had reached the river ningti by the nd of february, and were in a position to advance direct upon ava. after a halt of two days, general campbell advanced on the th of february. mr. price, the american who had been sent down after the capture of melloon, went forward to ava with the treaty that had been drawn up before the capture of that place; and the king had no longer any hesitation in complying with its terms--and was, indeed, delighted to find that the recent victory of the invaders had not increased their demands. he at once sent down to accept them but, as no official ratification was sent, the march continued; while mr. price again returned to ava. when the force was within four days' march of the capital, the latter returned with the burmese commissioners and other high functionaries, with the ratified treaty, and the first instalment of the money that was to be paid. it was a disappointment to the army that, after their long march and many sufferings, they were not to be allowed to enter the enemy's capital in triumph. undoubtedly, however, the course taken was the wisest. ava was regarded as a sacred city, and it was to save it from the humiliation of being occupied by the invaders that the king had brought himself to accept the terms of the treaty. had the english general insisted upon entering the capital, and signing the treaty there, he would have found no one to meet him. the population would have been driven out, the king and court would have retired farther up the country, and the war might have continued for an indefinite time. already its cost had been enormous, exceeding , , pounds sterling. during the first eleven months after landing at rangoon, nearly half of the europeans died and, from the time they advanced from that town with fresh reinforcements from india, to the arrival near ava, a similarly heavy loss was sustained. four percent of the number engaged was killed in action. the climate of aracan was still more deadly, as three-fourths of the white troops employed there died, and very few of the survivors were ever fit for service afterwards. the sepoys suffered less in aracan, losing only ten percent of their number, though nearly half the force were in hospital for some time. according to agreement the burmese, as soon as peace was concluded, sent down a large number of boats for the conveyance of the troops down the river. as they descended it, the garrisons left at melloon and other places were withdrawn. one of the native regiments, with some elephants and guns, left the force at sembeughewn; and marched thence to aracan, for the purpose of investigating the country, and proving whether it was practicable for the passage of troops in case another advance upon ava should ever be necessary. they found the road unexpectedly good, and met with no resistance whatever, except in the passage of some passes over the mountains. at melloon, stanley was very glad to meet his cousin again, for the th had been left in garrison there. harry had been down again, with a sharp attack of fever, but was now recovering. "so it is all over, stanley, and your chances of an earldom have nearly slipped through your fingers." "i am glad, indeed, that it is so," stanley laughed, "in the first place, because i could only have succeeded to it at your death; and in the second place, because i have no ambition, whatever, for a title. i am not nineteen yet, and should greatly prefer to make my own way, than to find myself with nothing whatever to do, except to spend money as it dropped into my lap. "now that everything is settled, and that aracan has become english, and we have the seaports on the tenasserim coast, trade will increase tremendously. you may be sure that the burmese will be only too glad to flock into our provinces, and to live under a fair rule, to escape the tyranny of their own officials; and my uncle is just the man to take advantage of the new openings. i don't say that i want to live out here all my life. at any rate, i hope by the time that i am thirty, to be able to come home for a year's holiday; and it is just possible that, by then, we may have grown into such a big firm that we may establish headquarters in london, instead of getting all our goods from calcutta. "there is certain to be a very big trade here, in teak alone. the price in pegu is a great deal below that in india and, if we had a house in london, we should avoid having to pay commissions, and perhaps get better prices for our wood. of course, my uncle may by that time think of retiring himself and, in that case, i might have to stay somewhat longer out here; but i know that he likes the climate, and i have heard him say that, as he has very few acquaintances in england, he thinks that he should prefer a life in calcutta to one in london." "i should not wonder if i go home, very shortly," harry said. "my last letter told me that my uncle was in failing health, and that he would like to have me at home with him. if the next letter confirms that, i am afraid i shall have either to resign my commission, or exchange into a regiment at home. of course, at his death i should have to leave the army, anyhow. it would be ridiculous for a subaltern to be an earl; besides, there are things one would have to do. i suppose there are estates to be looked after, and all sorts of nuisances. "anyhow, i shall always be glad i have had my share in this expedition. i have learned what campaigning is; and i must say that, under such circumstances as we have gone through, it is not quite so pleasurable as i had expected. half one's friends are dead or invalided home; and one never knows, when one wakes in the morning, whether one may not be down with cholera before night. the fighting is all well enough but, after all, that takes up but a very small portion of one's time; and marching and, i may say, living generally in this hot, sweltering climate, with its six months of rain, is not enviable work. however, i have gone through one regular campaign, and that as severe a one as british troops have ever performed; and above all, old man, i have met you, and we have come to be great friends, and i have learned what one fellow will do for another." "i am sure i am very glad to have gone through it, too. i have been fortunate, indeed, in never having been laid up for a single day; and there is no doubt that having served on the staff will be of great advantage to me, even as a trader. i own that i should like to have retired a captain. of course, promotion has been tremendously fast, owing to the death vacancies, but i have still two lieutenants over me." "you are sure to get the step, stanley. you have been in general orders twice, besides that notice you got for my rescue. also, the doctors say that a number of the men who have been sent down to the coast are not likely to live many weeks and, as five of your seniors have been invalided, you may get your step, in the natural course of things, at any moment. "if i were you, i should ask for three months' leave before rejoining your regiment. there will be no difficulty about that, after you have been upwards of two years in constant work; and the general will certainly not refuse. before the end of that time you will have seen your uncle, and talked matters over. then, if you choose to resign your commission, you can of course do so but, as you are pretty sure to get your step, by death, before the end of the three months; and as the general's despatches strongly recommend your services, you may get your brevet majority before your resignation reaches england. a man who has been mentioned two or three times in despatches, and is specially recommended for honours, is sure to get his brevet majority directly he gets his company." on reaching rangoon, stanley learned that two of the invalids had died, either on the way down or before they could be put on board a ship; and that one of the majors, who had been sent to india for change, four months before, had also succumbed; so that he had already obtained his company--a promotion which would have been, at any other time, extraordinary; but which, in a campaign where half those engaged were carried off, was nothing remarkable. being still on the headquarter staff, he embarked with sir archibald campbell. "you still hold firm to your determination to leave the service, captain brooke?" the general said, in the course of the passage to calcutta. "yes, sir. i am sure that it is best for me." "i think it is, brooke. of course, you have been exceptionally fortunate in getting such rapid promotion. still, a good business is a great deal better than soldiering. i wrote very strongly in your favour, when i sent off my despatches the day we came down to the coast; and you are certain of your brevet. still, it is just as well that the news of your resignation should not get home before the gazette comes out, with your name in it. i think the best thing that i can do is to give you leave, for a time, as soon as we get to calcutta. i am sure that you deserve a rest, for your work has been terribly heavy." "thank you, sir; that was just the favour that i was going to ask you. i shall find out, as soon as i get there, where my uncle is; and join him. my own mind is quite made up, but he has certainly a right to be consulted, before i take any final step." "quite right. i feel no doubt that his opinion will agree with yours; and i think that you are showing a good deal more wisdom than most fellows would do, to give up the service when you have distinguished yourself, and have a much better chance than falls to the lot of one man in a hundred. still, there can be no real doubt that a man in a good business, out here, can retire early and go home with a fortune; while in the army you are liable at any time, after you get to the rank of colonel, to be laid on the shelf for years. "besides, you will be your own master, which is more than anyone in the army can say. you can go home when you like, either for a stay or for a permanency; and you are not liable to have to run the risk of another campaign such as this has been." "if one was sure of campaigns, i don't think that i could possibly bring myself to leave the service; but it is the probability of being kept, for three or four years at a time, doing nothing at calcutta or madras that decided me." the general nodded. "you are quite right, brooke; on active service a soldier's life is, indeed, a stirring one; but there is nothing more dull and monotonous than garrison life, in peace time." accordingly, as soon as they landed in calcutta, stanley was put in orders for absence on leave, for three months. he learned, from his uncle's agent, that they had heard from him only a few days before, at chittagong; and that he was then on the point of leaving for aracan, whither he had ordered a large consignment of goods to be forwarded to him, by the next ship. three days later, stanley started to join him, leaving his address at aracan with sir archibald campbell, in case there should be need to recall him before the three months' leave expired. the vessel in which he was sailing carried the consignment of goods to his uncle; and he had, therefore, no fear of finding that the latter had left aracan before his arrival. meinik was still with him. he had left the army after the last battle had been fought, and had travelled to the spot where he had buried his money before embarking with stanley in the canoe and, after an absence of three days, rejoined the force. on the way down to rangoon, stanley had a long talk with him as to his future plans. "i have only one plan, master, and that is to stay with you, as long as i live." "but you will have plenty to live comfortably upon now, meinik. for, after all that you have done for me, of course i shall arrange for you to have a sum that will keep you in comfort." meinik shook his head. "burma is a bad country, master. after living with the english, i would not go back to live under the king's officers, in any case. any money that i had would be squeezed out of me, before long. no, master, i will go with you, unless you drive me from you; if you do, i will go to chittagong, and live there, but i do not think that you will do that." "certainly not, meinik. as long as you are willing to remain with me, i shall be very glad, indeed, to have you; but if, at any time, you wish to marry and settle down on land of your own, i shall give you five hundred pounds--which is only a small portion of the sum those rubies, which you got your band to give me, brought me in." "i daresay i shall marry," meinik said, "but that will make no difference. as long as i live, i shall stay with you." meinik had been astounded at calcutta; which presented a strong contrast, indeed, to the city which, as a burman, he had regarded as the most important place in the world. "the burmese are fools, master. they should have sent two or three men here, before they made up their minds to go to war. if they had been truly told what calcutta was like, they would never have ventured to make war with the english." chapter : in business again. when the vessel arrived at the mouth of the aracan river, a canoe was seen coming out from akyah--a town situated at the entrance to the principal of the several channels by which the river makes its way, through a number of sand banks and islands, into the sea. as it approached, stanley recognized his uncle sitting in the stern. "well, uncle, how are you?" he called out, as the boat approached the side. "what, is it you, stanley? i am glad, indeed, to see you. i have watched the papers anxiously, to see if your name appeared among those who have been killed or have died; not seeing it, i hoped that you were all right. of course we heard, from the madras regiment that came across from sembeughewn, that it was all over; and that all the troops would be shipped off, as soon as they went down to rangoon; but i have not seen any papers lately, and so have not had a chance of learning any news of you. i fancied, though, that you would be back at calcutta by this time; and thought that i might get a letter from you, by this ship." by this time he was on deck, and after a hearty shaking of hands, stanley asked what he was doing here. "i did not expect to see you until we got to aracan." "i have been up there, lad. it is a decaying old place, and the stream is in many places shallow; so that it would be very difficult to take up a ship of any size. i foresee, therefore, that this is going to be the chief port of the province--timber will be floated down here, and rice brought down in native boats--so i shall make my headquarters here, as far as this district is concerned, and put johnson in charge. i doubt whether, for a time, we shall do as much trade as we shall higher up the coast; but everyone expects a great burmese immigration, and a large trade is likely to spring up, in time. "i have not quite determined on my next move, and it is not improbable that i shall go down in this ship and establish myself, for a time, at martaban; and open a trade in tenasserim. if i decide on that, i shall only get on shore a portion of my goods, and take the rest on with me there. "now, what are you going to do, stanley?" "just what you think best, uncle. i should have thought that, as i speak the language, it would be better for me to go on to martaban; and for you to work chittagong, and the district up to assam." "then you are going to stay with me, lad!" his uncle exclaimed, in a tone of much satisfaction. "i was afraid that you would have got so fond of soldiering that you would have thrown this over, altogether." "not a bit of it, uncle. i am on three months' leave at present and, at the end of that time, i shall resign. you know i am a captain, now--that is to say, that i have got my rank by death vacancies, though until the gazette comes out from england, i can hardly be said to be a pucka captain; and, what is more, the general himself assured me that, after being mentioned in despatches two or three times, and at his strong commendation of my services, i was sure of the brevet rank of major." his uncle took off his hat, gravely. "i must apologize to you," he said, "for addressing you as 'lad.' i had no idea that you were a full-grown captain, still less that you might soon be a major." "i don't care a snap for the title, uncle," stanley said, laughing, "except that it may be an advantage to me, in places where there are garrisons; and indeed, generally where there are white officials." "a very great advantage, stanley. "well, lad, i have been coining money, since i saw you at rangoon. i have been sending a consignment of bullocks down there, every week; and have done almost as much with the manipur force. i have also got the contract regularly, now, for the supply of the troops at calcutta. other trade has, of course, been at a standstill. now that everything has quieted down, there will be a perfect rush; and i have been sorely troubled, in my mind, whether it would be best to stay up here and take advantage of it, or to be one of the first to open trade at these new ports. of course, if you are ready to take martaban, that will decide me; and i shall take passage in the first ship going up to chittagong. my own boat and the dhow are both there, and i shall at once work up all the rivers, and set things going again. "i have a capital fellow, a native, who is carrying on the cattle business for me and, at chittagong, i shall try and get hold of three or four more trustworthy fellows, to take charge of depots. i see a big future before us, and that before long. i did well with those gems of yours--they fetched pounds, which i used, besides what you handed over to me--for there was no buying up the cattle without cash and, as i generally have to wait two months after they are shipped, before i get paid, ready money was invaluable and, indeed, i could not have gone into the thing on anything like the same scale, if it had not been for your money. the calcutta people would have helped me, to a certain point; but they would never have ventured upon such advances as i required. your pounds has doubled itself since i met you at rangoon. i calculate that our stores at the different depots are worth pounds so that, at the present moment, the firm of pearson & brooke have at their command a capital of , pounds." a portion of the cargo was landed at akyah. stanley went down with the rest to martaban, and his uncle sailed for chittagong. a few months later, a store was opened at rangoon. parsee store-keepers were sent from calcutta, by tom pearson; and these were placed in control of the stores there, and at martaban--stanley being in charge of these two stations, and akyah; and having a native craft of his own, and a boat for river work similar to that of his uncle. a year later he received a letter from harry, saying that his uncle had died, a month after his return to england; and that he was now established as one of the pillars of the state. "as i went through london, on my arrival," he said, "i looked up your mother at the address you gave me, at dulwich. i found her very well, and very comfortable. she was full of your praises and, as i was equally so, your ears ought to have tingled while we were together. of course they wanted to hear all about you, and most of it was new to them; for you had said nothing of your adventure with that leopard, and only a few lines about the rescue of your humble servant; though you had told them that i stood in your way of the earldom. your mother said that she was prouder of you than if you were an earl, only that she would have liked to have you at home. i told her that you and your uncle were shaking the pagoda tree, and that you would come home as yellow as a guinea and as rich as a nabob, in the course of a few years. "your sisters are older than i expected to find them. of course, you always spoke of them as when you saw them last. they are both growing into very pretty girls, the elder especially. i made your mother promise to bring them down to stay with me, for a bit, when i came into the title; which i knew could not be long, for i had called that morning on my uncle's solicitors, and they told me that he was not expected to live many weeks. as it is only a month since he died, i suppose i ought not to have visitors, just yet; but in a few weeks i shall go up to town, and bring them down with me. i cannot help thinking that it is a little selfish for, when they see this place, they would not be human if they did not feel that it would have been yours, if it had not been for your getting me out of the hands of those burmese. "i see that you are gazetted captain, this week. i suppose, long before this, you have settled down to your old work of going up sluggish streams; and trying to stir up the equally sluggish native to a sense of the advantages of british goods. at present, i am quite content to do nothing particular--to ride and drive about, return calls, and so on--but i expect, before very long, i shall get restless, and want to be doing something. however, there is the continent open to one, and decent hotels to stop at. no fevers there, and no burmese brigands." a month later he had a letter from his mother, which had been written before that of harry, but had been sent to calcutta and thence to akyah; and had there lain until his return, two months later, from a boat journey up to pegu. she said how kind it was of his cousin to come in, to give them news of him, the very day he arrived in london. "of course, we were delighted with all that he told us about you; but it made us anxious to think of your running into so many dangers. we like him very much. we could not help laughing, because he seemed quite concerned that you should not have the peerage, instead of him. he seems likely to come into it soon, for he tells us that the earl is very ill. he says that we must come down and pay him a visit, as soon as he is master there; but i don't know whether that can be. of course it would be a nice change, and i believe that it is a very fine place. i said that it would seem strange our going there, when there are no ladies, and that bachelors did not generally entertain; but he said that, in the first place he should have his sisters there, who were about the same age as my girls; and that as we were his nearest relations, and you were at present his heir, it would be quite the right and proper thing for us to come down. he seemed quite in earnest about it, and i should not be surprised if we go." three months later, stanley heard that the visit had been paid, and that they had stayed a fortnight there. "it feels quite funny, settling down here again after being in that big house, with all those servants and grandeur; not that there is any grandeur about harry. he insists, being relations, that we shall call him by his christian name. everything was delightful. every afternoon we used to go driving and, of a morning, he generally rode with the girls. he had a very pretty, gentle horse for agnes; and a gray pony, a beauty, for kate. i have a strong suspicion that he had bought them both, on purpose. i should not be surprised--but no, i won't say anything about it." stanley puzzled over this sentence, which was followed by: "his sisters are very nice girls." "it is evidently something about harry," he said to himself; "possibly she has taken the idea into her head that he may fall in love with agnes. that, certainly, would be a very nice thing; but i don't suppose it is anything more than an idea of mother's." however, four months later he received a letter from harry, announcing his engagement. "i told your mother that she must let me write by the mail, before she did; as it was only right that i should have the pleasure of telling you the news, myself. it is splendid, old man; upon my word, i don't know which i ought to feel most grateful to you--for saving my life, or for getting me to know your sister. it seems to me a regular dispensation of providence. you did everything you could to prevent yourself from coming into a title; and now your sister is going to take it, and me. it is quite right that we should come to be brothers-in-law, for we are quite like brothers, already. "we are to be married in the spring. how i wish you could be with us. your absence will be the only thing wanting, to make everything perfect. i do hope you don't mean to stay, grilling out there, many years. it seems to me monstrous that i should be having estates and a big income, and all that sort of thing, when i have done nothing to deserve it; and that you should be toiling in that beastly climate. if i thought that there was the least chance of your rushing home, when you get this letter, i declare that i would put off the marriage for a month or so, so that you should be here in time; but as i feel sure that you won't do anything of the sort, it will be of no use for me to make such a noble sacrifice." stanley had received the news that he was gazetted brevet-major, a month after he was promoted to the rank of captain, and two months before his name appeared as having retired from the army. he derived, as he expected, much benefit from his connection with the army in his position at his three receiving ports, as it placed him on a very pleasant footing with the military and civil officials; and it rendered his occasional visits to calcutta and madras exceedingly pleasant, for in both towns he found many officers whose acquaintance he had made, during the expedition. he was always made an honorary member of the messes and clubs, during his stays there. the business grew rapidly. the work of the earlier years had so well paved the way for larger operations that they were able to more than hold their own against other traders who, after the troubles were at an end, sought to establish themselves at various points on the western coast of the peninsula; and after six more years of hard and continuous work, the business came to be a very large and important one. "i think it more than probable," stanley wrote to his mother, "that before very long i shall be returning home. my uncle spoke about it, the last time that i saw him; and said that we were outgrowing calcutta, and ought to establish ourselves in london. "'we can hold on a bit longer,' he said, 'but we must come to that, sooner or later and, when it does, you must be the one to go to england and take charge. i may go home before that for a few months, but i have no wish or desire to stop there. we have now got a good staff; and i shall probably fix myself, permanently, at calcutta.'" two years later tom pearson, on his return from england, brought back a wife with him, and established himself at calcutta. stanley joined him there, three weeks after his return. they had a long talk together, that evening. "i see, stanley," his uncle said, "that things have gone on improving, since i have been away; and that our turnover last year was , pounds, and the profits close upon , pounds. i think, now, that it is high time we opened a place in london. we have almost a monopoly of the teak trade, in burma; and it would be much more advantageous for us to make our purchases in england, instead of here. we should save in carriage and in trans-shipment, besides the profits that the people here make out of their sales to us. i have made a great many inquiries, at home, as to the prices for cash in manchester and birmingham; and find that we should get goods there some fifteen percent cheaper than we pay at calcutta, even after putting on the freights. so you see, it is an important matter. besides, there would be a better choice of goods, and you know exactly the sort of thing that we require, and the quantities that we can get rid of; and would be able, therefore, to send consignments each month, without waiting for advices from me; and so we should get the things just as readily as we do now, from here. "i will give you the names of some of the firms that i have visited, and with whom i have already paved the way for opening extensive transactions. during the eighteen months that i have been away, you have learned all about the banking business; and will find no more difficulty in managing, in london, than here. your brother-in-law netherly went with me to the bank of england, and introduced me to one of the directors. i told him that we intended to open a house in london, and that as soon as we did so, we should open an account with them by paying in , pounds; and that we should, of course, require some facilities, but probably not to a large extent, as our payments for teak there would fairly balance our exports from england; and that i reckoned our trade to be, as a minimum, , pounds, each way. "the matter was made extremely easy by netherly saying, to my astonishment: "'you can let them draw what they like, mr. townshend, for i will give my personal guarantee, up to , pounds.' "i remonstrated, but he would not hear anything said. "'ridiculous,' he exclaimed, hotly; 'stanley is my brother-in-law. he risked his life for me, and you don't suppose that i should mind risking , pounds for him. "'not,' he went on, turning to the director, 'that there is any risk in the matter. i know all about the business they do in india, and that there is not a shadow of risk in it. i know that my guarantee will be a mere form but, as it may put them on a better footing with you, to begin with, i shall be very pleased to do it.' "of course, we know that there will be no risk in it. the greater portion of our business is a ready-money one and although, of late, we have been dealing more with native local firms instead of selling direct from our own stores, the amounts are never large and, so far, we have never lost a penny. of course, i shall let you know, by every mail, how things are going on at all our depots; and you will then be able to form an estimate as to the amount of goods you will have to despatch to each--sending them direct, of course, if there happens to be a ship going. "but all these things, of course, we shall go into, at length, before you start for england." "did you go down to harry's place?" "yes, i stopped there a week. your sister seems perfectly happy, and plays the part of queen of the county admirably. the four youngsters are jolly little things. as to your mother, you will find very little change in her. i really don't think that she looks a day older than when we saw her off, at calcutta, something like ten years ago. of course, then she was cut up with her loss; but quiet and comfort have agreed with her, and the climate is a good deal less trying than it is out here. at any rate, i should not take her for a day over forty, and she is something like five years older than that." three months later, stanley sailed for england. there was the same argument between him and meinik that there had been when stanley first left rangoon, but this time it terminated differently. "you would be out of your element in england, meinik. of course, my life there will be very different from what it is here. i shall go away from home to business, every morning, and not get back until perhaps seven o' clock in the evening. as a consequence, there would be nothing for you to do for me, and we should see very little of each other. you know i should like to have you with me, and would do all that i could to make you comfortable; but i am sure that you would not like the life. here you have always been on the move, and there is always something for you to do, and think of. "i have spoken to my uncle about you, and he will be glad to appoint you to the position of purchaser, for our house, of teak and other native products in these provinces. besides being buyer, you would go up the country, and see to the felling and getting the timber down to the coast, as you have often done before. he knows how absolutely i trust you, and how much you have done for me, and he said that he should be very glad to have you in charge of the buying side of the work, here. besides, you know you have now a wife and children and, even if you could make yourself comfortable in england, they would never be able to do so; and the bitter cold that we sometimes have, in winter, would try them terribly, and might even carry them all off." to these arguments meinik had reluctantly yielded. he was somewhat proud of the position that he occupied, as one of some authority in the establishment of the principal merchants on the coast. he was fond of his wife and little children; and felt that to be established among strangers, of different habits and race, would be very terrible for them. stanley bought him a nice house at rangoon and, as his rate of pay, which had been gradually increased, was now sufficient to cause him to rank high among the native population, he himself came to feel that he had done wisely in accepting stanley's advice. the voyage to england was an uneventful one; and to stanley, after the active life he had had for ten years, the five months spent at sea seemed almost interminable. "i should not have known you, in the least," his mother said, after the first joyful greetings were over. "how much you have gone through, since we parted at calcutta." "i had a pretty rough time of it for two years, mother, during the war but, with that exception, my life has been a very pleasant one; and i have had nothing, whatever, to grumble about. "this is a pretty house that you have chosen, mother, and the garden is charming. how i have longed, sometimes, for the sight of an english garden. of course i have never seen one before, but i have heard you talk of them, and thought how delightful the green grass must be. of course we had flowers in burma--plenty of them--and shrubs; but it was not green, like this. it is charming." "yes, it is a pretty house, stanley. we moved in here five years ago--thanks to you, dear boy--and it has been a very quiet, happy time. we have a good many friends now, among our neighbours; and have quite as much society as i care for. "i suppose you have not yet decided whether you will live here, with us," she said, a little anxiously, "or set up an establishment of your own." "of course i shall stay here, mother. i never thought of anything else. i see that you have some stables. i shall get a couple of horses, and drive into town, in the mornings. i have got out of the way of walking, altogether. "and where is kate?" "you will see her presently. she will be here to dinner, with agnes and harry. i sent her off, because i wanted to have you all to myself, for the first hour. the others came up to town, three days ago, on purpose to be here when you arrived. of course, we heard when your ship called at plymouth. we had been looking for her, for your last letter told us the name of the vessel that you were coming by; so i wrote to them, and they came up at once. they wanted us to go and dine with them, but i would not hear of it. i was sure that you would much rather dine quietly, here, than in state in portman square, with three or four footmen behind our chairs." "ever so much better, mother. i suppose i shall hardly know agnes, but harry cannot have altered much; besides, i have seen him four years later than her." harry's greeting was of the heartiest kind. stanley's sisters felt, at first, a little strange with this brother of whom they had but a faint remembrance. "it does not seem to me, harry, that your dignities have tamed you down much." "no, indeed," harry laughed. "i find it, sometimes, very difficult to act up to my position. i never quite feel that i am an earl, except on the rare occasions when i go to the house of lords--which i only do when my vote is wanted, on an important division. "the gloom of that place is enough to sober anyone. i can assure you that, when i heard of the fire, i felt absolutely pleased. of course, they will build another one, perhaps grander than the last, and as gloomy but, thank goodness, it must be years before it can be finished and, until then, we shall have to put up with temporary premises. "your chances of an earldom are getting more and more remote, stanley. there are three boys barring the way, already. i had proposed to myself not to marry--in which case you or a son of yours would have followed me--but your sister overpersuaded me." agnes tossed her head, as she said: "at any rate, harry, if you made that resolution, it was not worth much, as you gave it up at the first opportunity. i was the first girl you met, when you arrived in england; and i doubt whether you had seen another, before we came down to stay at netherly. i had not been there two days before you began to make love to me." "the temptation would excuse anything, my dear," harry laughed. "besides, you see, i saw at once that it was but fair and right to stanley that, if he could not get the peerage himself, he might some day have the satisfaction of being uncle to an earl. "and so you are home for good, old fellow?" "yes, and just at present i feel very much at sea as to how to get to work, as tom pearson arranged nothing except as to the banking account. everything else he has left to me. i know nothing of london, and have no idea of the situation where i should look for offices." "i will put you up to all that, stanley. i don't know anything about it myself, as you may suppose; but if you will go with me to my solicitors, tomorrow, they will be able to tell you. but i do know that leadenhall street is the centre of the indian trade, and it's somewhere about there that you will have to fix yourself. "of course, when you have taken a place, you will have to get hold of some clerks. if you put an advertisement in the paper, you will get any number of applicants; or possibly my men may, through their connection with merchants, be able to hear of some to suit you. anyhow, i am sure that you will find no difficulty." thanks to harry's introductions, stanley was established in a handsome suite of offices, with three clerks, with much greater ease than he had anticipated. being thoroughly versed in business, he was not long before he was at home in his new life. three years after his return, he married harry's youngest sister. the firm flourished greatly, and became one of the leading houses in the eastern trade. at the age of sixty, stanley retired from business with a large fortune. he could do this comfortably, as his eldest son and a nephew had become active partners in the firm. he still lives, at the age of eighty-six, in a noble mansion near staines; and retains all the faculties, even at advanced age. from page images generously made available by internet archive (http://www.archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see http://www.archive.org/details/freshwatersponge anna the fauna of british india, including ceylon and burma. published under the authority of the secretary of state for india in council. edited by a. e. shipley, m.a., sc.d., hon. d.sc., f.r.s. freshwater sponges, hydroids & polyzoa. by n. annandale, d.sc., superintendent and trustee (_ex officio_) of the indian museum, fellow of the asiatic society of bengal and of the calcutta university. london: taylor and francis, red lion court, fleet street. calcutta: thacker, spink, & co. bombay: thacker & co., limited. berlin: r. friedländer & sohn, carlstrasse. august, . printed at today & tomorrow's printers & publishers, faridabad contents. page editor's preface v systematic index vii general introduction biological peculiarities geographical distribution geographical list special localities nomenclature and terminology material introduction to part i. (_spongillidæ_) the phylum porifera general structure skeleton and spicules colour and odour external form and consistency variation nutrition reproduction development habitat animals and plants commonly associated with freshwater sponges freshwater sponges in relation to man indian spongillidæ compared with those of other countries fossil spongillidæ oriental spongillidæ not yet found in india history of the study of freshwater sponges literature glossary of technical terms used in part i. systematic list of the indian spongillidÆ introduction to part ii. (_hydrida_) the phylum coelenterata and the class hydrozoa structure of hydra capture and ingestion of prey: digestion colour behaviour reproduction development of the egg enemies coelenterates of brackish water freshwater coelenterates other than hydra history of the study of hydra bibliography of hydra glossary of technical terms used in part ii. list of the indian hydrida introduction to part iii. (_ctenostomata_ and _phylactolæmata_) status and structure of the polyzoa capture and digestion of food: elimination of waste products reproduction: budding development movements distribution of the freshwater polyzoa polyzoa of brackish water history of the study of freshwater polyzoa bibliography of the freshwater polyzoa glossary of technical terms used in part iii. synopsis of the classification of the polyzoa synopsis of the subclasses, orders, and suborders synopsis of the leading characters of the divisions of the suborder ctenostomata systematic list of the indian freshwater polyzoa appendix to the volume hints on the preparation of specimens addenda part i. part ii. part iii. alphabetical index explanation of plates. editor's preface. dr. n. annandale's volume on the freshwater sponges, polyzoa, and hydrida contains an account of three of the chief groups of freshwater organisms. although he deals mainly with indian forms the book contains an unusually full account of the life-history and bionomics of freshwater sponges, polyzoa, and hydrozoa. i have to thank dr. annandale for the great care he has taken in the preparation of his manuscript for the press, and also the trustees of the indian museum, calcutta, for their kindness in placing material at the disposal of the author. a. e. shipley. christ's college, cambridge, march . systematic index. page porifera. order halichondrina fam. . spongillidÆ . spongilla, _lamarck_ a. euspongilla, _vejdovsky_ . lacustris, _auct._ _a_. reticulata, _annandale_ , . proliferens, _annandale_ . alba, _carter_ _a_. cerebellata, _bowerbank_ _b_. bengalensis, _annandale_ . cinerea, _carter_ , . travancorica, _annandale_ . hemephydatia, _annandale_ . crateriformis (_potts_) b. eunapius, _j. e. gray_ . carteri, _carter_ , _a_. mollis, _annandale_ _b_. cava, _annandale_ . fragilis, _leidy_ _a_. calcuttana, _annandale_ _b_. decipiens, _weber_ . gemina, _annandale _ . crassissima, _annandale_ _a_. crassior, _annandale_ c. stratospongilla, _annandale_ . indica, _annandale_ . bombayensis, _carter_ , _a_. pneumatica, _annandale_ . ultima, _annandale_ . pectispongilla, _annandale_ . aurea, _annandale_ _a_. subspinosa, _annandale_ . ephydatia, _lamouroux_ . meyeni (_carter_) fluviatilis, _auct._ . dosilia, _gray_ . plumosa (_carter_) . trochospongilla, _vejdovsky_ . latouchiana, _annandale_ . phillottiana, _annandale_ . pennsylvanica (_potts_) . tubella, _carter_ . vesparioides, _annandale_ . corvospongilla, _annandale_ . burmanica (_kirkpatrick_) caunteri, _annandale_ . lapidosa (_annandale_) hydrozoa. order eleutheroblastea fam. . hydridÆ . hydra, _linné_ . vulgaris, _pallas_ . oligactis, _pallas_ , polyzoa. order ctenostomata div. . vesicularina fam. . vesicularidÆ . bowerbankia, _farre_ caudata, _hincks_ bengalensis, _annandale_ div. . paludicellina fam. . paludicellidÆ . paludicella, _gervais_ . victorella, _kent_ . bengalensis, _annandale_ fam. . hislopiidÆ . hislopia, _carter_ . lacustris, _carter_ _a_. moniliformis, _annandale_ order phylactolÆmata div. . plumatellina fam. . fredericellidÆ . fredericella, _gervais_ . indica, _annandale_ , fam. . plumatellidÆ subfam. a. _plumatellinæ_ . plumatella, _lamarck_ . fruticosa, _allman_ . emarginata, _allman_ , . javanica, _kraepelin_ . diffusa, _leidy_ , . allmani, _hancock_ , . tanganyikæ, _rousselet_ , . punctata, _hancock_ . stolella, _annandale_ . indica, _annandale_ himalayana, _annandale_ subfam. b. _lophopinæ_ . lophopodella, _rousselet_ . carteri (_hyatt_) _a_. himalayana (_annandale_) . pectinatella, _leidy_ . burmanica, _annandale_ general introduction to the volume. although some zoologists have recently revived the old belief that the sponges and the coelenterates are closely allied, no one in recent times has suggested that there is any morphological relationship between either of these groups and the polyzoa. personally i do not think that any one of the three groups is allied to any other so far as anatomy is concerned; but for biological reasons it is convenient to describe the freshwater representatives of the three groups in one volume of the "fauna." indeed, i originally proposed to the editor that this volume should include an account not only of the freshwater species, but of all those that have been found in stagnant water of any kind. it is often difficult to draw a line between the fauna of brackish ponds and marshes and that of pure fresh water or that of the sea, and this is particularly the case as regards the estuarine tracts of india and burma. pelseneer[a] has expressed the opinion that the black sea and the south-east of asia are the two districts in the world most favourable for the study of the origin of a freshwater fauna from a marine one. the transition in particular from the bay of bengal, which is much less salt than most seas, to the lower reaches of the ganges or the brahmaputra is peculiarly easy, and we find many molluscs and other animals of marine origin in the waters of these rivers far above tidal influence. conditions are unfavourable in the rivers themselves for the development and multiplication of organisms of many groups, chiefly because of the enormous amount of silt held in suspension in the water and constantly being deposited on the bottom, and a much richer fauna exists in ponds and lakes in the neighbourhood of the rivers and estuaries than in running water. i have only found three species of polyzoa and three of sponges in running water in india, and of these six species, five have also been found in ponds or lakes. i have, on the other hand, found three coelenterates in an estuary, and all three species are essentially marine forms, but two have established themselves in ponds of brackish water, one (the sea-anemone _sagartia schilleriana_) undergoing in so doing modifications of a very peculiar and interesting nature. it is not uncommon for animals that have established themselves in pools of brackish water to be found occasionally in ponds of fresh water; but i have not been able to discover a single instance of an estuarine species that is found in the latter and not in the former. [footnote a: "l'origine des animaux d'eau douce," bull. de l'acad. roy. de belgique (classe des sciences), no. , , p. .] for these reasons i intended, as i have said, to include in this volume descriptions of all the coelenterates and polyzoa known to occur in pools of brackish water in the estuary of the ganges and elsewhere in india, but as my manuscript grew i began to realize that this would be impossible without including also an amount of general introductory matter not justified either by the scope of the volume or by special knowledge on the part of its author. i have, however, given in the introduction to each part a list of the species found in stagnant brackish water with a few notes and references to descriptions. biological peculiarities of the sponges, coelenterates, and polyzoa of fresh water. there is often an external resemblance between the representatives of the sponges, coelenterates, and polyzoa that causes them to be classed together in popular phraseology as "zoophytes"; and this resemblance is not merely a superficial one, for it is based on a similarity in habits as well as of habitat, and is correlated with biological phenomena that lie deeper than what are ordinarily called habits. these phenomena are of peculiar interest with regard to difficult questions of nutrition and reproduction that perhaps can only be solved by a close study of animals living together in identical conditions and exhibiting, apparently in consequence of so living, similar but by no means identical tendencies, either anatomical or physiological, in certain directions. one of the most important problems on which the study of the sponges, coelenterates, and polyzoa of stagnant water throws light is that of the production of resting buds and similar reproductive bodies adapted to withstand unfavourable conditions in a quiescent state and to respond to the renewal of favourable conditions by a renewed growth and activity. every autumn, in an english pond or lake, a crisis takes place in the affairs of the less highly organized inhabitants, and preparations are made to withstand the unfavourable conditions due directly or indirectly to the low winter temperature of the water: the individual must perish but the race may be preserved. at this season _hydra_, which has been reproducing its kind by means of buds throughout the summer, develops eggs with a hard shell that will lie dormant in the mud until next spring; the phylactolæmatous polyzoa produce statoblasts, the ctenostomatous polyzoa resting-buds ("hibernacula"), and the sponges gemmules. statoblasts, hibernacula, and gemmules are alike produced asexually, but they resemble the eggs of _hydra_ in being provided with a hard, resistant shell, and in having the capacity to lie dormant until favourable conditions return. in an indian pond or lake a similar crisis takes place in the case of most species, but it does not take place at the same time of year in the case of all species. unfortunately the phenomena of periodic physiological change have been little studied in the freshwater fauna of most parts of the country, and as yet we know very little indeed of the biology of the himalayan lakes and tarns, the conditions in which resemble those to be found in similar masses of water in europe much more closely than they do those that occur in ponds and lakes in a tropical plain. in bengal, however, i have been able to devote considerable attention to the subject, and can state definitely that some species flourish chiefly in winter and enter the quiescent stage at the beginning of the hot weather (that is to say about march), while others reach their maximum development during the "rains" (july to september) and as a rule die down during winter, which is the driest as well as the coolest time of year. the following is a list of the forms that in bengal are definitely known to produce hard-shelled eggs, gemmules, resting-buds, or statoblasts only or most profusely at the approach of the hot weather and to flourish during winter:-- _spongilla carteri._ _sponging alba._ _spongilla alba_ var. _bengalensis_. _spongilla crassissima._ _hydra vulgaris._ _victorella bengalensis._ _plumatella fruticosa._ _plumatella emarginata._ _plumatella javanica._ the following forms flourish mainly during the "rains":-- _spongilla lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_. _trochospongilla latouchiana._ _trochospongilla phillottiana._ _stolella indica._ the following flourish throughout the year:-- _spongilla proliferens._ _hislopia lacustris._ it is particularly interesting to note that three of the species that flourish in the mild winter of bengal, namely _hydra vulgaris_, _plumatella emarginata_, and _p. fruticosa_, are identical with species that in europe perish in winter. there is evidence, moreover, that the statoblasts of the genus to which two of them belong burst more readily, and thus give rise to new colonies, after being subjected to a considerable amount of cold. in bengal they only burst after being subjected to the heat of the hot weather. does extreme heat have a similar effect on aquatic organisms as extreme cold? there is some evidence that it has. the species that flourish in india during the rains are all forms which habitually live near the surface or the edge of ponds or puddles, and are therefore liable to undergo desiccation as soon as the rains cease and the cold weather supervenes. the two species that flourish all the year round do not, properly speaking, belong to one category, for whereas _hislopia lacustris_ produces no form of resting reproductive body but bears eggs and spermatozoa at all seasons, _spongilla proliferens_ is a short-lived organism that undergoes a biological crisis every few weeks; that is to say, it begins to develop gemmules as soon as it is fully formed, and apparently dies down as soon as the gemmules have attained maturity. the gemmules apparently lie dormant for some little time, but incessant reproduction is carried on by means of external buds, a very rare method of reproduction among the freshwater sponges. the facts just stated prove that considerable specific idiosyncrasy exists as regards the biology of the sponges, hydroids, and polyzoa of stagnant water in bengal; but an even more striking instance of this phenomenon is afforded by the sponges _spongilla bombayensis_ and _corvospongilla lapidosa_ in bombay. these two sponges resemble one another considerably as regards their mode of growth, and are found together on the lower surface of stones. in the month of november, however, _c. lapidosa_ is in full vegetative vigour, while _c. bombayensis_, in absolutely identical conditions, is already reduced to a mass of gemmules, having flourished during the "rains." it is thus clear that the effect of environment is not identical in different species. this is more evident as regards the groups of animals under consideration in india (and therefore probably in other tropical countries) than it is in europe. the subject is one well worthy of study elsewhere than in india, for it is significant that specimens of _s. bombayensis_ taken in november in s. africa were in a state of activity, thus contrasting strongly with specimens taken at the same time of year (though not at the same season from a climatic point of view) in the bombay presidency. geographical distribution of the indian species. the geographical distribution of the lower invertebrates of fresh and of stagnant water is often an extremely wide one, probably because the individual of many species exists at certain seasons or in certain circumstances in a form that is not only resistant to unfavourable environment, but also eminently capable of being transported by wind or currents. we therefore find that some genera and even species are practically cosmopolitan in their range, while others, so far as our knowledge goes, appear to have an extraordinarily discontinuous distribution. the latter phenomenon may be due solely to our ignorance of the occurrence of obscure genera or species in localities in which they have not been properly sought for, or it may have some real significance as indicating that certain forms cannot always increase and multiply even in those localities that appear most suitable for them. as an example of universally distributed species we may take the european polyzoa of the genus _plumatella_ that occur in india, while of species whose range is apparently discontinuous better examples could not be found than the sponges _trochospongilla pennsylvanica_ and _spongilla crateriformis_, both of which are only known from n. america, the british isles, and india. my geographical list of the species of sponges, coelenterates, and polyzoa as yet found in fresh water in india is modelled on col. alcock's recently published list of the freshwater crabs (potamonidæ) of the indian empire[b]. i follow him in accepting, with slight modifications of my own, blanford's physiographical rather than his zoogeographical regions, not because i think that the latter have been or ought to be superseded so far as the vertebrates are concerned, but rather because the limits of the geographical distribution of aquatic invertebrates appear to depend on different factors from those that affect terrestrial animals or even aquatic vertebrates. [footnote b: cat. ind. dec. crust. coll. ind. mus., part i, fasc. ii (potamonidæ), .] "varieties" are ignored in this list, because they are not considered to have a geographical significance. the parts of india that are least known as regards the freshwater representatives of the groups under consideration are the valley of the indus, the lakes of kashmir and other parts of the himalayas, the centre of the peninsula, and the basin of the brahmaputra. those that are best known are the districts round bombay, calcutta, madras and bangalore, travancore and northern tenasserim. little is known as regards ceylon, and almost nothing as regards the countries that surround the indian empire, a few species only having been recorded from yunnan and the malay peninsula, none from persia, afghanistan, or eastern turkestan, and only one from tibet. professor max weber's researches have, however, taught us something as regards sumatra and java, while the results of various expeditions to tropical africa are beginning to cast light on the lower invertebrates of the great lakes in the centre of that continent and of the basin of the nile. it is not known to what altitude the three groups range in the himalayas and the hills of southern india. no sponge has been found in indian territory at an altitude higher than that of bhim tal in kumaon ( , feet), and _hydra_ is only known from the plains; but a variety of _h. oligactis_ was taken by capt. f. h. stewart in tibet at an altitude of about , feet. _plumatella diffusa_ flourishes at gangtok in sikhim ( , feet), and i have found statoblasts of _p. fruticosa_ in the neighbourhood of simla on the surface of a pond situated at an altitude of about , feet; mr. r. kirkpatrick obtained specimens of the genus in the botanical gardens at darjiling ( , feet), and two species have been found at kurseong ( , - , feet) in the same district. geographical list of the freshwater sponges, hydroids, and polyzoa of india, burma, and ceylon. [a * indicates that a species or subspecies has only been found in one physiographical region or subregion so far as the indian empire is concerned; a ! that the species has also been found in europe, a $ in north america, a + in africa, and a @ in the malay archipelago.] . western frontier territory[c]. (baluchistan, the punjab, and the n.w. frontier province.) [footnote c: i include baluchistan in this territory largely for climatic reasons.] sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@ (lahore). hydroids:-- . _hydra oligactis_!$ (lahore). polyzoa:-- . _plumatella fruticosa_!$ (lahore). . _plumatella diffusa_!$ (lahore). . western himalayan territory. (himalayas from hazara eastwards as far as nepal.) sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@ (bhim tal). . _ephydatia meyeni_@ (bhim tal). hydroids:--none known (_hydra oligactis_ recorded from tibet). polyzoa:-- . _plumatella allmani_! (bhim tal). . _plumatella fruticosa_!$ (simla). . _lophopodella carteri_+ (bhim tal). . north-eastern frontier territory. (sikhim, darjiling and bhutan, and the lower brahmaputra drainage-system.) sponges:-- _spongilla proliferens_@ (assam). hydroids:--none known. polyzoa:-- . _plumatella fruticosa_! (kurseong and assam). . _plumatella diffusa_!$ (sikhim). . _plumatella javanica_@ (kurseong). . burma territory. (upper burma, arrakan, pegu, tenasserim.) sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _proliferens_@ (upper burma, pegu). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _crateriformis_!$ (tenasserim). . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@ (upper burma, pegu, tenasserim). . _trochospongilla latouchiana_ (tenasserim). . _trochospongilla phillottiana_ (tenasserim). . _tubella vesparioides_* (tenasserim). . _corvospongilla burmanica_* (pegu). hydroids:-- . _hydra vulgaris_!$ (upper burma and tenasserim). polyzoa:-- . _plumatella emarginata_!$ (pegu, upper burma). . _plumatella allmani_! (tenasserim). . _pectinatella burmanica_ (tenasserim). . _hislopia lacustris_ (pegu). _a._ peninsular province--main area. (the peninsula east of the western ghats.) sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ (orissa, madras). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _proliferens_@ (madras). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _alba_+ (n. madras, orissa, hyderabad). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _hemephydatia_* (orissa). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _crateriformis_!$. . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@. . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _gemina_* (bangalore). . _spongilla_ (_stratospongilla_) _bombayensis_+ (mysore). . _dosilia plumosa_ (n. madras). hydroids:-- . _hydra vulgaris_!$. polyzoa:-- . _plumatella fruticosa_! (madras, bangalore). . _lophopus_ (?_lophopodella_), sp. (madras). . _pectinatella burmanica_ (orissa). . _victorella bengalensis_ (madras). . _hislopia lacustris_ (nagpur). b. peninsular province--malabar zone. (western ghats from tapti r. to cape comorin and eastwards to the sea.) sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ (w. ghats). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _proliferens_@ (cochin). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _alba_+. . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _cinerea_*. . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _travancorica_* (travancore). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _crateriformis_!$ (cochin). . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@. . _spongilla_ (_stratospongilla_) _indica_* (w. ghats). . _spongilla _ (_stratospongilla_) _bombayensis_+ (bombay, w. ghats). . _spongilla_ (_stratospongilla_) _ultima_* (travancore). . _pectispongilla aurea_* (travancore, cochin). . _ephydatia meyeni_@ (bombay, travancore). . _dosilia plumosa_ (bombay). . _trochospongilla pennsylvanica_*!$ (travancore). . _corvospongilla lapidosa_* (w. ghats). hydroids:--none recorded. polyzoa:-- . _fredericella indica_* (w. ghats and travancore). . _plumatella fruticosa_! (bombay). . _plumatella javanica_@ (travancore). . _plumatella tanganyikæ_*+ (w. ghats). . _lophopodella carteri_+ (bombay, w. ghats). . indo-gangetic plain. (from sind to the brahmaputra.) sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ (gangetic delta). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _proliferens_@ (lower bengal, etc.). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _alba_+ (lower bengal). . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _crateriformis_!$. . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@ (lower bengal, etc.). . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _fragilis_ subsp. _calcuttana_* (lower bengal). . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _crassissima_ (bengal). . _ephydatia meyeni_@ (lower bengal). . _trochospongilla latouchiana_ (lower bengal). . _trochospongilla phillottiana_ (lower bengal). hydroids:-- . _hydra vulgaris_!$. polyzoa:-- . _plumatella fruticosa_!. . _plumatella emarginata_!$. . _plumatella javanica_@ (lower bengal). . _plumatella diffusa_!$. . _plumatella allmani_!. . _plumatella punctata_!$ (lower bengal). . _stolella indica_* (lower bengal, united provinces). . _victorella bengalensis_ (lower bengal). . _hislopia lacustris_ (united provinces, n. bengal). a. _hislopia lacustris_ subsp. _moniliformis_* (lower bengal). . ceylon. sponges:-- . _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _proliferens_@. . _spongilla_ (_eunapius_) _carteri_!@. hydroids:-- . _hydra vulgaris_!$. polyzoa:-- . ? _plumatella emarginata_!$. . _pectinatella burmanica._ the most striking feature of this list is the evidence it affords as to the distinct character of the fauna of the malabar zone, a feature that is also remarkably clear as regards the potamonidæ, one genus of which (_gecarcinucus_) is peculiar, so far as india is concerned, to that zone. as regards the sponges we may note the occurrence of no less than three species of the subgenus _stratospongilla_, which has not been found elsewhere in india except on one occasion in mysore, and of a species of the genus _corvospongilla_, which is unknown from the rest of peninsular india and from the himalayas. the genus _pectispongilla_ is only known from the malabar zone. among the polyzoa the genus _fredericella_[d] appears to be confined, so far as the indian and burmese fauna is concerned, to the malabar zone, and the same is true as regards the group of species to which _plumatella tanganyikæ_, an african form, belongs. [footnote d: mr. s. w. kemp recently obtained at mangaldai, near the bhutan frontier of assam, a single specimen of what may be a species of _fredericella_.] a further examination of the list of malabar species and a consideration of allied forms shows that the majority of the forms restricted to the malabar zone are either african or else closely allied to african forms. the genus _corvospongilla_, except for one burmese species, is otherwise peculiar to tropical africa; while _stratospongilla_, although not confined to africa, is more prolific in species in that continent than in any other. _spongilla (stratospongilla) bombayensis_ has only been found in bombay, the western ghats, mysore, and natal, and _plumatella tanganyikæ_ only in the western ghats and central africa. the genus _fredericella_ (which also occurs in europe, n. america, and australia) is apparently of wide distribution in africa, while _lophopodella_ (which in india is not confined to the malabar zone) is, except for a japanese race of the indian species, restricted outside india, so far as we know, to east africa. a less definite relationship between the sponges and polyzoa of the malabar zone and those of countries to the east of india is suggested by the following facts:-- ( ) the occurrence of the genus _corvospongilla_ in burma; ( ) the occurrence of the subgenus _stratospongilla_ in sumatra, china, and the philippines; ( ) the occurrence of a race of _lophopodella carteri_ in japan; ( ) the occurrence of a species allied to _plumatella tanganyikæ_ in the philippines. it will be noted that in each of these instances the relationship extends to africa as well as to the eastern countries, and is more marked in the former direction. the species of _stratospongilla_, moreover, that occurs in sumatra (_s. sumatrensis_) also occurs in africa, while those that have been found in china and the philippines are aberrant forms. at first sight it might appear that these extra-indian relationships might be explained by supposing that gemmules and statoblasts were brought to the malabar coast from africa by the aërial currents of the monsoon or by marine currents and carried from india eastwards by the same agency, this agency being insufficient to transport them to the interior and the eastern parts of the peninsula. the work of la touche[e] on wind-borne foraminifera in rajputana is very suggestive in this direction; but that the peculiar sponge and polyzoon fauna of malabar is due to the agency either of wind or of marine currents may be denied with confidence, for it is a striking fact that most of the characteristic genera and subgenera of the zone have resting reproductive bodies that are either fixed to solid objects or else are devoid of special apparatus to render them light. the former is the case as regards all species of _corvospongilla_ and all indian and most other species of _stratospongilla_, the gemmules of which not only are unusually heavy but also adhere firmly; while the statoblasts of _fredericella_ have no trace of the air-cells that render the free statoblasts of all other genera of phylactolæmatous polyzoa peculiarly light and therefore peculiarly liable to be transported by wind. [footnote e: see mem. geol. surv. ind. xxxv ( ), p. ( ).] a true geographical or geological explanation must therefore be sought for the relationship between the sponges and polyzoa of malabar, of africa, and of the eastern countries--a relationship that is well known to exist as regards other groups of animals. no more satisfactory explanation has as yet been put forward than that of a former land connection between africa and the malaysia through malabar at a period (probably late cretaceous) when the western ghats were much higher than they now are[f]. [footnote f: see ortmann, "the geographical distribution of freshwater decapods and its bearing upon ancient geography," proc. amer. phil. soc. xli, p. , fig. ( ); also suess, "the face of the earth" (english ed.) i, p. ( ).] there is little to be said as regards the distribution of the sponges, hydroids, and polyzoa of fresh water in other parts of india. it may be noted, however, that the species known from the punjab are all widely distributed palæarctic forms, and that the genus _stolella_ is apparently confined to the indo-gangetic plain. two species of sponge are peculiar to lower burma, one of them (_corvospongilla burmanica_) representing the geographical alliance already discussed as regards the malabar zone, the other (_tubella vesparioides_) closely related to a malaysian species (_t. vesparium_ from borneo) and perhaps representing the northern limit of the malaysian element well known in the fauna of lower burma. of the sponges and polyzoa of ceylon we know as yet too little to make it profitable to discuss their affinities. all that have as yet been discovered occur also in peninsular india; nor do they afford any evidence of a connection with the malabar zone. the question of the geographical range of the sponges, hydroids, and polyzoa of brackish water may be considered briefly, for it is of importance in considering that of those which are confined to fresh water. some of these species from brackish water (e. g., _membranipora lacroixii_) are identical with others (e. g., _victorella bengalensis_ and _bowerbankia caudata_ subsp. _bengalensis_) closely related to european forms. others again (e. g., _loxosomatoides colonialis_ and _sagartia schilleriana_) are known as yet from the ganges delta only. in our ignorance of the indian representatives of the groups to which they belong, it is impossible to assert that their distribution is actually so restricted as it seems. some special localities. in order to avoid constant repetition as regards the conditions that prevail at the places most frequently mentioned in this volume, a few details as regards them may be conveniently stated here. _lower bengal._ calcutta is situated on the river hughli at a point about miles from the open sea. the water of the river is practically fresh, but is strongly affected by the tides; it is always turbid and of a brownish colour. the river, however, is not a good collecting ground for sponges, coelenterates, and polyzoa, and none of the species described in this volume have been obtained from it. it is in the calcutta "tanks" that most of my investigations have been made. these tanks are ponds, mostly of artificial origin, very numerous, of varying size but never very large or deep. most of them contain few solid objects to which sedentary organisms can fix themselves, and such ponds are of course poor in sponges and polyzoa. others, however, support a prolific growth of weeds such as _pistia stratiotes_, _lemna_, and _limnanthemum_, and a few have brickwork or artificial stonework at their sides. in those parts of the town that approach the salt lakes (large lagoons and swamps of brackish water connected with the sea by the mutlah river) the water of the ponds is slightly brackish and permits few plants except algæ to flourish. few of the bigger tanks ever dry up. the best of the tanks from the sponge-collector's point of view, so far as i have been able to discover, is the one in the compound of the indian museum. it enjoys all the advantages of light and shade, solid supports, prolific aquatic vegetation, considerable depth, and the vicinity of human dwellings that seem to be favourable to the growth of sponges, no less than nine species of which, representing three genera and two subgenera, grow abundantly in it. _hydra_ also flourishes in this pond, but for some reasons there are few polyzoa. the phylactolæmatous species of the latter group, however, are extraordinarily abundant in one of the tanks in the zoological gardens at alipore. in this tank, which unlike the museum tank is directly connected with the river, no less than six species and varieties of the genus _plumatella_ have been found growing together on sticks, floating seeds, and water-plants. except _hislopia_, which is common on _vallisneria_ in one tank on the maidan (opposite the bengal club), the ctenostomes of stagnant water are only found in the tanks near the salt lakes. port canning is situated on the mutlah river about miles from calcutta and about from the open sea. the mutlah is really a tidal creek rather than a river, in spite of the fact that it runs for a considerable number of miles, and its waters are distinctly brackish. water taken from the edge at port canning in march was found to contain . per thousand of saline residue. the interesting feature of port canning, however, is from a zoological point of view not the mutlah but certain ponds of brackish water now completely separated from it, except occasionally when the river is in flood, but communicating regularly with it in the memory of living persons. these ponds, which were apparently not in existence in , have on an average an area of about half an acre each, and were evidently formed by the excavation of earth for the construction of an embankment along the mutlah. they are very shallow and lie exposed to the sun. the salinity differs considerably in different ponds, although the fauna seems to be identical; the water of one pond was found to contain . per thousand of saline residue in may, . per thousand in march, and . in december. a second pond in the neighbourhood of the first and apparently similar to it in every way contained only . per thousand in july, after the rains had broken. the fauna of these ponds includes not only a freshwater sponge (_spongilla alba_ var. _bengalensis_) but also many aquatic insects (_e. g._, larvæ of mosquitos and of _chironomus_ and several species of beetles and rhynchota); while on the other hand essentially marine coelenterates (_irene ceylonensis_, etc.) and worms (_e. g._, the gephyrean _physcosoma lurco_[g]) form a part of it, together with forms of intermediate habitat such as _bowerbankia caudata_ subsp. _bengalensis_, _victorella bengalensis_, and several fish and crustacea common in brackish water. [footnote g: i am indebted to mr. w. f. lanchester for the identification of this species.] _orissa._ orissa may be described in general terms as consisting of the coastal area of bengal south of the gangetic delta. it extends in inland, however, for a considerable distance and includes hilly tracts. there is no geographical boundary between it and the north-eastern part of the madras presidency or the eastern part of the central provinces. chilka lake.--this marine lake is a shallow lagoon measuring about miles in length and miles in breadth, and formed in geologically recent times by the growth of a narrow sand-bank across the mouth of a wide bay. at its northern end it communicates with the sea by a narrow channel, and throughout its length it is strongly affected by the tides. at its south end, which is actually situated in the ganjam district of madras, the water is distinctly brackish and is said to be nearly fresh at certain times of year. at this end there are numerous small artificial pools of brackish water somewhat resembling those of port canning as regards their fauna. sur (or sar) lake.--a shallow, freshwater lake of very variable size situated a few miles north of puri on the orissa coast. in origin it probably resembled the chilka lake, but it is now separated from the sea by about miles of barren sand dunes, among which numerous little pools of rain-water are formed during the rains. these dry up completely in winter, and even the lake itself is said sometimes almost to disappear, although when it is full it is several miles in length. the fauna is essentially a freshwater one, but includes certain mysidæ and other crustacea usually found in brackish water. _bombay presidency._ bombay.--the town of bombay, built on an island near the mainland, is situated close to swamps and creeks of brackish water not unlike those that surround calcutta. its "tanks," however, differ from those of calcutta in having rocky bottoms and, in many cases, in drying up completely in the hot weather. of the fauna of the swamps extremely little is known, but so far as the sponges and polyzoa of the tanks are concerned the work undertaken by carter was probably exhaustive. igatpuri.--igatpuri is situated at an altitude of about feet, miles north-east of bombay. above the town there is a lake of several square miles in area whence the water-supply of several stations in the neighbourhood is obtained. the water is therefore kept free from contamination. the bottom is composed of small stones and slopes gradually up at the edges. during the dry weather its level sinks considerably. several interesting sponges and polyzoa have been found in this lake, most of them also occurring in a small pond in the neighbourhood in which clothes are washed and the water is often full of soap-suds. _southern india._ madras.--the city of madras is built by the sea, straggling over a large area of the sandy soil characteristic of the greater part of the east coast of india. in wet weather this soil retains many temporary pools of rain-water, and there are numerous permanent tanks of no great size in the neighbourhood of the town. the so-called cooum river, which flows through the town, is little more than a tidal creek, resembling the mutlah river of lower bengal on a much smaller scale. the sponges and polyzoa as yet found in the environs of madras are identical with those found in the environs of calcutta. bangalore.--bangalore (mysore state) is situated near the centre of the madras presidency on a plateau about feet above sea-level. the surrounding country is formed of laterite rock which decomposes readily and forms a fine reddish silt in the tanks. these tanks are numerous, often of large size, and as a rule at least partly of artificial origin. their water supports few phanerogamic plants and is, as my friend dr. morris travers informs me, remarkably free from salts in solution. the sponge fauna of the neighbourhood of bangalore appears to be intermediate between that of madras and that of travancore. the backwaters of cochin and travancore.--the "backwaters" of cochin and travancore were originally a series of shallow lagoons stretching along the coast of the southern part of the west coast of india for a distance of considerably over a hundred miles. they have now been joined together by means of canals and tunnels to form a tidal waterway, which communicates at many points directly with the sea. the salinity of the water differs greatly at different places and in different seasons, and at some places there is an arrangement to keep out sea-water while the rice-fields are being irrigated. the fauna is mainly marine, but in the less saline parts of the canals and lakes many freshwater species are found. _shasthancottah._--there are two villages of this name, one situated on the backwater near quilon (coast of travancore), the other about three miles inland on a large freshwater lake. this lake, which does not communicate with the backwater, occupies a narrow winding rift several miles in length at a considerable depth below the surrounding country. its bottom is muddy and it contains few water-plants, although in some places the water-plants that do exist are matted together to form floating islands on which trees and bushes grow. the fauna, at any rate as regards mollusca and microscopic organisms, is remarkably poor, but two species of polyzoa (_fredericella indica_ and _plumatella fruticosa_) and one of sponge (_trochospongilla pennsylvanica_) grow in considerable abundance although not in great luxuriance. _the himalayas._ bhim tal[h] is a lake situated at an altitude of feet in that part of the western himalayas known as kumaon, near the plains. it has a superficial area of several square miles, and is deep in the middle. its bottom and banks are for the most part muddy. little is known of its fauna, but two polyzoa (_plumatella allmani_ and _lophopodella carteri_) and the gemmules of two sponges (_spongilla carteri_ and _ephydatia meyeni_) have been found in it. [footnote h: the fauna of this lake and of others in the neighbourhood has recently been investigated by mr. s. w. kemp. see the addenda at the end of this volume.--_june ._] * * * * * nomenclature and terminology. the subject of nomenclature may be considered under four heads:--(i.) the general terminology of the various kinds of groups of individuals into which organisms must be divided; (ii.) the general nomenclature of specimens belonging to particular categories, such as types, co-types, etc.; (iii.) the nomenclature that depends on such questions as that of "priority"; and (iv.) the special terminology peculiar to the different groups. the special terminology peculiar to the different groups is dealt with in the separate introductions to each of the three parts of this volume. (i.) no group of animals offers greater difficulty than the sponges, hydroids, and polyzoa (and especially the freshwater representatives of these three groups) as regards the question "what is a species?" and the kindred questions, "what is a subspecies?" "what is a variety?" and "what is a phase?" genera can often be left to look after themselves, but the specific and kindred questions are answered in so many different ways, if they are even considered, by different systematists, especially as regards the groups described in this volume, that i feel it necessary to state concisely my own answers to these questions, not for the guidance of other zoologists but merely to render intelligible the system of classification here adopted. the following definitions should therefore be considered in estimating the value of "species," etc., referred to in the following pages. _species._--a group of individuals differing in constant characters of a definite nature and of systematic[i] importance from all others in the same genus. [footnote i: "what characters are of systematic importance?" is a question to which different answers must be given in the case of different groups.] _subspecies._--an isolated or local race, the individuals of which differ from others included in the same species in characters that are constant but either somewhat indefinite or else of little systematic importance. _variety._--a group of individuals not isolated geographically from others of the same species but nevertheless exhibiting slight, not altogether constant, or indefinite differences from the typical form of the species (_i. e._, the form first described). _phase._--a peculiar form assumed by the individuals of a species which are exposed to peculiarities in environment and differ from normal individuals as a direct result. there are cases in which imperfection of information renders it difficult or impossible to distinguish between a variety and a subspecies. in such cases it is best to call the form a variety, for this term does not imply any special knowledge as regards its distribution or the conditions in which it is found. i use the term "form" in a general sense of which the meaning or meanings are clear without explanation. (ii.) the question of type specimens must be considered briefly. there are two schools of systematists, those who assert that one specimen and one only must be the type of a species, and those who are willing to accept several specimens as types. from the theoretical point of view it seems impossible to set up any one individual as the ideal type of a species, but those who possess collections or are in charge of museums prefer, with the natural instinct of the collector, to have a definite single type (of which no one else can possibly possess a duplicate) in their possession or care, and there is always the difficulty that a zoologist in describing a species, if he recognizes more than one type, may include as types specimens that really belong to more than one species. these difficulties are met by some zoologists by the recognition of several specimens as paratypes, all of equal value; but this, after all, is merely a terminological means of escaping from the difficulty, calculated to salve the conscience of a collector who feels unwilling to give up the unique type of a species represented by other specimens in his collection. the difficulty as regards the confounding of specimens of two or more species as the types of one can always be adjusted if the author who discovers the mistake redescribes one of the species under the original name and regards the specimen that agrees with his description as the type, at the same time describing a new species with another of the specimens as its type. personally i always desire to regard the whole material that forms the basis of an original description of a species as the type, but museum rules often render this impossible, and the best that can be done is to pick out one specimen that seems particularly characteristic and to call it the type, the rest of the material being termed co-types. a peculiar difficulty arises, however, as regards many of the sponges, coelenterates, and polyzoa, owing to the fact that they are often either compound animals, each specimen consisting of more than one individual, or are easily divisible into equivalent fragments. if the single type theory were driven to its logical conclusion, it would be necessary to select one particular polyp in a hydroid colony, or even the part of a sponge that surrounded a particular osculum as the type of the species to which the hydroid or the sponge belonged. either by accident or by design specimens of spongillidæ, especially if kept dry, are usually broken into several pieces. there is, as a matter of fact, no reason to attribute the peculiarly sacrosanct nature of a type to one piece more than another. in such cases the biggest piece may be called the type, while the smaller pieces may be designated by the term "schizotype." the more precise definition of such terms as topotype, genotype, _et hujus generis omnis_ is nowadays a science (or at any rate a form of technical industry) by itself and need not be discussed here. (iii.) in an influential committee of british zoologists drew up a strenuous protest against the unearthing of obsolete zoological names (see 'nature,' aug. , p. ). to no group does this protest apply with greater force than to the three discussed in this volume. it is difficult, however, to adopt any one work as a standard of nomenclature for the whole of any one of them. as regards the spongillidæ it is impossible to accept any monograph earlier than potts's "fresh-water sponges" (p. ac. philad., ), for bowerbank's and carter's earlier monographs contained descriptions of comparatively few species. even potts's monograph i have been unable to follow without divergence, for it seems to me necessary to recognize several genera and subgenera that he ignored. the freshwater polyzoa, however, were dealt with in so comprehensive a manner by allman in his "fresh-water polyzoa" (london, ) that no difficulty is experienced in ignoring, so far as nomenclature is concerned, any earlier work on the group; while as regards other divisions of the polyzoa i have followed hincks's "british marine polyzoa" ( ), so far as recent researches permit. in most cases i have not attempted to work out an elaborate synonymy of species described earlier than the publication of the works just cited, for to do so is a mere waste of time in the case of animals that call for a most precise definition of species and genera and yet were often described, so far as they were known earlier than the dates in question, in quite general terms. i have been confirmed in adopting this course by the fact that few of the types of the earlier species are now in existence, and that a large proportion of the indian forms have only been described within the last few years. material. the descriptions in this volume are based on specimens in the collection of the indian museum, the trustees of which, by the liberal manner in which they have permitted me to travel in india and burma on behalf of the museum, have made it possible not only to obtain material for study and exchange but also to observe the different species in their natural environment. this does not mean to say that specimens from other collections have been ignored, for many institutions and individuals have met us generously in the matter of gifts and exchanges, and our collection now includes specimens of all the indian forms, named in nearly all cases by the author of the species, except in those of species described long ago of which no authentic original specimens can now be traced. pieces of the types of all of the indian spongillidæ described by carter have been obtained from the british museum through the kind offices of mr. r. kirkpatrick. the smithsonian institution has sent us from the collection of the united states national museum specimens named by potts, and the berlin museum specimens named by weltner, while to the imperial academy of sciences of st. petersburg we owe many unnamed but interesting sponges. dr. k. kraepelin and dr. w. michaelsen have presented us with specimens of most of the species and varieties of freshwater polyzoa described by the former in his great monograph and elsewhere. we owe to dr. s. f. harmer, formerly of the cambridge university museum and now keeper in zoology at the british museum, to professor max weber of amsterdam, professor oka of tokyo, and several other zoologists much valuable material. i would specially mention the exquisite preparations presented by mr. c. rousselet. several naturalists in india have also done good service to the museum by presenting specimens of the three groups described in this volume, especially major h. j. walton, i.m.s., major j. stephenson, i.m.s., dr. j. r. henderson and mr. g. matthai of madras, and mr. r. shunkara narayana pillay of trivandrum. the following list shows where the types of the various species, subspecies, and varieties are preserved, so far as it has been possible to trace them. i have included in this list the names of all species that have been found in stagnant water, whether fresh or brackish, but those of species not yet found in fresh water are enclosed in square brackets. +-----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | indian spongillidÆ. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | name. | type in coll. | material | | | | examined. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla lacustris_ subsp. | ind. mus. | type. | | _reticulata_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla proliferens_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla alba_ | brit. and ind. mus. | schizotype. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_spongilla alba_ var. | ind. mus. | type | | _bengalensis_] | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla alba_ var. | brit. mus. | {specimens | | _cerebellata_ | | {compared | | | | {with type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla cinerea_ | brit. and ind. mus. | schizotype. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_spongilla travancorica_] | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla hemephydatia_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla crateriformis_ | u.s. nat. mus. | co-type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla carteri_ | brit. and ind. mus. | schizotype. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla carteri_ var. | ind. mus. | type. | | _mollis_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla carteri_ var. | " " | " | | _cava_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla carteri_ var. | " " | " | | _lobosa_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla fragilis_ subsp. | " " | " | | _calcuttana_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla fragilis_ subsp. | amsterdam mus. | co-type. | | _decipiens_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla gemina_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla crassissima_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla crassissima_ var. | " " | " | | _crassior_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla bombayensis_ | brit. and ind. mus. | schizotype. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla indica_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _spongilla ultima_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _pectispongilla aurea_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _ephydatia meyeni_ | brit. and ind. mus. | schizotype. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _dosilia plumosa_ | " " " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _trochospongilla latouchiana_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _trochospongilla phillottiana_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _trochospongilla pennsylvanica_ | u.s. nat. mus. | co-type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _tubella vesparioides_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _corvospongilla burmanica_ | brit. and ind. mus. | schizotype. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _corvospongilla lapidosa_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | indian coelenterates of stagnant water. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | hydrozoa. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _hydra oligactis_ | not in existence. | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _hydra vulgaris_ | " " | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_syncoryne filamentata_] | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_bimeria vestita_] | ? not in existence. | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_irene ceylonensis_] | {hydroid in ind.} | hydroid type | | | {mus., medusa} | | | | {in brit. mus.} | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | actiniaria. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_sagartia schilleriana_] | ind. mus. | types. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_sagartia schilleriana_ | " " | " | | subsp. _exul_] | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | indian polyzoa of stagnant water. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | entoprocta. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_loxosomatoides colonialis_] | ind. mus. | types. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | ectoprocta cheilostomata. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_membranipora lacroixii_] | ? paris mus. | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_membranipora bengalensis_] | ind. mus. | types. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | ectoprocta stenostomata. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | [_bowerbankia caudata_ subsp. | ind. mus. | types. | | _bengalensis_] | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _victorella bengalensis_ | " " | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _hislopia lacustris_ | ? not in existence. | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _hislopia lacustris_ subsp. | ind. mus. | " | | _moniliformis_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | ectoprocta phylactolÆmata. | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _fredericella indica_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _plumatella fruticosa_ | not in existence. | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _plumatella diffusa_ |?philadelphia acad.[j]| | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _plumatella allmani_ | not in existence. | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _plumatella emarginata_ | " " | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | | {hamburg and} | one of the | | _plumatella javanica_ | {ind. mus. } | types. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | | {brit. and ind.} | one of the | | _plumatella tanganyikæ_ | {mus. } | types. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _stolella indica_ | ind. mus. | type. | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _lophopodella carteri_ | brit. mus. | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _lophopodella carteri_ var. | ind. mus. | " | | _himalayana_ | | | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ | _pectinatella burmanica_ | ind. mus. | " | +---------------------------------+----------------------+--------------+ [footnote j: i have failed to obtain from the philadelphia academy of science a statement that the type of this species is still in existence.] the literature dealing with the various groups described in the volume is discussed in the introductions to the three parts. throughout the volume i have, so far as possible, referred to works that can be consulted in calcutta in the libraries of the indian museum, the geological survey of india, or the asiatic society of bengal. the names of works that are not to be found in india are marked with a *. the rarity with which this mark occurs says much for the fortunate position in which zoologists stationed in calcutta find themselves as regards zoological literature, for i do not think that anything essential has been omitted. it remains for me to express my gratitude to those who have assisted me in the preparation of this volume. the names of those who have contributed specimens for examination have already been mentioned. i have to thank the trustees of the indian museum not only for their liberal interpretation of my duties as an officer of the museum but also for the use of all the drawings and photographs and some of the blocks from which this volume is illustrated. several of the latter have already been used in the "records of the indian museum." from the editor of the "fauna" i have received valuable suggestions, and i am indebted to dr. weltner of the berlin museum for no less valuable references to literature. mr. f. h. gravely, assistant superintendent in the indian museum, has saved me from several errors by his criticism. the majority of the figures have been drawn by the draftsmen of the indian museum, babu abhoya charan chowdhary, and of the marine survey of india, babu shib chandra mondul, to both of whom i am much indebted for their accuracy of delineation. no work dealing with the sponges of india would be complete without a tribute to the memory of h. j. carter, pioneer in the east of the study of lower invertebrates, whose work persists as a guide and an encouragement to all of us who are of the opinion that biological research on indian animals can only be undertaken in india, and that even systematic zoological work can be carried out in that country with success. i can only hope that this, the first volume in the official fauna of the indian empire to be written entirely in india, may prove not unworthy of his example. indian museum, calcutta oct. rd, . part i. freshwater sponges (spongillidÆ). introduction to part i. i. the phylum porifera. the phylum porifera or spongiæ includes the simplest of the metazoa or multicellular animals. from the compound protozoa its members are distinguished by the fact that the cells of which they are composed exhibit considerable differentiation both in structure and in function, and are associated together in a definite manner, although they are not combined to form organs and systems of organs as in the higher metazoa. digestion, for instance, is performed in the sponges entirely by individual cells, into the substance of which the food is taken, and the products of digestion are handed on to other cells without the intervention of an alimentary canal or a vascular system, while there is no structure in any way comparable to the nervous system of more highly organized animals. the simplest form of sponge, which is known as an olynthus, is a hollow vase-like body fixed at one end to some solid object, and with an opening called the osculum at the other. the walls are perforated by small holes, the pores, from which the name porifera is derived. externally the surface is protected by a delicate membrane formed of flattened cells and pierced by the pores, while the interior of the vase is covered with curious cells characteristic of the sponges, and known as choanocytes or collar-cells. they consist of minute oval or pear-shaped bodies, one end of which is provided with a rim or collar of apparently structureless membrane, while a flagellum or whip-like lash projects from the centre of the surface surrounded by the collar. these collar-cells are practically identical with those of which the protozoa known as choanoflagellata consist; but it is only in the sponges[k] that they are found constantly associated with other cells unlike themselves. [footnote k: except in "_proterospongia_," an organism of doubtful affinities but not a sponge. it consists of a mass of jelly containing ordinary cells, with collar-cells _outside_.] in addition to the collar-cells, which form what is called the gastral layer, and the external membrane (the derma or dermal membrane), the sponge contains cells of various kinds embedded in a structureless gelatinous substance, through which they have the power of free movement. most of these cells have also the power of changing their form in an "amoeboid" manner; that is to say, by projecting and withdrawing from their margin mobile processes of a more or less finger-like form, but unstable in shape or direction. the protoplasm of which some of the cells are formed is granular, while that of others is clear and translucent. some cells, which (for the time being at any rate) do not exhibit amoeboid movements, are glandular in function, while others again give rise in various ways to the bodies by means of which the sponge reproduces its kind. there is evidence, however, that any one kind of cell, even those of the membrane and the gastral layer, can change its function and its form in case of necessity. most sponges possess a supporting framework or skeleton. in some it is formed entirely of a horny substance called spongin (as in the bath-sponge), in others it consists of spicules of inorganic matter (either calcareous or siliceous) secreted by special cells, or of such spicules bound together by spongin. extraneous objects, such as sand-grains, are frequently included in the skeleton. the spongin is secreted like the spicules by special cells, but its chemical structure is much more complicated than that of the spicules, and it is not secreted (at any rate in most cases) in such a way as to form bodies of a definite shape. in the so-called horny sponges it resembles the chitin in which insects and other arthropods are clothed. * * * * * in no adult sponge do the collar-cells completely cover the whole of the internal surface, the olynthus being a larval form, and by no means a common larval form. it is only found in certain sponges with calcareous spicules. as the structure of the sponge becomes more complicated the collar-cells are tucked away into special pockets or chambers known as ciliated chambers, and finally the approach to these chambers, both from the external surface and from the inner or gastral cavity, takes the form of narrow tubes or canals instead of mere pores. with further complexity the simple internal cavity tends to disappear, and the sponge proliferates in such a way that more than one osculum is formed. in the class demospongiæ, to which the sponges described in this volume belong, the whole system is extremely complicated. the skeleton of sponges, when it is not composed wholly of spongin, consists of, or at any rate contains, spicules that have a definite chemical composition and definite shapes in accordance with the class, order, family, genus, and species of the sponge. formerly sponges were separated into calcareous, siliceous, and horny sponges by the nature of their skeleton; and although the system of classification now adopted has developed into a much more complex one and a few sponges are known that have both calcareous and siliceous spicules, the question whether the spicules are formed of salts of lime or of silica (strictly speaking of opal) is very important. all demospongiæ that have spicules at all have them of the latter substance, and the grade monaxonida, in which the freshwater sponges constitute the family spongillidæ, is characterized by the possession of spicules that have typically the form of a needle pointed at both ends. although spicules of this simple form may be absent in species that belong to the grade, the larger spicules, which are called megascleres, have not normally more than one main axis and are always more or less rod-like in outline. they are usually arranged so as to form a reticulate skeleton. frequently, however, the megascleres or skeleton-spicules are not the only spicules present, for we find smaller spicules (microscleres) of one or more kinds lying loose in the substance of the sponge and in the external membrane, or, in the spongillidæ only, forming a special armature for the reproductive bodies known as gemmules. all sponges obtain their food in the same way, namely by means of the currents of water set up by the flagella of the collar-cells. these flagella, although apparently there is little concerted action among them, cause by their rapid movements changes of pressure in the water contained in the cavities of the sponge. the water from outside therefore flows in at the pores and finally makes its way out of the oscula. with the water minute particles of organic matter are brought into the sponge, the collar-cells of which, and probably other cells, have the power of selecting and engulfing suitable particles. inside the cells these particles undergo certain chemical changes, and are at least partially digested. the resulting substances are then handed on directly to other cells, or, as some assert, are discharged into the common jelly, whence they are taken up by other cells. sponges reproduce their kind in more ways than one, _viz._, by means of eggs (which are fertilized as in other animals by spermatozoa), by means of buds, and by means of the peculiar bodies called gemmules the structure and origin of which is discussed below (p. ). they are of great importance in the classification of the spongillidæ. sponges can also be propagated artificially by means of fission, and it is probable that this method of reproduction occurs accidentally, if not normally, in natural circumstances. general structure of the spongillidÆ. it would be impracticable in this introduction to give a full account of the structure of the spongillidæ, which in some respects is still imperfectly known. students who desire further information should consult professor minchin's account of the sponges in lankester's 'treatise on zoology,' part ii, or, if a less technical description is desired, miss sollas's contribution to the 'cambridge natural history,' vol. i, in which special attention is paid to _spongilla_. the diagram reproduced in fig. gives a schematic view of a vertical section through a living freshwater sponge. although it represents the structure of the organism as being very much simpler than is actually the case, and entirely omits the skeleton, it will be found useful as indicating the main features of the anatomy. [illustration: fig. .--diagram of a vertical section through a freshwater sponge (_modified from kükenthal_). a=pores; b=subdermal cavity; c=inhalent canal; d=ciliated chamber; e=exhalent canal; f=osculum; g=dermal membrane; h=eggs; j=gemmule.] it will be noted that the diagram represents an individual with a single osculum or exhalent aperture. as a rule adult demospongiæ have several or many oscula, but even in the spongillidæ sponges occur in which there is only one. new oscula are formed by a kind of proliferation that renders the structure still more complex than it is when only one exhalent aperture is present. the little arrows in the figure indicate the direction of the currents of water that pass through the sponge. it enters through small holes in the derma into a subdermal cavity, which separates the membrane from the bulk of the sponge. this space differs greatly in extent in different species. from the subdermal space the water is forced by the action of the flagella into narrow tubular canals that carry it into the ciliated chambers. thence it passes into other canals, which communicate with what remains of the central cavity, and so out of the oscula. the ciliated chambers are very minute, and the collar-cells excessively so. it is very difficult to examine them owing to their small size and delicate structure. fig. d represents a collar-cell of a sponge seen under a very high power of the microscope in ideal conditions. [illustration: fig. .--sponge cells. a=bubble-cells of _ephydatia mülleri_, × (_after weltner_). b=gemmule-cell of _spongilla lacustris_ containing green corpuscles (shaded dark), × (_after weltner_). c=gemmule-cell of _ephydatia blembingia_ showing "tabloids" of food-material, × (_after evans_). d=collar-cell of _esperella ægagrophila_, × (_after vosmaer and pekelharing_). e=three stages in the development of a gemmule-spicule of _e. blembingia_ (_after evans_), × . f=outline of porocytes of _s. proliferens_, × ca. : _e_=dermal cell; _n_=nucleus; _p_=pore; _p.c._=pore-cell.] the nature of the inhalent apertures in the external membrane has been much discussed as regards the demospongiæ, but the truth seems to be that their structure differs considerably even in closely allied species. at any rate this is the case as regards the indian _spongillæ_. in all species the membrane is composed of flattened cells of irregular shape fitted together like the pieces of a puzzle-picture. in some species (e. g., _spongilla carteri_) the apertures in the membrane consist merely of spaces between adjacent cells, which may be a little more crowded together than is usual. but in others (e. g., _spongilla proliferens_ and _spongilla crassissima_) in which the pores are extremely small, each pore normally pierces the middle of a flat, ring-shaped cell or porocyte. occasionally, however, a pore may be found that is enclosed by two narrow, crescent-shaped cells joined together at their tips to form a ring. the porocytes of sponges like _spongilla carteri_ are probably not actually missing, but instead of being in the external membrane are situated below the derma at the external entrance to the canals that carry water to the flagellated chambers or even at the entrance to the chambers themselves[l]. some authors object on theoretical grounds to the statement that porocytes exist in the demospongia, and it is possible that these cells have in this grade neither the same origin as, nor a precisely similar function to, the porocytes of other sponges. when they occur in the dermal membrane no great difficulty is experienced in seeing them under a sufficiently high power of the microscope, if the material is well preserved and mounted and stained in a suitable manner[m]. in most sponges the porocytes can contract in such a way that the aperture in their centre is practically closed, but this power appears to be possessed by the porocytes of _spongilla_ only to a very limited extent, although they closely resemble the porocytes of other sponges in appearance. [footnote l: _cf._ weltner, "spongillidenstudien, v," arch. naturg. berlin, lxxiii (i), p. ( ).] [footnote m: it is difficult to see any trace of them in thin microtome sections. a fragment of the membrane must be mounted whole.] the external membrane in many spongillidæ is prolonged round and above the oscula so as to form an oscular collar. this structure is highly contractile, but cannot close together. as a rule it is much more conspicuous in living sponges than in preserved specimens. it is not necessary to deal here with most of the cells that occur in the parenchyma or gelatinous part of the sponge. a full list of the kinds that are found is given by dr. weltner in his "spongillidenstudien, v," p. (arch. naturg. berlin, lxxiii (i), ). one kind must, however, be briefly noticed as being of some systematic importance, namely the "bubble-cells" (fig. a) that are characteristic of some species of _ephydatia_ and other genera. these cells are comparatively large, spherical in form; each of them contains a globule of liquid which not only occupies the greater part of the cell, but forces the protoplasm to assume the form of a delicate film lining the cell-wall and covering the globule. in optical section "bubble-cells" have a certain resemblance to porocytes, but the cell is of course imperforate and not flattened. skeleton and spicules. [illustration: fig. .--radial sections of fragments of the skeletons of _spongillæ_. a, _s. crassissima_ var. _crassior_ (from rajshahi); b, _s. carteri_ (from calcutta); _a_=transverse, _b_=radiating fibres; _e_=external surface of the sponge.] in the spongillidæ the spicules and the skeleton are more important as regards the recognition of genera and species than the soft parts. the skeleton is usually reticulate, but sometimes consists of a mass of spicules almost without arrangement. the amount of spongin present is also different in different species. the spicules in a reticulate skeleton are arranged so as to form fibres of two kinds--radiating fibres, which radiate outwards from the centre of the sponge and frequently penetrate the external membrane, and transverse fibres, which run across from one radiating fibre to another. the fibres are composed of relatively large spicules (megascleres) arranged parallel to one another, overlapping at the ends, and bound together by means of a more or less profuse secretion of spongin. in some species they are actually enclosed in a sheath of this substance. the radiating fibres are usually more distinct and stouter than the transverse ones, which are often represented by single spicules but are sometimes splayed out at the ends so as to assume in outline the form of an hour-glass (fig. b). the radiating fibres frequently raise up the membrane at their free extremities just as a tent-pole does a tent. normal spicules of the skeleton are always rod-like or needle-like, and either blunt or pointed at both ends; they are either smooth, granular, or covered with small spines. sometimes spicules of the same type form a more or less irregular transverse network at the base or on the surface of the sponge. [illustration: fig. .--part of an oscular collar of _spongilla lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_, showing arrangement of microscleres in the derma (magnified).] from the systematist's point of view, the structure of the free spicules found scattered in the substance and membrane of the sponge, and especially of those that form the armature of the gemmules, is of more importance than that of the skeleton-spicules. free spicules are absent in many species; when present they are usually needle-like and pointed at the tips. in a few species, however, they are of variable or irregular form, or consist of several or many shafts meeting in a common central nodule. in one genus (_corvospongilla_) they resemble a double grappling-iron in form, having a circle of strongly recurved hooks at both ends. the free microscleres, or flesh-spicules as they are often called, are either smooth, granular, or spiny. gemmule-spicules, which form a characteristic feature of the spongillidæ, are very seldom absent when the gemmules are mature. they are of the greatest importance in distinguishing the genera. in their simplest form they closely resemble the free microscleres, but in several genera they bear, either at or near one end or at or near both ends, transverse disks which are either smooth or indented round the edge. in one genus (_pectispongilla_) they are provided at both ends not with disks but with vertically parallel rows of spines resembling combs in appearance. the simpler spicules of the spongillidæ are formed in single cells (see fig. e), but those of more complicated shape are produced by several cells acting in concert. each spicule, although it is formed mainly of hydrated silica (opal), contains a slender organic filament running along its main axis inside the silica. this filament, or rather the tube in which it is contained, is often quite conspicuous, and in some species (e. g., _spongilla crassissima_) its termination is marked at both ends of the megasclere by a minute conical protuberance in the silica. unless sponges are alchemists and can transmute one element into another, the material of which the spicules are made must ultimately come from the water in which the sponges live, or the rocks or other bodies to or near which they are attached. the amount of water that must pass through a large specimen of such a sponge as _spongilla carteri_ in order that it may obtain materials for its skeleton must be enormous, for silica is an insoluble substance. i have noticed, however, that this sponge is particularly abundant and grows with special luxuriance in ponds in which clothes are washed with soap, and my friend mr. g. h. tipper has suggested to me that possibly the alkali contained in the soap-suds may assist the sponge in dissolving out the silica contained in the mud at the bottom of the ponds. the question of how the mineral matter of the skeleton is obtained is, however, one about which we know nothing definite. the spongin that binds the skeleton-spicules together takes the form of a colourless or yellowish transparent membrane, which is often practically invisible. when very abundant it sometimes extends across the nodes of the skeleton as a delicate veil. in some sponges it also forms a basal membrane in contact with the object to which the sponge is attached, and in some such cases the spongin of the radiating fibres is in direct continuity with that of the basal membrane. colour and odour. most freshwater sponges have a bad odour, which is more marked in some species than in others. this odour is not peculiar to the spongillidæ, for it is practically identical with that given out by the common marine sponge _halichondria panicea_. its function is probably protective, but how it is produced we do not know. the coloration of freshwater sponges is usually dull and uniform, but _pectispongilla aurea_ is of the brilliant yellow indicated by its name, while many species are of the bright green shade characteristic of chlorophyll, the colouring matter of the leaves of plants. many species are brown or grey, and some are almost white. these colours are due to one of three causes, or to a combination of more than one of them, viz.:--( ) the inhalation of solid inorganic particles, which are engulfed by the cells; ( ) the presence in the cells of coloured substances, solid or liquid, produced by the vital activities of the sponge; and ( ) the presence in the cells of peculiar organized living bodies known as "green corpuscles." sponges living in muddy water are often nearly black. this is because the cells of their parenchyma are gorged with very minute solid particles of silt. if a sponge of the kind is kept in clean water for a few days, it often becomes almost white. an interesting experiment is easily performed to illustrate the absorption and final elimination of solid colouring matter by placing a living sponge (small specimens of _spongilla carteri_ are suitable) in a glass of clean water, and sprinkling finely powdered carmine in the water. in a few hours the sponge will be of a bright pink colour, but if only a little carmine is used at first and no more added, it will regain its normal greyish hue in a few days. the colouring matter produced by the sponge itself is of two kinds--pigment, which is probably a waste product, and the substances produced directly by the ingestion of food or in the process of its digestion. when pigment is produced it takes the form of minute granules lying in the cells of the parenchyma, the dermal membrane being as a rule colourless. very little is known about the pigments of freshwater sponges, and even less about the direct products of metabolism. it is apparently the latter, however, that give many otherwise colourless sponges a slight pinkish or yellowish tinge directly due to the presence in cells of the parenchyma of minute liquid globules. in one form of _spongilla carteri_ these globules turn of a dark brown colour if treated with alcohol. the brilliant colour of _pectispongilla aurea_ is due not to solid granules but to a liquid or semi-liquid substance contained in the cells. the green corpuscles of the spongillidæ are not present in all species. there is every reason to think that they represent a stage in the life-history of an alga, and that they enter the sponge in an active condition (see p. ). a fourth cause for the coloration of freshwater sponges may be noted briefly. it is not a normal one, but occurs commonly in certain forms (e. g., _spongilla alba_ var. _bengalensis_). this cause is the growth in the canals and substance of the sponge of parasitic algaæ, which turn the whole organism of a dull green colour. they do not do so, however, until they have reduced it to a dying state. the commonest parasite of the kind is a filamentous species particularly common in brackish water in the ganges delta. external form and consistency. [illustration: fig. .--part of a type-specimen of _spongilla lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ (nat. size).] the external form of sponges is very variable, but each species, subspecies, or variety of the spongillidæ has normally a characteristic appearance. the european race of _spongilla lacustris_, for example, consists in favourable circumstances of a flattened basal part from which long cylindrical branches grow out; while in the indian race of the species these branches are flattened instead of being cylindrical, and anastomose freely. the structure of the branches is identical with that of the basal part. many other species (for instance, _spongilla bombayensis_ and _s. ultima_) never produce branches but always consist of lichenoid or cushion-shaped masses. the appearance of _spongilla crateriformis_, when it is growing on a flattened surface which allows it to develop its natural form, is very characteristic, for it consists of little flattened masses that seem to be running out towards one another, just as though the sponge had been dropped, spoonful by spoonful, in a viscous condition from a teaspoon. some species, such as _trochospongilla phillottiana_, cover large areas with a thin film of uniform thickness, while others (e. g., _spongilla alba_ and _ephydatia meyeni_) consist of irregular masses, the surface of which bears numerous irregular ridges or conical, subquadrate, or digitate processes. in a few forms (e. g., _corvospongilla burmanica_) the surface is covered with small turret-like projections of considerable regularity, and some (e. g., _spongilla crassissima_) naturally assume a spherical or oval shape with an absolutely smooth surface. the production of long branches is apparently rare in tropical freshwater sponges. the form of the oscula is characteristic in many cases. no other indian species has them so large, or with such well-defined margins as _spongilla carteri_ (pl. ii, fig. ). in many species (pl. ii, fig. ) they have a stellate appearance owing to the fact that grooves in the substance of the sponge radiate round them beneath the external membrane. in other species they are quite inconspicuous and very small. [illustration: fig. .--radial section through part of a dried sponge of _spongilla crassissima_ (from calcutta), × .] spongillidæ differ greatly in consistency. _spongilla crassissima_ and _corvospongilla lapidosa_ are almost stony, although the former is extremely light, more like pumice than true stone. other species (e. g., _trochospongilla latouchiana_) are hard but brittle, while others again are soft and easily compressed, as _spongilla lacustris_, the variety _mollis_ of _s. carteri_, and _s. crateriformis_. the consistency of a sponge depends on two factors--the number of spicules present, and the amount of spongin. in _corvospongilla lapidosa_ the number of spicules is very large indeed. they are not arranged so as to form a reticulate skeleton but interlock in all directions, and there is hardly any spongin associated with them. in _spongilla crassissima_, on the other hand, the number of spicules although large is not unusually so; but they form a very definitely reticulate skeleton, and are bound together by an unusually profuse secretion of spongin. in _s. carteri_ var. _mollis_ both spicules and spongin are reduced to a minimum, and the parenchyma is relatively more bulky than usual. variation. sponges are very variable organisms, and even a slight change in the environment of the freshwater species often produces a considerable change in form and structure. some species vary in accordance with the season, and others without apparent cause. not only have many given rise to subspecies and "varieties" that possess a certain stability, but most if not all are liable to smaller changes that apparently affect both the individual and the breed, at any rate for a period. (a) _seasonal variation._ weltner has shown in a recent paper (arch. natg. berlin, lxxiii (i), p. , ) that in europe those individuals of _ephydatia_ which are found (exceptionally) in an active condition in winter differ considerably both as regards the number of their cells and their anatomy from those found in summer. in calcutta the majority of the individuals of _spongilla carteri_ that are found in summer have their external surface unusually smooth and rounded, and contain in their parenchyma numerous cells the protoplasm of which is gorged with liquid. these cells give the whole sponge a faint pinkish tinge during life; but if it is plunged in spirit, both the liquid in the cells and the spirit turn rapidly of a dark brown colour. specimens of _spongilla crateriformis_ taken in a certain tank in calcutta during the cold weather had the majority of the skeleton-spicules blunt, while the extremities of the gemmule-spicules were distinctly differentiated. specimens of the same species taken from the same tank in july had the skeleton-spicules pointed, while the extremities of the gemmule-spicules were much less clearly differentiated. i have been unable to confirm this by observations made on sponges from other tanks, but it would certainly suggest that at any rate the breed of sponges in the tank first investigated was liable to seasonal variation. (b) _variation due directly to environment._ the characteristic external form of freshwater sponges is liable in most cases to be altered as a direct result of changes in the environment. the following are two characteristic instances of this phenomenon. certain shrubs with slender stems grow in the water at the edge of igatpuri lake. the stems of these shrubs support many large examples of _spongilla carteri_, which are kept in almost constant motion owing to the action of the wind on those parts of the shrubs that are not under water. the surface of the sponges is so affected by the currents of water thus set up against it that it is covered with deep grooves and high irregular ridges like cockscombs. less than a hundred yards from the lake there is a small pond in which _spongilla carteri_ is also abundant. here it grows on stones at the bottom and has the characteristic and almost smooth form of the species. my second instance also refers in part to igatpuri lake. _corvospongilla lapidosa_ is common in the lake on the lower surface of stones, and also occurs at nasik, about thirty miles away, on the walls of a conduit of dirty water. in the latter situation it has the form of large sheets of a blackish colour, with the surface corrugated and the oscula inconspicuous, while in the clear waters of the lake it is of a pale yellowish colour, occurs in small lichenoid patches, and has its oscula rendered conspicuous, in spite of their minute size, by being raised on little conical eminences in such a way that they resemble the craters of volcanoes in miniature. both the european and the indian races of _spongilla lacustris_ fail to develop branches if growing in unfavourable conditions. in specimens obtained from the river spree near berlin these structures are sometimes many inches in length; while in mature specimens taken under stones in loch baa in the island of mull the whole organism consisted of a minute cushion-shaped mass less than an inch in diameter, and was also deficient in spicules. both these breeds belong to the same species, and probably differ as a direct result of differences in environment. (c) _variation without apparent cause._ plate i in this volume illustrates an excellent example of variation in external form to which it is impossible to assign a cause with any degree of confidence. the three specimens figured were all taken in the same pond, and at the same season, but in different years. it is possible that the change in form, which was not peculiar to a few individuals but to all those in several adjacent ponds, was due to a difference in the salinity of the water brought about by a more or less abundant rainfall; but of this i have been able to obtain no evidence in succeeding years. many spongillidæ vary without apparent cause as regards the shape, size, and proportions of their spicules. this is the case as regards most species of _euspongilla_ and _ephydatia_, and is a fact to which careful consideration has to be given in separating the species. nutrition. very little is known about the natural food of freshwater sponges, except that it must be of an organic nature and must be either in a very finely divided or in a liquid condition. the cells of the sponge seem to have the power of selecting suitable food from the water that flows past them, and it is known that they will absorb milk. the fact that they engulf minute particles of silt does not prove that they lack the power of selection, for extraneous matter is taken up by them not only as food but in order that it may be eliminated. silt would soon block up the canals and so put a stop to the vital activity of the sponge, if it were not got rid of, and presumably it is only taken into the cells in order that they may pass it on and finally disgorge it in such a way or in such a position that it may be carried out of the oscula. the siliceous part of it may be used in forming spicules. it is generally believed that the green corpuscles play an important part in the nutrition of those sponges in which they occur, and there can be no doubt that these bodies have the power peculiar to all organisms that produce chlorophyll of obtaining nutritive substances direct from water and carbonic oxide through the action of sunlight. possibly they hand on some of the nourishment thus obtained to the sponges in which they live, or benefit them by the free oxygen given out in the process, but many spongillidæ do well without them, even when living in identical conditions with species in which they abound. reproduction. both eggs and buds are produced by freshwater sponges (the latter rarely except by one species), while their gemmules attain an elaboration of structure not observed in any other family of sponges. probably all spongillidæ are potentially monoecious, that is to say, able to produce both eggs and spermatozoa. in one indian species, however, in which budding is unusually common (viz. _spongilla proliferens_), sexual reproduction takes place very seldom, if ever. it is not known whether the eggs of sponges are fertilized by spermatozoa from the individual that produces the egg or by those of other individuals, but not improbably both methods of fertilization occur. the egg of a freshwater sponge does not differ materially from that of other animals. when mature it is a relatively large spherical cell containing abundant food-material and situated in some natural cavity of the sponge. in the earlier stages of its growth, however, it exhibits amoeboid movements, and makes its way through the common jelly. as it approaches maturity it is surrounded by other cells which contain granules of food-material. the food-material is apparently transferred by them in a slightly altered form to the egg. the egg has no shell, but in some species (e. g. _ephydatia blembingia_[n]) it is surrounded, after fertilization, by gland-cells belonging to the parent sponge, which secrete round it a membrane of spongin. development goes on within the chamber thus formed until the larva is ready to assume a free life. [footnote n: rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ).] the spermatozoon is also like that of other animals, consisting of a rounded head and a lash-like tail, the movements of which enable it to move rapidly through the water. spermatozoa are produced in _spongilla_ from spherical cells not unlike the eggs in general appearance. the contents of these cells divide and subdivide in such a way that they finally consist of a mass of spermatozoa surrounded by a single covering cell, which they finally rupture, and so escape. [illustration: fig. .--diagram of a vertical section through the gemmule of _spongilla proliferens_. a=cellular contents; b=internal chitinous layer; c=external chitinous layer; d=pneumatic coat; e=gemmule-spicule; f=external membrane; g=foraminal tubule.] gemmules are asexual reproductive bodies peculiar to the sponges, but not to the spongillidæ. they resemble the statoblasts of the phylactolæmatous polyzoa in general structure as well as in function, which is mainly that of preserving the race from destruction by such agencies as drought, starvation, and temperatures that are either too high or too low for its activities. this function they are enabled to perform by the facts that they are provided with coverings not only very hard but also fitted to resist the unfavourable agencies to which the gemmules are likely to be exposed, and that they contain abundant food-material of which use can be made as soon as favourable conditions occur again. internally the gemmule consists of a mass of cells containing food-material in what may be called a tabloid form, for it consists of minutely granular plate-like bodies. these cells are enclosed in a flask-like receptacle, the walls of which consist of two chitinous layers, a delicate inner membrane and an outer one of considerable stoutness. the mouth of the flask is closed by an extension of the inner membrane, and in some species is surrounded by a tubular extension of the external membrane known as the foraminal tubule. externally the gemmule is usually covered by what is called a "pneumatic coat," also of "chitin" (spongin), but usually of great relative thickness and honeycombed by spaces which contain air, rendering the structure buoyant. the pneumatic coat also contains the microscleres characteristic of the species; it is often limited externally by a third chitinous membrane, on which more gemmule-spicules sometimes lie parallel to the surface. the cells from which those of the gemmules are derived are akin in origin to those that give rise to eggs and spermatozoa. some zoologists are therefore of the opinion that the development of the gemmule is an instance of parthenogenesis--that is to say of an organism arising from an egg that has not been fertilized. but some of the collar-cells, although most of them originate from the external ciliated cells of the larva, have a similar origin. the building-up of the gemmule affords an excellent instance of the active co-operation that exists between the cells of sponges, and of their mobility, for the food-material that has to be stored up is brought by cells from all parts of the sponge, and these cells retire after discharging their load into those of the young gemmule. the formation of the gemmule of _ephydatia blembingia_, a malayan species not yet found in india, is described in detail by dr. r. evans (q. j. microsc. sci. london, xliv, p. , ). gemmules are produced by the freshwater sponges of europe, n. america and japan at the approach of winter, but in the tropical parts of india they are formed more frequently at the approach of the hot weather (p. ). after they are fully formed the sponge that has produced them dies, and as a rule disintegrates more or less completely. in some species, however, the greater part of the skeleton remains intact, if it is not disturbed, and retains some of the gemmules in its meshwork, where they finally germinate. other gemmules are set free. some of them float on the surface of the water; others sink to the bottom. in any case all of them undergo a period of quiescence before germinating. it has been found that they can be kept dry for two years without dying. the function of the special spicules with which the gemmules of the spongillidæ are provided appears to be not only to protect them but more especially to weight them to the extent suitable to the habits of each species. species that inhabit running water, for example, in some cases have heavier gemmule-spicules than those that live in stagnant water, and their gemmules are the less easily carried away by the currents of the river. the gemmules of sponges growing in lakes are sometimes deficient in spicules. this is the case as regards the form of _spongilla lacustris_ found in lake baa, isle of mull, as regards _s. helvetica_ from the lake of geneva, _s. moorei_ from lake tanganyika, and _s. coggini_ from tali-fu in yunnan; also as regards the species of _spongilla_ and _ephydatia_ found in lake baikal, many of the sponges of which are said never to produce gemmules. except in the genus _corvospongilla_ and the subgenus _stratospongilla_, in both of which the air-spaces of the gemmules are usually no more than cavities between different chitinous membranes, the pneumatic coat is either "granular" or "cellular." neither of these terms, however, must be understood in a physiological sense, for what appear to be granules in a granular coat are actually minute bubbles of air contained in little cavities in a foam-like mass of chitin (or rather spongin), while the cells in a cellular one are only larger and more regular air-spaces with thin polygonal walls and flat horizontal partitions. the walls of these spaces are said in some cases to contain a considerable amount of silica. the gemmules with their various coverings are usually spherical in shape, but in some species they are oval or depressed in outline. they lie as a rule free in the substance of the sponge, but in some species adhere at its base to the object to which it is attached. in some species they are joined together in groups, but in most they are quite free one from another. reproductive buds[o] are produced, so far as is known, by very few spongillidæ, although they are common enough in some other groups of sponges. in the only freshwater species in which they have been found to form a habitual means of reproduction, namely in _spongilla proliferens_, they have much the appearance of abortive branches, and it is possible that they have been overlooked for this reason in other species, for they were noticed by laurent in _spongilla lacustris_ as long ago as (cr. sé. acad. sci. paris, xi, p. ). the buds noticed by laurent, however, were only produced by very young sponges, and were of a different nature from those of _s. proliferens_, perhaps representing a form of fission rather than true budding (see 'voyage de la bonite: zoophytologie,' spongiaires, pl. i (paris, )). [footnote o: proliferation whereby more than one osculum is produced is really a form of budding, but in most sponges this has become no longer a mode of reproduction but the normal method by which size is increased, and must therefore be considered merely as a vegetative process.] in _spongilla proliferens_, a common indian species, the buds arise as thickenings of the strands of cells accompanying the radiating spicule-fibres of the skeleton, which project outwards from the surface of the sponge. the thickenings originate beneath the surface and contain, at the earliest stage at which i have as yet examined them, all the elements of the adult organism (_i. e._ flesh-spicules, ciliated chambers, efferent and afferent canals, parenchyma-cells of various sorts) except skeleton fibres, gemmules, and a dermal membrane. a section at this period closely resembles one of an adult sponge, except that the structure is more compact, the parenchyma being relatively bulky and the canals of small diameter. laurent observed reproduction by splitting in young individuals of _spongilla_, but i have not been able to obtain evidence myself that this method of reproduction occurs normally in indian species. in injured specimens of _spongilla carteri_, however, i have observed a phenomenon that seems to be rather an abnormal form of budding, little rounded masses of cells making their way to the ends of the radiating skeleton fibres and becoming transformed into young sponges, which break loose and so start an independent existence. possibly the buds observed by laurent in _s. lacustris_ were of a similar nature. development. (a) _from the egg._ after fertilization, the egg, lying in its cavity in the sponge, undergoes a complete segmentation; that is to say, becomes divided into a number of cells without any residuum remaining. the segmentation, however, is not equal, for it results in the formation of cells of two distinct types, one larger and less numerous than the other. as the process continues a pear-shaped body is produced, solid at the broader end, which consists of the larger cells, but hollow at the other. further changes result in the whole of the external surface becoming ciliated or covered with fine protoplasmic lashes, each of which arises from a single small cell; considerable differentiation now takes place among the cells, and spicules begin to appear. at this stage or earlier (for there seem to be differences in different species and individuals as to the stage at which the young sponge escapes) the larva makes its way out of the parent sponge. after a brief period of free life, in which it swims rapidly through the water by means of its cilia, it fixes itself by the broad end to some solid object (from which it can never move again) and undergoes a final metamorphosis. during this process the ciliated cells of the external layer make their way, either by a folding-in of the whole layer or in groups of cells, into the interior, there change into collar-cells and arrange themselves in special cavities--the ciliated chambers of the adult. finally an osculum, pores, &c., are formed, and the sponge is complete. this, of course, is the merest outline of what occurs; other changes that take place during the metamorphosis are of great theoretical interest, but cannot be discussed here. the student may refer to dr. r. evans's account of the larval development of _spongilla lacustris_ in the q. j. microsc. sci. london, xlii, p. ( ). (b) _from the gemmule._ the period for which the gemmule lies dormant probably depends to some extent upon environment and to some extent on the species to which it belongs. carter found that if he cleaned gemmules with a handkerchief and placed them in water exposed to sunlight, they germinated in a few days; but in calcutta gemmules of _spongilla alba_ var. _bengalensis_ treated in this way and placed in my aquarium at the beginning of the hot weather, did not germinate until well on in the "rains." even then, after about five months, only a few of them did so. zykoff found that in europe gemmules kept for two years were still alive and able to germinate. germination consists in the cellular contents of the gemmule bursting the membrane or membranes in which they are enclosed, and making their way out of the gemmule in the form of a delicate whitish mass, which sometimes issues through the natural aperture in the outer chitinous coat and sometimes through an actual rent in this coat. in the latter case the development of the young sponge is more advanced than in the former. the fullest account of development from the gemmule as yet published is by zykoff, and refers to _ephydatia_ in europe (biol. centralbl. berlin, xii, p. , ). his investigations show that the bursting of the gemmule is not merely a mechanical effect of moisture or any such agency but is due to development of the cellular contents, which at the time they escape have at least undergone differentiation into two layers. of the more important soft structures in the sponge the osculum is the first to appear, the ciliated chambers being formed later. this is the opposite of what occurs in the case of the bud, but in both cases the aperture appears to be produced by the pressure of water in the organism. the manner and order in which the different kinds of cells originate in the sponge derived from a gemmule give support to the view that the primitive cell-layers on which morphologists lay great stress are not of any great importance so far as sponges are concerned. (c) _development of the bud._ as the bud of _spongilla proliferens_ grows it makes its way up the skeleton-fibre to which it was originally attached, pushing the dermal membrane, which expands with its growth, before it. the skeleton-fibre does not, however, continue to grow in the bud, in which a number of finer fibres make their appearance, radiating from a point approximately at the centre of the mass. as the bud projects more and more from the surface of the sponge the dermal membrane contracts at its base, so as finally to separate it from its parent. further details are given on p. . habitat. mr. edward potts[p], writing on the freshwater sponges of north america, says:--"these organisms have occasionally been discovered growing in water unfit for domestic uses; but as a rule they prefer pure water, and in my experience the finest specimens have always been found where they are subjected to the most rapid currents." true as this is of the spongillidæ of temperate climates, it is hardly applicable to those of tropical india, for in this country we find many species growing most luxuriantly and commonly in water that would certainly be considered unfit for domestic purposes in a country in which sanitation was treated as a science. some species, indeed, are only found in ponds of water polluted by human agency, and such ponds, provided that other conditions are favourable, are perhaps the best collecting grounds. other favourable conditions consist in a due mixture of light and shade, a lack of disturbance such as that caused by cleaning out the pond, and above all in the presence of objects suitable for the support of sponges. [footnote p: p. ac. philad. , p. .] i do not know exactly why light and shade must be mixed in a habitat favourable for the growth of sponges, for most species prefer shade, if it be not too dense; but it is certainly the case that, with a few exceptions, indian spongillidæ flourish best in water shaded at the edges by trees and exposed to sunlight elsewhere. one of the exceptions to this rule is the indian race of _spongilla lucustris_, which is found in small pools of water in sand-dunes without a particle of shade. several species are only found on the lower surface of stones and roots in circumstances which do not suggest that their position merely protects them from mud, which, as mr. potts points out, is their "great enemy." a notable instance is _trochospongilla pennsylvanica_, which is found hiding away from light in america and europe as well as in india. it is curious that it should be easy to exterminate the sponges in a pond by cleaning it out, for one would have thought that sufficient gemmules would have remained at the edge, or would have been brought rapidly from elsewhere, to restock the water. mr. green has, however, noted that _spongilla carteri_ has disappeared for some years from a small lake at peradeniya in which it was formerly abundant, owing to the lake having been cleaned out, and i have made similar observations on several occasions in calcutta. the question of the objects to which sponges attach themselves is one intimately connected with that of the injury done them by mud. the delta of the ganges is one of the muddiest districts on earth. there are no stones or rocks in the rivers and ponds, but mud everywhere. if a sponge settles in the mud its canals are rapidly choked, its vital processes cease, and it dies. in this part of india, therefore, most sponges are found fixed either to floating objects such as logs of wood, to vertical objects such as the stems of bulrushes and other aquatic plants, or to the tips of branches that overhang the water and become submerged during the "rains." in calcutta man has unwittingly come to the assistance of the sponges, not only by digging tanks but also by building "bathing-ghats" of brick at the edge, and constructing, with æsthetic intentions if not results, masses of artificial concrete rocks in or surrounding the water. there are at least two sponges (the typical form of _spongilla alba_ and _ephydatia meyeni_) which in calcutta are only found attached to such objects. the form of _s. alba_, however, that is found in ponds of brackish water in the gangetic delta has not derived this artificial assistance from man, except in the few places where brick bridges have been built, and attaches itself to the stem and roots of a kind of grass that grows at the edge of brackish water. this sponge seems to have become immune even to mud, the particles of which are swallowed by its cells and finally got rid of without blocking up the canals. several indian sponges are only found adhering to stones and rocks. among these species _corvospongilla lapidosa_ and our representatives of the subgenus _stratospongilla_ are noteworthy. some forms (e. g. _spongilla carteri_ and _s. crateriformis_) seem, however, to be just as much at home in muddy as in rocky localities, although they avoid the mud itself. there is much indirect evidence that the larvæ of freshwater sponges exercise a power of selection as regards the objects to which they affix themselves on settling down for life. few spongillidæ are found in salt or brackish water, but _spongilla alba_ var. _bengalensis_ has been found in both, and is abundant in the latter; indeed, it has not been found in pure fresh water. _spongilla travancorica_ has only been found in slightly brackish water, while _s. lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ and _dosilia plumosa_ occur in both fresh and brackish water, although rarely in the latter. the spongillidæ are essentially a freshwater family, and those forms that are found in any but pure fresh water must be regarded as aberrant or unusually tolerant in their habits, not as primitive marine forms that still linger halfway to the sea. animals and plants commonly associated with freshwater sponges. (a) _enemies._ freshwater sponges have few living enemies. indeed, it is difficult to say exactly what is an enemy of a creature so loosely organized as a sponge. there can be little doubt, in any case, that the neuropteroid larva (_sisyra indica_) which sucks the cells of several species should be classed in this category, and it is noteworthy that several species of the same genus also occur in europe and n. america which also attack sponges. other animals that may be enemies are a midge larva (_tanypus_ sp.) and certain worms that bore through the parenchyma (p. ), but i know of no animal that devours sponges bodily, so long as they are uninjured. if their external membrane is destroyed, they are immediately attacked by various little fish and also by snails of the genera _limnæa_ and _planorbis_, and prawns of the genus _palæmon_. their most active and obvious enemy is a plant, not an animal,--to wit, a filamentous alga that blocks up their canals by its rapid growth (p. ). (b) _beneficial organisms._ the most abundant and possibly the most important organisms that may be considered as benefactors to the spongillidæ are the green corpuscles that live in the cells of certain species (fig. , p. ), notably _spongilla lacustris_, _s. proliferens_, and _dosilia plumosa_. i have already said that these bodies are in all probability algæ which live free in the water and move actively at one stage of their existence, but some of them are handed on directly from a sponge to its descendants in the cells of the gemmule. in their quiescent stage they have been studied by several zoologists, notably by sir ray lankester[q] and dr. w. weltner[r], but the strongest light that has been cast on their origin is given by the researches of dr. f. w. gamble and mr. f. keeble (q. j. microsc. sci. london, xlvii, p. , , and li, p. , ). these researches do not refer directly to the spongillidæ but to a little flat-worm that lives in the sea, _convoluta roscoffiensis_. the green corpuscles of this worm so closely resemble those of _spongilla_ that we are justified in supposing a similarity of origin. it has been shown by the authors cited that the green corpuscles of the worm are at one stage minute free-living organisms provided at one end with four flagella and at the other with a red pigment spot. the investigators are of the opinion that these organisms exhibit the essential characters of the algæ known as chlamydomonadæ, and that after they have entered the worm they play for it the part of an excretory system. [footnote q: q. j. microsc. sci. london, xxii. p. ( ).] [footnote r: arch. naturg. berlin, lix (i), p. ( ).] as they exist in the cells of _spongilla_ the corpuscles are minute oval bodies of a bright green colour and each containing a highly refractile colourless granule. a considerable number may be present in a single cell. it is found in european sponges that they lose their green colour if the sponge is not exposed to bright sunlight. in india, however, where the light is stronger, this is not always the case. even when the colour goes, the corpuscles can still be distinguished as pale images of their green embodiment. they are called _chlorella_ by botanists, who have studied their life-history but have not yet discovered the full cycle. see beyerinck in the botan. zeitung for (vol. xlviii, p. , pl. vii; leipzig), and for further references west's 'british freshwater algæ,' p. ( ). the list of beneficent organisms less commonly present than the green corpuscles includes a _chironomus_ larva that builds parchment-like tubes in the substance of _spongilla carteri_ and so assists in supporting the sponge, and of a peculiar little worm (_chætogaster spongillæ_[s]) that appears to assist in cleaning up the skeleton of the same sponge at the approach of the hot weather and in setting free the gemmules (p. ). [footnote s: journ. as. soc. beng. n. s. ii, , p. .] (c) _organisms that take shelter in the sponge or adhere to it externally._ there are many animals which take shelter in the cavities of the sponge without apparently assisting it in any way. among these are the little fish _gobius alcockii_, which lays its eggs inside the oscula of _s. carteri_, thus ensuring not only protection but also a proper supply of oxygen for them (p. ); the molluscs (_corbula_, spp.) found inside _s. alba_ var. _bengalensis_ (p. ); and the isopod (_tachæa spongillicola_) that makes its way into the oscula of _spongilla carteri_ and _s. crateriformis_ (pp. , ). in europe a peculiar ciliated protozoon (_trichodina spongillæ_) is found attached to the external surface of freshwater sponges. i have noticed a similar species at igatpuri on _spongilla crateriformis_, but it has not yet been identified. it probably has no effect, good or bad, on the sponge. freshwater sponges in relation to man. in dealing with _spongilla carteri_ i have suggested that sponges may be of some hygienic importance in absorbing putrid organic matter from water used both for ablutionary and for drinking purposes, as is so commonly the case with regard to ponds in india. their bad odour has caused some species of spongillidæ to be regarded as capable of polluting water, but a mere bad odour does not necessarily imply that they are insanitary. unless my suggestion that sponges purify water used for drinking purposes by absorbing putrid matter should prove to be supported by fact, the spongillidæ cannot be said to be of any practical benefit to man. the only harm that has been imputed to them is that of polluting water[t], of blocking up water-pipes by their growth--a very rare occurrence,--and of causing irritation to the human skin by means of their spicules--a still rarer one. at least one instance is, however, reported in which men digging in a place where a pond had once been were attacked by a troublesome rash probably due to the presence of sponge-spicules in the earth, and students of the freshwater sponges should be careful not to rub their eyes after handling dried specimens. [footnote t: see potts, proc. ac. philad. , p. .] indian spongillidÆ compared with those of other countries. in weltner's catalogue of the freshwater sponges ( ) seventy-six recent species of spongillidæ (excluding _lubosmirskia_) are enumerated, and the number now known is well over a hundred. in india we have twenty-nine species, subspecies, and varieties, while from the whole of europe only about a dozen are known. in the neighbourhood of calcutta nine species, representing three genera and a subgenus, have been found; all of them occur in the museum tank. the only other region of similar extent that can compare with india as regards the richness of its freshwater sponge fauna is that of the amazon, from which about twenty species are known. from the whole of north america, which has probably been better explored than any other continent so far as spongillidæ are concerned, only twenty-seven or twenty-eight species have been recorded. the indian species fall into seven genera, one of which (_spongilla_) consists of three subgenera. with one exception (that of _pectispongilla_, which has only been found in southern india) these genera have a wide distribution over the earth's surface, and this is also the case as regards the subgenera of spongilla. four genera (_heteromeyenia_, _acalle_, _parmula_, and _uruguaya_) that have not yet been found in india are known to exist elsewhere. five of the indian species are known to occur in europe, viz., _spongilla lacustris_, _s. crateriformis_, _s. carteri_, _s. fragilis_, _trochospongilla pennsylvanica_; while _ephydatia meyeni_ is intermediate between the two commonest representatives of its genus in the holarctic zone, _ephydatia fluviatilis_ and _e. mülleri_. of the species that occur both in india and in europe, two (_spongilla lacustris_ and _s. fragilis_) are found in this country in forms sufficiently distinct to be regarded as subspecies or local races. perhaps this course should also be taken as regards the indian forms of _s. carteri_, of which, however, the commonest of the indian races would be the typical one; but _s. crateriformis_ and _t. pennsylvanica_ seem to preserve their specific characters free from modification, whether they are found in europe, asia, or america. the freshwater sponges of africa have been comparatively little studied, but two indian species have been discovered, _s. bombayensis_ in natal and _s. alba_ var. _cerebellata_ in egypt. several of the species from the malabar zone are, moreover, closely allied to african forms (p. ). fossil spongillidÆ. the spongillidæ are an ancient family. young described a species (_spongilla purbeckensis_) from the upper jurassic of dorset (geol. mag. london (new series) v, p. ( )), while spicules, assigned by ehrenberg to various genera but actually those of _spongilla lacustris_ or allied forms, have been found in the miocene of bohemia (see ehrenberg's 'atlas für micro-geologie,' pl. xi (leipzig, ), and traxler in földt. közl., budapest, , p. ). _ephydatia_ is also known in a fossil condition, but is probably less ancient than _spongilla_. ehrenberg found many sponge spicules in earth from various parts of the indian empire (including baluchistan, mangalore, calcutta, the nicobars and nepal) and elsewhere, and it might be possible to guess at the identity of some of the more conspicuous species figured in his 'atlas.' the identification of sponges from isolated spicules is, however, always a matter of doubt, and in some cases ehrenberg probably assigned spicules belonging to entirely different families or even orders to the same genus, while he frequently attributed the different spicules of the same species to different genera. among his fossil (or supposed fossil) genera that may be assigned to the spongillidæ wholly or in part are _aphidiscus_, _spongolithis_, _lithastericus_ and _lithosphæridium_, many of the species of these "genera" certainly belonging to _spongilla_ and _ephydatia_. oriental spongillidÆ not yet found in india. few freshwater sponges that have not been found in india are as yet known from the oriental region, and there is positive as well as negative evidence that spongillidæ are less abundant in malaysia than in this country. the following list includes the names of those that have been found, with notes regarding each species. it is quite possible that any one of them may be found at any time within the geographical boundaries laid down for this 'fauna.' i have examined types or co-types in all cases except that of _ephydatia fortis_, weltner. i. _spongilla_ (_euspongilla_) _microsclerifera_*, annandale (philippines). p. u.s. mus. xxxvii, p. ( ). this sponge is closely related to _s. lacustris_, but apparently does not produce branches. it is remarkable for the enormous number of microscleres in its parenchyma. ii. _s._ (_euspongilla_) _philippinensis_*, annandale (philippines). p. u.s. mus. xxxvi, p. ( ). related to _s. alba_ and still more closely to _s. sceptrioides_ of australia. from the former it is readily distinguished by having minutely spined megascleres, green corpuscles, slender gemmule-spicules with short spines and no free microscleres. iii. _s._ (? _euspongilla_) _yunnanensis_*, annandale (w. china). rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). apparently allied to _s. philippinensis_ but with smooth skeleton-spicules and a more delicate skeleton. iv. _s._ (_stratospongilla_) _sinensis_*, annandale (foochow, china). p. u.s. mus. xxxviii, p. ( ). this species and _s. clementis_ are referred to _stratospongilla_ with some doubt. their gemmules are intermediate in structure between those of that subgenus and those of _euspongilla_. in _s. sinensis_ the gemmules are packed together in groups at the base of the sponge, and their spicules are smooth, stout, and gradually pointed. v. _s._ (_stratospongilla_) _clementis_*, annandale (philippines). p. u.s. mus. xxxvi, p. ( ). the gemmules are single and closely adherent at the base of the sponge. their spicules are very slender and minutely spined. vi. _s._ (? _stratospongilla_) _coggini_*, annandale (w. china). rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). the gemmules apparently lack microscleres. they resemble those of _s. clementis_, to which the species is probably related, in other respects. the skeleton-spicules are spiny and rather stout, the species being strongly developed at the two ends. vii. _s._ (_stratospongilla_) _sumatrana_*, weber (malay archipelago). zool. ergebnisse einer reise in niederländisch ost-indien, i. p. ( ). closely allied to _s. indica_ (p. ) but with pointed skeleton-spicules. viii. _ephydatia fortis_, weltner (philippines). arch. naturgesch. lxi(i), p. ( ). this species is remarkable for the great development of the spines on the shaft of the gemmule-spicules. ix. _ephydatia bogorensis_*, weber (malay archipelago). zool. ergebnisse einer reise in niederländisch ost-indien, i, p. ( ). the gemmule-spicules have rather narrow flattish disks, the edge of which is feebly but closely serrated. x. _e. blembingia_*, evans (malay peninsula). q. j. microsc. sci. london, xliv, p. ( ). the gemmules resemble those of _dosilia plumosa_ but are spherical. there are no free microscleres. xi. _tubella vesparium_*, v. martens (borneo). arch. naturg. berlin, xxxiv, p. ( ). closely related to _t. vesparioides_ (p. ), but with spiny megascleres. as regards _spongilla decipiens_*, weber, from the malay archipelago, see p. . ii. history of the study of freshwater sponges. the bath-sponge was known to the greeks at an early date, and homer refers to it as being used for cleansing furniture, for expunging writing, and for ablutionary purposes. he also mentions its peculiar structure, "with many holes." "many things besides," wrote the english naturalist ray in his 'historia plantarum' ( ), "regarding the powers and uses of sponges have the ancients: to them refer." ray himself describes at least one freshwater species, which had been found in an english river, and refers to what may be another as having been brought from america. in the eighteenth century linné, pallas and other authors described the commoner european spongillidæ in general terms, sometimes as plants and sometimes as animals, more usually as zoophytes or "plant-animals" partaking of the nature of both kingdoms. the gemmules were noted and referred to as seeds. the early naturalists of the linnæan epoch, however, added little to the general knowledge of the spongillidæ, being occupied with theory in which theological disputes were involved rather than actual observation, and, notwithstanding the fact that the animal nature of sponges was clearly demonstrated by ellis[u] in , it was not until the nineteenth century was well advanced that zoologists could regard sponges in anything like an impartial manner. [footnote u: phil. trans. roy. soc. lv, p. .] one of the pioneers in the scientific study of the freshwater forms was the late dr. h. j. carter, who commenced his investigations, and carried out a great part of them, in bombay with little of the apparatus now considered necessary, and with a microscope that must have been grossly defective according to modern ideas. his long series of papers ( - ) published in the 'annals and magazine of natural history' is an enduring monument to indian zoology, and forms the best possible introduction to the study of the spongillidæ. even his earlier mistakes are instructive, for they are due not so much to actual errors in observation as to a faithful transcription of what was observed with faulty apparatus. contemporary with carter were two authors whose monographs on the freshwater sponges did much to advance the study of the group, namely, j. s. bowerbank, whose account of the species known at the time was published in the 'proceedings of the zoological society of london' in , and the veteran american naturalist mr. edward potts, whose study of the freshwater sponges culminated in his monograph published in the 'proceedings of the academy of natural sciences of philadelphia' in . carter's own revision of the group was published in the 'annals and magazine of natural history' in . the names of vejdovsky, who prefaced potts's monograph with an account of the european species, and of dybowsky, who published several important papers on classification, should also be mentioned, while weltner's catalogue of the known species ( ) is of the greatest possible value to students of the group. many authors have dealt with the physiology, reproduction and development of the spongillidæ, especially in recent years; dr. r. evans's description of the larva of _spongilla lacustris_ ( ), and his account of the development of the gemmule in _ephydatia blembingia_ ( ), zykoff's account of the development of the gemmule and of the sponge from the gemmule ( ), and weltner's observations on colour and other points ( , ), may be mentioned in particular. laurent's observations on development ( ), which were published in the 'voyage de la bonite,' and especially the exquisite plates which accompany them, have not received the notice they deserve, probably on account of their method of publication. literature. the fullest account of the literature on the spongillidæ as yet published will be found in the first of weltner's 'spongillidenstudien' (archiv für naturgeschichte, lix (i), p. , ). unfortunately it contains no references of later date than . the following list is not a complete bibliography, but merely a list of books and papers that should prove of use to students of the oriental spongillidæ. (a) _works of reference._ . bowerbank, "a monograph of the spongillidæ," p. zool. soc. london, , pp. - , pl. xxxviii. . gray, j. e., "notes on the arrangement of sponges, with the description of some new genera." _ibid._ , pp. - . . carter, "history and classification of the known species of _spongilla_," ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, pp. - , pls. v, vi. . vejdovsky, "die süsswasserschwämme böhmens," abh. kön. böhm. ges. wiss. (math.-natur. classe), xii, pp. - , pls. i-iii. . vosmaer, "spongien (porifera)," in bronn's thier-reichs. . potts, "contributions towards a synopsis of the american forms of fresh-water sponges, with descriptions of those named by other authors and from all parts of the world," p. ac. philad. pp. - , pls. v-xii. . vejdovsky, "diagnosis of the european spongillidæ," _ibid._ pp. - . . wierzejski, "beitrag zur kenntnis der süsswasserschwämme," verh. k.-k. zool.-bot. ges. wien, xxxviii, pp. - , pl. xii. . weltner, in zacharias's die tier- und pflanzenwelt des süsswassers: i, die süsswasserschwämme. . weltner, "spongillidenstudien, iii," arch. naturg. berlin, lxi (i), pp. - . . korschelt and heider, text-book of the embryology of invertebrates: english edition, prepared by e. l. mark and w. mcm. woodworth, vol. i, chap. i. . minchin, sponges--phylum porifera in lankester's "treatise on zoology," ii. . kÜkenthal, w., leitfaden für das zoologische praktikum ( rd ed., jena), . kursus: porifera, schwämme, p. . . sollas, i. b. j., cambridge natural history--i. porifera (sponges). . weltner, "spongillidæ, süsswasserschwämme," in brauer's "die süsswasserfauna deutschlands," heft xix, pp. - . . lloyd, an introduction to biology for students in india. (b) _special memoirs on anatomy, physiology, and development._ . laurent, "recherches sur l'hydre et l'eponge d'eau douce," voyage de la bonite, ii, pp. - . . carter, "zoosperms in _spongilla_," ann. nat. hist. ( ) xiv, pp. - , pl. xi, figs. - . . carter, "on the ultimate structure of _spongilla_, and additional notes on freshwater infusoria," ann. nat. hist. ( ) xx, pp. - , pl. i, figs. - . . carter, "on the identity in structure and composition of the so-called 'seed-like body' of _spongilla_ with the winter-egg of the bryozoa, and the presence of starch-granules in each," ann. nat. hist. ( ) iii, pp. - , pl. viii. . lieberkÜhn, "neue beiträge zur anatomie der spongien," arch. anat. phys. j. müller, pp. - , - . . carter, "discovery of the animal of the spongiadæ confirmed," ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. . . haeckel, "ueber die sexuelle fortpflanzung und das natürliche system der schwämme," jenaische zeitschr. f. naturw. vi, pp. , . . carter, "on the nature of the seed-like body of _spongilla_; on the origin of the mother-cell of the spicule; and on the presence of spermatozoa in the _spongida_," ann. nat. hist. ( ) xiv, pp. - . . lankester, e. ray, "the mode of occurrence of chlorophyll in _spongilla_," q. j. micr. sci. xiv, pp. - . . sorby, h., "on the chromatological relations of _spongilla fluviatilis_," q. j. micr. sci. xv, pp. - . . ganin, "zur entwickelung der _spongilla fluviatilis_," zool. anz. i, pp. - . . carter, "spermatozoa, polygonal cell-structure, and the green colour in _spongilla_, together with a new species," ann. nat. hist. ( ) x, pp. - , pl. . . geddes, "further researches on animals containing chlorophyll," nature, xxv, pp. - , - . . lankester, e. ray, "on the chlorophyll-corpuscles and amyloid deposits of _spongilla_ and _hydra_," q. j. micr. sci. xxii (n. s.), pp. - , pl. xx. . marshall, w., "einige vorläutige bemerkungen über die gemmulä der süsswasserschwämme," zool. anz. vi, pp. - , - . . carter, "the branched and unbranched forms of the freshwater sponges considered generally," ann. nat. hist. ( ) xiii, pp. - . . marshall, w., "vorläutige bemerkungen über die fortpflanzungsverhältnisse von _spongilla lacustris_," ber. naturf. ges. leipzig,* pp. - . . potts, "freshwater sponges as improbable causes of the pollution of river-water," p. ac. philad. pp. - . . schulze, f. e., "Über das verhältniss der spongien zu den choanoflagellaten," sb. preuss. akad. wiss. berlin, pp. - . . goette, untersuchungen zur entwickelungsgeschichte von _spongilla fluviatilis_*, hamburg und leipzig ( plates). . wierzejski, "le développement des gemmules des eponges d'eau douce d'europe," arch. slaves biologie, i, pp. - ( plate). . carter, "on the reproductive elements of the _spongida_," ann. nat. hist. ( ) xix, pp. - . . maas, "zur metamorphose der spongillalarve," zool. anz. xii, pp. - . . maas, "ueber die entwickelung des süsswasserschwämmes," zeitschr. wiss. zool. , pp. - , pls. xxii, xxiii. . weber, m. et mme. a., "quelques nouveau cas de symbiose," zool. ergebn. einer reise niederländ. ost-indien, i, pp. - , pl. v. . zykoff, "die entwicklung der gemmulä der _ephydatia fluviatilis_ auct.," zool. anz. xv, pp. - . . zykoff, "die bildung der gemmulä bei _ephydatia fluviatilis_," revue sc. nat. soc. st. pétersbourg,* pp. - . . zykoff, "die entwicklung der gemmulä bei _ephydatia fluviatilis_ auct.," bull. soc. imp. natur. moscou, n. s. vi, pp. - , pl. i, ii. . zykoff, "entwickelungsgeschichte von _ephydatia mülleri_, liebk. aus den gemmulæ," biol. centralbl. xii, pp. - . . weltner, "spongillidenstudien, ii," arch. naturg. berlin, lix ( ), pp. - , pls. viii, ix. . evans, r., "the structure and metamorphosis of the larva of _spongilla lacustris_," q. j. micr. sci. xlii, pp. - , pls. xxxv-xli. . evans, r., "a description of _ephydatia blembingia_, with an account of the formation and structure of the gemmule," q. j. micr. sci. xliv, pp. - , pls. i-iv. . weltner, "spongillideustudien, v.: zur biologie von _ephydatia fluviatilis_ and die bedeutung der amöbocyten für die spongilliden," arch. naturg. berlin, lxxiii (i), pp. - . . annandale, "the buds of _spongilla proliferens_, annand.," rec. ind. mus. i, pp. , . . annandale, "embryos of _ephydatia blembingia_, evans," _ibid._ p. . . annandale, "the nature of the pores in _spongilla_," _ibid._ pp. - . (c) _descriptions of asiatic species[v] and of animals associated with them._ [footnote v: descriptions of siberian sponges are not included in these references.] - . carter, "notes on the species, structure, and animality of the freshwater sponges in the tanks of bombay (genus _spongilla_)," trans. bombay med. & phys. soc., , and ann. nat. hist. ( ) i, pp. - , . . carter, "a descriptive account of the freshwater sponges (genus _spongilla_) in the island of bombay, with observations on their structure and development," ann. nat. hist. ( ) iv, pp. - , pls. iii-v. . martens, e. von, "ueber einige östasiatische süsswasserthiere," arch. naturg. berlin, xxxiv, pp. - : iv., ein süsswasserschwamm aus borneo, pp. - , pl. i, fig. . . carter, "on _spongilla cinerea_," ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. . . weber, m., "zoologische ergebnisse einer reise in niederländisch ost-indien," i, pp. - , pl. iv. . evans, r., "a description of _ephydatia blembingia_, with an account of the formation and structure of the gemmule," q. j. micr. sci. xliv, pp. - , pls. i-iv. . weltner, "süsswasserspongien von celebes (spongillidenstudien, iv.)," arch. naturg. berlin, lxvii ( ) (special number), pp. - , pls. vi, vii. . annandale, "a variety of _spongilla lacustris_ from brackish water in bengal," j. as. soc. bengal, (n. s.) ii, pp. - . . annandale, "some animals found associated with _spongilla carteri_ in calcutta," _ibid._ pp. - . . willey, "freshwater sponge and hydra in ceylon," spolia zeylanica, iv, pp. - . . annandale, "on freshwater sponges from calcutta and the himalayas," j. as. soc. bengal, (n. s.) iii, pp. - . . annandale, "gemmules of _trochospongilla phillottiana_, annand.," rec. ind. mus. i, p. . . annandale, "description of two new freshwater sponges from eastern bengal, with remarks on allied forms," _ibid._ pp. - . . annandale, "preliminary notice of a collection of sponges from w. india, with descriptions of two new species," rec. ind. mus. ii, pp. - . . kirkpatrick, "description of a new variety of _spongilla loricata_, weltner," _ibid._ pp. - . . annandale, "preliminary notice of a collection of sponges from burma, with the description of a new species of _tubella_," _ibid._ pp. - . . annandale, "report on a small collection of sponges from travancore," rec. ind. mus. iii, pp. - , pl. xii. . needham, "notes on the neuroptera in the collection of the indian museum," _ibid._ pp. - . . annandale, "description of a new species of _spongilla_ from orissa," _ibid._ p. . . annandale, "beiträge zur kenntnis der fauna von süd-afrika: ix. freshwater sponges," zool. jahrb. (syst.) xxvii, pp. - . . annandale, "report on a collection of freshwater sponges from japan," annot. zool. japon, vii, pp. - , pl. ii. . annandale, "freshwater sponges in the collection of the united states national museum: part i. specimens from the philippines and australia," p. u.s. mus. xxxvi, pp. - . . annandale, "freshwater sponges collected in the philippines by the 'albatross' expedition," _ibid._ xxxvii, pp. - . . annandale, "freshwater sponges in the collection of the united states national museum: part ii. specimens from north and south america," _ibid._ pp. - . . annandale, "freshwater sponges in the collection of the united states national museum: part iii. description of a new species of _spongilla_ from china," _ibid._ xxxviii, p. . . annandale, "description of a new species of sponge from cape comorin," rec. ind. mus. v, p. . . stephenson, "on some aquatic oligochæte worms commensal in _spongilla carteri_," _ibid._ pp. - . . annandale, "note on a freshwater sponge and polyzoon from ceylon," spolia zeylanica, vii. p. , pl. i. glossary of technical terms used in part i. _amphioxi_ (adj. rod-like spicules sharp at both ends. _amphioxous_) _amphistrongyli_ (adj. rod-like spicules blunt at both ends. _amphistrongylous_) _basal membrane_ a horny, structureless membrane found at the base of some sponges. _birotulate_ (subst. or adj.) spicule with a transverse disk at both ends. _bubble-cells_ spherical cells of the parenchyma the contents of which consist of a drop of liquid covered by a thin film of protoplasm. _ciliated_ (or _flagellated_) a cavity lined with collar-cells. _chamber_ _collar-cell_ (_choanocyte_) cell provided at one end with a membranous collar and a vibratile lash or flagellum that springs from within the collar. _derma_ or _ectodermal layer_ a layer of flat cells arranged like a pavement on the surface of the sponge. _exhalent_ (or _efferent_) a tubular canal through which water _canal_ passes from a ciliated chamber towards the osculum. _fibres_ (skeleton) thread-like structures that compose the skeleton of the sponge and are formed (in the spongillidæ) mainly of overlapping spicules. _flesh-spicules_ microscleres (_q. v._) that lie free in the parenchyma and the derma. _foramen_ an orifice of the gemmule. _foraminal tubule_ a horny tube that surrounds the foramina of some gemmules. _gemmule_ a mass of cells packed with food-material, surrounded by at least one horny coat, capable of retaining vitality in unfavourable conditions and finally of giving origin to a new sponge. _green corpuscles_ minute green bodies found inside cells of sponges and other animals and representing a stage in the life-history of an alga (_chlorella_). _inhalent_ (or _afferent_) a tubular canal through which water canal passes from the exterior towards a ciliated chamber. _megascleres_ the larger spicules that (in the spongillidæ) form the basis of the skeleton of the sponge. _microscleres_ smaller spicules that lie free in the substance or the derma of the sponge, or are associated with the gemmule. _monaxon_ (of spicules) having a single main axis; (of sponges) possessing skeleton spicules of this type. _osculum_ an aperture through which water is ejected from the sponge. _oscular collar_ a ring-shaped membrane formed by an extension of the derma round an osculum. _parenchyma_ the gelatinous part of the sponge. _pavement layer_ adherent gemmules arranged close together in a single layer at the base of a sponge. _pneumatic coat_ a horny or chitinous layer on the surface of the gemmule containing air-spaces. if these spaces are of regular form and arrangement it is said to be _cellular_; if they are minute and irregular it is called _granular_. _pore_ a minute hole through which water is taken into the sponge. _pore-cell_ (_porocyte_) a cell pierced by a pore. _radiating fibres_ fibres in the skeleton of a sponge that are vertical or radiate from its centre. _rotula_ a transverse disk borne by a microsclere. _rotulate_ (subst. or adj.) spicule bearing one or two transverse disks. _spicule_ a minute mineral body of regular and definite shape due not to the forces of crystallization but to the activity of the living cell or cells in which it is formed. _spongin_ the horny substance found in the skeletal framework and the coverings of gemmules of sponges. structures formed of this substance are often referred to as _chitinous_. _subdermal cavity_ a cavity immediately below the derma (_q. v._). _transverse fibres_ fibres in the skeleton of a sponge that run across between the radiating fibres. _tubelliform_ (of spicule) having a straight shaft with a transverse disk at one end and a comparatively small knob-like projection at the other. systematic list of the indian spongillidÆ. [types, schizotypes, or cotypes have been examined in the case of all species, &c., whose names are marked thus, *.] genus . spongilla, lamarck ( ). subgenus a. euspongilla, vejdovsky ( ). . ? _s. lacustris_, auct. (perhaps in n.w. india). _a_. _s. lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_*, annandale ( ). . _s. proliferens_*, annandale ( ). . _s. alba_*, carter ( ). _a_. _s. alba_ var. _cerebellata_, bowerbank ( ). _b_. _s. alba_ var. _bengalensis_*, annandale ( ). . _s. cinerea_*, carter ( ). . _s. travancorica_*, annandale ( ). . _s. hemephydatia_*, annandale ( ). . _s. crateriformis_* (potts) ( ). subgenus b. eunapius, j. e. gray ( ). _a_. _s. carteri_ var. _mollis_*, nov. _b_. _s. carteri_ var. _cava_*, nov. _c_. _s. carteri_ var. _lobosa_*, nov. _a_. _s. fragilis_ subsp. _calcuttana_*, nov. _b_. _s. fragilis_ var. _decipiens_, weber (probably malaysian, not indian). . _s. gemina_*, sp. nov. . _s. crassissima_*, annandale ( ). _a_. _s. crassissima_ var. _crassior_*, annandale ( ). subgenus c. stratospongilla, annandale ( ). . _s. indica_*, annandale ( ). . _s. bombayensis_*, carter ( ). . _s. ultima_*, annandale ( ). genus . pectispongilla, annandale ( ). . _p. aurea_*, annandale ( ). _a_. _p. aurea_ var. _subspinosa_*, nov. genus . ephydatia, lamouroux ( ). . _e. meyeni_* (carter) ( ). genus . dosilia, j. e. gray ( ). . _d. plumosa_* (carter) ( ). genus . trochospongilla, vejdovsky ( ). . _t. latouchiana_*, annandale ( ). . _t. phillottiana_*, annandale ( ). . _t. pennsylvanica_* (potts) ( ). genus . tubella, carter ( ). . _t. vesparioides_*, annandale ( ). genus . corvospongilla, nov. . _c. burmanica_* (kirkpatrick) ( ). . _c. lapidosa_* (annandale) ( ). order halichondrina. siliceous monaxon sponges in which the horny skeleton is much reduced or absent and the spicular skeleton is more or less definitely reticulate. the microscleres are usually rod-like and rarely have more than one main axis. family spongillidÆ. spongilladÆ, j. e. gray, p. zool. soc. london, , p. . freshwater halichondrina which at certain seasons produce gemmules armed with peculiar microscleres. two distinct kinds of microsclere are often present, that associated with the gemmule sometimes consisting of a vertical shaft at the ends of which transverse disks or rotulæ are borne. there is always at least a trace of a subdermal cavity. many authors divide the spongillidæ into two subfamilies:--spongillinæ (or euspongillinæ), in which the gemmule-spicules have no transverse rotulæ, and meyeninæ (or ephydatiinæ), in which they have rotules at one or both ends. so gradual, however, is the transition that i find it difficult to decide in one instance to which of two genera, typical respectively of the two "subfamilies," a species should be assigned. minchin in his account of the porifera in lankester's "treatise on zoology" ( ) regards the spongillidæ merely as a subfamily of the heterorrhaphidæ, and there certainly are few differences of a definite nature between them and the marine family (or subfamily) remeridæ. _key to the indian genera of_ spongillidæ. i. microscleres without transverse disks. a. microscleres of the parenchyma similar in general structure to those or the gemmule; the latter without comb-like vertical rows of spines at the ends spongilla, p. . b. microscleres of the gemmule with comb-like vertical rows of spines at both ends pectispongilla, p. . ii. some or all of the microscleres birotulate. (birotulate microscleres of one kind only.) a. microscleres of the gemmule birotulate, the rotules with serrated or strongly sinuous edges; parenchyma spicules usually absent, never of complicated structure ephydatia, p. . b. microscleres of the gemmule as in _ephydatia_; microscleres of the parenchyma consisting of numerous shafts meeting in different planes in a central nodule dosilia, p. . c. microscleres as in _ephydatia_ except that the rotulæ of the gemmule-spicules have smooth edges trochospongilla, p. . d. microscleres of the gemmule without a trace of rotules, those of the parenchyma birotulate corvospongilla, nov., p. . iii. microscleres of the gemmule with a well-developed basal rotule and a vertical shaft ending above in a mere knob. tubella, p. . the most distinct genus of spongillidæ not yet found in india is _heteromeyenia_, potts. it is easily distinguished from all others by the fact that the birotulate spicules of the gemmule are of two quite distinct kinds, which occur together on every mature gemmule. _heteromeyenia_ is represented by several american species, one of which has been found in europe. _acalle_, j. e. gray, which is represented by a single south american species (_spongilla recurvata_, bowerbank), is related to _heteromeyenia_ but has one kind of gemmule-spicule tubelliform, the other birotulate. probably _uraguaya_, carter, should be regarded as a subgenus of _trochospongilla_ with an unusually solid skeleton; it is peculiar to s. america. _parmula_, carter (=_drulia_, gray) includes south american forms allied to _tubella_, but with the shaft of the gemmule-spicule degenerate and consisting of a mere projection in the centre of a shield-like body, which represents the lower rotule. the status of _potamolepis_, marshall, originally described from the lake of galilee, is very doubtful; possibly some or all of its species belong to the subgenus of _spongilla_ here called _stratospongilla_ (p. ); but they are stated never to produce gemmules. the same is the case as regards _pachydictyum_, weltner, which consists of a single species from celebes. the sponges from lake baikal assigned by weltner (arch. naturg. lxi (i) p. ) to the subfamily lubomirskinæ are of doubtful position and need not be considered here; while _lessepsia_, keller, from one of the salt lakes on the suez canal, certainly does not belong to the family, although it is assigned to it by von lendenfeld (mon. horny sponges, p. ( )) and subsequently by minchin (porifera, p. , in lankester's treatise on zoology, part ii ( )). genus . spongilla, _lamarck_ (carter _emend._). _spongilla_, lamarck, histoire des animaux sans vertèbres, ii, p. ( ). _spongilla_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _euspongilla_, vejdovsky, abh. böhm. ges. xii, p. ( ). _spongilla_, potts, p. ac. philad. , p. . type, _spongilla lacustris_, auctorum. spongillidæ in which the gemmules have (normally) cylindrical or subcylindrical spicules that are sharp or blunt at the ends, without a distinct transverse disk or disks and without comb-like vertical rows of spines. the skeleton is variable in structure, sometimes being almost amorphous, sometimes having well-defined radiating and transverse fibres firmly compacted with spongin. the skeleton-spicules are either sharp or blunt at the ends. flesh-spicules are often absent; when present they are needle-like and resemble the gemmule-spicules in general structure; they have not even rudimentary rotules at their ends. the gemmules either lie free in the substance of the sponge or are attached to its support; sometimes they adhere together in free or attached groups. _spongilla_ is undoubtedly the most primitive genus of the spongillidæ, its spicules showing less sign of specialization than those of any other genus included in the family. as a fossil it goes back at any rate to the upper jurassic (p. ). geographical distribution.--cosmopolitan. in most countries the majority of the freshwater sponges belong to this genus, but in japan _ephydatia_ seems to predominate. _key to the indian species of_ spongilla. i. gemmule provided with a thick, apparently granular pneumatic coat in which the gemmule-spicules are arranged tangentially or vertically. (subgenus _euspongilla_, p. .) a. no foraminal tubule. _a._ sponge bright green, soft and compressiblewhen fresh, very fragile dry _lacustris_, p. . _a'._ sponge white or grey, hard both fresh and dry _alba_, p. . b. a foraminal tubule present. _b._ skeleton-spicules smooth. beta. gemmules free; gemmule-spicules arranged tangentially and horizontally _proliferens_, p. . beta'. gemmules free; gemmule-spicules arranged vertically or nearly so in a single series _hemephydatia_, p. . beta''. gemmules firmly fixed to the support of the sponge; gemmule-spicules almost vertical, irregularly arranged, as a rule in more than one series _travancorica_, p. . _b'._ skeleton-spicules spiny or irregular in outline. beta'''. gemmule-spicules tangential and horizontal, without rudimentary rotules _cinerea_, p. . beta''''. gemmule-spicules vertical or nearly so, often with rudimentary rotules at the tips _crateriformis_, p. . ii. gemmules surrounded in several layers by distinct polygonal air-spaces with chitinous walls. (subgenus _eunapius_, p. .) a. gemmules single. skeleton- and gemmule-spicules smooth, pointed, not very stout _carteri_, p. . b. gemmules bound together in pairs. skeleton friable; skeleton-spicules slender _gemina_, nov., p. . c. gemmules bound together in free groups of more than two or forming a "pavement-layer" at the base of the sponge. _c._ skeleton friable; skeleton-spicules slender _fragilis_, p. . _c'._ skeleton very hard and resistant; skeleton-spicules stout _crassissima_, p. . iii. gemmules without or with irregular pneumatic coat, covered by a chitinous membrane or membranes in which the gemmule-spicules lie parallel to the surface. (subgenus _stratospongilla_, p. .) a. skeleton spicules spiny or irregular in outline. _a._ skeleton-spicules blunt; gemmules covered by a single chitinous membrane _indica_, p. . _a'._ skeleton-spicules sharp; gemmules covered by two chitinous membranes _bombayensis_, p. . b. skeleton-spicules smooth. skeleton-spicules sharp; gemmule spicules very irregular in form _ultima_, p. . subgenus a. euspongilla, _vejdovsky_. _euspongilla_, vejdovsky, abh. böhm. ges. xii, p. ( ). _euspongilla_, _id._, in potts's "fresh-water sponges," p. ac. philad. , p. . _euspongilla_, weltner, in zacharias's tier- und pflanzenwelt des süsswassers, i, p. ( ). type, _spongilla lacustris_, auctorum. spongillæ in which the gemmules are covered with a thick, apparently granular pneumatic coat. a delicate membrane often occurs outside this coat, but it is never thick or horny. the gemmules usually lie free in the sponge but sometimes adhere to its support; rarely they are fastened together in groups (_e. g._ in _s. aspinosa_, potts). the skeleton-spicules are never very stout and the skeleton is always delicate. the species in this subgenus are closely allied and must be distinguished rather by the sum of their peculiarities than by any one character. they occur in all countries in which spongillidæ are found. seven indian species may be recognized. . spongilla lacustris, _auctorum_. _spongilla lacustris_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _spongilla lacustris_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _euspongilla lacustris_, vejdovsky, in potts's "fresh-water sponges," p. ac. philad. , p. . _spongilla lacustris_, potts, _ibid._, p. , pl. v, fig. , pl. vii, figs. - . _euspongilla lacustris_, weltner, in zacharias's tier- und pflanzenwelt des süsswassers, i, p. , figs. - ( ). _spongilla lacustris_, _id._, arch. naturg. lxi (i), pp. , - ( ). _spongilla lacustris_, annandale, j. linn. soc., zool., xxx, p. ( ). [i have not attempted to give a detailed synonymy of this common species. there is no means of telling whether many of the earlier names given to forms or allies of _s. lacustris_ are actual synonyms, and it would serve no useful purpose, so far as the fauna of india is concerned, to complicate matters by referring to obscure descriptions or possible descriptions of a species only represented in india, so far as we know, by a specialized local race, to which separate references are given.] _sponge_ soft and easily compressed, very brittle when dry, usually consisting of a flat or rounded basal portion of no great depth and of long free cylindrical branches, which droop when removed from the water; branches occasionally absent. colour bright green when the sponge is growing in a strong light, dirty flesh-colour when it is growing in the shade. (even in the latter case traces of the "green corpuscles" can be detected in the cells of the parenchyma.) oscula star-shaped, of moderate size, as a rule rendered conspicuous by the furrows that radiate from them over the outer surface of the parenchyma below the external membrane; oscular collars well developed. _skeleton_ reticulate, loose, with definite radiating and transverse fibres held together by a small quantity of spongin; the fibres slender but not extremely so. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, sharply pointed, long, slender. flesh-spicules slender, covered with small spines, sharply pointed, nearly straight. gemmule-spicules resembling the flesh-spicules but shorter and as a rule more strongly curved, sometimes bent so as to form semicircular figures, usually pointed somewhat abruptly; their spines relatively longer than those of the flesh-spicules, often curved backwards, especially near the ends of the spicules, at which points they are often longer than elsewhere. _gemmules_ usually numerous in autumn, lying free in the sponge, spherical, variable in size but usually rather large, as a rule covered with a thick granular coat in which the spicules are arranged tangentially; a horizontal layer of spicules often present in the external membrane; the granular coat and its spicules occasionally deficient. no foraminal tubule; its place sometimes taken by an open, bowl-shaped chitinous structure the base of which is in continuity with the inner chitinous coat of the gemmule. _s. lacustris_ is an extremely variable species, varying in the size, proportions and shape of its spicules, in its external form and in the size and structure of the gemmule. a considerable number of varieties have been described from different parts of europe and n. america, but some of these may represent distinct but closely-allied species; descriptions of most of them will be found in potts's "fresh-water sponges." the embryology and the earlier stages of the development from the egg have been described in great detail by evans (quart. j. micr. sci. (n. s.) xlii, p. ( )), while the anatomy and physiology are discussed by most authors who have written on these features in the spongillidæ. type.--it is impossible to say who was the first authority to use the name _spongilla lacustris_ in the sense in which it is used by recent authors. no type can therefore be recognized. geographical distribution.--_s. lacustris_ occurs all over europe and n. america and is probably the commonest species in most parts of both continents. it has also been found in northern asia and may occur in the himalayan lakes and in the north-west of india. _a._ subspecies reticulata*, _annandale_. _spongilla reticulata_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , pl. xiv, fig. ( ). _spongilla lacustris_ subspecies _reticulata_, _id._, p. u.s. mus. xxxvii, p. ( ). this race differs from the typical _s. lacustris_ in the following particulars:-- ( ) the branches are always compressed and anastomose freely when well developed (fig. , p. ); ( ) the skeleton-fibres are finer; ( ) the skeleton-spicules are longer; ( ) the gemmule-spicules are longer and more slender and are never strongly bent. [illustration: fig. . a=gemmule-spicules of _spongilla lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ (from type); b=gemmule-spicules of _s. alba_ from calcutta: both highly magnified.] as regards the form of the skeleton- and gemmule-spicules and also that of the branches the subspecies _reticulata_ resembles _s. alba_ rather than _s. lacustris_, but owing to the fact that it agrees with _s. lacustris_ in its profuse production of branches, in possessing green corpuscles and in its fragility, i think it should be associated with that species. the branches are sometimes broad (fig. , p. ), sometimes very slender. in the latter condition they resemble blades of grass growing in the water. type in the indian museum; a co-type in the british museum. geographical distribution.--all over eastern india and burma; also in the bombay presidency. _localities:_--bengal, port canning, ganges delta; rajshahi (rampur bhulia) on the ganges, miles n. of calcutta (_annandale_); puri district, orissa (_annandale_); r. jharai, siripur, saran district, tirhut (_m. mackenzie_): madras presidency, madras (town) (_j. r. henderson_): bombay presidency, igatpuri, w. ghats (_annandale_). biology.--this subspecies is usually found in small masses of water, especially in pools of rain-water, but mr. mackenzie found it growing luxuriantly in the jharai at a time of flood in september. it is very abundant in small pools among the sand-dunes that skirt the greater part of the east coast of india. here it grows with great rapidity during the "rains," and often becomes desiccated even more rapidly as soon as the rain ceases. as early in the autumn as october i have seen masses of the sponge attached, perfectly dry, to grass growing in the sand near the sur lake in orissa. they were, of course, dead but preserved a life-like appearance. some of them measured about six inches in diameter. at port canning the sponge grows during the rains on the brickwork of bridges over ditches of brackish water that dry up at the beginning of winter, while at rajshahi and at igatpuri i found it at the edges of small ponds, at the latter place in november, at the former in february. specimens taken at madras by dr. henderson during the rains in small ponds in the sand contained no gemmules, but these structures are very numerous in sponges examined in autumn or winter. numerous larvæ of _sisyra indica_ (p. ) were found in this sponge at rajshahi. unlike those obtained from _s. alba_, they had a green colour owing to the green matter sucked from the sponge in their stomachs. the _coralloides_ phase of _plumatella fruticosa_ (p. ) was also found in _s. lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ at rajshahi. so far as my experience goes, this subspecies has always a bright green colour due to the presence of "green corpuscles," even when it is growing in a pond heavily shaded by trees or under the arch of a small bridge. probably the more intense light of india enables the corpuscles to flourish in situations in which in europe they would lose their chlorophyll. . spongilla proliferens*, _annandale_. _spongilla cinerea_, weber (_nec_ carter), zool. ergeb. niederl. ost-ind. vol. i, pp. , ( ). _spongilla proliferens_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. , fig. . _spongilla proliferens_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. i, pp. , ( ). _sponge_ forming soft, shallow cushions rarely more than cm. in diameter on the leaves of water-plants, or small irregular masses on their roots and stems. colour bright green. oscula moderate, flat, surrounded by deep, cone-shaped collars; radiating furrows and canals in the parenchyma surrounding them often deep. external pores contained normally in single cells. the surface frequently covered by small rounded buds; true branches if present more or less flattened or conical, always short, as a rule absent. _skeleton_ loose, feebly reticulate at the base of the sponge; transverse fibres slender in the upper part of the sponge, often scarcely recognizable at its base. very little spongin present. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules long, smooth, sharply pointed; the length on an average at least times the greatest breadth, often more. flesh-spicules slender, gradually pointed, nearly straight, covered with minute straight or nearly straight spines. gemmule-spicules very similar, but usually a little stouter and often blunt at the ends; their spines rather longer than those on the flesh-spicules, usually more numerous near the ends than in the middle of the spicule, slightly retroverted, those at the extreme tips often so arranged as to suggest a rudimentary rotule. [illustration: fig. .--gemmule of _spongilla proliferens_ as seen in optical section (from calcutta), × .] _gemmules_ usually numerous, lying free near the base of the sponge, very variable in size, spherical, surrounded by a thick granular layer in which the spicules, which are always very numerous, are arranged tangentially, their position being more near the vertical than the horizontal; a few horizontal spicules usually present on the external surface of the gemmule, which frequently has a ragged appearance owing to some of the tangential spicules protruding further than others. foraminal tubule stout, cylindrical, usually somewhat contorted; its orifice irregular in outline. sometimes more than one foramen present. _s. proliferens_ can be distinguished from all forms of _s. lacustris_ and _s. alba_ by the fact that its gemmules possess a foraminal tubule; from _s. cinerea_ it can be distinguished by its colour and its smooth skeleton-spicules, and from _s. travancorica_ by its free gemmules. i have been enabled by the kindness of prof. max weber to examine specimens from celebes and java identified by him as _s. cinerea_, carter, and have no doubt that they belong to my species. type in the indian museum; a co-type in the british museum. geographical distribution.--all over eastern india and burma; also in cochin on the west coast; ceylon; w. china; java, flores and celebes. _localities_:--bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood (_annandale_); berhampore, murshidabad district (_r. e. lloyd_): assam, mangal-dai near the bhutan frontier (_s. w. kemp_): madras presidency, madras (town) and neighbourhood (_j. r. henderson_); rambha, ganjam district (_annandale_); bangalore, mysore (alt. _ca._ ft.) (_annandale_); ernakulam and trichur, cochin (_g. mathai_): burma, rangoon (_annandale_, _j. coggin brown_); prome, upper burma (_j. coggin brown_); kawkareik, amherst district, tenasserim (_annandale_): ceylon, between maradankawela and galapita-gala, north central province (_willey_). mr. j. coggin brown has recently brought back specimens from yunnan. biology.--_s. proliferens_ is usually found in ponds which never dry up; prof. max weber found it in small streams in malaysia. it is common in india on the leaves of _vallisneria_ and _limnanthemum_, on the roots of _pistia stratiotes_ and on the stems of rushes and grass. so far as i have been able to discover, the life of the individual sponge is short, only lasting a few weeks. sexual reproduction occurs seldom or never, but reproduction by means of buds and gemmules continues throughout the year. the former is a rare method of reproduction in most spongillidæ but in this species occurs normally and constantly, the buds being often very numerous on the external surface. they arise a short distance below the surface as thickenings in the strands of cells that accompany the radiating fibres of the skeleton. as they grow they push their way up the fibres, forcing the external membrane outwards. the membrane contracts gradually round their bases, cuts off communication between them and the parent sponge and finally sets them adrift. no hole remains when this takes place, for the membrane closes up both round the base of the bud and over the aperture whence it has emerged. the newly liberated bud already possesses numerous minute pores, but as yet no osculum; its shape exhibits considerable variation, but the end that was farthest from the parent-sponge before liberation is always more or less rounded, while the other end is flat. the size also varies considerably. some of the buds float, others sink. those that float do so either owing to their shape, which depends on the degree of development they have reached before liberation, or to the fact that a bubble of gas is produced in their interior. the latter phenomenon only occurs when the sun is shining on the sponge at the moment they are set free, and is due to the action of the chlorophyll of the green bodies so abundant in certain of the parenchyma cells of this species. if the liberation of the bud is delayed rather longer than usual, numbers of flesh-spicules are produced towards the ends of the primary skeleton-fibres and spread out in one plane so as to have a fan-like outline; in such buds the form is more flattened and the distal end less rounded than in others, and the superficial area is relatively great, so that they float more readily. those buds that sink usually fall in such a way that their proximal, flattened end comes in contact with the bottom or some suspended object, to which it adheres. sometimes, however, owing to irregularity of outline in the distal end, the proximal end is uppermost. in this case it is the distal end that adheres. whichever end is uppermost, it is in the uppermost end, or as it may now be called, the upper surface, that the osculum is formed. water is drawn into the young sponge through the pores and, finding no outlet, accumulates under the external membrane, the subdermal cavity being at this stage even larger than it is in the adult sponge. immediately after adhesion the young sponge flattens itself out. this process apparently presses together the water in the subdermal cavity and causes a large part of it to accumulate at one point, which is usually situated near the centre of the upper surface. a transparent conical projection formed of the external membrane arises at this point, and at the tip of the cone a white spot appears. what is the exact cause of this spot i have not yet been able to ascertain, but it marks the point at which the imprisoned water breaks through the expanded membrane, thus forming the first osculum. before the aperture is formed, it is already possible to distinguish on the surface of the parenchyma numerous channels radiating from the point at which the osculum will be formed to the periphery of the young sponge. these channels as a rule persist in the adult organism and result from the fact that the inhalent apertures are situated at the periphery, being absent from both the proximal and the distal ends of the bud. in the case of floating buds the course of development is the same, except that the osculum, as in the case of development from the gemmule in other species (see zykoff, biol. centrbl. xii, p. , ), is usually formed before adhesion takes place. the sponge of _s. proliferens_ is usually too small to afford shelter to other animals, and i have not found in it any of those commonly associated with _s. carteri_ and _s. alba_. owing to its small size _s. proliferens_ is more easily kept alive in an aquarium than most species, and its production of buds can be studied in captivity. in captivity a curious phenomenon is manifested, viz. the production of extra oscula, often in large numbers. this is due either to a feebleness in the currents of the sponge which makes it difficult to get rid of waste substances or to the fact that the canals get blocked. the effluent water collects in patches under the external membrane instead of making its way out of the existing oscula, and new oscula are formed over these patches in much the same way as the first osculum is formed in the bud. . spongilla alba*, _carter_. _spongilla alba_, carter, j. bombay asiat. soc. iii, p. , pl. i, fig. & ann. nat. hist. ( ) iv, p. , pl. iii, fig. ( ) _spongilla alba_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. pl. xxxviii, fig. . _spongilla alba_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _spongilla alba_, petr, rozp. ceske ak. praze, trída, ii, pl. i, figs. - ( ) (text in czech). _spongilla alba_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , pl. xiv, fig. ( ). _sponge_ forming masses of considerable area, but never of more than moderate depth or thickness. surface smooth and undulating or with irregular or conical projections; sponge hard but brittle; colour white or whitish; oscula of moderate or large size, never very conspicuous; radiating furrows absent or very short; external membrane adhering to the substance of the sponge. _skeleton_ forming a moderately dense network of slender radiating and transverse fibres feebly held together; little spongin present; the meshes much smaller than in _s. lacustris_ or _s. proliferens_. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, sharply pointed, slender, feebly curved. gemmule-spicules (fig. , p. ) slender, cylindrical, blunt or abruptly pointed at the ends, feebly curved, bearing relatively long backwardly directed spines, which are usually more numerous at the ends than near the middle of the shaft. flesh-spicules very numerous in the parenchyma and especially the external membrane, as a rule considerably more slender and more sharply pointed than the gemmule-spicules, covered with straight spines which are often longer at the middle of the shaft than at the ends. _gemmules_ usually of large size, with a moderately thick granular layer; spicules never very numerous, often lying horizontally on the external surface of the gemmule as well as tangentially in the granular layer; no foraminal tubule; a foraminal cup sometimes present. _a_. var. cerebellata, _bowerbank_. _spongilla cerebellata_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _spongilla alba_ var. _cerebellata_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _spongilla cerebellata_, weltner, arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _spongilla cerebellata_, kirkpatrick, ann. nat. hist. ( ) xx, p. ( ). this variety is distinguished from the typical form by the total absence of flesh-spicules. the gemmule-spicules are also more numerous and cross one another more regularly. _b_. var. bengalensis*, _annandale_. (plate i, figs. - .) _spongilla lacustris_ var. _bengalensis_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. . _spongilla alba_ var. _marina_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ). the sponge is either devoid of branches or produces irregular, compressed, and often digitate processes, sometimes of considerable length and delicacy. flesh-spicules are usually present throughout the sponge, but are sometimes absent from one part of a specimen and present in others. some of the gemmules are often much smaller than the others. perhaps this form should be regarded as a phase rather than a true variety (see p. ). all forms of _s. alba_ can be distinguished from all forms of _s. lacustris_ by the much closer network of the skeleton and by the consequent hardness of the sponge; also by the complete absence of green corpuscles. types. the types of the species and of the var. _cerebellata_ are in the british museum, with fragments of the former in the indian museum; that of var. _bengalensis_ is in the indian museum, with a co-type in london. geographical distribution.--india and egypt. _localities_:--bombay presidency, island of bombay (_carter_); igatpuri, w. ghats (_annandale_): bengal, calcutta; port canning, ganges delta (var. _bengalensis_) (_annandale_); garia, salt lakes, nr. calcutta (var. _bengalensis_) (_b. l. chaudhuri_); chilka lake, orissa (var. _bengalensis_) (_gopal chunder chatterjee_): madras presidency, rambha, ganjam district (_annandale_): nizam's territory, aurangabad (_bowerbank_, var. _cerebellata_). the var. _cerebellata_ has also been taken near cairo. biology.--the typical form of the species is usually found growing on rocks or bricks at the edges of ponds, while the variety _bengalensis_ abounds on grass-roots in pools and swamps of brackish water in the ganges delta and has been found on mussel-shells (_modiola jenkinsi_, preston) in practically salt water in the chilka lake. carter procured the typical form at bombay on stones which were only covered for six months in the year, and "temporarily on floating objects." in calcutta this form flourishes in the cold weather on artificial stonework in the "tanks" together with _s. carteri_, _s. fragilis_, _ephydatia meyeni_, and _trochospongilla latouchiana_. the variety _bengalensis_ is best known to me as it occurs in certain ponds of brackish water at port canning on the mutlah river, which connects the salt lakes near calcutta with the sea. it appears in these ponds in great luxuriance every year at the beginning of the cold weather and often coats the whole edge for a space of several hundred feet, growing in irregular masses which are more or less fused together on the roots and stems of a species of grass that flourishes in such situations. apparently the tendency for the sponges to form branches is much more marked in some years than in others (see pl. i, figs. - ). the gemmules germinate towards the end of the "rains," and large masses of sponge are not formed much before december. at this season, however, the level of the water in the ponds sinks considerably and many of the sponges become dry. if high winds occur, the dry sponges are broken up and often carried for considerable distances over the flat surrounding country. in january the gemmules floating on the surface of the ponds form a regular scum. _s. alba_ var. _bengalensis_ is the only sponge that occurs in these ponds at port canning, but _s. lacustris_, subsp. _reticulata_, is occasionally found with it on brickwork in the ditches that drain off the water from the neighbouring fields into the mutlah estuary. the latter sponge, however, perishes as these ditches dry up, at an earlier period than that at which _s. alba_ reaches its maximum development. the larvæ of _sisyra indica_ are commonly found in the oscula of the typical form of _s. alba_ as well as in those of _s. lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_, and _s. carteri_; but the compact structure of the sponge renders it a less suitable residence for other _incolæ_ than _s. carteri_. in the variety _bengalensis_, as it grows in the ponds at port canning, a large number of arthropods, molluscs and other small animals take shelter. apart from protozoa and rotifers, which have as yet been little studied, the following are some of the more abundant inhabitants of the sponge:--the sea-anemone, _sagartia schilleriana_ subsp. _exul_ (see p. ), which frequently occurs in very large numbers in the broader canals; the free-living nematode, _oncholaimus indicus_[w], which makes its way in and out of the oscula; molluscs belonging to several species of the genus _corbula_, which conceal themselves in the canals but are sometimes engulfed in the growing sponge and so perish; young individuals of the crab _varuna litterata_, which hide among the branches and ramifications of the larger sponges together with several small species of prawns and the schizopod _macropsis orientalis_[x]; the peculiar amphipod _quadrivisio bengalensis_[y], only known from the ponds at port canning, which breeds in little communities inside the sponge; a small isopod[z], allied to _sphæroma walkeri_, stebbing; the larva of a may-fly, and those of at least two midges (chironomidæ). [footnote w: o. von linstow, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ).] [footnote x: w. m. tattersall, _ibid._, ii, p. ( ).] [footnote y: t. r. r. stebbing, _ibid._, i, p. ( ); and n. annandale, _ibid._, ii, p. ( ).] [footnote z: mr. stebbing has been kind enough to examine specimens of this isopod, which he will shortly describe in the records of the indian museum. _s. walkeri_, its nearest ally, was originally described from the gulf of manaar, where it was taken in a tow-net gathering (see stebbing in herdman's report on the ceylon pearl fisheries, pt. iv, p. ( )).] the peculiarly mixed nature (marine and lacustrine) of the fauna associated with _s. alba_ in the ponds at port canning is well illustrated by this list, and it only remains to be stated that little fish (_gobius alcockii_, _barbus stigma_, _haplochilus melanostigma_, _h. panchax_, etc.) are very common and feed readily on injured sponges. they are apparently unable to attack a sponge so long as its external membrane is intact, but if this membrane is broken, they swarm round the sponge and devour the parenchyma greedily. in fresh water one of these fishes (_gobius alcockii_, see p. ) lays its eggs in sponges. the chief enemy of the sponges at port canning is, however, not an animal but a plant, viz., a green filamentous alga which grows inside the sponge, penetrating its substance, blocking up its canals and so causing it to die. similar algæ have been described as being beneficial to the sponges in which they grow[aa], but my experience is that they are deadly enemies, for the growth of such algæ is one of the difficulties which must be fought in keeping sponges alive in an aquarium. the alga that grows in _s. alba_ often gives it a dark green colour, which is, however, quite different from the bright green caused by the presence of green corpuscles. the colour of healthy specimens of the variety _bengalensis_ is a rather dark grey, which appears to be due to minute inorganic particles taken into the cells of the parenchyma from the exceedingly muddy water in which this sponge usually grows. if the sponge is found in clean water, to whichever variety of the species it belongs, it is nearly white with a slight yellowish tinge. even when the typical form is growing in close proximity to _s. proliferens_, as is often the case, no trace of green corpuscles is found in its cells. [footnote aa: see m. and a. weber in m. weber's zool. ergeb. niederl. ost-ind. vol. i, p. , pl. v ( ).] . spongilla cinerea*, _carter_. _spongilla cinerea_, carter, j. bombay soc. iii, p. , pl. i, fig. , & ann. nat. hist. ( ) iv, p. , pl. iii, fig. ( ). _spongilla cinerea_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _spongilla cinerea_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _sponge_ forming large, flat sheets, never more than a few millimetres in thickness, without a trace of branches, compact but very friable, of a dark greyish colour; oscula small and inconspicuous or moderately large, never prominent; membrane adhering closely to the sponge. _skeleton_ with well-defined but slender radiating fibres, which contain very little spongin; transverse fibres close together but consisting for the most part of one or two spicules only. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules short, slender, sharply pointed, minutely serrated or irregular in outline, almost straight. gemmule-spicules very small, rather stout, cylindrical, pointed, covered with relatively long and stout spines which are either straight or directed towards the ends of the spicule. flesh-spicules fairly numerous in the external membrane but by no means abundant in the parenchyma, very slender, gradually pointed, covered uniformly with minute but distinct spines. _gemmules_ very small, only visible to the naked eye as minute specks, as a rule numerous, free in the substance of the sponge, each provided with a slender foraminal tubule and covered with a thick granular coat in which the gemmule-spicules are arranged almost horizontally; a horizontal layer of spicules also present on the external surface of the gemmule; gemmule-spicules very numerous. [illustration: fig. .--gemmules and fragment of the skeleton of _spongilla cinerea_ (from type specimen), × .] this sponge is easily distinguished from its indian allies by the form of its skeleton-spicules, which are, as bowerbank expresses it, "subspined"; that it to say, under a high power of the microscope their outline appears to be very minutely serrated, although under a low power they seem to be quite smooth. the spicules also are smaller than those of _s. alba_, the only species with which _s. cinerea_ is likely to be confused, and the gemmule has a well-developed foraminal tubule; the skeleton is much closer than in _s. proliferens_. type in the british museum; a piece in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--_s. cinerea_ is only known from the bombay presidency. carter obtained the original specimens at bombay and the only ones i have found were collected at nasik, which is situated on the eastern slopes of the western ghats, about miles to the north-east. biology.--carter's specimens were growing on gravel, rocks and stones at the edge of "tanks," and were seldom covered for more than six months in the year. mine were on the sides of a stone conduit built to facilitate bathing by conveying a part of the water of the godaveri river under a bridge. they were accompanied by _spongilla indica_ and _corvospongilla lapidosa_ (the only other sponges i have found in running water in india) and in the month of november appeared to be in active growth. . spongilla travancorica*, _annandale_. _spongilla travancorica_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. , pl. xii, fig. ( ). _sponge_ small, encrusting, without branches, hard but brittle; its structure somewhat loose; colour dirty white. dermal membrane in close contact with the skeleton; pores and oscula inconspicuous. surface minutely hispid, smooth and rounded as a whole. _skeleton_ consisting of moderately stout and coherent radiating fibres and well-defined transverse ones; a number of horizontal megascleres present at the base and surface, but not arranged in any definite order. no basal membrane. [illustration: fig. .--microscleres of _spongilla travancorica_. a=gemmule-spicules; b=flesh-spicules (from type specimen), × .] _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, pointed at either end, moderately stout, straight or curved, sometimes angularly bent; curvature usually slight. free microscleres abundant in the dermal membrane, slender, nearly straight, gradually and sharply pointed, profusely ornamented with short straight spines, which are much more numerous and longer at the middle than near the ends. gemmule-spicules stouter and rather longer, cylindrical, terminating at each end in a sharp spine, ornamented with shorter spines, which are more numerous and longer at the ends than at the middle; at the ends they are sometimes directed backwards, without, however, being curved. _gemmules_ firmly adherent to the support of the sponge, at the base of which they form a layer one gemmule thick; each provided with at least one foraminal tubule, which is straight and conical: two tubules, one at the top and one at one side, usually present. granular layer well developed. spicules arranged irregularly in this layer, as a rule being more nearly vertical than horizontal but pointing in all directions, not confined externally by a membrane; no external layer of horizontal spicules. _measurements of spicules and gemmules._ length of skeleton-spicules . - . mm. greatest diameter of skeleton-spicules . - . " length of free microscleres . - . " greatest diameter of free microscleres . mm. length of gemmule-spicules . - . " diameter of gemmule-spicule . mm. " " gemmule . - . " this species is easily distinguished from its allies of the subgenus _euspongilla_ by its adherent gemmules with their (usually) multiple apertures and rough external surface. type in the collection of the indian museum. habitat. backwater near shasthancottah, travancore, in slightly brackish water; on the roots of shrubs growing at the edge; november, (_annandale_). the specimens were dead when found. . spongilla hemephydatia*, _annandale_. _spongilla hemephydatia_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. ( ). [illustration: fig. .--gemmule and spicules of _spongilla hemephydatia_ (from type specimen).] _sponge_ soft, fragile, amorphous, of a dirty yellow colour, with large oscula, which are not conspicuously raised above the surface but open into very wide horizontal channels in the substance of the sponge. the oscular collars are fairly well developed, but the subepidermal space is not extensive. _skeleton_ diffuse, consisting of very fine radiating fibres, which are crossed at wide and irregular intervals by still finer transverse ones; very little chitinoid substance present. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, slender, sharply pointed at both ends, nearly straight. no true flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules straight or nearly so, cylindrical, or constricted in the middle, obscurely pointed or blunt, clothed with short, sharp, straight spines, which are very numerous but not markedly longer at the two ends; these spicules frequently found free in the parenchyma. _gemmules_ numerous, small, free, spherical, yellow, with a well-developed granular coat (in which the spicules are arranged almost horizontally) and external to it a fine membrane which in preserved specimens becomes puckered owing to unequal contraction; each gemmule with a single aperture provided with a straight, rather wide, but very delicate foraminal tubule. _measurements of spicules and gemmules._ length of skeleton-spicule . mm. breadth of skeleton-spicule . " length of gemmule-spicule . " breadth of gemmule-spicule . " diameter of gemmule . - . mm. this sponge in its general structure bears a very close resemblance to _spongilla crateriformis_. type in the collection of the indian museum. habitat. growing on weeds at the edge of the sur lake, orissa, october . only one specimen was taken, together with many examples of _s. lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_, _s. carteri_ and _s. crassissima_. . spongilla crateriformis* (_potts_). _meyenia crateriforma_, potts, p. ac. philad. , p. . _meyenia crateriformis, id., ibid._ , p. , pl. v, fig. , pl. x, fig. . ? _ephydatia crateriformis_, hanitsch, nature, ii, p. ( ). _ephydatia crateriformis_, weltner, arch. naturg. lxi (i), pp. , ( ). ? _ephydatia crateriformis_, hanitsch, irish natural. iv, p. , pl. iv, fig. ( ). _ephydatia indica_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. (figures poor). _ephydatia indica, id._, rec. ind. mus. i, pp. , , , ( ). _ephydatia crateriformis_, scharff, european animals, p. ( ). _ephydatia crateriformis_, annandale, p. u.s. mus. xxxvii, p. , fig. ( ). _sponge_ very fragile, forming soft irregular masses on the roots and stems of water-plants, between which it is sometimes stretched as a delicate film, or thin layers or cushions on flat surfaces. oscula large, flat, circular, or of irregular shape, opening into broad horizontal canals, which at their distal end are superficial and often covered by the external membrane only. colour white, yellowish, greyish, or blackish. _skeleton_ very delicate; radiating fibres rarely consisting of more than two parallel spicules; transverse fibres far apart, frequently consisting of single spicules; very little spongin present. [illustration: fig .--spicules of _spongilla crateriformis_. a. from specimen taken in july in a tank on the calcutta maidan. b. from type specimen of _ephydatia indica_ taken in the indian museum tank in winter. both figures × .] _spicules._ skeleton-spicules feebly curved, slender, as a rule irregular in outline, sometimes almost smooth; the ends as a rule sharply pointed, often constricted off and expanded so as to resemble spear-heads, occasionally blunt. no true flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules often free in the parenchyma, cylindrical, slender, very variable in length in different sponges, straight or nearly so, as a rule with an irregular circle of strong straight or recurved spines at either end resembling a rudimentary rotule, and with shorter straight spines scattered on the shaft, sometimes without the rudimentary rotule, either truncate at the ends or terminating in a sharp spine. _gemmules_ small, free, each surrounded by a thick granular layer in which the spicules stand upright or nearly so, and covered externally by a delicate but very distinct chitinous membrane; no horizontal spicules; foramen situated at the base of a crater-like depression in the granular coat, which is sometimes raised round it so as to form a conspicuous rampart; a short, straight foraminal tubule. the shape of the spicules is extremely variable, and sponges in which they are very different occur in the same localities and even in the same ponds. it is possible that the differences are directly due to slight changes in the environment, for in one pond in calcutta a form with _spongilla_-like gemmule-spicules appears to replace the typical form, which is common in winter, during the hot weather and "rains." i have not, however, found this to be the case in other ponds. perhaps _s. hemephydatia_ will ultimately prove to be a variety of this very variable species, but its smooth and regular skeleton-spicules and short-spined gemmule-spicules afford a ready method of distinguishing it from _s. crateriformis_. the two sponges are easily distinguished from all others in the subgenus _euspongilla_ by the upright and regular arrangement of their gemmule-spicules, for although in _s. proliferens_ and _s. travancorica_ some of the gemmule-spicules are nearly vertical, their arrangement is always irregular, a large proportion of the spicules make an acute angle with the inner coat of the gemmule and a few as a rule lie parallel to it. the systematic position of _s. crateriformis_ is almost exactly intermediate between _euspongilla_ and _ephydatia_, to which genus it has hitherto been assigned. i think, however, that taking into consideration its close relationship to _s. hemephydatia_, it is best to assign it to _spongilla_, as its rudimentary rotules never form distinct disks. i have examined some of potts's original specimens from different american localities and can detect no constant difference between them and indian specimens. types in the united states national museum; co-types in calcutta. geographical distribution.--this sponge was originally described from north america (in which continent it is widely distributed) and has been recorded from the west of ireland with some doubt. in india and burma it is widely distributed. bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood (_annandale_); sonarpur, gangetic delta (_annandale_); bombay presidency, igatpuri lake, w. ghats (altitude _ca._ , feet) (_annandale_); madras presidency, neighbourhood of madras town (_j. r. henderson_); museum compound, egmore (madras town) (_annandale_); near bangalore (alt. _ca._ , ft.), mysore state (annandale); ernakulam, cochin (_g. mathai_): burma, kawkareik, interior of amherst district, tenasserim, and the moulmein waterworks in the same district (_annandale_).[ab] [footnote ab: mr. c. a. paiva, assistant in the indian museum, has lately (march st, ) obtained specimens of _s. crateriformis_ in a small pond of fresh water on ross island in the andaman group. the existence of this widely distributed species on an oceanic island is noteworthy.] biology.--_s. crateriformis_ flourishes in calcutta throughout the year. here it is usually found adhering to the roots of water-plants, especially _pistia_ and _limnanthemum_. in the case of the former it occurs at the surface, in that of the latter at the bottom. when growing near the surface or even if attached to a stone at the bottom in clear water, it is invariably of a pale yellowish or greyish colour. when growing on the roots of _limnanthemum_ in the mud of the gangetic alluvium, however, it is almost black, and when growing in the reddish muddy waters of the tanks round bangalore of a reddish-brown colour. this appears to be due entirely to the absorption of minute particles of inorganic matter by the cells of the parenchyma. if black sponges of the species are kept alive in clean water, they turn pure white in less than a week, apparently because these particles are eliminated. when growing on stones the sponge, as found in india, often conforms exactly with potts's description: "a filmy grey sponge, branching off here and there ... yet with a curious lack of continuity...." the wide efferent canals of this sponge afford a convenient shelter to small crustacea, and the isopod _tachæa spongillicola_, stebbing (see p. ), is found in them more abundantly than in those of any other sponge. this is especially the case when the sponge is growing at the bottom. on the surface of the sponge i have found a peculiar protozoon which resembles the european _trichodina spongillæ_ in general structure but belongs, i think, to a distinct species, if not to a distinct genus. subgenus b. eunapius, _j. e. gray_. _eunapius_, j. e. gray (_partim_), p. zool. soc. london, , p. . _spongilla_ (_s. str._), vejdovsky, in potts's "fresh-water sponges," p. ac. philad. , p. . _spongilla_ (_s. str._), weltner, in zacharias's tier- und pflanzenwelt des süsswassers, i, p. ( ). _spongilla_ (_s. str._), annandale, zool. jahrb., syst. xxvii, p. ( ). type, _spongilla carteri_, carter. spongillæ in which the gemmules are covered with layers of distinct polygonal air-spaces with chitinous walls. the gemmules are usually fastened together in groups, which may either be free in the sponge or adhere to its support as a "pavement layer"; sometimes, however, they are not arranged in this manner, but are quite independent of one another. the skeleton is usually delicate, sometimes very stout (_e. g._, in _s. nitens_, carter). the term _eunapius_ here used is not quite in the original sense, for gray included under it bowerbank's _spongilla paupercula_ which is now regarded as a form of _s. lacustris_. his description, nevertheless, fits the group of species here associated except in one particular, viz., the smoothness of the gemmule-spicules to which he refers, for this character, though a feature of _s. carteri_, is not found in certain closely allied forms. the use of "_spongilla_" in a double sense may be avoided by the adoption of gray's name. the subgenus _eunapius_ is, like _euspongilla_, cosmopolitan. it is not, however, nearly so prolific in species. four can be recognized in india, two of which range, in slightly different forms, as far north as europe, one of them also being found in north america, northern asia, and australia. . spongilla carteri* _carter_ (_bowerbank_, in litt.). (plate ii. fig. .) _spongilla friabilis_?, carter (_nec_ lamarck), j. bombay asiat. soc. iii, p. , pl. i, fig. ( ), & ann. nat. hist. ( ) iv, p. , pl. ii. fig. ( ). _spongilla carteri_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) iii, p. , pl. viii, figs. - ( ). _spongilla carteri_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _eunapius carteri_, j. e. gray, _ibid._ , p. . _spongilla carteri_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _spongilla carteri_, _id._, _ibid._ x, p. ( ). _spongilla carteri_, potts, p. ac. philad. , p. . _spongilla carteri_, weltner, arch. naturg. lxi (i), pp. , ( ). _spongilla carteri_, kirkpatrick, p. zool. soc. london, (i), p. , pl. xv, figs. , (? figs. , ). _spongilla carteri_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. , pl. i, fig. . _spongilla carteri_, willey, spolia zeyl. iv, p. ( ). _spongilla carteri_, annandale, _ibid._ vii, p. , pl. , fig. ( ). [illustration: fig. .--gemmule of _spongilla carteri_ (from calcutta), as seen in optical section, × .] _sponge_ massive, as a rule with the surface smooth and rounded, occasionally bearing irregular ridges, which may even take the form of cockscombs; the oscula large, rounded, conspicuous but not raised above the surface of the sponge, leading into broad vertical canals; the lateral canals, except in the immediate vicinity of the central vertical ones, not very broad; the oscular collars extending for a considerable distance over the oscula in living or well-preserved specimens, never standing out from the surface; the oscula never surrounded by radiating furrows. the inhalent pores surrounded externally by unmodified cells of the external membrane. colour greyish, sometimes with a flush of green on the external surface. the sponge has a peculiarly strong and offensive smell. _skeleton_ fairly compact, with well-developed radiating fibres; the transverse fibres splayed out at either end so that they sometimes resemble a pair of fans joined together by the handles (fig. , p. ). a moderate amount of spongin present. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, pointed, nearly straight, never very stout but somewhat variable in exact proportions. gemmule-spicules similar but much smaller. (there are no true flesh-spicules, but immature skeleton-spicules may easily be mistaken for them.) _gemmules_ as a rule numerous, spherical or flattened at the base, variable in size, each covered by a thick coat consisting of several layers of relatively large polygonal air-spaces. a single aperture surrounded by a crater-like depression in the cellular coat and provided with a foraminal tubule resembling an inverted bottle in shape. (this tubule, which does not extend beyond the surface of the cellular coat, is liable to be broken off in dried specimens.) the spicules variable in quantity, arranged irregularly among the spaces of the cellular coat and usually forming a sparse horizontal layer on its external surface. each gemmule contained in a cage of skeleton-spicules, by the pressure of which it is frequently distorted. _a._ var. mollis*, nov. this variety is characterized by a paucity of skeleton-spicules. the sponge is therefore soft and so fragile that it usually breaks in pieces if lifted from the water by means of its support. owing to the paucity of skeleton-spicules, which resemble those of the typical form individually, the radiating and transverse fibres are extremely delicate. common in calcutta. _b._ var. cava*, nov. this variety is characterized by the fact that the oscula open into broad horizontal canals, the roof of which is formed by a thin layer of parenchyma and skeleton or, in places, of the external membrane only. the skeleton is loose and fragile, and the living sponge has a peculiar glassy appearance. in spirit the colour is yellowish, during life it is greenish or white. taken at bombay; november, . _c._ var. lobosa*, nov. the greater part of the sponge in this variety consists of a number of compressed but pointed vertical lobes, which arise from a relatively shallow, rounded base, in which the oscula occur. the dried sponge has a yellowish colour. apparently common in travancore. * * * * * i cannot distinguish these three "varieties"[ac] from the typical form as distinct species; indeed, their status as varieties is a little doubtful in two cases out of the three. var. _cava_ appears to be a variety in the strict sense of the word (see p. ), for it was found on the island of bombay, the original locality of the species, growing side by side with the typical form. var. _lobosa_, however, should perhaps be regarded as a subspecies rather than a variety, for i have received specimens from two localities in the extreme south-west of india and have no evidence that the typical form occurs in that part of the country. evidence, however, is rather scanty as regards the occurrence of freshwater sponges in s. india. var. _mollis_, again, may be a phase directly due to environment. it is the common form in the ponds of certain parts (_e. g._ in the neighbourhood of the maidan and at alipore) of the calcutta municipal area, but in ponds in other parts (_e. g._ about belgatchia) of the same area, only the typical form is found. it is possible that the water in the former ponds may be deficient in silica or may possess some other peculiarity that renders the production of spicules difficult for _s. carteri_; but this seems hardly probable, for _s. crassissima_, a species with a rather dense siliceous skeleton, flourishes in the same ponds. i have noticed that in ponds in which the aquatic vegetation is luxuriant and such genera of plants as _pistia_ and _limnanthemum_ flourish, there is always a tendency for _s. carteri_ to be softer than in ponds in which the vegetation is mostly cryptogamic, and in calcutta those parts of the town in which sponges of this species produce most spicules are those in which a slight infiltration of brackish water into the ponds may be suspected; but in the interior of india, in places where the water is absolutely fresh, hard specimens seem to be the rule rather than the exception. [footnote ac: the only complete european specimen of the species i have seen differs considerably in outward form from any indian variety, consisting of a flat basal area from which short, cylindrical turret-like branches arise. this specimen is from lake balaton in hungary and was sent me by prof. von daday de dees of buda-pesth.] _s. carteri_ is closely related to _s. nitens_, carter (africa, and possibly s. america), but differs from that species in its comparatively slender, sharp skeleton-spicules and smooth gemmule-spicules. it may readily be distinguished from all other indian freshwater sponges by its large, deep, round oscula, but this feature is not so marked in var. _lobosa_ as in the other forms. the typical form and var. _mollis_ grow to a larger size than is recorded for any other species of the family. i possess a specimen of the typical form from the neighbourhood of calcutta which measures × cm. in diameter and . cm. in depth, and weighs (dry) - / oz. the base of this specimen, which is solid throughout, is nearly circular, and the general form is mound-shaped. another large specimen from calcutta is in the form of an irregular wreath, the greatest diameter of which is cm. this specimen weighs (dry) - / oz. both these specimens probably represent the growth of several years. types.--the types of the varieties _mollis_, _cava_ and _lobosa_ are in the collection of the indian museum. i regard as the type of the species the specimen sent by carter to bowerbank and by him named _s. carteri_, although, owing to some confusion, carter's description under this name appeared some years before bowerbank's. this specimen is in the british museum, with a fragment in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--the range of the species extends westwards to hungary, southwards to mauritius and eastwards to the island of madura in the malay archipelago; a specimen from lake victoria nyanza in central africa has been referred to it by kirkpatrick (p. zool. soc. london, (i), p. ), but i doubt whether the identification is correct. in india _s. carteri_ is by far the most universally distributed and usually much the commonest freshwater sponge; it is one of the only two species as yet found in ceylon. specimens are known from the following localities:--punjab, lahore (_j. stephenson_): bombay presidency, island of bombay (_carter_, _kirkpatrick_, _annandale_); igatpuri, w. ghats (alt. _ca._ , ft.) (_annandale_): united provinces (plains), agra (_kirkpatrick_); lucknow: himalayas, bhim tal, kumaon (alt. , ft.) (_annandale_); tribeni, nepal (_hodgart_): bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood; rajshahi (rampur bhulia) on the r. ganges about miles n. of calcutta (_annandale_); berhampur, murshidabad district (_r. e. lloyd_); pusa, darbbhanga district (_bainbrigge fletcher_); siripur, saran district, tirhut (_m. mackenzie_); puri and the sur lake, orissa (_annandale_): madras presidency, near madras town (_j. r. henderson_); madura district (_r. bruce foote_); bangalore (_annandale_) and worgaum, mysore state ( , - , ft.); ernakulam and trichur, cochin (_g. mathai_); trivandrum and the neighbourhood of c. comorin, travancore (var. _lobosa_) (_r. s. n. pillay_): burma, kawkareik, interior of amherst district, tenasserim (_annandale_); rangoon (_annandale_); bhamo, upper burma (_j. coggin brown_): ceylon, peradeniya (_e. e. green_); outlet of the maha rambaikulam between vavuniya and mamadu, northern province (_willey_); horowapotanana, between trincomalee and anuradihapura, north-central province (_willey_). biology.--_s. carteri_ usually grows in ponds and lakes; i have never seen it in running water. mr. mackenzie found it on the walls of old indigo wells in tirhut. the exact form of the sponge depends to some extent on the forces acting on it during life. at igatpuri, for instance, i found that specimens attached to the stems of shrubs growing in the lake and constantly swayed by the wind had their surface irregularly reticulated with high undulating ridges, while those growing on stones at the bottom of a neighbouring pond were smooth and rounded. sponges of this species do not shun the light. in calcutta _s. carteri_ flourishes during the cold weather (november to march). by the end of march many specimens that have attached themselves to delicate stems such as those of the leaves of _limnanthemum_, or to the roots of _pistia stratiotes_, have grown too heavy for their support and have sunk down into the mud at the bottom of the ponds, in which they are quickly smothered. others fixed to the end of branches overhanging the water or to bricks at the edge have completely dried up. a large proportion, however, still remain under water; but even these begin to show signs of decay at this period. their cells migrate to the extremities of the sponge, leaving a mass of gemmules in the centre, and finally perish. few sponges exist in an active condition throughout the hot weather. the majority of those that do so exhibit a curious phenomenon. their surface becomes smoothly rounded and they have a slightly pinkish colour; the majority of the cells of their parenchyma, if viewed under a high power of the microscope, can be seen to be gorged with very minute drops of liquid. this liquid is colourless in its natural condition, but if the sponge is plunged into alcohol the liquid turns of a dark brown colour which stains both the alcohol and the sponge almost instantaneously. probably the liquid represents some kind of reserve food-material. even in the hot weather a few living sponges of the species may be found that have not this peculiarity, but, in some ponds at any rate, the majority that survive assume the peculiar summer form, which i have also found at lucknow. reproduction takes place in _s. carteri_ in three distinct ways, two of which may be regarded as normal, while the third is apparently the result of accident. if a healthy sponge is torn into small pieces and these pieces are kept in a bowl of water, little masses of cells congregate at the tips of the radiating fibres of the skeleton and assume a globular form. at first these cells are homogeneous, having clear protoplasm full of minute globules of liquid. the masses differ considerably in size but never exceed a few millimetres in diameter. in about two days differentiation commences among the cells; then spicules are secreted, a central cavity and an external membrane formed, and an aperture, the first osculum, appears in the membrane. in about ten days a complete young sponge is produced, but the details of development have not been worked out. the most common normal form of reproduction is by means of gemmules, which are produced in great numbers towards the end of the cold weather. if small sponges are kept alive in an aquarium even at the beginning of the cold weather, they begin to produce gemmules almost immediately, but these gemmules although otherwise perfect, possess few or no gemmule-spicules. if the sponge becomes desiccated at the end of the cold weather and is protected in a sheltered place, some or all of the gemmules contained in the meshes of its skeleton germinate _in situ_ as soon as the water reaches it again during the "rains." it is by a continuous or rather periodical growth of this kind, reassumed season after season, that large masses of sponge are formed. in such masses it is often possible to distinguish the growth of the several years, but as a rule the layers become more or less intimately fused together, for no limiting membrane separates them. a large proportion of the gemmules are, however, set free and either float on the surface of the water that remains in the ponds or are dried up and carried about by the wind. in these circumstances they do not germinate until the succeeding cold weather, even if circumstances other than temperature are favourable; but as soon as the cold weather commences they begin to produce new sponges with great energy. sexual reproduction, the second normal form, takes place in _s. carteri_ mainly if not only at the approach of a change of season, that is to say about march, just before the hot weather commences, and about november, just as the average temperature begins to sink to a temperate level. at these seasons healthy sponges may often be found full of eggs and embryos, which lie in the natural cavities of the sponge without protecting membrane. in the ponds of calcutta a large number of animals are found associated in a more or less definite manner with _spongilla carteri_. only one, however, can be described with any degree of certainty as being in normal circumstances an enemy, namely the larva of _sisyra indica_,[ad] and even in the case of this little insect it is doubtful how far its attacks are actually injurious to the sponge. the larva is often found in considerable numbers clinging to the oscula and wide efferent canals of _s. carteri_, its proboscis inserted into the substance of the sponge. if the sponge dies and the water becomes foul the larvæ swim or crawl away. if the sponge dries up, they leave its interior (in which, however, they sometimes remain for some days after it has become dry) and pupate in a silken cocoon on its surface. hence they emerge as perfect insects after about a week. [footnote ad: needham. rec. ind. mus. iii, p. ( ).] an animal that may be an enemy of _s. carteri_ is a flat-worm (an undescribed species of _planaria_) common in its larger canals and remarkable for the small size of its pharynx. the same worm, however, is also found at the base of the leaves of bulrushes and in other like situations, and there is no evidence that it actually feeds on the sponge. injured sponges are eaten by the prawn _palæmon lamarrei_, which, however, only attacks them when the dermal membrane is broken. a _tanypus_ larva (chironomid diptera) that makes its way though the substance of the sponge may also be an enemy; it is commoner in decaying than in vigorous sponges. the presence of another chironomid larva (_chironomus_, sp.) appears to be actually beneficial. in many cases it is clear that this larva and the sponge grow up together, and the larva is commoner in vigorous than in decayed sponges. unlike the _tanypus_ larva, it builds parchment-like tubes, in which it lives, on the surface of the sponge. the sponge, however, often grows very rapidly and the larva is soon in danger of being engulfed in its substance. the tube is therefore lengthened in a vertical direction to prevent this catastrophe and to maintain communication with the exterior. the process may continue until it is over an inch in length, the older part becoming closed up owing to the pressure of the growing sponge that surrounds it. should the sponge die, the larva lives on in its tubes without suffering, and the ends of tubes containing larvæ may sometimes be found projecting from the worn surface of dead sponges. the larva does not eat the sponge but captures small insects by means of a pair of legs on the first segment of its thorax. in so doing it thrusts the anterior part of its body out of the tube, to the inner surface of which it adheres by means of the pair of false legs at the tip of the abdomen. this insect, which is usually found in the variety _mollis_, appears to do good to the sponge in two ways--by capturing other insects that might injure it and by giving support to its very feeble skeleton. a precisely similar function, so far as the support of the sponge is concerned, is fulfilled by the tubular zooecia of a phase of the polyzoon _plumatella fruticosa_ (see p. ) which in india is more commonly found embedded in the substance of _s. carteri_ than in that of any other species, although in great britain it is generally found in that of _s. lacustris_, which is there the commonest species of freshwater sponge. another animal that appears to play an active part in the oeconomy of the sponge is a peculiar little worm (_chætogaster spongillæ_) also found among the zooecia of _plumatella_ and belonging to a widely distributed genus of which several species are found in association with pond-snails. _chætogaster spongillæ_ often occurs in enormous numbers in dead or dying sponges of _s. carteri_, apparently feeding on the decaying organic matter of the sponge and assisting by its movements in releasing numerous gemmules. in so doing it undoubtedly assists in the dissemination of the species. major j. stephenson (rec. ind. mus. v, p. ) has recently found two other species of oligochætes inhabiting _s. carteri_ var. _lobosa_ from travancore. both these species, unlike _chætogaster spongillæ_, belong to a genus that is vegetarian in habits. one of them, _nais pectinata_, has not yet been found elsewhere, while the other, _nais communis_, has a very wide distribution. the latter, however, occurs in the sponge in two forms--one with eyes, the other totally blind. the blind form (_n. communis_ var. _cæca_) has only been found in this situation, but the other (var. _punjabensis_) lives free as well as in association with the sponge, in which the blind form was the commoner of the two. the majority of the animals found in association with _s. carteri_ gain shelter without evident assistance to the sponge. this is the case as regards the little fish (_gobius alcockii_), one of the smallest of the vertebrates (length about / inch), which lays its eggs in the patent oscula, thus securing for them a situation peculiarly favourable to their development owing to the constant current of water that passes over them. in the absence of sponges, however, this fish attaches its eggs to the floating roots of the water-plant _pistia stratiotes_. numerous small crustacea[ae] also take temporary or permanent refuge in the cavities of _s. carteri_, the most noteworthy among them being the isopod _tachæa spongillicola_[af], the adults of which are found in the canal of this and other sponges, while the young cling to the external surface of the carapace of _palæmon lamarrei_ and other small prawns. many worms and insects of different kinds also enter the canals of _s. carteri_, especially when the sponge is becoming desiccated; from half-dry sponges numerous beetles and flies may be bred, notably the moth-fly _psychoda nigripennis_[ag] of which enormous numbers sometimes hatch out from such sponges. [footnote ae: according to the late rai bahadur r. b. sanyal, freshwater sponges are called in bengali "shrimps' nests." from his description it is evident that he refers mainly to _s. carteri_ (see hours with nature, p. ; calcutta ).] [footnote af: stebbing, j. linn. soc. xxx, p. ; annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. .] [footnote ag: brunetti, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. ( ).] as the sponge grows it frequently attaches itself to small molluscs such as the young of _vivipara bengalensis_, which finally become buried in its substance and thus perish. possibly their decaying bodies may afford it nourishment, but of the natural food of sponges we know little. _s. carteri_ flourishes best and reaches its largest size in ponds used for domestic purposes by natives of india, and thrives in water thick with soap-suds. it is possible, though direct proof is lacking, that the sponge does good in purifying water used for washing the clothes, utensils, and persons of those who drink the same water, by absorbing decaying animal and vegetable matter from it. various minute algæ are found associated with _s. carteri_, but of these little is yet known. the green flush sometimes seen on the surface of the typical form is due to the fact that the superficial cells of the parenchyma contain green corpuscles. these, however, are never very numerous and are not found in the inner parts of the sponge, perhaps owing to its massive form. it is noteworthy that these green bodies flourish in large numbers throughout the substance of sponges of _s. proliferens_, a species always far from massive, growing in the same ponds as _s. carteri_. . spongilla fragilis, _leidy_. _spongilla fragilis_, leidy, p. ac. philad. , p. . _spongilla lordii_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _spongilla contecta_, noll, zool. garten*, , p. . _spongilla ottavænsis_, dawson, canad. nat.* (new series) viii, p. ( ). _spongilla sibirica_, dybowski, zool. anz., jahr. i, p. ( ). _spongilla morgiana_, potts, p. ac. philad. , p. . _spongilla lordii_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. , pl. vi, fig. ( ). _spongilla sibirica_, dybowski, mém. ac. st. pétersb. ( ) xxx, no. x, p. , fig. . _spongilla glomerata_, noll, zool. anz., jahr. ix, p. ( ). _spongilla fragilis_, vejdovsky, p. ac. philad. , p. . _spongilla fragilis_, potts, _ibid._ p. , pl. v, fig. ; pl. viii, figs. - . _spongilla fragilis_, weltner, arch. naturg. lix ( ), p. , pl. ix, figs. - ( ). _spongilla fragilis_, _id._, arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _spongilla fragilis_, _id._, in semon's zool. forsch. in austral. u. d. malay. arch. v, part v, p. . _spongilla fragilis_, annandale, p. u.s. mus. xxxvii, p. ( ). _spongilla fragilis_, _id._, annot. zool. japon. vii, part ii, p. , pl. ii, fig. ( ). _sponge_ flat, lichenoid, never of great thickness, devoid of branches, dense in texture but very friable; colour brown, green, or whitish; oscula numerous, small, flat, distinctly star-shaped. _skeleton_ with well defined radiating and transverse fibres, which are never strong but form a fairly dense network with a small amount of spongin. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, sharply pointed, moderately stout, as a rule nearly straight. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules cylindrical, blunt or abruptly pointed, nearly straight, covered with relatively stout, straight, irregular spines, which are equally distributed all over the spicule. _gemmules_ bound together in free groups of varying numbers and forming a flat layer at the base of the sponge; each gemmule small in size, surrounded by a thick cellular coat of several layers; with a relatively long and stout foraminal tubule, which projects outwards through the cellular coat at the sides of the group or at the top of the basal layer of gemmules, is usually curved, and is not thickened at the tip; more than one foraminal tubule sometimes present on a single gemmule; gemmule-spicules arranged horizontally or at the base of the cellular coat. the species as a species is easily distinguished from all others, its nearest ally being the n. american _s. ingloriformis_ with sparsely spined skeleton-spicules which are very few in number, and gemmule groups in which the foraminal tubules all open downwards. several varieties of _s. fragilis_ have been described in europe and america. type.--potts refers to the type as being in the academy of natural sciences at philadelphia. geographical distribution.--all over europe and n. america; also in siberia, australia, and s. america. the species is included in this work in order that its asiatic local races may be fitly described. _a._ subsp. calcuttana*, nov. ? _spongilla decipiens_, weltner (_partim_), arch. naturg. lxi (i), pp. , ( ). _spongilla decipiens_, annandale, journ. as. soc. beng. , p. . _spongilla fragilis_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ). [illustration: fig. .--_spongilla fragilis_ subsp. _calcuttana_. a=group of gemmules, × ; b=spicules, × . from type specimen.] this local race, which is common in calcutta, is distinguished from the typical form mainly by the shape of its skeleton-spicules, most of which are abruptly pointed or almost rounded at the tips, sometimes bearing a minute conical projection at each end. the gemmule-spicules, which are usually numerous, are slender. the foraminal tubules are usually long and bent, but are sometimes very short and quite straight. the colour is usually greyish, occasionally brown. i have not found this race except in calcutta, in the ponds of which it grows on bricks or, very commonly, on the stems of bulrushes, often covering a considerable area. type in the indian museum. _b._ subsp. decipiens*, _weber_. _spongilla decipiens_, weber, zool. ergeb. niederländ. ost-ind. i, p. , pl. iv, figs. - ( ). this (?) local race is distinguished by the fact that the foraminal tubules are invariably short and straight and thickened at the tips, and that gemmule-spicules do not occur on the external surface of the cellular coat of the gemmules. i include weber's _spongilla decipiens_ in the indian fauna on the authority of weltner, who identified specimens from the museum "tank," calcutta, as belonging to this form. all, however, that i have examined from our "tank" belong to the subspecies _calcuttana_, most of the skeleton-spicules of which are much less sharp than those of _decipiens_. by the kindness of prof. max weber i have been able to examine a co-type of his species, which is probably a local race peculiar to the malay archipelago. type in the amsterdam museum; a co-type in calcutta. perhaps the japanese form, which has spindle-shaped gemmule-spicules with comparatively short and regular spines, should be regarded as a third subspecies, and the siberian form as a fourth. . spongilla gemina*, sp. nov. _sponge_ forming small, shallow, slightly dome-shaped patches of a more or less circular or oval outline, minutely hispid on the surface, friable but moderately hard. oscula numerous but minute and inconspicuous, never star-shaped. dermal membrane adhering closely to the sponge. colour grey or brown. _skeleton_ forming a close and regular network at the base of the sponge, becoming rather more diffuse towards the external surface; the radiating and the transverse fibres both well developed, of almost equal diameter. little spongin present. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules slender, smooth, sharply pointed. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules long, slender, cylindrical, blunt or bluntly pointed, somewhat irregularly covered with minute straight spines. _gemmules_ small, bound together in pairs, as a rule free in the parenchyma but sometimes lightly attached at the base of the sponge. each gemmule flattened on the surface by which it is attached to its twin, covered with a thin coat of polygonal air-spaces which contains two layers of gemmule-spicules crossing one another irregularly in a horizontal plane. one or two foraminal tubules present on the surface opposite the flat one, bending towards the latter, often of considerable length, cylindrical and moderately stout. type in the indian museum. this species is closely allied to _s. fragilis_, from which it may be distinguished by the curious twinned arrangement of its gemmules. it also differs from _s. fragilis_ in having extremely small and inconspicuous oscula. _locality._ i only know this sponge from the neighbourhood of bangalore, where dr. morris travers and i found it in october, growing on stones and on the leaves of branches that dipped into the water at the edge of a large tank. . spongilla crassissima*, _annandale_. _spongilla crassissima_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. , figs. , . _spongilla crassissima_, _id._, _ibid._ p. . _spongilla crassissima_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. i. p. , pl. xiv, fig. ( ). _sponge_ very hard and strong, nearly black in colour, sometimes with a greenish tinge, forming spherical, spindle-shaped or irregular masses without branches but often several inches in diameter. oscula circular or star-shaped, usually surrounded by radiating furrows; pores normally contained in single cells. external membrane closely adherent to the sponge except immediately round the oscula. _skeleton_ dense, compact and only to be broken by the exercise of considerable force; radiating and transverse fibres not very stout but firmly bound together by spongin (fig. , p. ), which occasionally extends between them as a delicate film; their network close and almost regular. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, feebly curved, sausage-shaped but by no means short, as a rule bearing at each end a minute conical projection which contains the extremity of the axial filament. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules closely resembling those of _s. fragilis_ subsp. _calcuttana_, but as a rule even more obtuse at the ends. _gemmules_ as in _s. fragilis_ subsp. _calcuttana_; a basal layer of gemmules rarely formed. _a._ var. crassior*, _annandale_. _spongilla crassior_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , pl. xiv, fig. ( ). this variety differs from the typical form chiefly in its even stronger skeleton (fig. , p. ) and its stouter skeleton-spicules, which do not so often possess a terminal projection. the sponge is of a brownish colour and forms flat masses of little thickness but of considerable area on sticks and on the stems of water-plants. types.--the types of both forms are in the indian museum. co-types have been sent to london. geographical distribution.--this sponge is only known from bengal. the variety _crassior_ was found at rajshahi (rampur bhulia) on the ganges, about miles n. of calcutta, while the typical form is fairly common in the "tanks" of calcutta and very abundant in the sur lake near puri in orissa. [illustration: fig. .--spicules of _spongilla crassissima_ var. _crassior_ (from type specimen), × .] biology.--_s. crassissima_ is usually found near the surface in shallow water. attached to the roots of the floating water-plant _pistia stratiotes_ it assumes a spherical form, while on sticks or like objects it is spindle-shaped. sometimes it is found growing on the same stick or reed-stem as _s. carteri_, the two species being in close contact and _s. carteri_ always overlapping _s. crassissima_. the dark colour is due to minute masses of blackish pigment in the cells of the parenchyma. the dense structure of the sponge is not favourable to the presence of _incolæ_, but young colonies of the polyzoon _plumatella fruticosa_ are sometimes overgrown by it. although they may persist for a time by elongating their tubular zooecia through the substance of the sponge, they do not in these circumstances reach the same development as when they are overgrown by the much softer _s. carteri_. _s. crassissima_ is found during the "rains" and the cold weather. in calcutta it attains its maximum size towards the end of the latter season. in spite of its hard and compact skeleton, the sponge does not persist from one cold weather to another. a curious phenomenon has been noticed in this species, but only in the case of sponges living in an aquarium, viz. the cessation during the heat of the day of the currents produced by its flagella. subgenus c. stratospongilla, _annandale_. _stratospongilla_, annandale, zool. jahrb., syst. xxvii, p. ( ). type, _spongilla bombayensis_, carter. spongillæ in the gemmules of which the pneumatic layer is absent or irregularly developed, its place being sometimes taken by air-spaces between the stout chitinous membranes that cover the gemmule. at least one of these membranes is always present. the gemmule-spicules lie in the membrane or membranes parallel to the surface of the gemmule, and are often so arranged as to resemble a mosaic. the gemmules themselves are usually adherent to the support of the sponge. the chitinous membrane or membranes are often in continuity with a membrane that underlies the base of the sponge. the skeleton is usually stout, though often almost amorphous, and the skeleton-spicules are sometimes sausage-shaped. sponges of this subgenus form crusts or sheets on solid submerged objects. _stratospongilla_ is essentially a tropical subgenus, having its head-quarters in central africa and western india. one of its species, however, (_s. sumatrana_*, weber) occurs both in africa and the malay archipelago, while another has only been found in s. america (_s. navicella_, carter). aberrant species occur in china (_s. sinensis_*, _s. coggini_*) and the philippines (_s. clementis_*). three species have been found in the bombay presidency and travancore, one of which (_s. bombayensis_*) extends its range eastwards to mysore and westwards across the indian ocean to natal. . spongilla indica*, _annandale_. _spongilla indica_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. , figs. , ( ). _sponge_ forming a very thin layer, of a bright green or pale grey colour; surface smooth, minutely hispid; pores and oscula inconspicuous, the latter approached in some instances by radiating furrows; subdermal cavity small; texture compact, rather hard. _skeleton_ incoherent, somewhat massive owing to the large number of spicules present. spicules forming triangular meshes and occasionally arranged in vertical lines several spicules broad but without spongin. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules straight or nearly straight, slender, cylindrical, amphistrongylous, uniformly covered with minute, sharp spines; flesh-spicules slender, sharply pointed, straight or curved, irregularly covered with relatively long, straight sharp spines, abundant in the dermal membrane, scarce in the substance of the sponge. gemmule-spicules short, stout, sausage-shaped, covered with minute spines, which are sometimes absent from the extremities. _gemmules_ spherical, somewhat variable in size, with a single aperture, which is provided with a trumpet-shaped foraminal tubule and is situated at one side of the gemmule in its natural position; the inner chitinous coat devoid of spicules, closely covered by an outer coat composed of a darkly coloured chitinoid substance in which the gemmule-spicules are embedded, lying parallel or almost parallel to the inner coat. the outer coat forms a kind of mantle by means of the skirts of which the gemmule is fastened to the support of the sponge. this coat is pierced by the foraminal tubule. the gemmules are distinct from one another. [illustration: fig. .--gemmule of _spongilla indica_ seen from the side (from type specimen), magnified.] average length of skeleton-spicules . mm. " breadth of skeleton-spicules . " " length of flesh-spicules . " " breadth of flesh-spicules . " " length of gemmule-spicules . " " breadth of gemmule-spicules . " _s. indica_ is closely allied to _s. sumatrana_*, weber, which has been found both in the malay archipelago and in east africa. it may be distinguished by its blunt, almost truncated megascleres and comparatively slender gemmule-spicules. type in the indian museum. habitat, etc.--growing, together with _s. cinerea_ and _corvospongilla lapidosa_, on the stone sides of an artificial conduit in the r. godaveri at nasik on the eastern side of the western ghats in the bombay presidency. the water was extremely dirty and was used for bathing purposes. the sponge was green where the light fell upon it, grey where it was in the shadow of the bridge under which the conduit ran. the only specimens i have seen were taken in november, . . spongilla bombayensis*, _carter_. (plate ii, fig. .) _spongilla bombayensis_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) x, p. , pl. xvi, figs. - ( ). _spongilla bombayensis_, annandale, zool. jahrb., syst. xxvii, p. , figs. b, c ( ). _sponge_ hard but friable, forming thin layers or cushions; its surface often irregular but without a trace of branches; its area never very great; oscula inconspicuous; external membrane adhering closely to the sponge; colour brownish or greyish. [illustration: fig. .--gemmule of _spongilla bombayensis_ as seen from above (from type specimen), magnified.] _skeleton_ almost amorphous, very dense, consisting of large numbers of spicules arranged irregularly; radiating fibres occasionally visible in sections, but almost devoid of spongin; a more or less definite reticulation of horizontal spicules lying immediately under the external membrane. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules slender, pointed, feebly curved, irregularly roughened or minutely spined all over the surface. flesh-spicules straight, narrowly rhomboidal in outline, sharply pointed, slender, covered with minute, irregular, straight spines, scanty in the parenchyma, abundant in the external membrane. gemmule-spicules sausage-shaped or bluntly pointed, variable in length but usually rather stout, covered with minute spines, as a rule distinctly curved. _gemmules_ round or oval, firmly adherent[ah] to the base of the sponge, as a rule rather shallowly dome-shaped, covered by two thick chitinous membranes, in each of which there is a dense horizontal layer of spicules; no granular or cellular covering; the two chitinous coats separated by an empty space; the aperture or apertures on the side of the gemmule in its natural position, provided with foraminal tubules, which may be either straight or curved, project through the outer chitinous membrane and often bend down towards the base of the gemmule. the spicules of the outer layer often more irregular in outline and less blunt than those of the inner layer. [footnote ah: the outer covering by means of which the gemmule is fixed is not formed until the other structures are complete. in young sponges, therefore, free gemmules may often be found.] this sponge is allied to _s. indica_, but is distinguished among other characters by its sharp skeleton-spicules and by the fact that the gemmule is covered by two chitinous membranes instead of one. type in the british museum; a fragment in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--s. and w. india and s. africa. carter's type was found in the island of bombay, my own specimens in igatpuri lake in the western ghats. i have recently (october ) found sponges and bare gemmules attached to stones at the end of a tank about miles from bangalore (mysore state) in the centre of the madras presidency. prof. max weber obtained specimens in natal. biology.--the specimens collected by prof. weber in natal and those collected by myself in the bombay presidency were both obtained in the month of november. it is therefore very interesting to compare them from a biological point of view. in so doing, it must be remembered that while in s. africa november is near the beginning of summer, in india it is at the beginning of the "cold weather," that is to say, both the coolest and the driest season of the year. the lake in which my specimens were obtained had, at the time when they were collected, already sunk some inches below its highest level, leaving bare a gently sloping bank of small stones. adhering to the lower surface of these stones i found many small patches of _spongilla bombayensis_, quite dry but complete so far as their harder parts were concerned and with the gemmules fully formed at their base. from the shallow water at the edge of the lake i took many similar stones which still remained submerged. it was evident that the sponge had been just as abundant on their lower surface as on that of the stones which were now dry; but only the gemmules remained, sometimes with a few skeleton-spicules adhering to them (pl. ii, fig. ). the bulk of the skeleton had fallen away and the parenchyma had wholly perished. in a few instances a small sponge, one or two millimetres in diameter, had already been formed among the gemmules; but these young sponges appeared to belong to some other species, possibly _spongilla indica_, which was also common in the lake. carter's specimen of _s. bombayensis_, which was evidently in much the same condition as those i found still submerged a month later, was taken in october in a disused quarry. it was surrounded by a mass of _s. carteri_ three inches in diameter, and was attached to a herbaceous annual. the point on the edge of the quarry at which this plant grew was not reached by the water until july. it is therefore necessary to assume that the gemmules of _s. bombayensis_ had been formed between july and october. probably the larva of the sponge had settled down on the plant during the "rains"--which commence in bombay about the beginning of june--and had grown rapidly. the production of gemmules may have been brought about owing to the sponge being choked by the more vigorous growth of _s. carteri_, a species which grows to a considerable size in a comparatively short time, while _s. bombayensis_ apparently never reaches a thickness of more than a few millimetres. the manner in which the gemmules of _s. bombayensis_ are fastened to the solid support of the sponge must be particularly useful in enabling them to sprout in a convenient environment as soon as the water reaches them. the fact that the gemmules remained fixed without support renders it unnecessary for the skeleton to persist as a cage containing them (or at any rate a proportion of them) during the period of rest. prof. weber's specimens of _s. bombayensis_ were collected in a river, apparently on stones or rocks, towards the beginning of the s. african summer. they contain comparatively few gemmules and were evidently in a vigorous condition as regards vegetative growth. unfortunately we know nothing of the seasonal changes which take place in freshwater sponges in s. africa, but the difference between these changes in europe and in india shows that they are dependent on environment as well as the idiosyncrasy of the species. it is very interesting, therefore, to see that the condition of sponges taken in s. africa differs so widely from that of other individuals of the same species taken in india at the same season. in prof. weber's specimens i have found numerous small tubules of inorganic débris. these appear to be the work of chironomid larvæ, of which there are several specimens loose in the bottle containing the sponges. other tubules of a very similar appearance but with a delicate chitinoid foundation appear to be the remains of a species of _plumatella_ of which they occasionally contain a statoblast. . spongilla ultima*, _annandale_. (plate ii, fig. .) _spongilla ultima_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). _sponge_ hard and strong, forming a thin layer on solid objects, of a pale green colour (dry); the oscula small but rendered conspicuous by the deep radiating furrows that surround them; external surface of the sponge rough but not spiny. _skeleton_ forming a compact but somewhat irregular reticulation in which the radiating fibres are not very much more distinct than the transverse ones; a considerable amount of almost colourless spongin present. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, stout, amphioxous, as a rule straight or nearly straight, not infrequently inflated in the middle or otherwise irregular. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules variable in size, belonging to practically every type and exhibiting practically every abnormality possible in the genus, the majority being more or less sausage-shaped and having a roughened surface, but others being cruciform, spherical, subspherical, rosette-like, needle-like, bifid or even trifid at one extremity. [illustration: fig. .--spicules of _spongilla ultima_ (from type specimen), × .] _gemmules_ adherent, spherical, large, each covered by two distinct layers of horizontal spicules; the outer layer intermixed with skeleton-spicules and often containing relatively large siliceous spheres, a large proportion of the spicules being irregular in shape; the spicules of the inner layer much more regular and as a rule sausage-shaped. the outer layer is contained in a chitinous membrane which spreads out over the base of the sponge. the foraminal tubules are short and straight. this sponge is allied to _s. bombayensis_, from which it is distinguished not only by the abnormal characters of its gemmule-spicules and the absence of flesh-spicules, but also by the form of its skeleton-spicules and the structure of its skeleton. i have examined several specimens dry and in spirit; but _s. ultima_ is the only indian freshwater sponge, except _corvospongilla burmanica_, i have not seen in a fresh condition. types in the indian museum; co-types at trivandrum. habitat. discovered by mr. r. shunkara narayana pillay, of the trivandrum museum, in a tank near cape comorin, the southernmost point of the indian peninsula. genus . pectispongilla, _annandale_. _pectispongilla_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. ( ). type, _pectispongilla aurea_, annandale. the structure of the sponge resembling that of _euspongilla_ or _ephydatia_; but the gemmule-spicules bear at either end, at one side only, a double vertical row of spines, so that they appear when viewed in profile like a couple of combs joined together by a smooth bar. [illustration: fig. .--gemmule and spicules of _pectispongilla aurea_ (type specimen). _a_, skeleton-spicules; _b_, gemmule-spicules; _b'_, a single gemmule-spicule more highly magnified.] geographical distribution.--the genus is monotypic and is only known from travancore and cochin in the south-west of the indian peninsula. . pectispongilla aurea*, _annandale_. _pectispongilla aurea_, annandale, _op. cit._, p. , pl. xii, fig. . _sponge_ forming minute, soft, cushion-like masses of a deep golden colour (dull yellow in spirit); the surface smooth, minutely hispid. one relatively large depressed osculum usually present in each sponge; pores inconspicuous; dermal membrane in close contact with the parenchyma. _skeleton_ consisting of slender and feebly coherent radiating fibres as a rule two or three spicules thick, with single spicules or ill-defined transverse fibres running horizontally. towards the external surface transverse spicules are numerous, but they do not form any very regular structure. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, sharply pointed, straight or nearly so. gemmule-spicules minute, with the stem smooth and cylindrical, relatively stout and much longer than the comb at either end; the two combs equal, with a number of minute, irregularly scattered spines between the two outer rows of stouter ones. no free microscleres. _gemmules_ minute, spherical, with a single aperture, which is provided with a very short foraminal tubule; the granular coat well developed; the spicules arranged in a slanting position, but more nearly vertically than horizontally, with the combs pointing in all directions; no external chitinous membrane. length of skeleton-spicule . mm. greatest diameter of skeleton-spicule . " length of gemmule-spicule . - . mm. length of comb of gemmule-spicule . mm. greatest diameter of shaft of gemmule-spicule . " diameter of gemmule . - . mm. the gemmule-spicules first appear as minute, smooth, needle-like bodies, which later become roughened on one side at either end and so finally assume the mature form. there are no bubble-cells in the parenchyma. _a._ var. subspinosa*, nov. this variety differs from the typical form in having its skeleton spicules covered with minute irregular spines or conical projections. types of both the typical form and the variety in the indian museum; co-types of the typical form in the trivandrum museum. geographical distribution.--the same as that of the genus. _localities_:--tenmalai, at the base of the western slopes of the w. ghats in travancore (typical form) (_annandale_); ernakulam and trichur in cochin (var. _subspinosa_) (_g. mathai_). biology.--my specimens, which were taken in november, were growing on the roots of trees at the edge of an artificial pool by the roadside. they were in rather dense shade, but their brilliant golden colour made them conspicuous objects in spite of their small size. mr. mathai's specimens from cochin were attached to water-weeds and to the husk of a cocoanut that had fallen or been thrown into the water. genus . ephydatia, _lamouroux_. _ephydatia_, lamouroux, hist. des polyp. corall. flex.* p. (_fide_ weltner) ( ). _ephydatia_, j. e. gray, p. zool. soc. london. , p. . _trachyspongilla_, dybowsky (_partim_), zool. anz. i, p. ( ). _meyenia_, carter (_partim_), ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _carterella_, potts & mills (_partim_), p. ac. philad. , p. . _ephydatia_, vejdovsky, abh. böhm. ges. xii, p. ( ). _meyenia_, potts (_partim_), _ibid._ , p. . _carterella_, _id._ (_partim_), _ibid._ , p. . _ephydatia_, weltner (_partim_), arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _ephydatia_, annandale, p. u.s. mus. xxxvii, p. ( ). type, (?) _spongilla fluviatilis_, auctorum. this genus is separated from _spongilla_ by the structure of the gemmule-spicules, which bear at either end a transverse disk with serrated or deeply notched edges, or at any rate with edges that are distinctly undulated. the disks are equal and similar. true flesh-spicules are usually absent, but more or less perfect birotulates exactly similar to those associated with the gemmules are often found free in the parenchyma. the skeleton is never very stout and the skeleton-spicules are usually slender. as has been already stated, some authors consider _ephydatia_ as the type-genus of a subfamily distinguished from the subfamily of which _spongilla_ is the type-genus by having rotulate gemmule-spicules. the transition between the two genera, however, is a very easy one. many species of the subgenus _euspongilla_, the typical subgenus of _spongilla_ (including _s. lacustris_, the type-species of the genus), have the spines at the ends of the gemmule-spicules arranged in such a way as to suggest rudimentary rotules, while in the typical form of _s. crateriformis_ this formation is so distinct that the species has hitherto been placed in the genus _ephydatia_ (_meyenia_), although in some sponges that agree otherwise with the typical form of the species the gemmule-spicules are certainly not rotulate and in none do these spicules bear definite disks. geographical distribution.--_ephydatia_, except _spongilla_, is the most generally distributed genus of the spongillidæ, but in most countries it is not prolific in species. in japan, however, it appears to predominate over _spongilla_. only one species is known from india, but another (_e. blembingia_*, evans) has been described from the malay peninsula, while weber found both the indian species and a third (_e. bogorensis_*) in the malay archipelago. . ephydatia meyeni* (_carter_). _spongilla meyeni_, carter, j. bomb. asiat. soc. iii, p. , pl. i, fig. , & ann. nat. hist. ( ) iv, p. , pl. iii, fig. ( ). _spongilla meyeni_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _spongilla meyeni_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _ephydatia fluviatilis_, weber, zool. ergeb. niederländ. ost-ind. i. pp. , ( ). _ephydatia mülleri_, weltner (_partim_), arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _ephydatia robusta_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. , fig. . _ephydatia mülleri_ subsp. _meyeni_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. ( ). _sponge_ hard and firm but easily torn, usually of a clear white, sometimes tinged with green, forming irregular sheets or masses never of great thickness, without branches but often with stout subquadrate projections, the summits of which are marked with radiating grooves; the whole surface often irregularly nodulose and deeply pitted; the oscula inconspicuous; the membrane adhering closely to the parenchyma. _the parenchyma contains numerous bubble-cells_ (see p. , fig. ). _skeleton_ dense but by no means regular; the radiating fibres distinct and containing a considerable amount of spongin, at any rate in the outer part of the sponge; transverse fibres hardly distinguishable, single spicules and irregular bundles of spicules taking their place. [illustration: fig. .--gemmule and spicules of _ephydatia meyeni_ (from calcutta). _a_, skeleton-spicules; _b_, gemmule-spicules.] _spicules._ skeleton-spicules entirely smooth, moderately stout, feebly curved, sharply pointed. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules with the shaft as a rule moderately stout, much longer than the diameter of one disk, smooth or with a few stout, straight horizontal spines, which are frequently bifid or trifid; the disks flat, of considerable size, with their margins cleanly and deeply divided into a comparatively small number of deep, slender, triangular processes of different sizes; the shaft extending not at all or very little beyond the disks. _gemmules_ spherical, usually numerous and of rather large size; each covered by a thick layer of minute air-spaces, among which the gemmule-spicules are arranged vertically, often in two or even three concentric series; a single short foraminal tubule; the pneumatic coat confined externally by a delicate membrane, with small funnel-shaped pits over the spicules of the outer series. i think that the gemmules found by me in bhim tal and assigned to potts's _meyenia robusta_ belong to this species, but some of the spicules are barely as long as the diameter of the disks. in any case potts's description is so short that the status of his species is doubtful. his specimens were from n. america. _e. meyeni_ is closely related to the two commonest holarctic species of the genus, _e. fluviatilis_ and _e. mülleri_, which have been confused by several authors including potts. from _e. fluviatilis_ it is distinguished by the possession of bubble-cells in the parenchyma, and from _e. mülleri_ by its invariably smooth skeleton-spicules and the relatively long shafts of its gemmule-spicules. the latter character is a marked feature of the specimens from the malay archipelago assigned by prof. max weber to _e. fluviatilis_; i am indebted to his kindness for an opportunity of examining some of them. type in the british museum; a fragment in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--india and sumatra. _localities_:--bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood (_annandale_); madras presidency, cape comorin, travancore (_trivandrum mus._): bombay presidency, island of bombay (_carter_): himalayas, bhim tal, kumaon (alt. , feet) (_annandale_). biology.--my experience agrees with carter's, that this species is never found on floating objects but always on stones or brickwork. it grows in the calcutta "tanks" on artificial stonework at the edge of the water, together with _spongilla carteri_, _s. alba_, _s. fragilis_ subsp. _calcuttana_, and _trochospongilla latouchiana_. it flourishes during the cold weather and often occupies the same position in succeeding years. in this event the sponge usually consists of a dead base, which is of a dark brownish colour and contains no cells, and a living upper layer of a whitish colour. the larva of _sisyra indica_ is sometimes found in the canals, but the close texture of the sponge does not encourage the visits of other _incolæ_. genus . dosilia, _gray_. _dosilia_, j. e. gray, p. zool. soc. london, , p. . type, _spongilla plumosa_, carter. this genus is distinguished from _ephydatia_ by the nature of the free microscleres, the microscleres of the gemmule being similar in the two genera. the free microscleres consist as a rule of several or many shafts meeting together in several or many planes at a common centre, which is usually nodular. the free ends of these shafts often possess rudimentary rotulæ. occasionally a free microsclere may be found that is a true monaxon and sometimes such spicules are more or less distinctly birotulate. the skeleton is also characteristic. it consists mainly of radiating fibres which bifurcate frequently in such a way that a bush-like structure is produced. transverse fibres are very feebly developed and are invisible to the naked eye. owing to the structure of the skeleton the sponge has a feathery appearance. gray originally applied the name _dosilia_ to this species and to _"spongilla" baileyi_, bowerbank. it is doubtful how far his generic description applies to the latter, which i have not seen; but although the position of _"spongilla" baileyi_ need not be discussed here, i may say that i do not regard it as a congener of _dosilia plumosa_, the free microscleres of which are of a nature rare but not unique in the family. with _dosilia plumosa_ we must, in any case, associate in one genus the two forms that have been described as varieties, viz., _palmeri_*, potts from texas and mexico, and _brouini_*, kirkpatrick from the white nile. by the kindness of the authorities of the smithsonian institution and the british museum i have been able to examine specimens of all three forms, in each case identified by the author of the name, and i am inclined to regard them as three very closely allied but distinct species. species with free microscleres similar to those of these three forms but with heterogeneous or tubelliform gemmule-spicules will probably need the creation of a new genus or new genera for their reception. geographical distribution.--the typical species occurs in bombay and madras; _d. palmeri_ has probably an extensive range in the drier parts of mexico and the neighbouring states, while _d. brouini_ has only been found on the banks of the white nile above khartoum, in tropical africa. . dosilia plumosa* (_carter_). _spongilla plumosa_, carter, j. bomb. asiat. soc. iii, p. , pl. i, fig. , & ann. nat. hist. ( ) iv, p. , pl. iii, fig. ( ). _spongilla plumosa_, bowerbank, p. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _dosilia plumosa_, j. e. gray, _ibid._ , p. . _meyenia plumosa_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. , pl. v, fig. ( ). _meyenia plumosa_, potts, p. ac. philad. , p. . _ephydatia plumosa_, weltner, arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _ephydatia plumosa_, petr, rozp. ceske ak. praze, trída ii, pl. ii, figs. , (text in czech) ( ). _sponge_ forming soft irregular masses which are sometimes as much as cm. in diameter, of a pale brown or brilliant green colour; no branches developed but the surface covered with irregular projections usually of a lobe-like nature. _skeleton_ delicate, with the branches diverging widely, exhibiting the characteristic structure of the genus in a marked degree, containing a considerable amount of chitin, which renders it resistant in spite of its delicacy. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, sharply pointed, nearly straight, moderately slender, about twenty times as long as their greatest transverse diameter. flesh-spicules occasionally amphioxous or birotulate and with a single shaft, more frequently consisting of many shafts meeting in a distinct central nodule, which is itself smooth; the shafts irregularly spiny, usually more or less nodular at the tip, which often bears a distinct circle of recurved spines that give it a rotulate appearance. gemmule-spicules with long, slender, straight shafts, which bear short, slender, straight, horizontal spines sparsely and irregularly scattered over their surface; the rotulæ distinctly convex when seen in profile; their edge irregularly and by no means deeply notched; the shafts not extending beyond their surface but clearly seen from above as circular umbones. [illustration: fig. .--_dosilia plumosa._ a=microscleres, × ; b=gemmule as seen in optical section from below, × . (from rambha.)] _gemmules._ somewhat depressed, covered with a thick granular pneumatic coat, in which the spicules stand erect; the single aperture depressed. each gemmule surrounded more or less distinctly by a circle or several circles of flesh-spicules. type in the british museum; some fragments in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--bombay and madras. carter's specimens were taken in the island of bombay, mine at rambha in the north-east of the madras presidency. i have been unable to discover this species in the neighbourhood of calcutta, but it is apparently rare wherever it occurs. biology.--carter writes as regards this species:--"this is the coarsest and most resistant of all the species. as yet i have only found three or four specimens of it, and these only in two tanks. i have never seen it fixed on any solid body, but always floating on the surface of the water, about a month after the first heavy rains of the s.w. monsoon have fallen. having made its appearance in that position, and having remained there for upwards of a month, it then sinks to the bottom. that it grows like the rest, adherent to the sides of the tank, must be inferred from the first specimen which i found (which exceeds two feet in circumference) having had a free and a fixed surface, the latter coloured by the red gravel on which it had grown. i have noticed it growing, for two successive years in the month of july, on the surface of the water of one of the two tanks in which i have found it, and would account for its temporary appearance in that position, in the following way, viz., that soon after the first rains have fallen, and the tanks have become filled, all the sponges in them appear to undergo a partial state of putrescency, during which gas is generated in them, and accumulates in globules in their structure, through which it must burst, or tear them from their attachments and force them to the surface of the water. since then the coarse structure of _plumosa_ would appear to offer greater resistance to the escape of this air, than that of any of the other species, it is probable that this is the reason of my having hitherto only found it in the position mentioned." it seems to me more probable that the sponges are actually broken away from their supports by the violence of the rain and retain air mechanically in their cavities. the only specimens of _d. plumosa_ that i have seen alive were attached very loosely to their support. in writing of the "coarse structure" of this species, carter evidently alludes to the wide interspaces between the component branches of the skeleton. my specimens were attached to the stem of a water-lily growing in a pool of slightly brackish water and were of a brilliant green colour. i mistook them at first for specimens of _s. lacustris_ subsp. _reticulata_ in which the branches had not developed normally. they were taken in march and were full of gemmules. the pool in which they were growing had already begun to dry up. genus . trochospongilla, _vejdovsky_. _trochospongilla_, vejdovsky, abh. k. böhm. ges. wiss. xii, p. ( ). _trochospongilla_, wierzejski, arch. slaves de biologie, i, p. ( ). _trochospongilla_, vejdovsky, p. ac. philad. , p. . _meyenia_, potts (_partim_), _ibid._ p. . _tubella_, _id._ (_partim_), _ibid._, p. . _meyenia_, carter (_partim_), ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _trochospongilla_, weltner, in zacharias's tier- und pflanzenwelt, i, p. ( ). _trochospongilla_, _id._, arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _tubella_, _id._ (_partim_), _ibid._ p. . type, _spongilla erinaceus_, ehrenberg. the characteristic feature of this genus is that the rotulæ of the gemmule-spicules, which are homogeneous, have smooth instead of serrated edges. their stem is always short and they are usually embedded in a granular pneumatic coat. the sponge is small in most of the species as yet known; in some species microscleres without rotulæ are associated with the gemmules. [illustration: fig. .--a=skeleton-spicule of _trochospongilla latouchiana_; a'=gemmule-spicule of the same species; b=gemmule of _t. phillottiana_ as seen in optical section from above; b'=skeleton-spicule of same species: a, a', b' × ; b × . all specimens from calcutta.] i think it best to include in this genus, as the original diagnosis would suggest, all those species in which all the gemmule-spicules are definitely birotulate and have smooth edges to their disks, confining the name _tubella_ to those in which the upper rotula is reduced to a mere knob. even in those species in which the two disks are normally equal, individual spicules may be found in which the equality is only approximate, while, on the other hand, it is by no means uncommon for individual spicules in such species as _"tubella" pennsylvanica_, which is here included in _trochospongilla_, to have the two disks nearly equal, although normally the upper one is much smaller than the lower. there is very rarely any difficulty, however, in seeing at a glance whether the edge of the disk is smooth or serrated, the only species in which this difficulty would arise being, so far as i am aware, the australian _ephydatia capewelli_* (haswell), the disks of which are undulated and nodulose rather than serrated. geographical distribution.--the genus includes so large a proportion of small, inconspicuous species that its distribution is probably known but imperfectly. it would seem to have its headquarters in n. america but also occurs in europe and asia. in india three species have been found, one of which (_t. pennsylvanica_) has an extraordinarily wide and apparently discontinuous range, being common in n. america, and having been found in the west of ireland, the inner hebrides, and near the west coast of s. india. the other two indian species are apparently of not uncommon occurrence in eastern india and burma. _key to the indian species of_ trochospongilla. i. rotules of the gemmule-spicules equal or nearly so. a. skeleton-spicules smooth, usually pointed _latouchiana_, p. . b. skeleton-spicules spiny, blunt _phillottiana_, p. . ii. upper rotule of the gemmule-spicules distinctly smaller than the lower. skeleton-spicules spiny, pointed _pennsylvanica_, p. . . trochospongilla latouchiana*, _annandale_. _trochospongilla latouchiana_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. , fig. . _trochospongilla latouchiana_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. ( ). _trochospongilla leidyi_, _id._ (_nec_ bowerbank), _ibid._ iii, p. ( ). [illustration: fig. .--_trochospongilla latouchiana._ vertical section of part of skeleton with gemmules _in situ_, × ; also a single gemmule, × . (from calcutta).] _sponge_ forming cushion-shaped masses rarely more than a few centimetres in diameter or thickness and of a brown or yellow colour, hard but rather brittle; surface evenly rounded, minutely hispid; oscula inconspicuous, small, circular, depressed, very few in number; external membrane adhering closely to the parenchyma; a chitinous membrane at the base of the sponge. larger sponges divided into several layers by similar membranes. _skeleton_ dense, forming a close reticulation; radiating fibres slender but quite distinct, running up right through the sponge, crossed at frequent intervals by single spicules or groups of spicules. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, about twenty times as long as the greatest transverse diameter, as a rule sharply pointed; smooth amphistrongyli, which are often inflated in the middle, sometimes mixed with them but never in large numbers. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules with the rotulæ circular or slightly asymmetrical, flat or nearly flat, marked with a distinct double circle as seen from above, sometimes not quite equal; the shaft not projecting beyond them; the diameter of the rotule - / to times that of the shaft, which is about - / times as long as broad. _gemmules_ small ( . × . mm.), as a rule very numerous and scattered throughout the sponge, flask-shaped, clothed when mature with a thin microcell coat in which the birotulates are arranged with overlapping rotulæ, their outer rotulæ level with the surface; foraminal aperture circular, situated on an eminence. _average measurements._ diameter of gemmule . × . mm. length of skeleton-spicule . " length of birotulate-spicule . " diameter of rotula . " _t. latouchiana_ is closely related to _t. leidyi_ (bowerbank) from n. america, but is distinguished by its much more slender skeleton-spicules, by the fact that the gemmules are not enclosed in cages of megascleres or confined to the base of the sponge, and by differences in the structure of the skeleton. type in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--lower bengal and lower burma. _localities_:--bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood (_annandale_): burma, kawkareik, amherst district, tenasserim (_annandale_). biology.--this species, which is common in the museum tank, calcutta, is apparently one of those that can grow at any time of year, provided that it is well covered with water. like _t. leidyi_ it is capable of producing fresh layers of living sponge on the top of old ones, from which they are separated by a chitinous membrane. these layers are not, however, necessarily produced in different seasons, for it is often clear from the nature of the object to which the sponge is attached that they must all have been produced in a short space of time. what appears to happen in most cases is this:--a young sponge grows on a brick, the stem of a reed or some other object at or near the edge of a pond, the water in which commences to dry up. as the sponge becomes desiccated its cells perish. its gemmules are, however, retained in the close-meshed skeleton, which persists without change of form. a heavy shower of rain then falls, and the water rises again over the dried sponge. the gemmules germinate immediately and their contents spread out over the old skeleton, secrete a chitinous membrane and begin to build up a new sponge. the process may be repeated several times at the change of the seasons or even during the hot weather, or after a "break in the rains." if, however, the dried sponge remains exposed to wind and rain for more than a few months, it begins to disintegrate and its gemmules are carried away to other places. owing to their thin pneumatic coat and relatively heavy spicules they are not very buoyant. even in the most favourable circumstances the sponge of _t. latouchiana_ never forms sheets of great area. in spite of its rapid growth it is frequently overgrown by _spongilla carteri_. . trochospongilla phillottiana*, _annandale_. _trochospongilla phillottiana_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, , p. , fig. . _trochospongilla phillottiana_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ). _trochospongilla phillottiana_, _id._, _ibid._ ii, p. ( ). _sponge_ hard but friable, forming sheets or patches often of great extent but never more than about mm. thick; the surface minutely hispid, flat; colour pale yellow, the golden-yellow gemmules shining through the sponge in a very conspicuous manner; oscula inconspicuous; external membrane adherent; no basal chitinous membrane. _skeleton_ dense but by no means strong; the reticulation close but produced mainly by single spicules, which form triangular meshes; radiating fibres never very distinct, only persisting for a short distance in a vertical direction; each gemmule enclosed in an open, irregular cage of skeleton-spicules. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules short, slender, blunt, more or less regularly and strongly spiny, straight or feebly curved. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules with the rotulæ circular, very wide as compared with the shaft, concave on the surface, with the shaft projecting as an umbo on the surface; the lower rotula often a little larger than the upper. _gemmules_ numerous, situated at the base of the sponge in irregular, one-layered patches, small ( . × . mm.), of a brilliant golden colour, distinctly wider than high, with a single aperture situated on an eminence on the apex, each clothed (when mature) with a pneumatic coat that contains relatively large but irregular air-spaces among which the spicules stand with the rotulæ overlapping alternately, a funnel-shaped pit in the coat descending from the surface to the upper rotula of each of them; the surface of the gemmule covered with irregular projections. diameter of gemmule . × . mm. length of skeleton-spicule . " length of gemmule-spicule . " diameter of rotule . " this species appears to be related to _t. pennsylvanica_, from which it differs mainly in the form of its gemmule-spicules and the structure of its gemmule. my original description was based on specimens in which the gemmule-spicules were not quite mature. type in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--lower bengal and lower burma. _localities_:--bengal, calcutta (_annandale_): burma, jungle pool near kawkareik, amherst district, tenasserim (_annandale_). biology.--this species covers a brick wall at the edge of the museum tank in calcutta every year during the "rains." in the cold weather the wall is left dry, but it is usually submerged to a depth of several feet before the middle of july. it is then rapidly covered by a thin layer of the sponge, which dies down as soon as the water begins to sink when the "rains" are over. for some months the gemmules adhere to the wall on account of the cage of spicules in which each of them is enclosed, but long before the water rises again the cages disintegrate and the gemmules are set free. many of them fall or are carried by the wind into the water, on the surface of which, owing to their thick pneumatic coat, they float buoyantly. others are lodged in cavities in the wall. on the water the force of gravity attracts them to one another and to the edge of the pond, and as the water rises they are carried against the wall and germinate. in thick jungle at the base of the dawna hills near kawkareik[ai] in the interior of tenasserim, i found the leaves of shrubs which grew round a small pool, covered with little dry patches of the sponge, which had evidently grown upon them when the bushes were submerged. this was in march, during an unusually severe drought. [footnote ai: this locality is often referred to in zoological literature as kawkare_et_ or kawkari_t_, or even k_o_kari_t_.] . trochospongilla pennsylvanica* (_potts_). _tubella pennsylvanica_, potts, p. ac. philad. , p. . _tubella pennsylvanica_, _id._, _ibid._ , p. , pl. vi, fig. , pl. xii, figs. - . _tubella pennsylvanica_, mackay, trans. roy. soc. canada, , sec. iv, p. . _tubella pennsylvanica_, hanitsch, nature, li, p. ( ). _tubella pennsylvanica_, weltner, arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). _tubella pennsylvanica_, hanitsch, irish natural. iv, p. ( ). _tubella pennsylvanica_, annandale, j. linn. soc., zool., xxx, p. ( ). _tubella pennsylvanica_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. ( ). _tubella_ _pennsylvanica_, _id._, p. u.s. mus. xxxvii, p. , fig. ( ). _sponge_ soft, fragile, forming small cushion-shaped masses, grey or green; oscula few in number, often raised on sloping eminences surrounded by radiating furrows below the external membrane; external membrane adhering to the parenchyma. _skeleton_ close, almost structureless. "surface of mature specimens often found covered with parallel skeleton spicules, not yet arranged to form cell-like interspaces" (_potts_). _spicules._ skeleton-spicules slender, cylindrical, almost straight, sharp or blunt, minutely, uniformly or almost uniformly spined; spines sometimes absent at the tips. no flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules with the lower rotula invariably larger than the upper; both rotulæ flat or somewhat sinuous in profile, usually circular but sometimes asymmetrical or subquadrate in outline, varying considerably in size. _gemmules_ small, numerous or altogether absent, covered with a granular pneumatic coat of variable thickness; the rotulæ of the gemmule-spicules overlapping and sometimes projecting out of the granular coat. the measurements of the spicules and gemmules of an indian specimen and of one from lehigh gap, pennsylvania, are given for comparison:-- travancore. pennsylvania. length of skeleton-spicules . - . mm. . - . mm. (average . mm.) (average . mm.) breadth " " . - . mm. . mm. length of birotulate . " . " diameter of upper rotula . " . " " lower " . " . " " gemmule . - . mm. . - . mm. the spicules of the travancore specimen are, therefore, a trifle larger than those of the american one, but the proportions are closely similar. the difference between the gemmule-spicules of this species and those of such a form as _t. phillottiana_ is merely one of degree and can hardly be regarded as a sufficient justification for placing the two species in different genera. if, as i have proposed, we confine the generic name _tubella_ to those species in which the gemmule-spicules are really like "little trumpets," the arrangement is a much more natural one, for these species have much in common apart from the gemmule-spicules. _t. pennsylvanica_ does not appear to be very closely related to any other known species except _t. phillottiana_. type in the u.s. national museum, from which specimens that appear to be co-types have been sent to the indian museum. geographical distribution.--very wide and apparently discontinuous:--n. america (widely distributed), ireland (_hanitsch_), hebrides of scotland (_annandale_), travancore, s. india (_annandale_). the only indian locality whence i have obtained specimens is shasthancottah lake near quilon in travancore. biology.--in shasthancottah lake _t. pennsylvanica_ is found on the roots of water-plants that are matted together to form floating islands. it appears to avoid light and can only be obtained from roots that have been pulled out from under the islands. in scotland i found it on the lower surface of stones near the edge of loch baa, isle of mull. in such circumstances the sponge is of a greyish colour, but specimens of the variety _minima_ taken by potts on rocks and boulders in bear lake, pennsylvania, were of a bright green. sponges taken in travancore in november were full of gemmules; in my scottish specimens (taken in october) i can find no traces of these bodies, but embryos are numerous. genus . tubella, _carter_. _tubella_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. ( ). _tubella_, potts (_partim_), p. ac. philad. , p. . _tubella_, weltner (_partim_), arch. naturg. lxi (i), p. ( ). type, _spongilla paulula_, bowerbank. this genus is distinguished from _ephydatia_ and _trochospongilla_ by the fact that the two ends of the gemmule-spicules are unlike not only in size but also in form. it sometimes happens that this unlikeness is not so marked in some spicules as in others, but in some if not in all the upper end of the shaft (that is to say the end furthest removed from the inner coat of the gemmule in the natural position) is reduced to a rounded knob, while the lower end expands into a flat transverse disk with a smooth or denticulated edge. the spicule thus resembles a little trumpet resting on its mouth. the shaft of the spicule is generally slender and of considerable length. the skeleton of the sponge is as a rule distinctly reticulate and often hard; the skeleton-spicules are either slender or stout and sometimes change considerably in proportions and outline as they approach the gemmules. geographical distribution.--the genus is widely distributed in the tropics of both hemispheres, its headquarters apparently being in s. america; but it is nowhere rich in species. only two are known from the oriental region, namely _t. vesparium_* from borneo, and _t. vesparioides_* from burma. . tubella vesparioides*, _annandale_. (plate ii, fig. .) _tubella vesparioides_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. ( ). _sponge_ forming rather thick sheets of considerable size, hard but brittle, almost black in colour; oscula inconspicuous; external membrane supported on a reticulate horizontal skeleton. _skeleton._ the surface covered with a network of stout spicule-fibres, the interstices of which are more or less deeply sunk, with sharp fibres projecting vertically upwards at the nodes; the whole mass pervaded by a similar network, which is composed of a considerable number of spicules lying parallel to one another, overlapping at the ends and bound together by a profuse secretion of spongin. [illustration: fig. .--spicules of _tubella vesparioides_ (from type specimen). × .] _spicules._ skeleton-spicules slender, smooth, amphioxous, bent in a wide arc or, not infrequently, at an angle. no true flesh-spicules. gemmule-spicules terminating above in a rounded, knob-like structure and below in a relatively broad, flat rotula, which is very deeply and irregularly indented round the edge when mature, the spicules at an earlier stage of development having the form of a sharp pin with a round head; shaft of adult spicules projecting slightly below the rotula, long, slender, generally armed with a few stout conical spines, which stand out at right angles to it. _gemmules_ numerous throughout the sponge, spherical, provided with a short, straight foraminal tubule, surrounded by one row of spicules, which are embedded in a rather thin granular coat. average length of skeleton-spicule . mm. " breadth of skeleton-spicule . " " length of gemmule-spicule . " " diameter of rotula . " " " gemmule . " this sponge is closely related to _tubella vesparium_ (v. martens) from borneo, from which it may be distinguished by its smooth skeleton-spicules and the deeply indented disk of its gemmule-spicules. the skeleton-fibres are also rather less stout. by the kindness of dr. weltner, i have been able to compare types of the two species. type in the indian museum. habitat.--taken at the edge of the kanghyi ("great pond") at mudon near moulmein in the amherst district of tenasserim. the specimens were obtained in march in a dry state and had grown on logs and branches which had evidently been submerged earlier in the year. the name _vesparium_ given to the allied species on account of its resemblance to a wasps' nest applies with almost equal force to this burmese form. genus . corvospongilla, nov. type[aj], _spongilla loricata_, weltner. [footnote aj: potts's _spongilla novæ-terræ_ from newfoundland and n. america cannot belong to this genus although it has similar flesh-spicules, for, as weltner has pointed out (_op. cit. supra_ p. ), the gemmule-spicules are abortive rotulæ. this is shown very clearly in the figure published by petr (rozp. ceske ak. praze, trída, ii, pl. ii, figs. , , ), who assigns the species to _heteromeyenia_. weltner places it in _ephydatia_, and it seems to be a connecting link between the two genera. it has been suggested that it is a hybrid (traxler, termes. fuzetek, xxi, p. , ).] spongillidæ in which the gemmule-spicules are without a trace of rotulæ and the flesh-spicules have slender cylindrical shafts that bear at or near either end a circle of strong recurved spines. the gemmule-spicules are usually stout and sausage-shaped, and the gemmules resemble those of _stratospongilla_ in structure. the skeleton is strong and the skeleton-spicules stout, both resembling those of the "genus" _potamolepis_, marshall. as in all other genera of spongillidæ the structure of the skeleton is somewhat variable, the spicule-fibres of which it is composed being much more distinct in some species than in others. the skeleton-spicules are often very numerous and in some cases the skeleton is so compact and rigid that the sponge may be described as stony. the flesh-spicules closely resemble the gemmule-spicules of some species of _ephydatia_ and _heteromeyenia_. geographical distribution.--the species of this genus are probably confined to africa (whence at least four are known) and the oriental region. one has been recorded from burma and another from the bombay presidency. _key to the indian species of_ corvospongilla. i. gemmule with two layers of gemmule-spicules; those of the inner layer not markedly smaller than those of the outer. _burmanica_, p. . ii. gemmule with two layers of gemmule-spicules, the outer of which contains spicules of much greater size than the inner. _lapidosa_, p. . . corvospongilla burmanica* (_kirkpatrick_). (plate ii, fig. .) _spongilla loricata_ var. _burmanica_, kirkpatrick, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. , pl. ix ( ). _sponge_ forming a shallow sheet, hard, not very strong, of a pale brownish colour; the surface irregularly spiny; the oscula small but conspicuous, circular, raised on little turret-like eminences; the external membrane adhering closely to the sponge. _skeleton_ dense but by no means regular; the network composed largely of single spines; thick radiating fibres distinguishable in the upper part of the sponge. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules smooth, not very stout, amphistrongylous, occasionally a little swollen at the ends, often with one or more fusiform swellings, measuring on an average about . × . mm. flesh-spicules with distinct rotules, the recurved spines numbering to , measuring about / the length of the spicules; the shaft by no means strongly curved; their length from . - . mm. gemmule-spicules amphioxous, as a rule distinctly curved, sometimes swollen at the ends, covered regularly but somewhat sparsely with fine spines, not measuring more than . × . mm. _gemmules_ strongly adherent, arranged in small groups, either single or double; when single spherical, when double oval; each gemmule or pair of gemmules covered by two layers of gemmule-spicules bound together in chitinous substance; the inner layer on the inner coat of the gemmule, the outer one separated from it by a space and in contact with the outer cage of skeleton-spicules; the size of the gemmule-spicules variable in both layers; external to the outer layer a dense cage of skeleton-spicules; foraminal tubule short, cylindrical. this sponge is closely related to _s. loricata_, weltner, of which kirkpatrick regards it as a variety. "the main difference," he writes, "between the typical african form and the burmese variety consists in the former having much larger microstrongyles ( × . µ [ . × . mm.]) with larger and coarser spines;... judging from prof. weltner's sections of gemmules, these bodies lack the definite outer shell of smooth macrostrongyles [blunt skeleton-spicules], though this may not improbably be due to the breaking down and removal of this layer. a further difference consists in the presence, in the african specimen, of slender, finely spined strongyles [amphistrongyli], these being absent in the burmese form, though perhaps this fact is not of much importance." type in the british museum; a piece in the indian museum. habitat.--myitkyo, head of the pegu-sittang canal, lower burma (_e. w. oates_). biology.--the sponge had grown over a sheet of the polyzoon _hislopia lacustris_, carter (see p. ), remains of which can be detected on its lower surface. "mr. e. w. oates, who collected and presented the sponge, writes that the specimen was found encrusting the vertical and horizontal surfaces of the bottom beam of a lock gate, where it covered an area of six square feet. the beam had been tarred several times before the sponge was discovered. the portion of the gate on which the sponge was growing was submerged from november to may for eight hours a day at spring tides, but was entirely dry during the six days of neap tides. from may to october it was constantly submerged. the sponge was found in april. although the canal is subject to the tides, the water at the lock is always fresh. the colour of the sponge during life was the same as in its present condition." . corvospongilla lapidosa* (_annandale_). _spongilla lapidosa_ annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, pp. , , figs. , , ( ). the _sponge_ forms a thin but extremely hard and resistant crust the surface of which is either level, slightly concave, or distinctly corrugated; occasional groups of spicules project from it, but their arrangement is neither so regular nor so close as is the case in _c. burmanica_. the dermal membrane adheres closely to the sponge. the oscula are small; some of them are raised above the general surface but not on regular turret-shaped eminences. the colour is grey or black. there is a thick chitinous membrane at the base of the sponge. [illustration: fig. .--spicules of _corvospongilla lapidosa_ (from type specimen), × .] the _skeleton_ is extremely dense owing to the large number of spicules it contains, but almost structureless; broad vertical groups of spicules occur but lack spongin and only traverse a small part of the thickness of the sponge; their position is irregular. the firmness of the skeleton is due almost entirely to the interlocking of individual spicules. at the base of the sponge the direction of a large proportion of the spicules is horizontal or nearly horizontal, the number arranged vertically being much greater in the upper part. _spicules._ the skeleton-spicules are sausage-shaped and often a little swollen at the ends or constricted in the middle. a large proportion are twisted or bent in various ways, and a few bear irregular projections or swellings. the majority, however, are quite smooth. among them a few more or less slender, smooth amphioxi occur, but these are probably immature spicules. the length and curvature of the amphistrongyli varies considerably, but the average measurements are about . × . mm. the flesh-spicules also vary greatly in length and in the degree to which their shafts are curved. at first sight it seems to be possible to separate them into two categories, one in which the shaft is about . mm. long, and another in which it is only . mm. or even less; and groups of birotulates of approximately the same length often occur in the interstices of the skeleton. spicules of all intermediate lengths can, however, be found. the average diameter of the shaft is . mm. and of the rotula . mm., and the rotula consists of from to spines. the gemmule-spicules vary greatly in size, the longest measuring about . × . and the smallest about . × . or even less. there appears to be in their case an even more distinct separation as regards size than there is in that of the flesh-spicules; but here again intermediate forms occur. they are all stout, more or less blunt, and more or less regularly covered with very short spines; most of them are distinctly curved, but some are quite straight. _gemmules._ the gemmules are firmly adherent to the support of the sponge, at the base of which they are congregated in groups of four or more. they vary considerably in size and shape, many of them being asymmetrical and some elongate and sausage-shaped. the latter consist of single gemmules and not of a pair in one case. extreme forms measure . × . and . × . . each gemmule is covered with a thick chitinous membrane in close contact with its wall and surrounding it completely. this membrane is full of spicules arranged as in a mosaic; most or all of them belong to the smaller type, and as a rule they are fairly uniform in size. separated from this layer by a considerable interval is another layer of spicules embedded in a chitinous membrane which is in continuity with the basal membrane of the sponge. the spicules in this membrane mostly belong to the larger type and are very variable in size; mingled with them are often a certain number of birotulate flesh-spicules. the membrane is in close contact with a dense cage of skeleton-spicules arranged parallel to it and bound together by chitinous substance. the walls of this cage, when they are in contact with those of the cages of other gemmules, are coterminous with them. there is a single depressed aperture in the gemmules, as a rule situated on one of the longer sides. this sponge is distinguished from _c. burmanica_ not only by differences in external form, in the proportions of the spicules and the structure of the skeleton, but also by the peculiar nature of the armature of the gemmule. the fact that birotulate spicules are often found in close association with them, is particularly noteworthy. type in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--this sponge has only been found in the western ghats of the bombay presidency. _localities_:--igatpuri lake and the r. godaveri at nasik. biology.--there is a remarkable difference in external form between the specimens taken in igatpuri and those from nasik, and this difference is apparently due directly to environment. in the lake, the waters of which are free from mud, the sponges were growing on the lower surface of stones near the edge. they formed small crusts not more than about cm. ( inches) in diameter and of a pale greyish colour. their surface was flat or undulated gently, except round the oscula where it was raised into sharply conical eminences with furrowed sides. the specimens from nasik, which is about miles from igatpuri, were attached, together with specimens of _spongilla cinerea_ and _s. indica_, to the sides of a stone conduit full of very muddy running water. they were black in colour, formed broad sheets and were markedly corrugated on the surface. their oscula were not raised on conical eminences and were altogether most inconspicuous. the skeleton was also harder than that of sponges from the lake. in the lake _c. lapidosa_ was accompanied by the gemmules of _spongilla bombayensis_, but it is interesting that whereas the latter sponge was entirely in a resting condition, the former was in full vegetative vigour, a fact which proves, if proof were necessary, that the similar conditions of environment do not invariably have the same effect on different species of spongillidæ. appendix to part i. form of uncertain position. (plate i, fig. .) on more than one occasion i have found in my aquarium in calcutta small sponges of a peculiar type which i am unable to refer with certainty to any of the species described above. fig. , pl. i, represents one of these sponges. they are never more than about a quarter of an inch in diameter and never possess more than one osculum. they are cushion-shaped, colourless and soft. the skeleton-spicules are smooth, sharply pointed, moderately slender and relatively large. they are arranged in definite vertical groups, which project through the dermal membrane, and in irregular transverse formation. small spherical gemmules are present but have only a thin chitinous covering without spicules or foramen. these sponges probably represent an abnormal form of some well-known species, possibly of _spongilla carteri_. i have seen nothing like them in natural conditions. part ii. freshwater polyps (hydrida). introduction to part ii. i. the phylum coelenterata and the class hydrozoa. the second of the great groups or phyla into which the metazoa are divided is the coelenterata, in which are included most of the animals commonly known as zoophytes, and also the corals, sea-anemones and jelly-fish. these animals are distinguished from the sponges on the one hand and from the worms, molluscs, arthropods, vertebrates, etc., on the other by possessing a central cavity (the coelenteron or "hollow inside") the walls of which are the walls of the body and consist of _two_ layers of cells separated by a structureless, or apparently structureless, jelly. this cavity has as a main function that of a digestive cavity. an ideally simple coelenterate would not differ much in general appearance from an olynthus (p. ), but it would have no pores in the body-wall and its upper orifice would probably be surrounded by prolongations of the body-wall in the form of tentacles. there would be no collar-cells, and the cells of the body generally would have a much more fixed and definite position and more regular functions than those of any sponge. the most characteristic of them would be the so-called cnidoblasts. each of these cells contains a capsule[ak] from which a long thread-like body can be suddenly uncoiled and shot out. [footnote ak: similar capsules are found in the tissues of certain worms and molluscs, but there is the strongest evidence that these animals, which habitually devour coelenterates, are able to swallow the capsules uninjured and to use them as weapons of defence (see martin, q. j. micro. sci. london, lii, p. , , and grosvenor, proc. roy. soc. london, lxxii, p. , ). the "trichocysts" of certain protozoa bear a certain resemblance to the nettle-cells of coelenterates and probably have similar functions.] the simplest in structure of the coelenterates are those that constitute the class hydrozoa. in this class the primitive central cavity is not divided up by muscular partitions and there is no folding in of the anterior part of the body to form an oesophagus or stomatodæum such as is found in the sea-anemones and coral polyps. in many species and genera the life-history is complex, illustrating what is called the alternation of generations. that is to say, only alternate generations attain sexual maturity, those that do so being produced as buds from a sexless generation, which itself arises from the fertilized eggs of a previous sexual generation. the sexual forms as a rule differ considerably in structure from the sexless ones; many medusæ are the sexual individuals in a life-cycle in which those of the sexless generation are sedentary. an excellent general account of the coelenterates will be found in the cambridge natural history, vol. i (by prof. hickson). structure of hydra. _hydra_, the freshwater polyp, is one of the simplest of the hydrozoa both as regards structure and as regards life-history. indeed, it differs little as regards structure from the ideally simple coelenterate sketched in a former paragraph, while its descent is direct from one polyp to another, every generation laying its own eggs[al]. the animal may be described as consisting of the following parts:--( ) an upright (or potentially upright) column or body, ( ) a circle of contractile tentacles at the upper extremity of the column, ( ) an oral disk or peristome surrounding the mouth and surrounded by the tentacles, and ( ) a basal or aboral disk at the opposite extremity. the whole animal is soft and naked. the column, when the animal is at rest, is almost cylindrical in some forms but in others has the basal part distinctly narrower than the upper part. it is highly contractile and when contracted sometimes assumes an annulate appearance; but as a rule the external surface is smooth. [footnote al: the statement is not strictly accurate as regards the calcutta phase of _h. vulgaris_, for the summer brood apparently does not lay eggs but reproduces its species by means of buds only. this state of affairs, however, is probably an abnormality directly due to environment.] the tentacles vary in number, but are never very numerous. they are disposed in a single circle round the oral disk and are hollow, each containing a prolongation of the central cavity of the column. like the column but to an even greater degree they are contractile, and in some forms they are capable of great elongation. they cannot seize any object between them, but are able to move in all directions. the disk that surrounds the mouth, which is a circular aperture, is narrow and can to some extent assume the form of a conical proboscis, although this feature is never so marked as it is in some hydroids. the basal disk is even narrower and is not splayed out round the edges. [illustration: fig. .--nettle-cells of _hydra_. a=capsules from nettle-cells of a single specimen of the summer phase of _h. vulgaris_ from calcutta, × : figures marked with a dash represent capsules with barbed threads. b=a capsule with the thread discharged, from the same specimen, × . c=capsule with barbed thread, from a specimen of _h. oligactis_ from lahore. d=undischarged nettle-cell of _h. vulgaris_ from europe (after nussbaum, highly magnified). e=discharged capsule of the same (after the same author). _a_=cnidoblast; _b_=capsule; _c_=thread; _d_=cnidocil. only the base of the thread is shown in e.] a section through the body-wall shows it to consist of the three typical layers of the coelenterates, viz., (i) an outer cellular layer of comparatively small cells, the ectoderm; (ii) an intermediate, structureless or apparently structureless layer, the mesogloea or "central jelly"; and (iii) an internal layer or endoderm consisting of relatively large cells. the cells of the ectoderm are not homogeneous. some of them possess at their base narrow and highly contractile prolongations that exercise the functions of muscles. others are gland-cells and secrete mucus; others have round their margins delicate ramifying prolongations and act as nerve-cells. sense-cells, each of which bears on its external surface a minute projecting bristle, are found in connection with the nerve-cells, and also nettle-cells of more than one type. the mesogloea is very thin. the endoderm consists mainly of comparatively large cells with polygonal bases which can be seen from the external surface of the column in colourless individuals. their inner surface is amoeboid and in certain conditions bears one or more vibratile cilia or protoplasmic lashes. nettle-cells are occasionally found in the endoderm, but apparently do not originate in this layer. the walls of the tentacles do not differ in general structure from those of the column, but the cells of the endoderm are smaller and the nematocysts of the ectoderm more numerous, and there are other minor differences. a more detailed account of the anatomy of _hydra_ will be found in any biological text-book, for instance in parker's elementary biology; but it is necessary here to say something more as regards the nettle-cells, which are of great biological and systematic importance. a nettle-cell of the most perfect type and the structures necessary to it consist of the following parts:-- ( ) a true cell (the cnidoblast), which contains-- ( ) a delicate capsule full of liquid; ( ) a long thread coiled up in the capsule; and ( ) a cnidocil or sensory bristle, which projects from the external surface of the cnidoblast. a nerve-cell is associated with each cnidoblast. in _hydra_ the nettle-cells are of two distinct types, in one of which the thread is barbed at the base, whereas in the other it is simple. both types have often two or more varieties and intermediate forms occur, but generally speaking the capsules with simple threads are much smaller than those with barbed ones. the arrangement of the nettle-cells is not the same in all species of _hydra_, but as a rule they are much more numerous in the tentacles than elsewhere on the body, each large cell being surrounded by several small ones. the latter are always much more numerous than the former. capture and ingestion of prey: digestion. the usual food of _hydra_ consists of small insect larvæ, worms, and crustacea, but the eggs of fish are also devoured. the method in which prey is captured and ingested has been much disputed, but the following facts appear to be well established. if a small animal comes in contact with the tentacles of the polyp, it instantly becomes paralysed. if it adheres to the tentacle, it perishes; but if, as is often the case, it does not do so, it soon recovers the power of movement. animals which do not adhere are generally those (such as ostracod crustacea) which have a hard integument without weak spots. nematocysts of both kinds shoot out their threads against prey with considerable violence, the discharge being effected, apparently in response to a chemical stimulus, by the sudden uncoiling of the thread and its eversion from the capsule. apparently the two kinds of threads have different functions to perform, for whereas there is no doubt that the barbed threads penetrate the more tender parts of the body against which they are hurled, there is evidence that the simple threads do not do so but wrap themselves round the more slender parts. nussbaum (arch. mikr. anat. xxix, pl. xx, fig. ) figures the tail of a _cyclops_ attacked by _hydra vulgaris_ and shows several simple threads wrapped round the hairs and a single barbed thread that has penetrated the integument. sometimes the cyst adheres to the thread and remains attached to its cnidoblast and to the polyp, but sometimes the thread breaks loose. owing to the large mass of threads that sometimes congregate at the weaker spots in the external covering of an animal attacked (_e. g._, at the little sensory pits in the integument of the dorsal surface of certain water-mites) it is often difficult to trace out the whole length of any one thread, and as a thread still attached to its capsule is frequently buried in the body of the prey, right up to the barbs, while another thread that has broken loose from its capsule appears immediately behind the fixed one, it seems as though the barbs, which naturally point towards the capsule, had become reversed. this appearance, however, is deceptive. the barbs are probably connected with the discharge of the thread and do not function at all in the same way as those on a spear- or arrow-head, never penetrating the object against which the projectile is hurled. indeed, their position as regards the thread resembles that of the feathers on the shaft of an arrow rather than that of the barb of the head. adhesion between the tentacles and the prey is effected partly by the gummy secretion of the glands of the ectoderm, which is perhaps poisonous as well as adhesive, and partly by the threads. once the prey is fast and has ceased to struggle, it is brought to the mouth, which opens wide to receive it, by the contraction and the contortions of the tentacles, the column, and the peristome. at the same time a mass of transparent mucus from the gastral cavity envelops it and assists in dragging it in. there is some dispute as to the part played by the tentacles in conveying food into the mouth. my own observations lead me to think that, at any rate so far as _h. vulgaris_ is concerned, they do not push it in, but sometimes in their contortions they even enter the cavity accidentally. when the food has once been engulfed some digestive fluid is apparently poured out upon it. in _h. vulgaris_ it is retained in the upper part of the cavity and the soluble parts are here dissolved out, the insoluble parts such as the chitin of insect larvæ or crustacea being ejected from the mouth. digestion is, however, to a considerable extent intracellular, for the cells of the endoderm have the power of thrusting out from their surface lobular masses of their cell-substance in which minute nutritive particles are enveloped and dissolved. the movements of the cilia which can also be thrust out from and retracted into these cells, keep the food in the gastral cavity in motion and probably turn it round so as to expose all parts in turn to digestive action. complete digestion, at any rate in the calcutta form, takes several days to accomplish, and after the process is finished a flocculent mass of colourless excreta is emitted from the mouth. colour. in _hydra viridis_, a species that has not yet been found in india, the green colour is due to the presence in the cells of green corpuscles which closely resemble those of the cells of certain freshwater sponges. they represent a stage in the life-cycle of _chlorella vulgaris_, beyerinck[am], an alga which has been cultivated independently. [footnote am: bot. zeitung, xlviii ( ): see p. , _antea_.] in other species of the genus colour is largely dependent on food, although minute corpuscles of a _dark_ green shade are sometimes found in the cells of _h. oligactis_. in the calcutta phase of _h. vulgaris_ colour is due entirely to amorphous particles situated mainly in the cells of the endoderm. if the polyp is starved or exposed to a high temperature, these particles disappear and it becomes practically colourless. they probably form, therefore, some kind of food-reserve, and it is noteworthy that a polyp kept in the unnatural conditions that prevail in a small aquarium invariably becomes pale, and that its excreta are not white and flocculent but contain dark granules apparently identical with those found in the cells of coloured individuals (p. ). berninger[an] has just published observations on the effect of long-continued starvation on _hydra_ carried out in germany. he finds that the tentacles, mouth, and central jelly disappear, and that a closed "bladder" consisting of two cellular layers remains; but, to judge from his figures, the colour does not disappear in these circumstances. [footnote an: zool. anz. xxxvi, pp. - , figs., oct. .] behaviour. _hydra viridis_ is a more sluggish animal than the other species of its genus and does not possess the same power of elongating its column and tentacles. it is, nevertheless, obliged to feed more frequently. wagner (quart. j. micr. sci. xlviii, p. , ) found it impossible to use this species in his physiological experiments because it died of starvation more rapidly than other forms. this fact is interesting in view of the theory that the green corpuscles in the cells of _h. viridis_ elaborate nutritive substances for its benefit. _h. vulgaris_, at any rate in calcutta, does not ordinarily capture prey more often than about once in three days. all _hydræ_ (except possibly the problematical _h. rubra_ of roux, p. ) spend the greater part of their time attached by the basal disk to some solid object, but, especially in early life, _h. vulgaris_ is often found floating free in the water, and all the species possess powers of progression. they do not, however, all move in the same way. _h. viridis_ progresses by "looping" like a geometrid caterpillar. during each forward movement the column is arched downwards so that the peristome is in contact with the surface along which the animal is moving. the basal disk is then detached and the column is twisted round until the basal disk again comes in contact with the surface at a point some distance in advance of its previous point of attachment. the manoeuvre is then repeated. _h. vulgaris_, when about to move, bends down its column so that it lies almost prone, stretches out its tentacles, which adhere near the tips to the surface (p. ), detaches its basal disk, and then contracts the tentacles. the column is dragged forward, still lying almost prone, the basal disk is bent downwards and again attached, and the whole movement is repeated. probably _h. oligactis_ moves in the same way. when _h. viridis_ is at rest the tentacles and column, according to wagner, exhibit rhythmical contractions in which those of the buds act in sympathy with those of the parent. in _h. vulgaris_ no such movements have been observed. this species, however, when it is waiting for prey (p. ) changes the direction of its tentacles about once in half an hour. all species of _hydra_ react to chemical and physical stimuli by contraction and by movements of the column and tentacles, but if the stimuli are constantly repeated, they lose the power to some extent. all species are attracted by light and move towards the point whence it reaches them. _h. vulgaris_, however, at any rate in india, is more strongly repelled by heat. consequently, if it is placed in a glass vessel of water, on one side of which the sun is shining directly, it moves away from the source of the light[ao]. but if the vessel be protected from the direct rays of the sun and only a subdued light falls on one side of it, the polyp moves towards that side. no species of the genus is able to move in a straight line. wilson (amer. natural. xxv, p. , ) and wagner (_op. cit. supra_) have published charts showing the elaborately erratic course pursued by a polyp in moving from one point to another and the effect of light as regards its movements. [footnote ao: mr. f. h. gravely tells me that this is also the case as regards _h. viridis_ in england, at any rate if freshly captured specimens are placed overnight in a bottle in a window in such a position that the early morning sunlight falls upon one side of the bottle.] if an individual of _h. vulgaris_ that contains half digested food in its gastral cavity is violently removed from its natural surroundings and placed in a glass of water, the column and tentacles contract strongly for a few minutes. the body then becomes greatly elongated and the tentacles moderately so; the tentacles writhe in all directions (their tips being sometimes thrust into the mouth), and the food is ejected. reproduction. reproduction takes place in _hydra_ (i) by means of buds, (ii) by means of eggs, and (iii) occasionally by fission. (a) _sexual reproduction._ the sexual organs consist of ovaries (female) and spermaries (male). sometimes the two kinds of organs are borne by the same individual either simultaneously or in succession, but some individuals or races appear to be exclusively of one sex. there is much evidence that in unfavourable conditions the larger proportion of individuals develop only male organs. in temperate climates most forms of _hydra_ breed at the approach of winter, but starvation undoubtedly induces a precocious sexual activity, and the same is probably the case as regards other unfavourable conditions such as lack of oxygen in the water and either too high or too low a temperature. downing states that in n. america (chicago) _h. vulgaris_ breeds in spring and sometimes as late as december; in calcutta it has only been found breeding in february and march. except during the breeding-season sexual organs are absent; they do not appear in the same position on the column in all species. the spermaries take the form of small mound-shaped projections on the surface of the column. each consists of a mass of sperm-mother cells, in which the spermatozoa originate in large numbers. the spermatozoa resemble those of other animals, each possessing a head, which is shaped like an acorn, and a long vibratile tail by means of which it moves through the water. in the cells of the spermary the spermatozoa are closely packed together, with their heads pointing outwards towards the summit of the mound through which they finally make their way into the water. the aperture is formed by their own movements. downing (zool. jahrb. (anat.) xxi, p. , ) and other authors have studied the origin of the spermatozoa in great detail. [illustration: fig. .--eggs of _hydra_ (magnified). a=egg of _h. vulgaris_ (after chun). b=vertical section through egg of _h. oligactis_, form a (after brauer). c=vertical section through egg of _h. oligactis_, form b (after brauer).] the ovaries consist of rounded masses of cells lying at the base of the ectoderm. one of these cells, the future egg, grows more rapidly than the others, some or all of which it finally absorbs by means of lobose pseudopodia extruded from its margin. it then makes its way by amoeboid movements between the cells of the ectoderm until it reaches the surface. in _h. vulgaris_ (mem. asiat. soc. beng. i, p. , ) the egg is first visible with the aid of a lens as a minute star-shaped body of an intense white colour lying at the base of the ectoderm cells. it increases in size rapidly, gradually draws in its pseudopodia (the rays of the star) and makes its way through the ectoderm to the exterior. the process occupies not more than two hours. the issuing ovum does not destroy the ectoderm cells as it passes out, but squeezes them together round the aperture it makes. owing to the pressure it exerts upon them, they become much elongated and form a cup, in which the embryo rests on the surface of the parent. by the time that the egg has become globular, organic connection has ceased to exist. the embryo is held in position partly by means of the cup of elongated ectoderm cells and partly by a delicate film of mucus secreted by the parent. the most recent account of the oogenesis ("ovogenesis") is by downing (zool. jahrb. (anat.) xxvii, p. , ). (b) _budding._ the buds of _hydra_ arise as hollow outgrowths from the wall of the column, probably in a definite order and position in each species. the tentacles are formed on the buds much as the buds themselves arise on the column. there is much dispute as to the order in which these structures appear on the bud, and haacke (jenaische zeitschr. naturwiss. xiv, p. , ) has proposed to distinguish two species, _h. trembleyi_ and _h. roeselii_, in accordance with the manner in which the phenomenon is manifested. it seems probable, however, that the number of tentacles that are developed in the first instance is due, at any rate to some extent, to circumstances, for in the summer brood of _h. vulgaris_ in calcutta five usually appear simultaneously, while in the winter brood of the same form four as a rule do so. sometimes buds remain attached to their parents sufficiently long to develop buds themselves, so that temporary colonies of some complexity arise, but i have not known this to occur in the case of indian individuals. (c) _fission._ reproduction by fission occurs naturally but not habitually in all species of _hydra_. it may take place either by a horizontal or by a vertical division of the column. in the latter case it may be either equal or unequal. if equal, it usually commences by an elongation in one direction of the circumoral disk, which assumes a narrowly oval form; the tentacles increase in number, and a notch appears at either side of the disk and finally separates the column into two equal halves, each of which is a complete polyp. the division sometimes commences at the base of the column, but this is very rare. transverse fission can be induced artificially and is said to occur sometimes in natural conditions. it commences by a constriction of the column which finally separates the animal into two parts, the lower of which develops tentacles and a mouth, while the upper part develops a basal disk. unequal vertical division occurs when the column is divided vertically in such a way that the two resulting polyps are unequal in size. it is apparently not accompanied by any great increase in the number of the tentacles, but probably starts by one of the tentacles becoming forked and finally splitting down the middle. the question of the regeneration of lost parts in _hydra_ cannot well be separated from that of reproduction by fission. over a hundred and fifty years ago trembley found that if a polyp were cut into several pieces, each piece produced those structures necessary to render it a perfect polyp. he also believed that he had induced a polyp that had been turned inside out to adapt itself to circumstances and to reverse the functions and structure of the two cellular layers of its body. in this, however, he was probably mistaken, for there can be little doubt that his polyp turned right side out while not under his immediate observation. many investigators have repeated some of his other experiments with success in europe, but the calcutta _hydra_ is too delicate an animal to survive vivisection and invariably dies if lacerated. it appears that, even in favourable circumstances, for a fresh polyp to be formed by artificial fission it is necessary for the piece to contain cells of both cell-layers. development of the egg. the egg of _hydra_ is said to be fertilized as it lies at the base of the ectoderm, through which the fertilizing spermatozoon bores its way. as soon as the egg has emerged from the cells of its parent it begins to split up in such a manner as to form a hollow mass of comparatively large equal cells. smaller cells are separated off from these and soon fill the central cavity. before segmentation begins a delicate film of mucus is secreted over the egg, and within this film the larger cells secrete first a thick chitinous or horny egg-shell and within it a delicate membrane. development in some cases is delayed for a considerable period, but sooner or later, by repeated division of the cells, an oval hollow embryo is formed and escapes into the water by the disintegration of the egg-shell and the subsequent rupture of the inner membrane. tentacles soon sprout out from one end of the embryo's body and a mouth is formed; the column becomes more slender and attaches itself by the aboral pole to some solid object. enemies. _hydra_ seems to have few natural enemies. martin (q. j. micr. sci. london, lii, p. , ) has, however, described how the minute worm _microstoma lineare_ attacks _hydra "rubra"_ in scottish lochs, while the larva of a midge devours _h. vulgaris_ in considerable numbers in calcutta tanks (p. ). coelenterates of brackish water. marine coelenterates of different orders not infrequently make their way or are carried by the tide up the estuaries of rivers into brackish water, and several species have been found living in isolated lagoons and pools of which the water was distinctly salt or brackish. among the most remarkable instances of such isolation is the occurrence in lake qurun in the fayûm of egypt of _cordylophora lacustris_ and of the peculiar little hydroid recently described by mr. c. l. boulenger as _moerisia lyonsi_ (q. j. micr. sci. london, lii, p. , pls. xxii, xxiii, ). in the delta of the ganges there are numerous ponds which have at one time been connected with estuaries or creeks of brackish water and have become isolated either naturally or by the hand of man without the marine element in their fauna by any means disappearing (p. ). the following species have been found in such ponds:-- (_a_) _hydrozoa._ ( ) _bimeria vestita_, wright ( ). hincks, hist. brit. hydr. zooph. p. , pl. xv, fig. ( ); annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , fig. ( ). this is a european species which has also been found off s. america. it occurs not uncommonly in the creeks that penetrate into the ganges delta and has been found in pools of brackish water at port canning. the indian form is perhaps sufficiently distinct to be regarded as a subspecies. the medusoid generation is suppressed in this genus. ( ) _syncoryne filamentata_, annandale ( ). annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , figs. , ( ). both hydroid and medusæ were found in a small pool of brackish water at port canning. the specific name refers to the fact that the ends of the rhizomes from which the polyps arise are frequently free and elongate, for the young polyp at the tip apparently takes some time to assume its adult form. ( ) _irene ceylonensis_, browne ( ). browne, in herdman's report on the pearl fisheries of ceylon, iv, p. , pl. iii, figs. - ( ); annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , fig. ( ). the medusa was originally taken off the coast of ceylon, while the hydroid was discovered in ponds of brackish water at port canning. it is almost microscopic in size. the first two of these species belong to the order gymnoblastea (anthomedusæ) and the third to the calyptoblastea (leptomedusæ). (b) _actinozoa._ ( ) _sagartia schilleriana_, stoliczka ( ). _s. schilleriana_, stoliczka, journ. as. soc. beng. ( ) xxxviii, p. , pls. x, xi ( ); _metridium schillerianum_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , pl. iii ( ). this sea-anemone, which has only been found in the delta of the ganges, offers a most remarkable instance of what appears to be rapid adaptation of a species to its environment. the typical form, which was described in by stoliczka from specimens taken in tidal creeks and estuaries in the gangetic area and in the ponds at port canning, is found attached to solid objects by its basal disk. the race (subsp. _exul_), however, that is now found in the same ponds has become elongate in form and has adopted a burrowing habit, apparently owing to the fact that the bottom of the ponds in which it lives is soft and muddy. in addition to these four species a minute hydroid belonging to the order gymnoblastea and now being described by mr. j. ritchie has been taken in the ponds at port canning. it is a very aberrant form. freshwater coelenterates other than hydra. _hydra_ is the only genus of coelenterates as yet found in fresh water in india, but several others have been discovered in other countries. they are:-- ( ) _cordylophora lacustris_, allman ( ). hincks, hist. brit. hydr. zooph. p. , pl. iii, fig. ( ). this is a branching hydroid that does not produce free medusæ. it forms bushy masses somewhat resembling those formed by a luxuriant growth of _plumatella fruticosa_ (pl. iii, fig. ) in general appearance. _c. lacustris_ is abundant in canals, rivers, and estuaries in many parts of europe and has recently been found in the isolated salt lake birket-el-qurun in the fayûm of egypt. ( ) _cordylophora whiteleggei_, v. lendenfeld ( ). zool. jahrb. ii, p. ( ). a species or race of much feebler growth; as yet imperfectly known and only recorded from fresh water in australia. _cordylophora_ is a normal genus of the class hydrozoa and the order gymnoblastea; the next four genera are certainly hydrozoa, but their affinities are very doubtful. ( ) _microhydra ryderi_, potts ( ). potts, q. j. micr. sci. london, l, p. , pls. xxxv, xxxvi; browne, _ibid._ p. , pl. xxxvii ( ). this animal, which has been found in n. america and in germany, possesses both an asexual hydroid and a sexual medusoid generation. the former reproduces its species by direct budding as well as by giving rise, also by a form of budding, to medusæ that become sexually mature. the hydroid has no tentacles. ( ) _limnocodium sowerbii_, lankester ( ). lankester, q. j. micr. sci. london, xx, p. , pls. xxx, xxxi ( ); fowler, _ibid._ xxx, p. , pl. xxxii ( ). there is some doubt as to the different stages in the life-cycle of this species. the medusa has been found in tanks in hot-houses in england, france and germany, and a minute hydroid closely resembling that of _microhydra ryderi_ has been associated with it provisionally. ( ) _limnocodium kawaii_, oka ( ). oka, annot. zool. japon. vi, p. , pl. viii ( ). only the medusa, which was taken in the r. yang-tze-kiang, is as yet known. ( ) _limnocnida tanganyikæ_, bohm ( ). r. t. günther, ann. nat. hist. ( ) xi, p. , pls. xiii, xiv ( ). only the medusa, which is found in lake tanganyika, lake victoria nyanza and the r. niger, has been found and it is doubtful whether a hydroid generation exists. ( ) _polypodium hydriforme_, ussow ( ). morph. jahrb. xii, p. ( ). two stages in this peculiar hydroid, which is found in the r. volga, are known, (_a_) a spiral ribbon-like form parasitic on the eggs of the sterlet (_acipenser ruthenus_), and (_b_) a small _hydra_-like form with both filamentous and club-shaped tentacles. the life-history has not yet been worked out[ap]. [footnote ap: since this was written, lippen has described a third stage in the life-history of _polypodium_ (zool. anz. leipzig, xxxvii, nr. , p. ( )).] ii. history of the study of hydra. hydra was discovered by leeuwenhoek at the beginning of the eighteenth century and had attracted the attention of several skilful and accurate observers before that century was half accomplished. among them the chief was trembley, whose "mémoires pour servir à l'histoire d'un genre de polype d'eau douce"* was published at paris , and is remarkable not only for the extent and accuracy of the observations it enshrines but also for the beauty of its plates. baker in his work entitled "an attempt towards a natural history of the polyp"* (london, ) and rösel von rosenhof in the third part of his "insecten-belustigung" (nurenberg, ) also made important contributions to the study of the physiology and structure of _hydra_ about the same period. linné invented the name _hydra_, and in his "fauna sueica" and in the various editions of his "systema naturæ" described several forms in a manner that permits some of them to be recognized; but linné did not distinguish between the true _hydra_ and other soft sessile coelenterates, and it is to pallas ("elenchus zoophytorum," ) that the credit properly belongs of reducing the genus to order. it is a tribute to his insight that three of the four species he described are still accepted as "good" by practically all students of the coelenterates, while the fourth was a form that he had not himself seen. in the nineteenth century the freshwater polyp became a favourite object of biological observation and was watched and examined by a host of observers, among the more noteworthy of whom were kleinenberg, nussbaum, and brauer, who has since the beginning of the present century made an important contribution to the taxonomy of the genus. bibliography of hydra. _hydra_ has been examined by thousands of students in biological laboratories all over the civilized world, and the literature upon it is hardly surpassed in magnitude by that on any other genus but _homo_. the following is a list of a few of the more important general memoirs and of the papers that refer directly to asiatic material. a systematic bibliography is given by bedot in his "matériaux pour servir a l'histoire des hydroïdes," rev. suisse zool. xviii, fasc. ( ). (a) _general._ . baker, "an attempt towards a natural history of the polyp"* (london). . trembley, "mémoires pour servir à l'histoire d'un genre de polypes d'eau douce"* (paris). . rÖsel von rosenhof, "insecten-belustigung: iii, hist. polyporum." . pallas, "elenchus zoophytorum." . laurent, "rech. sur l'hydre et l'eponge d'eau douce" ("voy. de la bonite, zoophytologie"). . johnston, "a history of the british zoophytes" ( nd edition). . hincks, "history of british hydroid zoophytes." . kleinenberg, "hydra. eine anatomisch entwicklungsgeschichtliche untersuchung." . jickeli, "der bau der hydroidpolypen," morph. jahrb. viii, p. . . nussbaum, "ueber die theilbarkeit der lebendigen materie. ii. mittheilung. beiträge zur naturgeschichte des genus hydra," arch. mikr. anat. bonn, xxix, p. . . brauer, "Über die entwicklung von hydra," zeitschr. wiss. zool. leipzig, lii, p. . . chun, "coelenterata (hohlthiere)," in bronn's thier-reichs ii ( ). . downing, "the spermatogenesis of hydra," zool. jahrb. (anat.) xxi, p. . . brauer, "die benennung und unterscheidung der hydra-arten," zool. ann. xxxiii, p. . . frischholz, "biologie und systematik im genus hydra," braun's annal. zool. (würzburg) iii, p. . . berninger, "Über einwirkung des hungers auf hydra," zool. anz. xxxvi, p. . (b) _asiatic references._ . richard, "sur quelques animaux inférieurs des eaux douces du tonkin (protozoaires, rotifères, entomostracés)," mém. soc. zool. france, vii, p. . . von daday, "mikroskopische süsswasserthiere aus turkestan," zool. jahrb. (syst.) xix, p. . . annandale, "notes on the freshwater fauna of india. no. iv. _hydra orientalis_ and its bionomical relations with other invertebrates," j. asiat. soc. bengal (new series), ii, p. . . annandale, "the common _hydra_ of bengal: its systematic position and life history," mem. as. soc. bengal, i, p. . . annandale, "notes on the freshwater fauna of india. no. x. _hydra orientalis_ during the rains," j. asiat. soc. bengal (new series), iii, p. . . annandale, "notes on the freshwater fauna of india. no. xi. preliminary note on the occurrence of a medusa (_irene ceylonensis_, browne) in a brackish pool in the ganges delta and on the hydroid stage of the species," j. asiat. soc. bengal (new series), iii, p. . . willey, "freshwater sponge and hydra in ceylon," spolia zeylan. colombo, iv, p. . . annandale, "observations on specimens of _hydra_ from tibet, with notes on the distribution of the genus in asia," rec. ind. mus. ii, p. . . powell, "lessons in practical biology for indian students" (bombay). . lloyd, "an introduction to biology for students in india" (london). glossary of technical terms used in part ii. _aboral_ (or _basal_) the disk by means of which a free polyp _disk_ attaches itself to external objects. _cnidoblast_ the living cell of the nematocyst or nettle-cell (_q. v._). _cnidocil_ a minute bristle that projects on the surface in connection with a nettle-cell (_q. v._). _column_ the upright or potentially upright part of a polyp (_q. v._). _ectoderm_ the external cell-layer of the body-wall. _endoderm_ the internal cell-layer of the body-wall. _green (chlorophyll) minute green bodies contained in cells corpuscles_ of polyps or other animals and representing a stage in the life-history of an alga (_chlorella_). _mesogloea_ the intermediate, gelatinous layer of the body-wall. _nettle-cell (nematocyst)_ a cell capsule full of liquid in which an eversible thread is coiled up. _oral disk_ the eminence that surrounds the mouth and is surrounded by tentacles. _peristome_ see "oral disk." _polyp_ an individual coelenterate of simple structure that is fixed temporarily or permanently by one end of a more or less cylindrical body and possesses a mouth at the other end. _tentacles_ filamentous outgrowths (in _hydra_ hollow) of the body-wall round the mouth. list of the indian hydrida. class hydrozoa. order eleutheroblastea. family hydridÆ. genus hydra, _linné_ ( ). . _h. vulgaris_, pallas ( ). . _h. oligactis_, pallas ( ). order eleutheroblastea. naked hydrozoa which reproduce their kind by means of buds or eggs, or by fission, without exhibiting the phenomena of alternation of generations. family hydridÆ. hydraidÆ, johnston, hist. brit. zooph. (ed. ) i, p. ( ). hydridÆ, hincks, hist. brit. hydroid. zooph. p. ( ). small eleutheroblastea in which the mouth is surrounded by hollow tentacles. permanent colonies are not formed, but reproduction by budding commonly takes place. genus hydra, _linné_. type, _hydra viridis_, linné. freshwater polyps which produce eggs with hard chitinous shells. although habitually anchored by the end of the body furthest from the mouth to extraneous objects, they possess considerable powers of locomotion. they are extremely contractile and change greatly from time to time in both form and size. only three well-established species of the genus, which is universally distributed and occurs only in fresh or brackish[aq] water, can be recognized, namely, _h. viridis_, linné (=_h. viridissima_, pallas), _h. vulgaris_, pallas (=_h. grisea_, linné), and _h. oligactis_, pallas (=_h. fusca_, linné). the two latter occur in india, but _h. viridis_ does not appear to have been found as yet anywhere in the oriental region, although it is common all over europe and n. america and also in japan. the distribution of _h. vulgaris_ is probably cosmopolitan, but there is some evidence that _h. oligactis_ avoids tropical districts, although, under the name _hydra fusca_, it has been doubtfully recorded as occurring in tonquin[ar]. [footnote aq: a small form of _h. viridis_ (var. _bakeri_, marshall) is found in brackish water in england.] [footnote ar: richard, mém. soc. zool. france, vii, p. ( ).] the three species may be distinguished from one another by the following key:-- [i. colour leaf-green; the cells contain green (chlorophyll) corpuscles of definite form. a. tentacles comparatively stout, habitually shorter than the column, which is cylindrical. egg-shell without spines, ornamented with a reticulate pattern _viridis_.] ii. colour never leaf-green; no chlorophyll corpuscles present in the cells. a. tentacles capable of great elongation but when the animal is at rest never very much longer than the column, which is cylindrical when the gastral cavity is empty. largest nettle-cells almost as broad as long. egg-shell bearing long spines most of which are divided at the tips _vulgaris_, p. . b. tentacles, even when the animal is at rest, much longer than the column, the basal part of which, even when the gastral cavity is empty, is constricted. largest nettle-cells considerably longer than broad. egg-shell smooth or bearing short, simple spines _oligactis_, p. . . hydra vulgaris, _pallas_. polypes de la seconde espèce, trembley, mém. pour servir à l'histoire d'un genre de polypes d'eau douce*, pl. i, figs. , ; pl. vi, figs. , ; pl. viii, figs. - ; pl. xi, figs. - ( ). rösel von rosenhof, insecten-belustigung, iii, hist. polyporum, pls. lxxvi, lxxvii, lxxix-lxxxiii ( ). ? _hydra polypus_, linné, fauna suecica, p. ( ). _hydra vulgaris_, pallas, elenchus zoophytorum, p. ( ). ? _hydra attenuata_, _id_., _ibid_. p. . _hydra grisea_, linné (gmelin), systema naturæ (ed. ), p. ( ). _hydra pallens_, _id_., _ibid_. p. . _hydra vulgaris_, ehrenberg, abhandl. akad. wiss. berlin, , p. , taf. ii. _hydra brunnea_, templeton, london's mag. nat. hist. ix, p. ( ). _hydra vulgaris_, laurent, rech. sur l'hydre at l'Éponge d'eau douce (voy. de la bonite, zoophytologie), p. , pl. i, pl. ii, figs. , '' ( ). _hydra vulgaris_, johnston, hist. british zoophytes (ed. ), i, p. , pl. xxix, fig. ( ). _hydra vulgaris_, hincks, hist. british hydroid zoophytes, i, p. , fig. ( ). _hydra aurantiaca_, kleinenberg, hydra, p. , pl. i, fig. , pl. iii, fig. ( ). _hydra trembleyi_, haacke, zool. anz. leipzig, ii, p. ( ). _hydra grisea_, jickeli, morph. jahrb. viii, p. , pl. xviii, fig. ( ). _hydra grisea_, nussbaum, arch. mikr. anat. bonn, xxix, p. , pl. xiii, pl. xiv, figs. , , ( ). ? _hydra hexactinella_, v. lendenfeld, zool. jahrb. jena, ii, p. , pl. vi, figs. , ( ). ? _hydra hexactinella_, _id_., proc. linn. soc. n. s. wales, x, p. , p. xlviii, figs. - ( ). _hydra grisea_, brauer, zeit. wiss. zool. leipzig, lii, p. ( ). _hydra grisea_, chun, in brönn's thier-reichs, ii ( ), pl. ii, figs. _b_, _c_, ( ). _hydra grisea_, downing, zool. jahrb. (anat.) jena, xxi, p. ( ). _hydra orientalis_, annandale, j. asiat. soc. bengal, (new series) i, , p. . _hydra orientalis_, _id._, _ibid._ (new series) ii, , p. . _hydra orientalis_, _id._, mem. asiat. soc. bengal, i, p. ( ). ? _hydra orientalis_, willey, spol. zeylan. colombo, iv, p. ( ). _hydra grisea_, weltner, arch. naturg. berlin, lxxiii, i, p. ( ). _hydra vulgaris_, brauer, zool. anz. xxxiii, p. , fig. ( ). _hydra orientalis_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. ( ). _hydra grisea_, frischholz, braun's zool. annal. (würzburg), iii, pp. , , &c., figs. and - ( ). _hydra grisea_, _id._, biol. centralbl. berlin, xxix, p. ( ). _hydra vulgaris_, brauer, die süsswasserfauna deutschlands, xix, p. , figs. - ( ). _hydra pentactinella_, powell, lessons in practical biology for indian students, p. (bombay, ). phase _orientalis*_, annandale. _colour_ variable; in summer usually pale, in winter either deep orange, dull brown, or dark green. the cells do not contain spherical or oval coloured bodies. [illustration: fig. .--_hydra vulgaris_, from calcutta (phase _orientalis_). a=winter brood; b=summer brood, the same individual in an expanded and a contracted condition. b is more highly magnified than a.] _column_ slender and capable of great elongation, normally almost cylindrical, but when containing food often shaped like a wine-glass. the surface is thickly set with nettle-cells the cnidocils of which give it an almost hirsute appearance under the microscope. when extended to the utmost the column is sometimes nearly mm. ( - / inches) long, but more commonly it is about half that length or even shorter. _tentacles_ usually - , occasionally . they are always slender except when they are contracted, then becoming swollen at the base and slightly globular at the tip. if the animal is at rest they are not very much longer than the body, but if it is hungry or about to move from one place to another they are capable of very great extension, often becoming like a string of minute beads (the groups of nettle-cells) strung on an invisible wire. _nettle-cells._ the capsules with barbed threads (fig. , p. ) are very variable in size, but they are invariably broad in proportion to their length and as a rule nearly spherical. in a _hydra_ taken in calcutta during the winter the largest capsules measured (unexploded) . mm. in breadth and . in length, but in summer they are smaller (about . mm. in breadth). smaller capsules with barbed threads always occur. the barbed threads are very long and slender. at their base they bear a circle of stout and prominent spines, usually in number; above these there are a number of very small spines, but the small spines are usually obscure. malformed corpuscles are common. the capsules with unbarbed threads are very nearly as broad at the distal as at the proximal end; they are broadly oval with rounded ends. _reproductive organs._ the reproductive organs are confined to the upper part of the body. in india eggs (fig. , p. ) are seldom produced. they sometimes appear, however, at the beginning of the hot weather. in form they are spherical, and their shell bears relatively long spines, which are expanded, flattened and more or less divided at the tip. the part of the egg that is in contact with the parent-polyp is bare. spermaries are produced more readily than ovaries; they are mammillate in form and number from to . ovaries and spermaries have not been found on the same individual. _buds_ are confined to a narrow zone nearer the base than the apex of the column. rarely more than are produced at a time, and i have never seen an attached bud budding. in winter tentacles are as a rule produced simultaneously, and in summer . in the former case a fifth often makes its appearance before the bud is liberated. in calcutta two broods can be distinguished, a cold-weather brood, which is larger, stouter, and more deeply coloured, produces buds more freely, has larger nematocysts, and as a rule possesses tentacles; and a hot-weather brood, which is smaller, more slender and paler, produces buds very sparingly, has smaller nematocysts, and as a rule possesses only or tentacles. only the cold-weather form is known to become sexually mature. there is evidence, however, that in those parts of india which enjoy a more uniform tropical climate than lower bengal, polyps found at all times of year resemble those found in the hot weather in calcutta, and sometimes produce spermatozoa or eggs. i have recently had an opportunity of comparing specimens of the calcutta hot-weather form with well-preserved examples of _h. vulgaris_, pallas (=_h. grisea_, linn.), from england. they differ from these polyps in very much the same way as, but to a greater degree than they do from the winter phase of their own race, and i have therefore no doubt that _h. orientalis_ is merely a tropical phase of pallas's species. my description is based on indian specimens, which seem to differ, so far as anatomy is concerned, from european ones in the following points:-- ( ) the sexes are invariably distinct; ( ) the nematocysts are invariably smaller. i have seen in burma an abnormal individual with no tentacles. its buds, however, possessed these organs. type. none of the older types of _hydra_ are now in existence. that of _h. orientalis_ is, however, in the collection of the indian museum. geographical distribution.--_h. vulgaris_ is common in europe and n. america and is probably found all over tropical asia. the following are indian and ceylon localities:--bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood (_annandale_, _lloyd_); adra, manbhum district (_paiva_), rampur bhulia on the r. ganges (_annandale_); chakradharpur, chota nagpur (_annandale_); pusa, bihar (_annandale_); puri, orissa (_annandale_): madras, sea-beach near madras town (_henderson_): bombay, island of bombay (_powell_): burma, mandalay, upper burma, and moulmein, n. tenasserim (_annandale_): ceylon, colombo and peradeniya (_willey_, _green_). dr. a. d. imms tells me that he has obtained specimens that probably belong to this species in the jumna at allahabad. biology.--in india _h. vulgaris_ is usually found, so far as my experience goes, in stagnant water. in calcutta it is most abundant in ponds containing plenty of aquatic vegetation, and seems to be especially partial to the plant _limnanthemum_, which has floating leaves attached to thin stalks that spring up from the bottom, and to _lemna_ (duckweed). dr. henderson, however, found specimens in a pool of rain-water on the sea-shore near madras. there is evidence that each of the two broods which occur in lower bengal represents at least one generation; probably it represents more than one, for tentacles are rarely if ever produced after the animal has obtained its full size, and never (or only owing to accident) decrease in number after they have once appeared. the winter form is found chiefly near the surface of the water, especially on the roots of duckweed and on the lower surface of the leaves of _limnanthemum_; but the summer form affects deeper water in shady places, and as a rule attaches itself to wholly submerged plants. the latter form is to be met with between march and october, the cold-weather form between october and march, both being sometimes found together at the periods of transition. in the unnatural environment of an aquarium, however, individuals of the winter form lose their colour and become attenuated, in these features resembling the summer form, even in the cooler months. buds produced in these conditions rarely have more than five tentacles or themselves produce buds freely after liberation. the buds appear in a fixed order and position, at any rate on individuals examined in winter; in specimens of the summer form the position is fixed, but the order is irregular. each quadrant of the column has apparently the power of producing, in a definite zone nearer the aboral pole than the mouth, a single bud; but the buds of the different quadrants are not produced simultaneously. if we imagine that the quadrants face north, south, east, and west, and that the first bud is produced in the north quadrant, the second will be produced in the east quadrant, the third in the south, and the fourth in the west. it is doubtful whether more than four buds are produced in the lifetime of an individual, and apparently attached buds never bud in this race. the second bud usually appears before the first is liberated, and this is also the case occasionally as regards the third, but it is exceptional for four buds to be present at one time. about three weeks usually elapse between the date at which the bud first appears as a minute conical projection on the surface of the parent and that at which it liberates itself. this it does by bending down, fixing itself to some solid object by means of the tips of its tentacles, the gland-cells of which secrete a gummy fluid, and then tearing itself free. although it is rare for more than two buds to be produced simultaneously, budding is apparently a more usual form of reproduction than sexual reproduction. individuals that bear eggs have not yet been found in india in natural conditions, although males with functional spermaries are not uncommon at the approach of the hot weather. the few eggs that i have seen were produced in my aquarium towards the end of the cold weather. starvation, lack of oxygen, and too high a temperature (perhaps also lack of light) appear to stimulate the growth of the male organs in ordinary cases, but perhaps they induce the development of ovaries in the case of individuals that are unusually well nourished. the spines that cover the egg retain débris of various kinds upon its surface, so that it becomes more or less completely concealed by a covering of fragments of dead leaves and the like even before it is separated from the polyp. its separation is brought about by its falling off the column of the parent. nothing is known of its subsequent fate, but probably it lies dormant in the mud through the hot weather. eggs are sometimes produced that have no shells. this is probably due to the fact that they have not been fertilized. reproduction by fission occurs rarely in the indian _hydra_, but both equal and unequal vertical fission have been observed. in the case of equal fission the circumoral area lengthens in a horizontal direction, and as many extra tentacles as those the polyp already possesses make their appearance. the mouth then becomes constricted in the middle and notches corresponding to its constriction appear at either side of the upper part of the column. finally the whole animal divides into two equal halves in a vertical direction. i have only seen one instance of what appeared to be unequal vertical fission--that of a polyp consisting of two individuals still joined together by the basal disk, but one about half the size of the other. each had three well-developed tentacles, and in addition a minute fourth tentacle. this was situated on the side opposed to that of the other individual which bore a similar tentacle. transverse fission has not been observed. the indian _hydra_ is a very delicate animal as compared with such a form as _h. viridis_, and all attempts to produce artificial fission without killing the polyp have as yet failed. young individuals are often, and adults occasionally, found floating free in the water, either with the mouth uppermost and the tentacles extended so as to cover as large an area as possible or with the aboral pole at the surface. in the former case they float in mid-water, being of nearly the same specific gravity as the water, and are carried about by any movement set up in it. in the latter case, however, the base of the column is actually attached to some small object such as the cast skin of a water-flea or to a minute drop of mucus originally given out by the polyp's own mouth; the tentacles either hang downwards or are spread out round the mouth, and the animal is carried about by wind or other agencies acting on the surface. in addition to this passive method of progression the polyp can crawl with considerable rapidity. in doing so it bends its column down to the object along which it is about to move in such a way that it lies almost parallel to the surface, the basal disk, however, being still attached. the tentacles are then extended and attach themselves near the tips to the surface a considerable distance away. attachment is effected by the secretion of minute drops of adhesive substance from gland-cells. the basal disk is liberated and the tentacles contract, dragging the column, which still lies prone, along as they do so. the basal disk again affixes itself, the tentacles wrench themselves free, the surface of their cells being often drawn out in the process into pseudopodia-like projections, which of course are not true pseudopodia[as] but merely projections produced by the mechanical strain. the whole action is then repeated. the polyp can also pull itself across a space such as that between two stems or leaves by stretching out one of its tentacles, fixing the tip to the object it desires to reach, pulling itself free from its former point of attachment, and dragging itself across by contracting the fixed tentacle. the basal disk is then turned round and fixed to the new support. [footnote as: see zykoff, biol. centralbl. xviii, p. ( ), and annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ).] the indian polyp, like all its congeners, is attracted by light, but it is more strongly repelled by heat. probably it never moves in a straight line, but if direct sunlight falls on one side of a glass aquarium, the polyps move away from that side in a much less erratic course than is usually the case. if conditions are favourable, they often remain in one spot for weeks at a time, their buds congregating round them as they are set free. in a natural environment it seems that regular migrations take place in accordance with changes in temperature, for whereas in cool weather many individuals are found adhering to the lower surface of the floating leaves of _limnanthemum_, few are found in this position immediately after a rise in the thermometer. if the rise is only a small one, they merely crawl down the stems to the end of which the leaves are attached, but as soon as the hot weather begins in earnest, the few that survive make their way to the deepest and most shady part of the pond. in captivity the polyps seek the bottom of any vessel in which they are contained, if sunlight falls on the surface of the water. the chief function of the tentacles is that of capturing prey. the indian polyp feeds as a rule in the early morning, before the day has become hot. in an aquarium at any rate, the tentacles are never more than moderately extended during the night. if the polyp is hungry, they are extended to their greatest length in the early morning, and if prey is not captured, they sometimes remain in this condition throughout the day. in these circumstances they hang down or stand up in the water closely parallel to one another, and often curved in the middle as if a current were directed against them. prey that comes in contact with one of them has little chance of escape, for nematocysts from all the tentacles can be readily discharged against it. approximately once in half an hour the direction of the tentacles is changed, but i have been unable to observe any regular rhythmical movements of the tentacles or any correlation between those of a parent polyp and the buds still attached to it. the prey consists chiefly of the young larvæ of midges (chironomidæ) and may-flies, but small copepod and phyllopod crustacea are also captured. as soon as the prey adheres firmly to the tentacles and has become paralysed it is brought to the mouth by their contracting strongly and is involved in a mass of colourless mucus extruded from the digestive cavity. partly by the contraction of muscle-fibres in the body-wall and partly by movements of the mouth itself assisted by the mucus, which apparently remains attached to the walls of the cavity, the food is brought into the mouth. if it is at all bulky, it remains in the upper part of the cavity, the gland-cells pouring out a digestive fluid upon it and so dissolving out soluble substances. a large share of the substances thus prepared falls down to the bottom of the cavity and are there digested by the endoderm cells. the insoluble parts of the food are, however, ejected from the mouth without ever reaching the base of the cavity. the colour of the polyp appears to be due mainly to the results of digestion. brown or orange individuals recently captured in a pond and kept in favourable conditions take three or four days to digest their food, and the excreta ejected from the mouth then take the form of a white flocculent mass. if, however, the same individuals are kept for long in a glass aquarium, they lose their colour, even though they feed readily. digestion is then a much more rapid process, and the excreta contain minute, irregular, coloured granules, which appear to be identical with those contained in the endoderm cells of individuals that have recently digested a meal fully. starved individuals are always nearly colourless. it seems, therefore, that in this species colour is due directly to the products of digestion, and that digestion does not take place so fully in unfavourable conditions or at a high temperature as it does in more healthy circumstances. the dark green colour of some polyps is, however, less easily explained. i have noticed that all the individuals which have produced eggs in my aquarium have been of this colour, which they have retained in spite of captivity; whereas individuals that produced spermatozoa often lost their colour completely before doing so, sometimes becoming of a milky white owing to the accumulation of minute drops of liquid in their endoderm cells. even in green individuals there is never any trace in the cells of coloured bodies of a definite form. the indian polyp, unlike european representatives of its species, is a very delicate little animal. in captivity at any rate, three circumstances are most inimical to its life: firstly, a sudden rise in the temperature, which may either kill the polyp directly or cause it to hasten its decease by becoming sexually mature; secondly, the lack of a free current of air on the surface of the aquarium; and thirdly, the growth of a bacterium, which forms a scum on the top of the water and clogs up the interstices between the leaves and stems of the water-plants, soon killing them. if adult polyps are kept even in a shallow opaque vessel which is shut up in a room with closed shutters they generally die in a single night; indeed, they rarely survive for more than a few days unless the vessel is placed in such a position that air is moving almost continuously over its surface. the bacterium to which i allude often almost seals up the aquarium, especially in march and april, in which months its growth is very rapid. strands of slime produced by it surround the polyp and even enter its mouth. in this event the polyp retracts its tentacles until they become mere prominences on its disk, and shrinks greatly in size. the colouring matter in its body becomes broken up into irregular patches owing to degeneracy of the endoderm cells, and it dies within a few hours. _hydra_ in calcutta is often devoured by the larva of a small midge (_chironomus fasciatipennis_, kieffer) common in the tanks from november to february. in the early stages of its larval life this insect wanders free among communities of protozoa (_vorticella_, _epistylis_, &c.) and rotifers on which it feeds, but as maturity approaches begins to build for itself a temporary shelter of one of two kinds, either a delicate silken tunnel the base of which is formed by some smooth natural surface, or a regular tube the base of which is fixed by a stalk situated near the middle of its length to some solid object, while the whole surface is covered with little projections. the nature of the covering appears to depend partly on that of the food-supply and partly on whether the larva is about to change its skin. i had frequently noticed that tunnels brought from the tank on the under surface of _limnanthemum_ leaves had a _hydra_ fixed to them. this occurred in about a third of the occupied shelters examined. the _hydra_ was always in a contracted condition and often more or less mutilated. by keeping a larva together with a free polyp in a glass of clean water, i have been able to observe the manner in which the polyp is captured and entangled. the larva settles down near the base of its column and commences to spin a tunnel. when this is partially completed, it passes a thread round the polyp's body to which it gives a sharp bite. this causes the polyp to bend down its tentacles, which the larva entangles with threads of silk, doing so by means of rapid, darting movements; for the nettle-cells would prove fatal should they be shot out against its body, which is soft. its head is probably too thickly coated with chitin to excite their discharge. indeed, small larvæ of this very species form no inconsiderable part of the food of the polyp, and, so far as my observations go, a larva is always attacked in the body and swallowed in a doubled-up position. when the _hydra_ has been firmly built into the wall of the shelters and its tentacles fastened down by their bases on the roof, the larva proceeds, sometimes after an interval of some hours, to eat the body, which it does very rapidly, leaving the tentacles attached to its shelter. the meal only lasts for a few minutes; after it the larva enjoys several hours' repose, protected by remains of its victim, which retain a kind of vitality for some time. during this period it remains still, except for certain undulatory movements of the posterior part of the body which probably aid in respiration. then it leaves the shelter and goes in search of further prey. its food, even when living in a tunnel, does not consist entirely of _hydra_. i have watched a larva building its shelter near a number of rotifers, some of which it devoured and some of which it plastered on to its tunnel. the tubular shelters occasionally found are very much stouter structures than the tunnels, but are apparently made fundamentally of the same materials; and structures intermediate between them and the tunnels are sometimes produced. the larva as a rule fastens to them branches detached from living colonies of vorticellid protozoa such as _epistylis_[at]. [footnote at: further particulars regarding the life-history of this larva will be found on pp. and , j. asiat. soc. bengal, ii (n. s.) .] of animals living in more or less intimate relations with the polyp, i have found two very distinct species of protozoa, neither of which is identical with either of the two commonly found in association with _hydra_ in europe, _trichodina pediculus_ and _kerona polyporum_. on two occasions, one in january and the other at the beginning of february, i have seen a minute colourless flagellate on the tentacles of the calcutta polyp. on the first occasion the tentacles were completely covered with this protozoon, so that they appeared at first sight as though encased in flagellated epithelium. the minute organism was colourless, transparent, considerably larger than the spermatozoa of _hydra_, slightly constricted in the middle and rounded at each end. it bore a long flagellum at the end furthest from its point of attachment, the method of which i could not ascertain. when separated from the polyp little groups clung together in rosettes and gyrated in the water. on the other occasion only a few individuals were observed. possibly this flagellate was a parasite rather than a commensal, as the individual on which it swarmed was unusually emaciated and colourless, and bore neither gonads nor buds. the larger stinging cells were completely covered by groups of the organism, and possibly this may have interfered with the discharge of stinging threads. the other protozoon was _vorticella monilata_, tatem, which has been found, not in association with _hydra_, in europe and s. america. in calcutta i have only seen it attached to the column of the polyp, but probably it would also be found, if carefully looked for, attached to water-weeds. especially in the four-rayed stage, the polyp not infrequently attaches itself to shells of _vivipara_, and, more rarely, to those of other molluscs. it is doubtful whether this temporary association between _hydra_ and the mollusc is of any importance to the latter. even when the polyp settles on its body and not on its shell (as is sometimes the case) the _vivipara_ appears to suffer no inconvenience, and makes no attempt to get rid of its burden. it is possible, on the other hand, that the _hydra_ may protect it by devouring would-be parasites; but of this there is no evidence[au]. [footnote au: in the calcutta tanks operculate molluscs such as _vivipara_ are certainly more free from visible attack than non-operculate species. this is the case for instance, as regards the common aquatic glowworm (_luciola_ sp.), which destroys large numbers of individuals of _limnophysa_, _limnæus_, &c. if it has been starved for several days in an aquarium it will attack an operculate form, but rarely with success. similarly _chætogaster bengalensis_ attaches itself exclusively to non-operculate forms. in the one case the polyp could do very little against an adversary with so stout an integument as the insect, while, in the other, it is doubtful whether the worm does any harm to its host. the polyp would afford very little protection against the snail's vertebrate enemies or against what appears to be its chief foe, namely, drought. as the water sinks in the tank non-operculate species migrate to the deeper parts, but _vivipara_ and _ampullaria_ close their shells, remain where they are, and so often perish, being left high and dry, exposed to the heat of the sun.] the association, however, is undoubtedly useful to _hydra_. the mud on the shells of _vivipara_ taken on floating objects shows that in cool weather the snail comes up from the bottom to the surface, and it probably goes in the opposite direction in hot weather. moreover, the common calcutta species (_v. bengalensis_) feeds very largely, if not exclusively, on minute green algæ. it therefore naturally moves towards spots where smaller forms of animal and vegetable life abound and conditions are favourable for the polyp. the polyp's means of progression are limited, and the use of a beast of burden is most advantageous to it, for it can detach itself when it arrives at a favourable habitat. if specimens are kept in water which is allowed to become foul, a very large proportion of them will attach themselves to any snails confined with them. under natural conditions they would thus in all probability be rapidly conveyed to a more suitable environment. in the tanks it is far commoner to find young four-rayed polyps on _vivipara_ than individuals with five or six rays; but the adults of the species are far less prone to change their position than are the young. the calcutta _hydra_, especially in spring, exhibits a distinct tendency to frequent the neighbourhood of sponges and polyzoa, such as _spongilla carteri_ and the denser forms of _plumatella_. possibly this is owing to the shade these organisms provide. . hydra oligactis, _pallas_. polypes de la troisième espèce, trembley, mém. hist. polypes,* pl. i, figs. , , ; pl. ii, figs. - ; pl. iii, fig. ; pl. v, figs. - ; pl. vi, figs. - , , ; pl. viii, figs. , ; pl. ix ( ). rösel von rosenhof, insekt.-belustigung, iii, hist. polyp., pls. lxxxiv-lxxxvi ( ). _hydra socialis_, linné, fauna sueica, p. ( ). _hydra oligactis_, pallas, elench. zooph. p. ( ). ? _hydra attenuata_, _id._, _ibid._ p. . _hydra fusca_, linné, syst. nat. (ed. ), p. ( ). _hydra oligactis_, johnston, brit. zooph. i, p. , fig. (p. ) ( ). _hydra oligactis_, hincks, hist. brit. hydr. zooph. i, p. , fig. ( ). _hydra roeselii_, haacke, jena zeitschr. naturwiss. xiv, p. ( ). ? _hydra rhætica_, asper, zool. anz. , p. , figs. - . _hydra vulgaris_, jickeli (_nec_ pallas), morph. jahrb. viii, p. , pl. xviii, fig. ( ). _hydra fusca_, nussbaum, arch. mikr. anat. bonn, xxix, p. , pl. xiv, figs. - , pl. xv, figs. - , &c. ( ). _hydra fusca_, brauer, zeit. wiss. zool. leipzig, lii, p. , pl. xi, figs. , , ; pl. xii, fig. ( ). _hydra_ sp. ? _id._, _ibid._ pl. xi, figs. , a, , , ; pl. xii, figs. , , - . _hydra fusca_, chun in brönn's thier-reichs, ii ( ), pl. ii, figs. (_a_), , ( ). _hydra monoecia_, downing, science* ( ) xii, p. . _hydra fusca_, _id._, zool. jahrb. (anat.) xxi, p. ( ). _hydra dioecia_, _id._, _ibid._ pl. xxiii, figs. , , &c. _hydra fusca_, hertwig, biol. centralbl. xxvi, p. ( ). _hydra oligactis_, brauer, zool. anz. xxxiii, p. , fig. ( ). _hydra polypus_, _id._, _ibid._ _hydra fusca_, frischholz, ann. zool. (würzburg), iii, p. , figs. - ( ). _hydra oligactis_, brauer, süsswasserfauna deutschl. xix, p. , figs. - ( ). _hydra polypus_, _id._, _ibid._ figs. - . this species differs from _h. vulgaris_ in the following characters:-- ( ) even when the gastral cavity is empty, the basal part of the column is distinctly more slender than the upper part; ( ) even when the animal is at rest, the tentacles are much longer than the column; ( ) the nettle-cells of both types are usually smaller and more uniform in size than in the other species; those with barbed threads (fig. , p. ) are always flask-shaped and somewhat narrower in proportion to their length, while those with simple threads are pointed or almost pointed at their distal end; ( ) the stinging threads of the more complex form are comparatively stout and short; ( ) there are comparatively few nettle-cells in the column; ( ) the egg-shell is nearly smooth or covered more or less completely with short, simple spines (fig. , p. ). _h. oligactis_ is usually a more vigorous form than _h. vulgaris_ and, in spite of its name, has often a considerable number of tentacles. the few indian specimens examined have, however, been small and have not had more than six tentacles. i have not seen an indian specimen with more than two buds, but european specimens sometimes produce a great many, and as the daughter buds do not always separate from the parent until they have themselves produced buds, temporary colonies of some complexity arise; chun figures a specimen with nineteen daughter and granddaughter buds[av]. [footnote av: pallas writes as regards this "pulcherrime vegetantem varietatem" with his usual critical insight, "vix tamen peculiaris speciei nomine salutanda videtur." it is probably the _hydra socialis_ of linné.] in europe and n. america there appear to be two races or phases of the species. to avoid ambiguity they may be called form a and form b and described as follows:-- form a is of vigorous growth. it is as a rule dioecious, and its reproductive organs may be borne practically at any level on the surface of the column. its eggs are spherical and as a rule covered almost uniformly with spines. form b is smaller and has smaller and more variable nettle-cells. its reproductive organs are borne only on the distal third or at the base of its column and it is often monoecious. the lower surface of its egg is flattened, adherent, and devoid of spines. the larger form (a) was originally named _hydra monoecia_ by downing, who in expressed a wish to substitute for the specific name, which had been given through inadvertence, the more appropriate one _dioecia_. as, however, it appears to be the commoner of the two in northern europe, we may regard it as probably being the one named _hydra oligactis_ by pallas and therefore may accept it as the _forma typica_ of that species. according to brauer ( ) the smaller form is linné's _hydra polypus_; but the original description of the "species" hardly bears out this view. as reproductive organs have not yet been found in indian specimens, it is impossible to say to which of the two forms they belong. a red form of _h. oligactis_ occurs in tibet in the lake rham-tso, at an altitude of about , feet and has been reported from various small lakes in mountainous parts of europe. it is probably the form called _hydra rhætica_ by asper, but his figures are lacking in detail and appear to have been drawn from specimens in a state of partial contraction. _h. rubra_, lewes (ann. mag. nat. hist. ( ) v, p. , ), may also be identical with this form. roux, indeed, states that _h. rubra_ is only found living unattached at considerable depths (ann. biol. lacustre ii, p. , ); but this statement does not accord with the fact that lewes's specimens were found in ponds on wimbledon common. type not in existence. geographical distribution.--_h. oligactis_ is widely distributed in europe and n. america, but in india has only been found in and near the city of lahore in the punjab. biology.--this species was found by major j. stephenson, i.m.s., in the basin of a fountain at lahore and in an ornamental canal in the shalimar gardens on the outskirts of the same city. nothing is known as regards its habits in this country. in n. america, according to downing, form b breeds in september and october and form a from october to december. the eggs of form b remain attached to the parent until the two cellular layers are formed and then drop off, whereas those of form a are fixed by the parent to some extraneous object, its column contracting until they are in a favourable position for attachment. the colour of indian examples of _h. oligactis_ apparently resembles that of the calcutta winter brood of _h. vulgaris_ so far as visual effect is concerned, but i have noticed in specimens from lahore and the neighbourhood that very minute spherical bodies of a dark green colour are present in the endoderm cells. part iii. freshwater polyzoa (ctenostomata & phylactolÆmata). introduction to part iii. i. status and structure of the polyzoa. the polyzoa constitute a class in the third great division of the animal kingdom, the so-called triploblastea. in this division are included also the worms, molluscs, insects, crustacea, spiders, vertebrates, etc.; for heterogeneous as its elements appear, all these animals may be considered to have essential features in common, in particular a body consisting primarily of three cellular layers. most of them also possess a body cavity distinct from the alimentary canal. some authors regard the position of the polyzoa as near that of the higher worms, but the group is an isolated one. in considering the anatomy of simple forms of animal life such as the sponges it is necessary to pay attention mainly to individual cells, but in discussing more complicated forms our notice is first attracted to tissues and organs, for the cells of which these tissues and organs are composed have each a definite position, a definite structure, and a definite function. the most characteristic feature of the polyzoa, considered from this point of view, is the fact that most of their organs fall into one of two categories and are connected either with what is called the "zooecium" or with what is known as the "polypide." the zooecium is a cage in which the polypide is enclosed, but it is a living cage, differing from the shell of a snail or the tubes in which many worms encase themselves in being part of the animal itself. the polypide consists mainly of the organs connected directly and indirectly with nutrition and of part of the muscular system; its name is derived from the fact that it bears a superficial resemblance to a polyp such as _hydra_. the shape and structure of the zooecium differs greatly in different groups of polyzoa. in its simplest form it is merely a cylindrical tube of living matter which secretes an outer horny or gelatinous covering. it is open at the end furthest from its base, at which it is attached either to another zooecium or to some kind of supporting structure. certain parts of the polypide can always be extruded from the aperture, which is known technically as the "orifice," or withdrawn through it into the zooecium. when the polypide is retracted it draws in with it a portion of the zooecium. the dead outer layer or ectocyst lines part of the portion thus invaginated and forms the walls of a cavity within the orifice. the base of this cavity consists in many forms of a transverse partition pierced in the middle by a circular hole and known as the "diaphragm." the diaphragm, however, does not constitute the limit of the invaginated portion of the zooecium, for the living inner wall or endocyst is dragged in still further and forms a sheath round the retracted tentacles. when the tentacles are protruded they emerge through the hole in the diaphragm, carrying with them their sheath of endocyst. the invagination above the diaphragm, consisting of both endocyst and ectocyst, is then everted. the tentacles are a characteristic feature of the polypide. together with the base to which they are attached they are known as the "lophophore"; they surround the mouth, usually in a circle. they differ widely from the tentacles of _hydra_ in both structure and function, although they too serve as organs for the capture of prey; they are not highly contractile and are not provided with nettle-cells but are covered with cilia, which are in constant motion. when extruded they form a conspicuous calix-like crown to the zooecium, but in the retracted condition they are closely pressed together and lie parallel to one another. they are capable individually of motion in all directions but, although they usually move in concert, they cannot as a rule seize objects between them. the mouth is a hole situated in the midst of the tentacles. it leads directly into a funnel-shaped oesophagus, the upper part of which is lined with cilia and is sometimes distinguished as the "pharynx," while the lower part, the oesophagus proper, is a thin-walled tube that connects the pharynx with the stomach, which it enters on the dorsal side. the stomach is a bulky organ that differs markedly in form and structure in different groups of polyzoa. it is lined internally with glandular cells and the inner wall is sometimes thrown into folds or "rugæ." the part with which the oesophagus communicates is known as the "cardiac" portion, while the part whence the intestine originates is called the "pylorus" or "pyloric" portion. the intestine commences on the ventral side opposite the entrance of the oesophagus and nearly on a level with it, the bulk of the stomach depending between the two tubes. this part of the stomach is often produced into a blind tube, the fundus or cæcum. the alimentary canal may therefore be described as distinctly y-shaped. the proximal part of the intestine is in some forms lined with cilia, and the tube as a whole is usually divided into two parts--the intestine proper, which is nearest the stomach, and the rectum, which opens by the anus not far from the mouth. the nervous system consists of a central ganglion or brain, which is situated at the base of the tentacles on the side nearest the anus and gives out radiating nerves in all directions. close to the brain and providing a communication between the cavity of the zooecium and the cavity in which the tentacles are contained (or, in the case of an expanded polyp, the external world) is a ciliated tube known as the "intertentacular organ." apparently it acts as a passage through which the genital products are expelled; but contradictory statements have been made regarding it, and perhaps it is present only at certain seasons or in certain conditions of the polypide. [illustration: fig. .--vertical section through a polypide of _alcyonidium_ with the polypide retracted (after prouho). a=orifice; b=contracted collar; c=diaphragm; d=parieto-vaginal muscles; e=tentacles; f=pharynx; g=oesophagus; h=stomach; j=intestine; k=rectum; l=intertentacular organ; m=retractor muscle; n=testes; o=ovary; p=funiculus; q=parietal muscles; r=ectocyst; s=endocyst.] the muscular system is often of a complicated nature, but three sets of muscles may be distinguished as being of peculiar importance, viz., (i) the retractor muscles, which are fixed to the base of the lophophore at one end and to the base of the zooecium at the other, and by contracting pull the former back into the zooecium; (ii) the parieto-vaginal muscles, which connect the upper part of the invaginated portion of the zooecium with the main wall thereof; and (iii) the parietal muscles, which run round the inner wall of the zooecium and compress the zooecium as a whole. the parietal muscles are not developed in the phylactolæmata, the most highly specialized group of freshwater polyzoa. the cavity between the polypide and the zooecium contains a reticulate tissue of cells known as the "funicular" tissue, and this tissue is usually concentrated to form a hollow strand or strands ("funiculi") that connect the outer wall of the alimentary canal with the endocyst. this rapid sketch of the general anatomy of a simple polyzoon will be the best understood by comparing it with fig. , which represents, in a somewhat diagrammatic fashion, a vertical section through a single zooecium and polypide of the order ctenostomata, to which some of the freshwater species belong. the polypide is represented in a retracted condition in which the y-shaped disposition of the alimentary canal is somewhat obscured. in the great majority of cases the polyzoa form permanent colonies or polyparia, each of which consists of a number of individual zooecia and polypides connected together by threads of living tissue. these colonies are formed by budding, not by independent individuals becoming associated together. in a few cases compound colonies are formed owing to the fact that separate simple colonies congregate and secrete a common investment; but in these cases there is no organic connection between the constituent colonies. it is only in the small subclass entoprocta, the polypides and zooecia of which are not nearly so distinct from one another as they are in other polyzoa (the ectoprocta), that mature solitary individuals occur. as representatives of both subclasses of polyzoa and of more than one order of ectoprocta occur in fresh water, i have prefaced my description of the indian species with a synopsis of the more conspicuous characters of the different groups (pp. - ). capture and digestion of food: elimination of waste products. the food of all polyzoa consists of minute living organisms, but its exact nature has been little studied as regards individual species and genera. in _victorella bengalensis_ it consists largely of diatoms, while the species of _hislopia_ and _arachnoidea_ possess an alimentary canal modified for the purpose of retaining flagellate organisms until they become encysted. similar organisms form a large part of the food of the phylactolæmata. although the tentacles may be correctly described as organs used in capturing prey, they do not themselves seize it but waft it by means of the currents set up by their cilia to the mouth, into which it is swept by the currents produced by the cilia lining the pharynx. the tentacles are also able in some species to interlace themselves in order to prevent the escape of prey. apparently they have the power of rejecting unsuitable food, for they may often be observed to bend backwards and forwards and thrust particles that have approached them away, and if the water contains anything of a noxious nature in solution the lophophore is immediately retracted, unless it has been completely paralysed. in the phylactolæmata the peculiar organ known as the epistome is capable of closing the mouth completely, and probably acts as an additional safeguard in preventing the ingestion of anything of an injurious nature. in many genera and larger groups the food commonly passes down the pharynx into the stomach without interruption, although it is probable that in all species the oesophagus can be closed off from the stomach by a valve at its base. in some forms, however, a "gizzard" is interposed between the oesophagus and the stomach. this gizzard has not the same function in all cases, for whereas in some forms (_e. g._, in _bowerbankia_) it is lined with horny projections and is a powerful crushing organ, in others (_e. g._, in _hislopia_ or _victorella_) it acts as an antechamber in which food can be preserved without being crushed until it is required for digestion, or rough indigestible particles can be retained which would injure the delicate walls of the stomach. digestion takes place mainly in the stomach, the walls of which are of a glandular nature. the excreta are formed into oval masses in the rectum and are extruded from the anus in this condition. although the gross non-nutritious parts of the food are passed _per anum_, the waste products of the vital processes are not eliminated so easily, and a remarkable process known as the formation of brown bodies frequently takes place. this process cannot be described more clearly and succinctly than by quoting dr. harmer's description of it from pp. and of vol. ii. of the cambridge natural history, a volume to which i have been much indebted in the preparation of this introduction. the description is based very largely on dr. harmer's own observations[aw]. [footnote aw: q. j. micr. sci. xxxiii, p. ( ).] "the tentacles, alimentary canal, and nervous system break down, and the tentacles cease to be capable of being protruded. the degenerating organs become compacted into a rounded mass, known from its colour as the 'brown body.' this structure may readily be seen in a large proportion of the zooecia of transparent species. in active parts of the colony of the body-wall next develops an internal bud-like structure, which rapidly acquires the form of a new polypide. this takes the place originally occupied by the old polypide, while the latter may either remain in the zooecium in the permanent form of a 'brown body,' or pass to the exterior. in _flustra_ the young polypide-bud becomes connected with the 'brown body' by a funiculus. the apex of the blind pouch or 'cæcum' of the young stomach is guided by this strand to the 'brown body,' which it partially surrounds. the 'brown body' then breaks up, and its fragments pass into the cavity of the stomach, from which they reach the exterior by means of the anus." brown bodies are rarely if ever found in the phylactolæmata, in which the life of the colony is always short; but they are not uncommon in _hislopia_ and _victorella_, although in the case of the former they may easily escape notice on account of the fact that they are much paler in colour than is usually the case. when they are found in a ctenostome the collar-like membrane characteristic of the suborder is extruded from the orifice (which then disappears) and remains as a conspicuous external addition to the zooecium, the ectocyst of which, at any rate in _bowerbankia_ and _victorella_, sometimes becomes thickened and dark in colour. it is noteworthy that the colouring matter of the brown bodies is practically the only colouring matter found in the polypides of most polyzoa. young polypides are practically colourless in almost all cases. reproduction: budding. polyzoa reproduce their species in three ways--(i) by means of eggs, (ii) by budding, and (iii) by means of bodies developed asexually and capable of lying dormant in unfavourable conditions without losing their vitality. most, if not all species are hermaphrodite, eggs and spermatozoa being produced either simultaneously or in succession by each individual, or by certain individuals in each zoarium. the reproductive organs are borne on the inner surface of the endocyst, as a rule in a definite position, and often in connection with the funiculus or funiculi. it is doubtful to what extent eggs are habitually fertilized by spermatozoa of the individual that has borne them, but in some cases this is practically impossible and spermatozoa from other individuals must be introduced into the zooecium. budding as a rule does not result in the formation of independent organisms, but is rather comparable to the proliferation that has become the normal method of growth in sponges, except of course that individuality is much more marked in the component parts of a polyzoon colony than it is in a sponge. in the genera described in this volume budding takes place by the outgrowth of a part of the body-wall and the formation therein of a new polypide, but the order in which the buds appear and their arrangement in reference to the parent zooecium is different in the different groups. in the freshwater ctenostomes three buds are typically produced from each zooecium, one at the anterior end and one at either side, the two latter being exactly opposite one another. the parent zooecium in this formation arises from another zooecium situated immediately behind it, so that each zooecium, except at the extremities of the zoarium, is connected with four other zooecia, the five together forming a cross. the two lateral buds are, however, frequently suppressed, or only one of them is developed, and a linear series of zooecia with occasional lateral branches is formed instead of a series of crosses. in the phylactolæmata, on the other hand, the linear method of budding is the typical one, but granddaughter-buds are produced long before the daughter-buds are mature, so that the zooecia are frequently pressed together, and lateral buds are produced irregularly. in _victorella_ additional adventitious buds are produced freely near the tip of the zooecium. reproduction by spontaneous fission sometimes occurs, especially in the lophopinæ, but the process differs from that which takes place when a _hydra_ divides into two, for there is no division of individual zooecia or polypides but merely one of the whole zoarium. the production of reproductive bodies analogous to the gemmules of sponges appears to be confined in the polyzoa to the species that inhabit fresh or brackish water, nor does it occur in all of these. all the phylactolæmata produce, within their zooecia, the bodies known as statoblasts. these bodies consist essentially of masses of cells containing abundant food-material and enclosed in a capsule with thick horny walls. in many cases the capsule is surrounded by a "swim-ring" composed of a mass of horny-walled chambers filled with air, which renders the statoblast extremely light and enables it to float on the surface of the water; while in some genera the margin of the swim-ring bears peculiar hooked processes, the function of which is obscure. the whole structure first becomes visible as a mass of cells (the origin of all of which is not the same) formed in connection with the funiculus, and the statoblast may be regarded as an internal bud. its origin and development in different genera has been studied by several authors, notably by oka[ax] in _pectinatella_, and by braem[ay] in _cristatella_. [footnote ax: journ. coll. sci. tokyo, iv, p. ( ).] [footnote ay: bibliotheca zoologica, ii, pt. , p. ( ).] the external form of the statoblasts is very important in the classification of the phylactolæmata, to which these structures are confined. in all the genera that occur in india they are flattened and have an oval, circular, or approximately oval outline. in temperate climates statoblasts are produced in great profusion at the approach of winter, but in india they occur, in most species, in greatest numbers at the approach of the hot weather. [illustration: fig. .--part of the zoarium of _victorella bengalensis_ entirely transformed into resting buds, × . (from an aquarium in calcutta.)] in the family paludicellidæ (ctenostomata) external buds which resemble the statoblasts in many respects are produced at the approach of unfavourable climatic conditions, but no such buds are known in the family hislopiidæ, the zoaria of which appear to be practically perennial. the buds consist of masses of cells formed at the points at which ordinary buds would naturally be produced, but packed with food-material and protected like statoblasts by a thick horny coat. it seems also that old zooecia and polypides are sometimes transformed into buds of the kind (fig. ), and it is possible that there is some connection between the formation of brown bodies and their production. like the statoblasts of the phylactolæmata the resting buds of the paludicellidæ are produced in europe at the approach of winter, and in india at that of the hot weather. development. (a) _from the egg._ some polyzoa are oviparous, while in others a larva is formed within the zooecium and does not escape until it has attained some complexity of structure. both the ctenostomatous genera that are found in fresh water in india are oviparous, but whereas in _victorella_ the egg is small and appears to be extruded soon after its fertilization, in _hislopia_ it remains in the zooecium for a considerable time, increases to a relatively large size, and in some unknown manner accumulates a considerable amount of food-material before escaping. unfortunately the development is unknown in both genera. in the phylactolæmata the life-history is much better known, having been studied by several authors, notably by allman, by kraepelin, and by braem ( ). the egg is contained in a thin membrane, and while still enclosed in the zooecium, forms by regular division a hollow sphere composed of similar cells. this sphere then assumes an ovoid form, becomes covered with cilia externally, and breaks its way through the egg-membrane into the cavity of the zooecium. inside the embryo, by a process analogous to budding, a polypide or a pair of polypides is formed. meanwhile the embryo has become distinctly pear-shaped, the polypide or polypides being situated at its narrow end, in which a pore makes its appearance. the walls are hollow in the region occupied by the polypide, the cavity contained in them being bridged by slender threads of tissue. the larva thus composed makes its way out of the zooecium, according to kraepelin through the orifice of a degenerate bud formed for its reception, and swims about for a short time by means of the cilia with which it is covered. its broad end then affixes itself to some solid object, the polypide is everted through the pore at the narrow end and the whole of that part of the larva which formerly enclosed it is turned completely inside out. a zoarium with its included polypides is finally produced from the young polypide by the rapid development of buds. (b) _from the statoblast and resting buds._ there is little information available as regards the development of the young polyzoon in the resting buds of the freshwater ctenostomes. in _paludicella_ and _pottsiella_ the capsule of the bud splits longitudinally into two valves and the polypide emerges between them; but in _victorella bengalensis_ one of the projections on the margin of the bud appears to be transformed directly into the tip of a new zooecium and the capsule is gradually absorbed. contradictory statements have been made as regards several important points in the development of the statoblast and it is probable that considerable differences exist in different species. the following facts appear to be of general application. the cellular contents of the capsule consist mainly of a mass of cells packed with food-material in a granular form, the whole enclosed in a delicate membrane formed of flat cells. when conditions become favourable for development a cavity appears near one end of the mass and the cells that form its walls assume a columnar form in vertical section. the cavity increases rapidly in size, and, as it does so, a young polypide is budded off from its walls. another bud may then appear in a similar fashion, and the zooecium of the first bud assumes its characteristic features. the capsule then splits longitudinally into two disk-like valves and the young polypide, in some cases already possessing a daughter bud, emerges in its zooecium, adheres by its base to some external object and produces a new polyparium by budding. the two valves of the statoblast often remain attached to the zoarium that has emerged from between them until it attains considerable dimensions (see plate iv, fig. _a_). what conditions favour development is a question that cannot yet be answered in a satisfactory manner. statoblasts can lie dormant for months and even for years without losing their power of germinating, and it is known that in europe they germinate more readily after being subjected to a low temperature. in tropical india this is, of course, an impossible condition, but perhaps an abnormally high temperature has the same effect. at any rate it is an established fact that whereas the gemmules of most species germinate in europe in spring, in bengal they germinate either at the beginning of the "rains" or at that of our mild indian winter. movements. [illustration: fig. .--zoarium of _lophopodella carteri_ moving along the stem of a water plant, × . (from igatpuri lake.)] in the vast majority of the polyzoa, marine as well as freshwater, movement is practically confined to the polypide, the external walls of the zooecium being rigid, the zooecia being closely linked together and the whole zoarium permanently fixed to some extraneous object. in a few freshwater species belonging to the genera _cristatella_, _lophopus_, _lophopodella_ and _pectinatella_, the whole zoarium has the power of progression. this power is best developed in _cristatella_, which glides along with considerable rapidity on a highly specialized "sole" provided with abundant mucus and representing all that remains of the ectocyst. it is by no means clear how the zoaria of the other genera move from one place to another, for the base is not modified, so far as can be seen, for the purpose, and the motion is extremely slow. it is probable, however, that progression is effected by alternate expansions and contractions of the base, and in _lophopodella_ (fig. ), which moves rather less slowly than its allies, the anterior part of the base is raised at times from the surface along which it is moving. the whole zoarium can be released in this way and occasionally drops through the water, and is perhaps carried by currents from one place to another in so doing. so far as the polypides are concerned, the most important movements are those which enable the lophophore and the adjacent parts to be extruded from and withdrawn into the zooecium. the latter movement is executed by means of the retractor muscles, which by contracting drag the extruded parts back towards the posterior end of the endocyst, but it is not by any means certain how the extrusion of the lophophore is brought about. in most ctenostomes the action of the parietal muscles doubtless assists in squeezing it out when the retractor and parieto-vaginal muscles relax, but oka states that protrusion can be effected in the phylactolæmata even after the zooecium has been cut open. possibly some hydrostatic action takes place, however, and allowance must always be made for the natural resilience of the inverted portion of the ectocyst. even when the polypide is retracted, muscular action does not cease, for frequent movements, in some cases apparently rhythmical, of the alimentary canal may be observed, and in _hislopia_ contraction of the gizzard takes place at irregular intervals. when the lophophore is expanded, the tentacles in favourable circumstances remain almost still, except for the movements of their cilia; but if a particle of matter too large for the mouth to swallow or otherwise unsuitable is brought by the currents of the cilia towards it, individual tentacles can be bent down to wave it away and similar movements are often observed without apparent cause. in the cheilostomes certain individuals of each zoarium are often profoundly modified in shape and function and exhibit almost constant rhythmical or convulsive movements, some ("avicularia") being shaped like a bird's beak and snapping together, others ("vibracula") being more or less thread-like and having a waving motion. distribution of the freshwater polyzoa. fifteen genera of freshwater polyzoa are now recognized, one entoproctous and fourteen ectoproctous; five of the latter are ctenostomatous and nine phylactolæmatous. of the fourteen ectoproctous genera seven are known to occur in india, viz., _victorella_, _hislopia_, _fredericella_, _plumatella_, _stolella_, _lophopodella_, and _pectinatella_. except _stolella_, which is only known from northern india, these genera have an extremely wide geographical range; _victorella_ occurs in europe, india, africa, and australia; _hislopia_ in india, indo-china, china, and siberia; _fredericella_ in europe, n. america, africa, india, and australia; _plumatella_ in all geographical regions; _lophopodella_ in e. and s. africa, india, and japan; _pectinatella_ in europe, n. america, japan, and india. two genera, _paludicella_ and _lophopus_, have been stated on insufficient grounds to occur in india. the former is known from europe and n. america, and is said to have been found in australia, while the latter is common in europe and n. america and also occurs in brazil. of the genera that have not been found in this country the most remarkable are _urnatella_ and _cristatella_. the former is the only representative in fresh water of the entoprocta and has only been found in n. america. each individual is borne upon a segmented stalk the segments of which are enclosed in strong horny coverings and are believed to act as resting buds. _cristatella_, which is common in europe and n. america, is a phylactolæmatous genus of highly specialized structure. it possesses a creeping "sole" or organ of progression at the base of the zoarium. the other phylactolæmatous genera that do not occur in india appear to be of limited distribution, for _australella_ is only known from n. s. wales, and _stephanella_ from japan. the ctenostomatous _arachnoidea_ has only been reported from lake tanganyika, and _pottsiella_ only from a single locality in n. america. as regards the exotic distribution of the indian species little need be said. the majority of the _plumatellæ_ are identical with european species, while the only species of _fredericella_ that has been discovered is closely allied to the european one. the indian species of _lophopodella_ occurs also in e. africa and japan, while that of _pectinatella_ is apparently confined to india, burma and ceylon, but is closely allied to a japanese form. polyzoa of brackish water. with the exception of _victorella_, which occurs more commonly in brackish than in fresh water and has been found in the sea, the genera that occur in fresh water are confined or practically confined to that medium; but certain marine ctenostomes and cheilostomes not uncommonly make their way, both in europe and in india, into brackish water, and in the delta of the ganges an entoproctous genus also does so. the ctenostomatous genera that are found occasionally in brackish water belong to two divisions of the suborder, the vesicularina and the alcyonellea. to the former division belongs _bowerbankia_, a form of which (_b. caudata_ subsp. _bengalensis_, p. ) is often found in the ganges delta with _victorella bengalensis_. no species of alcyonellea has, however, as yet been found in indian brackish waters. the two indian cheilostomes of brackish water belong to a genus (_membranipora_) also found in similar situations in europe. one of them (_m. lacroixii_[az]) is, indeed, identical with a european form that occurs in england both in the sea and in ditches of brackish water. i have found it in the cochin backwaters, in ponds of brackish water at the south end of the chilka lake (ganjam, madras), on the shore at puri in orissa, and in the mutlah river at port canning. the second species (_m. bengalensis_, stoliczka) is peculiar to the delta of the ganges[ba] and has not as yet been found in the open sea. the two species are easily recognized from one another, for whereas the lip of _m. bengalensis_ (fig. ) bears a pair of long forked spines, there are no such structures on that of _m. lacroixii_, the dorsal surface of which is remarkably transparent. _m. lacroixii_ forms a flat zoarium, the only part visible to the naked eye being often the beaded margin of the zooecia, which appears as a delicate reticulation on bricks, logs of wood, the stems of rushes and of hydroids, etc.; but the zoarium of _m. bengalensis_ is as a rule distinctly foliaceous and has a peculiar silvery lustre. [footnote az: there is some doubt as to the proper name of this species, which may not be the one originally described as _membranipora lacroixii_ by andouin. i follow busk and hincks in my identification (see cat. polyzoa brit. mus. ii, p. , and hist. brit. polyzoa, p. ). levinsen calls it _m. hippopus_, sp. nov. (see morphological and systematic studies on the cheilostomatous bryozoa, p. ; copenhagen, ).] [footnote ba: miss thornely (rec. ind. mus. i, p. , ) records it from mergui, but this is an error due to an almost illegible label. the specimens she examined were the types of the species from port canning. since this was written i have obtained specimens from bombay--_april_, .] [illustration: fig. .--outline of four zooecia of _membranipora bengalensis_, stoliczka (from type specimen, after thornely). in the left upper zooecium the lip is shown open.] _loxosomatoides_[bb] (fig. ), the indian entoproctous genus found in brackish water, has not as yet been obtained from the open sea, but has recently been introduced, apparently from a tidal creek, into isolated ponds of brackish water at port canning. it is easily recognized by the chitinous shield attached to the ventral (posterior) surface. [footnote bb: annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. ( ).] [illustration: fig. .--_loxosomatoides colonialis_, annandale. a and b, a single individual of form a, as seen (a) in lateral, and (b) in ventral view; c, outline of a similar individual with the tentacles retracted, as seen from in front (dorsal view); d, ventral view of an individual and bud of form b. all the figures are from the type specimens and are multiplied by about .] ii. history of the study of the freshwater polyzoa. the naturalists of the eighteenth century were acquainted with more than one species of freshwater polyzoon, but they did not distinguish these species from the hydroids. trembley discovered _cristatella_, which he called "polype à panache," in , and linné described a species of _plumatella_ under the name _tubipora repens_ in , while ten years later pallas gave a much fuller description (under the name _tubularia fungosa_) of the form now known as _plumatella fungosa_ or _p. repens_ var. _fungosa_. although trembley, baker, and other early writers on the fauna of fresh water published valuable biological notes, the first really important work of a comprehensive nature was that of dumortier and van beneden, published in . all previous memoirs were, however, superseded by allman's monograph of the fresh-water polyzoa, which was issued in , and this memoir remains in certain respects the most satisfactory that has yet been produced. in jullien published a revision of the phylactolæmata and freshwater ctenostomes which is unfortunately vitiated by some curious lapses in observation, but it is to jullien that the recognition of the proper position of _hislopia_ is due. the next comprehensive monograph was that of kraepelin, which appeared in two parts ( and ) in the abhandlungen des naturwiss. vereins of hamburg. in its detailed information and carefully executed histological plates this work is superior to any that preceded it or has since appeared, but the system of classification adopted is perhaps less liable to criticism than that followed by braem in his "untersuchungen," published in the bibliotheca zoologica in . during the second half of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth several authors wrote important works on the embryology and anatomy of the phylactolæmata, notably kraepelin, braem, and oka; but as yet the ctenostomes of fresh water have received comparatively little attention from anything but a systematic point of view. from all points of view both the phylactolæmata and the ctenostomes of asia have been generally neglected, except in the case of the japanese phylactolæmata, which have been studied by oka. although carter made some important discoveries as regards the indian forms, he did not devote to them the same attention as he did to the sponges. in the case of the only new genus he described he introduced a serious error into the study of the two groups by placing _hislopia_ among the cheilostomes, instead of in its true position as the type genus of a highly specialized family of ctenostomes. for fuller details as to the history of the study of the freshwater polyzoa the student may refer to allman's and to kraepelin's monographs. an excellent summary is given by harmer in his chapter on the freshwater polyzoa in vol. ii. of the cambridge natural history; and loppens has recently ( ) published in the annales de biologie lacustre a concise survey of the systematic work that has recently been undertaken. unfortunately he perpetuates carter's error as regards the position of _hislopia_. bibliography of the freshwater polyzoa. a very full bibliography of the freshwater polyzoa will be found in pt. i. of kraepelin's "die deutschen süsswasserbryozoen" ( ), while loppens, in his survey of the known species (ann. biol. lacustre, ii, ), gives some recent references. the following list contains the titles of some of the more important works of reference, of memoirs on special points such as reproduction and of papers that have a special reference to asiatic species. only the last section is in any way complete. (a) _works of reference._ . van beneden, "recherches sur les bryozoaires fluviatiles de belgique," mém. ac. roy. belgique, xxi. . dumortier and van beneden, "histoire naturelle des polypes composés d'eau douce," ^e partie, mém. ac. roy. bruxelles, xvi (complément). . allman, "a monograph of the fresh-water polyzoa" (london). - . hyatt, "observations on polyzoa, suborder phylactolæmata," comm. essex inst. iv, p. , v, p. . . hincks, "a history of the british marine polyzoa." . jullien, "monographie des bryozoaires d'eau douce," bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. . & . kraepelin, "die deutschen süsswasserbryozoen," abhandl. nat. vereins hamburg, x & xii. . braem, "untersuchungen des bryozoen des süssen wassers," bibl. zool. ii, heft (cassel). . harmer, cambridge natural history, ii, polyzoa, chap. xviii. . korschelt and heider, "embryology of invertebrates," vol. ii, chap. xvi. (english edition by bernard and woodward, .) . loppens, "les bryozoaires d'eau douce," ann. biol. lacustre, iii. p. . (b) _special works on embryology, etc._ . nitsche, "beiträge zur kenntniss der bryozoen," zeitschr. f. wiss. zool. xxv (supplement), p. . . reinhard, "zur kenntniss der süsswasser-bryozoen," zool. anz. iii, p. . . braem, "untersuchungen über die bryozoen des süssen wassers," zool. anz. xi, pp. , . . oka, "observations on freshwater polyzoa," j. coll. sci. tokyo, iv, p. . . wilcox, "locomotion in young colonies of _pectinatella magnifica_," biol. bull. wood's hole, ii. . braem, "die geschlechtliche entwickelung von fredericella sultana nebst beobachtungen über die weitere lebensgeschichte der kolonien," bibl. zool. xx, heft . (c) _papers that refer specifically to asiatic species._ . leidy described _plumatella diffusa_ in proc. ac. philad. v, p. ( ). . carter, "description of a lacustrine bryozoon allied to _flustra_," ann. nat. hist. ( ) i, p. . . carter, "on the identify in structure and composition of the so-called seed-like body of _spongilla_ with the winter-egg of the bryozoa: and the presence of starch-granules in each," ann. nat. hist. ( ) iii, p. . (statoblast of _lophopodella_ described and figured.) . mitchell, "freshwater polyzoa," q. j. micr. sci. (new series) ii, p. . ("_lophopus_" recorded from madras.) . hyatt, "observations on polyzoa, suborder phylactolæmata," comm. essex inst. iv, p. . ("_pectinatella carteri_" named.) . stoliczka, "on the anatomy of _sagartia schilleriana_ and _membranipora bengalensis_, a new coral and a bryozoon living in brackish water at port canning," j. as. soc. bengal, xxxviii, ii, p. . . jullien, "description d'un nouveau genre de bryozoaire cheilostomien des eaux douces de la chine et du cambodge et de deux espèces nouvelles," bull. soc. zool. france, v, p. . ("_norodonia_" described.) . jullien, "monographie des bryozoaires d'eau douce," bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. . (_hislopia_ assigned to the ctenostomes.) . kraepelin, "die deutschen süsswasserbryozoen," abh. ver. hamburg, x. (_plumatella philippinensis._) . oka, "observations on freshwater polyzoa," j. coll. sci. tokyo, iv, p. . . meissner, "die moosthiere ost-afrikas," in mobius's deutsch-ost-afrika, iv. (_lophopodella carteri_ recorded from e. africa.) . korotneff, "faunistische studien am baikalsee," biol. centrbl. xxi, p. . ("_echinella_" described.) - . rousselet, "on a new freshwater polyzoon from rhodesia, _lophopodella thomasi_, gen. et sp. nov.", j. quekett club ( ) ix, p. . (genus _lophopodella_ described.) . annandale, "notes on the freshwater fauna of india. no. ii. the affinities of _hislopia_," j. as. soc. bengal (new series) ii, p. . . kraepelin, "eine süsswasser-bryozoë (_plumatella_) aus java," mitth. mus. hamburg, xxiii, p. . . annandale, "notes on the freshwater fauna of india. no. xii. the polyzoa occurring in indian fresh and brackish pools," j. as. soc. bengal (new series) iii, p. . . annandale, "statoblasts from the surface of a himalayan pond," rec. ind. mus. i, p. . . annandale, "the fauna of brackish ponds at port canning, lower bengal: i.--introduction and preliminary account of the fauna," rec. ind. mus. i, p. . . annandale, "the fauna of brackish ponds at port canning, lower bengal: vi.--observations on the polyzoa, with further notes on the ponds," rec. ind. mus. i, p. . . annandale, "further note on a polyzoon from the himalayas," rec. ind. mus. i, p. . . rousselet, "zoological results of the third tanganyika expedition, conducted by dr. w. a. cunnington, - .--report on the polyzoa," p. z. soc. london, i, p. . (_plumatella tanganyikæ._) . oka, "eine dritte art von _pectinatella_ (_p. davenporti_, n. sp.)," zool. anz. xxxi, p. . . apstein, "das plancton im colombo-see auf ceylon," zool. jahrb. (syst.) xxv, p. . (_plumatella_ recorded.) . walton, "notes on _hislopia lacustris_, carter," rec. ind. mus. i, p. . - . oka, "zur kenntnis der süsswasser-bryozoenfauna von japan," annot. zool. japon, vi, p. . - . oka, "ueber eine neue gattung von süsserwasserbryozoen," annot. zool. japon, vi, p. . . annandale, "the fauna of brackish ponds at port canning, lower bengal: vii.--further observations on the polyzoa with the description of a new genus of entoprocta," rec. ind. mus. ii, p. . . annandale, "corrections as to the identity of indian phylactolæmata," rec. ind. mus. ii, p. . . annandale, "three indian phylactolæmata," rec. ind. mus. ii, p. . . kirkpatrick, "description of a new variety of _spongilla loricata_, weltner," rec. ind. mus. ii, p. . (_hislopia_ recorded from burma.) . annandale, "preliminary note on a new genus of phylactolæmatous polyzoa," rec. ind. mus. iii, p. . . annandale, "a new species of _fredericella_ from indian lakes," rec. ind. mus. iii. p. . . walton, "large colonies of _hislopia lacustris_," rec. ind. mus. iii, p. . . annandale, "materials for a revision of the phylactolæmatous polyzoa of india," rec. ind. mus. v, p. . . west and annandale, "descriptions of three species of algæ associated with indian freshwater polyzoa," j. as. soc. bengal (_ined._). glossary of technical terms used in part iii. _brown body_ a body formed in a zooecium by the degeneration of a polypide as a preparation for its regeneration. _cardiac portion_ (of that part which communicates with the the stomach). oesophagus. _collar_ a longitudinally pleated circular membrane capable of being thrust out of the orifice in advance of the lophophore and of closing together inside the zooecium above the tentacles when they are retracted. _dorsal surface_ (_of zooecium_ or _polypide_) the surface nearest the mouth; (_of statoblast_) the surface furthest from that by which the statoblast is attached to the funiculus during development. _ectocyst_ the outer, structureless layer of the zooecium. _emarginate_ having a thin or defective triangular area (of a zooecium) in the ectocyst at the tip. _endocyst_ the inner, living (cellular) layer of the zooecium. _epistome_ a leaf-like ciliated organ that projects upwards and forwards over the mouth between it and the anus. _funiculus_ a strand of tissue joining the alimentary canal to the endocyst. _furrowed_ having a thin or defective longitudinal (of a zooecium) linear streak in the ectocyst on the dorsal surface. _gizzard_ a chamber of the alimentary canal situated at the cardiac end of the stomach and provided internally with a structureless lining. _intertentacular organ_ a ciliated tube running between the cavity of the zooecium and the external base of the lophophore. _keeled_ having a longitudinal ridge on the dorsal (of a zooecium) surface. _lophophore_ the tentacles with the base to which they are attached. _marginal processes_ chitinous hooked processes on the margin (of statoblast). of the swim-ring (_q. v._). _oesophagus_ that part of the alimentary canal which joins the mouth to the stomach. _orifice_ the aperture through which the lophophore can be protruded from or retracted into the zooecium. _parietal muscles_ transverse muscles running round the inner wall of the zooecium. _parieto-vaginal_ muscles that surround the orifice, running _muscles_ between the folds of the zooecium in an oblique direction. _polyparium_ the whole body of zooecia and polypides which are in organic connection. _polypide_ the tentacular crown, alimentary canal, and retractor muscles of a polyzoon-individual. _pyloric portion_ that part which communicates with the (of the stomach). intestine. _resting bud_ an external bud provided with food-material in its cells, with a horny external coat and capable of lying dormant in unfavourable conditions. _retractor muscles_ the muscles by the action of which the lophophore can be pulled back into the zooecium. _statoblast_ an internal bud arising from the funiculus, containing food-material in its cells, covered with a horny coat and capable of lying dormant in unfavourable conditions. _swim-ring_ a ring of polygonal air-spaces surrounding the statoblast. _ventral surface_ (_of zooecium_ or _polypide_) the surface nearest the anus; (_of statoblast_) the surface by which the statoblast is attached to the funiculus during development. _zoarium_ the whole body of zooecia which are in organic connection. _zooecium_ those parts of the polyzoon-individual which constitute a case or "house" for the polypide. synopsis of the classification of the polyzoa. i. synopsis of the subclasses, orders, and suborders. class polyzoa. small coelomate animals, each individual of which consists of a polyp-like organism or polypide enclosed in a "house" or zooecium composed partly of living tissues. the mouth is surrounded by a circle of ciliated tentacles that can be retracted within the zooecium; the alimentary canal, which is suspended in the zooecium, is y-shaped and consists of three parts, the oesophagus, the stomach, and the intestine. subclass entoprocta. the anus as well as the mouth is enclosed in the circle of tentacles and the zooecium is not very distinctly separated from the polypide. some forms are solitary or form temporary colonies by budding. most entoprocta are marine, but a freshwater genus (_urnatella_) occurs in n. america, while the indian genus _loxosomatoides_ (fig. , p. ) is only known from brackish water. subclass ectoprocta. the anus is outside the circle of tentacles and the zooecium can always be distinguished from the polypide. all species form by budding permanent communities the individuals in which remain connected together by living tissue. order i. gymnolÆmata. ectoproctous polyzoa the polypides of which have no epistome; the zooecia are in nearly all cases distinctly separated from one another by transverse perforated plates. most of the gymnolæmata are marine, but species belonging to two of the three suborders into which they are divided often stray into brackish water, while a few genera that belong to one of these two suborders are practically confined to fresh water. the three suborders are distinguished as follows:-- suborder a. _cheilostomata._ the zooecia are provided with a "lip" or lid hinged to the posterior margin of the orifice (see fig. , p. ). this lid closes automatically outside the zooecium or in a special chamber on the external surface (the "peristome") when the polypide retracts and is pushed open by the tentacles as they expand. the majority of the zooecia in each zoarium are more or less distinctly flattened, but some of them are often modified to form "vibracula" and "avicularia." the cheilostomata are essentially a marine group, but some species are found in estuaries and even in pools and ditches of brackish water (fig. ). suborder b. _ctenostomata._ the zooecia are provided with a collar-like membrane which is pleated vertically and closes together above the polypide inside the zooecium when the former is retracted; it is thrust out of the zooecium and expands into a ring-shaped form just before the tentacles are extruded. the zooecia are usually more or less tubular, but in some genera and species are flattened. the majority of the ctenostomata are marine, but some genera are found in estuaries, while those of one section of the suborder live almost exclusively in fresh water. suborder c. _cyclostomata._ the zooecia are provided neither with a lip nor with a collar-like membrane. they are tubular and usually have circular orifices. the cyclostomata are exclusively marine. order ii. phylactolÆmata. ectoproctous polyzoa the polypides of which have a leaf-shaped organ called an epistome projecting upwards and forwards within the circle of tentacles and between the mouth and the anus. the zooecia are not distinct from one another, but in dendritic forms the zoarium is divided irregularly by chitinous partitions. the phylactolæmata are, without exception, freshwater species. ii. synopsis of the leading characters of the divisions of the suborder ctenostomata. suborder b. _ctenostomata._ the suborder has been subdivided in various ways by different authors. the system here adopted is essentially the same as that proposed in a recent paper by waters (journ. linn. soc. london, zool. xxi, p. , ), but i have thought it necessary to add a fourth division to the three adopted by that author, namely, the alcyonellea, stolonifera, and vesicularina. this new division includes all the freshwater genera and may be known as the paludicellina. in none of these divisions are the tentacles webbed at the base. the four divisions may be recognized from the following synopsis of their characteristic features:-- division i. alcyonellea. the zooecia arise directly from one another in a fleshy or gelatinous mass. the polypide has no gizzard. the species are essentially marine, but a few are found in brackish water in estuaries. division ii. stolonifera. the zooecia arise from expansions in a delicate creeping rhizome or root-like structure, the order in which they are connected together being more or less irregular. as a rule (perhaps always) there is no gizzard. the species are marine. division iii. vesicularina. the zooecia grow directly from a tubular stem which is usually free and vertical, their arrangement being alternate, spiral or irregular. there is a stout gizzard which bears internal chitinous projections and is tightly compressed when the polypide is retracted. the species are essentially marine, but a few are found in brackish water. division iv. paludicellina, nov. the zooecia are arranged in a regular cruciform manner and arise either directly one from another or with the intervention of tubular processes. if the polypide has a gizzard it does not bear internal chitinous projections. most of the species are confined to fresh water, but a few are found in brackish water or even in the sea. although all true freshwater ctenostomes belong to the fourth of these divisions, species of a genus (_bowerbankia_) included in the third are so frequently found in brackish water and in association with one belonging to the fourth, and are so easily confounded with the latter, that i think it necessary to include a brief description of the said genus and of the form that represents it in ponds of brackish water in india. systematic list of the indian freshwater polyzoa. [the types have been examined in the case of all species, etc., whose names are marked thus, *.] order i. gymnolÆmata. suborder i. _ctenostomata._ [division iii. vesicularina.] [genus bowerbankia, farre ( ).] [_b. caudata_ subsp. _bengalensis_*, annandale ( ). (brackish water).] division iv. paludicellina, nov. family i. paludicellidÆ. genus . paludicella, gervais ( ). ? _paludicella_ sp. (_fide_ carter). genus . victorella, kent ( ). ._v. bengalensis_*, annandale ( ). family ii. hislopiidÆ. genus hislopia, carter ( ). . _h. lacustris_, carter ( ). _a._ _h. lacustris_ subsp. _moniliformis_*, nov. order ii. phylactolÆmata. division i. plumatellina. family . fredericellidÆ. genus fredericella, gervais ( ). . _f. indica_*, annandale ( ). family . plumatellidÆ. subfamily a. plumatellinÆ. genus . plumatella, lamarck ( ). . _p. fruticosa_, allman ( ). . _p. emarginata_, allman ( ). . _p. javanica_*, kraepelin ( ). . _p. diffusa_, leidy ( ). . _p. allmani_, hancock ( ). . _p. tanganyikæ_*, rousselet ( ). . _p. punctata_, hancock ( ). genus . stolella, annandale ( ). . _s. indica_*, annandale ( ). subfamily b. lophopinÆ. genus . lophopodella, rousselet ( ). . _l. carteri_* (hyatt) ( ). _a._ _l. carteri_ var. _himalayana_* (annandale) ( ). genus . pectinatella, leidy ( ). . _p. burmanica_*, annandale ( ). order ctenostomata. [division vesicularina. family vesicularidÆ. vesicularidÆ, hincks, brit. marine polyzoa, p. ( ). zooecia constricted at the base, deciduous, attached to a stem that is either recumbent or vertical. genus bowerbankia, _farre_. _bowerbankia_, farre, phil. trans. roy. soc. cxxvii, p. ( ). _bowerbankia_, hincks, _op. cit._ p. . _zoarium_ vertical or recumbent. _zooecia_ ovate or almost cylindrical, arranged on the stem singly, in clusters or in a subspiral line. _polypide_ with or tentacles. bowerbankia caudata, _hincks_. _bowerbankia caudata_, hincks, _op. cit._ p. , pl. lxxv, figs. , . this species is easily distinguished from all others by the fact that mature zooecia have always the appearance of being fixed to the sides of a creeping, adherent stem and are produced, below the point at which they are thus fixed, into a pointed "tail." subsp. bengalensis, _annandale_. _bowerbankia caudata_, thornely, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ). _bowerbankia caudata_, annandale, _ibid._ p. . _bowerbankia caudata_ race _bengalensis_, _id._, _ibid._ ii. p. ( ). the indian race is only distinguished from the typical form by its greater luxuriance of growth and by the fact that the "tail" of the zooecia is often of relatively great length, sometimes equaling or exceeding the rest of the zooecium. the stem, which is divided at irregular intervals by partitions, often crosses and recrosses its own course and even anastomoses, and a fur-like structure is formed in which the zooecia representing the hairs become much elongated; but upright branches are never formed. the zoarium has a greenish or greyish tinge. type in the indian museum. geographical distribution.--_b. caudata_ subsp. _bengalensis_ is common in brackish water in the ganges delta, where it often occurs in close association with _victorella bengalensis_, and also at the south end of the chilka lake in the north-east of the madras presidency. although it has not yet been found elsewhere, it probably occurs all round the indian coasts.] division paludicellina, nov. this division consists of two very distinct families, the species of which are easily distinguished at a glance by the fact that in one (the paludicellidæ) the zooecia are tubular, while in the other (the hislopiidæ) they are broad and flattened. the anatomical and physiological differences between the two families are important, and they are associated together mainly on account of the method of budding by means of which their zoaria are produced. [illustration: fig. .--single zooecia of _victorella_ and _hislopia_ (magnified). a, zooecium of _victorella pavida_, kent, with the polypide retracted (after kraepelin). b, zooecium of _hislopia lacustris_, carter (typical form from the united provinces), with the collar completely and the tentacles partly protruded. a=collar; b=orifice; c=tentacles; d=pharynx; e=oesophagus proper; f=gizzard; g=stomach; g'=cardiac portion of stomach; h=intestine; j=rectum; k=anus; l=young egg; m=green cysts in gizzard; n=testes; o=ovary; o'=funiculus. the muscles are omitted except in fig. b.] family paludicellidÆ. paludicellidÆ, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. ( ). homodiÆtidÆ, kent, q. j. micr. sci. x, p. ( ). victorellidÆ, hincks, brit. marine polyzoa, p. ( ). paludicellidÉes, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). paludicellides, loppens, ann. biol. lacustre, iii, p. ( ). victorellides, _id._, _ibid._ p. . _zoarium._ the zoarium is recumbent or erect, and is formed typically either of zooecia arising directly in cruciform formation from one another, or of zooecia joined together in similar formation with the intervention of tubules arising from their own bases. complications often arise, however, either on account of the suppression of the lateral buds of a zooecium, so that the formation becomes linear instead of cruciform, or by the production in an irregular manner of additional tubules and buds from the upper part of the zooecia. a confused and tangled zoarium may thus be formed, the true nature of which can only be recognized by the examination of its terminal parts. _zooecia._ the zooecia are tubular and have a terminal or subterminal orifice, which is angulate or subangulate as seen from above. owing to this fact, to the stiff nature of the external ectocyst, to the action of circular muscles that surround the tentacular sheath, and to the cylindrical form of the soft inverted part, the orifice, as seen from above, appears to form four flaps or valves, thus [illustration: sketch, similar to a cloverleaf inside a square with rounded corners]. _polypide._ the alimentary canal is elongate and slender as a whole, the oesophagus (including the pharynx) being of considerable length. in _paludicella_ and _pottsiella_ the oesophagus opens directly into the cardiac limb of the stomach, which is distinctly constricted at its base; but in _victorella_ the base of the oesophagus is constricted off from the remainder to form an elongate oval sac the walls of which are lined with a delicate structureless membrane. _victorella_ may therefore be said to possess a gizzard, but the structure that must be so designated has not the function (that of crushing food) commonly associated with the name, acting merely as a chamber for the retention of solid particles. in this genus the cardiac limb of the stomach is produced and vertical but not constricted at the base. the tentacles in most species number , but in _paludicella_ there are . _resting buds._ the peculiar structures known in europe as "hibernacula" are only found in this family. the name hibernacula, however, is inappropriate to the only known indian species as they are formed in this country at the approach of summer instead of, as in europe and n. america, at that of winter. it is best, therefore, to call them "resting buds." they consist of masses of cells congregated at the base of the zooecia, gorged with food material and covered with a resistant horny covering. the family paludicellidæ consists of three genera which may be distinguished as follows:-- i. orifice terminal; main axis of the zooecium vertical; zooecia separated from one another by tubules. [a. base of the zooecia not swollen; no adventitious buds pottsiella.] b. base of the zooecium swollen; adventitious buds produced near the tip victorella, p. . ii. orifice subterminal, distinctly on the dorsal surface; main axis of the zooecium horizontal (the zoarium being viewed from the dorsal surface); buds not produced at the tip of the zooecia paludicella, p. . of these three genera, _pottsiella_ has not yet been found in india and is only known to occur in n. america. it consists of one species, _p. erecta_ (potts) from the neighbourhood of philadelphia in the united states. _victorella_ includes four species, _v. pavida_ known from england and germany and said to occur in australia, _v. mülleri_ from germany (distinguished by possessing parietal muscles at the tip of the zooecia), _v. symbiotica_ from african lakes and _v. bengalensis_ from india. these species are closely related. _paludicella_ is stated by carter to have been found in bombay, but probably what he really found was the young stage of _v. bengalensis_. a single species is known in europe and n. america, namely _p. ehrenbergi_, van beneden (=_alcyonella articulata_, ehrenberg). i have examined specimens of all the species of this family as yet known. genus . paludicella, _gervais_. _paludicella_, gervais, compt. rend. iii, p. ( ). _paludicella_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. ( ). ? _paludicella_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) iii, p. ( ). _paludicella_, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). _paludicella_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. ( ). _paludicella_, loppens, ann. biol. lacustre, iv, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the nature of the zoarium in this genus is well expressed by ehrenberg's specific name "_articulata_," although the name was given under a false impression. the zooecia arise directly from one another in linear series with occasional side-branches. the side-branches are, however, often suppressed. the zoarium as a whole is either recumbent and adherent or at least partly vertical. _zooecia._ although the zooecia are distinctly tubular as a whole, two longitudinal axes may be distinguished in each, for the tip is bent upwards in a slanting direction, bearing the orifice at its extremity. the main axis is, however, at right angles to the dorso-ventral axis, and the dorsal surface, owing to the position of the aperture, can always be readily distinguished from the ventral, even when the position of the zooecium is vertical. each zooecium tapers towards the posterior extremity. parietal muscles are always present. [illustration: fig. .--structure of _paludicella ehrenbergi_ (a and b after allman). a=a single zooecium with the polypide retracted. b=the base of the lophophore as seen from above with the tentacles removed. c=the orifice of a polypide with the collar expanded and the tentacles partly retracted. _a_=tentacles; _c_=collar; _d_=mouth; _e_=oesophagus; _f_=stomach; _g_=intestine; _k_=parieto-vaginal muscles; _p_=parietal muscles; _o_=cardiac part of the stomach; _r_=retractor muscle; _s_=funiculus.] _polypide._ the most striking features of the polypide are the absence of any trace of a gizzard and the highly specialized form assumed by the cardiac part of the stomach. there are two funiculi, both connecting the pyloric part of the stomach with the endocyst. the ovary develops at the end of the upper, the testis at that of the lower funiculus. _resting buds._ the resting buds are spindle-shaped. kraepelin recognized two species in the genus mainly by their method of growth and the number of tentacles. in his _p. mülleri_ the zoarium is always recumbent and the polypide has tentacles, whereas in _p. articulata_ or _ehrenbergi_ the tentacles number and upright branches are usually developed. it is probable, however, that the former species should be assigned to _victorella_, for it is often difficult to distinguish _paludicella_ from young specimens of _victorella_ unless the latter bear adventitious terminal buds. the gizzard of _victorella_ can be detected in well-preserved material even under a fairly low power of the microscope, and i have examined specimens of what i believe to be the adult of _mülleri_ which certainly belong to that genus. it is always difficult to see the collar of _paludicella_, because of its transparency and because of the fact that its pleats are apparently not strengthened by chitinous rods as is usually the case. allman neither mentions it in his description of the genus nor shows it in his figures, and loppens denies its existence, but it is figured by kraepelin and can always be detected in well-preserved specimens, if they are examined carefully. if the collar were actually absent, its absence would separate _paludicella_ not only from _victorella_ and _pottsiella_, but also from all other ctenostomes. in any case, _victorella_ is distinguished from _paludicella_ and _pottsiella_ by anatomical peculiarities (_e. g._, the possession of a gizzard and the absence of a second funiculus) that may ultimately be considered sufficiently great to justify its recognition as the type and only genus of a separate family or subfamily. the description of _paludicella_ is included here on account of carter's identification of the specimens he found at bombay; but its occurrence in india is very doubtful. genus . _victorella_, _kent_. _victorella_, kent, q. j. micr. sci. x, p. ( ). _victorella_, hincks, brit. marine polyzoa, p. ( ). _victorella_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. ( ). type, _victorella pavida_, kent. _zoarium._ the zoarium consists primarily of a number of erect or semi-erect tubular zooecia joined together at the base in a cruciform manner by slender tubules, but complications are introduced by the fact that adventitious buds and tubules are produced, often in large numbers, round the terminal region of the zooecia, and that these buds are often separated from their parent zooecium by a tubule of considerable length, and take root among other zooecia at a distance from their point of origin. a tangled mass may thus be formed in which it is difficult to recognize the regular arrangement of the zooecia that can be readily detached at the growing points of the zoarium. _zooecia._ the zooecia when young closely resemble those of _paludicella_, but as they grow the terminal upturned part increases rapidly, while the horizontal basal part remains almost stationary and finally appears as a mere swelling at the base of an almost vertical tube, in which by far the greater part, if not the whole, of the polypide is contained. round the terminal part of this tube adventitious buds and tubules are arranged more or less regularly. there are no parietal muscles. _polypide._ the polypide has slender tentacles, which are thickly covered with short hairs. the basal part of the oesophagus forms a thin-walled sac (the "gizzard") constricted off from the upper portion and bearing internally a thin structureless membrane. circular muscles exist in its wall but are not strongly developed on its upper part. there is a single funiculus, which connects the posterior end of the stomach with the base of the zooecium. the ovaries and testes are borne on the endocyst, not in connection with the funiculus. _resting buds._ the resting buds are flattened or resemble young zooecia in external form. _victorella_, although found in fresh water, occurs more commonly in brackish water and is known to exist in the littoral zone of the sea. . victorella bengalensis, _annandale_. _victorella pavida_, annandale (_nec_ kent), rec. ind. mus. i, p. , figs. - ( ). _victorella bengalensis_, _id._, _ibid._ ii, p. , fig. ( ). _zoarium._ _the mature zoarium resembles a thick fur_, the hairs of which are represented by elongate, erect, slender tubules (the zooecia), the arrangement of the whole being very complicated and irregular. the base of the zoarium often consists of an irregular membrane formed of matted tubules, which are sometimes agglutinated together by a gummy secretion. the zoarium as a whole has a faint yellowish tinge. _zooecia._ the zooecia when young are practically recumbent, each being of an ovoid form and having a stout, distinctly quadrate orificial tubule projecting upwards and slightly forwards near the anterior margin of the dorsal surface. at this stage a single tubule, often of great relative length, is often given off near the orifice, bearing a bud at its free extremity. as the zooecium grows the tubular part becomes much elongated as compared with the basal part and assumes a vertical position. its quadrate form sometimes persists but more often disappears, so that it becomes almost circular in cross-section throughout its length. buds are produced near the tip in considerable profusion. as a rule, if they appear at this stage, the tubule connecting them with the parent zooecium is short or obsolete; sometimes they are produced only on one side of the zooecium, sometimes on two. the buds themselves produce granddaughter and great-granddaughter buds, often connected together by short tubules, while still small and imperfectly developed. the swelling at the base of the zooecium, when the latter is fully formed, is small. _polypide._ the polypide has the features characteristic of the genus. the base of the gizzard is surrounded by a strong circular muscle. [illustration: fig. .--_victorella bengalensis_ (type specimens). a=single zooecium without adventitious buds but with a young resting bud (_b_), × (dorsal view); b=lateral view of a smaller zooecium without buds, × ; c=upper part of a zooecium with a single adventitious bud, × ; d=outline of the upper part of a zooecium with adventitious buds of several generations, × ; e=remains of a zooecium with two resting buds (_b_) attached. all the specimens figured are from port canning and, except d, are represented as they appear when stained with borax carmine and mounted in canada balsam.] _resting buds._ the resting buds (fig. , p. ) are somewhat variable in shape but are always flat with irregular cylindrical or subcylindrical projections round the margin, on which the horny coat is thinner than it is on the upper surface. this surface is either smooth or longitudinally ridged. type in the indian museum. this species differs from the european _v. pavida_ in very much the same way as, but to a greater extent than, the indian race of _bowerbankia caudata_ does from the typical english one (see p. ). the growth of the zoarium is much more luxuriant, and the form of the resting buds is different. geographical distribution.--_v. bengalensis_ is abundant in pools of brackish water in the ganges delta and in the salt lakes near calcutta; it also occurs in ponds of fresh water near the latter. i have received specimens from madras from dr. j. r. henderson, and it is probable that the form from bombay referred by carter to _paludicella_ belonged to this species. biology.--in the ganges delta _v. bengalensis_ is usually found coating the roots and stems of a species of grass that grows in and near brackish water, and on sticks that have fallen into the water. it also spreads over the surface of bricks, and i have found a specimen on a living shell of the common mollusc _melania tuberculata_. dr. henderson obtained specimens at madras from the surface of a freshwater shrimp, _palæmon malcolmsonii_. in the ponds at port canning the zoaria grow side by side with, and even entangled with those of _bowerbankia caudata_ subsp. _bengalensis_, to the zooecia of which their zooecia bear a very strong external resemblance so far as their distal extremity is concerned. this resemblance, however, disappears in the case of zooecia that bear terminal buds, for no such buds are borne by _b. caudata_; and the yellowish tint of the zoaria of _v. bengalensis_ is characteristic. zoaria of the entoproct _loxosomatoides colonialis_ and colonies of the hydroid _irene ceylonensis_ are also found entangled with the zoaria of _v. bengalensis_, the zooecia of which are often covered with various species of vorticellid protozoa and small rotifers. the growth of _v. bengalensis_ is more vigorous than that of the other polyzoa found with it, and patches of _b. caudata_ are frequently surrounded by large areas of _v. bengalensis_. the food of _v. bengalensis_ consists largely of diatoms, the siliceous shells of which often form the greater part of its excreta. minute particles of silt are sometimes retained in the gizzard, being apparently swallowed by accident. there are still many points to be elucidated as regards the production and development of the resting buds in _v. bengalensis_, but two facts are now quite clear as regards them: firstly, that these buds are produced at the approach of the hot weather and germinate in november or december; and secondly, that the whole zoarium may be transformed at the former season into a layer of resting buds closely pressed together but sometimes exhibiting in their arrangement the typical cruciform formation. resting buds may often be found in vigorous colonies as late as the beginning of december; these buds have not been recently formed but have persisted since the previous spring and have not yet germinated. sometimes only one or two buds are formed at the base of an existing zooecium (fig. _a_), but apparently it is possible not only for a zooecium to be transformed into a resting bud but for it to produce four other buds round its base before undergoing the change. young polypides are formed inside the buds and a single zooecium sprouts out of each, as a rule by the growth of one of the basal projections, when conditions are favourable. polypides of _v. bengalensis_ are often transformed into brown bodies. when this occurs the orifice closes together, with the collar expanded outside the zooecium. i have occasionally noticed that the ectocyst of such zooecia was distinctly thicker and darker in colour than that of normal zooecia. eggs and spermatozoa are produced in great numbers, as a rule simultaneously in the same zooecia, but individuals kept in captivity often produce spermatozoa only. the eggs are small and are set free as eggs. nothing is known as regards their development. polypides are as a rule found in an active condition only in the cold weather, but i have on one occasion seen them in this condition in august, in a small zoarium attached to a shell of _melania tuberculata_ taken in a canal of brackish water near calcutta. family hislopiidÆ. hislopidÉes, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). hislopiidÆ, annandale, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ). _zoarium_ recumbent, often forming an almost uniform layer on solid subjects. _zooecia_ flattened, adherent; the orifice dorsal, either surrounded by a chitinous rim or situated at the tip of an erect chitinous tubule; no parietal muscles. _polypide_ with an ample gizzard which possesses a uniform chitinous lining and does not close together when the polypide is retracted. _resting bud_, not produced. only two genera can be recognized in this family, _arachnoidea_, moore, from central africa, and _hislopia_, carter, which is widely distributed in eastern asia. the former genus possesses an upright orificial tubule and has zooecia separated by basal tubules. its anatomy is imperfectly known, but it certainly possesses a gizzard of similar structure to that of _hislopia_, between which and _victorella_ its zooecium is intermediate in form. genus hislopia, _carter_. _hislopia_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) i, p. ( ). _hislopia_, stolickza, j. as. soc. bengal, xxxviii ( ), p. ( ). _norodonia_, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, v, p. ( ). _hislopia_, _id._, _ibid._ x, p. ( ). _norodonia_, _id._, _ibid._ p. . _echinella_, korotneff, biol. centrbl. xxi, p. ( ). _hislopia_, annandale, j. as. soc. bengal (new series) ii, p. ( ). _hislopia_, loppens, ann. biol. lacustre, iii, p. ( ). type, _hislopia lacustris_, carter. _zoarium._ the zoarium consists primarily of a main axis running in a straight line, with lateral branches that point forwards and outwards. further proliferation, however, often compacts the structure into an almost uniform flat area. _zooecia._ the zooecia (fig. b, p. ) are flat and have the orifice surrounded by a chitinous rim but not much raised above the dorsal surface. they arise directly one from another. _polypide._ the polypide possesses from to tentacles. its funiculus is rudimentary or absent. neither the ovaries nor the testes have any fixed position on the lateral walls of the zooecium to which they are confined. the position of this genus has been misunderstood by several zoologists. carter originally described _hislopia_ as a cheilostome allied to _flustra_; in jullien perpetuated the error in describing his _norodonia_, which was founded on dried specimens of carter's genus; while loppens in still regarded the two "genera" as distinct and placed them both among the cheilostomes. in , however, jullien retracted his statement that _norodonia_ was a cheilostome and placed it, together with _hislopia_, in a family of which he recognized the latter as the eponymic genus. carter's mistake arose from the fact that he had only examined preserved specimens, in which the thickened rim of the orifice is strongly reminiscent of the "peristome" of certain cheilostomes, while the posterior of the four folds into which the tentacle sheath naturally falls (as in all ctenostomes, _cf._ the diagram on p. ) is in certain conditions rather larger than the other three and suggests the "lip" characteristic of the cheilostomes. if living specimens are examined, however, it is seen at once that the posterior fold, like the two lateral folds and the anterior one, changes its form and size from time to time and has no real resemblance to a "lip." that there is a remarkable, if superficial, resemblance both as regards the form of the zooecium and as regards the method of growth between _hislopia_ and certain cheilostomes cannot be denied, but the structure of the orifice and indeed of the whole organism is that of a ctenostome and the resemblance must be regarded as an instance of convergence rather than of genetic relationship. the most striking feature of the polypide of _hislopia_ is its gizzard (fig. , p. ) which is perhaps unique (except for that of _arachnoidea_) both in structure and function. in structure its peculiarities reside mainly in three particulars: (i), it is not constricted off directly from the thin-walled oesophageal tube, but possesses at its upper extremity a thick-walled tubular portion which can be entirely closed from the oesophagus at its upper end but always remains in communication with the spherical part of the gizzard; (ii), this spherical part of the gizzard is uniformly lined with a thick chitinous or horny layer which in optical section has the appearance of a pair of ridges; and (iii), there is a ring of long and very powerful cilia round the passage from the gizzard to the stomach. the cardiac limb of the stomach, which is large and heart-shaped, is obsolete. the wall of the spherical part of the gizzard consists of two layers of cells, an outer muscular layer consisting of powerful circular muscles and an inner glandular layer, which secretes the chitinous lining. the inner walls of the tubular part consist of non-ciliated columnar cells, and when the polypide is retracted it lies almost at right angles to the main axis of the zooecium. the spherical part of the gizzard invariably contains a number of green cells, which lie free in the liquid it holds and are kept in motion by the cilia at its lower aperture. the majority of these cells can be seen with the aid of a high power of the microscope to consist of a hard spherical coat or cyst containing green protoplasm in which a spherical mass of denser substance (the nucleus) and a number of minute transparent granules can sometimes be detected. the external surface of many of the cysts is covered with similar granules, but some are quite clean. there can be no doubt that these cysts represent a stage in the life-history of some minute unicellular plant or animal. indeed, although it has not yet been found possible to work out this life-history in detail, i have been able to obtain much evidence that they are the resting stage of a flagellate organism allied to _euglena_ which is swallowed by the polyzoon and becomes encysted in its gizzard, extruding in so doing from its external surface a large proportion of the food-material that it has stored up within itself in the form of transparent granules. it may also be stated that some of the organisms die and disintegrate on being received into the gizzard, instead of encysting themselves. so long as the gizzard retains its spherical form the green cells and its other contents are prevented from entering the stomach by the movements of the cilia that surround its lower aperture, but every now and then, at irregular intervals, the muscles that form its outer wall contract. the chitinous lining although resilient and not inflexible is too stiff to prevent the lumen of the gizzard being obliterated, but the action of the muscles changes its contents from a spherical to an ovoid form and in so doing presses a considerable part of them down into the stomach, through the ring of the cilia. [illustration: fig. .--optical section of gizzard of _hislopia lacustris_, with contained green cysts, × .] the contraction of the gizzard is momentary, and on its re-expansion some of the green cysts that have entered the stomach are often regurgitated into it. some, however, remain in the stomach, in which they are turned round and round by the action of the cilia at both apertures. they are apparently able to retain their form for some hours in these circumstances but finally disintegrate and disappear, being doubtless digested by the juices poured out upon them by the glandular lining of the stomach. in polypides kept under observation in clean tap-water all the cysts finally disappear, and the fæces assume a green colour. in preserved specimens apparently unaltered cysts are sometimes found in the rectum, but this is exceptional: i have observed nothing of the kind in living polypides. cysts often remain for several days unaltered in the gizzard. imperfect as these observations are, they throw considerable light on the functions of the gizzard in _hislopia_. primarily it appears to act as a food-reservoir in which the green cysts and other minute organisms can be kept until they are required for digestion. when in the gizzard certain organisms surrender a large proportion of the food-material stored up for their own uses, and this food-material doubtless aids in nourishing the polyzoon. although the cysts in the gizzard are frequently accompanied by diatoms, the latter are not invariably present. the cysts, moreover, are to be found in the zooecia of polypides that have formed brown bodies, often being actually enclosed in the substance of the brown body. the gizzards of the specimens of _arachnoidea_ i have examined contain cysts that resemble those found in the same position in _hislopia_. _hislopia_ is widely distributed in the southern part of the oriental region, and, if i am right in regarding _echinella_, korotneff as a synonym, extends its range northwards to lake baikal. it appears to be a highly specialized form but is perhaps related, through _arachnoidea_, to _victorella_. . hislopia lacustris, _carter_. _hislopia lacustris_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) i, p. , pl. vii, figs. - ( ). _norodonia cambodgiensis_, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, v, p. , figs. - ( ). _norodonia sinensis_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , figs. - . _norodonia cambodgiensis_, _id._, _ibid._ x, p. , figs. , ( ). _norodonia sinensis_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , figs. , . _hislopia lacustris_, annandale, j. as. soc. bengal (new series) iii, p. ( ). _hislopia lacustris_, walton, rec. ind. mus. i, p. ( ). _hislopia lacustris_, kirkpatrick, _ibid._ ii, p. ( ). _hislopia lacustris_, walton, _ibid._ iii, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium forms a flat, more or less solid layer and is closely adherent to foreign objects. as a rule it covers a considerable area, with radiating branches at the edges; but when growing on slender twigs or the stems of water-plants it forms narrow, closely compressed masses. one zooecium, however, never grows over another. _zooecia._ the zooecia are variable in shape. in zoaria which have space for free expansion they are as a rule irregularly oval, the posterior extremity being often narrower than the anterior; but small triangular zooecia and others that are almost square may often be found. when growing on a support of limited area the zooecia are smaller and as a rule more elongate. the orifice is situated on a slight eminence nearer the anterior than the posterior margin of the dorsal surface. it is surrounded by a strong chitinous rim, which is usually square or subquadrate but not infrequently circular or subcircular. sometimes a prominent spine is borne at each corner of the rim, but these spines are often vestigial or absent; they are rarely as long as the transverse diameter of the orifice. the zooecium is usually surrounded by a chitinous margin, and outside this margin there is often a greater or less extent of adherent membrane. in some zooecia the margin is obsolete or obsolescent. the dorsal surface is of a glassy transparency but by no means soft. [illustration: fig. .--_hislopia lacustris._ a=part of a zoarium of the subspecies _moniliformis_ (type specimen, from calcutta), × ; a=green cysts in gizzard; e=eggs. b=outline of part of a zoarium of the typical form of the species from the united provinces, showing variation in the form of the zooecia and of the orifice, × .] _polypide._ the polypide has from to tentacles, being a common number. type probably not in existence. it is not in the british museum and prof. dendy, who has been kind enough to examine the specimens from carter's collection now in his possession, tells me that there are none of _hislopia_ among them. _a._ subsp. moniliformis, nov. _hislopia lacustris_, annandale, j. as. soc. bengal (new series) ii, p. , fig. ( ). in this race, which is common in calcutta, the zooecia are almost circular but truncate or concave anteriorly and posteriorly. they form linear series with few lateral branches. i have found specimens occasionally on the shell of _vivipara bengalensis_, but they are much more common on the leaves of _vallisneria spiralis_. type in the indian museum. the exact status of the forms described by jullien as _norodonia cambodgiensis_ and _n. sinensis_ is doubtful, but i see no reason to regard them as specifically distinct from _h. lacustris_, carter, of which they may be provisionally regarded as varieties. the variety _cambodgiensis_ is very like my subspecies _moniliformis_ but has the zooecia constricted posteriorly, while var. _sinensis_, although the types were found on _anodonta_ shells on which there was plenty of room for growth, resemble the confined phase of _h. lacustris_ so far as the form of their zooecia and of the orifice is concerned. geographical distribution.--the typical form is common in northern india and occurs also in lower burma; the subspecies _moniliformis_ appears to be confined to lower bengal, while the varieties _cambodgiensis_ and _sinensis_ both occur in china, the former having been found also in cambodia and siam. indian and burmese localities are:--bengal, calcutta (subsp. _moniliformis_); berhampur, murshidabad district (_j. robertson milne_): central provinces, nagpur (_carter_): united provinces, bulandshahr (_h. j. walton_): burma, pegu-sittang canal (_kirkpatrick_). biology.--regarding the typical form of the species major walton writes (rec. ind. mus. iii, p. ):--"in volume i (page ) of the records of the indian museum, i described the two forms of colonies of _hislopia_ that i had found in the united provinces (bulandshahr). of these, one was a more or less linear arrangement of the zooecia on leaves and twigs, and the other, and more common, form was an encrusting sheath on the outer surface of the shells of _paludina_. during the present 'rains' (july ) i have found many examples of what may be considered a much exaggerated extension of the latter form. these colonies have been on bricks, tiles, and other submerged objects. the largest colony that i have seen so far was on a tile; one side of the tile was exposed above the mud of the bottom of the tank, and its area measured about square inches; the entire surface was almost completely covered by a continuous growth of _hislopia_. another large colony was on a piece of bark which measured inches by inches; both sides were practically everywhere covered by _hislopia_." major walton also notes that in the united provinces the growth of _hislopia_ is at its maximum during "rains," and that at that time of year almost every adult _paludina_ in a certain tank at bulandshahr had its shell covered with the zooecia. the calcutta race flourishes all the year round but never forms large or closely compacted zoaria, those on shells of _vivipara_ exactly resembling those on leaves of _vallisneria_. in calcutta both eggs and spermatozoa are produced at all times of the year simultaneously in the same zooecia, but the eggs in one zooecium often vary greatly in size. when mature they reach relatively considerable dimensions and contain a large amount of food material; but they are set free from the zooecium as eggs. they lie loose in the zooecium at a comparatively small size and grow in this position. nothing is known as regards the development of _hislopia_. both forms of the species appear to be confined to water that is free from all traces of contamination with brine. order phylactolÆmata. the polypide in this order possesses a leaf-like ciliated organ (the epistome) which arises within the lophophore between the mouth and the anus and projects upwards and forwards over the mouth, which it can be used to close. the zooecia are never distinct from one another, but in dendritic forms such as _plumatella_ the zoarium is divided at irregular intervals by chitinous partitions. the lophophore in most genera is horseshoe-shaped instead of circular, the part opposite the anus being deeply indented. there are no parietal muscles. the orifice of the zooecium is always circular, and there is no trace of any structure corresponding to the collar of the ctenostomes. the tentacles are always webbed at the base. all the phylactolæmata produce the peculiar reproductive bodies known as statoblasts. the phylactolæmata, which are probably descended from ctenostomatous ancestors, are confined to fresh or slightly brackish water. most of the genera have a wide geographical distribution, but (with the exception of a few statoblasts of almost recent date) only one fossil form (_plumatellites_, fric. from the chalk of bohemia) has been referred to the order, and that with some doubt. it is convenient to recognize two main divisions of the phylactolæmata, but these divisions hardly merit the distinction of being regarded as suborders. they may be called cristatellina and plumatellina and distinguished as follows:-- division i, plumatellina, nov.--ectocyst well developed; zoaria without a special organ of progression; polypides contained in tubes. division ii, cristatellina, nov.--ectocyst absent except at the base of the zoarium which is modified to form a creeping "sole"; polypides embedded in a common synoecium of reticulate structure. the cristatellina consist of a single genus and probably of a single species (_cristatella mucedo_, cuvier), which is widely distributed in europe and n. america, but has not been found in the oriental region. eight genera of plumatellina are known, and five (possibly six) of these genera occur in india. division plumatellina, nov. the structure of the species included in this division is very uniform as regards the internal organs (see fig. opposite and fig. _a_, p. ). the alimentary canal is simpler than that of the paludicellidæ. a short oesophagus leads directly into the stomach, the cardiac portion of which is produced as a vertical limb almost cylindrical in form and not constricted at the base. this limb is as a rule of greater length than the oesophagus. the pyloric part of the stomach is elongated and narrow, and the intestine short, straight, and of ovoid form. there are no cilia at the pyloric opening. a single funiculus joins the posterior end of the stomach to the wall of the zooecium, bearing the statoblasts. sexual organs are often absent. [illustration: fig. .--structure of the plumatellina (after allman). a=a zooecium of _fredericella_ with the polypide extruded. b=the lophophore of _lophopus_ (tentacles removed) as seen obliquely from the right side. c=larva of _plumatella_ as seen in optical section. _a_=tentacles; _b_=velum; _c_=epistome; _d_=mouth; _e_=oesophagus; _f_=stomach; _g_=intestine; _h_=anus; _j_=retractor muscle; _k_=parieto-vaginal muscles; _l_=funiculus.] two families may be recognized as constituting the division, _viz._, (_a_) the fredericellidæ, which have a circular or oval lophophore and simple statoblast without a swim-ring, and (_b_) the plumatellidæ, in which the lophophore is shaped like a horseshoe and some or all of the statoblasts are provided with a ring of air-spaces. family . fredericellidÆ. fredericellidÆ, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. ( ). _zoaria_ dendritic; _zooecia_ distinctly tubular, with the ectocyst well developed; _statoblasts_ of one kind only, each surrounded by a chitinous ring devoid of air-spaces; _polypides_ with the lophophore circular or oval when expanded. the fredericellidæ consist of a single genus (_fredericella_) which includes several closely-allied forms and has a wide geographical distribution. genus fredericella, _gervais_ ( ). _fredericella_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. ( ). _plumatella_, ("arrêt de développement") jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). _fredericella_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. ( ). _fredericella_, goddard, proc. linn. soc. n. s. wales, xxxiv, p. ( ). this genus has the characters of the family. its status has been much disputed, some authors regarding the shape of the lophophore as of great morphological importance, while jullien believed that _fredericella_ was merely an abnormal or monstrous form of _plumatella_. the latter belief was doubtless due to the fact that the zoaria of the two genera bear a very close external resemblance to one another and are sometimes found entangled together. the importance of the shape of the lophophore may, however, easily be exaggerated, for, as both jullien and goddard have pointed out, it assumes an emarginate form when retracted. the best known species is the european and n. american _f. sultana_ (blumenbach), of which several varieties or phases have been described as distinct. this form is stated to occur also in s. africa. _f. australiensis_, goddard[bc] from n. s. wales is said to differ from this species in having an oval instead of a circular lophophore and in other small anatomical characters; but it is doubtful how far these characters are valid, for the lophophore appears to be capable of changing its shape to some slight extent and has been stated by jullien to be habitually oval in specimens from france. _f. cunningtoni_, rousselet[bd] from lake tanganyika has stout zooecia encrusted with relatively large sand-grains. [footnote bc: proc. linn. soc. n. s. wales, xxxiv, p. ( ).] [footnote bd: rousselet, proc. zool. soc. london, ( ), p. .] the zoaria of _fredericella_ are usually found attached to solid objects in shallow water, but a form described as _f. duplessisi_, ford has been found at a depth of fathoms embedded in mud at the bottom of the lake of geneva. _f. cunningtoni_ was dredged from depths of about and about fathoms. the statoblasts of this genus do not float and often germinate in the parent zooecium after its polypides have died. they are produced in smaller numbers than is usually the case in other genera of the order. the polypides sometimes undergo a process of regeneration, but without the formation of brown bodies. [illustration: fig. .--_fredericella indica._ a=statoblast, × . b=outline of expanded lophophore and adjacent parts, × ; a=anus, r=rectum. c=outline of zoarium on leaf of water-plant, × . (a and b are from specimens from igatpuri, c from specimen from shasthancottah).] . fredericella indica, _annandale_. _fredericella indica_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. , fig. ( ). _fredericella indica_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium is of delicate appearance and branches sparingly. it is often entirely recumbent but sometimes produces short, lax branches that consist of two or three zooecia only. _zooecia._ the zooecia are very slender and almost cylindrical; they are slightly emarginate and furrowed, the keel in which the furrow runs being sometimes prominent. the external surface is minutely roughened and apparently soft, for small grains of sand and other débris cling to it, but never thickly. the ectocyst is practically colourless but not transparent. _statoblasts._ the statoblasts are variable in size and form but most commonly have a regular broad oval outline; sometimes they are kidney-shaped. the dorsal surface is covered with minute star-shaped prominences, which sometimes cover it almost uniformly and are sometimes more numerous in the centre than towards the periphery. the ventral surface is smooth. _polypide._ the lophophore bears about - tentacles, which are very slender and of moderate length; the velum at their base is narrow; as a rule the lophophore is accurately circular. type in the indian museum. the most definite character in which this species differs from _f. sultana_ and _f. australiensis_ is the ornamentation of one surface of the statoblast, both surfaces of which are smooth in the two latter species. from _f. cunningtoni_, the statoblasts of which are unknown, it differs in having almost cylindrical instead of depressed zooecia and in not having the zooecia densely covered with sand-grains. geographical distribution.--western india (the malabar zone): igatpuri lake, w. ghats (alt. ca. , feet), bombay presidency, and shasthancottah lake near quilon, travancore. biology.--in both the lakes in which the species has yet been found it was collected in november. the specimens obtained in travancore were found to be undergoing a process of regeneration due at least partly to the fact that most of the polypides had perished and that statoblasts were germinating in the old zooecia. specimens from the bombay presidency, which were obtained a little later in the month, were in a more vigorous condition, although even they contained many young polypides that were not yet fully formed. it seems, therefore, not improbable that _f. indica_ dies down at the beginning of the hot weather and is regenerated by the germination of its statoblasts at the beginning of the cold weather. at shasthancottah zoaria were found entangled with zoaria of a delicate form of _plumatella fruticosa_ to which they bore a very close external resemblance. family . plumatellidÆ. plumatellidÆ, allman (_partim_), mon. fresh-water polyzoa, pp. , ( ). phylactolæmata which have horseshoe-shaped lophophores and a well-developed ectocyst not specialized to form an organ of progression. some or all of the statoblasts are provided with a "swim-ring" consisting of symmetrically disposed, polygonal chitinous chambers containing air. it is convenient to divide the plumatellidæ as thus defined into subfamilies (the plumatellinæ and the lophopinæ), which may be defined as follows:-- subfamily a. plumatellinÆ. zoarium dendritic or linear, firmly fixed to extraneous objects; zooecia tubular, not fused together to form a gelatinous mass. subfamily b. lophopinÆ. zoarium forming a gelatinous mass in which the tubular nature of the zooecia almost disappears, capable to a limited extent of progression along a smooth surface. both these subfamilies are represented in the indian fauna, the plumatellinæ by two of the three genera known to exist, and the lophopinæ by two (or possibly three) of the four that have been described. the following key includes all the known genera, but the names of those that have not been recorded from india are enclosed in square brackets. _key to the genera of_ plumatellidæ. i. statoblasts without marginal processes. a. zooecia cylindrical, not embedded in a gelatinous investment (plumatellinæ). _a_. zooecia arising directly from one another; no stolon; free statoblast oval plumatella, p. . _a'_. zooecia arising singly or in groups from an adherent stolon; free statoblasts oval. stolella, p. . b. zooecia cylindrical, embedded in a structureless gelatinous investment. zooecia arising from a ramifying stolon; statoblasts circular [stephanella.] c. polypides embedded in a hyaline synoecium that conceals the cylindrical form of the zooecia (lophopinæ). _c_. polypides upright, their base far removed from that of the zoarium when they are expanded lophopus, p. . _c'_. polypides recumbent for the greater part of their length at the base of the zoarium [australella[be].] ii. statoblasts armed (normally) with hooked processes (lophopinæ). a. processes confined to the extremities of the statoblast; zoaria remaining separate throughout life lophopodella, p. . b. processes entirely surrounding the statoblast; many zoaria embedded in a common gelatinous investment so as to form large compound colonies pectinatella, p. . [footnote be: see rec. ind. mus. v, p. , footnote ( ).] subfamily a. plumatellinÆ. of the two indian genera of this subfamily, one (_plumatella_) is almost universally distributed, while the other (_stolella_) has only been found in the valley of the ganges. the third genus of the subfamily (_stephanella_) is only known from japan. it should be noted that zoaria of different species and genera of this subfamily are often found in close proximity to one another and to zoaria of _fredericella_, and that the branches of the different species are sometimes entangled together in such a way that they appear, unless carefully separated, to belong to the same zoarium. genus . plumatella, _lamarck_. _plumatella_, lamarck, animaux sans vert. (ed. re) ii, p. ( ). _alcyonella_, _id_., _ibid_. p. . _plumatella_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. ( ). _alcyonella_, _id_., _ibid_. p. . _plumatella_, hyatt, comm. essex inst. iv, p. , pl. viii ( ). _plumatella_, jullien (_partim_), bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). _hyalinella_, _id_., _ibid_. p. . _plumatella_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswass. bryozoen, i, p. ( ). _plumatella_, braem, unter. ü. bryozoen des süssen wassers, p. (bibliotheca zoologica, ii, ). _zoarium_ dendritic, recumbent, erect, or partly recumbent and partly erect. _zooecia_ tubular, not confined in a gelatinous synoecium; the ectocyst usually horny. _statoblasts_ often of two kinds, free and stationary, the latter without air-cells and as a rule adherent by one surface, the former provided with a well-developed ring of air-cells but without marginal processes, oval in form, never more than about . mm. in length. _polypide_ with less than tentacles. [illustration: fig. .--outlines of free statoblasts of _plumatella_ (enlarged). a, of _p. fruticosa_ (calcutta); b, of _p. emarginata_ (calcutta); c, of _p. javanica_ (travancore); d, of _p. diffusa_ (sikhim); e, of _p. allmani_ (bhim tal); f, of _p. diffusa_ (rajshahi, bengal); g, g', of _p. punctata_ (calcutta); h, of _p. diffusa_ (sikhim), statoblast further enlarged: a=outline of capsule; b=limit of swim-ring on ventral surface; c=limit of swim-ring on dorsal surface. [the dark area represents the capsule of the statoblast.]] certain forms of this genus are liable to become compacted together in such a way as to constitute solid masses consisting of elongate vertical zooecia closely parallel to one another and sometimes agglutinated by means of a gummy substance. these forms were given by lamarck in the name _alcyonella_, and there has been much dispute as to whether they represent a distinct genus, distinct species, or merely varieties or phases of more typical forms. it appears to be the case that all species which produce vertical branches are liable to have these branches closely packed together and the individual zooecia of which they are composed more or less greatly elongated. it is in this way that the form known to allman as _alcyonella benedeni_ is produced from the typical _plumatella emarginata_. other forms go further and secrete a gummy substance that glues the upright zooecia together and forces them to elongate themselves without branching. in these conditions the zooecia become polygonal in cross-section. it is probable that such forms (_e. g._, _plumatella fungosa_ (pallas)) should rank as distinct species, for the gummy secretion is present in great profusion even in young zoaria in which the zooecia have not yet assumed a vertical position. no such form, however, has as yet been found in india, and in any case it is impossible to regard _alcyonella_ as a distinct genus. _key to the indian species of_ plumatella. i. ectocyst more or less stiff, capable of transverse wrinkling only near the tips of the zooecia, never contractile or greatly swollen; zooecia rounded[bf] at the tip when the polypide is retracted. free statoblasts elongate; the free portion of their swim-ring distinctly narrower at the sides than at the ends. a. ectocyst by no means rigid, of a uniform pale colour; zooecia never emarginate or furrowed, straight, curved or sinuous, elongate, cylindrical _fruticosa_, p. . b. ectocyst rigid; zooecia (or at any rate some of the zooecia) emarginate and furrowed. _b_. ectocyst darkly pigmented over the greater part of each zooecium, white at the tip; branching of the zoarium practically dichotomous, profuse, as a rule both horizontal and vertical; zooecia straight or slightly curved or sinuous _emarginata_, p. . _b'_. ectocyst colourless and hyaline; branching of the zoarium sparse, lateral, irregular, horizontal; zooecia nearly straight, strongly emarginate and furrowed _javanica_, p. . _b''_. the majority of the zooecia distinctly l-shaped, one limb being as a rule adherent; ectocyst never densely pigmented. beta. zooecia cylindrical, their furrowed keel never prominent _diffusa_, p. . beta'. zooecia (or at any rate some of the zooecia) constricted or tapering at the base, their emargination and furrow conspicuous _allmani_, p. . ii. ectocyst stiff; zooecia truncated when the polypide is retracted. surface of zooecia minutely roughened, distinctly annulate on the distal part _tanganyikæ_, p. . iii. ectocyst swollen and contractile, capable of transverse wrinkling all over the zooecium; zooecia never emarginate _punctata_, p. . [footnote bf: in specimens preserved in spirit they are apt to collapse and therefore to become somewhat concave.] there has always been much difficulty in separating the species of _plumatella_, and even now there is no general consensus of opinion as to the number that should be recognized. the difficulty, however, is much reduced if the following precautions are observed:-- ( ) if the zoarium appears to be tangled, if the branches intertwine or overlap, or if the zooecia are closely pressed together, the whole mass should be carefully dissected out. this is necessary not only because zoaria belonging to different species are sometimes found entangled together but also because it is often difficult to recognize the characteristic method of branching and shape of the zooecia unless it is done. ( ) as large a part as possible of each zoarium should be examined, preferably with a binocular microscope, and allowance should be made for irregularities and abnormalities of all kinds. what must be observed is the rule rather than the exceptions. ( ) when the statoblasts are being examined, care must be taken that they lie flat and that their surface is parallel to that of the nose-piece of the microscope. if they are viewed obliquely it is impossible to see their true outlines and proportions. ( ) in order to see the relative proportions of the capsule and the swim-ring it is necessary that the statoblast should be rendered transparent. this is often difficult owing to the presence of air in the air-cells, but strong nitric acid applied judiciously will render it possible (p. ). in supervising the preparation of the plates that illustrate this genus i have impressed upon the artist the importance of representing what he saw rather than what he thought he ought to see, and the figures are very close copies of actual specimens. i have deliberately chosen for representation specimens of _plumatella_ preserved by the simple methods which are often the only ones that it is possible for a traveller to adopt, for the great majority of naturalists will probably have no opportunity of examining living specimens or specimens preserved by special methods, and the main object, i take it, of this series is to enable naturalists first to distinguish the species described and then to learn something of their habitat and habits. geographical distribution.--of the seven species included in this key five have been found in europe (namely _p. fruticosa_, _p. emarginata_, _p. diffusa_, _p. allmani_, and _p. punctata_), while of these five all but _p. allmani_ are known to occur in n. america also. _p. javanica_ is apparently peculiar to the oriental region, while _p. tanganyikæ_ has only been taken in central africa and in the bombay presidency. types.--very few of the type-specimens of the older species of _plumatella_ are in existence. allman's are neither in edinburgh nor in london, and mr. e. leonard gill, who has been kind enough to go through the hancock collection at newcastle-on-tyne, tells me that he cannot trace hancock's. those of the forms described by kraepelin are in hamburg and that of _p. tanganyikæ_ in the british museum, and there are schizotypes or paratypes of this species and of _p. javanica_ in calcutta. the types of leidy's species were at one time in the collection of the philadelphia academy of science. biology.--the zoaria of the species of _plumatella_ are found firmly attached to stones, bricks, logs of wood, sticks, floating seeds, the stems and roots of water-plants, and occasionally to the shells of molluscs such as _vivipara_ and _unio_. some species shun the light, but all are apparently confined to shallow water. various small oligochæte worms (e. g., _chætogaster spongillæ_,[bg] _nais obtusa_, _nais elinguis_, _slavina appendiculata_ and _pristina longiseta_[bh]), take shelter amongst them; dipterous larvæ of the genus _chironomus_ often build their protective tubes at the base of the zoaria, and the surface of the zooecia commonly bears a more or less profuse growth of such protozoa as _vorticella_ and _epistylis_. i have seen a worm of the genus _chætogaster_ devouring the tentacles of a polypide that had been accidentally injured, but as a rule the movements of the lophophore are too quick to permit attacks of the kind, and i know of no active enemy of the genus. the growth of sponges at the base of the zoaria probably chokes some species, but one form (_f. fruticosa_) is able to surmount this difficulty by elongating its zooecia (p. ). a small worm (_aulophorus tonkinensis_) which is common in ponds in burma and the east of india as far west as lucknow, often builds the tube in which it lives mainly of the free statoblasts of this genus. it apparently makes no selection in so doing but merely gathers the commonest and lightest objects it can find, for small seeds and minute fragments of wood as well as sponge gemmules and statoblasts of other genera are also collected by it. i know of no better way of obtaining a general idea as to what sponges and phylactolæmata are present in a pond than to examine the tubes of _aulophorus tonkinensis_. [footnote bg: annandale, j. as. soc. bengal (n. s.) ii, p. , pl. i ( ).] [footnote bh: see michaelsen, mem. ind. mus. i, pp. - ( ).] i am indebted to mr. f. h. gravely, assistant superintendent in the indian museum, for an interesting note regarding the food of _plumatella_. his observations, which were made in northamptonshire, were unfortunately interrupted at a critical moment, but i have reproduced them with his consent in order that other observers may investigate the phenomena he saw. mr. gravely noted that a small green flagellate which was abundant in water in which _plumatella repens_ was growing luxuriantly, was swallowed by the polypides, and that if the polyparium was kept in a shallow dish of water, living flagellata of the same species congregated in a little pile under the anus of each polypide. his preparations show very clearly that the flagellates were passing through the alimentary canal without apparent change, but the method of preservation does not permit the retractile granules, which were present in large numbers in the cell-substance of the flagellates, to be displayed and it is possible that these granules had disappeared from those flagellates which are present in the recta of his specimens. it is clear, therefore, either that certain flagellates must pass through the alimentary canal of _plumatella_ unchanged, or that the polyzoon must have the power of absorbing the stored food material the flagellates contain without doing them any other injury. the free statoblasts of _plumatella_ are as a rule set free before the cells they contain become differentiated, and float on the surface of the water for some time before they germinate; but occasionally a small polypide is formed inside the capsule while it is still in its parent zooecium. i have, however, seen only one instance of this premature development, in a single statoblast contained in a small zoarium of _p. fruticosa_ found in lower burma in march. the fixed statoblasts usually remain fixed to the support of the zoarium, even when their parent-zooecium decays, and germinate _in situ_. the larva (fig. c, p. ) that originates from the egg of _plumatella_ is a minute pear-shaped, bladder-like body covered externally with fine vibratile threads (cilia) and having a pore at the narrow end. at the period at which it is set free from the parent zooecium it already contains a fully formed polypide or pair of polypides with the tentacles directed towards the narrow end. after a brief period of active life, during which it moves through the water by means of its cilia, it settles down on its broad end, which becomes adhesive; the polypide or pair of polypides is everted through the pore at the narrow end, the whole of this end is turned inside out, and a fresh polyparium is rapidly formed by budding. . plumatella fruticosa, _allman_. (plate iii, fig. ; plate iv, fig. ; plate v, fig. .) _plumatella fruticosa_, allman, ann. nat. hist. xiii, p. ( ). _plumatella repens_, van beneden (? _nec_ linné), mém. acad. roy. belg. , p. , pl. i, figs. - . _plumatella fruticosa_, johnston, brit. zooph. (ed. ), p. ( ). _plumatella coralloides_, allman, rep. brit. assoc. , p. . _plumatella stricta_, _id._, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. , fig. ( ). _plumatella fruticosa_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , pl. vi, figs. - . _plumatella coralloides_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , pl. vii, figs. - . _plumatella repens_ and _p. stricta_, carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) iii, p. ( ). _plumatella lucifuga_, jullien (_partim_), bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). _plumatella princeps_ var. _fruticosa_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. , pl. vii, fig. ( ). _plumatella fruticosa_, braem, unter. ii. bryozoen des süssen wassers, p. , pl. i, fig. (bibl. zool. ii) ( ). _plumatella repens_, annandale, j. as. soc. bengal (new series) iii, , p. . _plumatella emarginata_, loppens (_partim_), ann. biol. lacustre, iii, p. ( ). _plumatella fruticosa_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium in the typical form has a loose appearance due to the fact that the branches are far apart and the ectocyst by no means rigid. when young the zoarium is adherent, but in well-grown polyparia vertical branches, often an inch or more in length, are freely produced. as a rule they have not the strength to stand upright if removed from the water. branching is ordinarily lateral and as a rule occurs chiefly on one side of a main branch or trunk. in certain circumstances upright zooecia are pressed together and reach a great length without branching, and in this form (_p. coralloides_, allman) daughter-zooecia are often produced at the tip of an elongated mother-zooecium in fan-like formation. a depauperated form (_p. stricta_, allman), occurs in which the vertical branches are absent or very short. in all forms internal partitions are numerous and stout. _zooecia._ the zooecia are cylindrical and bear a simple keel on their dorsal surface. they are never emarginate or furrowed. in the typical form their diameter is more than half a millimetre, and they are always of considerable length. the ectocyst is thin and never very rigid or deeply pigmented, the colour usually being an almost uniform pale pinkish brown and fading little towards the tip of the zooecium. _statoblasts._ both free and stationary statoblasts are formed, but the latter are rare and do not always adhere. they resemble the free statoblasts in general form but have a solid margin instead of a swim-ring and are often minutely serrated round the edge. the free statoblasts are at least considerably, sometimes very elongate; in all zoaria it is possible to find specimens that are more than twice as long as broad. the capsule is relatively large and resembles the swim-ring in outline, so that the free portion of the latter is not much narrower at the sides than at the ends. the sides are distinctly convex and the ends rounded; the swim-ring encroaches little on the surface of the capsule. _polypide._ the tentacles number between and and are not festooned at the base. the stomach is slender and elongate. type not in existence. systematic remarks.--_p. fruticosa_ is closely allied to _p. repens_ (european and n. american) but always has much longer statoblasts. three phases of the species may be distinguished as follows:-- a. (_forma typica_). zooecia stout in form, not greatly elongate; free branches produced in profusion. b. (_p. stricta_, allman, _p. repens_, van beneden). zooecia slender; free branches absent or consisting of two or three zooecia only. c. (_p. coralloides_, allman). vertical zooecia pressed together and greatly elongated. indian specimens of the typical form agree well with german specimens labelled by prof. kraepelin _p. princeps_ var. _fruticosa_, and specimens of the _coralloides_ phase could hardly be distinguished from similar specimens from scotland. geographical distribution.--_p. fruticosa_ is widely distributed in europe and probably in n. america. i have seen indian specimens from the punjab (lahore, _stephenson_), from bombay, from travancore, from calcutta and other places in the ganges delta, from rajshahi (rampur bhoolia) on the r. ganges, from kurseong in the e. himalayas (alt. , feet), and from kawkareik in tenasserim. statoblasts found on the surface of a pond near simla in the w. himalayas (alt. _ca._ , feet), probably belong to this species. biology.--allman states that in england _p. fruticosa_ is fond of still and slowly-running water. the typical form and the _coralloides_ phase grow abundantly in the calcutta tanks, the former often attaining an extraordinary luxuriance. i have found the var. _stricta_ only in water in which there was reason to suspect a lack of minute life (and therefore of food), viz. in shasthancottah lake in travancore, in a swamp in lower burma, and in a small jungle stream near the base of the western ghats in travancore. the species is the only one that i have seen in running water in india, and the specimens obtained in the jungle stream in travancore are the only specimens i have taken in these circumstances. _p. fruticosa_ always grows near the surface or near the edge of water; it is found attached to the stems of bulrushes and other aquatic plants, to floating seeds and logs and (rarely) to stones and bricks. so far as my experience goes it is only found, at any rate in calcutta, in the cold weather and does not make its appearance earlier than october. the form allman called _p. coralloides_ was found by him, "attached to floating logs of wood, together with _p. repens_ and _cordylophora lacustris_, and generally immersed in masses of _spongilla fluviatilis_." i have always found it immersed in sponges (_s. lacustris_, _s. alba_, _s. carteri_, and _s. crassissima_), except when the sponge in which it had been immersed had decayed. indeed, the peculiar form it has assumed appears to be directly due to the pressure of the growing sponge exerted on the zooecia, for it is often possible to find a zoarium that has been partially overgrown by a sponge and has retained its typical form so long as it was free but has assumed the _coralloides_ form where immersed.[bi] in shasthancottah lake, travancore, i found specimens of the _stricta_ phase embedded in the gelatinous mass formed by a social rotifer and to some extent assimilated to the _coralloides_ form. [footnote bi: braem (_op. cit._, p. , pl. i, fig. ), has described and figured under the name _p. fungosa_ var. _coralloides_, allman, a dense form that somewhat resembles this phase of _p. fruticosa_ but has become compacted without external pressure. it is, however, probably a form of _p. repens_ rather than _p. fungosa_ and differs in its broad statoblasts from any form of _p. fruticosa_. i have examined specimens of the same form from england.] . plumatella emarginata, _allman_. (plate iii, fig. ; plate iv, figs. , _a._) _plumatella emarginata_, allman, ann. nat. hist. xiii, p. ( ). _plumatella emarginata_, johnston, brit. zooph. (ed. ), p. ( ). _alcyonella benedeni_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. , pl. iv, figs. - ( ). _plumatella emarginata_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , pl. vii, figs. - . _plumatella lucifuga_, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, figs. , , p. ( ). _plumatella princeps_ var. _emarginata_, kraepelin (_partim_), deutsch. süsswasserbryoz. p. , pl. iv, fig. , pl. v, fig. ( ). _plumatella emarginata_, braem, unter. ii. bryoz. süssen wassers, p. , pl. i, figs. , (bibl. zool. ii) ( ). _plumatella emarginata_, annandale (_partim_), j. as. soc. bengal, (new series) iii, , p. . _plumatella princeps_, loppens (_partim_), ann. biol. lacustre, iii, p. , fig. ( ). _plumatella emarginata_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium often covers a considerable area on flat surfaces and is sometimes entirely recumbent. more usually, however, the younger part is vertical. in either case the branching is practically dichotomous, two young zooecia arising almost simultaneously at the tip of a mother-zooecium and diverging from one another at a small angle. when the zoarium becomes vertical, rigid branches of as much as an inch in length are sometimes produced in this way and, arising parallel to one another, are pressed together to form an almost solid mass (=_alcyonella benedeni_, allman). in such cases the basal zooecium or at any rate the basal part of each upright branch is considerably elongated. in recumbent zooecia the main branches often radiate outwards from a common centre. _zooecia._ the zooecia are of almost equal width throughout, slender, and moderately elongate when recumbent. their ectocyst is stiff; they are emarginate at the tip and more or less distinctly furrowed on the dorsal surface, the keel in which the furrow runs not being prominent. the orifice is often on the dorsal surface even in upright branches. each zooecium is of a dark brown or almost black colour for the greater part of its length but has a conspicuous white tip which is extended down the dorsal surface in the form of a triangle, its limits being rather more extensive than and parallel to those of the emargination. _statoblast._ the majority of the free statoblasts are elongate and truncate or subtruncate at the extremities, the sides being as a rule straight and parallel. in every polyparium specimens will be found that are between twice and thrice as long as broad. the capsule is, however, relatively much broader than the swim-ring, often being nearly circular, and there is therefore at either end a considerable extent of free air-cells, while the extent of these cells at the sides of the capsule is small. the air-cells cover a considerable part of the dorsal surface of the capsule. fixed statoblasts are usually found in old colonies, especially at the approach of the hot weather. they have an oval form and are surrounded by a membranous margin on which traces of reticulation can often be detected. as a rule statoblasts of both types are produced in considerable but not in excessive numbers. _polypide._ there are about tentacles, the velum at the base of which extends upwards for a considerable distance without being festooned. the stomach is elongate and slender and narrowly rounded at the base. the method of branching, the coloration of the zooecia and the form of the free statoblast are all characteristic. luxuriant or closely compressed zoaria of _p. diffusa_ often bear a superficial resemblance to those of _p. emarginata_, but the resemblance disappears if they are carefully dissected out. indian specimens of _p. emarginata_ agree closely with european ones. geographical distribution.--_p. emarginata_ is a common species in europe, n. america, and southern asia and probably also occurs in africa and australia. i have examined specimens from calcutta, rangoon, and mandalay in indian territory, and also from jalor in the patani states (malay peninsula) and the talé noi, lakon sitamarat, lower siam. gemmules found by apstein (zool. jahrb. (syst.) xxv, , p. ) in plankton from the colombo lake may belong to this species or to any of the others included by kraepelin in his _p. princeps_. biology.--in ireland allan found _p. emarginata_ in streams and rivulets, but it also occurs in european lakes. in india i have only found it in ponds. it prefers to adhere to the surface of stones or bricks, but when these are not available is found on the stems of water-plants. in the latter position the form called _alcyonella benedeni_ by allman is usually produced, owing to the fact that the upright branches are crowded together through lack of space, very much in the same way (although owing to a different cause) as those of _p. fruticosa_ are crowded together in the _coralloides_ phase, to which the _benedeni_ phase of _p. emarginata_ is in many respects analogous. although it is essentially a cold-weather species in calcutta, _p. emarginata_ is sometimes found in a living condition during the "rains." zoaria examined at this season, however, contains few living polypides, the majority of the zooecia having rotted away and left fixed statoblasts only to mark their former position. . plumatella javanica, _kraepelin_. _plumatella javanica_, kraepelin, mitt. nat. mus. hamb. xxiii, p. , figs. - ( ). _plumatella emarginata_ var. _javanica_, loppens, ann. biol. lacustre, iii, p. ( ). _plumatella javanica_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). _plumatella allmani_ var. _dumortieri_, _id._ (_partim_) (_nec_ allman), _ibid._ p. . this species is related to _p. emarginata_, from which it may be distinguished by the following characters:-- _zoarium._ the zoarium is always entirely recumbent and branches sparingly; its method of branching does not approach the dichotomous type but is lateral and irregular. linear series of zooecia without lateral branches are often formed. _zooecia._ the zooecia are slender and often very long; they are strongly emarginate and furrowed, and the keel that contains the furrow is conspicuous. the ectocyst is hyaline and as a rule absolutely colourless. _statoblasts._ the free statoblasts are variable in length, sometimes distinctly elongate, sometimes elongate only to a moderate degree; they are rounded at the extremities and have the sides slightly or distinctly convex outwards. the capsule is relatively large, and the free portion of the swim-ring is not much broader at the ends than at the sides. the fixed statoblasts are elongate and surrounded by an irregularly shaped chitinous membrane, which is often of considerable extent. the whole of the dorsal surface is covered with what appear to be rudimentary air-spaces some of which even contain air. the transparent glassy ectocyst and strong furrowed keel of this species are very characteristic, but the former character is apt to be obscured by staining due to external causes, especially when the zoarium is attached to dead wood. the shape of the free statoblasts is too variable to be regarded as a good diagnostic character, but the fixed statoblasts, when they are to be found, are very characteristic in appearance. _p. javanica_ appears to be closely related to allman's _p. dumortieri_, with which stained zoaria are apt to be confused. the character of the ectocyst is, however, different, and the free part of the swim-ring is distinctly narrower at the sides of the free statoblasts. dr. kraepelin has been kind enough to send me one of the types. types in the hamburg and indian museums. geographical distribution.--java, penang, india. indian localities are:--bengal, calcutta; berhampore, murshidabad; r. jharai, siripur, saran district, tirhut: e. himalayas, kurseong, darjiling district (alt. , feet): madras presidency, canal near srayikaad, travancore. mr. c. w. beebe has recently sent me a specimen taken by him in the botanical gardens at penang. biology.--very little is known about the biology of this species. kraepelin took it in java on the leaves of water-lilies. it is not uncommon during the cold weather in the calcutta zoological gardens on floating seeds and sticks and on the stems of bulrushes; in travancore i took it in november on the submerged leaves of _pandani_ growing at the edge of a canal of slightly brackish water. mr. hodgart, the collector of the indian museum, found it in the r. jharai on the stems of water-plants at a time of flood in the "rains." in calcutta it is often found entangled with _p. fruticosa_ and _p. emarginata_. . plumatella diffusa, _leidy_. (plate iv, fig. .) _plumatella diffusa_, leidy, p. ac. philad. v, p. ( ). _plumatella diffusa_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. ( ). _plumatella diffusa_, hyatt, comm. essex inst. iv, pl. viii, figs. , ( ). _plumatella diffusa_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. , fig. ( ). _plumatella repens_, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, fig. (_lapsus_ for ), p. ( ). _plumatella diffusa_, _id._, _ibid._ figs. , , pp. , . _plumatella allmani_ var. _diffusa_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium often covers a considerable area on flat surfaces and is sometimes found crowded together on the stems of plants. in the latter case the arrangement of the main branches is distinctly radiate. upright branches occur rarely and never consist of more than three zooecia. the characteristic method of branching is best represented by the following diagram:-- [illustration: fig. .] the partitions are stout and numerous. _zooecia._ the great majority of the zooecia in each zoarium are distinctly l-shaped, the long limb being usually adherent. the vital organs of the polypide are contained in the vertical limb, while the horizontal one, in mature polyparia, is packed full of free statoblasts. the zooecia are cylindrical and as a rule obscurely emarginate and furrowed. the ectocyst is stiff; it is never deeply pigmented but is usually of a transparent horn-colour at the base of each zooecium and colourless at the tip, the contrast between the two portions never being very strong. the basal portion is rough on the surface, the distal portion smooth. _statoblasts._ free statoblasts are produced in very great profusion and fixed statoblasts are also to be found as a rule. the latter resemble those of _p. emarginata_. the free statoblasts are never very large or relatively broad, but they vary considerably as regards size and outline. the capsule is large, the sides convex outwards and the extremity more or less broadly rounded. the air-cells are unusually large and extend over a great part of the dorsal surface of the statoblast. _polypide._ the polypide is shorter and stouter than that of _p. emarginata_ and as a rule has fewer tentacles. the most characteristic feature of this species is the form of the zooecia, which differ greatly from those of any other indian species but _p. allmani_. in the latter they are distinctly "keg-shaped" (_i. e._, constricted at the base and swollen in the middle), and the zoarium never spreads out over large surfaces in the way in which that of _p. diffusa_ does. type--? in the philadelphia academy of sciences. geographical distribution.--this species was originally described from north america (in which it is apparently common) and occurs also in europe. i have seen indian specimens from the following localities:--bengal, calcutta and neighbourhood; rajshahi (rampur bhulia): e. himalayas, gangtok, native sikhim (alt. , feet) (_kirkpatrick_, _stewart_): punjab, lahore (_stephenson_). biology.--_p. diffusa_ in lower bengal is a cold-weather species. it is remarkable for the enormous number of gemmules it produces and is usually found either on floating objects such as the stems of certain water-plants, or on stones or bricks at the edge of ponds. . plumatella allmani, _hancock_. (plate iv, figs. , _a_.) _plumatella allmani_, hancock, ann. nat. hist. ( ) v, p. , pl. v, fig. - , pl. iii, fig. - ( ). _plumatella allmani_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. , fig. ( ). _plumatella elegans_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , pl. viii, figs. - . _plumatella lucifuga_ ("forme rampante") jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. ( ). this species is closely allied to _p. diffusa_, from which it differs in the following characters:-- ( ) the zoarium never covers a large area and as a rule grows sparingly and mainly in two directions. ( ) the zooecia are more irregular in shape, not so distinctly elbowed, smaller; they have a much more prominently keeled ridge. the great majority of them are constricted at the base and taper towards the orifice. in young zoaria they are almost colourless but in older ones there is a band of not very dense pigment round the base of the vertical limb. ( ) the free statoblasts are comparatively large and usually show a tendency to taper at the extremities, often being almost rhomboidal in form. the swim-ring does not extend so far over the dorsal surface as it does in those of _p. diffusa_; the "cells" of which it is composed are small. type not in existence. i have seen every gradation between this form and allman's _p. elegans_. geographical distribution.--_p. allmani_ is apparently a rare species to which there are few references in literature. it was originally described from england and is stated by jullien to occur in france. i have found specimens only in the lake bhim tal (alt. , feet) in the w. himalayas. biology.--the original specimens were found by hancock on stones. my own were growing on the leaves of water-plants, usually on the under side. when the zooecia were forced to stretch across from one leaflet to another they assumed the sinuous form characteristic of allman's _p. elegans_. . plumatella tanganyikæ, _rousselet_. _plumatella tanganyikæ_, rousselet, proc. zool. soc. london, (i), p. , pl. xiv, figs. - . _plumatella bombayensis_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. , figs. , ( ). _plumatella bombayensis_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the whole colony is recumbent but branches freely and at short intervals in a horizontal plane, so that the zooecia become crowded together and the branches sometimes overlap one another. the zoarium often covers a considerable area, but growth seems to be mainly in two directions. when growing on the stems of water-plants the branches are often parallel and closely pressed together but remain recumbent in this position. a stout membrane sometimes extends between branches and individual zooecia. _zooecia._ the walls of the zooecia are thick, stiff, and more or less darkly but not opaquely pigmented; the external surface, although not very smooth, is always clean. the two most noteworthy characters of the zooecia are (i) their truncated appearance when the polypide is retracted, and (ii) the conspicuous, although often irregular external annulation of their walls. the tip of each zooecium, owing to the fact that the invaginated part of the ectocyst is soft and sharply separated from the stiffened wall of the tube, terminates abruptly and is not rounded off gradually as is the case in most species of the genus; sometimes it expands into a trumpet-like mouth. the annulation of the external surface is due to numerous thickened areas of the ectocyst which take the form of slender rings surrounding the zooecium; they are most conspicuous on its distal half. on the dorsal surface of the base of each zooecium there is a conspicuous furrowed keel, which, however, does not usually extend to the distal end; the latter is oval in cross-section. the zooecia are short and broad; their base is always recumbent, and, when the zoarium is attached to a stone or shell, often seems to be actually embedded in the support; the distal part turns upwards and is free, so that the aperture is terminal; the zooecia of the older parts of the zoarium exhibit the specific characters much more clearly than those at the growing points. _polypide._ the lophophore bears to tentacles, which are long and slender; the velum at their base extends up each tentacle in the form of a sharply pointed projection, but these projections do not extend for more than one-fifth of the length of the tentacles. both the velum and the tentacular sheath bear numerous minute tubercles on the external surface. the base of the stomach is rounded, and the whole of the alimentary canal has a stout appearance. [illustration: fig. .--_plumatella tanganyikæ_ from igatpuri lake. a=outline of part of zoarium from a stone, × ; b=outline of the tip of a single zooecium, × ; c=free statoblast, × .] _statoblasts._ both fixed and free statoblasts are produced, but not in very large numbers. the latter are broadly oval and are surrounded by a stout chitinous ring, which often possesses irregular membranous projections; the surface is smooth. the free statoblasts are small and moderately elongate, the maximum breadth as a rule measuring about / of the length; the capsule is relatively large and the ring of air-cells is not very much broader at the ends than at the sides; the dorsal surface of the central capsule is profusely tuberculate. the outline of the whole structure is often somewhat irregular. in deference to mr. rousselet's opinion expressed in a letter i have hitherto regarded the bombay form of this species as distinct from the african one, and there certainly is a great difference in the appearance of specimens taken on the lower surface of stones in igatpuri lake and of the types of _p. tanganyikæ_, one of which is now in the collection of the indian museum. the dark colour of the former, however, and their vigorous growth appear to be directly due to environment, for these characters disappear to a large extent in specimens growing on the stems of water-plants in the same lake. indeed, such specimens are exactly intermediate between the form "_bombayensis_" and the typical form of the species. _p. tanganyikæ_ is closely allied to _p. philippinensis_, kraepelin, from the island of luzon, but the latter has a smooth and polished ectocyst devoid of annulations, and zooecia of a more elongate and regular form. types of the species in the british and indian museums, those of _p. bombayensis_ in the latter collection. geographical distribution.--_p. tanganyikæ_ is only known as yet from l. tanganyika in central africa and from igatpuri in the bombay presidency. biology.--in both localities the zoaria were found in shallow water. in l. tanganyika they were encrusting stones and shells, while at igatpuri they were fixed for the most part to the lower surface of stones but were also found on the stems of water-plants. my specimens from the bombay presidency were taken, on two separate occasions, at the end of november. at that date the zoaria were already decaying and large blanks, marked out by fixed statoblasts, were often observed on the stones. probably, therefore, the species flourishes during the "rains." . plumatella punctata, _hancock_. (plate iv, fig. .) _plumatella punctata_, hancock, ann. nat. hist. ( ) v, p. , pl. iii, fig. , and pl. v, figs. , ( ). _plumatella vesicularis_, leidy, p. ac. philad. vii, p. ( ). _plumatella vitrea_, hyatt, comm. essex inst. iv, pl. ix, figs. , ( ). _plumatella punctata_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. , fig. ( ). _plumatella vesicularis_, _id._, _ibid._ p. . _plumatella vitrea_, hyatt, proc. essex inst. v, p. , figs. , ( ). _plumatella vesicularis_, _id._, _ibid._ p. . _hyalinella vesicularis_, jullien, bull. soc. zool. france, x, p. , figs. - ( ). _hyalinella vitrea_, _id._, _ibid._ p. , figs. - . _plumatella punctata_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. , pl. iv, figs. , ; pl. v, figs. , ; pl. vii, figs. , ( ). _plumatella vesicularis_, braem, unters. ü. bryozoen süssen wassers, p. , pl. i, fig. (bibl. zool. ii) ( ). _hyalinella punctata_, loppens, ann. biol. lacustre, iii, p. ( ). _plumatella punctata_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium is entirely recumbent and often appears to form an almost uniform flat layer instead of a dendritic body. sometimes, however, it is distinctly linear, with lateral branches produced irregularly at considerable distances apart. _zooecia._ the zooecia differ from those of all other species in having a greatly swollen, soft ectocyst which can be transversely wrinkled all over the zooecium by the action of the muscles of the polypide and is distinctly contractile. it is mainly owing to the swollen and almost gelatinous nature of the ectocyst that the dendritic character of the zoarium is frequently concealed, for the method of branching is essentially the same as that of _p. diffusa_, although the zooecia are not so distinctly elbowed. the ectocyst is colourless or faintly tinted with brown; as a rule it is not quite hyaline and the external surface is minutely roughened or tuberculate. the zooecia are not emarginate or furrowed. _statoblasts._ stationary statoblasts are not found. the free statoblasts are variable and often asymmetrical in outline, but the free portion of the swim-ring is always of nearly equal diameter all round the periphery and the capsule relatively large. some of the statoblasts are always broad in comparison with their length. _polypide._ the polypide is comparatively short and stout. european specimens are said to have from to tentacles, but indian specimens have only from to . shrunken specimens of the less congested forms of this species closely resemble specimens of _p. repens_, but the statoblasts are more variable in shape and the ectocyst, even in such specimens, is thicker. living or well-preserved specimens cannot be mistaken for those of any other species. jullien regarded _p. punctata_ as the type of a distinct genus (_hyalinella_) but included in _plumatella_ at least one form (p. "_arethusa_") which probably belongs to this species. kraepelin distinguishes as "varieties" two phases, a summer phase ("var. _prostrata_") and an autumn phase ("var. _densa_"). the former often forms linear series of considerable length with only an occasional side-branch, while in the autumn phase branching is so profuse and the branches are so closely pressed together that the zoarium comes to resemble a uniform gelatinous patch rather than a dendritic growth. a phase resembling the european autumn form is the commonest in calcutta and i have also found one intermediate between this and kraepelin's "var. _prostrata_," neither having any seasonal significance in india. geographical distribution.--_p. punctata_ is widely distributed in europe and n. america, but in the oriental region it has only been found in calcutta and the neighbourhood. biology.--in this part of india _p. punctata_ flourishes both during the "rains" and in winter. i have found specimens in june and july and also in december and january. the majority of them were attached to bricks, but some were on the roots of duckweed, the stems of water-plants, and the tips of creepers falling into water. the species is often found together with _stolella indica_ and also with other species of its own genus. it is most common, in the neighbourhood of calcutta, in that part of the town which is near the salt lakes, and occurs in ponds the water of which is slightly brackish. genus . stolella, _annandale_. _stolella_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. ( ). _stolella_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. ( ). type, _stolella indica_, annandale. _zoarium_. the zoarium consists of groups of zooecia (or occasionally of single zooecia) joined together by an adherent rhizome. there is no gelatinous investment. _zooecia._ the adult zooecia resemble those of _plumatella_ except in being sometimes more or less upright. _polypide_ and _statoblasts._ the polypide and statoblasts resemble those of _plumatella_. fixed as well as free statoblasts occur. this genus is closely allied to _plumatella_, from which it is probably derived. the root-like tube from which the zooecia arise is formed by the great elongation of the basal part of a zooecium, and the zoaria closely resemble those of _p. punctata_, for it is not until several zooecia have been produced that the characteristic mode of growth becomes apparent. _stolella_ has only been found in india and is monotypic[bj]. [footnote bj: but see p. (addenda).] . stolella indica, _annandale_. (plate v, figs. , .) _stolella indica_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. iii, p. , fig. ( ). _stolella indica_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium is adherent and linear, having neither lateral nor vertical branches. _zooecia._ the zooecia are short and slender, erect or nearly so, distinctly emarginate and furrowed. their ectocyst is soft, colourless and transparent but minutely roughened on the surface. _polypide._ the tentacles number from to and are rather short and stout, sometimes being slightly expanded at the tips. the stomach is comparatively short and abruptly truncated posteriorly. _statoblasts._ both free and fixed statoblasts are found, and both are variable in form, the latter varying in outline from the circular to the broadly oval. the free statoblasts resemble those of _plumatella punctata_, but are sometimes rather more elongate. type in the indian museum. [illustration: fig. .--zoarium of _stolella indica_ on stem of water-plant (from calcutta), × .] geographical distribution.--so far as we know, this species is confined to the indo-gangetic plain. major walton found it at bulandshahr in the united provinces, and it is not uncommon in the neighbourhood of calcutta. biology.--the zoaria of _s. indica_ are usually fixed to the roots of duckweed or to the stems of other plants. they are often found together with those of _p. punctata_. a slight infusion of brackish water into the ponds in which it lives does not seem to be inimical to this species, but i have found it in ponds in which nothing of the kind was possible. it flourishes during the "rains" and, to judge from specimens kept in an aquarium, is very short-lived. major walton found it growing over a zoarium of _hislopia lacustris_. subfamily b. lophopinÆ. the zoaria of this subfamily are never dendritic but form gelatinous masses which, except in _australella_, are cushion-shaped or sack-like. with the possible exception of _australella_, they possess to a limited extent the power of moving along vertical or horizontal surfaces, but it is by no means clear how they do so (see p. ). the statoblasts are remarkable for their large size, and it is noteworthy that _australella_, which is intermediate in structure between the plumatellinæ and the lophopinæ, possesses statoblasts of intermediate size. the swim-ring is always well developed, and fixed statoblasts are unknown. only two genera (_lophopodella_ and _pectinatella_) have been definitely proved to occur in india, but a third (_lophopus_[bk]) is stated to have been found in madras. should it be met with it will easily be recognized by the upright position of its polypides when their tentacles are expanded and by the fact that the statoblasts never bear marginal processes. [footnote bk: only two species are known, _l. crystallinus_ (pallas) from europe and n. america, with oval statoblasts that are produced and pointed at the two ends, and _l. jheringi_, meissner from brazil, with irregularly polygonal or nearly circular statoblasts.] genus . lophopodella, _rousselet_. _lophopodella_, rousselet, journ. quek. micr. club ( ) ix, p. ( ). _lophopodella_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. v, p. ( ). type, _pectinatella carteri_, hyatt. _zoarium._ the zoarium consists of a circular or oval mass of no great size. polyparia do not form compound colonies. _polypides._ the polypides lie semi-recumbent in the mass and never stand upright in a vertical position. _statoblasts._ the statoblasts are of considerable size and normally bear at both ends a series of chitinous processes armed with double rows of small curved spinules. as a rule the genus is easily recognized by means of the statoblasts, but sometimes the processes at the ends of these structures are absent or abortive and it is then difficult to distinguish them from those of _lophopus_. there is, however, no species of that genus known that has statoblasts shaped like those of the indian species of _lophopodella_. three species of _lophopodella_, all of which occur in africa, have been described; _l. capensis_ from s. africa, which has the ends of the statoblast greatly produced, _l. thomasi_ from rhodesia, in which they are distinctly concave, and _l. carteri_ from e. africa, india and japan, in which they are convex or truncate. the germination of the gemmule and the early stages in the development of the polyparium of _l. capensis_ have been described by miss sollas (ann. nat. hist. ( ) ii, p. , ). . lophopodella carteri (_hyatt_). (plate iii, figs. , _a_.) _lophopus_ sp., carter, ann. nat. hist. ( ) iii, p. , pl. viii, figs. - ( ). ? _lophopus_ sp., mitchell, q. j. micr. sci. london ( ) ii, p. ( ). _pectinatella carteri_, hyatt, comm. essex inst. iv, p. (footnote) ( ). _pectinatella carteri_, meissner, die moosthiere ost-afrikas, p. (in mobius's deutsch-ost-afrika, iv, ). _lophopodella carteri_, rousselet, journ. quek. micr. club, ( ) ix, p. , pl. iii, figs. , ( ). _lophopus carteri_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. , fig. ( ). _lophopodella carteri_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoarium as a rule has one horizontal axis longer than the other so that it assumes an oval form when the polypides are expanded; when they are retracted its outline is distinctly lobular. viewed from the side it is mound-shaped. the polypides radiate, as a rule in several circles, from a common centre. the ectocyst is much swollen, hyaline and colourless. _polypide._ the polypide has normally about tentacles, the velum at the base of which is narrow and by no means strongly festooned. the stomach is yellow or greenish in colour. the extended part of the polypide measures when fully expanded rather less than mm., and each limb of the lophophore about the same. _statoblast._ the statoblast is variable in shape and size but measures on an average about . × . mm. the ends are truncate or subtruncate; the capsule is small as compared with the swim-ring and as a rule circular or nearly so. the processes at the two ends are variable in number; so also are their spinules, which are arranged in two parallel rows, one row on each side of the process, and are neither very numerous nor set close together; as a rule they curve round through the greater part of a circle and are absent from the basal part of the process. [illustration: fig. .--lophopodella carteri (from igatpuri lake). a=outline of a zoarium with the polypides expanded, as seen from below through glass to which it was attached, × ; b=outline of a zoarium with the polypides highly contracted, as seen from above, × ; c=statoblast, × .] _a._ var. himalayana. _lophopus lendenfeldi_, annandale (_nec_ ridley), j. as. soc. bengal, (n. s.) iii, , p. , pl. ii, figs. - ( ). _lophopus lendenfeldi_ var. _himalayanus_, _id._, rec. ind. mus. i, p. , figs. , ( ). _lophopus himalayanus_, _id._, _ibid._ ii, p. , fig. ( ). this variety differs from the typical form in having fewer tentacles and in the fact that the marginal processes of the statoblast are abortive or absent. _pectinatella davenporti_, oka[bl] from japan is evidently a local race of _l. carteri_, from the typical form of which it differs in having the marginal processes of the statoblast more numerous and better developed. the abortive structure of these processes in var. _himalayana_ points to an arrest of development, for they are the last part of the statoblast to be formed. [footnote bl: zool. anz. xxxi, p. ( ), and annot. zool. japon. vi, p. ( ).] types. the statoblasts mounted in canada balsam by carter and now in the british museum must be regarded as the types of the species named but not seen by hyatt. the types of the var. _himalayana_ are in the indian museum and those of the subspecies _davenporti_ presumably in the possession of dr. oka in tokyo. geographical distribution.--the typical form occurs in bombay, the w. himalayas and possibly madras, and its statoblasts have been found in e. africa; the var. _himalayana_ has only been taken in the w. himalayas and the subspecies _davenporti_ in japan. indian localities are:--bombay presidency, igatpuri lake, w. ghats (alt. _ca._ , feet); the island of bombay (_carter_): w. himalayas, bhim tal, kumaon (alt. , feet). biology.--_l. carteri_ is found on the lower surface of stones and on the stems and leaves of water-plants, usually in lakes or large ponds. although the zoaria do not form compound colonies by secreting a common membrane or investment, they are markedly gregarious. the most closely congregated and the largest zoaria i have seen were assembled amongst a gelatinous green alga of the genus _tolypothrix_[bm] (myxophyceæ) that grows on the vertical stems of a plant at the edge of igatpuri lake; it is noteworthy that in this case the alga seemed to take the place of the common investment of _pectinatella burmanica_, in which green cells are present in large numbers (p. ). the zoaria of _l. carteri_ are able to change their position, and i found that if a number of them were placed in a bottle of water they slowly came together at one spot, thus apparently forming temporary compound colonies. before a movement of the whole zoarium commences its base becomes detached from its support at the anterior end (fig. , p. ), but the whole action is extremely slow and i have not been able to discover any facts that cast light on its exact method of production. at igatpuri statoblasts are being produced in considerable numbers at the end of november, but many young zoaria can be found in which none have as yet been formed. [footnote bm: prof. w. west will shortly describe this alga, which represents a new species, in the journ. asiat. soc. bengal, under the name _tolypothrix lophopodellophila_.--_april _.] the larva of a fly of the genus _chironomus_ is often found inhabiting a tube below zoaria of _l. carteri_. it is thus protected from its enemies but can protrude its head from beneath the zoarium and seize the small animals on which it preys. genus . pectinatella, _leidy_. _cristatella_, leidy, p. ac. philad. v, p. ( ). _pectinatella_, _id._, _ibid._, p. . _pectinatella_, allman, mon. fresh-water polyzoa, p. ( ). _pectinatella_, hyatt, proc. essex inst. v, p. , fig. ( ). _pectinatella_, kraepelin, deutsch. süsswasserbryozoen, i, p. ( ). _pectinatella_, oka, journ. coll. sci. tokyo, iv, p. ( ). type, _pectinatella magnifica_, leidy. this genus is closely allied to _lophopodella_, from which it is often difficult to distinguish young specimens. adult zoaria are, however, always embedded together in groups in a gelatinous investment which they are thought to secrete in common[bn], and the statoblasts are entirely surrounded by processes that bear curved spinules at their tips only. the polypides have the same semi-recumbent position as those of _lophopodella_ but are larger than those of any species of _lophopodella_ or _lophopus_ yet known. the statoblasts are larger than those of any other plumatellidæ. [footnote bn: it is now perhaps open to doubt whether the investment is actually secreted by the polyzoon, for prof. w. west has discovered in it the cells of an alga belonging to a genus which habitually secretes a gelatinous investment of its own (see p. , _post._).--_april ._] the type-species was originally found in n. america but has since been taken in several localities in continental europe. except this and the indian form only one species is known, namely _p. gelatinosa_ from japan. _p. magnifica_ has circular statoblasts with long marginal processes, while in _p. gelatinosa_ the statoblasts are subquadrate and in _p. burmanica_ almost circular, both asiatic forms having very short marginal processes. the compound colonies formed by _pectinatella_ are often of great size. those of _p. gelatinosa_ are sometimes over metres in length, while those of _p. burmanica_ in the sur lake appeared to be only limited as regards their growth by the shallowness of the water in which the reeds to which they were attached were growing. some were observed that were over feet long. . pectinatella burmanica, _annandale_. (plate iii, fig. .) _pectinatella burmanica_, annandale, rec. ind. mus. ii, p. , fig. ( ). _pectinatella burmanica_, _id._, _ibid._ v, p. ( ). _pectinatella burmanica_, _id._, spol. zeyl. vii, p. , pl. i, fig. ( ). _zoarium._ the zoaria are circular or nearly so except when about to undergo division, in which case they are constricted in the middle. as a rule they measure nearly an inch ( cm.) in diameter. the polypides have a definite arrangement in each zoarium, being divided into four groups, each of which has a fan-like form. in the first place they are separated into two main divisions in a line running through the centre of the zoarium, and secondly each main division is separated into two subordinate ones in a line running across the other at right angles. the number of zoaria joined together in a single compound colony is very variable; sometimes there are only about half a dozen and sometimes several hundreds. the common investment in living colonies is often as much as two inches thick and has a translucent dark greenish colour due to the presence in it of green cells. [illustration: fig. .--_pectinatella burmanica._ a=polypide with the lophophore expanded, × ; _a_=oesophagus; _b_=cardiac limb of stomach; _c_=stomach; _d_=rectum; _e_=anus; _f_=funiculus. [the muscles are omitted and the external tubercles are only shown on part of the polypide. the specimen is from the sur lake, orissa.] b=statoblast from ceylon, × .] _polypide._ the polypide can be extruded for a distance of at least mm. its whole external surface is covered with minute tubercles. there are about tentacles, which are long and slender, the velum at their base being narrow and almost straight. the stomach is of considerable stoutness. _statoblast._ the statoblasts are of large size, measuring from to . mm. in diameter. in form they are almost circular, but one side is always slightly flattened. the marginal processes are very short and bear a single pair of hooks at the tip. the capsule is circular and small as compared with the free part of the swim-ring. type in the indian museum. _p. burmanica_ is evidently a near relation of _p. gelatinosa_, oka, from japan, differing from that species in the shape of the statoblasts and in having much longer tentacles. the arrangement of the polypides in the zoarium and the general structure of the statoblasts are very similar in the two species. geographical distribution.--_p. burmanica_ was originally described from a swamp at kawkareik in the amherst district of tenasserim but has also been found in the sur lake near puri in orissa. dr. a. willey obtained specimens from a pool by the roadside between maradankadewela and galapitagala, at the foot of ritigala, n. central province, ceylon. biology.--the first specimen obtained was a statoblast fixed to a tube of the oligochæte worm _aulophorus tonkinensis_ taken at kawkareik in march. at the same time young zoaria, which did not yet possess a common investment, were found on a leaf growing on a twig which drooped into the water. large compound colonies were taken in orissa in october. they completely encased the stems of reeds, thus forming hollow cylinders, but slipped from their supports when the reeds were pulled out of the water. in life they resembled gelatinous algæ rather than animals and exhibited a striking similarity to masses of zoaria of _lophopodella carteri_ surrounded by such algæ. some of the colonies were evidently dying and contained few polypides in a living condition, but many statoblasts; others were in a flourishing condition and were producing larvæ and statoblasts simultaneously. a piece of a colony full of larvæ was placed before midday in an aquarium, which was kept in a shady verandah. large numbers of larvæ were set free almost immediately. they measured about mm. in length and were distinctly pear-shaped; each contained a pair of polypides, which occupied a comparatively small part of the interior, the whole of the broader half being hollow. the larvæ swam slowly, broad-end-first, by means of the cilia with which their surface was covered, occasionally gyrating on their long axis and always adopting an erratic course. towards evening they showed signs of settling down, frequently touching the glass of the aquarium with their broad ends and sometimes remaining still in this position for some minutes. many attempts were, however, made before fixation was completed, and this did not occur until after nightfall. by next morning every larva was fixed to the glass and had everted its two polypides. unfortunately i was not able to trace the development further, but young compound colonies were found in which the secretion of the common investment had just commenced. the zoaria in these colonies measured about cm. in diameter and already contained many polypides each. oka has described the development from the statoblast of the allied japanese species. he found that each statoblast produced in the first instance a single polypide, and that the statoblasts, which were produced in autumn, lay dormant through the winter and germinated in spring. as the sur lake begins to undergo desiccation as soon as the "rains" cease, the statoblasts in it probably do not germinate until the break of the next "rains" about the middle of june. i have had dried statoblasts in my possession for over two years. their cellular contents appear to be in good condition, although the cells show no signs of development; but they have not germinated in my aquarium, in which some of them have now been kept for more than six months. the green cells of the common investment are peculiar bodies that deserve further study than it has yet been possible to devote to them. each cell is of ovoid form, varying somewhat in size but as a rule measuring about . × . mm. there can be no doubt that these bodies represent a stage in the life-history of an alga[bo]. diatoms, bacilli and other minute plants are often present in the membrane as well as the characteristic green cells, but do not form a constant feature of it. [footnote bo: professor w. west identifies this algæ as _dactylococcopsis pectinatellophila_, new species. it will be described, before the publication of this book, in the journ. as. soc. bengal ( ). prof. west has found, associated more or less fortuitously with _p. burmanica_, another alga, namely _microcystis orissica_, also a new species.--_april ._] appendix to the volume. hints on the preparation of specimens. _to preserve spongillidæ._--spongillidæ must be preserved dry or in very strong alcohol. formalin should not be used. _to clean siliceous sponge spicules._--place small fragments of the dried sponge (if alcohol is present, the reaction is apt to be violent) in a test tube, cover them with strong nitric acid and boil over the flame of a bunsen burner or small spirit lamp until the solid particles disappear. add a large quantity of water to the acid and filter through pure cellulose filter-paper, agitating the liquid repeatedly. pass clean water in considerable quantities through the filter-paper and dry the latter carefully; place it in a spirally coiled wire and ignite with a match, holding the wire in such a way that the spicules released by the burning of the paper fall into a suitable receptacle. they may then be picked up with a camel's-hair brush and mounted in canada balsam. _to examine the skeleton of a spongillid._--cut thin hand-sections with a sharp scalpel, dehydrate if necessary, and mount in canada balsam. _to prepare gemmules for examination._--place the gemmules dry in a watch-glass with a few drops of strong nitric acid. when gas is given off freely add water in considerable quantities. remove the gemmules with a camel's-hair brush to clean water, then to %, %, % and absolute alcohol in succession, leaving them for an hour in each strength of spirit. clear with oil of cloves and mount in canada balsam. _to ascertain the presence of bubble-cells in the parenchyma of a spongillid._--tease up a small piece of the sponge with a pair of needles, mount under a thin cover-slip in strong spirit, and examine under a high power of the microscope. _to preserve hydra in an expanded condition._--place the polyp in a watch-glass of clean water and wait until its tentacles are expanded. heat a few drops of commercial formaldehyde and squirt the liquid while still hot at the _hydra_, which will be killed instantaneously. remove it to a solution of formaldehyde and spirit of the following formula:-- commercial formaldehyde part. absolute alcohol parts. distilled water parts. then pass the _hydra_ through % and % alcohol and keep in %. _to examine the capsules of the nettle-cells._--place a living _hydra_ in a small drop of water on a slide and press a thin cover-slip down upon it. _to preserve freshwater polyzoa in an expanded condition._--place the polyzoa in a glass tube full of clean water and allow them to expand their tentacles. drop on them gradually when they are fully expanded a % aqueous solution of cocaine, two or three drops at a time, until movement ceases in the tentacles. then pour commercial formaldehyde into the tube in considerable quantities. allow the whole to stand for half an hour. if it is proposed to stain the specimens for anatomical investigation, they should then be removed through % and % to % alcohol. if, on the other hand, it is desired to keep them in a life-like condition they may be kept permanently in a solution of one part of commercial formaldehyde in four parts of water. care must be taken that the process of paralyzing the polypides is not unduly prolonged, and it is always as well to preserve duplicate specimens in spirit or formalin with the lophophore retracted. _to prepare statoblasts for examination._--place the statoblasts for a few minutes in strong nitric acid. then remove the acid with water, pass through alcohol, clear with oil of cloves, and mount in a small quantity of canada balsam under a cover-slip, taking care that the statoblasts lie parallel to the latter. addenda. the following addenda are due mainly to an expedition to the lakes of kumaon in the w. himalayas undertaken by mr. s. w. kemp in may, . part i. genus spongilla. subgenus euspongilla (p. ). a. spongilla lacustris, subsp. reticulata (p. ). specimens were taken in the lake malwa tal (alt. feet) in kumaon, while others have recently been obtained from the kalichedu irrigation-tank in the pagnor _talug_ of the nellore district, madras (_g. h. tipper_). . spongilla cinerea (p. ). specimens were taken in naukuchia tal (alt. feet) in kumaon. they have a pale yellow colour when dry. this sponge has not hitherto been found outside the bombay presidency. subgenus eunapius (p. ). . spongilla carteri (p. ). specimens were taken in bhim tal (alt. feet) and sat tal (alt. feet). some of them approach the variety _cava_ in structure. subgenus stratospongilla (p. ). . spongilla bombayensis (p. ). add a new variety:-- a. var. pneumatica, nov. (i.) the sponge forms a flat layer of a pale brownish colour as a rule with short and very delicate vertical branches. in one specimen it takes the form of an elegant cup attached, only at the base, to a slender twig. (ii.) the gemmules are covered, outside the spicules, by a thick pneumatic coat of irregular formation and with comparatively large air-spaces. (iii.) the gemmule-spicules are regularly sausage-shaped. types in the indian museum. habitat. naukuchia tal (alt. feet), kumaon, w. himalayas (_s. w. kemp_). genus ephydatia (p. ). after _ephydatia meyeni_, p. , add:-- ephydatia fluviatilis, _auct._ ? _ephydatia fluviatilis_, lamouroux, encyclop. méthod. ii, p. ( ). _spongilla fluviatilis_, bowerbank (_partim_), proc. zool. soc. london, , p. , pl. xxxviii, fig. . _ephydatia fluviatilis_, j. e. gray (_partim_), proc. zool. soc. london, , p. . _meyenia fluviatilis_, carter (_partim_), ann. nat. hist. ( ) vii, p. , pl. vi, fig. _a_, _b_ ( ). _ephydatia fluviatilis_, vejdovsky, abh. k. böhm. gesellschaft wiss. xii, p. , pl. i, figs. , , , , , ( ). _ephydatia fluviatilis_, _id._, p. ac. philad. , p. . _meyenia fluviatilis_ var. _gracilis_, potts, _ibid._, p. . _meyenia robusta_, _id._, _ibid._, p. , pl. ix, fig. . _ephydatia fluviatilis_, weltner, arch. naturg. berlin, (i) p. . _ephydatia robusta_, annandale, journ. as. soc. bengal, , p. , fig. . _ephydatia fluviatilis_, weltner, in brauer's süsswasserfauna deutschlands xix, süsswasserschwämme, p. , figs. , ( ). _ephydatia fluviatilis_, annandale, p. u. s. mus. xxxviii, p. ( ). [many more references to this common species might be cited, but those given above will be sufficient.] this species only differs from _e. meyeni_ in the following characters:-- (i.) there are no bubble-cells in the parenchyma; (ii.) there is less spongin in the skeleton, which is less compact; (iii.) the gemmule-spicules are longer, the shafts being as a rule longer than the diameter of the rotulæ; (iv.) the gemmules are armed with a single row of regularly arranged spicules embedded in pneumatic tissue with minute air-spaces. the sponge is a variable one and several "varieties" have been described from different parts of the world. my indian specimens come nearest to the form described by potts as _meyenia robusta_, but have rather more slender skeleton-spicules and more elongate gemmule-spicules. the latter also appear to be less frequently "monstrous." type ? geographical distribution.--_e. fluviatilis_ is widely distributed in europe and occurs in n. america,[bp] s. africa (var. _capensis_, kirkpatrick), australia, and japan. specimens were obtained by mr. kemp from several lakes in kumaon, namely naukuchia tal (alt. feet), bhim tal ( feet), sat tal ( feet), and naini tal ( feet). the gemmules from bhim tal referred by me to _e. robusta_ (potts) also belong to this species. [footnote bp: most of the forms assigned by potts to this species belong to the closely allied _e. mülleri_ (lieberkühn).] _biology._ the external form of the sponge is due in great part to its environment. specimens on small stones from the bottom of the kumaon lakes consist of thin disk-like films, often not more than a few centimetres in diameter and a few millimetres thick: others, growing on thin twigs, are elevated and compressed, resembling a cockscomb in appearance, while others again form nodules and masses of irregular form among the branches of delicate water-weeds. some of these last are penetrated by zoaria of _fredericella indica_. weltner has published some very interesting observations on the seasonal variation of minute structure in european representatives of the species (arch. naturg. berlin, lxxiii (i), p. ) and has discussed the formation of the abnormal spicules that sometimes occur (_ibid._ lxvii (special number), p. , pls. vi, vii, figs. - , ). genus corvospongilla (p. ). after _corvospongilla burmanica_, p. , add a new species:-- corvospongilla caunteri, nov. _sponge_ forming thin films of considerable area not more than or mm. thick, of a bright green colour, moderately hard but friable. the surface smooth; oscula inconspicuous, surrounded by shallow and ill-defined radiating furrows; a very stout basal membrane present. [illustration: fig. .--_corvospongilla caunteri_ (type, from lucknow). a=gemmule; b=gemmule-spicules; c=flesh-spicules; d=skeleton-spicules.] _skeleton_ reticulate but almost devoid of spongin, the reticulations close but formed mainly by single spicules; skeleton-fibres barely distinguishable. a close layer of spicules lying parallel to the basal membrane. _spicules._ skeleton-spicules variable in size and shape, almost straight, as a rule smooth, moderately stout, blunt or abruptly pointed; sometimes roughened or spiny at the tips, often sharply pointed. flesh-spicules minute, few in number, with smooth, slender shafts which are variable in length, never very strongly curved; the terminal spines relatively short, not strongly recurved. gemmule-spicules amphistrongylous or amphioxous, irregularly spiny, slender, of variable length. _gemmules_ free in the substance of the sponge, spherical or somewhat depressed, very variable in size but never large, having a thick external pneumatic coat in which the air-spaces are extremely small and, inside this coat, a single rather sparse layer of spicules lying parallel to the gemmule. a single depressed aperture present. type in the indian museum. habitat. hazratganj, lucknow; on piers of bridge in running water (_j. caunter_, - . iv. ). the structure of the gemmules of this species differs considerably from that in any other known species of the genus, in which these structures are usually adherent and devoid of a true pneumatic coat. in some of the gemmules before me this coat measures in thickness about / of the total diameter of the gemmule. _c. caunteri_ is the first species of _corvospongilla_ to be found in the indo-gangetic plain. part ii. genus hydra (p. ). . hydra oligactis (p. ). mr. kemp found this species common in bhim tal in may. his specimens, which were of a reddish-brown colour in life, appear to have been of more vigorous constitution than those taken by major stephenson in lahore. some of them had four buds but none were sexually mature. part iii. genus fredericella (p. ). . fredericella indica (p. ). this species is common in some of the kumaon lakes, in which it grows, at any rate at the beginning of summer, much more luxuriantly than it does in the lakes of the malabar zone in autumn, forming dense bushy masses on the under surface of stones, on sticks, &c. the vertical branches often consist of many zooecia. mr. kemp took specimens in malwa tal, sath tal, and naini tal (alt. - feet). genus plumatella (p. ). . plumatella emarginata (p. ). mr. kemp took bushy masses of this species in malwa tal and bhim tal. . plumatella diffusa (p. ). this species is common in malwa tal and bhim tal in may. . plumatella allmani (p. ). mr. kemp only found this species in malwa tal, in which (at any rate in may) it appears to be less abundant than it is in bhim tal in autumn. mr. kemp's specimens belong to the form called _p. elegans_ by allman. . plumatella tanganyikæ (p. ). specimens taken by mr. kemp, somewhat sparingly, in bhim tal and sath tal in may exhibit a somewhat greater tendency towards uprightness of the zooecia than those i found in autumn in igatpuri lake. the ectocyst is, in the former specimens, of a deep but bright reddish-brown. the zoaria are attached to twigs and small stones. genus stolella (p. ). after stolella indica, p. , add a new species:-- stolella himalayana, nov. this species may be distinguished from _s. indica_ by (i) its entirely recumbent zooecia, and (ii) the lateral branches of its zoarium. [illustration: fig. .--_stolella himalayana_ (types, from the kumaon lakes). a. the greater part of a young zoarium. b. part of a much older zoarium.] _zoarium_ entirely recumbent, consisting of zooecia joined together, often in groups of three, by slender, transparent, tubular processes. these processes are often of great relative length; they are formed by a modification of the posterior or proximal part of the zooecia, from which they are not separated by a partition, and they increase in length up to a certain point more rapidly than the zooecia proper. a zooecium often gives rise first to an anterior daughter-zooecium, the proximal part of which becomes elongate and attenuated in due course, and then to a pair of lateral daughter-zooecia situated one on either side. as a result of this method of budding a zoarium with a close superficial resemblance to that of _paludicella_ is at first produced, but as the colony increases in age and complexity this resemblance largely disappears, for the zooecia and their basal tubules grow over one another and often become strangely contorted (fig. ). _zooecia_ elongate and slender, flattened on the ventral, strongly convex on the dorsal surface; rather deep in proportion to their breadth; the ectocyst colourless, not very transparent except on the stolon-like tubular part; dorsal keel and furrow as a rule absent; orifice unusually inconspicuous, situated on a tubercle on the dorsal surface. _polypide_ stout and short; the tip of the fundus of the stomach capable of very complete constriction; the retractor muscles unusually short and stout. _statoblasts._ only free statoblasts have been observed. they resemble those of _s. indica_, but are perhaps a little longer and more elongate. types in the indian museum. the discovery of this species makes it necessary to modify the diagnosis of the genus, the essential character of which, as distinguishing it from _plumatella_, is the differentiation of the proximal part of some or all of the zooecia to form stolon-like tubules. from _stephanella_, oka, it is distinguished by the absence of a gelatinous covering, and by the fact that all the zooecia are attached, at least at the base, to some extraneous object. habitat. malwa tal, kumaon (alt. feet), w. himalayas (_kemp_, may ). biology. mr. kemp took three specimens, all attached to the lower surface of stones. they contained few statoblasts and were evidently in a condition of vigorous growth. between the lateral branches new polyparia were developing in several instances from free statoblasts, each of which appeared to contain two polypides. alphabetical index. all names printed in italics are synonyms. when more than one reference is given, the page on which the description occurs is indicated by thickened numerals. alba (euspongilla) (spongilla), , . alba (spongilla), , , , ~ ~. alba _var._ bengalensis (spongilla), , , , ~ ~. alba _var_. cerebellata (spongilla), , , ~ ~. _alba_ var. _marina_ (_spongilla_), ~ ~. _alcyonella_, . alcyonellea, . allmani (plumatella), , , , , , ~ ~, . _allmani_ var. _diffusa_ (_plumatella_), . _allmani_ var. _dumortieri_ (_plumatella_), . _attenuata_ (_hydra_), , . _aurantiaca_ (_hydra_), . aurea (pectispongilla), , , , ~ ~. aurea _var._ subspinosa (pectispongilla), , ~ ~. _benedeni_ (_alcyonella_), . bengalensis (bowerbankia), . bengalensis (membranipora), . bengalensis (spongilla), . bengalensis (victorella), , , , , , ~ ~. blembingia (ephydatia), . bogorensis (ephydatia), . _bombayensis_ (_plumatella_), . bombayensis (spongilla), , , , ~ ~, . bombayensis (stratospongilla) (spongilla), , . bowerbankia, , ~ ~. _brunnea_ (_hydra_), . burmanica (corvospongilla), , , , ~ ~. burmanica (pectinatella), , , , , ~ ~. calcuttana (spongilla), . _cambodgiensis_ (_norodonia_), . _carterella_, . carteri (eunapius) (spongilla), , , , . _carteri_ (_eunapius_), . carteri (lophopodella), , , , , ~ ~, . _carteri_ (_lophopus_), . _carteri_ (_pectinatella_), , carteri (spongilla), , , , , ~ ~, . carteri _var._ cava (spongilla), , . carteri _var._ himalayana (lophopodella), , . carteri _var._ lobosa (spongilla), , . carteri _var._ mollis (spongilla), , . caudata (bowerbankia), . caudata _subsp._ bengalensis (bowerbankia), , . caunteri (corvospongilla), . cava (spongilla), . cerebellata (spongilla), . ceylonensis (irene), , . cheilostomata, . chlorella, . cinerea (euspongilla) (spongilla), . cinerea (spongilla), , , , , . clementis (stratospongilla) (spongilla), . coggini (stratospongilla) (spongilla), . colonialis (loxosomatoides), . _contecta_ (_spongilla_), . _coralloides_ (_plumatella_), . corvospongilla, , ~ ~, . crassior (spongilla), . crassissima (eunapius) (spongilla), . crassissima (spongilla), , , , ~ ~. crassissima _var._ crassior (spongilla), , . _crateriformis_ (_meyenia_), . _crateriformis_ (_ephydatia_), , . crateriformis (euspongilla) (spongilla), , . _crateriformis_ (_meyenia_), . crateriformis (spongilla), , , ~ ~. _cristatella_, . cristatellina, . ctenostomata, , , , ~ ~. cyclostomata, . decipiens (spongilla), , , ~ ~. diffusa (plumatella), , , , , , ~ ~, . _di[oe]cia_ (_hydra_), . dosilia, , ~ ~. _echinella_, . _elegans_ (_plumatella_), . eleutheroblastea, , . emarginata (plumatella), , , , , , , , ~ ~, . _emarginata_ var. _javanica_ (_plumatella_), . entoprocta, . ephydatia, , ~ ~, . _erinaceus_ (_spongilla_), . eunapius, , ~ ~, . euspongilla, , , ~ ~, . filamentata (syncoryne), , . fluviatilis (ephydatia), , ~ ~. _fluviatilis_ (_meyenia_), . fluviatilis (spongilla), , . _fluviatilis_ var. _gracilis_ (_meyenia_), . fortis (ephydatia), , . fragilis (spongilla), ~ ~, . fragilis _subsp._ calcuttana (eunapius) (spongilla), . fragilis _subsp._ calcuttana (spongilla), , . fragilis _subsp._ decipiens (spongilla), , . fredericella, , ~ ~, . fredericellidÆ, , ~ ~. _friabilis_ (_spongilla_), . fruticosa (plumatella), , , , , , , ~ ~, . _fusca_ (_hydra_), , . gecarcinucus, . gemina (eunapius) (spongilla), ~ ~. gemina (spongilla), , , ~ ~. _glomerata_ (_spongilla_), . _grisea_ (_hydra_), , . gymnolæmata, , . halichondrina, . hemephydatia (euspongilla) (spongilla), . hemephydatia (spongilla), , , ~ ~. _hexactinella_ (_hydra_), . himalayana (lophopodella), . himalayana (stolella), . _himalayanus_ (_lophopus_), . hislopia, , ~ ~. hislopidées, . hislopiidÆ, , ~ ~. homodiætidæ, . _hyalinella_, . hydra, , ~ ~, . hydraidæ, . hydridÆ, , . hydriforme (polypodium), . hydrozoa, . _indica_ (_ephydatia_), . indica (fredericella), , , , ~ ~, . indica (spongilla), , , ~ ~. indica (stolella), , , , , ~ ~. indica (stratospongilla), (spongilla), . javanica (plumatella), , , , , , ~ ~, . kawaii (limnocodium), . lacroixii (membranipora), . lacustris (cordylophora), . _lacustris_ (_euspongilla_), . lacustris (hislopia), , , , , , , ~ ~, . lacustris (spongilla), , , ~ ~. lacustris _subsp._ moniliformis (hislopia), , , . lacustris _subsp._ reticulata (spongilla), , , , , , ~ ~, . _lacustris_ var. _bengalensis_ (_spongilla_), . lapidosa (corvospongilla), , , , ~ ~. _lapidosa_ (_spongilla_), . latouchiana (trochospongilla), , , , , , ~ ~. _leidyi_ (_trochospongilla_), . _lendenfeldi_ (_lophopus_), . _lendenfeldi_ var. _himalayanus_ (_lophopus_), . lobosa (spongilla), . lophopinÆ, , , ~ ~. lophopodella, , , ~ ~. _lophopus_, , . _lordii_ (_spongilla_), . loricata (spongilla), ~ ~. _loricata_ var. _burmanica_, (_spongilla_), . _lucifuga_ (_plumatella_), , , . magnifica (pectinatella), . meyeni (ephydatia), , , , , , ~ ~. _meyeni_ (_spongilla_), . _meyenia_, , . microsclerifera (euspongilla) (spongilla), . mollis (spongilla), . moniliformis (hislopia), . _mon[oe]cia_ (_hydra_), . _morgiana_ (_spongilla_), . _mülleri_ (_ephydatia_), , . _mülleri_ subsp. _meyeni_ (_ephydatia_), . _norodonia_, . oligactis (hydra), , , , ~ ~, , . _orientalis_ (_hydra_), , . _ottavænsis_ (_spongilla_), . _pallens_ (_hydra_), . paludicella, , ~ ~. paludicellidÆ, , ~ ~. paludicellidées, . paludicellides, . paludicellina, , , ~ ~. paulula (spongilla), . _pavida_ (_victorella_), , . pectinatella, , ~ ~. pectinatellophila (dactyloccopsis), . pectispongilla, , ~ ~. pennsylvanica (trochospongilla), , , , ~ ~. _pennsylvanica_ (_tubella_), . _pentactinella_ (_hydra_), . philippinensis (euspongilla) (spongilla), . phillottiana (trochospongilla), , , , , , ~ ~. phylactolæmata, , , ~ ~. plumatella, , , ~ ~, . plumatellidÆ, , ~ ~. plumatellina, , ~ ~. plumatellinÆ, , , ~ ~. plumosa (dosilia), , , , , ~ ~. _plumosa_ (_ephydatia_), . _plumosa_ (_meyenia_), . _plumosa_ (_spongilla_), . pneumatica (stratospongilla) (spongilla), . _polypus_ (_hydra_), , . polyzoa, . _princeps_ (_plumatella_), . _princeps_ var. _emarginata_ (_plumatella_), . _princeps_ var. _fruticosa_ (_plumatella_), . proliferens (euspongilla) (spongilla), , , . proliferens (spongilla), , , , , ~ ~. proterospongia, . _punctata_ (_hyalinella_), . punctata (plumatella), , , ~ ~. _repens_ (_plumatella_), , . reticulata (spongilla), . _rhætica_ (_hydra_), . _robusta_ (_ephydatia_), , . _robusta_ (_meyenia_), . _roeselii_ (_hydra_), . ryderi (microhydra), . schilleriana (sagartia), , , . schilleriana _subsp_. exul (sagartia), . _sibirica_ (_spongilla_), . _sinensis_ (_norodonia_), . sinensis (stratospongilla) (spongilla), . _socialis_ (_hydra_), . sowerbii (limnocodium), . spongilla, , ~ ~, , . spongilladæ, . spongillidÆ, . stolella, , ~ ~, . stolonifera, . stratospongilla, , ~ ~, . _stricta_ (_plumatella_), . subspinosa (pectispongilla), . sumatrana (stratospongilla) (spongilla), . tanganyikæ (limnocnida), . tanganyikæ (plumatella), , , , ~ ~, . trachospongilla, , ~ ~. _trachyspongilla_, . travancorica (euspongilla) (spongilla), . travancorica (spongilla), , , ~ ~. _trembleyi_ (_hydra_), . tubella, , , ~ ~. ultima (spongilla), , , ~ ~. ultima (stratospongilla) (spongilla), . vesicularidÆ, . vesicularina, , , ~ ~. _vesicularis_ (_hyalinella_), . _vesicularis_ (_plumatella_), , . vesparioides (tubella), , , , ~ ~. vesparium (tubella), . vestita (bimeria), , . victorella, , ~ ~. victorellidæ, . victorellides, . viridis (hydra), . _vitrea_ (_hyalinella_), . _vitrea_ (_plumatella_), , . vulgaris (hydra), , , , , , , , ~ ~, , . whiteleggei (cordylophora), . yunnanensis (euspongilla) (spongilla), . plate i. specimens of _spongilla_ preserved in spirit. figs. - . _s. (euspongilla) alba_ var. _bengalensis_ (nat. size) from ponds of brackish water at port canning in the delta of the ganges. fig. represents the type-specimen of the variety, and was taken in the winter of - . figs. and represent specimens taken in the same ponds in the winters of and respectively. fig. . _spongilla_ sp. (? abnormal form of _s. (eunapius carteri_)) from an aquarium in calcutta (× ). [illustration: freshwater sponges. plate i. a. c. chowdhary, del. spongilla.] plate ii. photographs of dried specimens of _spongilla_, _tubella_, and _corvospongilla_. fig. . part of a large specimen of _s. (eunapius) carteri_ from calcutta, to show the conspicuous rounded oscula (reduced). fig. . gemmules of _s. (stratospongilla) bombayensis_ on a stone from the edge of igatpuri lake, bombay presidency (nat. size). fig. . part of one of the type-specimens of _s. (stratospongilla) ultima_ from cape comorin, travancore, to show the star-shaped oscula (slightly enlarged). fig. . part of the type specimen of _t. vesparioides_ (external membrane destroyed), to show the reticulate skeleton and the numerous gemmules (nat. size). fig. . part of a schizotype of _c. burmanica_ to show the elevated oscula (nat. size). [illustration: freshwater sponges. plate ii. photo by a. chowdhary. spongilla, tubella, corvospongilla.] plate iii. photographs of specimens of _plumatella_, _lophopodella_, and _pectinatella_. fig. . specimen in spirit of _p. fruticosa_ (typical form) on the leaf of a bulrush from a pond in the calcutta zoological gardens (nat. size). fig. . a small zoarium of the _benedeni_ phase of _p. emarginata_ from rangoon (nat. size). part of the mass has been removed at one end to show the structure. the specimen was preserved in spirit. fig. . part of a large zoarium of _p. diffusa_ on a log of wood from gangtok, sikhim (nat. size). an enlarged figure of another part of the same specimen is given in fig. , pl. iv. the specimen was preserved in spirit. figs. , _a_. specimens of _l. carteri_ from igatpuri lake, bombay, preserved in formalin. fig. represents a mass of polyparia surrounded by a green gelatinous alga on the stem of a water-plant; fig. _a_ an isolated polyparium with the polypides fully expanded from the under surface of a stone in the same lake. both figures are of natural size. fig. . part of a compound colony of _p. burmanica_ on the stem of a reed from the sur lake, orissa (nat. size, preserved in formalin). [illustration: phylactolaematous polyzoa. plate iii. photo by a. chowdhary. plumatella, lophopodella, pectinatella.] plate iv. specimens of _plumatella_. fig. . vertical branch of a polyparium of _p. emarginata_ from calcutta, to show method of branching (× ). the specimen was preserved in formalin, stained with hæmalum, and after dehydration and clearing, mounted in canada balsam. fig. _a._ part of a young, horizontal zoarium of _p. emarginata_ from rangoon (× , preserved in spirit). fig. . part of a zoarium of _p. diffusa_ from gangtok, sikhim (× ). see pl. iii, fig. . figs. , _a._ specimens in spirit of _p. allmani_ from bhim tal (lake), w. himalayas. fig. represents a mature polyparium; fig. _a_ a young polyparium to which the valves of the statoblast (×) whence it had arisen are still attached. fig. . part of a zoarium of the _coralloides_ phase of _p. fruticosa_ (from calcutta) preserved in spirit, as seen on the surface of the sponge in which it is embedded (× ). fig. . part of the margin of a living polyparium of _p. punctata_ from calcutta (× ) with the polypides fully expanded. [illustration: phylactolaematous polyzoa. plate iv. a. c. chowdhary, del. plumatella.] plate v. specimens of _plumatella_, _stolella_, and _pectinatella_. fig. . part of a zoarium of the _coralloides_ phase of _p. fruticosa_ (× ) from calcutta. the specimen, which was preserved in spirit, had been removed from a sponge of _spongilla carteri_. fig. . terminal branch of a polyparium of _p. punctata_ from calcutta (× ). the specimen was preserved in formalin, stained with hæmatoxylin, and finally mounted in canada balsam. fig. . part of an adult polyparium of _s. indica_ from the united provinces (× ). the specimen was preserved in formalin, stained with hæmalum, and finally mounted in canada balsam. the lower zooecium contains a mature free statoblast, the upper one a fixed one. fig. . the growing point of a young polyparium of the same species from calcutta (× ), to show the method of formation of the stolon that connects the different groups of zooecia. the specimen had been treated in the same way as that represented in fig. . figs. , _a_. zoaria from a compound colony of _p. burmanica_ from the sur lake, orissa (× ). the specimens, which were preserved in formalin, are represented as seen from the adherent surface of the colony. [illustration: phylactolaematous polyzoa. plate v. a. c. chowdhary, del. plumatella, stolella, pectinatella.] * * * * * transcriber's note: in the systematic index, sub-family items were renumbered from . through ., to correspond to the numbers used in the text of the book. greek letters used as symbols are spelled out, e.g. alpha, beta, etc. letters missing or mis-typeset were inserted, e.g. 'practica ly' to 'practically' footnotes were moved after the paragraph to which they pertain. raised dots were replaced with decimal points in numeric notations. bold page numbers in the index are surrounded by tildes, e.g. ~ ~. punctuation was standardized. added a description of a sketch contained within one line of text. other changes: 'recognzied' to 'recognized' ... be recognized.... 'benegalensis' to 'bengalensis' ... lacustris var. bengalensis,... 'pecular' to 'peculiar' ... the peculiar amphipod ... 'milar' to 'similar' ... similar in the two ... 'large' to 'larger' ... a little larger than the upper ... 'pennsylvania' to 'pennsylvanica' ...tubella pennsylvanica... 'variely' to 'variety' ... specimens of the variety ... 'measurments' to 'measurements' ... the average measurements ... 'it' to 'its' ... its buds, however, possessed ... 'dispsition' to 'disposition' ... 'y-shaped disposition of ... 'wood's holl' to 'wood's hole' ... biol. bull. wood's hole,... ' ' to ' ' at the end of the citation of leidy's paper, to match date at the beginning of the citation paragraph. 'syoecium' to 'synoecium' ...in a gelatinous synoecium... 'lacustre' to lower case ...ann. biol. lacustre,... 'dactyloccopsis' to 'dactylococcopsis' ... dactylococcopsis pectinatellophila ... 'amphioxus' to 'amphioxous' ... amphistrongylous or amphioxous ... 'trìda' and 'trida' to 'trída' for consistency ... praze, trída ... the soul of a people [illustration: publisher's logo] the soul of a people by h. fielding 'for to see things in their beauty is to see them in their truth' matthew arnold london macmillan and co., limited new york: the macmillan company _first edition, _ _second edition, _ _third edition, _ dedication to second edition _i dedicate this book to you about whom it is written. it has been made a reproach to me by the critics that i have only spoken well of you, that i have forgotten your faults and remembered only your virtues. if it is wrong to have done this, i must admit the wrong. i have written of you as a friend does of a friend. where i could say kind things of you i have done so, where i could not i have been silent. you will find plenty of people who can see only your faults, and who like to tell you of them. you will find in the inexorable sequence of events a corrector of these faults more potent than any critics can be. but i am not your critic, but your friend. if many of you had not admitted me, a stranger, into your friendship during my many very solitary years, of what sort should i be now? how could i have lived those years alone? you kept alive my sympathies, and so saved me from many things. do you think i could now turn round and criticise you? no; but this book is my tribute of gratitude for many kindnesses._ preface in most of the quotations from burmese books containing the life of the buddha i am indebted, if not for the exact words, yet for the sense, to bishop bigandet's translation. i do not think i am indebted to anyone else. i have, indeed, purposely avoided quoting from any other book and using material collected by anyone else. the story of ma pa da has appeared often before, but my version is taken entirely from the burmese song. it is, as i have said, known to nearly every burman. i wanted to write only what the burmese themselves thought; whether i have succeeded or not, the reader can judge. i am indebted to messrs. william blackwood and sons for permission to use parts of my article on 'burmese women'--_blackwood's magazine_, may, --in the present work. contents chapter page i. living beliefs ii. he who found the light--i. iii. he who found the light--ii. iv. the way to the great peace v. war--i. vi. war--ii. vii. government viii. crime and punishment ix. happiness x. the monkhood--i. xi. the monkhood--ii. xii. prayer xiii. festivals xiv. women--i. xv. women--ii. xvi. women--iii. xvii. divorce xviii. drink xix. manners xx. 'noblesse oblige' xxi. all life is one xxii. death, the deliverer xxiii. the potter's wheel xxiv. the forest of time xxv. conclusion the soul of a people chapter i living beliefs 'the observance of the law alone entitles to the right of belonging to my religion.'--_saying of the buddha._ for the first few years of my stay in burma my life was so full of excitement that i had little care or time for any thought but of to-day. there was, first of all, my few months in upper burma in the king's time before the war, months which were full of danger and the exhilaration of danger, when all the surroundings were too new and too curious to leave leisure for examination beneath the surface. then came the flight from upper burma at the time of the war, and then the war itself. and this war lasted four years. not four years of fighting in burma proper, for most of the irrawaddy valley was peaceful enough by the end of ; but as the central parts quieted down, i was sent to the frontier, first on the north and then on the east by the chin mountains; so that it was not until that a transfer to a more settled part gave me quiet and opportunity for consideration of all i had seen and known. for it was in those years that i gained most of whatever little knowledge i have of the burmese people. months, very many months, i passed with no one to speak to, with no other companions but burmese. i have been with them in joy and in sorrow, i have fought with them and against them, and sat round the camp-fire after the day's work and talked of it all. i have had many friends amongst them, friends i shall always honour; and i have seen them killed sometimes in our fights, or dead of fever in the marshes of the frontier. i have known them from the labourer to the prime minister, from the little neophyte just accepted into the faith to the head of all the burmese religion. i have known their wives and daughters; have watched many a flirtation in the warm scented evenings; and have seen girls become wives and wives mothers while i have lived amongst them. so that although when the country settled down, and we built houses for ourselves and returned more to english modes of living, i felt that i was drifting away from them into the conventionality and ignorance of our official lives, yet i had in my memory much of what i had seen, much of what i had done, that i shall never forget. i felt that i had been--even if it were only for a time--behind the veil, where it is so hard to come. in looking over these memories it seemed to me that there were many things i did not understand, acts of theirs and customs, which i had seen and noted, but of which i did not know the reason. we all know how hard it is to see into the heart even of our own people, those of our flesh and blood who are with us always, whose ways are our ways, and whose thoughts are akin to ours. and if this be so with them, it is ten thousand times harder with those whose ways are not our ways, and from whose thoughts we must be far apart. it is true that there are no dark places in the lives of the burmese as there are in the lives of other orientals. all is open to the light of day in their homes and in their religion, and their women are the freest in the world. yet the barriers of a strange tongue and a strange religion, and of ways caused by another climate than ours, is so great that, even to those of us who have every wish and every opportunity to understand, it seems sometimes as if we should never know their hearts. it seems as if we should never learn more of their ways than just the outside--that curiously varied outside which is so deceptive, and which is so apt to prevent our understanding that they are men just as we are, and not strange creations from some far-away planet. so when i settled down and sought to know more of the meaning of what i had seen, i thought that first of all i must learn somewhat of their religion, of that mainspring of many actions, which seemed sometimes admirable, sometimes the reverse, and nearly always foreign to my ideas. it is true that i knew they were buddhists, that i recognized the yellow-robed monks as followers of the word of gaudama the buddha, and that i had a general acquaintance with the theory of their faith as picked up from a book or two--notably, rhys davids' 'buddhism' and bishop bigandet's book--and from many inconsequent talks with the monks and others. but the knowledge was but superficial, and i was painfully aware that it did not explain much that i had seen and that i saw every day. so i sent for more books, such books as had been published in english, and i studied them, and hoped thereby to attain the explanations i wanted; and as i studied, i watched as i could the doings of the people, that i might see the effects of causes and the results of beliefs. i read in these sacred books of the mystery of dharma, of how a man has no soul, no consciousness after death; that to the buddhist 'dead men rise up never,' and that those who go down to the grave are known no more. i read that all that survives is the effect of a man's actions, the evil effect, for good is merely negative, and that this is what causes pain and trouble to the next life. everything changes, say the sacred books, nothing lasts even for a moment. it will be, and it has been, is the life of man. the life that lives tomorrow in the next incarnation is no more the life that died in the last than the flame we light in the lamp to-day is the same that went out yesternight. it is as if a stone were thrown into a pool--that is the life, the splash of the stone; all that remains, when the stone lies resting in the mud and weeds below the waters of forgetfulness, are the circles ever widening on the surface, and the ripples never dying, but only spreading farther and farther away. all this seemed to me a mystery such as i could not understand. but when i went to the people, i found that it was simple enough to them; for i found that they remembered their former lives often, that children, young children, could tell who they were before they died, and remember details of that former existence. as they grew older the remembrance grew fainter and fainter, and at length almost died away. but in many children it was quite fresh, and was believed in beyond possibility of a doubt by all the people. so i saw that the teachings of their sacred books and the thoughts of the people were not at one in this matter. again, i read that there was no god. nats there were, spirits of great power like angels, and there was the buddha (the just man made perfect), who had worked out for all men the way to reach surcease from evil; but of god i saw nothing. and because the buddha had reached heaven (nirvana), it would be useless to pray to him. for, having entered into his perfect rest, he could not be disturbed by the sharp cry of those suffering below; and if he heard, still he could not help; for each man must through pain and sorrow work out for himself his own salvation. so all prayer is futile. then i remembered i had seen the young mother going to the pagoda on the hilltop with a little offering of a few roses or an orchid spray, and pouring out her soul in passionate supplication to someone--someone unknown to her sacred books--that her firstborn might recover of his fever, and be to her once more the measureless delight of her life; and it would seem to me that she must believe in a god and in prayer after all. so though i found much in these books that was believed by the people, and much that was to them the guiding influence of their lives, yet i was unable to trust to them altogether, and i was in doubt where to seek for the real beliefs of these people. if i went to their monks, their holy men, the followers of the great teacher, gaudama, they referred me to their books as containing all that a buddhist believed; and when i pointed out the discrepancies, they only shook their heads, and said that the people were an ignorant people and confused their beliefs in that way. and when i asked what was a buddhist, i was told that, to be a buddhist, a man must be accepted into the religion with certain rites, certain ceremonies, he must become for a time a member of the community of the monks of the buddha, and that a buddhist was he who was so accepted, and who thereafter held by the teachings of the buddha. but when i searched the life of the buddha, i could not find any such ceremonies necessary at all. so that it seemed that the religion of the buddha was one religion, and the religion of the buddhists another; but when i said so to the monks, they were horror-struck, and said that it was because i did not understand. in my perplexity i fell back, as we all must, to my own thoughts and those of my own people; and i tried to imagine how a burman would act if he came to england to search into the religion of the english and to know the impulses of our lives. i saw how he would be sent to the bible as the source of our religion, how he would be told to study that if he would know what we believed and what we did not--what it was that gave colour to our lives. i followed him in imagination as he took the bible and studied it, and then went forth and watched our acts, and i could see him puzzled, as i was now puzzled when i studied his people. i thought of him reading the new testament, and how he would come to these verses: ' . but i say unto you which hear, love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, ' . bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. ' . and unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid him not to take thy coat also. ' . give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again.' he would read them again and again, these wonderful verses, that he was told the people and church believed, and then he would go forth to observe the result of this belief. and what would he see? he would see this: a nation proud and revengeful, glorying in her victories, always at war, a conqueror of other peoples, a mighty hater of her enemies. he would find that in the public life of the nation with other nations there was no thought of this command. he would find, too, in her inner life, that the man who took a cloak was not forgiven, but was terribly punished--he used to be hanged. he would find---- but need i say what he would find? those who will read this are those very people--they know. and the burman would say at length to himself, can this be the belief of this people at all? whatever their book may say, they do not think that it is good to humble yourself to your enemies--nay, but to strike hard back. it is not good to let the wrong-doer go free. they think the best way to stop crime is to punish severely. those are their acts; the book, they say, is their belief. could they act one thing and believe another? truly, _are_ these their beliefs? and, again, he would read how that riches are an offence to righteousness: hardly shall a rich man enter into the kingdom of god. he would read how the teacher lived the life of the poorest among us, and taught always that riches were to be avoided. and then he would go forth and observe a people daily fighting and struggling to add field to field, coin to coin, till death comes and ends the fight. he would see everywhere wealth held in great estimation; he would see the very children urged to do well, to make money, to struggle, to rise in the world. he would see the lives of men who have become rich held up as examples to be followed. he would see the ministers who taught the book with fair incomes ranking themselves, not with the poor, but with the middle classes; he would see the dignitaries of the church--the men who lead the way to heaven--among the wealthy of the land. and he would wonder. is it true, he would say to himself, that these people believe that riches are an evil thing? whence, then, come their acts, for their acts seem to show that they hold riches to be a good thing? what is to be accepted as their belief: the book they say they believe, which condemns riches, or their acts, by which they show that they hold that wealth is a good thing--ay, and if used according to their ideas of right, a very good thing indeed? so, it seemed to me, would a burman be puzzled if he came to us to find out our belief; and as the burman's difficulty in england was, _mutatis mutandis_, mine in burma, i set to work to think the matter out. how were the beliefs of a people to be known, and why should there be such difficulties in the way? if i could understand how it was with us, it might help me to know how it was with them. and i have thought that the difficulty arises from the fact that there are two ways of seeing a religion--from within and from without--and that these are as different as can possibly be. it is because we forget there are the two standpoints that we fall into error. in every religion, to the believers in it, the crown and glory of their creed is that it is a revelation of truth, a lifting of the veil, behind which every man born into this mystery desires to look. they are sure, these believers, that they have the truth, that they alone have the truth, and that it has come direct from where alone truth can live. they believe that in their religion alone lies safety for man from the troubles of this world and from the terrors and threats of the next, and that those alone who follow its teaching will reach happiness hereafter, if not here. they believe, too, that this truth only requires to be known to be understood and accepted of all men; that as the sun requires no witness of its warmth, so the truth requires no evidence of its truth. it is to them so eternally true, so matchless in beauty, so convincing in itself, that adherents of all other creeds have but to hear it pronounced and they must believe. so, then, the question, how do you know that your faith is true? is as vain and foolish as the cry of the wind in an empty house. and if they be asked wherein lies their religion, they will produce their sacred books, and declare that in them is contained the whole matter. here is the very word of truth, herein is told the meaning of all things, herein alone lies righteousness. this, they say, is their faith: that they believe in every line of it, this truth from everlasting to everlasting, and that its precepts, and none other, can be held by him who seeks to be a sincere believer. and to these believers the manifestation of their faith is that its believers attain salvation hereafter. but as that is in the next world, if the unbeliever ask what is the manifestation in this, the believers will answer him that the true mark and sign whereby a man may be known to hold the truth is the observance of certain forms, the performance of certain ceremonies, more or less mystical, more or less symbolical, of some esoteric meaning. that a man should be baptized, should wear certain marks on his forehead, should be accepted with certain rites, is generally the outward and visible sign of a believer, and the badge whereby others of the same faith have known their fellows. it has never been possible for any religion to make the acts and deeds of its followers the test of their belief. and for these reasons: that it is a test no one could apply, and that if anyone were to attempt to apply it, there would soon be no church at all. for to no one is it given to be able to observe in their entirety all the precepts of their prophet, whoever that prophet may be. all must fail, some more and some less, but generally more, and thus all would fall from the faith at some time or another, and there would be no church left. and so another test has been made necessary. if from his weakness a man cannot keep these precepts, yet he can declare his belief in and his desire to keep them, and here is a test that can be applied. certain rites have been instituted, and it has been laid down that those who by their submission to these rites show their belief in the truth and their desire to follow that truth as far as in them lies, shall be called the followers of the faith. so in time it has come about that these ceremonial rites have been held to be the true and only sign of the believer, and the fact that they were but to be the earnest of the beginning and living of a new life has become less and less remembered, till it has faded into nothingness. instead of the life being the main thing, and being absolutely necessary to give value and emphasis to the belief, it has come to pass that it is the belief, and the acceptance of the belief, that has been held to hallow the life and excuse and palliate its errors. thus of every religion is this true, that its essence is a belief that certain doctrines are revelations of eternal truth, and that the fruit of this truth is the observance of certain forms. morality and works may or may not follow, but they are immaterial compared with the other. this, put shortly, is the view of every believer. but to him who does not believe in a faith, who views it from without, from the standpoint of another faith, the whole view is changed, the whole perspective altered. those landmarks which to one within the circle seem to stand out and overtop the world are to the eyes of him without dwarfed often into insignificance, and other points rise into importance. for the outsider judges a religion as he judges everything else in this world. he cannot begin by accepting it as the only revelation of truth; he cannot proceed from the unknown to the known, but the reverse. first of all, he tries to learn what the beliefs of the people really are, and then he judges from their lives what value this religion has to them. he looks to acts as proofs of beliefs, to lives as the ultimate effects of thoughts. and he finds out very quickly that the sacred books of a people can never be taken as showing more than approximately their real beliefs. always through the embroidery of the new creed he will find the foundation of an older faith, of older faiths, perhaps, and below these, again, other beliefs that seem to be part of no system, but to be the outcome of the great fear that is in the world. the more he searches, the more he will be sure that there is only one guide to a man's faith, to his soul, and that is not any book or system he may profess to believe, but the real system that he follows--that is to say, that a man's beliefs can be known even to himself from his acts only. for it is futile to say that a man believes in one thing and does another. that is not a belief at all. a man may cheat himself, and say it is, but in his heart he knows that it is not. a belief is not a proposition to be assented to, and then put away and forgotten. it is always in our minds, and for ever in our thoughts. it guides our every action, it colours our whole life. it is not for a day, but for ever. when we have learnt that a cobra's bite is death, we do not put the belief away in a pigeon-hole of our minds, there to rust for ever unused, nor do we go straightway and pick up the first deadly snake that we see. we remember it always; we keep it as a guiding principle of our daily lives. a belief is a strand in the cord of our lives, that runs through every fathom of it, from the time that it is first twisted among the others till the time when that life shall end. and as it is thus impossible for the onlooker to accept from adherents of a creed a definition of what they really believe, so it is impossible for him to acknowledge the forms and ceremonies of which they speak as the real manifestations of their creed. it seems to the onlooker indifferent that men should be dipped in water or not, that they should have their heads shaved or wear long hair. any belief that is worth considering at all must have results more important to its believers, more valuable to mankind, than such signs as these. it is true that of the great sign of all, that the followers of a creed attain heaven hereafter, he cannot judge. he can only tell of what he sees. this may or may not be true; but surely, if it be true, there must be some sign of it here on earth beyond forms. a religion that fits a soul for the hereafter will surely begin by fitting it for the present, he will think. and it will show that it does so otherwise than by ceremonies. for forms and ceremonies that have no fruit in action are not marks of a living truth, but of a dead dogma. there is but little thought of forms to him whose heart is full of the teaching of his master, who has his words within his heart, and whose soul is full of his love. it is when beliefs die, and love has faded into indifference, that forms are necessary, for to the living no monument is needed, but to the dead. forms and ceremonies are but the tombs of dead truths, put up to their memory to recall to those who have never known them that they lived--and died--long ago. and because men do not seek for signs of the living among the graveyards of the dead, so it is not among the ceremonies of religions that we shall find the manifestations of living beliefs. it is from the standpoint of this outsider that i have looked at and tried to understand the soul of the burmese people. when i have read or heard of a teaching of buddhism, i have always taken it to the test of the daily life of the people to see whether it was a living belief or no. i have accepted just so much as i could find the people have accepted, such as they have taken into their hearts to be with them for ever. a teaching that has been but a teaching or theory, a vain breath of mental assent, has seemed to me of no value at all. the guiding principles of their lives, whether in accordance with the teaching of buddhism or not, these only have seemed to me worthy of inquiry or understanding. what i have desired to know is not their minds, but their souls. and as this test of mine has obliged me to omit much that will be found among the dogmas of buddhism, so it has led me to accept many things that have no place there at all. for i have thought that what stirs the heart of man is his religion, whether he calls it religion or not. that which makes the heart beat and the breath come quicker, love and hate, and joy and sorrow--that has been to me as worthy of record as his hopes of a future life. the thoughts that come into the mind of the ploughman while he leads his team afield in the golden glory of the dawn; the dreams that swell and move in the heart of the woman when she knows the great mystery of a new life; whither the dying man's hopes and fears are led--these have seemed to me the religion of the people as well as doctrines of the unknown. for are not these, too, of the very soul of the people? chapter ii he who found the light--i 'he who pointed out the way to those that had lost it.' _life of the buddha._ the life-story of prince theiddatha, who saw the light and became the buddha twenty-five centuries ago, has been told in english many times. it has been told in translations from the pali, from burmese, and from chinese, and now everyone has read it. the writers, too, of these books have been men of great attainments, of untiring industry in searching out all that can be known of this life, of gifts such as i cannot aspire to. there is now nothing new to learn of those long past days, nothing fresh for me to tell, no discovery that can be made. yet in thinking out what i have to say about the religion of the burmese, i have found that i must tell again some of the life of the buddha, i must rewrite this ten-times-told tale, of which i know nothing new. and the reason is this: that although i know nothing that previous writers have not known, although i cannot bring to the task anything like their knowledge, yet i have something to say that they have not said. for they have written of him as they have learned from books, whereas i want to write of him as i have learned from men. their knowledge has been taken from the records of the dead past, whereas mine is from the actualities of the living present. i do not mean that the buddha of the sacred books and the buddha of the burman's belief are different persons. they are the same. but as i found it with their faith, so i find it with the life of their teacher. the burmese regard the life of the buddha from quite a different standpoint to that of an outsider, and so it has to them quite a different value, quite a different meaning, to that which it has to the student of history. for to the writer who studies the life of the buddha with a view merely to learn what that life was, and to criticise it, everything is very different to what it is to the buddhist who studies that life because he loves it and admires it, and because he desires to follow it. to the former the whole detail of every portion of the life of the buddha, every word of his teaching, every act of his ministry, is sought out and compared and considered. legend is compared with legend, and tradition with tradition, that out of many authorities some clue to the actual fact may be found. but to the buddhist the important parts in the great teacher's life are those acts, those words, that appeal directly to him, that stand out bravely, lit with the light of his own experiences and feelings, that assist him in living his own life. his buddha is the buddha he understands, and who understood and sympathized with such as him. other things may be true, but they are matters of indifference. to hear of the buddha from living lips in this country, which is full of his influence, where the spire of his monastery marks every village, and where every man has at one time or another been his monk, is quite a different thing to reading of him in far countries, under other skies and swayed by other thoughts. to sit in the monastery garden in the dusk, in just such a tropic dusk as he taught in so many years ago, and hear the yellow-robed monk tell of that life, and repeat his teaching of love, and charity, and compassion--eternal love, perfect charity, endless compassion--until the stars come out in the purple sky, and the silver-voiced gongs ring for evening prayers, is a thing never to be forgotten. as you watch the starlight die and the far-off hills fade into the night, as the sounds about you still, and the calm silence of the summer night falls over the whole earth, you know and understand the teacher of the great peace as no words can tell you. a sympathy comes to you from the circle of believers, and you believe, too. an influence and an understanding breathes from the nature about you--the same nature that the teacher saw--from the whispering fig-trees and the scented champaks, and the dimly seen statues in the shadows of the shrines, that you can never gain elsewhere. and as the monks tell you the story of that great life, they bring it home to you with reflection and comment, with application to your everyday existence, till you forget that he of whom they speak lived so long ago, so very long ago, and your heart is filled with sorrow when you remember that he is dead, that he is entered into his peace. i do not hope that i can convey much of this in my writing. i always feel the hopelessness of trying to put on paper the great thoughts, the intense feeling, of which buddhism is so full. but still i can, perhaps, give something of this life as i have heard it, make it a little more living than it has been to us, catch some little of that spirit of sympathy that it holds for all the world. around the life of the buddha has gathered much myth, like dust upon an ancient statue, like shadows upon the mountains far away, blurring detail here and there, and hiding the beauty. there are all sorts of stories of the great portents that foretold his coming: how the sun and the stars knew, and how the wise men prophesied. marvels attended his birth, and miracles followed him in life and in death. and the appearance of the miraculous has even been heightened by the style of the chroniclers in telling us of his mental conflicts: by the personification of evil in the spirit man, and of desire in his three beautiful daughters. all the teacher's thoughts, all his struggles, are materialized into forms, that they may be more readily brought home to the reader, that they may be more clearly realized by a primitive people as actual conflicts. therefore at first sight it seems that of all creeds none is so full of miracle, so teeming with the supernatural, as buddhism, which is, indeed, the very reverse of the truth. for to the supernatural buddhism owes nothing at all. it is in its very essence opposed to all that goes beyond what we can see of earthly laws, and miracle is never used as evidence of the truth of any dogma or of any doctrine. if every supernatural occurrence were wiped clean out of the chronicles of the faith, buddhism would, even to the least understanding of its followers, remain exactly where it is. not in one jot or tittle would it suffer in the authority of its teaching. the great figure of the teacher would even gain were all the tinsel of the miraculous swept from him, so that he stood forth to the world as he lived--would gain not only to our eyes, but even to theirs who believe in him. for the buddha was no prophet. he was no messenger from any power above this world, revealing laws of that power. no one came to whisper into his ear the secrets of eternity, and to show him where truth lived. in no trance, in no vision, did he enter into the presence of the unknown, and return from thence full of the wisdom of another world; neither did he teach the worship of any god, of any power. he breathed no threatenings of revenge for disobedience, of forgiveness for the penitent. he held out no everlasting hell to those who refused to follow him, no easily gained heaven to his believers. he went out to seek wisdom, as many a one has done, looking for the laws of god with clear eyes to see, with a pure heart to understand, and after many troubles, after many mistakes, after much suffering, he came at last to the truth. even as newton sought for the laws of god in the movement of the stars, in the falling of a stone, in the stir of the great waters, so this newton of the spiritual world sought for the secrets of life and death, looking deep into the heart of man, marking its toil, its suffering, its little joys, with a soul attuned to catch every quiver of the life of the world. and as to newton truth did not come spontaneously, did not reveal itself to him at his first call, but had to be sought with toil and weariness, till at last he reached it where it hid in the heart of all things, so it was with the prince. he was not born with the knowledge in him, but had to seek it as every other man has done. he made mistakes as other men do. he wasted time and labour following wrong roads, demonstrating to himself the foolishness of many thoughts. but, never discouraged, he sought on till he found, and what he found he gave as a heritage to all men for ever, that the way might be easier for them than it had been for him. nothing is more clear than this: that to the buddhist his teacher was but a man like himself, erring and weak, who made himself perfect, and that even as his teacher has done, so, too, may he if he do but observe the everlasting laws of life which the buddha has shown to the world. these laws are as immutable as newton's laws, and come, like his, from beyond our ken. and this, too, is another point wherein the parallel with newton will help us: that just as when newton discovered gravitation he was obliged to stop, for his knowledge of that did not lead him at once to the knowledge of the infinite, so when he had attained the laws of righteousness, gaudama the buddha also stopped, because here his standing-ground failed. it is not true, that which has been imputed to the buddha by those who have never tried to understand him--that he denied some power greater than ourselves; that because he never tried to define the indefinite, to confine the infinite within the corners of a phrase, therefore his creed was materialistic. we do not say of newton that he was an atheist because when he taught us of gravity he did not go further and define to us in equations him who made gravity; and as we understand more of the buddha, as we search into life and consider his teaching, as we try to think as he thought, and to see as he saw, we understand that he stopped as newton stopped, because he had come to the end of all that he could see, not because he declared that he knew all things, and that beyond his knowledge there was nothing. no teacher more full of reverence, more humble than gaudama the buddha ever lived to be an example to us through all time. he tells us of what he knows; of what he knows not he is silent. of the laws that he can see, the great sequences of life to death, of evil to sorrow, of goodness to happiness, he tells in burning words. of the beginning and the end of the world, of the intentions and the ways of the great unknown, he tells us nothing at all. he is no prophet, as we understand the word, but a man; and all that is divine in him beyond what there is in us is that he hated the darkness and sought the light, sought and was not dismayed, and at last he found. and yet nothing could be further from the truth than to call the buddha a philosopher and buddhism a philosophy. whatever he was, he was no philosopher. although he knew not any god, although he rested his claims to be heard upon the fact that his teachings were clear and understandable, that you were not required to believe, but only to open your eyes and see, and 'his delight was in the contemplation of unclouded truth,' yet he was far from a philosopher. his was not an appeal to our reason, to our power of putting two and two together and making five of them; his teachings were no curious designs woven with words, the counters of his thought. he appealed to the heart, not to the brain; to our feelings, not to our power of arranging these feelings. he drew men to him by love and reverence, and held them so for ever. love and charity and compassion, endless compassion, are the foundations of his teachings; and his followers believe in him because they have seen in him the just man made perfect, and because he has shown to them the way in which all men may become even as he is. he was a prince in a little kingdom in the northeast of india, the son of king thudoodana and his wife maia. he was strong, we are told, and handsome, famous in athletic exercises, and his father looked forward to the time when he should be grown a great man, and a leader of armies. his father's ambition for him was that he should be a great conqueror, that he should lead his troops against the neighbouring kings and overcome them, and in time make for himself a wide-stretching empire. india was in those days, as in many later ones, split up into little kingdoms, divided from each other by no natural boundary, overlooked by no sovereign power, and always at war. and the king, as fathers are, was full of dreams that this son of his should subdue all india to himself, and be the glory of his dynasty, and the founder of a great race. everything seemed to fall in with the desire of the king. the prince grew up strong and valiant, skilled in action, wise in counsel, so that all his people were proud of him. everything fell in with the desire of the king except the prince himself, for instead of being anxious to fight, to conquer other countries, to be a great leader of armies, his desires led him away from all this. even as a boy he was meditative and given to religious musings, and as he grew up he became more and more confirmed in his wish to know of sacred things, more and more an inquirer into the mysteries of life. he was taught all the faith of those days, a faith so old that we do not know whence it came. he was brought up to believe that life is immortal, that no life can ever utterly die. he was taught that all life is one; that there is not one life of the beasts and one life of men, but that all life was one glorious unity, one great essence coming from the unknown. man is not a thing apart from this world, but of it. as man's body is but the body of beasts, refined and glorified, so the soul of man is but a higher stage of the soul of beasts. life is a great ladder. at the bottom are the lower forms of animals, and some way up is man; but all are climbing upwards for ever, and sometimes, alas! falling back. existence is for each man a great struggle, punctuated with many deaths; and each death ends one period but to allow another to begin, to give us a new chance of working up and gaining heaven. he was taught that this ladder is very high, that its top is very far away, above us, out of our sight, and that perfection and happiness lie up there, and that we must strive to reach them. the greatest man, even the greatest king, was farther below perfection than an animal was below him. we are very near the beasts, but very far from heaven. so he was taught to remember that even as a very great prince he was but a weak and erring soul, and that unless he lived well, and did honest deeds, and was a true man, instead of rising he might fall. this teaching appealed to the prince far more than all the urging of his father and of the courtiers that he should strive to become a great conqueror. it entered into his very soul, and his continual thought was how he was to be a better man, how he was to use this life of his so that he should gain and not lose, and where he was to find happiness. all the pomp and glory of the palace, all its luxury and ease, appealed to him very little. even in his early youth he found but little pleasure in it, and he listened more to those who spoke of holiness than to those who spoke of war. he desired, we are told, to become a hermit, to cast off from him his state and dignity, and to put on the yellow garments of a mendicant, and beg his bread wandering up and down upon the world, seeking for peace. this disposition of the prince grieved his parents very much. that their son, who was so full of promise, so brave and so strong, so wise and so much beloved by everyone, should become a mendicant clad in unclean garments, begging his daily food from house to house, seemed to them a horrible thing. it could never be permitted that a prince should disgrace himself in this way. every effort must be taken to eradicate such ideas; after all, it was but the melancholy of youth, and it would pass. so stringent orders were given to distract his mind in every way from solemn thoughts, to attempt by a continued round of pleasure and luxury to attract him to more worldly things. and when he was eighteen he was married to his cousin yathodaya, in the hope that in marriage and paternity he might forget his desire to be a hermit, might feel that love was better than wisdom. and if yathodaya had been other than she was--who can tell?--perhaps after all the king might have succeeded; but it was not to be so. for to yathodaya, too, life was a very solemn thing, not to be thrown away in laughter and frivolity, but to be used as a great gift worthy of all care. to the prince in his trouble there came a kindred soul, and though from the palace all the teachers of religion, all who would influence the prince against the desires of his father, were banished, yet yathodaya more than made up to him for all he had lost. for nearly ten years they lived together there such a life as princes led in those days in the east, not, perhaps, so very different from what they lead now. and all that time the prince had been gradually making up his mind, slowly becoming sure that life held something better than he had yet found, hardening his determination that he must leave all that he had and go out into the world looking for peace. despite all the efforts of the king his father, despite the guards and his young men companions, despite the beauty of the dancing-girls, the mysteries of life came home to him, and he was afraid. it is a beautiful story told in quaint imagery how it was that the knowledge of sickness and of death came to him, a horror stalking amid the glories of his garden. he learnt, and he understood, that he too would grow old, would fall sick, would die. and beyond death? there was the fear, and no one could allay it. daily he grew more and more discontented with his life in the palace, more and more averse to the pleasures that were around him. deeper and deeper he saw through the laughing surface to the depths that lay beneath. silently all these thoughts ripened in his mind, till at last the change came. we are told that the end came suddenly, the resolve was taken in a moment. the lake fills and fills until at length it overflows, and in a night the dam is broken, and the pent-up waters are leaping far towards the sea. as the prince returned from his last drive in his garden with resolve firmly established in his heart, there came to him the news that his wife had borne to him a son. wife and child, his cup of desire was now full. but his resolve was unshaken. 'see, here is another tie, alas! a new and stronger tie that i must break,' he said; but he never wavered. that night the prince left the palace. silently in the dead of night he left all the luxury about him, and went out secretly with only his faithful servant, maung san, to saddle for him his horse and lead him forth. only before he left he looked in cautiously to see yathodaya, the young wife and mother. she was lying asleep, with one hand upon the face of her firstborn, and the prince was afraid to go further. 'to see him,' he said, 'i must remove the hand of his mother, and she may awake; and if she awake, how shall i depart? i will go, then, without seeing my son. later on, when all these passions are faded from my heart, when i am sure of myself, perhaps then i shall be able to see him. but now i must go.' so he went forth very silently and very sadly, and leapt upon his horse--the great white horse that would not neigh for fear of waking the sleeping guards--and the prince and his faithful noble maung san went out into the night. he was only twenty-eight when he fled from all his world, and what he sought was this: 'deliverance for men from the misery of life, and the knowledge of the truth that will lead them unto the great peace.' this is the great renunciation. i have often talked about this with the monks and others, often heard them speak about this great renunciation, of this parting of the prince and his wife. 'you see,' said a monk once to me, 'he was not yet the buddha, he had not seen the light, only he was desirous to look for it. he was just a prince, just a man like any other man, and he was very fond of his wife. it is very hard to resist a woman if she loves you and cries, and if you love her. so he was afraid.' and when i said that yathodaya was also religious, and had helped him in his thoughts, and that surely she would not have stopped him, the monk shook his head. 'women are not like that,' he said. and a woman said to me once: 'surely she was very much to be pitied because her husband went away from her and her baby. do you think that when she talked religion with her husband she ever thought that it would cause him to leave her and go away for ever? if she had thought that, she would never have done as she did. a woman would never help anything to sever her husband from her, not even religion. and when after ten years a baby had come to her! surely she was very much to be pitied.' this woman made me understand that the highest religion of a woman is the true love of her husband, of her children; and what is it to her if she gain the whole world, but lose that which she would have? all the story of yathodaya and her dealings with her husband is full of the deepest pathos, full of passionate protest against her loss, even in order that her husband and all the world should gain. she would have held him, if she could, against the world, and deemed that she did well. and so, though it is probable that it was a great deal owing to yathodaya's help, to her sympathy, to her support in all his difficulties, that gaudama came to his final resolve to leave the world and seek for the truth, yet she acted unwittingly of what would be the end. 'she did not know,' said the woman. 'she helped her husband, but she did not know to what. and when she was ill, when she was giving birth to her baby, then her husband left her. surely she was very much to be pitied.' and so yathodaya, the wife of the prince gaudama, who became the buddha, is held in high honour, in great esteem, by all buddhists. by the men, because she helped her husband to his resolve to seek for the truth, because she had been his great stay and help when everyone was against him, because if there had been no yathodaya there had been perchance no buddha. and by the women--i need not say why she is honoured by all women. if ever there was a story that appealed to woman's heart, surely it is this: her love, her abandonment, her courage, her submission when they met again in after-years, her protest against being sacrificed upon the altar of her husband's religion. truly, it is all of the very essence of humanity. whenever the story of the buddha comes to be written, then will be written also the story of the life of yathodaya his wife. if one is full of wisdom and teaching, the other is full of suffering and teaching also. i cannot write it here. i have so much to say on other matters that there is no room. but some day it will be written, i trust, this old message to a new world. chapter iii he who found the light--ii 'he who never spake but good and wise words, he who was the light of the world, has found too soon the peace.'--_lament on the death of the buddha._ the prince rode forth into the night, and as he went, even in the first flush of his resolve, temptation came to him. as the night closed behind he remembered all he was leaving: he remembered his father and his mother; his heart was full of his wife and child. 'return!' said the devil to him. 'what seek you here? return, and be a good son, a good husband, a good father. remember all that you are leaving to pursue vain thoughts. you, a great man--you might be a great king, as your father wishes--a mighty conqueror of nations. the night is very dark, and the world before you is very empty.' the prince's heart was full of bitterness at the thought of those he loved, of all that he was losing. yet he never wavered. he would not even turn to look his last on the great white city lying in a silver dream behind him. he set his face upon his way, trampling beneath him every worldly consideration, despising a power that was but vanity and illusion; he went on into the dark. presently he came to a river, the boundary of his father's kingdom, and here he stopped. then the prince turned to maung san, and told him that he must return. beyond the river lay for the prince the life of a holy man, who needed neither servant nor horse, and maung san must return. all his prayers were in vain; his supplications that he might be allowed to follow his master as a disciple; his protestations of eternal faith. no, he must return; so maung san went back with the horse, and the prince was alone. as he waited there alone by the river, alone in the dark waiting for the dawn ere he could cross, alone with his own fears and thoughts, doubt came to him again. he doubted if he had done right, whether he should ever find the light, whether, indeed, there was any light to find, and in his doubt and distress he asked for a sign. he desired that it might be shown to him whether all his efforts would be in vain or not, whether he should ever win in the struggle that was before him. we are told that the sign came to him, and he knew that, whatever happened, in the end all would go well, and he would find that which he sought. so he crossed the river out of his father's kingdom into a strange country, and he put on the garment of a recluse, and lived as they did. he sought his bread as they did, going from house to house for the broken victuals, which he collected in a bowl, retiring to a quiet spot to eat. the first time he collected this strange meal and attempted to eat, his very soul rose against the distastefulness of the mess. he who had been a prince, and accustomed to the very best of everything, could not at first bring himself to eat such fare, and the struggle was bitter. but in the end here, too, he conquered. 'was i not aware,' he said, with bitter indignation at his weakness, 'that when i became a recluse i must eat such food as this? now is the time to trample upon the appetite of nature.' he took up his bowl, and ate with a good appetite, and the fight had never to be fought again. so in the fashion of those days he became a seeker after truth. men, then, when they desired to find holiness, to seek for that which is better than the things of this world, had to begin their search by an utter repudiation of all that which the world holds good. the rich and worldly wore handsome garments, they would wear rags; those of the world were careful of their personal appearance, they would despise it; those of the world were cleanly, the hermits were filthy; those of the world were decent, and had a care for outward observances, and so hermits had no care for either decency or modesty. the world was evil, surely, and therefore all that the world held good was surely evil too. wisdom was to be sought in the very opposites of the conventions of men. the prince took on him their garments, and went to them to learn from all that which they had learnt. he went to all the wisest hermits of the land, to those renowned for their wisdom and holiness; and this is what they taught him, this is all the light they gave to him who came to them for light. 'there is,' they said, 'the soul and the body of man, and they are enemies; therefore, to punish the soul, you must destroy and punish the body. all that the body holds good is evil to the soul.' so they purified their souls by ceremonies and forms, by torture and starvation, by nakedness and contempt of decency, by nameless abominations. and the young prince studied all their teaching, and essayed to follow their example, and he found it was all of no use. here he could find no way to happiness, no raising of the soul to higher planes, but, rather, a degradation towards the beasts. for self-punishment is just as much a submission to the flesh as luxury and self-indulgence. how can you forget the body, and turn the soul to better thoughts, if you are for ever torturing that body, and thereby keeping it in memory? you can keep your lusts just as easily before your eyes by useless punishment as by indulgence. and how can you turn your mind to meditation and thought if your body is in suffering? so the prince soon saw that here was not the way he wanted. his soul revolted from them and their austerities, and he left them. as he fathomed the emptiness of his counsellors of the palace, so he fathomed the emptiness of the teachers of the cave and monastery. if the powerful and wealthy were ignorant, wisdom was not to be found among the poor and feeble, and he was as far from it as when he left the palace. yet he did not despair. truth was somewhere, he was sure; it must be found if only it be looked for with patience and sincerity, and he would find it. surely there was a greater wisdom than mere contempt of wealth and comfort, surely a greater happiness than could be found in self-torture and hysteria. and so, as he could find no one to teach him, he went out into the forest to look for truth there. in the great forest where no one comes, where the deer feed and the tiger creeps, he would seek what man could not give him. they would know, those great trees that had seen a thousand rains, and outlived thirty generations of men; they would know, those streams that flashed from the far snow summits; surely the forest and the hills, the dawn and the night, would have something to tell him of the secrets of the world. nature can never lie, and here, far away from the homes of men, he would learn the knowledge that men could not give him. with a body purified by abstinence, with a heart attuned by solitude, he would listen as the winds talked to the mountains in the dusk, and understand the beckoning of the stars. and so, as many others did then and afterwards, he left mankind and went to nature for help. for six years he lived so in the fastnesses of the hills. we are told but very little of those six years, only that he was often very lonely, often very sad with the remembrance of all whom he had left. 'think not,' he said many years later to a favourite disciple--'think not that i, though the buddha, have not felt all this even as any other of you. was i not alone when i was seeking for wisdom in the wilderness? and yet what could i have gained by wailing and lamentation either for myself or for others? would it have brought to me any solace from my loneliness? would it have been any help to those i had left?' we are told that his fame as a solitary, as a a man who communed with nature, and subdued his own lower feelings, was so great that all men knew of it. his fame was as a 'bell hung in the canopy of the skies,' that all nations heard; and many disciples came to him. but despite all his fame among men, he himself knew that he had not yet come to the truth. even the great soul of nature had failed to tell him what he desired. the truth was as far off as ever, so he thought, and to those that came to him for wisdom he had nothing to teach. so, at the end of six years, despairing of finding that which he sought, he entered upon a great fast, and he pushed it to such an extreme that at length he fainted from sheer exhaustion and starvation. when he came to himself he recognised that he had failed again. no light had shone upon his dimmed eyes, no revelation had come to him in his senselessness. all was as before, and the truth--the truth, where was that? for this man was no inspired teacher. he had no one to show him the way he should go; he was tried with failure, with failure after failure. he learnt as other men learn, through suffering and mistake. here was his third failure. the rich had failed him, and the poor; even the voices of the hills had not told him of what he would know; the radiant finger of dawn had pointed to him no way to happiness. life was just as miserable, as empty, as meaningless, as before. all that he had done was in vain, and he must try again, must seek out some new way, if he were ever to find that which he sought. he rose from where he lay, and took his bowl in his hands and went to the nearest village, and ate heartily and drank, and his strength came back to him, and the beauty he had lost returned. and then came the final blow: his disciples left him in scorn. 'behold,' they said to each other, 'he has lived through six years of mortification and suffering in vain. see, now, he goes forth and eats food, and assuredly he who does this will never attain wisdom. our master's search is not after wisdom, but worldly things; we must look elsewhere for the guidance that we seek.' they departed, leaving him to bear his disappointment alone, and they went into the solitude far away, to continue in their own way and pursue their search after their own method. he who was to be the buddha had failed, and was alone. to the followers of the buddha, to those of our brothers who are trying to follow his teachings and emulate his example to attain a like reward, can there be any greater help than this: amid the failure and despair of our own lives to remember that the teacher failed, even as we are doing? if we find the way dark and weary, if our footsteps fail, if we wander in wrong paths, did not he do the same? and if we find we have to bear sufferings alone, so had he; if we find no one who can comfort us, neither did he; as we know in our hearts that we stand alone, to fight with our own hands, so did he. he is no model of perfection whom it is hopeless for us to imitate, but a man like ourselves, who failed and fought, and failed and fought again, and won. and so, if we fail, we need not despair. did not our teacher fail? what he has done, we can do, for he has told us so. let us be up again and be of good heart, and we, too, shall win in the end, even as he did. the reward will come in its own good time if we strive and faint not. surely this comes home to all of our hearts--this failure of him who found the light. that he should have won--ah, well, that is beautiful; but that he should have failed--and failed, that is what comes home to us, because we too have failed many times. can you wonder that his followers love him? can you wonder that his teaching has come home to them as never did teaching elsewhere? i do not think it is hard to see why: it is simply because he was a man as we are. had he been other than a man, had truth been revealed to him from the beginning, had he never fought, had he never failed, do you think that he would have held the love of men as he does? i fear, had it been so, this people would have lacked a soul. his disciples left him, and he was alone. he went away to a great grove of trees near by--those beautiful groves of mango and palm and fig that are the delight of the heart in that land of burning, flooding sunshine--and there he slept, defeated, discredited, and abandoned; and there the truth came to him. there is a story of how a young wife, coming to offer her little offerings to the spirit of the great fig-tree, saw him, and took him for the spirit, so beautiful was his face as he rose. there are spirits in all the great trees, in all the rivers, in all the hills--very beautiful, very peaceful, loving calm and rest. the woman thought he was the spirit come down to accept her offering, and she gave it to him--the cup of curdled milk--in fear and trembling, and he took it. the woman went away again full of hope and joy, and the prince remained in the grove. he lived there for forty-nine days, we are told, under the great fig-tree by the river. and the fig-tree has become sacred for ever because he sat there and because there he found the truth. we are told of it all in wonderful trope and imagery--of his last fight over sin, and of his victory. there the truth came to him at last out of his own heart. he had sought for it in men and in nature, and found it not, and, lo! it was in his own heart. when his eyes were cleared of imaginings, and his body purified by temperance, then at last he saw, down in his own soul, what he had sought the world over for. every man carries it there. it is never dead, but lives with our life, this light that we seek. we darken it, and turn our faces from it to follow strange lights, to pursue vague glimmers in the dark, and there, all the time, is the light in each man's own heart. darkened it may be, crusted over with our ignorance and sin, but never dead, never dead, always burning brightly for us when we care to seek for it. the truth for each man is in his own soul. and so it came at last, and he who saw the light went forth and preached it to all the world. he lived a long life, a life full of wonderful teaching, of still more marvellous example. all the world loved him. he saw again yathodaya, she who had been his wife; he saw his son. now, when passion was dead in him, he could do these things. and yathodaya was full of despair, for if all the world had gained a teacher, she had lost a husband. so it will be for ever. this is the difference between men and women. she became a nun, poor soul! and her son--his son--became one of his disciples. i do not think it is necessary for me to tell much more of his life. much has been told already by professor max müller and other scholars, who have spared no pains to come to the truth of that life. i do not wish to say more. so far, i have written to emphasize the view which, i think, the burmese take of the buddha, and how he came to his wisdom, how he loved, and how he died. he died at a great age, full of years and love. the story of his death is most beautiful. there is nowhere anything more wonderful than how, at the end of that long good life, he entered into the great peace for which he had prepared his soul. 'ananda,' he said to his weeping disciple, 'do not be too much concerned with what shall remain of me when i have entered into the peace, but be rather anxious to practise the works that lead to perfection; put on those inward dispositions that will enable you also to reach the everlasting rest.' and again: 'when i shall have left life and am no more seen by you, do not believe that i am no longer with you. you have the laws that i have found, you have my teachings still, and in them i shall be ever beside you. do not, therefore, think that i have left you alone for ever.' and before he died: 'remember,' he said, 'that life and death are one. never forget this. for this purpose have i gathered you together; for life and death are one.' and so 'the great and glorious teacher,' he who never spoke but good and wise words, he who has been the light of the world, entered into the peace. chapter iv the way to the great peace 'come to me: i teach a doctrine which leads to deliverance from all the miseries of life.'--_saying of the buddha._ to understand the teaching of buddhism, it must be remembered that to the buddhist, as to the brahmin, man's soul is eternal. in other faiths and other philosophies this is not so. there the soul is immortal; it cannot die, but each man's soul appeared newly on his birth. its beginning is very recent. to the buddhist the beginning as well as the end is out of our ken. where we came from we cannot know, but certainly the soul that appears in each newborn babe is not a new thing. it has come from everlasting, and the present life is merely a scene in the endless drama of existence. a man's identity, the sum of good and of evil tendencies, which is his soul, never dies, but endures for ever. each body is but a case wherein the soul is enshrined for the time. and the state of that soul, whether good predominate in it or evil, is purely dependent on that soul's thoughts and actions in time past. men are not born by chance wise or foolish, righteous or wicked, strong or feeble. a man's condition in life is the absolute result of an eternal law that as a man sows so shall he reap; that as he reaps so has he sown. therefore, if you find a man's desires naturally given towards evil, it is because he has in his past lives educated himself to evil. and if he is righteous and charitable, long-suffering and full of sympathy, it is because in his past existence he has cultivated these virtues; he has followed goodness, and it has become a habit of his soul. thus is every man his own maker. he has no one to blame for his imperfections but himself, no one to thank for his virtues but himself. within the unchangeable laws of righteousness each man is absolutely the creator of himself and of his own destiny. it has lain, and it lies, within each man's power to determine what manner of man he shall be. nay, it not only lies within his power to do so, but a man _must_ actually mould himself. there is no other way in which he can develop. every man has had an equal chance. if matters are somewhat unequal now, there is no one to blame but himself. it is within his power to retrieve it, not perhaps in this short life, but in the next, maybe, or the next. man is not made perfect all of a sudden, but takes time to grow, like all valuable things. you might as well expect to raise a teak-tree in your garden in a night as to make a righteous man in a day. and thus not only is a man the sum of his passions, his acts and his thoughts, in past time, but he is in his daily life determining his future--what sort of man he shall be. every act, every thought, has its effect, not only upon the outer world, but upon the inner soul. if you follow after evil, it becomes in time a habit of your soul. if you follow after good, every good act is a beautifying touch to your own soul. man is as he has made himself; man will be as he makes himself. this is a very simple theory, surely. it is not at all difficult to understand the buddhist standpoint in the matter. it is merely the theory of evolution applied to the soul, with this difference: that in its later stages it has become a deliberate and a conscious evolution, and not an unconscious one. and the deduction from this is also simple. it is true, says buddhism, that every man is the architect of himself, that he can make himself as he chooses. now, what every man desires is happiness. as a man can form himself as he will, it is within his power to make himself happy, if he only knows how. let us therefore carefully consider what happiness is, that we may attain it; what misery is, that we may avoid it. it is a commonplace of many religions, and of many philosophies--nay, it is the actual base upon which they have been built, that this is an evil world. judaism, indeed, thought that the world was really a capital place, and that it was worth while doing well in order to enjoy it. but most other faiths thought very differently. indeed, the very meaning of most religions and philosophies has been that they should be refuges from the wickedness and unhappiness of the world. according to them the world has been a very weary world, full of wickedness and of deceit, of war and strife, of untruth and of hate, of all sorts of evil. the world has been wicked, and man has been unhappy in it. 'i do not know that any theory has usually been propounded to explain why this is so. it has been accepted as a fact that man is unhappy, accepted, i think, by most faiths over the world. indeed, it is the belief that has been, one thinks, the cause of faiths. had the world been happy, surely there had been no need of religions. in a summer sea, where is the need of havens? it is a generally-accepted fact, accepted, as i have said, without explanation. but the buddhist has not been contented to leave it so. he has thought that it is in the right explanation of this cardinal fact that lies all truth. life suffers from a disease called misery. he would be free from it. let us, then, says the buddhist, first discover the cause of this misery, and so only can we understand how to cure it.' it is this explanation which is really the distinguishing tenet of buddhism, which differentiates it from all other faiths and all philosophies. the reason, says buddhism, why men are unhappy is that they are alive. life and sorrow are inseparable--nay, they are one and the same thing. the mere fact of being alive is a misery. when you have clear eyes and discern the truth, you shall see this without a doubt, says the buddhist. for consider, what man has ever sat down and said: 'now am i in perfect happiness; just as i now am would i like to remain for ever and for ever without change'? no man has ever done so. what men desire is change. they weary of the present, and desire the future; and when the future comes they find it no better than the past. happiness lies in yesterday and in to-morrow, but never in to-day. in youth we look forward, in age we look back. what is change but the death of the present? life is change, and change is death, so says the buddhist. men shudder at and fear death, and yet death and life are the same thing--inseparable, indistinguishable, and one with sorrow. we men who desire life are as men athirst and drinking of the sea. every drop we drink of the poisoned sea of existence urges on men surely to greater thirst still. yet we drink on blindly, and say that we are athirst. this is the explanation of buddhism. the world is unhappy because it is alive, because it does not see that what it should strive for is not life, not change and hurry and discontent and death, but peace--the great peace. there is the goal to which a man should strive. see now how different it is from the christian theory. in christianity there are two lives--this and the next. the present is evil, because it is under the empire of the devil--the world, the flesh, and the devil. the next will be beautiful, because it is under the reign of god, and the devil cannot intrude. but buddhism acknowledges only one life--an existence that has come from the forever, that may extend to the forever. if this life is evil, then is all life evil, and happiness can live but in peace, in surcease from the troubles of this weary world. if, then, a man desire happiness--and in all faiths that is the desired end--he must strive to attain peace. this, again, is not a difficult idea to understand. it seems to me so simple that, when once it has been listened to, it may be understood by a child. i do not say believed and followed, but understood. belief is a different matter. 'the law is deep; it is difficult to know and to believe it. it is very sublime, and can be comprehended only by means of earnest meditation,' for buddhism is not a religion of children, but of men. this is the doctrine that has caused buddhism to be called pessimism. taught, as we have been taught, to believe that life and death are antagonistic, that life in the world to come is beautiful, that death is a horror, it seems to us terrible to think that it is indeed our very life itself that is the evil to be eradicated, and that life and death are the same. but to those that have seen the truth, and believed it, it is not terrible, but beautiful. when you have cleansed your eyes from the falseness of the flesh, and come face to face with truth, it is beautiful. 'the law is sweet, filling the heart with joy.' to the buddhist, then, the end to be obtained is the great peace, the mighty deliverance from all sorrow. he must strive after peace; on his own efforts depends success or failure. when the end and the agent have been determined, there remains but to discover the means, the road whereby the end may be reached. how shall a man so think and so act that he shall come at length unto the great peace? and the answer of buddhism to this question is here: good deeds and good thoughts--these are the gate wherein alone you may enter into the way. be honourable and just, be kind and compassionate, truth-loving and averse to wrong--this is the beginning of the road that leads unto happiness. do good to others, not in order that they may do good to you, but because, by doing so, you do good to your own soul. give alms, and be charitable, for these things are necessary to a man. above all, learn love and sympathy. try to feel as others feel, try to understand them, try to sympathize with them, and love will come. surely he was a buddhist at heart who wrote: 'tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner.' there is no balm to a man's heart like love, not only the love others feel towards him, but that he feels towards others. be in love with all things, not only with your fellows, but with the whole world, with every creature that walks the earth, with the birds in the air, with the insects in the grass. all life is akin to man. man's life is not apart from other life, but of it, and if a man would make his heart perfect, he must learn to sympathize with and understand all the great world about him. but he must always remember that he himself comes first. to make others just, you must yourself be just; to make others happy, you must yourself be happy first; to be loved, you must first love. consider your own soul, to make it lovely. such is the teaching of buddha. but if this were all, then would buddhism be but a repetition of the commonplaces of all religions, of all philosophies. in this teaching of righteousness is nothing new. many teachers have taught it, and all have learnt in the end that righteousness is no sure road to happiness, to peace. buddhism goes farther than this. honour and righteousness, truth and love, are, it says, very beautiful things, but are only the beginning of the way; they are but the gate. in themselves they will never bring a man home to the great peace. herein lies no salvation from the troubles of the world. far more is required of a man than to be righteous. holiness alone is not the gate to happiness, and all that have tried have found it so. it alone will not give man surcease from pain. when a man has so purified his heart by love, has so weaned himself from wickedness by good acts and deeds, then he shall have eyes to see the further way that he should go. then shall appear to him the truth that it is indeed life that is the evil to be avoided; that life is sorrow, and that the man who would escape evil and sorrow must escape from life itself--not in death. the death of this life is but the commencement of another, just as, if you dam a stream in one direction, it will burst forth in another. to take one's life now is to condemn one's self to longer and more miserable life hereafter. the end of misery lies in the great peace. a man must estrange himself from the world, which is sorrow. hating struggle and fight, he will learn to love peace, and to so discipline his soul that the world shall appear to him clearly to be the unrest which it is. then, when his heart is fixed upon the great peace, shall his soul come to it at last. weary of the earth, it shall come into the haven where there are no more storms, where there is no more struggle, but where reigns unutterable peace. it is not death, but the great peace. 'ever pure, and mirror bright and even, life among the immortals glides away; moons are waning, generations changing, their celestial life flows everlasting, changeless 'midst a ruined world's decay.' this is nirvana, the end to which we must all strive, the only end that there can be to the trouble of the world. each man must realize this for himself, each man will do so surely in time, and all will come into the haven of rest. surely this is a simple faith, the only belief that the world has known that is free from mystery and dogma, from ceremony and priestcraft; and to know that it is a beautiful faith you have but to look at its believers and be sure. if a people be contented in their faith, if they love it and exalt it, and are never ashamed of it, and if it exalts them and makes them happy, what greater testimony can you have than that? it will seem that indeed i have compressed the teaching of this faith into too small a space--this faith about which so many books have been written, so much discussion has taken place. but i do not think it is so. i cannot see that even in this short chapter i have left out anything that is important in buddhism. it is such a simple faith that all may be said in a very few words. it would be, of course, possible to refine on and gloze over certain points of the teaching. where would be the use? the real proof of the faith is in the results, in the deeds that men do in its name. discussion will not alter these one way or another. chapter v war--i 'love each other and live in peace.' _saying of the buddha._ this is the buddhist belief as i have understood it, and i have written so far in order to explain what follows. for my object is not to explain what the buddha taught, but what the burmese believe; and this is not quite the same thing, though in nearly every action of their life the influence of buddhism is visible more or less strongly. therefore i propose to describe shortly the ideas of the burmese people upon the main objects of life; and to show how much or how little buddhism has affected their conceptions. i will begin with courage. i think it will be evident that there is no quality upon which the success of a nation so much depends as upon its courage. no nation can rise to a high place without being brave; it cannot maintain its independence even; it cannot push forward upon any path of life without courage. nations that are cowards must fail. i am aware that the courage of a nation depends, as do its other qualities, upon many things: its situation with regard to other nations, its climate, its food, its occupations. it is a great subject that i cannot go into. i wish to take all such things as i find them, and to discuss only the effect of the religion upon the courage of the people, upon its fighting capabilities. that religion may have a very serious effect one way or the other, no one can doubt. i went through the war of annexation, from to , and from it i will draw my examples. when we declared war in upper burma, and the column advanced up the river in november, , there was hardly any opposition. a little fight there was at the frontier fort of minhla, but beyond that nothing. the river that might have been blocked was open; the earthworks had no cannon, the men no guns. such a collapse was never seen. there was no organization, no material, no money. the men wanted officers to command and teach them; the officers wanted authority and ability to command. the people looked to their rulers to repel the invaders; the rulers looked to the people. there was no common intelligence or will between them. everything was wanting; nothing was as it should be. and so mandalay fell without a shot, and king thibaw, the young, incapable, kind-hearted king, was taken into captivity. that was the end of the first act, brief and bloodless. for a time the people were stupefied. they could not understand what had happened; they could not guess what was going to happen. they expected that the english would soon retire, and that then their own government would reorganize itself. meanwhile they kept quiet. it is curious to think how peaceful the country really was from november, , till june, . then the trouble came. the people had by that time, even in the wild forest villages, begun to understand that we wanted to stay, that we did not intend going away unless forced to. they felt that it was of no further use looking to mandalay for help. we had begun, too, to consider about collecting taxes, to interfere with the simple machinery of local affairs, to show that we meant to govern. and as the people did not desire to be governed--certainly not by foreigners, at least--they began to organize resistance. they looked to their local leaders for help, and, as too often these local governors were not very capable men, they sought, as all people have done, the assistance of such men of war as they could find--brigands, and freelances, and the like--and put themselves under their orders. the whole country rose, from bhamo to minhla, from the shan plateau to the chin mountains. all upper burma was in a passion of insurrection, a very fury of rebellion against the usurping foreigners. our authority was confined to the range of our guns. our forts were attacked, our convoys ambushed, our steamers fired into on the rivers. there was no safety for an englishman or a native of india, save within the lines of our troops, and it was soon felt that these troops were far too few to cope with the danger. to overthrow king thibaw was easy, to subdue the people a very different thing. it is almost impossible to describe the state of upper burma in . it must be remembered that the central government was never very strong--in fact, that beyond collecting a certain amount of taxes, and appointing governors to the different provinces, it hardly made itself felt outside mandalay and the large river towns. the people to a great extent governed themselves. they had a very good system of village government, and managed nearly all their local affairs. but beyond the presence of a governor, there was but little to attach them to the central government. there was, and is, absolutely no aristocracy of any kind at all. the burmese are a community of equals, in a sense that has probably never been known elsewhere. all their institutions are the very opposite to feudalism. now, feudalism was instituted to be useful in war. the burmese customs were instituted that men should live in comfort and ease during peace; they were useless in war. so the natural leaders of a people, as in other countries, were absent. there were no local great men; the governors were men appointed from time to time from mandalay, and usually knew nothing of their charges; there were no rich men, no large land-holders--not one. there still remained, however, one institution that other nations have made useful in war, namely, the organization of religion. for buddhism is fairly well organized--certainly much better than ever the government was. it has its heads of monasteries, its gaing-dauks, its gaing-oks, and finally the thathanabaing, the head of the burmese buddhism. the overthrow of king thibaw had not injured any of this. this was an organization in touch with the whole people, revered and honoured by every man and woman and child in the country. in this terrible scene of anarchy and confusion, in this death peril of their nation, what were the monks doing? we know what religion can do. we have seen how it can preach war and resistance, and can organize that war and resistance. we know what ten thousand priests preaching in ten thousand hamlets can effect in making a people almost unconquerable, in directing their armies, in strengthening their determination. we remember la vendée, we remember our puritans, and we have had recent experience in the soudan. we know what christianity has done again and again; what judaism, what mahommedanism, what many kinds of paganism, have done. to those coming to burma in those days, fresh from the teachings of europe, remembering recent events in history, ignorant of what buddhism means, there was nothing more surprising than the fact that in this war religion had no place. they rode about and saw the country full of monasteries; they saw the monasteries full of monks, whom they called priests; they saw that the people were intensely attached to their religion; they had daily evidence that buddhism was an abiding faith in the hearts of the people. and yet, for all the assistance it was to them in the war, the burmese might have had no faith at all. and the explanation is, that the teachings of the buddha forbid war. all killing is wrong, all war is hateful; nothing is more terrible than this destroying of your fellow-man. there is absolutely no getting free of this commandment. the teaching of the buddha is that you must strive to make your own soul perfect. this is the first of all things, and comes before any other consideration. be pure and kind-hearted, full of charity and compassion, and so you may do good to others. these are the vows the buddhist monks make, these are the vows they keep; and so it happened that all that great organization was useless to the patriot fighter, was worse than useless, for it was against him. the whole spectacle of burma in those days, with the country seething with strife, and the monks going about their business calmly as ever, begging their bread from door to door, preaching of peace, not war, of kindness, not hatred, of pity, not revenge, was to most foreigners quite inexplicable. they could not understand it. i remember a friend of mine with whom i went through many experiences speaking of it with scorn. he was a cavalry officer, 'the model of a light cavalry officer'; he had with him a squadron of his regiment, and we were trying to subdue a very troubled part of the country. we were camping in a monastery, as we frequently did--a monastery on a hill near a high golden pagoda. the country all round was under the sway of a brigand leader, and sorely the villagers suffered at his hands now that he had leapt into unexpected power. the villages were half abandoned, the fields untilled, the people full of unrest; but the monasteries were as full of monks as ever; the gongs rang, as they ever did, their message through the quiet evening air; the little boys were taught there just the same; the trees were watered and the gardens swept as if there were no change at all--as if the king were still on his golden throne, and the english had never come; as if war had never burst upon them. and to us, after the very different scenes we saw now and then, saw and acted in, these monks and their monasteries were difficult to understand. the religion of the buddha thus professed was strange. 'what is the use,' said my friend, 'of this religion that we see so many signs of? suppose these men had been jews or hindus or mussulmans, it would have been a very different business, this war. these yellow-robed monks, instead of sitting in their monasteries, would have pervaded the country, preaching against us and organizing. no one organizes better than an ecclesiastic. we should have had them leading their men into action with sacred banners, and promising them heaven hereafter when they died. they would have made ghazis of them. any one of these is a religion worth having. but what is the use of buddhism? what do these monks do? i never see them in a fight, never hear that they are doing anything to organize the people. it is, perhaps, as well for us that they do not. but what is the use of buddhism?' so, or somewhat like this, spoke my friend, speaking as a soldier. each of us speaks from our own standpoint. he was a brilliant soldier, and a religion was to him a sword, a thing to fight with. that was one of the first uses of a religion. he knew nothing of buddhism; he cared to know nothing, beyond whether it would fight. if so, it was a good religion in its way. if not, then not. religion meant to him something that would help you in your trouble, that would be a stay and a comfort, a sword to your enemies and a prop for yourself. though he was himself an invader, he felt that the burmans did no wrong in resisting him. they fought for their homes, as he would have fought; and their religion, if of any value, should assist them. it should urge them to battle, and promise them peace and happiness if dying in a good cause. his faith would do this for him. what was buddhism doing? what help did it give to its believers in their extremity? it gave none. think of the peasant lying there in the ghostly dim-lit fields waiting to attack us at the dawn. where was his help? he thought, perhaps, of his king deported, his village invaded, his friends killed, himself reduced to the subject of a far-off queen. he would fight--yes, even though his faith told him not. there was no help there. his was no faith to strengthen his arm, to straighten his aim, to be his shield in the hour of danger. if he died, if in the strife of the morning's fight he were to be killed, if a bullet were to still his heart, or a lance to pierce his chest, there was no hope for him of the glory of heaven. no, but every fear of hell, for he was sinning against the laws of righteousness--'thou shalt take no life.' there is no exception to that at all, not even for a patriot fighting for his country. 'thou shalt not take the life even of him who is the enemy of thy king and nation.' he could count on no help in breaking the everlasting laws that the buddha has revealed to us. if he went to his monks, they could but say: 'see the law, the unchangeable law that man is subject to. there is no good thing but peace, no sin like strife and war.' that is what the followers of the great teacher would tell the peasant yearning for help to strike a blow upon the invaders. the law is the same for all. there is not one law for you and another for the foreigner; there is not one law to-day and another to-morrow. truth is for ever and for ever. it cannot change even to help you in your extremity. think of the english soldier and the burmese peasant. can there be anywhere a greater contrast than this? truly this is not a creed for a soldier, not a creed for a fighting-man of any kind, for what the soldier wants is a personal god who will always be on his side, always share his opinions, always support him against everyone else. but a law that points out unalterably that right is always right, and wrong always wrong, that nothing can alter one into the other, nothing can ever make killing righteous and violence honourable, that is no creed for a soldier. and buddhism has ever done this. it never bent to popular opinion, never made itself a tool in the hands of worldly passion. it could not. you might as well say to gravity, 'i want to lift this stone; please don't act on it for a time,' as expect buddhism to assist you to make war. buddhism is the unalterable law of righteousness, and cannot ally itself with evil, cannot ever be persuaded that under any circumstances evil can be good. the burmese peasant had to fight his own fight in alone. his king was gone, his government broken up, he had no leaders. he had no god to stand beside him when he fired at the foreign invaders; and when he lay a-dying, with a bullet in his throat, he had no one to open to him the gates of heaven. yet he fought--with every possible discouragement he fought, and sometimes he fought well. it has been thrown against him as a reproach that he did not do better. those who have said this have never thought, never counted up the odds against him, never taken into consideration how often he did well. here was a people--a very poor people of peasants--with no leaders, absolutely none; no aristocracy of any kind, no cohesion, no fighting religion. they had for their leaders outlaws and desperadoes, and for arms old flint-lock guns and soft iron swords. could anything be expected from this except what actually did happen? and yet they often did well, their natural courage overcoming their bad weapons, their passionate desire of freedom giving them the necessary impulse. in , as i have said, all burma was up. even in the lower country, which we held for so long, insurrection was spreading fast, and troops and military police were being poured in from india. there is above mandalay a large trading village--a small town almost--called shemmaga. it is the river port for a large trade in salt from the inner country, and it was important to hold it. the village lay along the river bank, and about the middle of it, some two hundred yards from the river, rises a small hill. thus the village was a triangle, with the base on the river, and the hill as apex. on the hill were some monasteries of teak, from which the monks had been ejected, and three hundred ghurkas were in garrison there. a strong fence ran from the hill to the river like two arms, and there were three gates, one just by the hill, and one on each end of the river face. behind shemmaga the country was under the rule of a robber chief called maung yaing, who could raise from among the peasants some two hundred or three hundred men, armed mostly with flint-locks. he had been in the king's time a brigand with a small number of followers, who defied or eluded the local authorities, and lived free in quarters among the most distant villages. like many a robber chief in our country and elsewhere, he was liked rather than hated by the people, for his brutalities were confined to either strangers or personal enemies, and he was open-handed and generous. we look upon things now with different eyes to what we did two or three hundred years ago, but i dare say maung yaing was neither better nor worse than many a hero of ours long ago. he was a fairly good fighter, and had a little experience fighting the king's troops; and so it was very natural, when the machinery of government fell like a house of cards, and some leaders were wanted, that the young men should crowd to him, and put themselves under his orders. he had usually with him forty or fifty men, but he could, as i have said, raise five or six times as many for any particular service, and keep them together for a few days. he very soon discovered that he and his men were absolutely no match for our troops. in two or three attempts that he made to oppose the troops he was signally worsted, so he was obliged to change his tactics. he decided to boycott the enemy. no burman was to accept service under him, to give him information or supplies, to be his guide, or to assist him in any way. this rule maung yaing made generally known, and he announced his intention of enforcing it with rigour. he did so. there was a head man of a village near shemmaga whom he executed because he had acted as guide to a body of troops, and he cut off all supplies from the interior, lying on the roads, and stopping all men from entering shemmaga. he further issued a notice that the inhabitants of shemmaga itself should leave the town. they could not move the garrison, therefore the people must move themselves. no assistance must be given to the enemy. the villagers of shemmaga, mostly small traders in salt and rice, were naturally averse to leaving. this trade was their only means of livelihood, the houses their only homes, and they did not like the idea of going out into the unknown country behind. moreover, the exaction by maung yaing of money and supplies for his men fell most heavily on the wealthier men, and on the whole they were not sorry to have the english garrison in the town, so that they could trade in peace. some few left, but most did not, and though they collected money, and sent it to maung yaing, they at the same time told the english officer in command of maung yaing's threats, and begged that great care should be taken of the town, for maung yaing was very angry. when he found he could not cause the abandonment of the town, he sent in word to say that he would burn it. not three hundred foreigners, nor three thousand, should protect these lazy, unpatriotic folk from his vengeance. he gave them till the new moon of a certain month, and if the town were not evacuated by that time he declared that he would destroy it. he would burn it down, and kill certain men whom he mentioned, who had been the principal assistants of the foreigners. this warning was quite public, and came to the ears of the english officer almost at once. when he heard it he laughed. he had three hundred men, and the rebels had three hundred. his were all magnificently trained and drilled troops, men made for war; the burmans were peasants, unarmed, untrained. he was sure he could defeat three thousand of them, or ten times that number, with his little force, and so, of course, he could if he met them in the open; no one knew that better, by bitter experience, than maung yaing. the villagers, too, knew, but nevertheless they were stricken with fear, for maung yaing was a man of his word. he was as good as his threat. one night, at midnight, the face of the fort where the ghurkas lived on the hill was suddenly attacked. out of the brushwood near by a heavy fire was opened upon the breastwork, and there was shouting and beating of gongs. so all the ghurkas turned out in a hurry, and ran to man the breastwork, and the return fire became hot and heavy. in a moment, as it seemed, the attackers were in the village. they had burst in the north gate by the river face, killed the burmese guard on it, and streamed in. they lit torches from a fire they found burning, and in a moment the village was on fire. looking down from the hill, you could see the village rushing into flame, and in the lurid light men and women and children running about wildly. there were shouts and screams and shots. no one who has never heard it, never seen it, can know what a village is like when the enemy has burst in at night. everyone is mad with hate, with despair, with terror. they run to and fro, seeking to kill, seeking to escape being killed. it is impossible to tell one from another. the bravest man is dismayed. and the noise is like a great moan coming out of the night, pierced with sharp cries. it rises and falls, like the death-cry of a dying giant. it is the most terrible sound in the world. it makes the heart stop. to the ghurkas this sight and sound came all of a sudden, as they were defending what they took to be a determined attack on their own position. the village was lost ere they knew it was attacked. and two steamers full of troops, anchored off the town, saw it, too. they were on their way up country, and had halted there that night, anchored in the stream. they were close by, but could not fire, for there was no telling friend from foe. before the relief party of ghurkas could come swarming down the hill, only two hundred yards, before the boats could land the eager troops from the steamers, the rebels were gone. they went through the village and out of the south gate. they had fulfilled their threat and destroyed the town. they had killed the men they had declared they would kill. the firing died away from the fort side, and the enemy were gone, no one could tell whither, into the night. such a scene of desolation as that village was next day! it was all destroyed--every house. all the food was gone, all furniture, all clothes, everything, and here and there was a corpse in among the blackened cinders. the whole countryside was terror-stricken at this failure to defend those who had depended on us. i do not think this was a particularly gallant act, but it was a very able one. it was certainly war. it taught us a very severe lesson--more severe than a personal reverse would have been. it struck terror in the countryside. the memory of it hampered us for very long; even now they often talk of it. it was a brutal act--that of a brigand, not a soldier. but there was no want of courage. if these men, inferior in number, in arms, in everything, could do this under the lead of a robber chief, what would they not have done if well led, if well trained, if well armed? of desperate encounters between our troops and the insurgents i could tell many a story. i have myself seen such fights. they nearly always ended in our favour--how could it be otherwise? there was ta te, who occupied a pagoda enclosure with some eighty men, and was attacked by our mounted infantry. there was a long fight in that hot afternoon, and very soon the insurgents' ammunition began to fail, and the pagoda was stormed. many men were killed, and ta te, when his men were nearly all dead, and his ammunition quite expended, climbed up the pagoda wall, and twisted off pieces of the cement and threw them at the troops. he would not surrender--not he--and he was killed. there were many like him. the whole war was little affairs of this kind--a hundred, three hundred, of our men, and much the same, or a little more, of theirs. they only once or twice raised a force of two thousand men. nothing can speak more forcibly of their want of organization than this. the whole country was pervaded by bands of fifty or a hundred men, very rarely amounting to more than two hundred, never, i think, to five hundred, armed men, and no two bands ever acted in concert. it is probable that most of the best men of the country were against us. it is certain, i think, that of those who openly joined us and accompanied us in our expedition, very, very few were other than men who had some private grudge to avenge, or some purpose to gain, by opposing their own people. of such as these you cannot expect very much. and yet there were exceptions--men who showed up all the more brilliantly because they were exceptions--men whom i shall always honour. there were two i remember best of all. they are both dead now. one was the eldest son of the hereditary governor of a part of the country called kawlin. it is in the north-west of upper burma, and bordered on a semi-independent state called wuntho. in the troubles that occurred after the deposition of king thibaw, the prince of wuntho thought that he would be able to make for himself an independent kingdom, and he began by annexing kawlin. so the governor had to flee, and with him his sons, and naturally enough they joined our columns when we advanced in that direction, hoping to be replaced. they were replaced, the father as governor under the direction of an english magistrate, and the son as his assistant. they were only kept there by our troops, and upheld in authority by our power against wuntho. but they were desired by many of their own people, and so, perhaps, they could hardly be called traitors, as many of those who joined us were. the father was a useless old man, but his son, he of whom i speak, was brave and honourable, good tempered and courteous, beyond most men whom i have met. it was well known that he was the real power behind his father. it was he who assisted us in an attempt to quell the insurrections and catch the raiders that troubled our peace, and many a time they tried to kill him, many a time to murder him as he slept. there was a large gang of insurgents who came across the mu river one day, and robbed one of his villages, so a squadron of cavalry was sent in pursuit. we travelled fast and long, but we could not catch the raiders. we crossed the mu into unknown country, following their tracks, and at last, being without guides, we camped that night in a little monastery in the forest. at midnight we were attacked. a road ran through our camp, and there was a picket at each end of the road, and sentries were doubled. it was just after midnight that the first shot was fired. we were all asleep when a sudden volley was poured into the south picket, killing one sentry and wounding another. there was no time to dress, and we ran down the steps as we were (in sleeping dresses), to find the men rapidly falling in, and the horses kicking at their pickets. it was pitch-dark. the monastery was on a little cleared space, and there was forest all round that looked very black. just as we came to the foot of the steps an outbreak of firing and shouts came from the north, and the burmese tried to rush our camp from there; then they tried to rush it again from the south, but all their attempts were baffled by the steadiness of the pickets and the reinforcements that were running up. so the burmese, finding the surprise ineffectual, and that the camp could not be taken, spread themselves about in the forest in vantage places, and fired into the camp. nothing could be seen except the dazzling flashes from their guns as they fired here and there, and the darkness was all the darker for those flashes of flame, that cut it like swords. it was very cold. i had left my blanket in the monastery, and no one was allowed to ascend, because there, of all places, the bullets flew thickest, crushing through the mat walls, and going into the teak posts with a thud. there was nothing we could do. the men, placed in due order about the camp, fired back at the flashes of the enemy's guns. that was all they had to fire at. it was not much guide. the officers went from picket to picket encouraging the men, but i had no duty; when fighting began my work as a civilian was at a standstill. i sat and shivered with cold under the monastery, and wished for the dawn. in a pause of the firing you could hear the followers hammering the pegs that held the foot-ropes of the horses. then the dead and wounded were brought and put near me, and in the dense dark the doctor tried to find out what injuries the men had received, and dress them as well as he could. no light dare be lit. the night seemed interminable. there were no stars, for a dense mist hung above the trees. after an hour or two the firing slackened a little, and presently, with great caution, a little lamp, carefully shrouded with a blanket, was lit. a sudden burst of shots that came splintering into the posts beside us caused the lamp to be hurriedly put out; but presently it was lit again, and with infinite caution one man was dressed. at last a little very faint silver dawn came gleaming through the tree-tops--the most beautiful sight i ever saw--and the firing stopped. the dawn came quickly down, and very soon we were able once more to see what we were about, and count our losses. then we moved out. we had hardly any hope of catching the enemy, we who were in a strange country, who were mounted on horses, and had a heavy transport, and they who knew every stream and ravine, and had every villager for a spy. so we moved back a march into a more open country, where we hoped for better news, and two days later that news came. chapter vi war--ii 'never in the world does hatred cease by hatred. hatred ceases by love.'--_dammapada._ we were encamped at a little monastery in some fields by a village, with a river in front. up in the monastery there was but room for the officers, so small was it, and the men were camped beneath it in little shelters. it was two o'clock, and very hot, and we were just about to take tiffin, when news came that a party of armed men had been seen passing a little north of us. it was supposed they were bound to a village known to be a very bad one--laka--and that they would camp there. so 'boot and saddle' rang from the trumpets, and in a few moments later we were off, fifty lances. just as we started, his old hindostani christian servant came up to my friend, the commandant, and gave him a little paper. 'put it in your pocket, sahib,' he said. the commandant had no time to talk, no time even to look at what it could be. he just crammed it into his breast-pocket, and we rode on. the governor's son was our guide, and he led us through winding lanes into a pass in the low hills. the road was very narrow, and the heavy forest came down to our elbows as we passed. now and again we crossed the stream, which had but little water in it, and the path would skirt its banks for awhile. it was beautiful country, but we had no time to notice it then, for we were in a hurry, and whenever the road would allow we trotted and cantered. after five or six miles of this we turned a spur of the hills, and came out into a little grass-glade on the banks of the stream, and at the far end of this was the village where we expected to find those whom we sought. they saw us first, having a look-out on a high tree by the edge of the forest; and as our advanced guard came trotting into the open, he fired. the shot echoed far up the hills like an angry shout, and we could see a sudden stir in the village--men running out of the houses with guns and swords, and women and children running, too, poor things! sick with fear. they fired at us from the village fence, but had no time to close the gate ere our sowars were in. then they escaped in various ways to the forest and scrub, running like madmen across the little bit of open, and firing at us directly they reached shelter where the cavalry could not come. of course, in the open they had no chance, but in the dense forest they were safe enough. the village was soon cleared, and then we had to return. it was no good to wait. the valley was very narrow, and was commanded from both its sides, which were very steep and dense with forest. beyond the village there was only forest again. we had done what we could: we had inflicted a very severe punishment on them; it was no good waiting, so we returned. they fired on us nearly all the way, hiding in the thick forest, and perched on high rocks. at one place our men had to be dismounted to clear a breastwork, run up to fire at us from. all the forest was full of voices--voices of men and women and even children--cursing our guide. they cried his name, that the spirits of the hills might remember that it was he who had brought desolation to their village. figures started up on pinnacles of cliff, and cursed him as he rode by. us they did not curse; it was our guide. and so after some trouble we got back. that band never attacked us again. as we were dismounting, my friend put his hand in his pocket, and found the little paper. he took it out, looked at it, and when his servant came up to him he gave the paper back with a curious little smile full of many thoughts. 'you see,' he said, 'i am safe. no bullet has hit me.' and the servant's eyes were dim. he had been very long with his master, and loved him, as did all who knew him. 'it was the goodness of god,' he said--'the great goodness of god. will not the sahib keep the paper?' but the sahib would not. 'you may need it as well as i. who can tell in this war?' and he returned it. and the paper? it was a prayer--a prayer used by the roman catholic church, printed on a sheet of paper. at the top was a red cross. the paper was old and worn, creased at the edges; it had evidently been much used, much read. such was the charm that kept the soldier from danger. the nights were cold then, when the sun had set, and after dinner we used to have a camp-fire built of wood from the forest, to sit round for a time and talk before turning in. the native officers of the cavalry would come and sit with us, and one or two of the burmans, too. we were a very mixed assembly. i remember one night very well--i think it must have been the very night after the fight at laka, and we were all of us round the fire. i remember there was a half-moon bending towards the west, throwing tender lights upon the hills, and turning into a silver gauze the light white mist that lay upon the rice-fields. opposite to us, across the little river, a ridge of hill ran down into the water that bent round its foot. the ridge was covered with forest, very black, with silver edges on the sky-line. it was out of range for a burmese flint-gun, or we should not have camped so near it. on all the other sides the fields stretched away till they ended in the forest that gloomed beyond. i was talking to the governor's son (our guide of the fight at laka) of the prospects of the future, and of the intentions of the prince of wuntho, in whose country laka lay. i remarked to him how the burmans of wuntho seemed to hate him, of how they had cursed him from the hills, and he admitted that it was true. 'all except my friends,' he said, 'hate me. and yet what have i done? i had to help my father to get back his governorship. they forget that they attacked us first.' he went on to tell me of how every day he was threatened, of how he was sure they would murder him some time, because he had joined us. 'they are sure to kill me some time,' he said. he seemed sad and depressed, not afraid. so we talked on, and i asked him about charms. 'are there not charms that will prevent you being hurt if you are hit, and that will not allow a sword to cut you? we hear of invulnerable men. there were the immortals of the king's guard, for instance.' and he said, yes, there were charms, but no one believed in them except the villagers. he did not, nor did men of education. of course, the ignorant people believed in them. there were several sorts of charms. you could be tattooed with certain mystic letters that were said to insure you against being hit, and there were certain medicines you could drink. there were also charms made out of stone, such as a little tortoise he had once seen that was said to protect its wearer. there were mysterious writings on palm-leaves. there were men, he said vaguely, who knew how to make these things. for himself, he did not believe in them. i tried to learn from him then, and i have tried from others since, whether these charms have any connection with buddhism. i cannot find that they have. they are never in the form of images of the buddha, or of extracts from the sacred writings. there is not, so far as i can make out, any religious significance in these charms; mostly they are simply mysterious. i never heard that the people connect them with their religion. indeed, all forms of enchantment and of charms are most strictly prohibited. one of the vows that monks take is never to have any dealings with charms or with the supernatural, and so buddhism cannot even give such little assistance to its believers as to furnish them with charms. if they have charms, it is against their faith; it is a falling away from the purity of their teachings; it is simply the innate yearning of man to the supernatural, to the mysterious. man's passions are very strong, and if he must fight, he must also have a charm to protect him in fight. if his religion cannot give it him, he must find it elsewhere. you see that, as the teachings of the buddha have never been able to be twisted so as to permit war directly, neither have they been able to assist indirectly by furnishing charms, by making the fighter bullet-proof. and i thought then of the little prayer and the cross that were so certain a defence against hurt. we talked for a long time in the waning moonlight by the ruddy fire, and at last we broke up to go to bed. as we rose a voice called to us across the water from the little promontory. in the still night every word was as clear as the note of a gong. 'sleep well,' it cried--'sleep well--sle-e-ep we-l-l.' we all stood astonished--those who did not know burmese wondering at the voice; those who did, wondering at the meaning. the sentries peered keenly towards the sound. 'sleep well,' the voice cried again; 'eat well. it will not be for long. sleep well while you may.' and then, after a pause, it called the governor's son's name, and 'traitor, traitor!' till the hills were full of sound. the burman turned away. 'you see,' he said, 'how they hate me. what would be the good of charms?' the voice was quiet, and the camp sank into stillness, and ere long the moon set, and it was quite dark. he was a brave man, and, indeed, there are many brave men amongst the burmese. they kill leopards with sticks and stones very often, and even tigers. they take their frail little canoes across the irrawaddy in flood in a most daring way. they in no way want for physical courage, but they have never made a cult of bravery; it has never been a necessity to them; it has never occurred to them that it is the prime virtue of a man. you will hear them confess in the calmest way, 'i was afraid.' we would not do that; we should be much more afraid to say it. and the teaching of buddhism is all in favour of this. nowhere is courage--i mean aggressive courage--praised. no soldier could be a fervent buddhist; no nation of buddhists could be good soldiers; for not only does buddhism not inculcate bravery, but it does not inculcate obedience. each man is the ruler of his life, but the very essence of good fighting is discipline, and discipline, subjection, is unknown to buddhism. therefore the inherent courage of the burmans could have no assistance from their faith in any way, but the very contrary: it fought against them. there is no flexibility in buddhism. it is a law, and nothing can change it. laws are for ever and for ever, and there are no exceptions to them. the law of the buddha is against war--war of any kind at all--and there can be no exception. and so every burman who fought against us knew that he was sinning. he did it with his eyes open; he could never imagine any exception in his favour. never could he in his bivouac look at the stars, and imagine that any power looked down in approbation of his deeds. no one fought for him. our bayonets and lances were no keys to open to him the gates of paradise; no monks could come and close his dying eyes with promises of rewards to come. he was sinning, and he must suffer long and terribly for this breach of the laws of righteousness. if such be the faith of the people, and if they believe their faith, it is a terrible handicap to them in any fight; it delivers them bound into the hands of the enemy. such is buddhism. but it must never be forgotten that, if this faith does not assist the believer in defence, neither does it in offence. what is so terrible as a war of religion? there can never be a war of buddhism. no ravished country has ever borne witness to the prowess of the followers of the buddha; no murdered men have poured out their blood on their hearthstones, killed in his name; no ruined women have cursed his name to high heaven. he and his faith are clean of the stain of blood. he was the preacher of the great peace, of love, of charity, of compassion, and so clear is his teaching that it can never be misunderstood. wars of invasion the burmese have waged, that is true, in siam, in assam, and in pegu. they are but men, and men will fight. if they were perfect in their faith, the race would have died out long ago. they have fought, but they have never fought in the name of their faith. they have never been able to prostitute its teachings to their own wants. whatever the burmans have done, they have kept their faith pure. when they have offended against the laws of the buddha they have done so openly. their souls are guiltless of hypocrisy--for whatever that may avail them. they have known the difference between good and evil, even if they have not always followed the good. chapter vii government 'fire, water, storms, robbers, rulers--these are the five great evils.'--_burmese saying._ it would be difficult, i think, to imagine anything worse than the government of upper burma in its later days. i mean by 'government' the king and his counsellors and the greater officials of the empire. the management of foreign affairs, of the army, the suppression of greater crimes, the care of the means of communication, all those duties which fall to the central government, were badly done, if done at all. it must be remembered that there was one difficulty in the way--the absence of any noble or leisured class to be entrusted with the greater offices. as i have shown in another chapter, there was no one between the king and the villager--no noble, no landowner, no wealthy or educated class at all. the king had to seek for his ministers among the ordinary people, consequently the men who were called upon to fill great offices of state were as often as not men who had no experience beyond the narrow limits of a village. the breadth of view, the knowledge of other countries, of other thoughts, that comes to those who have wealth and leisure, were wanting to these ministers of the king. natural capacity many of them had, but that is not of much value until it is cultivated. you cannot learn in the narrow precincts of a village the knowledge necessary to the management of great affairs; and therefore in affairs of state this want of any noble or leisured class was a very serious loss to the government of burma. it had great and countervailing advantages, of which i will speak when i come to local government, but that it was a heavy loss as far as the central government goes no one can doubt. there was none of that check upon the power of the king which a powerful nobility will give; there was no trained talent at his disposal. the king remained absolutely supreme, with no one near his throne, and the ministers were mere puppets, here to-day and gone to-morrow. they lived by the breath of the king and court, and when they lost favour there was none to help them. they had no faction behind them to uphold them against the king. it can easily be understood how disastrous all this was to any form of good government. all these ministers and governors were corrupt; there was corruption to the core. when it is understood that hardly any official was paid, and that those who were paid were insufficiently paid, and had unlimited power, there will be no difficulty in seeing the reason. in circumstances like this all people would be corrupt. the only securities against bribery and abuse of power are adequate pay, restricted authority, and great publicity. none of these obtained in burma any more than in the europe of five hundred years ago, and the result was the same in both. the central government consisted of the king, who had no limit at all to his power, and the council of ministers, whose only check was the king. the executive and judicial were all the same: there was no appeal from one to the other. the only appeal from the ministers was to the king, and as the king shut himself up in his palace, and was practically inaccessible to all but high officials, the worthlessness of this appeal is evident. outside mandalay the country was governed by _wuns_ or governors. these were appointed by the king, or by the council, or by both, and they obtained their position by bribery. their tenure was exceedingly insecure, as any man who came and gave a bigger bribe was likely to obtain the former governor's dismissal and his own appointment. consequently the usual tenure of office of a governor was a year. often there were half a dozen governors in a year; sometimes a man with strong influence managed to retain his position for some years. from the orders of the governor there was an appeal to the council. this was in some matters useful, but in others not so. if a governor sentenced a man to death--all governors had power of life and death--he would be executed long before an appeal could reach the council. practically no check was possible by the palace over distant governors, and they did as they liked. anything more disastrous and fatal to any kind of good government than this it is impossible to imagine. the governors did what they considered right in their own eyes, and made as much money as they could, while they could. they collected the taxes and as much more as they could get; they administered the laws of manu in civil and criminal affairs, except when tempted to deviate therefrom by good reasons; they carried out orders received from mandalay, when these orders fell in with their own desires, or when they considered that disobedience might be dangerous. it is a burmese proverb that officials are one of the five great enemies of mankind, and there was, i think (at all events in the latter days of the kingdom) good reason to remember it. and yet these officials were not bad men in themselves; on the contrary, many of them were men of good purpose, of natural honesty, of right principles. in a well-organized system they would have done well, but the system was rotten to the core. it may be asked why the burmese people remained quiet under such a rule as this; why they did not rise and destroy it, raising a new one in its place; how it was that such a state of corruption lasted for a year, let alone for many years. the answer is this: however bad the government may have been, it had the qualities of its defects. if it did not do much to help the people, it did little to hinder them. to a great extent it left them alone to manage their own affairs in their own way. burma in those days was like a great untended garden, full of weeds, full of flowers too, each plant striving after its own way, gradually evolving into higher forms. now sometimes it seems to me to be like an old dutch garden, with the paths very straight, very clean swept, with the trees clipped into curious shapes of bird and beast, tortured out of all knowledge, and many of the flowers mown down. the burmese government left its people alone; that was one great virtue. and, again, any government, however good, however bad, is but a small factor in the life of a people; it comes far below many other things in importance. a short rainfall for a year is more disastrous than a mad king; a plague is worse than fifty grasping governors; social rottenness is incomparably more dangerous than the rottenest government. and in burma it was only the supreme government, the high officials, that were very bad. it was only the management of state affairs that was feeble and corrupt; all the rest was very good. the land laws, the self-government, the social condition of the people, were admirable. it was so good that the rotten central government made but little difference to the people, and it would probably have lasted for a long while if not attacked from outside. a greater power came and upset the government of the king, and established itself in his place; and i may here say that the idea that the feebleness or wrong-doing of the burmese government was the cause of the downfall is a mistake. if the burmese government had been the best that ever existed, the annexation would have happened just the same. it was a political necessity for us. the central government of a country is, as i have said, not a matter of much importance. it has very little influence in the evolution of the soul of a people. it is always a great deal worse than the people themselves--a hundred years behind them in civilization, a thousand years behind them in morality. men will do in the name of government acts which, if performed in a private capacity, would cover them with shame before men, and would land them in a gaol or worse. the name of government is a cloak for the worst passions of manhood. it is not an interesting study, the government of mankind. a government is no part of the soul of the people, but is a mere excrescence; and so i have but little to say about this of burma, beyond this curious fact--that religion had no part in it. surely this is a very remarkable thing, that a religion having the hold upon its followers that buddhism has upon the burmese has never attempted to grasp the supreme authority and use it to its ends. it is not quite an explanation to say that buddhism is not concerned with such things; that its very spirit is against the assumption of any worldly power and authority; that it is a negation of the value of these things. something of this sort might be said of other religions, and yet they have all striven to use the temporal power. i do not know what the explanation is, unless it be that the burmese believe their religion and other people do not. however that may be, there is no doubt of the fact. religion had nothing whatever--absolutely nothing in any way at all--to do with government. there are no exceptions. what has led people to think sometimes that there were exceptions is the fact that the king confirmed the thathanabaing--the head of the community of monks--after he had been elected by his fellow-monks. the reason of this was as follows: all ecclesiastical matters--i use the word 'ecclesiastical' because i can find no other--were outside the jurisdiction of civil limits. by 'ecclesiastical' i mean such matters as referred to the ownership and habitation of monasteries, the building of pagodas and places of prayer, the discipline of the monkhood. such questions were decided by ecclesiastical courts under the thathanabaing. now, it was necessary sometimes, as may be understood, to enforce these decrees, and for that reason to apply to civil power. therefore there must be a head of the monks acknowledged by the civil power as head, to make such applications as might be necessary in this, and perhaps some other such circumstances. it became, therefore, the custom for the king to acknowledge by order the elect of the monks as thathanabaing for all such purposes. that was all. the king did not appoint him at all. any such idea as a monk interfering in the affairs of state, or expressing an opinion on war or law or finance, would appear to the burmese a negation of their faith. they were never led away by the idea that good might come of such interference. this terrible snare has never caught their feet. they hold that a man's first duty is to his own soul. never think that you can do good to others at the same time as you injure yourself, and the greatest good for your own heart is to learn that beyond all this turmoil and fret there is the great peace--so great that we can hardly understand it, and to reach it you must fit yourself for it. the monk is he who is attempting to reach it, and he knows that he cannot do that by attempting to rule his fellow-man; that is probably the very worst thing he could do. and therefore the monkhood, powerful as they were, left all politics alone. i have never been able to hear of a single instance in which they even expressed an opinion either as a body or as individuals on any state matter. it is true that, if a governor oppressed his people, the monks would remonstrate with him, or even, in the last extremity, with the king; they would plead with the king for clemency to conquered peoples, to rebels, to criminals; their voice was always on the side of mercy. as far as urging the greatest of all virtues upon governors and rulers alike, they may be said to have interfered with politics; but this is not what is usually understood by religion interfering in things of state. it seems to me we usually mean the reverse of this, for we are of late beginning to regard it with horror. the burmese have always done so. they would think it a denial of all religion. and so the only things worth noting about the government of the burmese were its exceeding badness, and its disconnection with religion. that it would have been a much stronger government had it been able to enlist on its side all the power of the monkhood, none can doubt. it might even have been a better government; of that i am not sure. but that such a union would have meant the utter destruction of the religion, the debasing of the very soul of the people, no one who has tried to understand that soul can doubt. and a soul is worth very many governments. but when you left the central government, and came down to the management of local affairs, there was a great change. you came straight down from the king and governor to the village and its headman. there were no lords, no squires, nor ecclesiastical power wielding authority over the people. each village was to a very great extent a self-governing community composed of men free in every way. the whole country was divided into villages, sometimes containing one or two hamlets at a little distance from each other--offshoots from the parent stem. the towns, too, were divided into quarters, and each quarter had its headman. these men held their appointment-orders from the king as a matter of form, but they were chosen by their fellow-villagers as a matter of fact. partly this headship was hereditary, not from father to son, but it might be from brother to brother, and so on. it was not usually a very coveted appointment, for the responsibility and trouble were considerable, and the pay small. it was per cent. on the tax collections. and with this official as their head, the villagers managed nearly all their affairs. their taxes, for instance, they assessed and collected themselves. the governor merely informed the headman that he was to produce ten rupees per house from his village. the villagers then appointed assessors from among themselves, and decided how much each household should pay. thus a coolie might pay but four rupees, and a rice-merchant as much as fifty or sixty. the assessment was levied according to the means of the villagers. so well was this done, that complaints against the decisions of the assessors were almost unknown--i might, i think, safely say were absolutely unknown. the assessment was made publicly, and each man was heard in his own defence before being assessed. then the money was collected. if by any chance, such as death, any family could not pay, the deficiency was made good by the other villagers in proportion. when the money was got in it was paid to the governor. crime such as gang-robbery, murder, and so on, had to be reported to the governor, and he arrested the criminals if he felt inclined, and knew who they were, and was able to do it. generally something was in the way, and it could not be done. all lesser crime was dealt with in the village itself, not only dealt with when it occurred, but to a great extent prevented from occurring. you see, in a village anyone knows everyone, and detection is usually easy. if a man became a nuisance to a village, he was expelled. i have often heard old burmans talking about this, and comparing these times with those. in those times all big crimes were unpunished, and there was but little petty crime. now all big criminals are relentlessly hunted down by the police; and the inevitable weakening of the village system has led to a large increase of petty crime, and certain breaches of morality and good conduct. i remember talking to a man not long ago--a man who had been a headman in the king's time, but was not so now. we were chatting of various subjects, and he told me he had no children; they were dead. 'when were you married?' i asked, just for something to say, and he said when he was thirty-two. 'isn't that rather old to be just married?' i asked. 'i thought you burmans often married at eighteen and twenty. what made you wait so long?' and he told me that in his village men were not allowed to marry till they were about thirty. 'great harm comes,' he said, 'of allowing boys and girls to make foolish marriages when they are too young. it was never allowed in my village.' 'and if a young man fell in love with a girl?' i asked. 'he was told to leave her alone.' 'and if he didn't?' 'if he didn't, he was put in the stocks for one day or two days, and if that was no good, he was banished from the village.' a monk complained to me of the bad habits of the young men in villages. 'could government do nothing?' he asked. they used shameful words, and they would shout as they passed his monastery, and disturb the lads at their lessons and the girls at the well. they were not well-behaved. in the burmese time they would have been punished for all this--made to draw so many buckets of water for the school-gardens, or do some road-making, or even be put in the stocks. now the headman was afraid to do anything, for fear of the great government. it was very bad for the young men, he said. all villages were not alike, of course, in their enforcement of good manners and good morals, but, still, in every village they were enforced more or less. the opinion of the people was very decided, and made itself felt, and the influence of the monastery without the gate was strong upon the people. yet the monks never interfered with village affairs. as they abstained from state government, so they did from local government. you never could imagine a buddhist monk being a magistrate for his village, taking any part at all in municipal affairs. the same reasons that held them from affairs of the state held them from affairs of the commune. i need not repeat them. the monastery was outside the village, and the monk outside the community. i do not think he was ever consulted about any village matters. i know that, though i have many and many a time asked monks for their opinion to aid me in deciding little village disputes, i have never got an answer out of them. 'these are not our affairs,' they will answer always. 'go to the people; they will tell you what you want.' their influence is by example and precept, by teaching the laws of the great teacher, by living a life blameless before men, by preparing their souls for rest. it is a general influence, never a particular one. if anyone came to the monk for counsel, the monk would only repeat to him the sacred teaching, and leave him to apply it. so each village managed its own affairs, untroubled by squire or priest, very little troubled by the state. that within their little means they did it well, no one can doubt. they taxed themselves without friction, they built their own monastery schools by voluntary effort, they maintained a very high, a very simple, code of morals, entirely of their own initiative. all this has passed, or is passing away. the king has gone to a banishment far across the sea, the ministers are either banished or powerless for good or evil. it will never rise again, this government of the king, which was so bad in all it did, and only good in what it left alone. it will never rise again. the people are now part of the british empire, subjects of the queen. what may be in store for them in the far future no one can tell, only we may be sure that the past can return no more. and the local government is passing away, too. it cannot exist with a strong government such as ours. for good or for evil, in a few years it, too, will be gone. but, after all, these are but forms; the soul is far within. in the soul there will be no change. no one can imagine even in the far future any monk of the buddha desiring temporal power or interfering in any way with the government of the people. that is why i have written this chapter, to show how buddhism holds itself towards the government. with us, we are accustomed to ecclesiastics trying to manage affairs of state, or attempting to grasp the secular power. it is in accordance with our ideals that they should do so. our religious phraseology is full of such terms as lord and king and ruler and servant. buddhism knows nothing of any of them. in our religion we are subject to the authority of deacons and priests and bishops and archbishops, and so on up to the almighty himself. but in buddhism every man is free--free, subject to the inevitable laws of righteousness. there is no hierarchy in buddhism: it is a religion of absolute freedom. no one can damn you except yourself; no one can save you except yourself. governments cannot do it, and therefore it would be useless to try and capture the reins of government, even if you did not destroy your own soul in so doing. buddhism does not believe that you can save a man by force. as buddhism was, so it is, so it will remain. by its very nature it abhors all semblance of authority. it has proved that, under temptation such as no other religion has felt, and resisted; it is a religion of each man's own soul, not of governments and powers. chapter viii crime and punishment 'overcome anger by kindness, evil by good.' _dammapada._ not very many years ago an officer in rangoon lost some currency notes. he had placed them upon his table overnight, and in the morning they were gone. the amount was not large. it was, if i remember rightly, thirty rupees; but the loss annoyed him, and as all search and inquiry proved futile, he put the matter in the hands of the police. before long--the very next day--the possession of the notes was traced to the officer's burman servant, who looked after his clothes and attended on him at table. the boy was caught in the act of trying to change one of the notes. he was arrested, and he confessed. he was very hard up, he said, and his sister had written asking him to help her. he could not do so, and he was troubling himself about the matter early that morning while tidying the room, and he saw the notes on the table, and so he took them. it was a sudden temptation, and he fell. when the officer learnt all this, he would, i think, have withdrawn from the prosecution and forgiven the boy; but it was too late. in our english law theft is not compoundable. a complaint of theft once made must be proved or disproved; the accused must be tried before a magistrate. there is no alternative. so the lad--he was only a lad--was sent up before the magistrate, and he again pleaded guilty, and his master asked that the punishment might be light. the boy, he said, was an honest boy, and had yielded to a sudden temptation. he, the master, had no desire to press the charge, but the reverse. he would never have come to court at all if he could have withdrawn from the charge. therefore he asked that the magistrate would consider all this, and be lenient. but the magistrate did not see matters in the same light at all. he would consider his judgment, and deliver it later on. when he came into court again and read the judgment he had prepared, he said that he was unable to treat the case leniently. there were many such cases, he said. it was becoming quite common for servants to steal their employers' things, and they generally escaped. it was a serious matter, and he felt himself obliged to make an example of such as were convicted, to be a warning to others. so the boy was sentenced to six months' rigorous imprisonment; and his master went home, and before long had forgotten all about it. but one day, as he was sitting in his veranda reading before breakfast, a lad came quickly up the stairs and into the veranda, and knelt down before him. it was the servant. as soon as he was released from gaol, he went straight to his old master, straight to the veranda where he was sure he would be sitting at that hour, and begged to be taken back again into his service. he was quite pleased, and sure that his master would be equally pleased, at seeing him again, and he took it almost as a matter of course that he would be reinstated. but the master doubted. 'how can i take you back again?' he said. 'you have been in gaol.' 'but,' said the boy, 'i did very well in gaol. i became a warder with a cap white on one side and yellow on the other. let the thakin ask.' still the officer doubted. 'i cannot take you back,' he repeated. 'you stole my money, and you have been in prison. i could not have you as a servant again.' 'yes,' admitted the boy, 'i stole the thakin's money, but i have been in prison for it a long time--six months. surely that is all forgotten now. i stole; i have been in gaol--that is the end of it.' 'no,' answered the master, 'unfortunately, your having been in gaol only makes matters much worse. i could forgive the theft, but the being in gaol--how can i forgive that?' and the boy could not understand. 'if i have stolen, i have been in gaol for it. that is wiped out now,' he said again and again, till at last he went away in sore trouble of mind, for he could not understand his master, nor could his master understand him. you see, each had his own idea of what was law, and what was justice, and what was punishment. to the burman all these words had one set of meanings; to the englishman they had another, a very different one. and each of them took his ideas from his religion. to all men the law here on earth is but a reflection of the heavenly law; the judge is the representative of his god. the justice of the court should be as the justice of heaven. many nations have imagined their law to be heaven-given, to be inspired with the very breath of the creator of the world. other nations have derived their laws elsewhere. but this is of little account, for to the one, as to the other, the laws are a reflection of the religion. and therefore on a man's religion depends all his views of law and justice, his understanding of the word 'punishment,' his idea of how sin should be treated. and it was because of their different religions, because their religions differed so greatly on these points as to be almost opposed, that the english officer and his burman servant failed to understand each other. for to the englishman punishment was a degradation. it seemed to him far more disgraceful that his servant should have been in gaol than that he should have committed theft. the theft he was ready to forgive, the punishment he could not. punishment to him meant revenge. it is the revenge of an outraged and injured morality. the sinner had insulted the law, and therefore the law was to make him suffer. he was to be frightened into not doing it again. that is the idea. he was to be afraid of receiving punishment. and again his punishment was to be useful as a warning to others. indeed, the magistrate had especially increased it with that object in view. he was to suffer that others might be saved. the idea of punishment being an atonement hardly enters into our minds at all. to us it is practically a revenge. we do not expect people to be the better for it. we are sure they are the worse. it is a deterrent for others, not a healing process for the man himself. we punish a. that b. may be afraid, and not do likewise. our thoughts are bent on b., not really on a. at all. as far as he is concerned, the process is very similar to pouring boiling lead into a wound. we do not wish or intend to improve him, but simply and purely to make him suffer. after we have dealt with him, he is never fit again for human society. that was in the officer's thought when he refused to take back his burmese servant. now see the boy's idea. punishment is an atonement, a purifying of the soul from the stain of sin. that is the only justification for, and meaning of, suffering. if a man breaks the everlasting laws of righteousness and stains his soul with the stain of sin, he must be purified, and the only method of purification is by suffering. each sin is followed by suffering, lasting just so long as to cleanse the soul--not a moment less, or the soul would not be white; not a moment more, or it would be useless and cruel. that is the law of righteousness, the eternal inevitable sequence that leads us in the end to wisdom and peace. and as it is with the greater laws, so it should, the buddhist thinks, be with the lesser laws. if a man steals, he should have such punishment and for such a time as will wean his soul from theft, as will atone for his sin. just so much. you see, to him mercy is a falling short of what is necessary, a leaving of work half done, as if you were to leave a garment half washed. excess of punishment is mere useless brutality. he recognizes no vicarious punishment. he cannot understand that a. should be damned in order to save b. this does not agree with his scheme of righteousness at all. it seems as futile to him as the action of washing one garment twice that another might be clean. each man should atone for his own sin, _must_ atone for his own sin, in order to be freed from it. no one can help him, or suffer for him. if i have a sore throat, it would be useless to blister you for it: that is his idea. consider this burman. he had committed theft. that he admitted. he was prepared to atone for it. the magistrate was not content with that, but made him also atone for other men's sins. he was twice punished, because other men who escaped did ill. that was the first thing he could not understand. and then, when he had atoned both for his own sin and for that of others, when he came out of prison, he was looked upon as in a worse state than if he had never atoned at all. if he had never been in prison, his master would have forgiven his theft and taken him back, but now he would not. the boy was proud of having atoned in full, very full, measure for his sin; the master looked upon the punishment as inconceivably worse than the crime. so the officer went about and told the story of his boy coming back, and expecting to be taken on again, as a curious instance of the mysterious working of the oriental mind, as another example of the extraordinary way easterns argue. 'just to think,' said the officer, 'he was not ashamed of having been in prison!' and the boy? well, he probably said nothing, but went away and did not understand, and kept the matter to himself, for they are very dumb, these people, very long-suffering, very charitable. you may be sure that he never railed at the law, or condemned his old master for harshness. he would wonder why he was punished because other people had sinned and escaped. he could not understand that. it would not occur to him that sending him to herd with other criminals, that cutting him off from all the gentle influences of life, from the green trees and the winds of heaven, from the society of women, from the example of noble men, from the teachings of religion, was a curious way to render him a better man. he would suppose it was intended to make him better, that he should leave gaol a better man than when he entered, and he would take the intention for the deed. under his own king things were not much better. it is true that very few men were imprisoned, fine being the usual punishment, but still, imprisonment there was, and so that would not seem to him strange; and as to the conduct of his master, he would be content to leave that unexplained. the buddhist is content to leave many things unexplained until he can see the meaning. he is not fond of theories. if he does not know, he says so. 'it is beyond me,' he will say; 'i do not understand.' he has no theory of an occidental mind to explain acts of ours of which he cannot grasp the meaning; he would only not understand. but the pity of it--think of the pity of it all! surely there is nothing more pathetic than this: that a sinner should not understand the wherefore of his sentence, that the justice administered to him should be such as he cannot see the meaning of. certain forms of crime are very rife in burma. the villages are so scattered, the roads so lonely, the amount of money habitually carried about so large, the people so habitually careless, the difficulty of detection so great, that robbery and kindred crimes are very common; and it is more common in the districts of the delta, long under our rule, than in the newly-annexed province in the north. under like conditions the burman is probably no more criminal and no less criminal than other people in the same state of civilization. crime is a condition caused by opportunity, not by an inherent state of mind, except with the very, very few, the exceptional individuals; and in upper burma there is, now that the turmoil of the annexation is past, very little crime comparatively. there is less money there, and the village system--the control of the community over the individual--the restraining influence of public opinion is greater. but even during the years of trouble, the years from till , when, in the words of the burmese proverb, 'the forest was on fire and the wild-cat slapped his arm,' there were certain peculiarities about the criminals that differentiated them from those of europe. you would hear of a terrible crime, a village attacked at night by brigands, a large robbery of property, one or two villagers killed, and an old woman tortured for her treasure, and you would picture the perpetrators as hardened, brutal criminals, lost to all sense of humanity, tigers in human shape; and when you came to arrest them--if by good luck you did so--you would find yourself quite mistaken. one, perhaps, or two of the ringleaders might be such as i have described, but the others would be far different. they would be boys or young men led away by the idea of a frolic, allured by the romance of being a free-lance for a night, very sorry now, and ready to confess and do all in their power to atone for their misdeeds. nothing, i think, was more striking than the universal confession of criminals on their arrest. even now, despite the spread of lawyers and notions of law, in country districts accused men always confess, sometimes even they surrender themselves. i have known many such cases. here is one that happened to myself only the other day. a man was arrested in another jurisdiction for cattle theft; he was tried there and sentenced to two years' rigorous imprisonment. shortly afterwards it was discovered that he was suspected of being concerned in a robbery in my jurisdiction, committed before his arrest. he was therefore transferred to the gaol near my court, and i inquired into the case, and committed him and four others for trial before the sessions judge for the robbery, which he admitted. now, it so happened that immediately after i had passed orders in the case i went out into camp, leaving the necessary warrants to be signed in my absence by my junior magistrate, and a mistake occurred by which the committal-warrant was only made out for the four. the other man being already under sentence for two years, it was not considered necessary to make out a remand-warrant for him. but, as it happened, he had appealed from his former sentence and he was acquitted, so a warrant of release arrived at the gaol, and, in absence of any other warrant, he was at once released. of course, on the mistake being discovered a fresh warrant was issued, and mounted police were sent over the country in search of him, without avail; he could not be found. but some four days afterwards, in the late afternoon, as i was sitting in my house, just returned from court, my servant told me a man wanted to see me. he was shown up into the veranda, and, lo! it was the very man i wanted. he had heard, he explained, that i wanted him, and had come to see me. i reminded him he was committed to stand his trial for dacoity, that was why i wanted him. he said that he thought all that was over, as he was released; but i explained to him that the release only applied to the theft case. and then we walked over half a mile to court, i in front and he behind, across the wide plain, and he surrendered to the guard. he was tried and acquitted on this charge also. not, as the sessions judge said later, that he had any doubt that my friend and the others were the right men, but because he considered some of the evidence unsatisfactory, and because the original confession was withdrawn. so he was released again, and went hence a free man. but think of him surrendering himself! he knew he had committed the dacoity with which he was charged: he himself had admitted it to begin with, and again admitted it freely when he knew he was safe from further trial. he knew he was liable to very heavy punishment, and yet he surrendered because he understood that i wanted him. i confess that i do not understand it at all, for this is no solitary instance. the circumstances, truly, were curious, but the spirit in which the man acted was usual enough. i have had dacoit leaders with prices on their heads walk into my camp. it was a common experience with many officers. the burmans often act as children do. their crimes are the violent, thoughtless crimes of children; they are as little depraved by crime as children are. who are more criminal than english boys? and yet they grow up decent, law-abiding men. almost the only confirmed criminals have been made so by punishment, by that punishment which some consider is intended to uplift them, but which never does aught but degrade them. instead of cleansing the garment, it tears it, and renders it useless for this life. it is a very difficult question, this of crime and punishment. i have not written all this because i have any suggestion to make to improve it. i have not written it because i think that the laws of manu, which obtained under the burmese kings, and their methods of punishment, were any improvement on ours. on the contrary, i think they were much worse. their laws and their methods of enforcing the law were those of a very young people. but, notwithstanding this, there was a spirit in their laws different from and superior to ours. i have been trying to see into the soul of this people whom i love so well, and nothing has struck me more than the way they regard crime and punishment; nothing has seemed to me more worthy of note than their ideas of the meaning and end of punishment, of its scope and its limits. it is so very different from ours. as in our religion, so in our laws: we believe in mercy at one time and in vengeance at another. we believe in vicarious punishment and vicarious salvation; they believe in absolute justice--always the same, eternal and unchangeable as the laws of the stars. we purposely make punishment degrading; they think it should be elevating, that in its purifying power lies its sole use and justification. we believe in tearing a soiled garment; they think it ought to be washed. surely these are great differences, surely thoughts like these, engraven in the hearts of a young people, will lead, in the great and glorious future that lies before them, to a conception of justice, to a method of dealing with crime, very different from what we know ourselves. they are now very much as we were sixteen centuries ago, when the romans ruled us. now we are a greater people, our justice is better, our prisons are better, our morality is inconceivably better than imperial rome ever dreamt of. and so with these people, when their time shall come, when they shall have grown out of childhood into manhood, when they shall have the wisdom and strength and experience to put in force the convictions that are in their hearts, it seems to me that they will bring out of these convictions something more wonderful than we to-day have dreamt of. chapter ix happiness 'the thoughts of his heart, these are the wealth of a man.' _burmese saying._ as i have said, there was this very remarkable fact in burma--that when you left the king, you dropped at once to the villager. there were no intermediate classes. there were no nobles, hereditary officers, great landowners, wealthy bankers or merchants. then there is no caste; there are no guilds of trade, or art, or science. if a man discovered a method of working silver, say, he never hid it, but made it common property. it is very curious how absolutely devoid burma is of the exclusiveness of caste so universal in india, and which survives to a great extent in europe. the burman is so absolutely enamoured of freedom, that he cannot abide the bonds which caste demands. he will not bind himself with other men for a slight temporal advantage; he does not consider it worth the trouble. he prefers remaining free and poor to being bound and rich. nothing is further from him than the feeling of exclusiveness. he abominates secrecy, mystery. his religion, his women, himself, are free; there are no dark places in his life where the light cannot come. he is ready that everything should be known, that all men should be his brothers. and so all the people are on the same level. richer and poorer there are, of course, but there are no very rich; there is none so poor that he cannot get plenty to eat and drink. all eat much the same food, all dress much alike. the amusements of all are the same, for entertainments are nearly always free. so the burman does not care to be rich. it is not in his nature to desire wealth, it is not in his nature to care to keep it when it comes to him. beyond a sufficiency for his daily needs money has not much value. he does not care to add field to field or coin to coin; the mere fact that he has money causes him no pleasure. money is worth to him what it will buy. with us, when we have made a little money we keep it to be a nest-egg to make more from. not so a burman: he will spend it. and after his own little wants are satisfied, after he has bought himself a new silk, after he has given his wife a gold bangle, after he has called all his village together and entertained them with a dramatic entertainment--sometimes even before all this--he will spend the rest on charity. he will build a pagoda to the honour of the great teacher, where men may go to meditate on the great laws of existence. he will build a monastery school where the village lads are taught, and where each villager retires some time in his life to learn the great wisdom. he will dig a well or build a bridge, or make a rest-house. and if the sum be very small indeed, then he will build, perhaps, a little house--a tiny little house--to hold two or three jars of water for travellers to drink. and he will keep the jars full of water, and put a little cocoanut-shell to act as cup. the amount spent thus every year in charity is enormous. the country is full of pagodas; you see them on every peak, on every ridge along the river. they stand there as do the castles of the robber barons on the rhine, only with what another meaning! near villages and towns there are clusters of them, great and small. the great pagoda in rangoon is as tall as st. paul's; i have seen many a one not three feet high--the offering of some poor old man to the great name, and everywhere there are monasteries. every village has one, at least; most have two or three. a large village will have many. more would be built if there was anyone to live in them, so anxious is each man to do something for the monks. as it is, more are built than there is actual need for. and there are rest-houses everywhere. far away in the dense forests by the mountain-side you will find them, built in some little hollow by the roadside by someone who remembered his fellow-traveller. you cannot go five miles along any road without finding them. in villages they can be counted by tens, in towns by fifties. there are far more than are required. in burmese times such roads and bridges as were made were made in the same way by private charity. nowadays, the british government takes that in hand, and consequently there is probably more money for rest-house building than is needed. as time goes on, the charity will flow into other lines, no doubt, in addition. they will build and endow hospitals, they will devote money to higher education, they will spend money in many ways, not in what we usually call charity, for that they already do, nor in missions, as whatever missions they may send out will cost nothing. holy men are those vowed to extreme poverty. but as their civilization (_their_ civilization, not any imposed from outside) progresses, they will find out new wants for the rich to supply, and they will supply them. that is a mere question of material progress. the inclination to charity is very strong. the burmans give in charity far more in proportion to their wealth than any other people. it is extraordinary how much they give, and you must remember that all of this is quite voluntary. with, i think, two or three exceptions, such as gilding the shwe dagon pagoda, collections are never made for any purpose. there is no committee of appeal, no organized collection. it is all given straight from the giver's heart. it is a very marvellous thing. i remember long ago, shortly after i had come to burma, i was staying with a friend in toungoo, and i went with him to the house of a burman contractor. we had been out riding, and as we returned my friend said he wished to see the contractor about some business, and so we rode to his house. he came out and asked us in, and we dismounted and went up the stairs into the veranda, and sat down. it was a little house built of wood, with three rooms. behind was a little kitchen and a stable. the whole may have cost a thousand rupees. as my friend and the burman talked of their business i observed the furniture. there was very little; three or four chairs, two tables and a big box were all i could see. inside, no doubt, were a few beds and more chairs. while we sat, the wife and daughter came out and gave us cheroots, and i talked to them in my very limited burmese till my friend was ready. then we went away. that contractor, so my friend told me as we went home, made probably a profit of six or seven thousand rupees a year. he spent on himself about a thousand of this; the rest went in charity. the great new monastery school, with the marvellous carved façade, just to the south of the town, was his, the new rest-house on the mountain road far up in the hills was his. he supported many monks, he gave largely to the gilding of the pagoda. if a theatrical company came that way, he subscribed freely. soon he thought he would retire from contracting altogether, for he had enough to live on quietly for the rest of his life. his action is no exception, but the rule. you will find that every well-to-do man has built his pagoda or his monastery, and is called 'school-builder' or 'pagoda-builder.' these are the only titles the burman knows, and they always are given most scrupulously. the builder of a bridge, a well, or a rest-house may also receive the title of 'well-builder,' and so on, but such titles are rarely used in common speech. even the builder of a long shed for water-jars may call himself after it if he likes, but it is only big builders who receive any title from their fellows. but the satisfaction to the man himself, the knowledge that he has done a good deed, is much the same, i think. a burman's wants are very few, such wants as money can supply--a little house, a sufficiency of plain food, a cotton dress for weekdays and a silk one for holidays, and that is nearly all. they are still a very young people. many wants will come, perhaps, later on, but just now their desires are easily satisfied. the burman does not care for a big house, for there are always the great trees and the open spaces by the village. it is far pleasanter to sit out of doors than indoors. he does not care for books. he has what is better than many books--the life of his people all about him, and he has the eyes to see it and the heart to understand it. he cares not to see with other men's eyes, but with his own; he cares not to read other men's thoughts, but to think his own, for a love of books only comes to him who is shut always from the world by ill-health, by poverty, by circumstance. when we are poor and miserable, we like to read of those who are happier. when we are shut in towns, we love to read of the beauties of the hills. when we have no love in our hearts, we like to read of those who have. few men who think their own thoughts care much to read the thoughts of others, for a man's own thoughts are worth more to him than all the thoughts of all the world besides. that a man should think, that is a great thing. very, very few great readers are great thinkers. and he who can live his life, what cares he for reading of the lives of other people? to have loved once is more than to have read all the poets that ever sang. so a burman thinks. to see the moon rise on the river as you float along, while the boat rocks to and fro and someone talks to you--is not that better than any tale? so a burman lives his life, and he asks a great deal from it. he wants fresh air and sunshine, and the great thoughts that come to you in the forest. he wants love and companionship, the voice of friends, the low laugh of women, the delight of children. he wants his life to be a full one, and he wants leisure to teach his heart to enjoy all these things; for he knows that you must learn to enjoy yourself, that it does not always come naturally, that to be happy and good-natured and open-hearted requires an education. to learn to sympathize with your neighbours, to laugh with them and cry with them, you must not shut yourself away and work. his religion tells him that the first of all gifts is sympathy; it is the first step towards wisdom, and he holds it true. after that, all shall be added to you. he believes that happiness is the best of all things. we think differently. we are content with cheerless days, with an absence of love, of beauty, of all that is valuable to the heart, if we can but put away a little money, if we can enlarge our business, if we can make a bigger figure in the world. nay, we go beyond this: we believe that work, that drudgery, is a beautiful thing in itself, that perpetual toil and effort is admirable. this we do because we do not know what to do with our leisure, because we do not know for what to seek, because we cannot enjoy. and so we go back to work, to feverish effort, because we cannot think, and see, and understand. 'work is a means to leisure,' aristotle told us long ago, and leisure, adds the burman, is needed that you may compose your own soul. work, no doubt, is a necessity, too, but not excess of it. the necessary thing to a man is not gold, nor position, nor power, but simply his own soul. nothing is worth anything to him compared with that, for while a man lives, what is the good of all these things if he have no leisure to enjoy them? and when he dies, shall they go down into the void with him? no; but a man's own soul shall go with and be with him for ever. a burman's ideas of this world are dominated by his religion. his religion says to him, 'consider your own soul, that is the main thing.' his religion says to him, 'the aim of every man should be happiness.' these are the fundamental parts of his belief; these he learns from his childhood: they are born in him. he looks at all the world by their light. later on, when he grows older, his religion says to him, 'and happiness is only to be found by renouncing the whole world.' this is a hard teaching. this comes to him slowly, or all buddhists would be monks; but, meanwhile, if he does but remember the first two precepts, he is on the right path. he does do this. happiness is the aim he seeks. work and power and money are but the means by which he will arrive at the leisure to teach his own soul. first the body, then the spirit; but with us it is surely first the body, and then the body again. he often watches us with surprise. he sees us work and work and work; he sees us grow old quickly, and our minds get weary; he sees our sympathies grow very narrow, our ideas bent into one groove, our whole souls destroyed for a little money, a little fame, a little promotion, till we go home, and do not know what to do with ourselves, because we have no work and no sympathy with anything; and at last we die, and take down with us our souls--souls fit for nothing but to be driven for ever with a goad behind and a golden fruit in front. but do not suppose that the burmese are idle. such a nation of workers was never known. every man works, every woman works, every child works. life is not an easy thing, but a hard, and there is a great deal of work to be done. there is not an idle man or woman in all burma. the class of those who live on other men's labour is unknown. i do not think the burman would care for such a life, for a certain amount of work is good, he knows. a little work he likes; a good deal of work he does, because he is obliged often to do so to earn even the little he requires. and that is the end. he is a free man, never a slave to other men, nor to himself. therefore i do not think his will ever make what we call a great nation. he will never try to be a conqueror of other peoples, either with the sword, with trade, or with religion. he will never care to have a great voice in the management of the world. he does not care to interfere with other people: he never believes interference can do other than harm to both sides. he will never be very rich, very powerful, very advanced in science, perhaps not even in art, though i am not sure about that. it may be he will be very great in literature and art. but, however that may be, in his own idea his will be always the greatest nation in the world, because it is the happiest. chapter x the monkhood--i 'let his life be kindness, his conduct righteousness; then in the fulness of gladness he will make an end of grief.'--_dammapada._ during his lifetime, that long lifetime that remained to him after he had found the light, gaudama the buddha gathered round him many disciples. they came to learn from his lips of that truth which he had found, and they remained near him to practise that life which alone can lead unto the great peace. from time to time, as occasion arose, the teacher laid down precepts and rules to assist those who desired to live as he did--precepts and rules designed to help his disciples in the right way. thus there arose about him a brotherhood of those who were striving to purify their souls, and lead the higher life, and that brotherhood has lasted ever since, till you see in it the monkhood of to-day, for that is all that the monks are--a brotherhood of men who are trying to live as their great master lived, to purify their souls from the lust of life, to travel the road that reaches unto deliverance. only that, nothing more. there is no idea of priesthood about it at all, for by a priest we understand one who has received from above some power, who is, as it were, a representative on earth of god. priests, to our thinking, are those who have delegated to them some of that authority of which god is the fountainhead. they can absolve from sin, we think; they can accept into the faith; they can eject from it; they can exhort with authority; they can administer the sacraments of religion; they can speed the parting soul to god; they can damn the parting soul to hell. a priest is one who is clothed with much authority and holiness. but in buddhism there is not, there cannot be, anything of all this. the god who lies far beyond our ken has delegated his authority to no one. he works through everlasting laws. his will is manifested by unchangeable sequences. there is nothing hidden about his laws that requires exposition by his agents, nor any ceremonies necessary for acceptance into the faith. buddhism is a free religion. no one holds the keys of a man's salvation but himself. buddhism never dreams that anyone can save or damn you but yourself, and so a buddhist monk is as far away from our ideas of a priest as can be. nothing could be more abhorrent to buddhism than any claim of authority, of power, from above, of holiness acquired except by the earnest effort of a man's own soul. these monks, who are so common all through burma, whose monasteries are outside every village, who can be seen in every street in the early morning begging their bread, who educate the whole youth of the country, are simply men who are striving after good. this is a difficult thing for us to understand, for our minds are bent in another direction. a religion without a priesthood seems to us an impossibility, and yet here it is so. the whole idea and thing of a priesthood would be repugnant to buddhism. it is a wonderful thing to contemplate how this brotherhood has existed all these many centuries, how it has always gained the respect and admiration of the people, how it has always held in its hands the education of the children, and yet has never aspired to sacerdotalism. think of the temptation resisted here. the temptation to interfere in government was great, the temptation to arrogate to themselves priestly powers is far, far greater. yet it has been always resisted. this brotherhood of monks is to-day as it was twenty-three centuries ago--a community of men seeking for the truth. therefore, in considering these monks, we must dismiss from our minds any idea of priesthood, any idea of extra human sanctity, of extra human authority. we must never liken them in any way to our priests, or even to our friars. i use the word monk, because it is the nearest of any english word i can find, but even that is not quite correct. i have often found this difficulty. i do not like to use the burmese terms if i can help it, for this reason, that strange terms and names confuse us. they seem to lift us into another world--a world of people differing from us, not in habits alone, but in mind and soul. it is a dividing partition. it is very difficult to read a book speaking of people under strange terms, and feel that they are flesh and blood with us, and therefore i have, if possible, always used an english word where i can come anywhere near the meaning, and in this case i think monk comes closest to what i mean. hermits they are not, for they live always in communities by villages, and they do not seclude themselves from human intercourse. priests they are not, ministers they are not, clergymen they are not; mendicants only half describe them, so i use the word monk as coming nearest to what i wish to say. the monks, then, are those who are trying to follow the teaching of gaudama the buddha, to wean themselves from the world, 'who have turned their eyes towards heaven, where is the lake in which all passions shall be washed away.' they are members of a great community, who are governed by stringent regulations--the regulations laid down in the wini for observance by all monks. when a man enters the monkhood, he makes four vows--that he will be pure from lust, from desire of property, from the taking of any life, from the assumption of any supernatural powers. consider this last, how it disposes once and for all of any desire a monk may have toward mysticism, for this is what he is taught: 'no member of our community may ever arrogate to himself extraordinary gifts or supernatural perfection, or through vainglory give himself out to be a holy man; such, for instance, as to withdraw into solitary places on pretence of enjoying ecstasies like the ariahs, and afterwards to presume to teach others the way to uncommon spiritual attainments. sooner may the lofty palm-tree that has been cut down become green again, than an elect guilty of such pride be restored to his holy station. take care for yourself that you do not give way to such an excess.' is not this teaching the very reverse of that of all other peoples and religions? can you imagine the religious teachers of any other religion being warned to keep themselves free from visions? are not visions and trances, dreams and imaginations, the very proof of holiness? but here it is not so. these are vain things, foolish imaginations, and he who would lead the pure life must put behind him all such things as mere dram-drinking of the soul. this is a most wonderful thing, a religion that condemns all mysticisms. it stands alone here amongst all religions, pure from the tinsel of miracle, either past, or present, or to come. and yet this people is, like all young nations, given to superstition: its young men dream dreams, its girls see visions. there are interpreters of dreams, many of them, soothsayers of all kinds, people who will give you charms, and foretell events for you. just as it was with us not long ago, the mystery, _what is_ beyond the world, exercises a curious fascination over them. everywhere you will meet with traces of it, and i have in another chapter told some of the principal phases of these. but the religion has kept itself pure. no hysteric visions, no madman's dreams, no clever conjurer's tricks, have ever shed a tawdry glory on the monkhood of the buddha. amid all the superstition round about them they have remained pure, as they have from passion and desire. here in the far east, the very home, we think, of the unnatural and superhuman, the very cradle of the mysterious and the wonderful, is a religion which condemns it all, and a monkhood who follow their religion. does not this out-miracle any miracle? with other faiths it is different: they hold out to those who follow their tenets and accept their ministry that in exchange for the worldly things which their followers renounce they shall receive other gifts, heavenly ones; they will be endued with power from above; they will have authority from on high; they will become the chosen messengers of god; they may even in their trances enter into his heaven, and see him face to face. buddhism has nothing of all this to offer. a man must surrender all the world, with no immediate gain. there is only this: that if he struggle along in the path of righteousness, he will at length attain unto the great peace. a monk who dreamed dreams, who said that the buddha had appeared to him in a vision, who announced that he was able to prophesy, would be not exalted, but expelled. he would be deemed silly or mad; think of that--mad--for seeing visions, not holy at all! the boys would jeer at him; he would be turned out of his monastery. a monk is he who observes purity and sanity of life. hysteric dreams, the childishness of the mysterious, the insanity of the miraculous, are no part of that. and so a monk has to put behind him everything that is called good in this life, and govern his body and his soul in strict temperance. he must wear but yellow garments, ample and decent, but not beautiful; he must shave his head; he must have none but the most distant intercourse with women; he must beg his food daily in the streets; he must eat but twice, and then but a certain amount, and never after noon; he must take no interest in worldly affairs; he must own no property, must attend no plays or performances; 'he must eat, not to satisfy his appetite, but to keep his body alive; he must wear clothes, not from vanity, but from decency; he must live under a roof, not because of vainglory, but because the weather renders it necessary.' all his life is bounded by the very strictest poverty and purity. there is no austerity. a monk may not over-eat, but he must eat enough; he must not wear fine clothes, but he must be decent and comfortable; he must not have proud dwellings, but he should be sheltered from the weather. there is no self-punishment in buddhism. did not the buddha prove the futility of this long ago? the body must be kept in health, that the soul may not be hampered. and so the monks live a very healthy, very temperate life, eating and drinking just enough to keep the body in good health; that is the first thing, that is the very beginning of the pure life. and as he trains his body by careful treatment, so does he his soul. he must read the sacred books, he must meditate on the teachings of the great teacher, he must try by every means in his power to bring these truths home to himself, not as empty sayings, but as beliefs that are to be to him the very essence of all truth. he is not cut off from society. there are other monks, and there are visitors, men and women. he may talk to them--he is no recluse; but he must not talk too much about worldly matters. he must be careful of his thoughts, that they do not lead him into wrong paths. his life is a life of self-culture. being no priest, he has few duties to others to perform; he is not called upon to interfere in the business of others. he does not visit the sick; he has no concern with births and marriages and deaths. on sunday, and on certain other occasions, he may read the laws to the people, that is all. of this i will speak in another chapter. it does not amount to a great demand upon his time. he is also the schoolmaster of the village, but this is aside entirely from his sacred profession. certain duties he has, however. every morning as the earliest sunlight comes upon the monastery spires, when the birds are still calling to the day, and the cool freshness of the morning still lies along the highways, you will see from every monastery the little procession come forth. first, perhaps, there will be two schoolboys with a gong slung on a bamboo between them, which they strike now and then. and behind them, in their yellow robes, their faces cast upon the ground, and the begging-bowls in their hands, follow the monks. very slowly they pass along the streets, amid the girls hurrying to their stalls in the bazaar with baskets of fruit upon their heads, the housewives out to buy their day's requirements, the workman going to his work, the children running and laughing and falling in the dust. everyone makes room for them as they go in slow and solemn procession, and from this house and that come forth women and children with a little rice that they have risen before daylight to cook, a little curry, a little fruit, to put into the bowls. never is there any money given: a monk may not touch money, and his wants are very few. presents of books, and so on, are made at other times; but in the morning only food is given. the gifts are never acknowledged. the cover of the bowl is removed, and when the offering has been put in, it is replaced, and the monk moves on. and when they have made their accustomed round, they return, as they went, slowly to the monastery, their bowls full of food. i do not know that this food is always eaten by the monks. frequently in large towns they are fed by rich men, who send daily a hot, fresh, well-cooked meal for each monk, and the collected alms are given to the poor, or to schoolboys, or to animals. but the begging round is never neglected, nor is it a form. it is a very real thing, as anyone who has seen them go knows. they must beg their food, and they do; it is part of the self-discipline that the law says is necessary to help the soul to humility. and the people give because it is a good thing to give alms. even if they know the monks are fed besides, they will fill the bowls as the monks pass along. if the monks do not want it, there are the poor, there are the schoolboys, sons of the poorest of the people, who may often be in need of a meal; and if a little be left, then there are the birds and the beasts. it is a good thing to give alms--good for yourself, i mean. so that this daily procession does good in two ways: it is good for the monk because he learns humility; it is good for the people because they have thereby offered them a chance of giving a little alms. even the poorest may be able to give his spoonful of rice. all is accepted. think not a great gift is more acceptable than a little one. you must judge by the giver's heart. at every feast, every rejoicing, the central feature is presents to the monks. if a man put his son into a monastery, if he make merry at a stroke of good fortune, if he wish to celebrate a mark of favour from government, the principal ceremony of the feast will be presents to monks. they must be presents such as the monks can accept; that is understood. therefore, a man enters a monastery simply for this: to keep his body in health by perfect moderation and careful conduct, and to prepare his soul for heaven by meditation. that is the meaning of it all. if you see a grove of trees before you on your ride, mangoes and tamarinds in clusters, with palms nodding overhead, and great broad-leaved plantains and flowering shrubs below, you may be sure that there is a monastery, for it is one of the commands to the monks of the buddha to live under the shade of lofty trees, and this command they always keep. they are most beautiful, many of these monasteries--great buildings of dark-brown teak, weather-stained, with two or three roofs one above the other, and at one end a spire tapering up until it ends in a gilded 'tee.' many of the monasteries are covered with carving along the façades and up the spires, scroll upon scroll of daintiest design, quaint groups of figures here and there, and on the gateways moulded dragons. all the carvings tell a story taken from the treasure-house of the nation's infancy, quaint tales of genii and fairy and wonderful adventure. never, i think, do the carvings tell anything of the sacred life or teaching. the burmese are not fond, as we are, of carving and painting scenes from sacred books. perhaps they think the subject too holy for the hand of the craftsman, and so, with, as far as i know, but one exception in all burma--a pagoda built by indian architects long ago--you will look in vain for any sacred teaching in the carvings. but they are very beautiful, and their colour is so good, the deep rich brown of teak against the light green of the tamarinds, and the great leaves of the plantains all about. within the monastery it will be all bare. however beautiful the building is without, no relaxation of his rules is allowed to the monk within. all is bare: only a few mats, perhaps, here and there on the plank floor, a hard wooden bed, a box or two of books. at one end there will be sure to be the image of the teacher, wrought in alabaster. these are always one of three stereotyped designs; they are not works of art at all. the wealth of imagination and desire of beauty that finds its expression in the carved stories in the façades has no place here at all. it would be thought a sacrilege to attempt in any way to alter the time-honoured figures that have come down to us from long ago. over the head of the image there will be a white or golden umbrella, whence we have derived our haloes, and perhaps a lotus-blossom in an earthen pot in front. that will be all. there is this very remarkable fact: of all the great names associated with the life of the buddha, you never see any presentment at all. the buddha stands alone. of maya his mother, of yathodaya his wife, of rahoula his son, of his great disciple thariputra, of his dearest disciple and brother ananda, you see nothing. there are no saints in buddhism at all, only the great teacher, he who saw the light. surely this is a curious thing, that from the time of the prince to now, two thousand four hundred years, no one has arisen to be worthy of mention of record beside him. there is only one man holy to buddhism--gaudama the buddha. on one side of the monasteries there will be many pagodas, tombs of the buddha. they are usually solid cones, topped with a gilded 'tee,' and there are many of them. each man will build one in his lifetime if he can. they are always white or gold. so there is much colour about a monastery--the brown of the wood and the white of the pagoda, and tender green of the trees. the ground is always kept clean-swept and beaten and neat. and there is plenty of sound, too--the fairy music of little bells upon the pagoda-tops when the breeze moves, the cooing of the pigeons in the eaves, the voices of the schoolboys. monastery land is sacred. no life may be taken there, no loud sounds, no noisy merriment, no abuse is permitted anywhere within the fence. monasteries are places of meditation and peace. of course, all monasteries are not great and beautiful buildings; many are but huts of bamboo and straw, but little better than the villager's hut. some villages are so poor that they can afford but little for their holy men. but always there will be trees, always the ground will be swept, always the place will be respected just the same. and as soon as a good crop gives the village a little money, it will build a teak monastery, be sure of that. monasteries are free to all. any stranger may walk into a monastery and receive shelter. the monks are always hospitable. i have myself lived, perhaps, a quarter of my life in burma in monasteries, or in the rest-houses attached to them. we break all their laws: we ride and wear boots within the sacred enclosure; our servants kill fowls for our dinners there, where all life is protected; we treat these monks, these who are the honoured of the nation, much in the offhand, unceremonious way that we treat all orientals; we often openly laugh at their religion. and yet they always receive us; they are often even glad to see us and talk to us. very, very seldom do you meet with any return in kind for your contempt of their faith and habits. i have heard it said sometimes that some monks stand aloof, that they like to keep to themselves. if they should do so, can you wonder? would any people, not firmly bound by their religion, put up with it all for a moment? if you went into a mahommedan mosque in delhi with your boots on, you would probably be killed. yet we clump round the shwe dagon pagoda at our ease, and no one interferes. do not suppose that it is because the burman believes less than the hindu or mahommedan. it is because he believes more, because he is taught that submission and patience are strong buddhist virtues, and that a man's conduct is an affair of his own soul. he is willing to believe that the englishman's breaches of decorum are due to foreign manners, to the necessities of our life, to ignorance. but even if he supposed that we did these things out of sheer wantonness it would make no difference. if the foreigner is dead to every feeling of respect, of courtesy, of sympathy, that is an affair of the foreigner's own heart. it is not for the monk to enforce upon strangers the respect and reverence due to purity, to courage, to the better things. each man is responsible for himself, the foreigner no less than the burman. if a foreigner have no respect for what is good, that is his own business. it can hurt no one but himself if he is blatant, ignorant, contemptuous. no one is insulted by it, or requires revenge for it. you might as well try and insult gravity by jeering at newton and his pupils, as injure the laws of righteousness by jeering at the buddha or his monks. and so you will see foreigners take all sorts of liberties in monasteries and pagodas, break every rule wantonly, and disregard everything the buddhist holds holy, and yet very little notice will be taken openly. burmans will have their own opinion of you, do have their own opinion of you, without a doubt; but because you are lost to all sense of decency, that is no reason why the buddhist monk or layman should also lower himself by getting angry and resent it; and so you may walk into any monastery or rest-house and act as you think fit, and no one will interfere with you. nay, if you even show a little courtesy to the monks, your hosts, they will be glad to talk to you and tell you of their lives and their desires. it is very seldom that a pleasant word or a jest will not bring the monks into forgetting all your offences, and talking to you freely and openly. i have had, i have still, many friends among the monkhood; i have been beholden to them for many kindnesses; i have found them always, peasants as they are, courteous and well-mannered. nay, there are greater things than these. when my dear friend was murdered at the outbreak of the war, wantonly murdered by the soldiers of a brutal official, and his body drifted down the river, everyone afraid to bury it, for fear of the wrath of government, was it not at last tenderly and lovingly buried by the monks near whose monastery it floated ashore? would all people have done this? remember, he was one of those whose army was engaged in subduing the kingdom; whose army imprisoned the king, and had killed, and were killing, many, many hundreds of burmans. 'we do not remember such things. all men are brothers to the dead.' they are brothers to the living, too. is there not a monastery near kindat, built by an englishman as a memorial to the monk who saved his life at peril of his own at that same time, who preserved him till help came? can anyone ever tell when the influence of a monk has been other than for pity or mercy? surely they believe their religion? i did not know how people could believe till i saw them. martyrdom--what is martyrdom, what is death, for your religion, compared to living within its commands? death is easy; life it is that is difficult. men have died for many things: love and hate, and religion and science, for patriotism and avarice, for self-conceit and sheer vanity, for all sorts of things, of value and of no value. death proves nothing. even a coward can die well. but a pure life is the outcome only of the purest religion, of the greatest belief, of the most magnificent courage. those who can live like this can die, too, if need be--have done so often and often; that is but a little matter indeed. no buddhist would consider that as a very great thing beside a holy life. there is another difference between us. we think a good death hallows an evil life; no buddhist would hear of this for a moment. the reverence in which a monk--ay, even the monk to-day who was but an ordinary man yesterday--is held by the people is very great. all those who address him do so kneeling. even the king himself was lower than a monk, took a lower seat than a monk in the palace. he is addressed as 'lord,' and those who address him are his disciples. poor as he is, living on daily charity, without any power or authority of any kind, the greatest in the land would dismount and yield the road that he should pass. such is the people's reverence for a holy life. never was such voluntary homage yielded to any as to these monks. there is a special language for them, the ordinary language of life being too common to be applied to their actions. they do not sleep or eat or walk as do other men. it seems strange to us, coming from our land where poverty is an offence, where the receipt of alms is a degradation, where the ideal is power, to see here all this reversed. the monks are the poorest of the poor, they are dependent on the people for their daily bread; for although lands may be given to a monastery as a matter of fact, very few have any at all, and those only a few palm-trees. they have no power at all, either temporal or eternal; they are not very learned, and yet they are the most honoured of all people. without any of the attributes which in our experience gather the love and honour of mankind, they are honoured above all men. the burman demands from the monk no assistance in heavenly affairs, no interference in worldly, only this, that he should live as becomes a follower of the great teacher. and because he does so live the burman reverences him beyond all others. the king is feared, the wise man admired, perhaps envied, the rich man is respected, but the monk is honoured and loved. there is no one beside him in the heart of the people. if you would know what a burman would be, see what a monk is: that is his ideal. but it is a very difficult ideal. the burman is very fond of life, very full of life, delighting in the joy of existence, brimming over with vitality, with humour, with merriment. they are a young people, in the full flush of early nationhood. to them of all people the restraints of a monk's life must be terrible and hard to maintain. and because it is so, because they all know how hard it is to do right, and because the monks do right, they honour them, and they know they deserve honour. remember that all these people have been monks themselves at one time or other; they know how hard the rules are, they know how well they are observed. they are reverencing what they thoroughly understand; they have seen their monkhood from the inside; their reverence is the outcome of a very real knowledge. of the internal management of the monkhood i have but little to say. there is the thathanabaing, who is the head of the community; there are under him gaing-oks, who each have charge of a district; each gaing-ok has an assistant, 'a prop,' called gaing-dauk; and there are the heads of monasteries. the thathanabaing is chosen by the heads of the monasteries, and appoints his gaing-oks and gaing-dauks. there is no complication about it. usually any serious dispute is decided by a court of three or four heads of monasteries, presided over by the gaing-ok. but note this: no monk can be tried by any ecclesiastical court without his consent. each monastery is self-governing; no monk can be called to account by any gaing-ok or gaing-dauk unless he consents. the discipline is voluntary entirely. there are no punishments by law for disobedience of an ecclesiastical court. a monk cannot be unfrocked by his fellows. therefore, it would seem that there would be no check over abuses, that monks could do as they liked, that irregularities could creep in, and that, in fact, there is nothing to prevent a monastery becoming a disgrace. this would be a great mistake. it must never be forgotten that monks are dependent on their village for everything--food and clothes, and even the monastery itself. do not imagine that the villagers would allow their monks, their 'great glories,' to become a scandal to them. the supervision exercised by the people over their monks is most stringent. as long as the monks act as monks should, they are held in great honour, they are addressed by titles of great respect, they are supplied with all they want within the rules of the wini, they are the glory of the village. but do you think a burman would render this homage to a monk whom he could not respect, who did actions he should not? a monk is one who acts as a monk. directly he breaks his laws, his holiness is gone. the villagers will have none such as he. they will hunt him out of the village, they will refuse him food, they will make him a byword, a scorn. i have known this to happen. if a monk's holiness be suspected, he must clear himself before a court, or leave that place quickly, lest worse befall him. it is impossible to conceive any supervision more close than this of the people over their monks, and so the breaches of any law by the monks are very rare--very rare indeed. you see, for one thing, that a monk never takes the vows for life. he takes them for six months, a year, two years, very often for five years; then, if he finds the life suit him, he continues. if he finds that he cannot live up to the standard required, he is free to go. there is no compulsion to stay, no stigma on going. as a matter of fact, very few monks there are but have left the monastery at one time or another. it is impossible to over-estimate the value of this safety-valve. what with the certainty of detection and punishment from his people, and the knowledge that he can leave the monastery if he will at the end of his time without any reproach, a monk is almost always able to keep within his rules. i have had for ten years a considerable experience of criminal law. i have tried hundreds of men for all sorts of offences; i have known of many hundreds more being tried, and the only cases where a monk was concerned that i can remember are these: three times a monk has been connected in a rebellion, once in a divorce case, once in another offence. this last case happened just as we annexed the country, and when our courts were not established. he was detected by the villagers, stripped of his robes, beaten, and hunted out of the place with every ignominy possible. there is only one opinion amongst all those who have tried to study the buddhist monkhood--that their conduct is admirable. do you suppose the people would reverence it as they do if it were corrupt? they know: they have seen it from the inside. it is not outside knowledge they have. and when it is understood that anyone can enter a monastery--thieves and robbers, murderers and sinners of every description, can enter, are even urged to enter monasteries, and try to live the holy life; and many of them do, either as a refuge against pursuit, or because they really repent--it will be conceded that the discipline of the monks, if obtained in a different way to elsewhere, is very effective. the more you study the monkhood, the more you see that this community is the outcome of the very heart of the people. it is a part of the people, not cut off from them, but of them; it is recruited in great numbers from all sorts and conditions of men. in every village and town--nearly every man has been a monk at one time or another--it is honoured alike by all; it is kept in the straight way, not only from the inherent righteousness of its teaching, but from the determination of the people to allow no stain to rest upon what they consider as their 'great glory.' this whole monkhood is founded on freedom. it is held together not by a strong organization, but by general consent. there is no mystery about it, there are no dark places here where the sunlight of inquiry may not come. the whole business is so simple that the very children can and do understand it. i shall have expressed myself very badly if i have not made it understood how absolutely voluntary this monkhood is, held together by no everlasting vows, restrained by no rigid discipline. it is simply the free outcome of the free beliefs of the people, as much a part of them as the fruit is of the tree. you could no more imagine grapes without a vine than a buddhist monkhood that did not spring directly from, and depend entirely on, the people. it is the higher expression of their life. in writing this account of the burmese and their religion, i have tried always to see with my own eyes, to write my own thoughts without any reference to what anyone else may have thought or written. i have believed that whatever value may attach to any man's opinions consists in the fact that they are his opinions, and not a _rechauffé_ of the thoughts of others, and therefore i have not even referred to, or quoted from, any other writer, preferring to write only what i have myself seen and thought. but i cannot end this chapter on the monks of the buddha without a reference to what bishop bigandet has said on the same subject, for he is no observer prejudiced in favour of buddhism, but the reverse. he was a bishop of the church of rome, believing always that his faith contained all truth, and that the buddha was but a 'pretended saviour,' his teachings based on 'capital and revolting errors,' and marked with an 'inexplicable and deplorable eccentricity.' bishop bigandet was in no sympathy with buddhism, but its avowed foe, desirous of undermining and destroying its influence over the hearts of men, and yet this is the way he ends his chapter: 'there is in that religious body--the monks--a latent principle of vitality that keeps it up and communicates to it an amount of strength and energy that has hitherto maintained it in the midst of wars, revolutionary and political, convulsions of all descriptions. whether supported or not by the ruling power, it has remained always firm and unchanged. it is impossible to account satisfactorily for such a phenomenon, unless we find a clear and evident cause of such extraordinary vitality, a cause independent of ordinary occurrences of time and circumstances, a cause deeply rooted in the very soul of the populations that exhibit before the observer this great and striking religious feature. 'that cause appears to be the strong religious sentiment, the firm faith, that pervades the mass of buddhists. the laity admire and venerate the religious, and voluntarily and cheerfully contribute to their maintenance and welfare. from its ranks the religious body is constantly recruited. there is hardly a man that has not been a member of the fraternity for a certain period of time. 'surely such a general and continued impulse could not last long unless it were maintained by a powerful religious connection. 'the members of the order preserve, at least exteriorly, the decorum of their profession. the rules and regulations are tolerably well observed; the grades of hierarchy are maintained with scrupulous exactitude. the life of the religious is one of restraint and perpetual control. he is denied all sorts of pleasures and diversions. how could such a system of self-denial ever be maintained, were it not for the belief which the rahans have in the merits that they amass by following a course of life which, after all, is repugnant to nature? it cannot be denied that human motives often influence both the laity and the religious, but, divested of faith and the sentiments supplied by even a false belief, their action could not produce in a lasting and persevering manner the extraordinary and striking fact that we witness in buddhist countries.' this monkhood is the proof of how the people believe. has any religion ever had for twenty-four centuries such a proof as this? chapter xi the monkhood--ii 'the restrained in hand, restrained in foot, restrained in speech, of the greatest self-control. he whose delight is inward, who is tranquil and happy when alone--him they call "mendicant."'--_acceptance into the monkhood._ besides being the ideal of the buddhists, the monk is more: he is the schoolmaster of all the boys. it must be remembered that this is a thing aside from his monkhood. a monk need not necessarily teach; the aim and object of the monkhood is, as i have written in the last chapter, purity and abstraction from the world. if the monk acts as schoolmaster, that is a thing apart. and yet all monasteries are schools. the word in burmese is the same; they are identified in popular speech and in popular opinion. all the monasteries are full of scholars, all the monks teach. i suppose much the same reasons have had influence here as in other nations; the desire of the parents that their children should learn religion in their childhood, the fact that the wisest and most honoured men entered the monkhood, the leisure of the monks giving them opportunity for such occupation. every man all through burma has gone to a monastery school as a lad, has lived there with the monks, has learnt from them the elements of education and a knowledge of his faith. it is an exception to find a burman who cannot read and write. sometimes from lack of practice the art is lost in later manhood, but it has always been acquired. the education is not very deep--reading burmese and writing; simple, very simple, arithmetic; a knowledge of the days and months, and a little geography, perhaps, and history--that is all that is secular. but of their religion they learn a great deal. they have to get by heart great portions of the sacred books, stories and teachings, and they have to learn many precepts. they have to recite them, too, as those who have lived much near monasteries know. several times a day, at about nine o'clock at night, and again before dawn, you will hear the lads intoning clearly and loudly some of the sacred teachings. i have been awakened many a time in the early morning, before the dawn, before even the promise of the dawn in the eastern sky, by the children's voices intoning. and i have put aside my curtain and looked out from my rest-house and seen them in the dim starlight kneeling before the pagoda, the tomb of the great teacher, saying his laws. the light comes rapidly in this country: the sky reddens, the stars die quickly overhead, the first long beams of sunrise are trembling on the dewy bamboo feathers ere they have finished. it is one of the most beautiful sights imaginable to see monks and children kneeling on the bare ground, singing while the dawn comes. the education in their religion is very good, very thorough, not only in precept, but in practice; for in the monastery you must live a holy life, as the monks live, even if you are but a schoolboy. but the secular education is limited. it is up to the standard of education amongst the people at large, but that is saying little. beyond reading and writing and arithmetic it generally does not go. i have seen the little boys do arithmetic. they were adding sums, and they began, not as we would, on the right, but on the left. they added, say, the hundreds first; then they wrote on the slate the number of hundreds, and added up the tens. if it happened that the tens mounted up so as to add one or more to the hundreds, a grimy little finger would wipe out the hundreds already written and write in the correct numbers. it follows that if the units on being added up came to over ten, the tens must be corrected with the grimy little finger, first put in the mouth. perhaps both tens and hundreds had to be written again. it will be seen that when you come to thousands and tens of thousands, a good deal of wiping out and re-writing may be required. a burman is very bad at arithmetic; a villager will often write as , ; he would almost as soon write as ; both figures are in each number, you see. i never met a burman who had any idea of cubic measurement, though land measurement they pick up very quickly. i have said that the education in the monasteries is up to the average education of the people. that is so. whether when civilization progresses and more education is required the monasteries will be able to provide it is another thing. the education given now is mostly a means to an end: to learning the precepts of religion. whether the monks will provide an education beyond such a want, i doubt. a monk is by his vows, by the whole tenour of his life, apart from the world; too keen a search after knowledge, any kind of secular knowledge, would be a return to the things of this life, would, perhaps, re-kindle in him the desires that the whole meaning of his life is to annihilate. 'and after thou hast run over all things, what will it profit thee if thou hast neglected thyself?' besides, no knowledge, except mere theoretical knowledge, can be acquired without going about in the world. you cannot cut yourself off from the world and get knowledge of it. yet the monk is apart from the world. it is true that buddhism has no antagonism to science--nay, has every sympathy with, every attraction to, science. buddhism will never try and block the progress of the truth, of light, secular or religious; but whether the monks will find it within their vows to provide that science, only time can prove. however it may be, it will not make any difference to the estimation in which the monks are held. they are not honoured for their wisdom--they often have but little; nor for their learning--they often have none at all; nor for their industry--they are never industrious; but because they are men trying to live--nay, succeeding in living--a life void of sin. up till now the education given by the monks has met the wants of the people; in future it will do so less and less. but a community that has lived through twenty-four centuries of change, and is now of the strength and vitality that the buddhist monkhood is, can have nothing to fear from any such change. schoolmasters, except religious and elementary, they may cease to be, perhaps; the pattern and ensample of purity and righteousness they will always remain. chapter xii prayer 'what is there that can justify tears and lamentations?' _saying of the buddha._ down below my house, in a grove of palms near the river, was a little rest-house. it was but a roof and a floor of teak boarding without any walls, and it was plainly built. it might have held, perhaps, twenty people; and here, as i strolled past in the evening when the sun was setting, i would see two or three old men sitting with beads in their hands. they were making their devotions, saying to themselves that the world was all trouble, all weariness, and that there was no rest anywhere except in observing the laws of righteousness. it was very pathetic, i thought, to see them there, saying this over and over again, as they told their beads through their withered fingers, for surely there was no necessity for them to learn it. has not everyone learnt it, this, the first truth of buddhism, long before his hair is gray, before his hands are shaking, before his teeth are gone? but there they would sit, evening after evening, thinking of the change about to come upon them soon, realizing the emptiness of life, wishing for the great peace. on sundays the rest-house, like many others round the village, was crowded. old men there would be, and one or two young men, a few children, and many women. early in the morning they would come, and a monk would come down from the monastery near by, and each one would vow, with the monk as witness, that he or she would spend the day in meditation and in holy thought, would banish all thought of evil, and be for the day at least holy. and then, the vow made, the devotee would go and sit in the rest-house and meditate. the village is not very near; the sounds come very softly through the trees, not enough to disturb the mind; only there is the sigh of the wind wandering amid the leaves, and the occasional cry of birds. once before noon a meal will be eaten, either food brought with them cold, or a simple pot of rice boiled beside the rest-house, and there they will stay till the sun sets and darkness is gathering about the foot of the trees. there is no service at all. the monk may come and read part of the sacred books--some of the abidama, or a sermon from the thoots--and perhaps sometimes he may expound a little; that is all. there is nothing akin to our ideas of worship. for consider what our service consists of: there is thanksgiving and praise, there is prayer, there is reading of the bible, there is a sermon. our thanksgiving and praise is rendered to god for things he has done, the pleasure that he has allowed us to enjoy, the punishment that he might have inflicted upon us and has not. our prayer is to him to preserve us in future, to assist us in our troubles, to give us our daily food, not to be too severe upon us, not to punish us as we deserve, but to be merciful and kind. we ask him to protect us from our enemies, not to allow them to triumph over us, but to give us triumph over them. but the buddhist has far other thoughts than these. he believes that the world is ruled by everlasting, unchangeable laws of righteousness. the great god lives far behind his laws, and they are for ever and ever. you cannot change the laws of righteousness by praising them, or by crying against them, any more than you can change the revolution of the earth. sin begets sorrow, sorrow is the only purifier from sin; these are eternal sequences; they cannot be altered; it would not be good that they should be altered. the buddhist believes that the sequences are founded on righteousness, are the path to righteousness, and he does not believe he could alter them for the better, even if he had the power by prayer to do so. he believes in the everlasting _righteousness_, that all things work for _good_ in the end; he has no need for prayer or praise; he thinks that the world is governed with far greater wisdom than any of his--perfect wisdom, that is too great, too wonderful, for his petty praise. god lives far behind his laws; think not he has made them so badly as to require continual rectification at the prayer of man. think not that god is not bound by his own laws. the buddhist will never believe that god can break his own laws; that he is like an earthly king who imagines one code of morality for his subjects and another for himself. not so; the great laws are founded in righteousness, so the buddhist believes, in everlasting righteousness; they are perfect, far beyond our comprehension; they are the eternal, unchangeable, marvellous will of god, and it is our duty not to be for ever fretfully trying to change them, but to be trying to understand them. that is the buddhist belief in the meaning of religion, and in the laws of righteousness; that is, he believes the duty of him who would follow religion to try to understand these laws, to bring them home to the heart, so to order life as to bring it into harmony with righteousness. now see the difference. we believe that the world is governed not by eternal laws, but by a changeable and continually changing god, and that it is our duty to try and persuade him to make it better. we believe, really, that we know a great deal better than god what is good, not only for us, but for others; we do not believe his will is always righteous--not at all: god has wrath to be deprecated; he has mercy to be aroused; he has partiality to be turned towards us, and hence our prayers. but to the buddhist the whole world is ruled by righteousness, the same for all, the same for ever, and the only sin is ignorance of these laws. the buddha is he who has found for us the light to see these laws, and to order our life in accordance with them. now it will be understood, i think, why there is no prayer, no gathering together for any ceremonial, in buddhism; why there is no praise, no thanksgiving of any kind; why it is so very different in this way from our faith. buddhism is a wisdom, a seeking of the light, a following of the light, each man as best he can, and it has very little to correspond with our prayer, our services of praise, our meetings together in the name of christ. therefore, when you see a man kneeling before a pagoda, moving silent lips of prayer, when you see the people sitting quietly in the rest-houses on a sunday, when you see the old men telling their beads to themselves slowly and sadly, when you hear the resonant chant of monks and children, lending a soul to the silence of the gloaming, you will know what they are doing. they are trying to understand and bring home to themselves the eternal laws of righteousness; they are honouring their great teacher. this is all that there is; this is the meaning of all that you see and hear. the buddhist praises and honours the buddha, the indian prince who so long ago went out into the wilderness to search for truth, and after many years found it in his own heart; he reverences the buddha for seeing the light; he thanks the buddha for his toil and exertion in making this light known to all men. it can do the buddha no good, all this praise, for he has come to his eternal peace; but it can arouse the enthusiasm of the follower, can bring into his heart love for the memory of the great teacher, and a firm resolve to follow his teaching. the service of his religion is to try and follow these laws, to take them home into the heart, that the follower, too, may come soon into the great peace. this has been called pessimism. surely it is the greatest optimism the world has known--this certainty that the world is ruled by righteousness, that the world has been, that the world will always be, ruled by perfect righteousness. to the buddhist this is a certainty. the laws are laws of righteousness, if man would but see, would but understand. do not complain and cry and pray, but open your eyes and see. the light is all about you, if you would only cast the bandage from your eyes and look. it is so wonderful, so beautiful, far beyond what any man has dreamt of, has prayed for, and it is for ever and for ever. this is the attitude of buddhism towards prayer, towards thanksgiving. it considers them an impertinence and a foolishness, born of ignorance, akin to the action of him who would daily desire atlas not to allow the heavens to drop upon the earth. and yet, and yet. i remember standing once on the platform of a famous pagoda, the golden spire rising before us, and carved shrines around us, and seeing a woman lying there, her face to the pagoda. she was praying fervently, so fervently that her words could be heard, for she had no care for anyone about, in such trouble was she; and what she was asking was this, that her child, her baby, might not die. she held the little thing in her arms, and as she looked upon it her eyes were full of tears. for it was very sick; its little limbs were but thin bones, with big knees and elbows, and its face was very wan. it could not even take any interest in the wonderful sights around, but hardly opened its careworn eyes now and then to blink upon the world. 'let him recover, let him be well once more!' the woman cried, again and again. whom was she beseeching? i do not know. 'thakin, there will be someone, someone. a spirit may hear. who can tell? surely someone will help me? men would help me if they could, but they cannot; surely there will be someone?' so she did not remember the story of ma pa da. women often pray, i think--they pray that their husbands and those they love may be well. it is a frequent ending to a girl's letter to her lover: 'and i pray always that you may be well.' i never heard of their praying for anything but this: that they may be loved, and those they love may be well. nothing else is worth praying for besides this. the queen would pray at the pagoda in the palace morning and evening. 'what did she pray for?' 'what should she pray for, thakin? surely she prayed that her husband might be true to her, and that her children might live and be strong. that is what women pray for. do you think a queen would pray differently to any other woman?' 'women,' say the buddhist monks, 'never understand. they _will_ not understand; they cannot learn. and so we say that most women must be born again, as men, before they can see the light and understand the laws of righteousness.' what do women care for laws of righteousness? what do they care for justice? what for the everlasting sequences that govern the world? would not they involve all other men, all earth and heaven, in bottomless chaos, to save one heart they loved? that is woman's religion. chapter xiii festivals 'the law is sweet, filling the soul with joy.' _saying of the buddha._ the three months of the rains, from the full moon of july to the full moon of october, is the buddhist lent. it was during these months that the buddha would retire to some monastery and cease from travelling and teaching for a time. the custom was far older even than that--so old that we do not know how it arose. its origin is lost in the mists of far-away time. but whatever the beginning may have been, it fits in very well with the habits of the people; for in the rains travelling is not easy. the roads are very bad, covered even with water, often deep in mud; and the rest-houses, with open sides, are not very comfortable with the rain drifting in. even if there were no custom of lent, there would be but little travelling then. people would stay at home, both because of the discomfort of moving, and because there is much work then at the village. for this is the time to plough, this is the time to sow; on the villagers' exertions in these months depends all their maintenance for the rest of the year. every man, every woman, every child, has hard work of some kind or another. what with the difficulties of travelling, what with the work there is to do, and what with the custom of lent, everyone stays at home. it is the time for prayer, for fasting, for improving the soul. many men during these months will live even as the monks live, will eat but before mid-day, will abstain from tobacco. there are no plays during lent, and there are no marriages. it is the time for preparing the land for the crop; it is the time for preparing the soul for eternity. the congregations on the sundays will be far greater at this time than at any other; there will be more thought of the serious things of life. it is a very long lent--three months; but with the full moon of october comes the end. the rains then are over; the great black bank of clouds that walled up all the south so long is gone. the south wind has died away, and the light, fresh north wind is coming down the river. the roads are drying up, the work in the fields is over for a time, awaiting the ripening of the grain. the damp has gone out of the air, and it is very clear. you can see once more the purple mountains that you have missed so long; there is a new feeling in the wind, a laughter in the sunshine, a flush of blossom along the fields like the awakening of a new joy. the rains are gone and the cool weather is coming; lent is over and gladness is returned; the crop has been sown, and soon will come the reaping. and so at this full moon of october is the great feast of the year. there are other festivals: of the new year, in march, with its water-throwing; of each great pagoda at its appointed time; but of all, the festival at the end of lent is the greatest. wherever there are great pagodas the people will come in from far and near for the feast. there are many great pagodas in burma; there is the arakan pagoda in mandalay, and there was the incomparable pagoda, which has been burnt; there are great pagodas at pegu, at prome, at many other places; but perhaps the greatest of all is the shwe dagon at rangoon. you see it from far away as you come up the river, steaming in from the open sea, a great tongue of flame before you. it stands on a small conical hill just behind the city of rangoon, about two miles away from the wharves and shipping in the busy river. the hill has been levelled on the top and paved into a wide platform, to which you ascend by a flight of many steps from the gate below, where stand the dragons. this entrance-way is all roofed over, and the pillars and the ceiling are red and painted. here it was that much fighting took place in the early wars, in especially, and many men, english and burmese, were killed in storming and defending this strong place. for it had been made a very strong place, this holy place of him who taught that peace was the only good, and the defences round about it are standing still. upon the top of this hill, the flat paved top, stands the pagoda, a great solid tapering cone over three hundred feet high, ending in an iron fretwork spire that glitters with gold and jewels; and the whole pagoda is covered with gold--pure leaf-gold. down below it is being always renewed by the pious offerings of those who come to pray and spread a little gold-leaf on it; but every now and then it is all regilt, from the top, far away above you, to the golden lions that guard its base. it is a most wonderful sight, this great golden cone, in that marvellous sunlight that bathes its sides like a golden sea. it seems to shake and tremble in the light like a fire. and all about the platform, edging it ere it falls away below, are little shrines, marvels of carven woodwork and red lacquer. they have tapering roofs, one above another, till they, too, end in a golden spire full of little bells with tongues. as the wind blows the tongues move to and fro, and the air is full of music, so faint, so clear, like 'silver stir of strings in hollow shells.' in most of these shrines there are statues of the great teacher, cut in white alabaster, glimmering whitely in the lustrous shadows there within; and in one shrine is the great bell. long ago we tried to take this great bell; we tried to send it home as a war trophy, this bell stolen from their sacred place, but we failed. as it was being put on board a ship, it slipped and fell into the river into the mud, where the fierce tides are ever coming and going. and when all the efforts of our engineers to raise it had failed, the burmese asked: 'the bell, our bell, is there in the water. you cannot get it up. you have tried and you have failed. if we can get it up, may we have it back to hang in our pagoda as our own again?' and they were told, with a laugh, perhaps, that they might; and so they raised it up again, the river giving back to them what it had refused to us, and they took and hung it where it used to be. there it is now, and you may hear it when you go, giving out a long, deep note, the beat of the pagoda's heart. there are many trees, too, about the pagoda platform--so many, that seen far off you can only see the trees and the pagoda towering above them. have not trees been always sacred things? have not all religions been glad to give their fanes the glory and majesty of great trees? you may look from the pagoda platform over the whole country, over the city and the river and the straight streets; and on the other side you may see the long white lakes and little hills covered with trees. it is a very beautiful place, this pagoda, and it is steeped in an odour of holiness, the perfume of the thousand thousand prayers that have been prayed there, of the thousand thousand holy thoughts that have been thought there. the pagoda platform is always full of people kneeling, saying over and over the great precepts of their faith, trying to bring into their hearts the meaning of the teaching of him of whom this wonderful pagoda represents the tomb. there are always monks there passing to and fro, or standing leaning on the pillars of the shrines; there are always a crowd of people climbing up and down the long steps that lead from the road below. it is a place i always go to when i am in rangoon; for, besides its beauty, there are the people; and if you go and stand near where the stairway reaches the platform you will see the people come up. they come up singly, in twos, in groups. first a nun, perhaps, walking very softly, clad in her white dress with her beads about her neck, and there in a corner by a little shrine she will spread a cloth upon the hard stones and kneel and bow her face to the great pagoda. then she will repeat, 'sorrow, misery, trouble,' over and over again, running her beads through her fingers, repeating the words in the hope that in the end she may understand whither they should lead her. 'sorrow, misery, trouble'--ah! surely she must know what they mean, or she would not be a nun. and then comes a young man, and after a reverence to the pagoda he goes wandering round, looking for someone, maybe; and then comes an old man with his son. they stop at the little stalls on the stairs, and they have bought there each a candle. the old man has a plain taper, but the little lad must have one with his emblem on it. each day has its own sign, a tiger for monday, and so on, and the lad buys a candle like a little rat, for his birthday is friday, and the father and son go on to the platform. there they kneel down side by side, the old man and the little chubby lad, and they, too, say that all is misery and delusion. presently they rise and advance to the pagoda's golden base, and put their candles thereon and light them. this side of the pagoda is in shadow now, and so you can see the lights of the candles as little stars. and then come three girls, sisters, perhaps, all so prettily dressed, with meek eyes, and they, too, buy candles; they, too, kneel and make their devotions, for long, so long, that you wonder if anything has happened, if there has been any trouble that has brought them thus in the sunset to the remembrance of religion. but at last they rise, and they light their little candles near by where the old man and the boy have lit theirs, and then they go away. they are so sad, they keep their faces so turned upon the ground, that you fear there has been something, some trouble come upon them. you feel so sorry for them, you would like to ask them what it all is; you would like to help them if you could. but you can do nothing. they go away down the steps, and you hear the nun repeating always, 'sorrow, misery, trouble.' so they come and go. but on the festival days at the end of lent it is far more wonderful. then for units there are tens, for tens there are hundreds--all come to do reverence to the great teacher at this his great holy place. there is no especial ceremony, no great service, such as we are accustomed to on our festivals. only there will be many offerings; there will be a procession, maybe, with offerings to the pagoda, with offerings to the monks; there will be much gold-leaf spread upon the pagoda sides; there will be many people kneeling there--that is all. for, you see, buddhism is not an affair of a community, but of each man's own heart. to see the great pagoda on the festival days is one of the sights of the world. there are a great crowd of people coming and going, climbing up the steps. there are all sorts of people, rich and poor, old and young. old men there are, climbing wearily up these steps that are so steep, steps that lead towards the great peace; and there are old women, too--many of them. young men will be there, walking briskly up, laughing and talking to each other, very happy, very merry, glad to see each other, to see so many people, calling pleasant greetings to their friends as they pass. they are all so gaily dressed, with beautiful silks and white jackets and gay satin head-cloths, tied with a little end sticking up as a plume. and the girls, how shall i describe them, so sweet they are, so pretty in their fresh dresses, with downcast eyes of modesty, tempered with little side-glances. they laugh, too, as they go, and they talk, never forgetting the sacredness of the place, never forgetting the reverences due, kneeling always first as they come up to the great pagoda, but being of good courage, happy and contented. there are children, too, numbers and numbers of them, walking along, with their little hands clasping so tightly some bigger ones, very fearful lest they should be lost. they are as gay as butterflies in their dress, but their looks are very solemn. there is no solemnity like that of a little child; it takes all the world so very, very seriously, walking along with great eyes of wonder at all it sees about it. they are all well dressed who come here; on a festival day even the poor can be dressed well. pinks and reds are the prevailing colours, in checks, in stripes, mixed usually with white. these colours go best with their brown skins, and they are fondest of them. but there are other colours, too: there is silver and green embroidery, and there are shot-silks in purple and orange, and there is dark blue. all the jackets, or nearly all the jackets, are white with wide sleeves, showing the arm nearly up to the elbow. each man has his turban very gay, while each girl has a bright handkerchief which she drapes as she likes upon her arm, or carries in her hand. such a blaze of colour would not look well with us. under our dull skies and with our sober lights it would be too bright; but here it is not so. everything is tempered by the sun; it is so brilliant, this sunlight, such a golden flood pouring down and bathing the whole world, that these colours are only in keeping. before them is the gold pagoda, and about them the red lacquer and dark-brown carving of the shrines. you hear voices like the murmur of a summer sea, rising and falling, full of laughter low and sweet, and above is the music of the fairy bells. everything is in keeping--the shining pagoda and the gaily-dressed people, their voices and the bells, even the great bell far beyond, and all are so happy. the feast lasts for seven days; but of these there are three that are greater, and of these, one, the day of the full moon, is the greatest of all. on that day the offerings will be most numerous, the crowd densest. down below the pagoda are many temporary stalls built, where you can buy all sorts of fairings, from a baby's jointed doll to a new silk dress; and there are restaurants where you may obtain refreshments; for the pagoda is some way from the streets of the city, and on festival days refreshments are much wanted. these stalls are always crowded with people buying and selling, or looking anxiously at the many pretty wares, unable, perhaps, to buy. the refreshments are usually very simple--rice and curry for supper, and for little refreshments between whiles there are sugar-cakes and vermicelli, and other little cates. the crowd going up and down the steps is like a gorgeous-coloured flood, crested with white foam, flowing between the dragons of the gate; and on the platform the crowd is thicker than ever. all day the festival goes on--the praying, the offering of gifts, the burning of little candles before the shrines--until the sun sets across the open country far beyond in gold and crimson glory. but even then there is no pause, no darkness, for hardly has the sun's last bright shaft faded from the pagoda spire far above, while his streamers are still bright across the west, than there comes in the east a new radiance, so soft, so wonderful, it seems more beautiful than the dying day. across the misty fields the moon is rising; first a crimson globe hung low among the trees, but rising fast, and as it rises growing whiter. its light comes flooding down upon the earth, pure silver with very black shadows. then the night breeze begins to blow, very softly, very gently, and the trees give out their odour to the night, which woos them so much more sweetly than the day, till the air is heavy with incense. behold, the pagoda has started into a new glory, for it is all hung about with little lamps, myriads of tiny cressets, and the façades of the shrines are lit up, too. the lamps are put in long rows or in circles, to fit the places they adorn. they are little earthenware jars full of cocoanut-oil, with a lip where is the wick. they burn very redly, and throw a red light about the platform, breaking the shadows that the moonlight throws and staining its whiteness. in the streets, too, there are lamps--the houses are lined with them--and there are little pagodas and ships curiously designed in flame. all the people come out to see the illuminations, just as they do with us at christmas to see the shop-windows, and the streets are crowded with people going to and fro, laughing and talking. and there are dramatic entertainments going on, dances and marionette shows, all in the open air. the people are all so happy, they take their pleasure so pleasantly, that it is a delight to see them. you cannot help but be happy, too. the men joke and laugh, and you laugh, too; the children smile at you as they pass, and you must smile, too; can you help it? and to see the girls makes the heart glad within you. there is an infection from the good temper and the gaiety about you that is irresistible, even if you should want to resist it. the festival goes on till very late. the moon is so bright that you forget how late it is, and only remember how beautiful it is all around. you are very loath to leave it, and so it is not till the moon itself is falling low down in the same path whither the sun went before her, it is not till the lamps are dying one by one and the children are yawning very sleepily, that the crowd disperses and the pagoda is at rest. such is a great feast at a great pagoda. but whenever i think of a great feast, whenever the growing autumn moon tells me that the end of lent is drawing nigh, it is not the great feast of the shwe dagon, nor of any other famous pagoda that comes into my mind, but something far different. it was on a frontier long ago that there was the festival that i remember so well. the country there was very far away from all the big towns; the people were not civilized as those of mandalay or of rangoon; the pagoda was a very small one. there was no gilding upon it at all, and no shrines were about it; it stood alone, just a little white plastered pagoda, with a few trees near it, on a bare rice-field. there were a few villages about, dotted here and there in the swamp, and the people of these were all that came to our festival. for long before the villages were preparing for it, saving a little money here, doing a little extra work there, so that they might be able to have presents ready for the monks, so that they might be able to subscribe to the lights, so that they would have a good dress in which they might appear. the men did a little more work at the fields, bamboo-cutting in the forest, making baskets in the evening, and the women wove. all had to work very hard to have even a little margin; for there, although food--plain rice--was very cheap, all other things were very expensive. it was so far to bring them, and the roads were so bad. i remember that the only european things to be bought there then were matches and tinned milk, and copper money was not known. you paid a rupee, and took the change in rice or other commodities. the excitement of the great day of the full moon began in the morning, about ten o'clock, with the offerings to the monks. outside the village gate there was a piece of straight road, dry and open, and on each side of this, in rows, were the people with their gifts; mostly they were eatables. you see that it is very difficult to find any variety of things to give a monk; he is very strictly limited in the things he is allowed to receive. garments, yellow garments, curtains to partition off corners of the monasteries and keep away the draughts, sacred books and eatables--that is nearly all. but eatables allow a very wide range. a monk may accept and eat any food--not drink, of course--provided he eat but the one big meal a day before noon; and so most of the offerings were eatables. each donor knelt there upon the road with his or her offerings in a tray in front. there was rice cooked in all sorts of shapes, ordinary rice for eating with curry, and the sweet purple rice, cooked in bamboos and coming out in sticks. there were vegetables, too, of very many kinds, and sugar and cakes and oil and honey, and many other such things. there were a few, very few, books, for they are very hard to get, being all in manuscript; and there were one or two tapestry curtains; but there were heaps of flowers. i remember there was one girl whose whole offering was a few orchid sprays, and a little, very little, heap of common rice. she was so poor; her father and mother were dead, and she was not married. it was all she could give. she sat behind her little offering, as did all the donors. and my gift? well, although an english official, i was not then very much richer than the people about me, so my gift must be small, too--a tin of biscuits, a tin or two of jam, a new pair of scissors. i did not sit behind them myself, but gave them to the headman to put with his offerings; for the monks were old friends of mine. did i not live in one of their monasteries for over two months when we first came and camped there with a cavalry squadron? and if there is any merit in such little charity, as the burmese say there is, why should i not gain it, too? the monks said my present was best of all, because it was so uncommon; and the biscuits, they said, though they did not taste of much while you were eating them, had a very pleasant after-taste that lasted a long time. they were like charity, maybe: that has a pleasant after-taste, too, they tell me. when all the presents, with the donors behind them, dressed all in their best, were ready, the monks came. there were four monasteries near by, and the monks, perhaps in all thirty, old and young, monks and novices, came in one long procession, walking very slowly, with downcast eyes, between the rows of gifts and givers. they did not look at them at all. it is not proper for a monk to notice the gifts he receives; but schoolboys who came along behind attending on them, they saw and made remarks. perhaps they saw the chance of some overflow of these good things coming their way. 'see,' one nudged the other; 'honey--what a lot! i can smell it, can't you?' and, '_my mother!_ what a lot of sweet rice. who gave that? oh, i see, old u hman.' 'i wonder what's in that tin box?' remarked one as he passed my biscuits. 'i hope it's coming to our monastery, any way.' thus the monks passed, paying no sort of attention, while the people knelt to them; and when the procession reached the end of the line of offerings, it went on without stopping, across the fields, the monks of each monastery going to their own place; and the givers of presents rose up and followed them, each carrying his or her gifts. and so they went across the fields till each little procession was lost to sight. that was all the ceremony for the day, but at dusk the illuminations began. the little pagoda in the fields was lighted up nearly to its top with concentric rings of lamps till it blazed like a pyramid of flame, seen far across the night. all the people came there, and placed little offerings of flowers at the foot of the pagoda, or added each his candle to the big illumination. the house of the headman of the village was lit up with a few rows of lamps, and all the monasteries, too, were lit. there were no restaurants--everyone was at home, you see--but there were one or two little stalls, at which you could buy a cheroot, or even perhaps a cup of vermicelli; and there was a dance. it was only the village girls who had been taught, partly by their own mothers, partly by an old man, who knew something of the business. they did not dance very well, perhaps; they were none of them very beautiful; but what matter? we knew them all; they were our neighbours, the kinswomen of half the village; everyone liked to see them dance, to hear them sing; they were all young, and are not all young girls pretty? and amongst the audience were there not the girls' relations, their sisters, their lovers? would not that alone make the girls dance well, make the audience enthusiastic? and so, what with the illuminations, and the chat and laughter of friends, and the dance, we kept it up till very late; and we all went to bed happy and well pleased with each other, well pleased with ourselves. can you imagine a more successful end than that? to write about these festivals is so pleasant, it brings back so many delightful memories, that i could go on writing for long and long. but there is no use in doing so, as they are all very much alike, with little local differences depending on the enterprise of the inhabitants and the situation of the place. there might be boat-races, perhaps, on a festival day, or pony-races, or boxing. i have seen all these, if not at the festival at the end of lent, at other festivals. i remember once i was going up the river on a festival night by the full moon, and we saw point after point crowned with lights upon the pagodas; and as we came near the great city we saw a new glory; for there was a boat anchored in mid-stream, and from this boat there dropped a stream of fire; myriads of little lamps burned on tiny rafts that drifted down the river in a golden band. there were every now and then bigger rafts, with figures made in light--boats and pagodas and monasteries. the lights heaved with the long swell of the great river, and bent to and fro like a great snake following the tides, until at length they died far away into the night. i do not know what is the meaning of all these lights; i do not know that they have any inner meaning, only that the people are very glad, only that they greatly honour the great teacher who died so long ago, only that they are very fond of light and colour and laughter and all beautiful things. but although these festivals often become also fairs, although they are the great centres for amusement, although the people look to them as their great pleasure of the year, it must not be forgotten that they are essentially religious feasts, holy days. though there be no great ceremony of prayer, or of thanksgiving, no public joining in any religious ceremony, save, perhaps, the giving of alms to the monks, yet religion is the heart and soul of them. their centre is the pagoda, their meaning is a religious meaning. what if the people make merry, too, if they make their holy days into holidays, is that any harm? for their pleasures are very simple, very innocent; there is nothing that the moon, even the cold and distant moon, would blush to look upon. the people make merry because they are merry, because their religion is to them a very beautiful thing, not to be shunned or feared, but to be exalted to the eye of day, to be rejoiced in. chapter xiv women--i 'her cheek is more beautiful than the dawn, her eyes are deeper than the river pools; when she loosens her hair upon her shoulders, it is as night coming over the hills.'--_burmese love-song._ if you were to ask a burman 'what is the position of women in burma?' he would reply that he did not know what you meant. women have no position, no fixed relation towards men beyond that fixed by the fact that women are women and men are men. they differ a great deal in many ways, so a burman would say; men are better in some things, women are better in others; if they have a position, their relative superiority in certain things determines it. how else should it be determined? if you say by religion, he laughs, and asks what religion has to do with such things? religion is a culture of the soul; it is not concerned with the relationship of men and women. if you say by law, he says that law has no more to do with it than religion. in the eye of the law both are alike. 'you wouldn't have one law for a man and another for a woman?' he asks. in the life of the buddha nothing is said upon the subject. the great teacher never committed himself to an opinion as to whether men or women were the highest. he had men disciples, he had women disciples; he honoured both. nowhere in any of his sayings can anything be found to show that he made any difference between them. that monks should be careful and avoid intercourse with women is merely the counterpart of the order that nuns should be careful in their intercourse with men. that man's greatest attraction is woman does not infer wickedness in woman; that woman's greatest attraction is man does not show that man is a devil. wickedness is a thing of your own heart. if he could be sure that his desire towards women was dead, a monk might see them as much as he liked. the desire is the enemy, not the woman; therefore a woman is not damned because by her man is often tempted to evil; therefore a woman is not praised because by her a man may be led to better thoughts. she is but the outer and unconscious influence. if, for instance, you cannot see a precipice without wishing to throw yourself down, you blame not the precipice, but your giddiness; and if you are wise you avoid precipices in future. you do not rail against steep places because you have a bad circulation. so it is with women: you should not contemn women because they rouse a devil in man. and it is the same with man. men and women are alike subject to the eternal laws. and they are alike subject to the laws of man; in no material points, hardly even in minor points, does the law discriminate against women. the law as regards marriage and inheritance and divorce will come each in its own place. it is curiously the same both for the man and the woman. the criminal law was the same for both; i have tried to find any difference, and this is all i have found: a woman's life was less valuable than a man's. the price of the body, as it is called, of a woman was less than that of a man. if a woman were accidentally killed, less compensation had to be paid than for a man. i asked a burman about this once. 'why is this difference?' i said. 'why does the law discriminate?' 'it isn't the law,' he said, 'it is a fact. a woman is worth less than a man in that way. a maidservant can be hired for less than a manservant, a daughter can claim less than a son. they cannot do so much work; they are not so strong. if they had been worth more, the law would have been the other way; of course they are worth less.' and so this sole discrimination is a fact, not dogma. it is a fact, no doubt, everywhere. no one would deny it. the pecuniary value of a woman is less than that of a man. as to the soul's value, that is not a question of law, which confines itself to material affairs. but i suppose all laws have been framed out of the necessities of mankind. it was the incessant fighting during the times when our laws grew slowly into shape, the necessity of not allowing the possession of land, and the armed wealth that land gave, to fall into the weaker hands of women, that led to our laws of inheritance. laws then were governed by the necessity of war, of subjecting everything else to the ability to fight. consequently, as women were not such good fighters as men, they went to the wall. but feudalism never obtained at all in burma. what fighting they did was far less severe than that of our ancestors, was not the dominant factor in the position, and consequently woman did not suffer. she has thus been given the inestimable boon of freedom. freedom from sacerdotal dogma, from secular law, she has always had. and so, in order to preserve the life of the people, it has never been necessary to pass laws treating woman unfairly as regards inheritance; and as religion has left her free to find her own position, so has the law of the land. and yet the burman man has a confirmed opinion that he is better than a woman, that men are on the whole superior as a sex to women. 'we may be inferior in some ways,' he will tell you. 'a woman may steal a march on us here and there, but in the long-run the man will always win. women have no patience.' i have heard this said over and over again, even by women, that they have less patience than a man. we have often supposed differently. some burmans have even supposed that a woman must be reincarnated as a man to gain a step in holiness. i do not mean that they think men are always better than women, but that the best men are far better than the best women, and there are many more of them. however all this may be, it is only an opinion. neither in their law, nor in their religion, nor--what is far more important--in their daily life, do they acknowledge any inferiority in women beyond those patent weaknesses of body that are, perhaps, more differences than inferiorities. and so she has always had fair-play, from religion, from law, and from her fellow man and woman. she has been bound by no ties, she has had perfect freedom to make for herself just such a life as she thinks best fitted for her. she has had no frozen ideals of a long dead past held up to her as eternal copies. she has been allowed to change as her world changed, and she has lived in a very real world--a world of stern facts, not fancies. you see, she has had to fight her own way; for the same laws that made woman lower than man in europe compensated her to a certain extent by protection and guidance. in burma she has been neither confined nor guided. in europe and india for very long the idea was to make woman a hot-house plant, to see that no rough winds struck her, that no injuries overtook her. in burma she has had to look out for herself: she has had freedom to come to grief as well as to come to strength. you see, all such laws cut both ways. freedom to do ill must accompany freedom to do well. you cannot have one without the other. the burmese woman has had both. ideals act for good as well as for evil; if they cramp all progress, they nevertheless tend to the sustentation of a certain level of thought. she has had none. whatever she is, she has made herself, finding under the varying circumstances of life what is the best for her; and as her surroundings change, so will she. what she was a thousand years ago i do not care, what she may be a thousand years hence i do not know; it is of what she is to-day that i have tried to know and write. children in burma have, i think, a very good time when they are young. parentage in burma has never degenerated into a sort of slavery. it has never been supposed that gaiety and goodness are opposed. and so they grow up little merry naked things, sprawling in the dust of the gardens, sleeping in the sun with their arms round the village dogs, very sedate, very humorous, very rarely crying. boys and girls when they are babies grow up together, but with the schooldays comes a division. all the boys go to school at the monastery without the walls, and there learn in noisy fashion their arithmetic, letters, and other useful knowledge. but little girls have nowhere to go. they cannot go to the monasteries, these are for boys alone, and the nunneries are very scarce. for twenty monasteries there is not one nunnery. women do not seem to care to learn to become nuns as men do to become monks. why this is so i cannot tell, but there is no doubt of the fact. and so there are no schools for girls as there are for boys, and consequently the girls are not well educated as a rule. in great towns there are, of course, regular schools for girls, generally for girls and boys together; but in the villages these very seldom exist. the girls may learn from their mothers how to read and write, but most of them cannot do so. it is an exception in country places to find a girl who can read, as it is to find a boy who cannot. if there were more nunneries, there would be more education among the women; here is cause and effect. but there are not, so the little girls work instead. while their brothers are in the monasteries, the girls are learning to weave and herd cattle, drawing water, and collecting firewood. they begin very young at this work, but it is very light; they are never overworked, and so it does them no harm usually, but good. the daughters of better-class people, such as merchants, and clerks, and advocates, do not, of course, work at field labour. they usually learn to read and write at home, and they weave, and many will draw water. for to draw water is to go to the well, and the well is the great meeting-place of the village. as they fill their jars they lean over the curb and talk, and it is here that is told the latest news, the latest flirtation, the little scandal of the place. very few men or boys come for water; carrying is not their duty, and there is a proper place for flirtation. so the girls have the well almost to themselves. almost every girl can weave. in many houses there are looms where the girls weave their dresses and those of their parents; and many girls have stalls in the bazaar. of this i will speak later. other duties are the husking of rice and the making of cheroots. of course, in richer households there will be servants to do all this; but even in them the daughter will frequently weave either for herself or her parents. almost every girl will do something, if only to pass the time. you see, they have no accomplishments. they do not sing, nor play, nor paint. it must never be forgotten that their civilization is relatively a thousand years behind ours. accomplishments are part of the polish that a civilization gives, and this they have not yet reached. accomplishments are also the means to fill up time otherwise unoccupied; but very few burmese girls have any time on their hands. there is no leisured class, and there are very few girls who have not to help, in one way or another, at the upkeep of the household. mr. rudyard kipling tells of an astonishing young lady who played the banjo. he has been more fortunate than myself, for i have never had such good luck. they have no accomplishments at all. housekeeping they have not very much of. you see, houses are small, and households also are small; there is very little furniture; and as the cooking is all the same, there is not much to learn in that way. i fear, too, that their houses could not compete as models of neatness with any other nation. tidiness is one of the last gifts of civilization. we now pride ourselves on our order; we forget how very recent an accomplishment it is. to them it will come with the other gifts of age, for it must never be forgotten that they are a very young people--only children, big children--learning very slowly the lessons of experience and knowledge. when they are between eight and fourteen years of age the boys become monks for a time, as every boy must, and they have a great festival at their entrance into the monastery. girls do not enter nunneries, but they, too, have a great feast in their honour. they have their ears bored. it is a festival for a girl of great importance, this ear-boring, and, according to the wealth of the parents, it is accompanied by pwès and other rejoicings. a little girl, the daughter of a shopkeeper here in this town, had her ears bored the other day, and there were great rejoicings. there was a pwè open to all for three nights, and there were great quantities of food, and sweets, and many presents given away, and on the last night the river was illuminated. there was a boat anchored in mid-stream, and from this were launched myriads of tiny rafts, each with a little lamp on board. the lamps gleamed bright with golden light as they drifted on the bosom of the great water, a moving line of living fire. there were little boats, too, with the outlines marked with lamps, and there were pagodas and miniature houses all floating, floating down the river, till, in far distance by the promontory, the lamps flickered out one by one, and the river fell asleep again. 'there is only one great festival in a girl's life,' a woman told me. 'we try to make it as good as we can. boys have many festivals, girls have but one. it is only just that it should be good.' and so they grow up very quiet, very sedate, looking on the world about them with very clear eyes. it is strange, talking to burmese girls, to see how much they know and understand of the world about them. it is to them no great mystery, full of unimaginable good and evil, but a world that they are learning to understand, and where good and evil are never unmixed. men are to them neither angels nor devils, but just men, and so the world does not hold for them the disappointments, the disillusionings, that await those who do not know. they have their dreams--who shall doubt it?--dreams of him who shall love them, whom they shall love, who shall make life one great glory to them; but their dreams are dreams that can come true. they do not frame to themselves ideals out of their own ignorance and imagine these to be good, but they keep their eyes wide open to the far more beautiful realities that are around them every day. they know that a living lover is greater, and truer, and better than any ideal of a girl's dream. they live in a real world, and they know that it is good. in time the lover comes. there is a delightful custom all through burma, an institution, in fact, called 'courting-time.' it is from nine till ten o'clock, more especially on moonlight nights, those wonderful tropic nights, when the whole world lies in a silver dream, when the little wandering airs that touch your cheek like a caress are heavy with the scent of flowers, and your heart comes into your throat for the very beauty of life. there is in front of every house a veranda, raised perhaps three feet from the ground, and there the girl will sit in the shadow of the eaves, sometimes with a friend, but usually alone; and her suitors will come and stand by the veranda, and talk softly in little broken sentences, as lovers do. there maybe be many young men come, one by one, if they mean business, with a friend if it be merely a visit of courtesy. and the girl will receive them all, and will talk to them all; will laugh with a little humorous knowledge of each man's peculiarities; and she may give them cheroots, of her own making; and, for one perhaps, for one, she will light the cheroot herself first, and thus kiss him by proxy. and is the girl alone? well, yes. to all intents and purposes she is alone; but there is always someone near, someone within call, for the veranda is free to all. she cannot tell who may come, and some men, as we know, are but wolves in sheep's clothing. usually marriages are arranged by the parents. girls are not very different here to elsewhere; they are very biddable, and ready to do what their mothers tell them, ready to believe that it is the best. and so if a lad comes wooing, and can gain the mother's ear, he can usually win the girl's affection, too; but i think there are more exceptions here than elsewhere. girls are freer; they fall in love of their own accord oftener than elsewhere; they are very impulsive, full of passion. love is a very serious matter, and they are not trained in self-restraint. there are very many romances played out every day in the dusk beside the well, in the deep shadows of the palm-groves, in the luminous nights by the river shore--romances that end sometimes well, sometimes in terrible tragedies. for they are a very passionate people; the language is full of little love-songs, songs of a man to a girl, of a girl to a man. 'no girl,' a woman once told me, 'no good, quiet girl would tell a man she loved him first.' it may be so; if this be true, i fear there are many girls here who are not good and quiet. how many romances have i not seen in which the wooing began with the girl, with a little note perhaps, with a flower, with a message sent by someone whom she could trust! of course many of these turned out well. parents are good to their children, and if they can, they will give their daughter the husband of her choice. they remember what youth is--nay, they themselves never grow old, i think; they never forget what once was to them now is to their children. so if it be possible all may yet go well. social differences are not so great as with us, and the barrier is easily overcome. i have often known servants in a house marry the daughters, and be taken into the family; but, of course, sometimes things do not go so smoothly. and then? well, then there is usually an elopement, and a ten days' scandal; and sometimes, too, there is an elopement for no reason at all save that hot youth cannot abide the necessary delay. for life is short, and though to-day be to us, who can tell for the morrow? during the full moon there is no night, only a change to silver light from golden; and the forest is full of delight. there are wood-cutters' huts in the ravines where the water falls, soft beds of torn bracken and fragrant grasses where great trees make a shelter from the heat; and for food, that is easily arranged. a basket of rice with a little salt-fish and spices is easily hidden in a favourable place. you only want a jar to cook it, and there is enough for two for a week; or it is brought day by day by some trusted friend to a place previously agreed upon. all up and down the forest there are flowers for her hair, scarlet dak blossoms and orchid sprays and jasmine stars; and for occupation through the hours each has a new world to explore full of wonderful undreamt-of discoveries, lit with new light and mysterious with roseate shadows, a world of 'beautiful things made new' for those forest children. so that when the confidante, an aunt maybe or a sister, meets them by the sacred fig-tree on the hill, and tells them that all difficulties are removed, and their friends called together for the marriage, can you wonder that it is not without regret that they fare forth from that enchanted land to ordinary life again? it is, as i have said, not always the man who is the proposer of the flight. nay, i think indeed that it is usually the girl. 'men have more patience.' i had a burmese servant, a boy, who may have been twenty, and he had been with me a year, and was beginning to be really useful. he had at last grasped the idea that electro-plate should not be cleaned with monkey-brand soap, and he could be trusted not to put up rifle cartridges for use with a double-barrelled gun; and he chose this time to fall in love with the daughter of the headman of a certain village where i was in camp. he had good excuse, for she was a delicious little maiden with great coils of hair, and the voice of a wood-pigeon cooing in the forest, and she was very fond of him, without a doubt. so one evening he came to me and said that he must leave me--that he wanted to get married, and could not possibly delay. then i spoke to him with all that depth of wisdom we are so ready to display for the benefit of others. i pointed out to him that he was much too young, that she was much too young also--she was not eighteen--and that there was absolutely nothing for them to marry on. i further pointed out how ungrateful it would be of him to leave me; that he had been paid regularly for a year, and that it was not right that now, when he was at last able to do something besides destroy my property, he should go away. the boy listened to all i had to say, and agreed with it all, and made the most fervent and sincere promise to be wise; and he went away after dinner to see the girl and tell her, and when i awoke in the morning my other servants told me the boy had not returned. shortly afterwards the headman came to say that his daughter had also disappeared. they had fled, those two, into the forest, and for a week we heard nothing. at last one evening, as i sat under the great fig-tree by my tent, there came to me the mother of the girl, and she sat down before me, and said she had something of great importance to impart: and this was that all had been arranged between the families, who had found work for the boy whereby he might maintain himself and his wife, and the marriage was arranged. but the boy would not return as long as i was in camp there, for he was bitterly ashamed of his broken vows and afraid to meet my anger. and so the mother begged me to go away as soon as i could, that the young couple might return. i explained that i was not angry at all, that the boy could return without any fear; on the contrary, that i should be pleased to see him and his wife. and, at the old lady's request, i wrote a burmese letter to that effect, and she went away delighted. they must have been in hiding close by, for it was early next morning that the boy came into my tent alone and very much abashed, and it was some little time before he could recover himself and talk freely as he would before, for he was greatly ashamed of himself. but, after all, could he help it? if you can imagine the tropic night, and the boy, full of high resolve, passing up the village street, now half asleep, and the girl, with shining eyes, coming to him out of the hibiscus shadows, and whispering in his ear words--words that i need not say--if you imagine all that, you will understand how it was that i lost my servant. they both came to see me later on in the day after the marriage, and there was no bashfulness about either of them then. they came hand-in-hand, with the girl's father and mother and some friends, and she told me it was all her fault: she could not wait. 'perhaps,' she said, with a little laugh and a side-glance at her husband--'perhaps, if he had gone with the thakin to rangoon, he might have fallen in love with someone there and forgotten me; for i know they are very pretty, those rangoon ladies, and of better manners than i, who am but a jungle girl.' and when i asked her what it was like in the forest, she said it was the most beautiful place in all the world. things do not always go so well. parents may be obdurate, and flight be impossible; or even her love may not be returned, and then terrible things happen. i have held, not once nor twice alone, inquests over the bodies, the fair, innocent bodies, of quite young girls who died for love. only that, because their love was unreturned; and so the sore little heart turned in her trouble to the great river, and gave herself and her hot despair to the cold forgetfulness of its waters. they love so greatly that they cannot face a world where love is not. all the country is full of the romance of love--of love passionate and great as woman has ever felt. it seems to me here that woman has something of the passions of man, not only the enduring affection of a woman, but the hot love and daring of a man. it is part of their heritage, perhaps, as a people in their youth. one sees so much of it, hears so much of it, here. i have seen a girl in man's attire killed in a surprise attack upon an insurgent camp. she had followed her outlawed lover there, and in the mêlée she caught up sword and gun to fight by his side, and was cut down through neck and shoulder; for no one could tell in the early dawn that it was a girl. she died about an hour afterwards, and though i have seen many sorrowful things in many lands, in war and out of it, the memory of that dying girl, held up by one of the mounted police, sobbing out her life beneath the wild forest shadow, with no one of her sex, no one of her kin to help her, comes back to me as one of the saddest and strangest. her lover was killed in action some time later fighting against us, and he died as a brave man should, his face to his enemy. he played his game, he lost, and paid; but the girl? i have seen and heard so much of this love of women and of its tragedies. perhaps it is that to us it is usually the tragedies that are best remembered. happiness is void of interest. and this love may be, after all, a good thing. but i do not know. sometimes i think they would be happier if they could love less, if they could take love more quietly, more as a matter of course, as something that has to be gone through, as part of a life's training; not as a thing that swallows up all life and death and eternity in one passion. in burmese the love-songs are in a short, sweet rhythm, full of quaint conceits and word-music. i cannot put them into english verse, or give the flow of the originals in a translation. it always seems to me that don quixote was right when he said that a translation was like the wrong side of an embroidered cloth, giving the design without the beauty. but even in the plain, rough outline of a translation there is beauty here, i think: _from a man to a girl._ the moon wooed the lotus in the night, the lotus was wooed by the moon, and my sweetheart is their child. the blossom opened in the night, and she came forth; the petals moved, and she was born. she is more beautiful than any blossom; her face is as delicate as the dusk; her hair is as night falling over the hills; her skin is as bright as the diamond. she is very full of health, no sickness can come near her. when the wind blows i am afraid, when the breezes move i fear. i fear lest the south wind take her, i tremble lest the breath of evening woo her from me--so light is she, so graceful. her dress is of gold, even of silk and gold, and her bracelets are of fine gold. she hath precious stones in her ears, but her eyes, what jewels can compare unto them? she is proud, my mistress; she is very proud, and all men are afraid of her. she is so beautiful and so proud that all men fear her. in the whole world there is none anywhere that can compare unto her. chapter xv women--ii 'the husband is lord of the wife.' _laws of manu._ marriage is not a religious ceremony among the burmese. religion has no part in it at all; as religion has refrained from interfering with government, so does it in the relations of man and wife. marriage is purely a worldly business, like entering into partnership; and religion, the buddhist religion, has nothing to do with such things. those who accept the teachings of the great teacher in all their fulness do not marry. indeed, marriage is not a ceremony at all. it is strange to find that the burmese have actually no necessary ceremonial. the laws of manu, which are the laws governing all such matters, make no mention of any marriage ceremony; it is, in fact, a status. just as two men may go into partnership in business without executing any deed, so a man and a woman may enter into the marriage state without undergoing any form. amongst the richer burmese there is, however, sometimes a ceremony. friends are called to the wedding, and a ribbon is stretched round the couple, and then their hands are clasped; they also eat out of the same dish. all this is very pretty, but not at all necessary. it is, indeed, not a settled point in law what constitutes a marriage, but there are certain things that will render it void. for instance, no marriage can be a marriage without the consent of the girl's parents if she be under age, and there are certain other conditions which must be fulfilled. but although there be this doubt about the actual ceremony of marriage, there is none at all about the status. there is no confusion between a woman who is married and a woman who is not. the condition of marriage is well known, and it brings the parties under the laws that pertain to husband and wife. a woman not married does not, of course, obtain these privileges; there is a very strict line between the two. amongst the poorer people a marriage is frequently kept secret for several days. the great pomp and ceremony which with us, and occasionally with a few rich burmese, consecrate a man and a woman to each other for life, are absent at the greater number of burmese marriages; and the reason they tell me is that the girl is shy. she does not like to be stared at, and wondered at, as a maiden about to be a wife; it troubles her that the affairs of her heart, her love, her marriage, should be so public. the young men come at night and throw stones upon the house roof, and demand presents from the bridegroom. he does not mind giving the presents; but he, too, does not like the publicity. and so marriage, which is with most people a ceremony performed in full daylight with all accessories of display, is with the burmese generally a secret. two or three friends, perhaps, will be called quietly to the house, and the man and woman will eat together, and thus become husband and wife. then they will separate again, and not for several days, or even weeks perhaps, will it be known that they are married; for it is seldom that they can set up house for themselves just at once. often they will marry and live apart for a time with their parents. sometimes they will go and live together with the man's parents, but more usually with the girl's mother. then after a time, when they have by their exertions made a little money, they build a house and go to live there; but sometimes they will live on with the girl's parents for years. a girl does not change her name when she marries, nor does she wear any sign of marriage, such as a ring. her name is always the same, and there is nothing to a stranger to denote whether she be married or not, or whose wife she is; and she keeps her property as her own. marriage does not confer upon the husband any power over his wife's property, either what she brings with her, what she earns, or what she inherits subsequently; it all remains her own, as does his remain his own. but usually property acquired after marriage is held jointly. you will inquire, for instance, who is the owner of this garden, and be told maung han, ma shwè, the former being the husband's name and the latter the wife's. both names are used very frequently in business and in legal proceedings, and indeed it is usual for both husband and wife to sign all deeds they may have occasion to execute. nothing more free than a woman's position in the marriage state can be imagined. by law she is absolutely the mistress of her own property and her own self; and if it usually happens that the husband is the head of the house, that is because his nature gives him that position, not any law. with us marriage means to a girl an utter breaking of her old ties, the beginning of a new life, of new duties, of new responsibilities. she goes out into a new and unknown world, full of strange facts, leaving one dependence for another, the shelter of a father for the shelter of a husband. she has even lost her own name, and becomes known but as the mistress of her husband; her soul is merged in his. but in burma it is not so at all. she is still herself, still mistress of herself, an equal partner for life. i have said that the burmese have no ideals, and this is true; but in the laws of manu there are laid down some of the requisite qualities for a perfect wife. there are seven kinds of wife, say the laws of manu: a wife like a thief, like an enemy, like a master, like a friend, like a sister, like a mother, like a slave. the last four of these are good, but the last is the best, and these are some of her qualities: 'she should fan and soothe her master to sleep, and sit by him near the bed on which he lies. she will fear and watch lest anything should disturb him. every noise will be a terror to her; the hum of a mosquito as the blast of a trumpet; the fall of a leaf without will sound as loud as thunder. even she will guard her breath as it passes her lips to and fro, lest she awaken him whom she fears. 'and she will remember that when he awakens he will have certain wants. she will be anxious that the bath be to his custom, that his clothes are as he wishes, that his food is tasteful to him. always she will have before her the fear of his anger.' it must be remembered that the laws of manu are of indian origin, and are not totally accepted by the burmese. i fear a burmese girl would laugh at this ideal of a wife. she would say that if a wife were always afraid of her husband's wrath, she and he, too, must be poor things. a household is ruled by love and reverence, not by fear. a girl has no idea when she marries that she is going to be her husband's slave, but a free woman, yielding to him in those things in which he has most strength, and taking her own way in those things that pertain to a woman. she has a very keen idea of what things she can do best, and what things she should leave to her husband. long experience has taught her that there are many things she should not interfere with; and she knows it is experience that has proved it, and not any command. she knows that the reason women are not supposed to interfere in public affairs is because their minds and bodies are not fitted for them. therefore she accepts this, in the same way as she accepts physical inferiority, as a fact against which it is useless and silly to declaim, knowing that it is not men who keep her out, but her own unfitness. moreover, she knows that it is made good to her in other ways, and thus the balance is redressed. you see, she knows her own strength and her own weakness. can there be a more valuable knowledge for anyone than this? in many ways she will act for her husband with vigour and address, and she is not afraid of appearing in his name or her own in law courts, for instance, or in transacting certain kinds of business. she knows that she can do certain business as well as or better than her husband, and she does it. there is nothing more remarkable than the way in which she makes a division of these matters in which she can act for herself, and those in which, if she act at all, it is for her husband. thus, as i have said, she will, as regards her own property or her own business, act freely in her own name, and will also frequently act for her husband too. they will both sign deeds, borrow money on joint security, lend money repayable to them jointly. but in public affairs she will never allow her name to appear at all. not that she does not take a keen interest in such things. she lives in no world apart; all that affects her husband interests her as keenly as it does him. she lives in a world of men and women, and her knowledge of public affairs, and her desire and powers of influencing them, is great. but she learnt long ago that her best way is to act through and by her husband, and that his strength and his name are her bucklers in the fight. thus women are never openly concerned in any political matters. how strong their feeling is can better be illustrated by a story than in any other way. in i was stationed far away on the north-west frontier of burma, in charge of some four thousand square miles of territory which had been newly incorporated. i went up there with the first column that ever penetrated that country, and i remained there when, after the partial pacification of the district, the main body of the troops were withdrawn. it was a fairly exciting place to live in. to say nothing of the fever which swept down men in batches, and the trans-frontier people who were always peeping over to watch a good opportunity for a raid, my own charge simply swarmed with armed men, who seemed to rise out of the very ground--so hard was it to follow their movements--attack anywhere they saw fit, and disappear as suddenly. there was, of course, a considerable force of troops and police to suppress these insurgents, but the whole country was so roadless, so unexplored, such a tangled labyrinth of hill and forest, dotted with sparse villages, that it was often quite impossible to trace the bands who committed these attacks; and to the sick and weary pursuers it sometimes seemed as if we should never restore peace to the country. the villages were arranged in groups, and over each group there was a headman with certain powers and certain duties, the principal of the latter being to keep his people quiet, and, if possible, protect them from insurgents. now, it happened that among these headmen was one named saw ka, who had been a free-lance in his day, but whose services were now enlisted on the side of order--or, at least, we hoped so. he was a fighting-man, and rather fond of that sort of exercise; so that i was not much surprised one day when i got a letter from him to say that his villagers had pursued and arrested, after a fight, a number of armed robbers, who had tried to lift some of the village cattle. the letter came to me when i was in my court-house, a tent ten feet by eight, trying a case. so, saying i would see saw ka's people later, and giving orders for the prisoners to be put in the lock-up, i went on with my work. when my case was finished, i happened to notice that among those sitting and waiting without my tent-door was saw ka himself, so i sent to call him in, and i complimented him upon his success. 'it shall be reported,' i said, 'to the commissioner, who will, no doubt, reward you for your care and diligence in the public service.' as i talked i noticed that the man seemed rather bewildered, and when i had finished he said that he really did not understand. he was aware, he added modestly, that he was a diligent headman, always active in good deeds, and a terror to dacoits and other evil-doers; but as to these particular robbers and this fighting he was a little puzzled. i was considerably surprised, naturally, and i took from the table the burmese letter describing the affair. it began, 'your honour, i, maung saw ka, headman,' etc., and was in the usual style. i handed it to saw ka, and told him to read it. as he read, his wicked black eyes twinkled, and when he had finished he said he had not been home for a week. 'i came in from a visit to the river,' he said, 'where i have gathered for your honour some private information. i had not been here five minutes before i was called in. all this the letter speaks of is news to me, and must have happened while i was away.' 'then, who wrote the letter?' i asked. 'ah!' he said, 'i think i know; but i will go and make sure.' then saw ka went to find the guard who had come in with the prisoners, and i dissolved court and went out shooting. after dinner, as we sat round a great bonfire before the mess, for the nights were cold, saw ka and his brother came to me, and they sat down beside the fire and told me all about it. it appeared that three days after saw ka left his village, some robbers came suddenly one evening to a small hamlet some two miles away and looted from there all the cattle, thirty or forty head, and went off with them. the frightened owners came in to tell the headman about it, and in his absence they told his wife. and she, by virtue of the order of appointment as headman, which was in her hands, ordered the villagers to turn out and follow the dacoits. she issued such government arms as she had in the house, and the villagers went and pursued the dacoits by the cattle tracks, and next day they overtook them, and there was a fight. when the villagers returned with the cattle and the thieves, she had the letter written to me, and the prisoners were sent in, under her husband's brother, with an escort. everything was done as well, as successfully, as if saw ka himself had been present. but if it had not been for the accident of saw ka's sudden appearance, i should probably never have known that this exploit was due to his wife; for she was acting for her husband, and she would not have been pleased that her name should appear. 'a good wife,' i said to saw ka. 'like many,' he answered. but in her own line she has no objection to publicity. i have said that nearly all women work, and that is so. married or unmarried, from the age of sixteen or seventeen, almost every woman has some occupation besides her own duties. in the higher classes she will have property of her own to manage; in the lower classes she will have some trade. i cannot find that in burma there have ever been certain occupations told off for women in which they may work, and others tabooed to them. as there is no caste for the men, so there is none for the women. they have been free to try their hands at anything they thought they could excel in, without any fear of public opinion. but nevertheless, as is inevitable, it has been found that there are certain trades in which women can compete successfully with men, and certain others in which they cannot. and these are not quite the same as in the west. we usually consider sewing to be a feminine occupation. in burma, there being no elaborately cut and trimmed garments, the amount of sewing done is small, but that is usually done by men. women often own and use small hand-machines, but the treadles are always used by men only. as i am writing, my burmese orderly is sitting in the garden sewing his jacket. he is usually sewing when not sent on messages. he seems to sew very well. weaving is usually done by women. under nearly every house there will be a loom, where the wife or daughter weaves for herself or for sale. but many men weave also, and the finest silks are all woven by men. i once asked a woman why they did not weave the best silks, instead of leaving them all to the men. 'men do them better,' she said, with a laugh. 'i tried once, but i cannot manage that embroidery.' they also work in the fields--light work, such as weeding and planting. the heavy work, such as ploughing, is done by men. they also work on the roads carrying things, as all oriental women do. it is curious that women carry always on their heads, men always on their shoulders. i do not know why. but the great occupation of women is petty trading. i have already said that there are few large merchants among the burmese. nearly all the retail trade is small, most of it is very small indeed, and practically the whole of it is in the hands of the women. women do not often succeed in any wholesale trade. they have not, i think, a wide enough grasp of affairs for that. their views are always somewhat limited; they are too pennywise and pound-foolish for big businesses. the small retail trade, gaining a penny here and a penny there, just suits them, and they have almost made it a close profession. this trade is almost exclusively done in bazaars. in every town there is a bazaar, from six till ten each morning. when there is no town near, the bazaar will be held on one day at one village and on another at a neighbouring one. it depends on the density of population, the means of communication, and other matters. but a bazaar within reach there must always be, for it is only there that most articles can be bought. the bazaar is usually held in a public building erected for the purpose, and this may vary from a great market built of brick and iron to a small thatched shed. sometimes, indeed, there is no building at all, merely a space of beaten ground. the great bazaar in mandalay is one of the sights of the city. the building in which it is held is the property of the municipality, but is leased out. it is a series of enormous sheds, with iron roofs and beaten earth floor. each trade has a shed or sheds to itself. there is a place for rice-sellers, for butchers, for vegetable-sellers, for the vendors of silks, of cottons, of sugars and spices, of firewood, of jars, of fish. the butchers are all natives of india. i have explained elsewhere why this should be. the firewood-sellers will mostly be men, as will also the large rice-merchants, but nearly all the rest are women. you will find the sellers of spices, fruit, vegetables, and other such matters seated in long rows, on mats placed upon the ground. each will have a square of space allotted, perhaps six feet square, and there she will sit with her merchandise in a basket or baskets before her. for each square they will pay the lessee a halfpenny for the day, which is only three hours or so. the time to go is in the morning from six till eight, for that is the busy time. later on all the stalls will be closed, but in the early morning the market is thronged. every householder is then buying his or her provisions for the day, and the people crowd in thousands round the sellers. everyone is bargaining and chaffing and laughing, both buyers and sellers; but both are very keen, too, on business. the cloth and silk sellers, the large rice-merchants, and a few other traders, cannot carry on business sitting on a mat, nor can they carry their wares to and fro every day in a basket. for such there are separate buildings or separate aisles, with wooden stalls, on either side of a gangway. the wooden floor of the stalls is raised two to three feet, so that the buyer, standing on the ground, is about on a level with the seller sitting in the stall. the stall will be about eight feet by ten, and each has at the back a strong lock-up cupboard or wardrobe, where the wares are shut at night; but in the day they will be taken out and arranged daintily about the girl-seller. home-made silks are the staple--silks in checks of pink and white, of yellow and orange, of indigo and dark red. some are embroidered in silk, in silver, or in gold; some are plain. all are thick and rich, none are glazed, and none are gaudy. there will also be silks from bangkok, which are of two colours--purple shot with red, and orange shot with red, both very beautiful. all the silks are woven the size of the dress: for men, about twenty-eight feet long and twenty inches broad; and for women, about five feet long and much broader. thus, there is no cutting off the piece. the _anas_, too, which are the bottom pieces for a woman's dress, are woven the proper size. there will probably, too, be piles of showy cambric jackets and gauzy silk handkerchiefs; but often these are sold at separate stalls. but prettier than the silks are the sellers, for these are nearly all girls and women, sweet and fresh in their white jackets, with flowers in their hair. and they are all delighted to talk to you and show you their goods, even if you do not buy; and they will take a compliment sedately, as a girl should, and they will probably charge you an extra rupee for it when you come to pay for your purchases. so it is never wise for a man, unless he have a heart of stone, to go marketing for silks. he should always ask a lady friend to go with him and do the bargaining, and he will lose no courtesy thereby, for these women know how to be courteous to fellow-women as well as to fellow-men. in the provincial bazaars it is much the same. there may be a few travelling merchants from rangoon or mandalay, most of whom are men; but nearly all the retailers are women. indeed, speaking broadly, it may be said that the retail trade of the country is in the hands of the women, and they nearly all trade on their own account. just as the men farm their own land, the women own their businesses. they are not saleswomen for others, but traders on their own account; and with the exception of the silk and cloth branches of the trade, it does not interfere with home-life. the bazaar lasts but three hours, and a woman has ample time for her home duties when her daily visit to the bazaar is over; she is never kept away all day in shops and factories. her home-life is always the centre of her life; she could not neglect it for any other: it would seem to her a losing of the greater in the less. but the effect of this custom of nearly every woman having a little business of her own has a great influence on her life. it broadens her views; it teaches her things she could not learn in the narrow circle of home duties; it gives her that tolerance and understanding which so forcibly strikes everyone who knows her. it teaches her to know her own strength and weakness, and how to make the best of each. above all, by showing her the real life about her, and how much beauty there is everywhere, to those whose eyes are not shut by conventions, it saves her from that dreary, weary pessimism that seeks its relief in fancied idealism, in a smattering of art, of literature, or of religion, and which is the curse of so many of her sisters in other lands. and yet, with all their freedom, burmese women are very particular in their conduct. do not imagine that young girls are allowed, or allow themselves, to go about alone except on very frequented roads. i suppose there are certain limits in all countries to the freedom a woman allows herself, that is to say, if she is wise. for she knows that she cannot always trust herself; she knows that she is weak sometimes, and she protects herself accordingly. she is timid, with a delightful timidity that fears, because it half understands; she is brave, with the bravery of a girl who knows that as long as she keeps within certain limits she is safe. do not suppose that they ever do, or ever can, allow themselves that freedom of action that men have; it is an impossibility. girls are very carefully looked after by their mothers, and wives by their husbands; and they delight in observing the limits which experience has indicated to them. there is a funny story which will illustrate what i mean. a great friend of mine, an officer in government service, went home not very long ago and married, and came out again to burma with his wife. they settled down in a little up-country station. his duties were such as obliged him to go very frequently on tour far away from his home, and he would be absent ten days at a time or more. so when it came for the first time that he was obliged to go out and leave his wife behind him alone in the house, he gave his head-servant very careful directions. this servant was a burman who had been with him for many years, who knew all his ways, and who was a very good servant. he did not speak english; and my friend gave him strict orders. 'the mistress,' he said, 'has only just come here to burma, and she does not know the ways of the country, nor what to do. so you must see that no harm comes to her in any way while i am in the jungle.' then he gave directions as to what was to be done in any eventuality, and he went out. he was away for about a fortnight, and when he returned he found all well. the house had not caught fire, nor had thieves stolen anything, nor had there been any difficulty at all. the servant had looked after the other servants well, and my friend was well pleased. but his wife complained. 'it has been very dull,' she said, 'while you were away. no one came to see me; of all the officers here, not one ever called. i saw only two or three ladies, but not a man at all.' and my friend, surprised, asked his servant how it was. 'didn't anyone come to call?' he asked. 'oh yes,' the servant answered; 'many gentlemen came to call--the officers of the regiment and others. but i told them the thakin was out, and that the thakinma could not see anyone. i sent them all away.' at the club that evening my friend was questioned as to why in his absence no one was allowed to see his wife. the whole station laughed at him, but i think he and his wife laughed most of all at the careful observances of burmese etiquette by the servant; for it is the burmese custom for a wife not to receive in her husband's absence. anyone who wants to see her must stay outside or in the veranda, and she will come out and speak to him. it would be a grave breach of decorum to receive visitors while her husband is out. so even a burmese woman is not free from restrictions--restrictions which are merely rules founded upon experience. no woman, no man, can ever free herself or himself from the bonds that even a young civilization demands. a freedom from all restraint would be a return, not only to savagery, but to the condition of animals--nay, even animals are bound by certain conventions. the higher a civilization, the more conventions are required; and freedom does not mean an absence of all rules, but that all rules should be founded on experience and common-sense. there are certain restrictions on a woman's actions which must be observed as long as men are men and women women. that the burmese woman never recognises them unless they are necessary, and then accepts the necessity as a necessity, is the fact wherein her freedom lies. if at any time she should recognise that a restriction was unnecessary, she would reject it. if experience told her further restrictions were required, she would accept them without a doubt. chapter xvi women--iii 'for women are very tender-hearted.' _wethandaya._ 'you know, thakin,' said a man to me, 'that we say sometimes that women cannot attain unto the great deliverance, that only men will come there. we think that a woman must be born again as a man before she can enter upon the way that leads to heaven.' 'why should that be so?' i asked. 'i have looked at the life of the buddha, i have read the sacred books, and i can find nothing about it. what makes you think that?' he explained it in this way: 'before a soul can attain deliverance it must renounce the world, it must have purified itself by wisdom and meditation from all the lust of the flesh. only those who have done this can enter into the great peace. many men do this. the country is full of monks, men who have left the world, and are trying to follow in the path of the great teacher. not all these will immediately attain to heaven, for purification is a very long process; but they have entered into the path, they have seen the light, if it be even a long way off yet. they know whither they would go. but women, see how few become nuns! only those who have suffered such shipwreck in life that this world holds nothing more for them worth having become nuns. and they are very few. for a hundred monks there is not one nun. women are too attached to their home, to their fathers, their husbands, their children, to enter into the holy life; and, therefore, how shall they come to heaven except they return as men? our teacher says nothing about it, but we have eyes, and we can see.' all this is true. women have no desire for the holy life. they cannot tear themselves away from their home-life. if their passions are less than those of men, they have even less command over them than men have. only the profoundest despair will drive a woman to a renunciation of the world. if on an average their lives are purer than those of men, they cannot rise to the heights to which men can. how many monks there are--how few nuns! not one to a hundred. yet in some ways women are far more religious than men. if you go to the golden pagoda on the hilltop and count the people kneeling there doing honour to the teacher, you will find they are nearly all women. if you go to the rest-houses by the monastery, where the monks recite the law on sundays, you will find that the congregations are nearly all women. if you visit the monastery without the gate, you will see many visitors bringing little presents, and they will be women. 'thakin, many men do not care for religion at all, but when a man does do so, he takes it very seriously. he follows it out to the end. he becomes a monk, and surrenders the whole world. but with women it is different. many women, nearly all women, will like religion, and none will take it seriously. we mix it up with our home-life, and our affections, and our worldly doings; for we like a little of everything.' so said a woman to me. is this always true? i do not know, but it is very true in burma. nearly all the women are religious, they like to go to the monastery and hear the law, they like to give presents to the monks, they like to visit the pagoda and adore gaudama the buddha. i am sure that if it were not for their influence the laws against taking life and against intoxicants would not be observed as stringently as they are. so far they will go. as far as they can use the precepts of religion and retain their home-life they will do so; as it was with yathodaya so long ago, so it is now. but when religion calls them and says, 'come away from the world, leave all that you love, all that your heart holds good, for it is naught; see the light, and prepare your soul for peace,' they hold back. this they cannot do; it is far beyond them. 'thakin, we _cannot do so_. it would seem to us terrible,' that is what they say. a man who renounces the world is called 'the great glory,' but not so a woman. i have said that the buddhist religion holds men and women as equal. if women can observe its laws as men do, it is surely their own fault if they be held the less worthy. women themselves admit this. they honour a man greatly who becomes a monk, not so a nun. nuns have but little consideration. and why? because what is good for a man is not good for a woman; and if, indeed, renunciation of the world be the only path to the great peace, then surely it must be true that women must be born again. chapter xvii divorce 'they are to each other as a burning poison falling into a man's eye.'--_burmese saying._ i remember a night not so long ago; it was in the hot weather, and i was out in camp with my friend the police-officer. it was past sunset, and the air beneath the trees was full of luminous gloom, though overhead a flush still lingered on the cheek of the night. we were sitting in the veranda of a government rest-house, enjoying the first coolness of the coming night, and talking in disjointed sentences of many things; and there came up the steps of the house into the veranda a woman. she came forward slowly, and then sat down on the floor beside my friend, and began to speak. there was a lamp burning in an inner room, and a long bar of light came through the door and lit her face. i could see she was not good-looking, but that her eyes were full of tears, and her face drawn with trouble. i recognised who she was, the wife of the head-constable in charge of the guard near by, a woman i had noticed once or twice in the guard. she spoke so fast, so fast; the words fell over each other as they came from her lips, for her heart was very full. i sat quite still and said nothing; i think she hardly noticed i was there. it was all about her husband. everything was wrong; all had gone crooked in their lives, and she did not know what she could do. at first she could hardly tell what it was all about, but at last she explained. for some years, three or four years, matters had not been very smooth between them. they had quarrelled often, she said, about this thing and the other, little things mostly; and gradually the rift had widened till it became very broad indeed. 'perhaps,' she said, 'if i had been able to have a child it would have been different.' but fate was unkind and no baby came, and her husband became more and more angry with her. 'and yet i did all for the best, thakin; i always tried to act for the best. my husband has sisters at henzada, and they write to him now and then, and say, "send ten rupees," or "send five rupees," or even twenty rupees. and i always say, "send, send." other wives would say, "no, we cannot afford it;" but i said always, "send, send." i have always done for the best, always for the best.' it was very pitiable to hear her opening her whole heart, such a sore troubled heart, like this. her words were full of pathos; her uncomely face was not beautified by the sorrow in it. and at last her husband took a second wife. 'she is a girl from a village near; the thakin knows, taungywa. he did not tell me, but i soon heard of it; and although i thought my heart would break, i did not say anything. i told my husband, "bring her here, let us live all together; it will be best so." i always did for the best, thakin. so he brought her, and she came to live with us a week ago. ah, thakin, i did not know! she tramples on me. my head is under her feet. my husband does not care for me, only for her. and to-day, this evening, they went out together for a walk, and my husband took with him the concertina. as they went i could hear him play upon it, and they walked down through the trees, he playing and she leaning upon him. i heard the music.' then she began to cry bitterly, sobbing as if her heart would break. the sunset died out of the sky, and the shadows took all the world and made it gray and dark. no one said anything, only the woman cried. 'thakin,' she said at last, 'what am i to do? tell me.' then my friend spoke. 'you can divorce him,' he said; 'you can go to the elders and get a divorce. won't that be best?' 'but, thakin, you do not know. we are both christians; we are married for ever. we were both at the mission-school in rangoon, and we were married there, "for ever and for ever," so the padre said. we are not married according to burmese customs, but according to your religion; we are husband and wife for ever.' my friend said nothing. it seemed to him useless to speak to her of the high court, five hundred miles away, and a decree nisi; it would have been a mockery of her trouble. 'your husband had no right to take a second wife, if you are christians and married,' he said. 'ah,' she answered, 'we are burmans; it is allowed by burmese law. other officials do it. what does my husband care that we were married by your law? here we are alone with no other christians near. but i would not mind so much,' she went on, 'only she treads me under her feet. and he takes her out and not me, who am the elder wife, and he plays music to her; and i did all for the best. this trouble has come upon me, though all my life i have acted for the best.' there came another footstep up the stair, and a man entered. it was her husband. on his return he had missed his wife, and guessed whither she had gone, and had followed her. he came alone. then there was a sad scene, only restrained by respect for my friend. i need not tell it. there was a man's side to the question, a strong one. the wife had a terrible temper, a peevish, nagging, maddening fashion of talking. she was a woman very hard for a man to live with. does it matter much which was right or wrong, now that the mischief was done? they went away at last, not reconciled. could they be reconciled? i cannot tell. i left there next day, and have never returned. there they had lived for many years among their own people, far away from the influence that had come upon their childhood, and led them into strange ways. and now all that was left of that influence was the chain that bound them together. had it not been for that they would have been divorced long ago; for they had never agreed very well, and both sides had bitter grounds for complaint. they would have been divorced, and both could have gone their own way. but now, what was to be done? that is one of my memories: this is another. there was a girl i knew, the daughter of a man who had made some money by trading, and when the father died the property was divided according to law between the girl and her brother. she was a little heiress in her way, owning a garden, where grew many fruit-trees, and a piece of rice land. she had also a share in a little shop which she managed, and she had many gold bracelets and fine diamond earrings. she was much wooed by the young men about there, and at last she married. he was a young man, good-looking, a sergeant of police, and for a time they were very happy. and then trouble came. the husband took to bad ways. the knowledge that he could get money for nothing was too much for him. he drank and he wasted her money, and he neglected his work, and at last he was dismissed from government employ. and his wife got angry with him, and complained of him to the neighbours; and made him worse, though she was at heart a good girl. quickly he went from bad to worse, until in a very short time, six months, i think, he had spent half her little fortune. then she began to limit supplies--the husband did no work at all--and in consequence he began to neglect her; they had many quarrels, and her tongue was sharp, and matters got worse and worse until they were the talk of the village. all attempts of the headman and elders to restrain him were useless. he became quarrelsome, and went on from one thing to another, until at last he was suspected of being concerned in a crime. so then when all means had failed to restore her husband to her, when they had drifted far apart and there was nothing before them but trouble, she went to the elders of the village and demanded a divorce. and the elders granted it to her. her husband objected; he did not want to be divorced. he claimed this, and he claimed that, but it was all of no use. so the tie that had united them was dissolved, as the love had been dissolved long before, and they parted. the man went away to lower burma. they tell me he has become a cultivator and has reformed, and is doing well; and the girl is ready to marry again. half her property is gone, but half remains, and she has still her little business. i think they will both do well. but if they had been chained together, what then? in burma divorce is free. anyone can obtain it by appearing before the elders of the village and demanding it. a writing of divorcement is made out, and the parties are free. each retains his or her own property, and that earned during marriage is divided; only that the party claiming the divorce has to leave the house to the other--that is the only penalty, and it is not always enforced, unless the house be joint property. as religion has nothing to do with marriage, neither has it with divorce. marriage is a status, a partnership, nothing more. but it is all that. divorce is a dissolution of that partnership. a burman would not ask, 'were they married?' but, 'are they man and wife?' and so with divorce, it is a cessation of the state of marriage. elders tell me that women ask for divorce far more than men do. 'men have patience, and women have not,' that is what they say. for every little quarrel a woman will want a divorce. 'thakin, if we were to grant divorces every time a woman came and demanded it, we should be doing nothing else all day long. if a husband comes home to find dinner not cooked, and speaks angrily, his wife will rush to us in tears for a divorce. if he speaks to another woman and smiles, if he does not give his wife a new dress, if he be fond of going out in the evenings, all these are reasons for a breathless demand for a divorce. the wives get cross and run to us and cry, "my husband has been angry with me. never will i live with him again. give me a divorce." or, "see my clothes, how old they are. i cannot buy any new dress. i will have a divorce." and we say, "yes, yes; it is very sad. of course, you must have a divorce; but we cannot give you one to-night. go away, and come again in three days or in four days, when we have more time." they go away, thakin, and they do not return. next day it is all forgotten. you see, they don't know what they want; they turn with the wind--they have no patience.' yet sometimes they repent too late. here is another of my memories about divorce: there was a man and his wife, cultivators, living in a small village. the land that he cultivated belonged to his wife, for she had inherited it from her father, together with a house and a little money. the man had nothing when he married her, but he was hardworking and honest and good-tempered, and they kept themselves going comfortably enough. but he had one fault: every now and then he would drink too much. this was in lower burma, where liquor shops are free to burmans. in upper burma no liquor can be sold to them. he did not drink often. he was a teetotaler generally; but once a month, or once in two months, he would meet some friends, and they would drink in good fellowship, and he would return home drunk. his wife felt this very bitterly, and when he would come into the house, his eyes red and his face swollen, she would attack him with bitter words, as women do. she would upbraid him for his conduct, she would point at him the finger of scorn, she would tell him in biting words that he was drinking the produce of her fields, of her inheritance; she would even impute to him, in her passion, worse things than these, things that were not true. and the husband was usually good-natured, and admitted his wrong, and put up with all her abuse, and they lived more or less happily till the next time. and after this had been going on for a few years, instead of getting accustomed to her husband, instead of seeing that if he had this fault he had many virtues, and that he was just as good a husband as she was a wife, or perhaps better, her anger against him increased every time, till now she would declare that she would abide it no longer, that he was past endurance, and she would have a divorce; and several times she even ran to the elders to demand it. but the elders would put it by. 'let it wait,' they said, 'for a few days, and then we will see;' and by that time all was soothed down again. but at last the end came. one night she passed all bounds in her anger, using words that could never be forgiven; and when she declared as usual that she must have a divorce, her husband said: 'yes, we will divorce. let there be an end of it.' and so next day they went to the elders both of them, and as both demanded the divorce, the elders could not delay very long. a few days' delay they made, but the man was firm, and at last it was done. they were divorced. i think the woman would have drawn back at the last moment, but she could not, for very shame, and the man never wavered. he was offended past forgiveness. so the divorce was given, and the man left the house and went to live elsewhere. in a few days--a very few days--the wife sent for him again. 'would he return?' and he refused. then she went to the headman and asked him to make it up, and the headman sent for the husband, who came. the woman asked her husband to return. 'come back,' she said, 'come back. i have been wrong. let us forgive. it shall never happen again.' but the man shook his head. 'no,' he said; 'a divorce is a divorce. i do not care to marry and divorce once a week. you were always saying "i will divorce you, i will divorce you." now it is done. let it remain.' the woman was struck with grief. 'but i did not know,' she said; 'i was hot-tempered. i was foolish. but now i know. ah! the house is so lonely! i have but two ears, i have but two eyes, and the house is so large.' but the husband refused again. 'what is done, is done. marriage is not to be taken off and put on like a jacket. i have made up my mind.' then he went away, and after a little the woman went away too. she went straight to the big, lonely house, and there she hanged herself. you see, she loved him all the time, but did not know till too late. men do not often apply for divorce except for very good cause, and with their minds fully made up to obtain it. they do obtain it, of course. with this facility for divorce, it is remarkable how uncommon it is. in the villages and amongst respectable burmans in all classes of life it is a great exception to divorce or to be divorced. the only class amongst whom it is at all common is the class of hangers-on to our administration, the clerks and policemen, and so on. i fear there is little that is good to be said of many of them. it is terrible to see how demoralizing our contact is to all sorts and conditions of men. to be attached to our administration is almost a stigma of disreputableness. i remember remarking once to a headman that a certain official seemed to be quite regardless of public opinion in his life, and asked him if the villagers did not condemn him. and the headman answered with surprise: 'but he is an official;' as if officials were quite _super grammaticam_ of morals. and yet this is the class from whom we most of us obtain our knowledge of burmese life, whom we see most of, whose opinions we accept as reflecting the truth of burmese thought. no wonder we are so often astray. amongst these, the taking of second, and even third, wives is not at all uncommon, and naturally divorce often follows. among the great mass of the people it is very uncommon. i cannot give any figures. there are no records kept of marriage or of divorce. what the proportion is it is impossible to even guess. i have heard all sorts of estimates, none founded on more than imagination. i have even tried to find out in small villages what the number of divorces were in a year, and tried to estimate from this the percentage. i made it from to per cent. of the marriages. but i cannot offer these figures as correct for any large area. probably they vary from place to place and from year to year. in the old time the queen was very strict upon the point. as she would allow no other wife to her king, so she would allow no taking of other wives, no abuse of divorce among her subjects. whatever her influence may have been in other ways, here it was all for good. but the queen has gone, and there is no one left at all. no one but the hangers-on of whom i have spoken, examples not to be followed, but to be shunned. but of this there is no manner of doubt, that this freedom of marriage and divorce leads to no license. there is no confusion between marriage or non-marriage, and even yet public opinion is a very great check upon divorce. it is considered not right to divorce your husband or your wife without good--very good and sufficient cause. and what is good and sufficient cause is very well understood. that a woman should have a nagging tongue, that a man should be a drunkard, what could be better cause than this? the gravity of the offence lies in whether it makes life unbearable together, not in the name you may give it. the facility for divorce has other effects too. it makes a man and a woman very careful in their behaviour to each other. the chain that binds them is a chain of mutual forbearance, of mutual endurance, of mutual love; and if these be broken, then is the bond gone. marriage is no fetter about a man or woman, binding both to that which they may get to hate. in the first burmese war in there was a man, an englishman, taken prisoner in ava and put in prison, and there he found certain europeans and americans. after a time, for fear of attempts at escape, these prisoners were chained together two and two. he tells you, this englishman, how terrible this was, and of the hate and repulsion that arose in your heart to your co-bondsman. before they were chained together they lived in close neighbourhood, in peace and amity; but when the chains came it was far otherwise, though they were no nearer than before. they got to hate each other. and this is the burmese idea of marriage, that it is a partnership of love and affection, and that when these die, all should be over. an unbreakable marriage appears to them as a fetter, a bond, something hateful and hate inspiring. they are a people who love to be free: they hate bonds and dogmas of every description. it is always religion that has made a bond of marriage, and here religion has not interfered. theirs is a religion of free men and free women. chapter xviii drink 'the ignorant commit sins in consequence of drunkenness, and also make others drunk.'--_acceptance into the monkhood._ the buddhist religion forbids the use of all stimulants, including opium and other drugs; and in the times of the burmese rule this law was stringently kept. no one was allowed to make, to sell, or to consume, liquors of any description. that this law was kept as firmly as it was was due, not to the vigilance of the officials, but to the general feeling of the people. it was a law springing from within, and therefore effectual; not imposed from without, and useless. that there were breaches and evasions of the law is only natural. the craving for some stimulant amongst all people is very great--so great as to have forced itself to be acknowledged and regulated by most states, and made a great source of revenue. amongst the burmans the craving is, i should say, as strong as amongst other people; and no mere legal prohibition would have had much effect in a country like this, full of jungle, where palms grow in profusion, and where little stills might be set up anywhere to distil their juice. but the feelings of the respectable people and the influence of the monks is very great, very strong; and the burmans were, and in upper burma, where the old laws remain in force, are still, an absolutely teetotal people. no one who was in upper burma before and just after the war but knows how strictly the prohibition against liquor was enforced. the principal offenders against the law were the high officials, because they were above popular reach. no bribe was so gratefully accepted as some whisky. it was a sure step to safety in trouble. a gentleman--not an englishman--in the employ of a company who traded in upper burma in the king's time told me lately a story about this. he lived in a town on the irrawaddy, where was a local governor, and this governor had a head clerk. this head clerk had a wife, and she was, i am told, very beautiful. i cannot write scandal, and so will not repeat here what i have heard about this lady and the merchant; but one day his burman servant rushed into his presence and told him breathlessly that the bailiff of the governor's court was just entering the garden with a warrant for his arrest, for, let us say, undue flirtation. the merchant, horrified at the prospect of being lodged in gaol and put in stocks, fled precipitately out of the back-gate and gained the governor's court. the governor was in session, seated on a little daïs, and the merchant ran in and knelt down, as is the custom, in front of the daïs. he began to hurriedly address the governor: 'my lord, my lord, an unjust complaint has been made against me. someone has abused your justice and caused a warrant to be taken out against me. i have just escaped the bailiff, and came to your honour for protection. it is all a mistake. i will explain. i----' but here the governor interposed. he bent forward till his head was close to the merchant's head, and whispered: 'friend, have you any whisky?' the merchant gave a sigh of relief. 'a case newly arrived is at your honour's disposal,' he answered quickly. 'i will give orders for it to be sent over at once. no, two cases--i have two. and this charge is all a mistake.' the governor waved his hand as if all explanation were superfluous. then he drew himself up, and, addressing the officials and crowd before him, said: 'this is my good friend. let no one touch him.' and in an undertone to the merchant: 'send it soon.' so the merchant went home rejoicing, and sent the whisky. and the lady? well, my story ends there with the governor and the whisky. no doubt it was all a mistake about the lady, as the merchant said. all officials were not so bad as this, and many officials were as strongly against the use of liquor, as urgent in the maintenance of the rules of the religion, as the lowest peasant. it was the same with opium: its use was absolutely prohibited. of course, chinese merchants managed to smuggle enough in for their own use, but they had to bribe heavily to be able to do so, and the people remained uncontaminated. 'opium-eater,' 'gambler,' are the two great terms of reproach and contempt. it used to be a custom in the war-time--it has died out now, i think--for officers of all kinds to offer to burmans who came to see them--officials, i mean--a drink of whisky or beer on parting, just as you would to an englishman. it was often accepted. burmans are, as i have said, very fond of liquor, and an opportunity like this to indulge in a little forbidden drink, under the encouragement of the great english soldier or official, was too much for them. besides, it would have been a discourtesy to refuse. and so it was generally accepted. i do not think it did much harm to anyone, or to anything, except, perhaps, to our reputation. i remember in that i went up into a semi-independent state to see the prince. i travelled up with two of his officials, men whom i had seen a good deal of for some months before, as his messengers and spokesmen, about affairs on the border. we travelled for three days, and came at last to where he had pitched his camp in the forest. he had built me a house, too, next to his camp, where i put up. i had a long interview with him about official matters--i need not tell of that here--and after our business was over we talked of many things, and at last i got up to take my leave. i had seen towards the end that the prince had something on his mind, something he wanted to say, but was afraid, or too shy, to mention; and when i got up, instead of moving away, i laughed and said: 'well, what is it? i think there is something the prince wants to say before i go.' and the prince smiled back awkwardly, still desirous to have his say, still clearly afraid to do so, and at last it was his wife who spoke. 'it is about the whisky,' she said. 'we know that you drink it. that is your own business. we hear, too, that it is the custom in the part of the country you have taken for english officers to give whisky and beer to officials who come to see you--to _our_ officials,' and she looked at the men who had come up with me, and they blushed. 'the prince wishes to ask you not to do it here. of course, in your own country you do what you like, but in the prince's country no one is allowed to drink or to smoke opium. it is against our faith. that is what the prince wanted to say. the thakin will not be offended if he is asked that here in our country he will not tempt any of us to break our religion.' i almost wished i had not encouraged the prince to speak. i am afraid that the embarrassment passed over to my side. what could i say but that i would remember, that i was not offended, but would be careful? i had been lecturing the prince about his shortcomings; i had been warning him of trouble to come, unless he mended his ways; i had been telling him wonderful things of europe and our power. i thought that i had produced an impression of superiority--i was young then--but when i left i had my doubts who it was that scored most in that interview. however, i have remembered ever since. i was not a frequent offender before--i have never offered a burman liquor since. chapter xix manners 'not where others fail, or do, or leave undone--the wise should notice what himself has done, or left undone.'--_dammapada._ a remarkable trait of the burmese character is their unwillingness to interfere in other people's affairs. whether it arises from their religion of self-culture or no, i cannot say, but it is in full keeping with it. every man's acts and thoughts are his own affair, think the burmans; each man is free to go his own way, to think his own thoughts, to act his own acts, as long as he does not too much annoy his neighbours. each man is responsible for himself and for himself alone, and there is no need for him to try and be guardian also to his fellows. and so the burman likes to go his own way, to be a free man within certain limits; and the freedom that he demands for himself, he will extend also to his neighbours. he has a very great and wide tolerance towards all his neighbours, not thinking it necessary to disapprove of his neighbours' acts because they may not be the same as his own, never thinking it necessary to interfere with his neighbours as long as the laws are not broken. our ideas that what habits are different to our habits must be wrong, and being wrong, require correction at our hands, is very far from his thoughts. he never desires to interfere with anyone. certain as he is that his own ideas are best, he is contented with that knowledge, and is not ceaselessly desirous of proving it upon other people. and so a foreigner may go and live in a burman village, may settle down there and live his own life and follow his own customs in perfect freedom, may dress and eat and drink and pray and die as he likes. no one will interfere. no one will try and correct him; no one will be for ever insisting to him that he is an outcast, either from civilization or from religion. the people will accept him for what he is, and leave the matter there. if he likes to change his ways and conform to burmese habits and buddhist forms, so much the better; but if not, never mind. it is, i think, a great deal owing to this habit of mind that the manners of the burmese are usually so good, children in civilization as they are. there is amongst them no rude inquisitiveness and no desire to in any way circumscribe your freedom, by either remark or act. surely of all things that cause trouble, nothing is so common amongst us as the interference with each other's ways, as the needless giving of advice. it seems to each of us that we are responsible, not only for ourselves, but also for everyone else near us; and so if we disapprove of any act, we are always in a hurry to express our disapproval and to try and persuade the actor to our way of thinking. we are for ever thinking of others and trying to improve them; as a nation we try to coerce weaker nations and to convert stronger ones, and as individuals we do the same. we are sure that other people cannot but be better and happier for being brought into our ways of thinking, by force even, if necessary. we call it philanthropy. but the buddhist does not believe this at all. each man, each nation, has, he thinks, enough to do managing his or its own affairs. interference, any sort of interference, he is sure can do nothing but harm. _you_ cannot save a man. he can save himself; you can do nothing for him. you may force or persuade him into an outer agreement with you, but what is the value of that? all dispositions that are good, that are of any value at all, must come spontaneously from the heart of man. first, he must desire them, and then struggle to obtain them; by this means alone can any virtue be reached. this, which is the key of his religion, is the key also of his private life. each man is a free man to do what he likes, in a way that we have never understood. even under the rule of the burmese kings there was the very widest tolerance. you never heard of a foreigner being molested in any way, being forbidden to live as he liked, being forbidden to erect his own places of worship. he had the widest freedom, as long as he infringed no law. the burmese rule may not have been a good one in many ways, but it was never guilty of persecution, of any attempt at forcible conversion, of any desire to make such an attempt. this tolerance, this inclination to let each man go his own way, is conspicuous even down to the little events of life. it is very marked, even in conversation, how little criticism is indulged in towards each other, how there is an absolute absence of desire to proselytize each other in any way. 'it is his way,' they will say, with a laugh, of any peculiar act of any person; 'it is his way. what does it matter to us?' of all the lovable qualities of the burmese, and they are many, there are none greater than these--their light-heartedness and their tolerance. a burman will always assume that you know your own business, and will leave you alone to do it. how great a boon this is i think we hardly can understand, for we have none of it. and he carries it to an extent that sometimes surprises us. suppose you are walking along a road and there is a broken bridge on the way, a bridge that you might fall through. no one will try and prevent you going. any burman who saw you go will, if he think at all about it, give you the credit for knowing what you are about. it will not enter into his head to go out of his way to give you advice about that bridge. if you ask him he will help you all he can, but he will not volunteer; and so if you depend on volunteered advice, you may fall through the bridge and break your neck, perhaps. at first this sort of thing seems to us to spring from laziness or from discourtesy. it is just the reverse of this latter; it is excess of courtesy that assumes you to be aware of what you are about, and capable of judging properly. you may get yourself into all sorts of trouble, and unless you call out no one will assist you. they will suppose that if you require help you will soon ask for it. you could drift all the way from bhamo to rangoon on a log, and i am sure no one would try to pick you up unless you shouted for help. let anyone try to drift down from oxford to richmond, and he will be forcibly saved every mile of his journey, i am sure. the burman boatmen you passed would only laugh and ask how you were getting on. the english boatman would have you out of that in a jiffy, saving you despite yourself. you might commit suicide in burma, and no one would stop you. 'it is your own look-out,' they would say; 'if you want to die why should we prevent you? what business is it of ours?' never believe for a moment that this is cold-heartedness. nowhere is there any man so kind-hearted as a burman, so ready to help you, so hospitable, so charitable both in act and thought. it is only that he has another way of seeing these things to what we have. he would resent as the worst discourtesy that which we call having a friendly interest in each other's doings. volunteered advice comes, so he thinks, from pure self-conceit, and is intolerable; help that he has not asked for conveys the assumption that he is a fool, and the helper ever so much wiser than he. it is in his eyes simply a form of self-assertion, an attempt at governing other people, an infringement of good manners not to be borne. each man is responsible for himself, each man is the maker of himself. only he can do himself good by good thought, by good acts; only he can hurt himself by evil intentions and deeds. therefore in your intercourse with others remember always yourself, remember that no one can injure you but yourself; be careful, therefore, of your acts for your own sake. for if you lose your temper, who is the sufferer? yourself; no one but yourself. if you are guilty of disgraceful acts, of discourteous words, who suffers? yourself. remember that; remember that courtesy and good temper are due from you to everyone. what does it matter who the other person be? you should be courteous to him, not because he deserves it, but because you deserve it. courtesy is measured by the giver, not by the receiver. we are apt sometimes to think that this continual care of self is selfishness; it is the very reverse. self-reverence is the antipode of self-conceit, of selfishness. if you honour yourself, you will be careful that nothing dishonourable shall come from you. 'self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control;' we, too, have had a poet who taught this. and so dignity of manner is very marked amongst this people. it is cultivated as a gift, as the outward sign of a good heart. 'a rough diamond;' no burman would understand this saying. the value of a diamond is that it can be polished. as long as it remains in the rough, it has no more beauty than a lump of mud. if your heart be good, so, too, will be your manners. a good tree will bring forth good fruit. if the fruit be rotten, can the tree be good? not so. if your manners are bad, so, too, is your heart. to be courteous, even tempered, to be tolerant and full of sympathy, these are the proofs of an inward goodness. you cannot have one without the other. outward appearances are not deceptive, but are true. therefore they strive after even temper. hot-tempered as they are, easily aroused to wrath, easily awakened to pleasure, men with the passions of a child, they have very great command over themselves. they are ashamed of losing their temper; they look upon it as a disgrace. we are often proud of it; we think sometimes we do well to be angry. so they are very patient, very long-suffering, accepting with resignation the troubles of this world, the kicks and spurns of fortune, secure in this, that each man's self is in his own keeping. if there be trouble for to-day, what can it matter if you do but command yourself? if others be discourteous to you, that cannot hurt you, if you do not allow yourself to be discourteous in return. take care of your own soul, sure that in the end you will win, either in this life or in some other, that which you deserve. what you have made your soul fit for, that you will obtain, sooner or later, whether it be evil or whether it be good. the law of righteousness is for ever this, that what a man deserves that he will obtain. and in the end, if you cultivate your soul with unwearying patience, striving always after what is good, purifying yourself from the lust of life, you will come unto that lake where all desire shall be washed away. chapter xx 'noblesse oblige' 'sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than may he who kills any living being be admitted into our society.'--_acceptance into the monkhood._ it is very noticeable throughout the bazaars of burma that all the beef butchers are natives of india. no burman will kill a cow or a bullock, and no burman will sell its meat. it is otherwise with pork and fowls. burmans may sometimes be found selling these; and fish are almost invariably sold by the wives of the fishermen. during the king's time, any man who was even found in possession of beef was liable to very severe punishment. the only exception, as i have explained elsewhere, was in the case of the queen when expecting an addition to her family, and it was necessary that she should be strengthened in all ways. none, not even foreigners, were allowed to kill beef, and this law was very stringently observed. other flesh and fish might, as far as the law of the country went, be sold with impunity. you could not be fined for killing and eating goats, or fowls, or pigs, and these were sold occasionally. it is now ten years since king thibaw was overthrown, and there is now no law against the sale of beef. and yet, as i have said, no respectable burman will even now kill or sell beef. the law was founded on the beliefs of the people, and though the law is dead, the beliefs remain. it is true that the taking of life is against buddhist commands. no life at all may be taken by him who adheres to buddhistic teaching. neither for sport, nor for revenge, nor for food, may any animal be deprived of the breath that is in it. and this is a command wonderfully well kept. there are a few exceptions, but they are known and accepted as breaches of the law, for the law itself knows no exceptions. fish, as i have said, can be obtained almost everywhere. they are caught in great quantities in the river, and are sold in most bazaars, either fresh or salted. it is one of the staple foods of the burmese. but although they will eat fish, they despise the fisherman. not so much, perhaps, as if he killed other living things, but still, the fisherman is an outcast from decent society. he will have to suffer great and terrible punishment before he can be cleansed from the sins that he daily commits. notwithstanding this, there are many fishermen in burma. a fish is a very cold-blooded beast. one must be very hard up for something to love to have any affection to spare upon fishes. they cannot be, or at all events they never are, domesticated, and most of them are not beautiful. i am not aware that they have ever been known to display any attachment to anyone, which accounts, perhaps, for the comparatively lenient eye with which their destruction is contemplated. for with warm-blooded animals it is very different. cattle, as i have said, can never be killed nor their meat sold by a burman, and with other animals the difficulty is not much less. i was in upper burma for some months before the war, and many a time i could get no meat at all. living in a large town among prosperous people, i could get no flesh at all, only fish and rice and vegetables. when, after much trouble, my indian cook would get me a few fowls, he would often be waylaid and forced to release them. an old woman, say, anxious to do some deed of merit, would come to him as he returned triumphantly home with his fowls and tender him money, and beg him to release the fowls. she would give the full price or double the price of the fowls; she had no desire to gain merit at another person's expense, and the unwilling cook would be obliged to give up the fowls. public opinion was so strong he dare not refuse. the money was paid, the fowls set free, and i dined on tinned beef. and yet the villages are full of fowls. why they are kept i do not know. certainly not for food. i do not mean to say that an accidental meeting between a rock and a fowl may not occasionally furnish forth a dinner, but this is not the object with which they are kept--of this i am sure. you would not suppose that fowls were capable of exciting much affection, yet i suppose they are. certainly in one case ducks were. there is a burman lady i know who is married to an englishman. he kept ducks. he bought a number of ducklings, and had them fed up so that they might be fat and succulent when the time came for them to be served at table. they became very fine ducks, and my friend had promised me one. i took an interest in them, and always noticed their increasing fatness when i rode that way. imagine, then, my disappointment when one day i saw that all the ducks had disappeared. i stopped to inquire. yes, truly they were all gone, my friend told me. in his absence his wife had gone up the river to visit some friends, and had taken the ducks with her. she could not bear, she said, that they should be killed, so she took them away and distributed them among her friends, one here and one there, where she was sure they would be well treated and not killed. when she returned she was quite pleased at her success, and laughed at her husband and me. this same lady was always terribly distressed when she had to order a fowl to be killed for her husband's breakfast, even if she had never seen it before. i have seen her, after telling the cook to kill a fowl for breakfast, run away and sit down in the veranda with her hands over her ears, and her face the very picture of misery, fearing lest she should hear its shrieks. i think that this was the one great trouble to her in her marriage, that her husband would insist on eating fowls and ducks, and that she had to order them to be killed. as she is, so are most burmans. if there is all this trouble about fowls, it can be imagined how the trouble increases when it comes to goats or any larger beasts. in the jungle villages meat of any kind at all is never seen: no animals of any kind are allowed to be killed. an officer travelling in the district would be reduced to what he could carry with him, if it were not for an act of government obliging villages to furnish--on payment, of course--supplies for officers and troops passing through. the mere fact of such a law being necessary is sufficient proof of the strength of the feeling against taking life. of course, all shooting, either for sport or for food, is looked upon as disgraceful. in many jungle villages where deer abound there are one or two hunters who make a living by hunting. but they are disgraced men. they are worse than fishermen, and they will have a terrible penalty to pay for it all. it will take much suffering to wash from their souls the cruelty, the blood-thirstiness, the carelessness to suffering, the absence of compassion, that hunting must produce. 'is there no food in the bazaar, that you must go and take the lives of animals?' has been said to me many a time. and when my house-roof was infested by sparrows, who dropped grass and eggs all over my rooms, so that i was obliged to shoot them with a little rifle, this was no excuse. 'you should have built a sparrow-cote,' they told me. 'if you had built a sparrow-cote, they would have gone away and left you in peace. they only wanted to make nests and lay eggs and have little ones, and you went and shot them.' there are many sparrow-cotes to be seen in the villages. i might give example after example of this sort, for they happen every day. we who are meat-eaters, who delight in shooting, who have a horror of insects and reptiles, are continually coming into collision with the principles of our neighbours; for even harmful reptiles they do not care to kill. truly i believe it is a myth, the story of the burmese mother courteously escorting out of the house the scorpion which had just bitten her baby. a burmese mother worships her baby as much as the woman of any other nation does, and i believe there is no crime she would not commit in its behalf. but if she saw a scorpion walking about in the fields, she would not kill it as we should. she would step aside and pass on. 'poor beast!' she would say, 'why should i hurt it? it never hurt me.' the burman never kills insects out of sheer brutality. if a beetle drone annoyingly, he will catch it in a handkerchief and put it outside, and so with a bee. it is a great trouble often to get your burmese servants to keep your house free of ants and other annoying creatures. if you tell them to kill the insects they will, for in that case the sin falls on you. without special orders they would rather leave the ants alone. in the district in which i am now living snakes are very plentiful. there are cobras and keraits, but the most dreaded is the russell's viper. he is a snake that averages from three to four feet long, and is very thick, with a big head and a stumpy tail. his body is marked very prettily with spots and blurs of light on a dark, grayish green, and he is so like the shadows of the grass and weeds in a dusty road, that you can walk on him quite unsuspectingly. then he will bite you, and you die. he comes out usually in the evening before dark, and lies about on footpaths to catch the home-coming ploughman or reaper, and, contrary to the custom of other snakes, he will not flee on hearing a footstep. when anyone approaches he lies more still than ever, not even a movement of his head betraying him. he is so like the colour of the ground, he hopes he will be passed unseen; and he is slow and lethargic in his movements, and so is easy to kill when once detected. as a burman said, 'if he sees you first, he kills you; if you see him first, you kill him.' in this district no burman hesitates a moment in killing a viper when he has the chance. usually he has to do it in self-defence. this viper is terribly feared, as over a hundred persons a year die here by his bite. he is so hated and feared that he has become an outcast from the law that protects all life. but with other snakes it is not so. there is the hamadryad, for instance. he is a great snake about ten to fourteen feet long, and he is the only snake that will attack you first. he is said always to do so, certainly he often does. one attacked me once when out quail-shooting. he put up his great neck and head suddenly at a distance of only five or six feet, and was just preparing to strike, when i literally blew his head off with two charges of shot. you would suppose he was vicious enough to be included with the russell's viper in the category of the exceptions, but no. perhaps he is too rare to excite such fierce and deadly hate as makes the burman forget his law and kill the viper. however it may be, the burman is not ready to kill the hamadryad. a few weeks ago a friend of mine and myself came across two little burman boys carrying a jar with a piece of broken tile over it. the lads kept lifting up the tile and peeping in, and then putting the tile on again in a great hurry, and their actions excited our curiosity. so we called them to come to us, and we looked into the jar. it was full of baby hamadryads. the lads had found a nest of them in the absence of the mother, who would have killed them if she had been there, and had secured all the little snakes. there were seven of them. we asked the boys what they intended to do with the snakes, and they answered that they would show them to their friends in the village. 'and then?' we asked. and then they would let them go in the water. my friend killed all the hamadryads on the spot, and gave the boys some coppers, and we went on. can you imagine this happening anywhere else? can you think of any other schoolboys sparing any animal they caught, much less poisonous snakes? the extraordinary hold that this tenet of their religion has upon the burmese must be seen to be understood. what i write will sound like some fairy story, i fear, to my people at home. it is far beneath the truth. the belief that it is wrong to take life is a belief with them as strong as any belief could be. i do not know anywhere any command, earthly or heavenly, that is acted up to with such earnestness as this command is amongst the burmese. it is an abiding principle of their daily life. where the command came from i do not know. i cannot find any allusion to it in the life of the great teacher. we know that he ate meat. it seems to me that it is older even than he. it has been derived both by the burmese buddhists and the hindus from a faith whose origin is hidden in the mists of long ago. it is part of that far older faith on which buddhism was built, as was christianity on judaism. but if not part of his teaching--and though it is included in the sacred books, we do not know how much of them are derived from the buddha himself--it is in strict accordance with all his teaching. that is one of the most wonderful points of buddhism, it is all in accordance; there are no exceptions. i have heard amongst europeans a very curious explanation of this refusal of buddhists to take life. 'buddhists,' they say, 'believe in the transmigration of souls. they believe that when a man dies his soul may go into a beast. you could not expect him to kill a bull, when perchance his grandfather's soul might inhabit there.' this is their explanation, this is the way they put two and two together to make five. they know that buddhists believe in transmigration, they know that buddhists do not like to take life, and therefore one is the cause of the other. i have mentioned this explanation to burmans while talking of the subject, and they have always laughed at it. they had never heard of it before. it is true that it is part of their great theory of life that the souls of men have risen from being souls of beasts, and that we may so relapse if we are not careful. many stories are told of cases that have occurred where a man has been reincarnated as an animal, and where what is now the soul of a man used to live in a beast. but that makes no difference. whatever a man may have been, or may be, he is a man now; whatever a beast may have been, he is a beast now. never suppose that a burman has any other idea than this. to him men are men, and animals are animals, and men are far the higher. but he does not deduce from this that man's superiority gives him permission to illtreat or to kill animals. it is just the reverse. it is because man is so much higher than the animal that he can and must observe towards animals the very greatest care, feel for them the very greatest compassion, be good to them in every way he can. the burman's motto should be _noblesse oblige_; he knows the meaning, if he knows not the words. for the burman's compassion towards animals goes very much farther than a mere reluctance to kill them. although he has no command on the subject, it seems to him quite as important to treat animals well during their lives as to refrain from taking those lives. his refusal to take life he shares with the hindu; his perpetual care and tenderness to all living creatures is all his own. and here i may mention a very curious contrast, that whereas in india the hindu will not take life and the mussulman will, yet the mussulman is by reputation far kinder to his beasts than the hindu. here the burman combines both qualities. he has all the kindness to animals that the mahommedan has, and more, and he has the same horror of taking life that the hindu has. coming from half-starved, over-driven india, it is a revelation to see the animals in burma. the village ponies and cattle and dogs in india are enough to make the heart bleed for their sordid misery, but in burma they are a delight to the eye. they are all fat, every one of them--fat and comfortable and impertinent; even the ownerless dogs are well fed. i suppose the indifference of the ordinary native of india to animal suffering comes from the evil of his own lot. he is so very poor, he has such hard work to find enough for himself and his children, that his sympathy is all used up. he has none to spare. he is driven into a dumb heartlessness, for i do not think he is actually cruel. the burman is full of the greatest sympathy towards animals of all kinds, of the greatest understanding of their ways, of the most humorously good-natured attitude towards them. looking at them from his manhood, he has no contempt for them; but the gentle toleration of a father to very little children who are stupid and troublesome often, but are very lovable. he feels himself so far above them that he can condescend towards them, and forbear with them. his ponies are pictures of fatness and impertinence and go. they never have any vice because the burman is never cruel to them; they are never well trained, partly because he does not know how to train them, partly because they are so near the aboriginal wild pony as to be incapable of very much training. but they are willing; they will go for ever, and are very strong, and they have admirable constitutions and tempers. you could not make a burman ill-use his pony if you tried, and i fancy that to break these little half-wild ponies to go in cabs in crowded streets requires severe treatment. at least, i never knew but one hackney-carriage driver either in rangoon or mandalay who was a burman, and he very soon gave it up. he said that the work was too heavy either for a pony or a man. i think, perhaps, it was for the safety of the public that he resigned, for his ponies were the very reverse of meek--which a native of india says a hackney-carriage pony should be--and he drove entirely by the light of nature. so all the drivers of gharries, as we call them, are natives of india or half-breeds, and it is amongst them that the work of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals principally lies. while i was in rangoon i tried a number of cases of over-driving, of using ponies with sore withers and the like. i never tried a burman. even in rangoon, which has become almost indianized, his natural humanity never left the burman. as far as burmans are concerned, the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals need not exist. they are kinder to their animals than even the members of the society could be. instances occur every day; here is one of the most striking that i remember. there is a town in burma where there are some troops stationed, and which is the headquarters of the civil administration of the district. it is, or was then, some distance from a railway-station, and it was necessary to make some arrangement for the carriage of the mails to and from the town and station. the post-office called for tenders, and at length it was arranged through the civil authorities that a coach should run once a day each way to carry the mails and passengers. a native of india agreed to take the contract--for burmans seldom or never care to take them--and he was to comply with certain conditions and receive a certain subsidy. there was a great deal of traffic between the town and station, and it was supposed that the passenger traffic would pay the contractor well, apart from his mail subsidy. for burmans are always free with their money, and the road was long and hot and dusty. i often passed that coach as i rode. i noticed that the ponies were poor, very poor, and were driven a little hard, but i saw no reason for interference. it did not seem to me that any cruelty was committed, nor that the ponies were actually unfit to be driven. i noticed that the driver used his whip a good deal, but then some ponies require the whip. i never thought much about it, as i always rode my own ponies, and they always shied at the coach, but i should have noticed if there had been anything remarkable. towards the end of the year it became necessary to renew the contract, and the contractor was approached on the subject. he said he was willing to continue the contract for another year if the mail subsidy was largely increased. he said he had lost money on that year's working. when asked how he could possibly have lost considering the large number of people who were always passing up and down, he said that they did not ride in his coach. only the european soldiers and a few natives of india came with him. officers had their own ponies and rode, and the burmans either hired a bullock-cart or walked. they hardly ever came in his coach, but he could not say what the reason might be. so an inquiry was made, and the burmese were asked why they did not ride on the coach. were the fares too high?--was it uncomfortable? but no, it was for neither of these reasons that they left the coach to the soldiers and natives of india. it was because of the ponies. no burman would care to ride behind ponies who were treated as these ponies were--half fed, overdriven, whipped. it was a misery to see them; it was twice a misery to drive behind them. 'poor beasts!' they said; 'you can see their ribs, and when they come to the end of a stage they are fit to fall down and die. they should be turned out to graze.' the opinion was universal. the burmans preferred to spend twice or thrice the money and hire a bullock-cart and go slowly, while the coach flashed past them in a whirl of dust, or they preferred to walk. many and many times have i seen the roadside rest-houses full of travellers halting for a few minutes' rest. they walked while the coach came by empty; and nearly all of them could have afforded the fare. it was a very striking instance of what pure kind-heartedness will do, for there would have been no religious command broken by going in the coach. it was the pure influence of compassion towards the beasts and refusal to be a party to such hard-heartedness. and yet, as i have said, i do not think the law could have interfered with success. surely a people who could act like this have the very soul of religion in their hearts, although the act was not done in the name of religion. all the animals--the cattle, the ponies, and the buffaloes--are so tame that it is almost an unknown thing for anyone to get hurt. the cattle are sometimes afraid of the white face and strange attire of a european, but you can walk through the herds as they come home in the evening with perfect confidence that they will not hurt you. even a cow with a young calf will only eye you suspiciously; and with the burmans even the huge water buffaloes are absolutely tame. you can see a herd of these great beasts, with horns six feet across, come along under the command of a very small boy or girl perched on one of their broad backs. he flourishes a little stick, and issues his commands like a general. it is one of the quaintest imaginable sights to see this little fellow get off his steed, run after a straggler, and beat him with his stick. the buffalo eyes his master, whom he could abolish with one shake of his head, submissively, and takes the beating, which he probably feels about as much as if a straw fell on him, good-humouredly. the children never seem to come to grief. buffaloes occasionally charge europeans, but the only place where i have known of burmans being killed by buffaloes is in the kalè valley. there the buffaloes are turned out into the jungle for eight months in the year, and are only caught for ploughing and carting. naturally they are quite wild; in fact, many of them are the offspring of wild bulls. the burmans, too, are very fond of dogs. their villages are full of dogs; but, as far as i know, they never use them for anything, and they are never trained to do anything. they are supposed to be useful as watch-dogs, but i do not think they are very good even at that. i have surrounded a village before dawn, and never a dog barked, and i have heard them bark all night at nothing. but when a burman sees a fox-terrier or any english dog his delight is unfeigned. when we first took upper burma, and such sights were rare, half a village would turn out to see the little 'tail-less' dog trotting along after its master. and if the terrier would 'beg,' then he would win all hearts. i am not only referring to children, but to grown men and women; and then there is always something peculiarly childlike and frank in these children of the great river. only to-day, as i was walking up the bank of the river in the early dawn, i heard some burman boatmen discussing my fox-terrier. they were about fifteen yards from the shore, poling their boat up against the current, which is arduous work; and as i passed them my little dog ran down the bank and looked at them across the water, and they saw her. 'see now,' said one man to another, pausing for a moment with his pole in his hand--'see the little white dog with the brown face, how wise she looks!' 'and how pretty!' said a man steering in the stern. 'come!' he cried, holding out his hand to it. but the dog only made a splash in the water with her paws, and then turned and ran after me. the boatmen laughed and resumed their poling, and i passed on. in the still morning across the still water i could hear every word, but i hardly took any note; i have heard it so often. only now when i come to write on this subject do i remember. it has been inculcated in us from childhood that it is a manly thing to be indifferent to pain--not to our own pain only, but to that of all others. to be sorry for a hunted hare, to compassionate the wounded deer, to shrink from torturing the brute creation, has been accounted by us as namby-pamby sentimentalism, not fit for man, fit only for a squeamish woman. to the burman it is one of the highest of all virtues. he believes that all that is beautiful in life is founded on compassion and kindness and sympathy--that nothing of great value can exist without them. do you think that a burmese boy would be allowed to birds'-nest, or worry rats with a terrier, or go ferreting? not so. these would be crimes. that this kindness and compassion for animals has very far-reaching results no one can doubt. if you are kind to animals, you will be kind, too, to your fellow-man. it is really the same thing, the same feeling in both cases. if to be superior in position to an animal justifies you in torturing it, so it would do with men. if you are in a better position than another man, richer, stronger, higher in rank, that would--that does often in our minds--justify ill-treatment and contempt. our innate feeling towards all that we consider inferior to ourselves is scorn; the burman's is compassion. you can see this spirit coming out in every action of their daily life, in their dealings with each other, in their thoughts, in their speech. 'you are so strong, have you no compassion for him who is weak, who is tempted, who has fallen?' how often have i heard this from a burman's lips! how often have i seen him act up to it! it seems to them the necessary corollary of strength that the strong man should be sympathetic and kind. it seems to them an unconscious confession of weakness to be scornful, revengeful, inconsiderate. courtesy, they say, is the mark of a great man, discourtesy of a little one. no one who feels his position secure will lose his temper, will persecute, will be disdainful. their word for a fool and for a hasty-tempered man is the same. to them it is the same thing, one infers the other. and so their attitude towards animals is but an example of their attitude to each other. that an animal or a man should be lower and weaker than you is the strongest claim he can have on your humanity, and your courtesy and consideration for him is the clearest proof of your own superiority. and so in his dealings with animals the buddhist considers himself, consults his own dignity, his own strength, and is kind and compassionate to them out of the greatness of his own heart. nothing is more beautiful than the burman in his ways with his children, and his beasts, with all who are lesser than himself. even to us, who think so very differently from him on many points, there is a great and abiding charm in all this, to which we can find only one exception; for to our ideas there is one exception, and it is this: no burman will take any life if he can help it, and therefore, if any animal injure itself, he will not kill it--not even to put it out of its pain, as we say. i have seen bullocks split on slippery roads, i have seen ponies with broken legs, i have seen goats with terrible wounds caused by accidental falls, and no one would kill them. if, when you are out shooting, your beaters pick up a wounded hare or partridge, do not suppose that they wring its neck; you must yourself do that, or it will linger on till you get home. under no circumstances will they take the life even of a wounded beast. and if you ask them, they will say: 'if a man be sick, do you shoot him? if he injure his spine so that he will be a cripple for life, do you put him out of his pain?' if you reply that men and beasts are different, they will answer that in this point they do not recognise the difference. 'poor beast! let him live out his little life.' and they will give him grass and water till he dies. this is the exception that i meant, but now, after i have written it, i am not so sure. is it an exception? chapter xxi all life is one 'i heard a voice that cried, "balder the beautiful is dead, is dead," and through the misty air passed like the mournful cry of sunward-sailing cranes.' tegner's _drapa_. all romance has died out of our woods and hills in england, all our fairies are dead long ago. knowledge so far has brought us only death. later on it will bring us a new life. it is even now showing us how this may be, and is bringing us face to face again with nature, and teaching us to know and understand the life that there is about us. science is telling us again what we knew long ago and forgot, that our life is not apart from the life about us, but of it. everything is akin to us, and when we are more accustomed to this knowledge, when we have ceased to regard it as a new, strange teaching, and know that we are but seeing again with clearer eyes what a half-knowledge blinded us to, then the world will be bright and beautiful to us as it was long ago. but now all is dark. there are no dryads in our trees, nor nymphs among the reeds that fringe the river; even our peaks hold for us no guardian spirit, that may take the reckless trespasser and bind him in a rock for ever. and because we have lost our belief in fairies, because we do not now think that there are goblins in our caves, because there is no spirit in the winds nor voice in the thunder, we have come to think that the trees and the rocks, the flowers and the storm, are all dead things. they are made up, we say, of materials that we know, they are governed by laws that we have discovered, and there is no life anywhere in nature. and yet this cannot be true. far truer is it to believe in fairies and in spirits than in nothing at all; for surely there is life all about us. who that has lived out alone in the forest, that has lain upon the hillside and seen the mountains clothe themselves in lustrous shadows shot with crimson when the day dies, who that has heard the sigh come up out of the ravines where the little breezes move, that has watched the trees sway their leaves to and fro, beckoning to each other with wayward amorous gestures, but has known that these are not dead things? watch the stream coming down the hill with a flash and a laugh in the sunlight, look into the dark brown pools in the deep shadows beneath the rocks, or voyage a whole night upon the breast of the great river, drifting past ghostly monasteries and silent villages, and then say if there be no life in the waters, if they, too, are dead things. there is no consolation like the consolation of nature, no sympathy like the sympathy of the hills and streams; and sympathy comes from life. there is no sympathy with the dead. when you are alone in the forest all this life will come and talk to you, if you are quiet and understand. there is love deep down in the passionate heart of the flower, as there is in the little quivering honeysucker flitting after his mate, as there was in romeo long ago. there is majesty in the huge brown precipice greater than ever looked from the face of a king. all life is one. the soul that moves within you when you hear the deer call to each other far above in the misty meadows of the night is the same soul that moves in everything about you. no people who have lived much with nature have failed to descry this. they have recognised the life, they have felt the sympathy of the world about them, and to this life they have given names and forms as they would to friends whom they loved. fairies and goblins, fauns and spirits, these are but names and personifications of a real life. but to him who has never felt this life, who has never been wooed by the trees and hills, these things are but foolishness, of course. to the burman, not less than to the greek of long ago, all nature is alive. the forest and the river and the mountains are full of spirits, whom the burmans call nats. there are all kinds of nats, good and bad, great and little, male and female, now living round about us. some of them live in the trees, especially in the huge fir-tree that shades half an acre without the village; or among the fernlike fronds of the tamarind; and you will often see beneath such a tree, raised upon poles or nestled in the branches, a little house built of bamboo and thatch, perhaps two feet square. you will be told when you ask that this is the house of the tree-nat. flowers will be offered sometimes, and a little water or rice maybe, to the nat, never supposing that he is in need of such things, but as a courteous and graceful thing to do; for it is not safe to offend these nats, and many of them are very powerful. there is a nat of whom i know, whose home is in a great tree at the crossing of two roads, and he has a house there built for him, and he is much feared. he is such a great nat that it is necessary when you pass his house to dismount from your pony and walk to a respectful distance. if you haughtily ride past, trouble will befall you. a friend of mine riding there one day rejected all the advice of his burmese companions and did not dismount, and a few days later he was taken deadly sick of fever. he very nearly died, and had to go away to the straits for a sea-trip to take the fever out of his veins. it was a very near thing for him. that was in the burmese times, of course. after that he always dismounted. but all nats are not so proud nor so much to be feared as this one, and it is usually safe to ride past. even as i write i am under the shadow of a tree where a nat used to live, and the headman of the village has been telling me all about it. this is a government rest-house on a main road between two stations, and is built for government officials travelling on duty about their districts. to the west of it is a grand fig-tree of the kind called nyaungbin by the burmese. it is a very beautiful tree, though now a little bare, for it is just before the rains; but it is a great tree even now, and two months hence it will be glorious. it was never planted, the headman tells me, but came up of itself very many years ago, and when it was grown to full size a nat came to live in it. the nat lived in the tree for many years, and took great care of it. no one might injure it or any living creature near it, so jealous was the nat of his abode. and the villagers built a little nat-house, such as i have described, under the branches, and offered flowers and water, and all things went well with those who did well. but if anyone did ill the nat punished him. if he cut the roots of the tree, the nat hurt his feet; and if he injured the branches, the nat injured his arms; and if he cut the trunk, the nat came down out of the tree, and killed the sacrilegious man right off. there was no running away, because, as you know, the headman said, nats can go a great deal faster than any man. many men, careless strangers, who camped under the tree and then abused the hospitality of the nat by hunting near his home, came to severe grief. but the nat has gone now, alas! the tree is still there, but the nat has fled away these many years. 'i suppose he didn't care to stay,' said the headman. 'you see that the english government officials came and camped here, and didn't fear the nats. they had fowls killed here for their dinner, and they sang and shouted; and they shot the green pigeons who ate his figs, and the little doves that nested in his branches.' all these things were an abomination to the nat, who hated loud, rough talk and abuse, and to whom all life was sacred. so the nat went away. the headman did not know where he was gone, but there are plenty of trees. 'he has gone somewhere to get peace,' the headman said. 'somewhere in the jungle, where no one ever comes save the herd-boy and the deer, he will be living in a tree, though i do not think he will easily find a tree so beautiful as this.' the headman seemed very sorry about it, and so did several villagers who were with him; and i suggested that if the nat-houses were rebuilt, and flowers and water offered, the nat might know and return. i even offered to contribute myself, that it might be taken as an _amende honorable_ on behalf of the english government. but they did not think this would be any use. no nat would come where there was so much going and coming, so little care for life, such a disregard for pity and for peace. if we were to take away our rest-house, well then, perhaps, after a time, something could be done, but not under present circumstances. and so, besides dethroning the burmese king, and occupying his golden palace, we are ousting from their pleasant homes the guardian spirits of the trees. they flee before the cold materialism of our belief, before the brutality of our manners. the headman did not say this; he did not mean to say this, for he is a very courteous man and a great friend of all of us; but that is what it came to, i think. the trunk of this tree is more than ten feet through--not a round bole, but like the pillar in a gothic cathedral, as of many smaller boles growing together; and the roots spread out into a pedestal before entering the ground. the trunk does not go up very far. at perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground it divides into a myriad of smaller trunks, not branches, till it looks more like a forest than a single tree; it is full of life still. though the pigeons and the doves come here no longer, there are a thousand other birds flitting to and fro in their aerial city and chirping to each other. two tiny squirrels have just run along a branch nearly over my head, in a desperate hurry apparently, their tails cocked over their backs, and a sky blue chameleon is standing on the trunk near where it parts. there is always a breeze in this great tree; the leaves are always moving, and there is a continuous rustle and murmur up there. a mango-tree and tamarind near by are quite still. not a breath shakes their leaves; they are as still as stone, but the shadow of the fig-tree is chequered with ever-changing lights. is the nat really gone? perhaps not; perhaps he is still there, still caring for his tree, only shy now and distrustful, and therefore no more seen. whole woods are enchanted sometimes, and no one dare enter them. such a wood i know, far away north, near the hills, which is full of nats. there was a great deal of game in it, for animals sought shelter there, and no one dared to disturb them; not the villagers to cut firewood, nor the girls seeking orchids, nor the hunter after his prey, dared to trespass upon that enchanted ground. 'what would happen,' i asked once, 'if anyone went into that wood? would he be killed, or what?' and i was told that no one could tell what would happen, only that he would never be seen again alive. 'the nats would confiscate him,' they said, 'for intruding on their privacy.' but what they would do to him after the confiscation no one seemed to be quite sure. i asked the official who was with me, a fine handsome burman who had been with us in many fights, whether he would go into the wood with me, but he declined at once. enemies are one thing, nats are quite another, and a very much more dreadful thing. you can escape from enemies, as witness my companion, who had been shot at times without number and had only once been hit, in the leg, but you cannot escape nats. once, he told me, there were two very sacrilegious men, hunters by profession, only more abandoned than even the majority of hunters, and they went into this wood to hunt 'they didn't care for nats,' they said. they didn't care for anything at all apparently. 'they were absolutely without reverence, worse than any beast,' said my companion. so they went into the wood to shoot, and they never came out again. a few days later their bare bones were found, flung out upon the road near the enchanted wood. the nats did not care to have even the bones of such scoundrels in their wood, and so thrust them out. that was what happened to them, and that was what might happen to us if we went in there. we did not go. though the nats of the forest will not allow even one of their beasts to be slain, the nats of the rivers are not so exclusive. i do not think fish are ever regarded in quite the same light as animals. it is true that a fervent buddhist will not kill even a fish, but a fisherman is not quite such a reprobate as a hunter in popular estimation. and the nats think so too, for the nat of a pool will not forbid all fishing. you must give him his share; you must be respectful to him, and not offend him; and then he will fill your nets with gleaming fish, and all will go well with you. if not, of course, you will come to grief; your nets will be torn, and your boat upset; and finally, if obstinate, you will be drowned. a great arm will seize you, and you will be pulled under and disappear for ever. a nat is much like a human being; if you treat him well he will treat you well, and conversely. courtesy is never wasted on men or nats, at least, so a burman tells me. the highest nats live in the mountains. the higher the nat the higher the mountain; and when you get to a very high peak indeed, like mainthong peak in wuntho, you encounter very powerful nats. they tell a story of mainthong peak and the nats there, how all of a sudden, one day in , strange noises came from the hill. high up on his mighty side was heard the sound of great guns firing slowly and continuously; there was the thunder of falling rocks, cries as of someone bewailing a terrible calamity, and voices calling from the precipices. the people living in their little hamlets about his feet were terrified. something they knew had happened of most dire import to them, some catastrophe which they were powerless to prevent, which they could not even guess. but when a few weeks later there came even into those remote villages the news of the fall of mandalay, of the surrender of the king, of the 'great treachery,' they knew that this was what the nats had been sorrowing over. all the nats everywhere seem to have been distressed at our arrival, to hate our presence, and to earnestly desire our absence. they are the spirits of the country and of the people, and they cannot abide a foreign domination. but the greatest place for nats is the popa mountain, which is an extinct volcano standing all alone about midway between the river and the shan mountains. it is thus very conspicuous, having no hills near it to share its majesty; and being in sight from many of the old capitals, it is very well known in history and legend. it is covered with dense forest, and the villages close about are few. at the top there is a crater with a broken side, and a stream comes flowing out of this break down the mountain. probably it was the denseness of its forests, the abundance of water, and its central position, more than its guardian nats, that made it for so many years the last retreating-place of the half-robber, half-patriot bands that made life so uneasy for us. but the nats of popa mountains are very famous. when any foreigner was taken into the service of the king of burma he had to swear an oath of fidelity. he swore upon many things, and among them were included 'all the nats in popa.' no burman would have dared to break an oath sworn in such a serious way as this, and they did not imagine that anyone else would. it was and is a very dangerous thing to offend the popa nats; for they are still there in the mountain, and everyone who goes there must do them reverence. a friend of mine, a police officer, who was engaged in trying to catch the last of the robber chiefs who hid near popa, told me that when he went up the mountain shooting he, too, had to make offerings. some way up there is a little valley dark with overhanging trees, and a stream flows slowly along it. it is an enchanted valley, and if you look closely you will see that the stream is not as other streams, for it flows uphill. it comes rushing into the valley with a great display of foam and froth, and it leaves in a similar way, tearing down the rocks, and behaving like any other boisterous hill rivulet; but in the valley itself it lies under a spell. it is slow and dark, and has a surface like a mirror, and it flows uphill. there is no doubt about it; anyone can see it. when they came here, my friend tells me, they made a halt, and the burmese hunters with him unpacked his breakfast. he did not want to eat then, he said, but they explained that it was not for him, but for the nats. all his food was unpacked, cold chicken and tinned meats, and jam and eggs and bread, and it was spread neatly on a cloth under a tree. then the hunters called upon the nats to come and take anything they desired, while my friend wondered what he should do if the nats took all his food and left him with nothing. but no nats came, although the burmans called again and again. so they packed up the food, saying that now the nats would be pleased at the courtesy shown to them, and that my friend would have good sport. presently they went on, leaving, however, an egg or two and a little salt, in case the nats might be hungry later, and true enough it was that they did have good luck. at other times, my friend says, when he did not observe this ceremony, he saw nothing to shoot at all, but on this day he did well. the former history of all nats is not known. whether they have had a previous existence in another form, and if so, what, is a secret that they usually keep carefully to themselves, but the history of the popa nats is well known. everyone who lives near the great hill can tell you that, for it all happened not so long ago. how long exactly no one can say, but not so long that the details of the story have become at all clouded by the mists of time. they were brother and sister, these popa nats, and they had lived away up north. the brother was a blacksmith, and he was a very strong man. he was the strongest man in all the country; the blow of his hammer on the anvil made the earth tremble, and his forge was as the mouth of hell. no one was so much feared and so much sought after as he. and as he was strong, so his sister was beautiful beyond all the maidens of the time. their father and mother were dead, and there was no one but those two, the brother and sister, so they loved each other dearly, and thought of no one else. the brother brought home no wife to his house by the forge. he wanted no one while he had his sister there, and when lovers came wooing to her, singing amorous songs in the amber dusk, she would have nothing to do with them. so they lived there together, he growing stronger and she more beautiful every day, till at last a change came. the old king died, and a new king came to the throne, and orders were sent about to all the governors of provinces and other officials that the most beautiful maidens were to be sent down to the golden city to be wives to the great king. so the governor of that country sent for the blacksmith and his sister to his palace, and told them there what orders he had received, and asked the blacksmith to give his sister that she might be sent as queen to the king. we are not told what arguments the governor used to gain his point, but only this, that when he failed, he sent the girl in unto his wife, and there she was persuaded to go. there must have been something very tempting, to one who was but a village girl, in the prospect of being even one of the lesser queens, of living in the palace, the centre of the world. so she consented at last, and her brother consented, and the girl was sent down under fitting escort to find favour in the eyes of her king. but the blacksmith refused to go. it was no good the governor saying such a great man as he must come to high honour in the golden city, it was useless for the girl to beg and pray him to come with her--he always refused. so she sailed away down the great river, and the blacksmith returned to his forge. as the governor had said, the girl was acceptable in the king's sight, and she was made at last one of the principal queens, and of all she had most power over the king. they say she was most beautiful, that her presence was as soothing as shade after heat, that her form was as graceful as a young tree, and the palms of her hands were like lotus blossoms. she had enemies, of course. most of the other queens were her enemies, and tried to do her harm. but it was useless telling tales of her to the king, for the king never believed; and she walked so wisely and so well, that she never fell into any snare. but still the plots never ceased. there was one day when she was sitting alone in the garden pavilion, with the trees making moving shadows all about her, that the king came to her. they talked for a time, and the king began to speak to her of her life before she came to the palace, a thing he had never done before. but he seemed to know all about it, nevertheless, and he spoke to her of her brother, and said that he, the king, had heard how no man was so strong as this blacksmith, the brother of the queen. the queen said it was true, and she talked on and on and praised her brother, and babbled of the days of her childhood, when he carried her on his great shoulder, and threw her into the air, catching her again. she was delighted to talk of all these things, and in her pleasure she forgot her discretion, and said that her brother was wise as well as strong, and that all the people loved him. never was there such a man as he. the king did not seem very pleased with it all, but he said only that the blacksmith was a great man, and that the queen must write to him to come down to the city, that the king might see him of whom there was such great report. then the king got up and went away, and the queen began to doubt; and the more she thought the more she feared she had not been acting wisely in talking as she did, for it is not wise to praise anyone to a king. she went away to her own room to consider, and to try if she could hear of any reason why the king should act as he had done, and desire her brother to come to him to the city; and she found out that it was all a plot of her enemies. herself they had failed to injure, so they were now plotting against her through her brother. they had gone to the king, and filled his ear with slanderous reports. they had said that the queen's brother was the strongest man in all the kingdom. 'he was cunning, too,' they said, 'and very popular among all the people; and he was so puffed up with pride, now that his sister was a queen, that there was nothing he did not think he could do.' they represented to the king how dangerous such a man was in a kingdom, that it would be quite easy for him to raise such rebellion as the king could hardly put down, and that he was just the man to do such a thing. nay, it was indeed proved that he must be disloyally plotting something, or he would have come down with his sister to the city when she came. but now many months had passed, and he never came. clearly he was not to be trusted. any other man whose sister was a queen would have come and lived in the palace, and served the king and become a minister, instead of staying up there and pretending to be a blacksmith. the king's mind had been much disturbed by this, for it seemed to him that it must be in part true; and he went to the queen, as i have said, and his suspicions had not been lulled by what she told him, so he had ordered her to write to her brother to come down to the palace. the queen was terrified when she saw what a mistake she had made, and how she had fallen into the trap of her enemies; but she hoped that the king would forget, and she determined that she would send no order to her brother to come. but the next day the king came back to the subject, and asked her if she had yet sent the letter, and she said 'no!' the king was very angry at this disobedience to his orders, and he asked her how it came that she had not done as he had commanded, and sent a letter to her brother to call him to the palace. then the queen fell at the king's feet and told him all her fears that her brother was sent for only to be imprisoned or executed, and she begged and prayed the king to leave him in peace up there in his village. she assured the king that he was loyal and good, and would do no evil. the king was rather abashed that his design had been discovered, but he was firm in his purpose. he assured the queen that the blacksmith should come to no harm, but rather good; and he ordered the queen to obey him, threatening her that if she refused he would be sure that she was disloyal also, and there would be no alternative but to send and arrest the blacksmith by force, and punish her, the queen, too. then the queen said that if the king swore to her that her brother should come to no harm, she would write as ordered. _and the king swore._ so the queen wrote to her brother, and adjured him by his love to her to come down to the golden city. she said she had dire need of him, and she told him that the king had sworn that no harm should come to him. the letter was sent off by a king's messenger. in due time the blacksmith arrived, and he was immediately seized and thrown into prison to await his trial. when the queen saw that she had been deceived, she was in despair. she tried by every way, by tears and entreaties and caresses, to move the king, but all without avail. then she tried by plotting and bribery to gain her brother's release, but it was all in vain. the day for trial came quickly, and the blacksmith was tried, and he was condemned and sentenced to be burnt alive by the river on the following day. on the evening of the day of trial the queen sent a message to the king to come to her; and when the king came reluctantly, fearing a renewal of entreaties, expecting a woman made of tears and sobs, full of grief, he found instead that the queen had dried her eyes and dressed herself still more beautifully than ever, till she seemed to the king the very pearl among women. and she told the king that he was right, and she was wrong. she said, putting her arms about him and caressing him, that she had discovered that it was true that her brother had been plotting against the king, and therefore his death was necessary. it was terrible, she said, to find that her brother, whom she had always held as a pattern, was no better than a traitor; but it was even so, and her king was the wisest of all kings to find it out. the king was delighted to find his queen in this mood, and he soothed her and talked to her kindly and sweetly, for he really loved her, though he had given in to bad advice about the brother. and when the king's suspicions were lulled, the queen said to him that she had now but one request to make, and that was that she might have permission to go down with her maids to the river-shore in the early morning, and see herself the execution of her traitor brother. the king, who would now have granted her anything--anything she asked, except just that one thing, the life of her brother--gave permission; and then the queen said that she was tired and wished to rest after all the trouble of the last few days, and would the king leave her. so the king left her to herself, and went away to his own chambers. very early in the morning, ere the crimson flush upon the mountains had faded in the light of day, a vast crowd was gathered below the city, by the shore of the great river. very many thousands were there, of many countries and peoples, crowding down to see a man die, to see a traitor burnt to death for his sins, for there is nothing men like so much as to see another man die. upon a little headland jutting out into the river the pyre was raised, with brushwood and straw, to burn quickly, and an iron post in the middle to which the man was to be chained. at one side was a place reserved, and presently down from the palace in a long procession came the queen and her train of ladies to the place kept for her. guards were put all about to prevent the people crowding; and then came the soldiers, and in the midst of them the blacksmith; and amid many cries of 'traitor, traitor!' and shouts of derision, he was bound to the iron post within the wood and the straw, and the guards fell back. the queen sat and watched it all, and said never a word. fire was put to the pyre, and it crept rapidly up in long red tongues with coils of black smoke. it went very quickly, for the wood was very dry, and a light breeze came laughing up the river and helped it. the flames played about the man chained there in the midst, and he made never a sign; only he looked steadily across at the purple mountain where his home lay, and it was clear that in a few more moments he would be dead. there was a deep silence everywhere. then of a sudden, before anyone knew, before a hand could be held out to hinder her, the queen rose from her seat and ran to the pyre. in a moment she was there and had thrown herself into the flames, and with her arms about her brother's neck she turned and faced the myriad eyes that glared upon them--the queen, in all the glory of her beauty, glittering with gems, and the man with great shackled bare limbs, dressed in a few rags, his muscles already twisted with the agony of the fire. a great cry of horror came from the people, and there was the movement of guards and officers rushing to stop the fire; but it was all of no use. a flash of red flames came out of the logs, folding these twain like an imperial cloak, a whirl of sparks towered into the air, and when one could see again the woman and her brother were no longer there. they were dead and burnt, and the bodies mingled with the ashes of the fire. she had cost her brother his life, and she went with him into death. some days after this a strange report was brought to the palace. by the landing-place near the spot where the fire had been was a great fig-tree. it was so near to the landing-place, and was such a magnificent tree, that travellers coming from the boats, or waiting for a boat to arrive, would rest in numbers under its shade. but the report said that something had happened there. to travellers sleeping beneath the tree at night it was stated that two nats had appeared, very large and very beautiful, a man nat and a woman nat, and had frightened them very much indeed. noises were heard in the tree, voices and cries, and a strange terror came upon those who approached it. nay, it was even said that men had been struck by unseen hands and severely hurt, and others, it was said, had disappeared. children who went to play under the tree were never seen again: the nats took them, and their parents sought for them in vain. so the landing-place was deserted, and a petition was brought to the king, and the king gave orders that the tree should be hewn down. so the tree was cut down, and its trunk was thrown into the river; it floated away out of sight, and nothing happened to the men who cut the tree, though they were deadly afraid. the tree floated down for days, until at last it stranded near a landing-place that led to a large town, where the governor of these parts lived; and at this landing-place the portents that had frightened the people at the great city reappeared and terrified the travellers here too, and they petitioned the governor. the governor sought out a great monk, a very holy man learned in these matters, and sent him to inquire, and the monk came down to the tree and spoke. he said that if any nats lived in the tree, they should speak to him and tell him what they wanted. 'it is not fit,' he said, 'for great nats to terrify the poor villagers at the landing-place. let the nats speak and say what they require. all that they want shall be given.' and the nats spake and said that they wanted a place to live in where they could be at peace, and the monk answered for the governor that all his land was at their disposal. 'let the nats choose,' he said; 'all the country is before them.' so the nats chose, and said that they would have popa mountain, and the monk agreed. the nats then left the tree and went away, far away inland, to the great popa mountain, and took up their abode there, and all the people there feared and reverenced them, and even made to their honour two statues with golden heads and set them up on the mountain. this is the story of the popa nats, the greatest nats of all the country of burma, the guardian spirits of the mysterious mountain. the golden heads of the statues are now in one of our treasuries, put there for safe custody during the troubles, though it is doubtful if even then anyone would have dared to steal them, so greatly are the nats feared. and the hunters and the travellers there must offer to the nats little offerings, if they would be safe in these forests, and even the young man must obtain permission from the nats before he marry. i think these stories that i have told, stories selected from very many that i have heard, will show what sort of spirits these are that the burmese have peopled their trees and rivers with; will show what sort of religion it is that underlies, without influencing, the creed of the buddha that they follow. it is of the very poetry of superstition, free from brutality, from baseness, from anything repulsive, springing, as i have said, from their innate sympathy with nature and recognition of the life that works in all things. it always seems to me that beliefs such as these are a great key to the nature of a people, are, apart from all interest in their beauty, and in their akinness to other beliefs, of great value in trying to understand the character of a nation. for to beings such as nats and fairies the people who believe in them will attribute such qualities as are predominant in themselves, as they consider admirable; and, indeed, all supernatural beings are but the magnified shadows of man cast by the light of his imagination upon the mists of his ignorance. therefore, when you find that a people make their spirits beautiful and fair, calm and even tempered, loving peace and the beauty of the trees and rivers, shrinkingly averse from loud words, from noises, and from the taking of life, it is because the people themselves think that these are great qualities. if no stress be laid upon their courage, their activity, their performance of great deeds, it is because the people who imagine them care not for such things. there is no truer guide, i am sure, to the heart of a young people than their superstitions; these they make entirely for themselves, apart from their religion, which is, to a certain extent, made for them. that is why i have written this chapter on nats: not because i think it affects buddhism very much one way or another, but because it seems to me to reveal the people themselves, because it helps us to understand them better, to see more with their eyes, to be in unison with their ideas--because it is a great key to the soul of the people. chapter xxii death, the deliverer 'the end of my life is near at hand; seven days hence, like a man who rids himself of a heavy load, i shall be free from the burden of my body.'--_death of the buddha._ there is a song well known to all the burmese, the words of which are taken from the sacred writings. it is called the story of ma pa da, and it was first told to me by a burmese monk, long ago, when i was away on the frontier. it runs like this: in the time of the buddha, in the city of thawatti, there was a certain rich man, a merchant, who had many slaves. slaves in those days, and, indeed, generally throughout the east, were held very differently to slaves in europe. they were part of the family, and were not saleable without good reason, and there was a law applicable to them. they were not _hors de la loi_, like the slaves of which we have conception. there are many cases quoted of sisters being slaves to sisters, and of brothers to brothers, quoted not for the purpose of saying that this was an uncommon occurrence, but merely of showing points of law in such cases. one day in the market the merchant bought another slave, a young man, handsome and well mannered, and took him to his house, and kept him there with his family and the other slaves. the young man was earnest and careful in his work, and the merchant approved of him, and his fellow-slaves liked him. but ma pa da, the merchant's daughter, fell in love with him. the slave was much troubled at this, and he did his best to avoid her; but he was a slave and under orders, and what could he do? when she would come to him secretly and make love to him, and say, 'let us flee together, for we love each other,' he would refuse, saying that he was a slave, and the merchant would be very angry. he said he could not do such a thing. and yet when the girl said, 'let us flee, for we love each other,' he knew that it was true, and that he loved her as she loved him; and it was only his honour to his master that held him from doing as she asked. but because his heart was not of iron, and there are few men that can resist when a woman comes and woos them, he at last gave way; and they fled away one night, the girl and the slave, taking with them her jewels and some money. they travelled rapidly and in great fear, and did not rest till they came to a city far away where the merchant would never, they thought, think of searching for them. here, in this city where no one knew of their history, they lived in great happiness, husband and wife, trading with the money they had with them. and in time a little child was born to them. about two or three years after this it became necessary for the husband to take a journey, and he started forth with his wife and child. the journey was a very long one, and they were unduly delayed; and so it happened that while still in the forest the wife fell ill, and could not go on any further. so the husband built a hut of branches and leaves, and there, in the solitude of the forest, was born to them another little son. the mother recovered rapidly, and in a little time she was well enough to go on. they were to start next morning on their way again; and in the evening the husband went out, as was his custom, to cut firewood, for the nights were cold and damp. ma pa da waited and waited for him, but he never came back. the sun set and the dark rose out of the ground, and the forest became full of whispers, but he never came. all night she watched and waited, caring for her little ones, fearful to leave them alone, till at last the gray light came down, down from the sky to the branches, and from the branches to the ground, and she could see her way. then, with her new-born babe in her arms and the elder little fellow trotting by her side, she went out to search for her husband. soon enough she found him, not far off, stiff and cold beside his half-cut bundle of firewood. a snake had bitten him on the ankle, and he was dead. so ma pa da was alone in the great forest, but a girl still, with two little children to care for. but she was brave, despite her trouble, and she determined to go on and gain some village. she took her baby in her arms and the little one by the hand, and started on her journey. and for a time all went well, till at last she came to a stream. it was not very deep, but it was too deep for the little boy to wade, for it came up to his neck, and his mother was not strong enough to carry both at once. so, after considering for a time, she told the elder boy to wait. she would cross and put the baby on the far side, and return for him. 'be good,' she said; 'be good, and stay here quietly till i come back;' and the boy promised. the stream was deeper and swifter than she thought; but she went with great care and gained the far side, and put the baby under a tree a little distance from the bank, to lie there while she went for the other boy. then, after a few minutes' rest, she went back. she had got to the centre of the stream, and her little boy had come down to the margin to be ready for her, when she heard a rush and a cry from the side she had just left; and, looking round, she saw with terror a great eagle sweep down upon the baby, and carry it off in its claws. she turned round and waved her arms and cried out to the eagle, 'he! he!' hoping it would be frightened and drop the baby. but it cared nothing for her cries or threats, and swept on with long curves over the forest trees, away out of sight. then the mother turned to gain the bank once more, and suddenly she missed her son who had been waiting for her. he had seen his mother wave her arms; he had heard her shout, and he thought she was calling him to come to her. so the brave little man walked down into the water, and the black current carried him off his feet at once. he was gone, drowned in the deep water below the ford, tossing on the waves towards the sea. no one can write of the despair of the girl when she threw herself under a tree in the forest. the song says it was very terrible. at last she said to herself, 'i will get up now and return to my father in thawatti; he is all i have left. though i have forsaken him all these years, yet now that my husband and his children are dead, my father will take me back again. surely he will have pity on me, for i am much to be pitied.' so she went on, and at length, after many days, she came to the gates of the great city where her father lived. at the entering of the gates she met a large company of people, mourners, returning from a funeral, and she spoke to them and asked them: 'who is it that you have been burying to-day so grandly with so many mourners?' and the people answered her, and told her who it was. and when she heard, she fell down upon the road as one dead: for it was her father and mother who had died yesterday, and it was their funeral train that she saw. they were all dead now, husband and sons and father and mother; in all the world she was quite alone. so she went mad, for her trouble was more than she could bear. she threw off all her clothes, and let down her long hair and wrapped it about her naked body, and walked about raving. at last she came to where the buddha was teaching, seated under a fig-tree. she came up to the buddha, and told him of her losses, and how she had no one left; and she demanded of the buddha that he should restore to her those that she had lost. and the buddha had great compassion upon her, and tried to console her. 'all die,' he said; 'it comes to everyone, king and peasant, animal and man. only through many deaths can we obtain the great peace. all this sorrow,' he said, 'is of the earth. all this is passion which we must get rid of, and forget before we reach heaven. be comforted, my daughter, and turn to the holy life. all suffer as you do. it is part of our very existence here, sorrow and trouble without any end.' but she would not be comforted, but demanded her dead of the buddha. then, because he saw it was no use talking to her, that her ears were deaf with grief, and her eyes blinded with tears, he said to her that he would restore to her those who were dead. 'you must go,' he said, 'my daughter, and get some mustard-seed, a pinch of mustard-seed, and i can bring back their lives. only you must get this seed from the garden of him near whom death has never come. get this, and all will be well.' so the woman went forth with a light heart. it was so simple, only a pinch of mustard-seed, and mustard grew in every garden. she would get the seed and be back very quickly, and then the lord buddha would give her back those she loved who had died. she clothed herself again and tied up her hair, and went cheerfully and asked at the first house, 'give me a pinch of mustard-seed,' and it was given readily. so with her treasure in her hand she was going forth back to the buddha full of delight, when she remembered. 'has ever anyone died in your household?' she asked, looking round wistfully. the man answered 'yes,' that death had been with them but recently. who could this woman be, he thought, to ask such a question? and the woman went forth, the seed dropping from her careless fingers, for it was of no value. so she would try again and again, but it was always the same. death had taken his tribute from all. father or mother, son or brother, daughter or wife, there was always a gap somewhere, a vacant place beside the meal. from house to house throughout the city she went, till at last the new hope faded away, and she learned from the world, what she had not believed from the buddha, that death and life are one. so she returned, and she became a nun, poor soul! taking on her the two hundred and twenty-seven vows, which are so hard to keep that nowadays nuns keep but five of them.[ ] this is the teaching of the buddha, that death is inevitable; this is the consolation he offers, that all men must know death; no one can escape death; no one can escape the sorrow of the death of those whom he loves. death, he says, and life are one; not antagonistic, but the same; and the only way to escape from one is to escape from the other too. only in the great peace, when we have found refuge from the passion and tumult of life, shall we find the place where death cannot come. life and death are one. this is the teaching of the buddha, repeated over and over again to his disciples when they sorrowed for the death of thariputra, when they were in despair at the swift-approaching end of the great teacher himself. hear what he says to ananda, the beloved disciple, who is mourning over thariputra. 'ananda,' he said, 'often and often have i sought to bring shelter to your soul from the misery caused by such grief as this. there are two things alone that can separate us from father and mother, from brother and sister, from all those who are most cherished by us, and those two things are distance and death. think not that i, though the buddha, have not felt all this even as any other of you; was i not alone when i was seeking for wisdom in the wilderness? 'and yet what would i have gained by wailing and lamenting either for myself or for others? would it have brought to me any solace from my loneliness? would it have been any help to those whom i had left? there is nothing that can happen to us, however terrible, however miserable, that can justify tears and lamentations and make them aught but a weakness.' and so, we are told, in this way the buddha soothed the affliction of ananda, and filled his soul with consolation--the consolation of resignation. for there is no other consolation possible but this, resignation to the inevitable, the conviction of the uselessness of sorrow, the vanity and selfishness of grief. there is no meeting again with the dead. nowhere in the recurring centuries shall we meet again those whom we have loved, whom we love, who seem to us to be parts of our very soul. that which survives of us, the part which is incarnated again and again, until it be fit for heaven, has nothing to do with love and hate. even if in the whirlpool of life our paths should cross again the paths of those whom we have loved, we are never told that we shall know them again and love them. a friend of mine has just lost his mother, and he is very much distressed. he must have been very fond of her, for although he has a wife and children, and is happy in his family, he is in great sorrow. he proposes even to build a pagoda over her remains, a testimony of respect which in strict buddhism is reserved to saints. he has been telling me about this, and how he is trying to get a sacred relic to put in the pagoda, and i asked him if he never hoped again to meet the soul of his mother on earth or in heaven, and he answered: 'no. it is very hard, but so are many things, and they have to be borne. far better it is to face the truth than to escape by a pleasant falsehood. there is a burmese proverb that tells us that all the world is one vast burial-ground; there are dead men everywhere.' 'one of our great men has said the same,' i answered. he was not surprised. 'as it is true,' he said, 'i suppose all great men would see it.' thus there is no escape, no loophole for a delusive hope, only the cultivation of the courage of sorrow. there are never any exceptions to the laws of the buddha. if a law is a law, that is the end of it. just as we know of no exceptions to the law of gravitation, so there are no exceptions to the law of death. but although this may seem to be a religion of despair, it is not really so. this sorrow to which there is no relief is the selfishness of sorrow, the grief for our own loneliness; for of sorrow, of fear, of pity for the dead, there is no need. we know that in time all will be well with them. we know that, though there may be before them vast periods of suffering, yet that they will all at last be in nebhan with us. and if we shall not know them there, still we shall know that they are there, all of them--not one will be wanting. purified from the lust of life, white souls steeped in the great peace, all living things will attain rest at last. there is this remarkable fact in buddhism, that nowhere is any fear expressed of death itself, nowhere any apprehension of what may happen to the dead. it is the sorrow of separation, the terror of death to the survivors, that is always dwelt upon with compassion, and the agony of which it is sought to soothe. that the dying man himself should require strengthening to face the king of terrors is hardly ever mentioned. it seems to be taken for granted that men should have courage in themselves to take leave of life becomingly, without undue fears. buddhism is the way to show us the escape from the miseries of life, not to give us hope in the hour of death. it is true that to all orientals death is a less fearful thing than it is to us. i do not know what may be the cause of this, courage certainly has little to do with it; but it is certain that the purely physical fear of death, that horror and utter revulsion that seizes the majority of us at the idea of death, is absent from most orientals. and yet this cannot explain it all. for fear of death, though less, is still there, is still a strong influence upon their lives, and it would seem that no religion which ignored this great fact could become a great living religion. religion is made for man, to fit his necessities, not man for religion, and yet the faith of buddhism is not concerned with death. consider our faith, how much of its teaching consists of how to avoid the fear of death, how much of its consolation is for the death-bed. how we are taught all our lives that we should live so as not to fear death; how we have priests and sacraments to soothe the dying man, and give him hope and courage, and how the crown and summit of our creed is that we should die easily. and consider that in buddhism all this is absolutely wanting. buddhism is a creed of life, of conduct; death is the end of that life, that is all. we have all seen death. we have all of us watched those who, near and dear to us, go away out of our ken. there is no need for me to recall the last hours of those of our faith, to bring up again the fading eye and waning breath, the messages of hope we search for in our scriptures to give hope to him who is going, the assurances of religion, the cross held before the dying eyes. many men, we are told, turn to religion at the last after a life of wickedness, and a man may do so even at the eleventh hour and be saved. that is part of our belief; that is the strongest part of our belief; and that is the hope that all fervent christians have, that those they love may be saved even at the end. i think it may truly be said that our western creeds are all directed at the hour of death, as the great and final test of that creed. and now think of buddhism; it is a creed of life. in life you must win your way to salvation by urgent effort, by suffering, by endurance. on your death-bed you can do nothing. if you have done well, then it is well; if ill, then you must in future life try again and again till you succeed. a life is not washed, a soul is not made fit for the dwelling of eternity, in a moment. repentance to a buddhist is but the opening of the eyes to see the path to righteousness; it has no virtue in itself. to have seen that we are sinners is but the first step to cleansing our sin; in itself it cannot purify. as well ask a robber of the poor to repent, and suppose thereby that those who have suffered from his guilt are compensated for the evil done to them by his repentance, as to ask a buddhist to believe that a sinner can at the last moment make good to his own soul all the injuries caused to that soul by the wickedness of his life. or suppose a man who has destroyed his constitution by excess to be by the very fact of acknowledging that excess restored to health. the buddhist will not have that at all. a man is what he makes himself; and that making is a matter of terrible effort, of unceasing endeavour towards the right, of constant suppression of sin, till sin be at last dead within him. if a man has lived a wicked life, he dies a wicked man, and no wicked man can obtain the perfect rest of the sinless dead. heaven is shut to him. but if heaven is shut it is not shut for ever; if hell may perhaps open to him it is only for a time, only till he is purified and washed from the stain of his sins; and then he can begin again, and have another chance to win heaven. if there is no immediate heaven there is no eternal hell, and in due time all will reach heaven; all will have learnt, through suffering, the wisdom the buddha has shown to us, that only by a just life can men reach the great peace even as he did. so that if buddhism has none of the consolation for the dying man that christianity holds out, in the hope of heaven, so it has none of the threats and terrors of our faith. there is no fear of an angry judge--of a judge who is angry. and yet when i came to think over the matter, it seemed to me that surely there must be something to calm him in the face of death. if buddhism does not furnish this consolation, he must go elsewhere for it. and i was not satisfied, because i could find nothing in the sacred books about a man's death, that therefore the creed of the people had ignored it. a living creed must, i was sure, provide for this somehow. so i went to a friend of mine, a burman magistrate, and i asked him: 'when a man is dying, what does he try to think of? what do you say to comfort him that his last moments may be peace? the monks do not come, i know.' 'the monks!' he said, shaking his head; 'what could they do?' i did not know. 'can you do anything,' i asked, 'to cheer him? do you speak to him of what may happen after death, of hopes of another life?' 'no one can tell,' said my friend, 'what will happen after death. it depends on a man's life, if he has done good or evil, what his next existence will be, whether he will go a step nearer to the peace. when the man is dying no monks will come, truly; but an old man, an old friend, father, perhaps, or an elder of the village, and he will talk to the dying man. he will say, "think of your good deeds; think of all that you have done well in this life. think of your good deeds."' 'what is the use of that?' i asked. 'suppose you think of your good deeds, what then? will that bring peace?' the burman seemed to think that it would. 'nothing,' he said, 'was so calming to a man's soul as to think of even one deed he had done well in his life.' think of the man dying. the little house built of bamboo and thatch, with an outer veranda, where the friends are sitting, and the inner room, behind a wall of bamboo matting, where the man is lying. a pot of flowers is standing on a shelf on one side, and a few cloths are hung here and there beneath the brown rafters. the sun comes in through little chinks in roof and wall, making curious lights in the semi-darkness of the room, and it is very hot. from outside come the noises of the village, cries of children playing, grunts of cattle, voices of men and women clearly heard through the still clear air of the afternoon. there is a woman pounding rice near by with a steady thud, thud of the lever, and there is a clink of a loom where a girl is weaving ceaselessly. all these sounds come into the house as if there were no walls at all, but they are unheeded from long custom. the man lies on a low bed with a fine mat spread under him for bedding. his wife, his grown-up children, his sister, his brother are about him, for the time is short, and death comes very quickly in the east. they talk to him kindly and lovingly, but they read to him no sacred books; they give him no messages from the world to which he is bound; they whisper to him no hopes of heaven. he is tortured with no fears of everlasting hell. yet life is sweet and death is bitter, and it is hard to go; and as he tosses to and fro in his fever there comes in to him an old friend, the headman of the village perhaps, with a white muslin fillet bound about his kind old head, and he sits beside the dying man and speaks to him. 'remember,' he says slowly and clearly, 'all those things that you have done well. think of your good deeds.' and as the sick man turns wearily, trying to move his thoughts as he is bidden, trying to direct the wheels of memory, the old man helps him to remember. 'think,' he says, 'of your good deeds, of how you have given charity to the monks, of how you have fed the poor. remember how you worked and saved to build the little rest-house in the forest where the traveller stays and finds water for his thirst. all these are pleasant things, and men will always be grateful to you. remember your brother, how you helped him in his need, how you fed him and went security for him till he was able again to secure his own living. you did well to him, surely that is a pleasant thing.' i do not think it difficult to see how the sick man's face will lighten, how his eyes will brighten at the thoughts that come to him at the old man's words. and he goes on: 'remember when the squall came up the river and the boat upset when you were crossing here; how it seemed as if no man could live alone in such waves, and yet how you clung to and saved the boy who was with you, swimming through the water that splashed over your head and very nearly drowned you. the boy's father and mother have never forgotten that, and they are even now mourning without in the veranda. it is all due to you that their lives have not been full of misery and despair. remember their faces when you brought their little son to them saved from death in the great river. surely that is a pleasant thing. remember your wife who is now with you; how you have loved her and cherished her, and kept faithful to her before all the world. you have been a good husband to her, and you have honoured her. she loves you, and you have loved her all your long life together. surely that is a pleasant thing.' yes, surely these are pleasant things to have with one at the last. surely a man will die easier with such memories as these before his eyes, with love in those about him, and the calm of good deeds in his dying heart. if it be a different way of soothing a man's end from those which other nations use, is it the worse for that? think of your good deeds. it seems a new idea to me that in doing well in our life we are making for ourselves a pleasant death, because of the memory of those things. and if we have none? or if evil so outnumbered the good deeds as to hide and overwhelm them, what then? a man's death will be terrible indeed if he cannot in all his days remember one good deed that he has done. 'all a man's life comes before him at the hour of death,' said my informant; 'all, from the earliest memory to the latest breath. like a whole landscape called by a flash of lightning out of the dark night. it is all there, every bit of it, good and evil, pleasure and pain, sin and righteousness.' a man cannot escape from his life even in death. in our acts of to-day we are determining what our death will be; if we have lived well, we shall die well; and if not, then not. as a man lives so shall he die, is the teaching of buddhism as of other creeds. so what buddhism has to offer to the dying believer is this, that if he live according to its tenets he will die happily, and that in the life that he will next enter upon he will be less and less troubled by sin, less and less wedded to the lust of life, until sometime, far away, he shall gain the great deliverance. he shall have perfect peace, perfect rest, perfect happiness, he and his, in that heaven where his teacher went before him long ago. and if we should say that this deliverance from life, this great peace, is death, what matter, if it be indeed peace? footnote: [ ] these five vows are: . not to take life. . to be honest. . to tell the truth. . to abstain from intoxicants. . chastity. chapter xxiii the potter's wheel 'life is like a great whirlpool wherein we are dashed to and fro by our passions.'--_saying of the buddha._ it is a hard teaching, this of the buddha about death. it is a teaching that may appeal to the reason, but not to the soul, that when life goes out, this thing which we call 'i' goes out with it, and that love and remembrance are dead for ever. it is so hard a teaching that in its purity the people cannot believe it. they accept it, but they have added on to it a belief which changes the whole form of it, a belief that is the outcome of that weakness of humanity which insists that death is not and cannot be all. though to the strict buddhist death is the end of all worldly passion, to the burmese villager that is not so. he cannot grasp, he cannot endure that it should be so, and he has made for himself out of buddhism a belief that is opposed to all buddhism in this matter. he believes in the transmigration of souls, in the survival of the 'i.' the teaching that what survives is not the 'i,' but only the result of its action, is too deep for him to hold. true, if a flame dies the effects that it has caused remain, and the flame is dead for ever. a new flame is a new flame. but the 'i' of man cannot die, he thinks; it lives and loves for all time. he has made out of the teaching a new teaching that is very far from that of the buddha, and the teaching is this: when a man dies his soul remains, his 'i' has only changed its habitation. still it lives and breathes on earth, not the effect, but the soul itself. it is reborn among us, and it may even be recognised very often in its new abode. and that we should never forget this, that we should never doubt that this is true, it has been so ordered that many can remember something of these former lives of theirs. this belief is not to a burman a mere theory, but is as true as anything he can see. for does he not daily see people who know of their former lives? nay, does he not himself, often vaguely, have glimpses of that former life of his? no man seems to be quite without it, but of course it is clearer to some than others. just as we tell stories in the dusk of ghosts and second sight, so do they, when the day's work is over, gossip of stories of second birth; only that they believe in them far more than we do in ghosts. a friend of mine put up for the night once at a monastery far away in the forest near a small village. he was travelling with an escort of mounted police, and there was no place else to sleep but in the monastery. the monk was, as usual, hospitable, and put what he had, bare house-room, at the officer's disposal, and he and his men settled down for the night. after dinner a fire was built on the ground, and the officer went and sat by it and talked to the headman of the village and the monk. first they talked of the dacoits and of crops, unfailing subjects of interest, and gradually they drifted from one subject to another till the englishman remarked about the monastery, that it was a very large and fine one for such a small secluded village to have built. the monastery was of the best and straightest teak, and must, he thought, have taken a very long time and a great deal of labour to build, for the teak must have been brought from very far away; and in explanation he was told a curious story. it appeared that in the old days there used to be only a bamboo and grass monastery there, such a monastery as most jungle villages have; and the then monk was distressed at the smallness of his abode and the little accommodation there was for his school--a monastery is always a school. so one rainy season he planted with great care a number of teak seedlings round about, and he watered them and cared for them. 'when they are grown up,' he would say, 'these teak-trees shall provide timber for a new and proper building; and i will myself return in another life, and with those trees will i build a monastery more worthy than this.' teak-trees take a hundred years to reach a mature size, and while the trees were still but saplings the monk died, and another monk taught in his stead. and so it went on, and the years went by, and from time to time new monasteries of bamboo were built and rebuilt, and the teak-trees grew bigger and bigger. but the village grew smaller, for the times were troubled, and the village was far away in the forest. so it happened that at last the village found itself without a monk at all: the last monk was dead, and no one came to take his place. it is a serious thing for a village to have no monk. to begin with, there is no one to teach the lads to read and write and do arithmetic; and there is no one to whom you can give offerings and thereby get merit, and there is no one to preach to you and tell you of the sacred teaching. so the village was in a bad way. then at last one evening, when the girls were all out at the well drawing water, they were surprised by the arrival of a monk walking in from the forest, weary with a long journey, footsore and hungry. the villagers received him with enthusiasm, fearing, however, that he was but passing through, and they furbished up the old monastery in a hurry for him to sleep in. but the curious thing was that the monk seemed to know it all. he knew the monastery and the path to it, and the ways about the village, and the names of the hills and the streams. it seemed, indeed, as if he must once have lived there in the village, and yet no one knew him or recognised his face, though he was but a young man still, and there were villagers who had lived there for seventy years. next morning, instead of going on his way, the monk came into the village with his begging-bowl, as monks do, and went round and collected his food for the day; and in the evening, when the villagers went to see him at the monastery, he told them he was going to stay. he recalled to them the monk who had planted the teak-trees, and how he had said that when the trees were grown he would return. 'i,' said the young monk, 'am he that planted these trees. lo, they are grown up, and i am returned, and now we will build a monastery as i said.' when the villagers, doubting, questioned him, and old men came and talked to him of traditions of long-past days, he answered as one who knew all. he told them he had been born and educated far away in the south, and had grown up not knowing who he had been; and that he had entered a monastery, and in time became a pongyi. the remembrance came to him, he went on, in a dream of how he had planted the trees and had promised to return to that village far away in the forest. the very next day he had started, and travelled day after day and week upon week, till at length he had arrived, as they saw. so the villagers were convinced, and they set to work and cut down the great boles, and built the monastery such as my friend saw. and the monk lived there all his life, and taught the children, and preached the marvellous teaching of the great buddha, till at length his time came again and he returned; for of monks it is not said that they die, but that they return. this is the common belief of the people. into this has the mystery of dharma turned, in the thoughts of the burmese buddhists, for no one can believe the incomprehensible. a man has a soul, and it passes from life to life, as a traveller from inn to inn, till at length it is ended in heaven. but not till he has attained heaven in his heart will he attain heaven in reality. many children, the burmese will tell you, remember their former lives. as they grow older the memories die away and they forget, but to the young children they are very clear. i have seen many such. about fifty years ago in a village named okshitgon were born two children, a boy and a girl. they were born on the same day in neighbouring houses, and they grew up together, and played together, and loved each other. and in due course they married and started a family, and maintained themselves by cultivating their dry, barren fields about the village. they were always known as devoted to each other, and they died as they had lived--together. the same death took them on the same day; so they were buried without the village and were forgotten; for the times were serious. it was the year after the english army had taken mandalay, and all burma was in a fury of insurrection. the country was full of armed men, the roads were unsafe, and the nights were lighted with the flames of burning villages. it was a bad time for peace-loving men, and many such, fleeing from their villages, took refuge in larger places nearer the centres of administration. okshitgon was in the midst of one of the worst of all the distressed districts, and many of its people fled, and one of them, a man named maung kan, with his young wife went to the village of kabyu and lived there. now, maung kan's wife had born to him twin sons. they were born at okshitgon shortly before their parents had to run away, and they were named, the eldest maung gyi, which is brother big-fellow, and the younger maung ngè, which means brother little-fellow. these lads grew up at kabyu, and soon learned to talk; and as they grew up their parents were surprised to hear them calling to each other at play, and calling each other, not maung gyi and maung ngè, but maung san nyein and ma gywin. the latter is a woman's name, and the parents remembered that these were the names of the man and wife who had died in okshitgon about the time the children were born. so the parents thought that the souls of the man and wife had entered into the children, and they took them to okshitgon to try them. the children knew everything in okshitgon; they knew the roads and the houses and the people, and they recognised the clothes they used to wear in a former life; there was no doubt about it. one of them, the younger, remembered, too, how she had borrowed two rupees once of a woman, ma thet, unknown to her husband, and left the debt unpaid. ma thet was still living, and so they asked her, and she recollected that it was true she had lent the money long ago. shortly afterwards i saw these two children. they are now just over six years old. the elder, into whom the soul of the man entered, is a fat, chubby little fellow, but the younger twin is smaller, and has a curious dreamy look in his face, more like a girl than a boy. they told me much about their former lives. after they died they said they lived for some time without a body at all, wandering in the air and hiding in the trees. this was for their sins. then, after some months, they were born again as twin boys. 'it used,' said the elder boy, 'to be so clear, i could remember everything; but it is getting duller and duller, and i cannot now remember as i used to do.' of children such as this you may find any number. only you have to look for them, as they are not brought forward spontaneously. the burmese, like other people, hate to have their beliefs and ideas ridiculed, and from experience they have learned that the object of a foreigner in inquiring into their ways is usually to be able to show by his contempt how very much cleverer a man he is than they are. therefore they are very shy. but once they understand that you only desire to learn and to see, and that you will always treat them with courtesy and consideration, they will tell you all that they think. a fellow officer of mine has a burmese police orderly, a young man about twenty, who has been with him since he came to the district two years ago. yet my friend only discovered accidentally the other day that his orderly remembers his former life. he is very unwilling to talk about it. he was a woman apparently in that former life, and lived about twenty miles away. he must have lived a good life, for it is a step of promotion to be a man in this life; but he will not talk of it. he forgets most of it, he says, though he remembered it when he was a child. sometimes this belief leads to lawsuits of a peculiarly difficult nature. in , two years before the annexation of upper burma, there was a case that came into the local court of the oil district, which depended upon this theory of transmigration. opposite yenangyaung there are many large islands in the river. these islands during the low water months are joined to the mainland, and are covered with a dense high grass in which many deer live. when the river rises, it rises rapidly, communication with the mainland is cut off, and the islands are for a time, in the higher rises, entirely submerged. during the progress of the first rise some hunters went to one of these islands where many deer were to be found and set fire to the grass to drive them out of cover, shooting them as they came out. some deer, fleeing before the fire, swam across and escaped, others fell victims, but one fawn, barely half grown, ran right down the island, and in its blind terror it leaped into a boat at anchor there. this boat was that of a fisherman who was plying his trade at some distance, and the only occupant of the boat was his wife. now this woman had a year or so before lost her son, very much loved by her, but who was not quite of the best character, and when she saw the deer leaping into the boat, she at once fancied that she saw the soul of her erring son looking at her out of its great terrified eyes. so she got up and took the poor panting beast in her arms and soothed it, and when the hunters came running to her to claim it she refused. 'he is my son,' she said, 'he is mine. shall i give him up to death?' the hunters clamoured and threatened to take the deer by force, but the woman was quite firm. she would never give him up except with her life. 'you can see,' she said, 'that it is true that he is my son. he came running straight to me, as he always did in his trouble when he was a boy, and he is now quite quiet and contented, instead of being afraid of me as an ordinary deer would be.' and it was quite true that the deer took to her at once, and remained with her willingly. so the hunters went off to the court of the governor and filed a suit for the deer. the case was tried in open court, and the deer was produced with a ribbon round its neck. evidence there was naturally but little. the hunters claimed the deer because they had driven it out of the island by their fire. the woman resisted the claim on the ground that it was her son. the decision of the court was this: 'the hunters are not entitled to the deer because they cannot prove that the woman's son's soul is not in the animal. the woman is not entitled to the deer because she cannot prove that it is. the deer will therefore remain with the court until some properly authenticated claim is put in.' so the two parties were turned out, the woman in bitter tears, and the hunters angry and vexed, and the deer remained the property of the judge. but this decision was against all burmese ideas of justice. he should have given the deer to the woman. 'he wanted it for himself,' said a burman, speaking to me of the affair. 'he probably killed it and ate it. surely it is true that officials are of all the five evils the greatest.' then my friend remembered that i was myself an official, and he looked foolish, and began to make complimentary remarks about english officials, that they would never give such an iniquitous decision. i turned it off by saying that no doubt the judge was now suffering in some other life for the evil wrought in the last, and the burman said that probably he was now inhabiting a tiger. it is very easy to laugh at such beliefs; nothing is, indeed, easier than to be witty at the expense of any belief. it is also very easy to say that it is all self-deception, that the children merely imagine that they remember their former lives, or are citing conversation of their elders. how this may be i do not know. what is the explanation of this, perhaps the only belief of which we have any knowledge which is at once a living belief to-day and was so as far back as we can get, i do not pretend to say. for transmigration is no theory of buddhism at all, but was a leading tenet in the far older faith of brahmanism, of which buddhism was but an offshoot, as was christianity of judaism. i have not, indeed, always attempted to reach the explanation of things i have seen. when i have satisfied myself that a belief is really held by the people, that i am not the subject of conscious deception, either by myself or others, i have conceived that my work was ended. there are those who, in investigating any foreign customs and strange beliefs, can put their finger here and say, 'this is where they are right'; and there and say, 'this belief is foolishly wrong and idiotic.' i am not, unfortunately, one of these writers. i have no such confident belief in my own infallibility of judgment as to be able to sit on high and say, 'here is truth, and here is error.' i will leave my readers to make their own judgment, if they desire to do so; only asking them (as they would not like their own beliefs to be scoffed and sneered at) that they will treat with respect the sincere beliefs of others, even if they cannot accept them. it is only in this way that we can come to understand a people and to sympathize with them. it is hardly necessary to emphasize the enormous effect that a belief in transmigration such as this has upon the life and intercourse of the people. of their kindness to animals i have spoken elsewhere, and it is possible this belief in transmigration has something to do with it, but not, i think, much. for if you wished to illtreat an animal, it would be quite easy, even more easy, to suppose that an enemy or a murderer inhabited the body of the animal, and that you were but carrying out the decrees of fate by ill-using it. but when you love an animal, it may increase that love and make it reasonable, and not a thing to be ashamed of; and it brings the animal world nearer to you in general, it bridges over the enormous void between man and beast that other religions have made. nothing humanizes a man more than love of animals. i do not know if this be a paradox, i know that it is a truth. there was one point that puzzled me for a time in some of these stories of transmigration, such as the one i told about the man and wife being reborn twins. it was this: a man dies and leaves behind children, let us say, to whom he is devoutly attached. he is reborn in another family in the same village, maybe. it would be natural to suppose that he would love his former family as much as, or even more than, his new one. complications might arise in this way which it is easy to conceive would cause great and frequent difficulties. i explained this to a burman one day, and asked him what happened, and this is what he said: 'the affection of mother to son, of husband to wife, of brother to sister, belongs entirely to the body in which you may happen to be living. when it dies, so do these affections. new affections arise from the new body. the flesh of the son, being of one with his father, of course loves him; but as his present flesh has no sort of connection with his former one, he does not love those to whom he was related in his other lives. these affections are as much a part of the body as the hand or the eyesight; with one you put off the other.' thus all love, to the learned, even the purest affection of daughter to mother, of man to his friend, is in theory a function of the body--with the one we put off the other; and this may explain, perhaps, something of what my previous chapter did not make quite clear, that in the hereafter[ ] of buddhism there is no affection. when we have put off all bodies, when we have attained nirvana, love and hate, desire and repulsion, will have fallen from us for ever. meanwhile, in each life, we are obliged to endure the affections of the body into which we may be born. it is the first duty of a monk, of him who is trying to lead the purer life, to kill all these affections, or rather to blend them into one great compassion to all the world alike. 'gayüna,' compassion, that is the only passion that will be left to us. so say the learned. i met a little girl not long ago, a wee little maiden about seven years old, and she told me all about her former life when she was a man. her name was maung mon, she said, and she used to work the dolls in a travelling marionette show. it was through her knowledge and partiality for marionettes that it was first suspected, her parents told me, whom she had been in her former life. she could even as a sucking-child manipulate the strings of a marionette-doll. but the actual discovery came when she was about four years old, and she recognised a certain marionette booth and dolls as her own. she knew all about them, knew the name of each doll, and even some of the words they used to say in the plays. 'i was married four times,' she told me. 'two wives died, one i divorced; one was living when i died, and is living still. i loved her very much indeed. the one i divorced was a dreadful woman. see,' pointing to a scar on her shoulder, 'this was given me once in a quarrel. she took up a chopper and cut me like this. then i divorced her. she had a dreadful temper.' it was immensely quaint to hear this little thing discoursing like this. the mark was a birth-mark, and i was assured that it corresponded exactly with one that had been given to the man by his wife in just such a quarrel as the one the little girl described. the divorced wife and the much-loved wife are still alive and not yet old. the last wife wanted the little girl to go and live with her. i asked her why she did not go. 'you loved her so much,' i said. 'she was such a good wife to you. surely you would like to live with her again.' 'but all that,' she replied, 'was in a former life.' now she loved only her present father and mother. the last life was like a dream. broken memories of it still remained, but the loves and hates, the passions and impulses, were all dead. another little boy told me once that the way remembrance came to him was by seeing the silk he used to wear made into curtains, which are given to the monks and used as partitions in their monasteries, and as walls to temporary erections made at festival times. he was taken when some three years old to a feast at the making of a lad, the son of a wealthy merchant, into a monk. there he recognised in the curtain walling in part of the bamboo building his old dress. he pointed it out at once. this same little fellow told me that he passed three months between his death and his next incarnation without a body. this was because he had once accidentally killed a fowl. had he killed it on purpose, he would have been punished very much more severely. most of this three months he spent dwelling in the hollow shell of a palm-fruit. the nuisance was, he explained, that this shell was close to the cattle-path, and that the lads as they drove the cattle afield in the early morning would bang with a stick against the shell. this made things very uncomfortable for him inside. it is not an uncommon thing for a woman when about to be delivered of a baby to have a dream, and to see in that dream the spirit of someone asking for permission to enter the unborn child; for, to a certain extent, it lies within a woman's power to say who is to be the life of her child. there was a woman once who loved a young man, not of her village, very dearly. and he loved her, too, as dearly as she loved him, and he demanded her in marriage from her parents; but they refused. why they refused i do not know, but probably because they did not consider the young man a proper person for their daughter to marry. then he tried to run away with her, and nearly succeeded, but they were caught before they got clear of the village. the young man had to leave the neighbourhood. the attempted abduction of a girl is an offence severely punishable by law, so he fled; and in time, under pressure from her people, the girl married another man; but she never forgot. she lived with her husband quite happily; he was good to her, as most burmese husbands are, and they got along well enough together. but there were no children. after some years, four or five, i believe, the former lover returned to his village. he thought that after this lapse of time he would be safe from prosecution, and he was, moreover, very ill. he was so ill that very soon he died, without ever seeing again the girl he was so fond of; and when she heard of his death she was greatly distressed, so that the desire of life passed away from her. it so happened that at this very time she found herself enceinte with her first child, and not long before the due time came for the child to be born she had a dream. she dreamt that her soul left her body, and went out into space and met there the soul of her lover who had died. she was rejoiced to meet him again, full of delight, so that the return of her soul to her body, her awakening to a world in which he was not, filled her with despair. so she prayed her lover, if it was now time for him again to be incarnated, that he would come to her--that his soul would enter the body of the little baby soon about to be born, so that they two might be together in life once more. and in the dream the lover consented. he would come, he said, into the child of the woman he loved. when the woman awoke she remembered it all, and the desire of life returned to her again, and all the world was changed because of the new life she felt within her. but she told no one then of the dream or of what was to happen. only she took the greatest care of herself; she ate well, and went frequently to the pagoda with flowers, praying that the body in which her lover was about to dwell might be fair and strong, worthy of him who took it, worthy of her who gave it. in due time the baby was born. but alas and alas for all her hopes! the baby came but for a moment, to breathe a few short breaths, to cry, and to die; and a few hours later the woman died also. but before she went she told someone all about it, all about the dream and the baby, and that she was glad to go and follow her lover. she said that her baby's soul was her lover's soul, and that as he could not stay, neither would she; and with these words on her lips she followed him out into the void. the story was kept a secret until the husband died, not long afterwards; but when i came to the village all the people knew it. i must confess that this story is to me full of the deepest reality, full of pathos. it seems to me to be the unconscious protestation of humanity against the dogmas of religion and of the learned. however it may be stated that love is but one of the bodily passions that dies with it; however, even in some of the stories themselves, this explanation is used to clear certain difficulties; however opposed eternal love may be to one of the central doctrines of buddhism, it seems to me that the very essence of this story is the belief that love does not die with the body, that it lives for ever and ever, through incarnation after incarnation. such a story is the very cry of the agony of humanity. 'love is strong as death; many waters cannot quench love;' ay, and love is stronger than death. not any dogmas of any religion, not any philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he loves. footnote: [ ] the hereafter = the state to which we attain when we have done with earthly things. chapter xxiv the forest of time 'the gate of that forest was death.' there was a great forest. it was full of giant trees that grew so high and were so thick overhead that the sunshine could not get down below. and there were huge creepers that ran from tree to tree climbing there, and throwing down great loops of rope. under the trees, growing along the ground, were smaller creepers full of thorns, that tore the wayfarer and barred his progress. the forest, too, was full of snakes that crept along the ground, so like in their gray and yellow skins to the earth they travelled on that the traveller trod upon them unawares and was bitten; and some so beautiful with coral red and golden bars that men would pick them up as some dainty jewel till the snake turned upon them. here and there in this forest were little glades wherein there were flowers. beautiful flowers they were, with deep white cups and broad glossy leaves hiding the purple fruit; and some had scarlet blossoms that nodded to and fro like drowsy men, and there were long festoons of white stars. the air there was heavy with their scent. but they were all full of thorns, only you could not see the thorns till after you had plucked the blossom. this wood was pierced by roads. many were very broad, leading through the forest in divers ways, some of them stopping now and then in the glades, others avoiding them more or less, but none of them were straight. always, if you followed them, they bent and bent until after much travelling you were where you began; and the broader the road, the softer the turf beneath it; the sweeter the glades that lined it, the quicker did it turn. one road there was that went straight, but it was far from the others. it led among the rocks and cliffs that bounded one side of the valley. it was very rough, very far from all the glades in the lowlands. no flowers grew beside it, there was no moss or grass upon it, only hard sharp rocks. it was very narrow, bordered with precipices. there were many lights in this wood, lights that flamed out like sunsets and died, lights that came like lightning in the night and were gone. this wood was never quite dark, it was so full of these lights that flickered aimlessly. there were men in this wood who wandered to and fro. the wood was full of them. they did not know whither they went; they did not know whither they wished to go. only this they knew, that they could never keep still; for the keeper of this wood was time. he was armed with a keen whip, and kept driving them on and on; there was no rest. many of these when they first came loved the wood. the glades, they said, were very beautiful, the flowers very sweet. they wandered down the broad roads into the glades, and tried to lie upon the moss and love the flowers; but time would not let them. just for a few moments they could have peace, and then they must on and on. but they did not care. 'the forest is full of glades,' they said; 'if we cannot live in one, we can find another.' and so they went on finding others and others, and each one pleased them less. some few there were who did not go to the glades at all. 'they are very beautiful,' they said, 'but these roads that pass through them, whither do they lead? round and round and round again. there is no peace there. time rules in those glades, time with his whip and goad, and there is no peace. what we want is rest. and those lights,' they said, 'they are wandering lights, like the summer lightning far down in the south, moving hither and thither. we care not for such lights. our light is firm and clear. what we desire is peace; we do not care to wander for ever round this forest, to see for ever those shifting lights.' and so they would not go down the winding roads, but essayed the path upon the cliffs. 'it is narrow,' they said, 'it has no flowers, it is full of rocks, but it is straight. it will lead us somewhere, not round and round and round again--it will take us somewhere. and there is a light,' they said, 'before us, the light of a star. it is very small now, but it is always steady; it never flickers or wanes. it is the star of truth. under that star we shall find that which we seek.' and so they went upon their road, toiling upon the rocks, falling now and then, bleeding with wounds from the sharp points, sore-footed, but strong-hearted. and ever as they went they were farther and farther from the forest, farther and farther from the glades and the flowers with deadly scents; they heard less and less the crack of the whip of time falling upon the wanderers' shoulders. the star grew nearer and nearer, the light grew greater and greater, the false lights died behind them, until at last they came out of the forest, and there they found the lake that washes away all desire under the sun of truth. they had won their way. time and life and fight and struggle were behind them, could not follow them, as they came, weary and footsore, into the great peace. and of those who were left behind, of those who stayed in the glades to gather the deadly flowers, to be driven ever forward by the whip of time--what of them? surely they will learn. the kindly whip of time is behind: he will never let them rest in such a deadly forest; they must go ever forward; and as they go they grow more and more weary, the glades are more and more distasteful, the heavy-scented blossoms more and more repulsive. they will find out the thorns too. at first they forgot the thorns in the flowers. 'the blossoms are beautiful,' they said; 'what care we for the thorns? nay, the thorns are good. it is a pleasure to fight with them. what would the forest be without its thorns? if we could gather the flowers and find no thorns, we should not care for them. the more the thorns, the more valuable the blossoms.' so they said, and they gathered the blossoms, and they faded. but the thorns did not fade; they were ever there. the more blossoms a man had gathered, the more thorns he had to wear, and time was ever behind him. they wanted to rest in the glades, but time willed that ever they must go forward; no going back, no rest, ever and ever on. so they grew very weary. 'these flowers,' they said at last, 'are always the same. we are tired of them; their smell is heavy; they are dead. this forest is full of thorns only. how shall we escape from it? ever as we go round and round we hate the flowers more, we feel the thorns more acutely. we must escape! we are sick of time and his whip, our feet are very, very weary, our eyes are dazzled and dim. we, too, would seek the peace. we laughed at those before who went along the rocky path; we did not want peace; but now it seems to us the most beautiful thing in the world. will time never cease to drive us on and on? will these lights _never_ cease to flash to and fro?' each man at last will turn to the straight road. he will find out. every man will find out at last that the forest is hateful, that the flowers are deadly, that the thorns are terrible; every man will learn to fear time. then, when the longing for peace has come, he will go to the straight way and find it; no man will remain in the forest for ever. he will learn. when he is very, very weary, when his feet are full of thorns, and his back scarred with the lashes of time--great, kindly time, the schoolmaster of the world--he will learn. not till he has learnt will he desire to enter into the straight road. but in the end all men will come. we at the last shall all meet together where time and life shall be no more. this is a burman allegory of buddhism. it was told me long ago. i trust i have not spoilt it in the retelling. chapter xxv conclusion this is the end of my book. i have tried always as i wrote to remember the principles that i laid down for myself in the first chapter. whether i have always done so i cannot say. it is so difficult, so very difficult, to understand a people--any people--to separate their beliefs from their assents, to discover the motives of their deeds, that i fear i must often have failed. my book is short. it would have been easy to make a book out of each chapter, to write volumes on each great subject that i have touched on; but i have not done so--i have always been as brief as i could. i have tried always to illustrate only the central thought, and not the innumerable divergencies, because only so can a great or strange thought be made clear. later, when the thought is known, then it is easy to stray into the byways of thought, always remembering that they are byways, wandering from a great centre. for the burman's life and belief is one great whole. i thought before i began to write, and i have become more and more certain of it as i have taken up subject after subject, that to all the great differences of thought between them and us there is one key. and this key is that they believe the world is governed by eternal laws, that have never changed, that will never change, that are founded on absolute righteousness; while we believe in a personal god, altering laws, and changing moralities according to his will. if i were to rewrite this book, i should do so from this standpoint of eternal laws, making the book an illustration of the proposition. perhaps it is better as it is, in that i have discovered the key at the end of my work instead of at the beginning. i did not write the book to prove the proposition, but in writing the book this truth has become apparent to me. the more i have written, the clearer has this teaching become to me, until now i wonder that i did not understand long ago--nay, that it has not always been apparent to all men. surely it is the beginning of all wisdom. not until we had discarded atlas and substituted gravity, until we had forgotten enceladus and learned the laws of heat, until we had rejected thor and his hammer and searched after the laws of electricity, could science make any strides onward. an irresponsible spirit playing with the world as his toy killed all science. but now science has learned a new wisdom, to look only at what it can see, to leave vain imaginings to children and idealists, certain always that the truth is inconceivably more beautiful than any dream. science with us has gained her freedom, but the soul is still in bonds. only in buddhism has this soul-freedom been partly gained. how beautiful this is, how full of great thoughts, how very different to the barren materialism it has often been said to be, i have tried to show. i believe myself that in this teaching of the laws of righteousness we have the grandest conception, the greatest wisdom, the world has known. i believe that in accepting this conception we are opening to ourselves a new world of unimaginable progress, in justice, in charity, in sympathy, and in love. i believe that as our minds, when freed from their bonds, have grown more and more rapidly to heights of thought before undreamed of, to truths eternal, to beauty inexpressible, so shall our souls, when freed, as our minds now are, rise to sublimities of which now we have no conception. let each man but open his eyes and see, and his own soul shall teach him marvellous things. the end. billing and sons, printers, guildford. trÜbner's oriental series. the life or legend of gaudama _the buddha of the burmes_ with annotations. the ways to neibban, and notice on the phongyies or burmese monks. by the right reverend p. bigandet, bishop of ramatha, vicar apostolic of ava and pegu _in two volumes._ vol. i. fourth edition. london: kegan paul, trench, trÜbner & co. ltd. dryden house, gerrard street, w. . _the rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._ printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. at the ballantyne press, edinburgh advertisement to third edition. the origin of the present work dates back to the years , , , and , when portions of it appeared in the "journal of the indian archipelago and eastern asia," edited by j. r. logan of penang (vols. vi., vii., viii., and ix.). the first complete edition was printed at rangoon in burmah in , and a second, much enlarged, at the same place in . very few copies of either of these editions reached europe, and both are entirely out of print. the present third edition--a faithful reprint of the second--issued, with bishop bigandet's sanction, for the benefit of european and american scholars and readers, will, therefore, it is hoped, be gladly received. buddhism and gautama, the faith and its founder, whose followers are between four and five hundred millions of the human race, were comparatively unknown in europe but a generation ago, and yet this great faith had continued for four and twenty centuries to spread over the vast lands of the east, taking deep and enduring root in all, from bhotan, nepaul, and ceylon, over further india to china proper, mongolia, mantchooria, tibet, and japan. buddhism, as it is found in burmah, has a particular claim to the attention of a diligent and attentive observer. we there have that religious creed or system as pure from adulteration as it can be after a lapse of so many centuries. philosophy never flourished in burmah, and, therefore, never modified the religious systems of the country. hinduism never exercised any influence on the banks of the irrawaddy. chinese and burmese have often met on battlefields, but the influence of the middle kingdom has never established itself in burmah. in other words, chinese buddhism has never been able to penetrate into the customs and manners of the people, and has not attempted to communicate its own religion to its southern neighbours. it would seem that the true form of buddhism is to be found in burmah, and that a knowledge of that system can only be arrived at by the study of the religious books of burmah, and by attentively observing the religious practices and ceremonies of the people. this is what bishop bigandet has endeavoured to do throughout his work. mr. alabaster, the author of a very popular work on siamese buddhism, testifies to the great value of the bishop's work, which, he remarks, is in one sense complete, for whereas the siamese manuscript concludes with the attainment of omniscience, the bishop had materials which enabled him to continue the story to the death of nirwana (neibban in the burmese pali form). he might have added that the work modestly entitled "life of gaudama" is a complete exposition of the great system of eastern asia. the metaphysical part, which is the very essence of the system, has received a due consideration, and the body of religious has been fully described. moreover, the foot-notes help the ordinary reader in understanding clearly the text of the legend. professor albrecht weber speaks also of the bishop's work in terms of high commendation (see "literarisches centralblatt," , no. , reprinted in "indische streifen," vol. iii.), whilst a still further testimony is accorded to its importance in the recent appearance of a french translation by lieutenant victor gauvain. london, _december_ . preface to the first edition. whether buddhism be viewed in its extent and diffusion, or in the complex nature of its doctrines, it claims the serious attention of every inquiring mind. in our own days it is, under different forms, the creed prevailing in nepaul, thibet, mongolia, corea, china, the japanese archipelago, anam, cambodia, siam, the shan states, burmah, arracan, and ceylon. its sway extends over nearly one-fourth of the human race. though based upon capital and revolting errors, buddhism teaches a surprising number of the finest precepts and purest moral truths. from the abyss of its almost unfathomable darkness it sends forth rays of the brightest hue. to the reflecting mind, the study of this religious system becomes the study of the history of one of the greatest religious enterprises that has ever been undertaken to elevate our nature above its low level, by uprooting the passions of the heart and dispelling the errors of the mind. a serious observer sees at a glance the dark and humiliating picture of the sad and barren results of the greatest and mightiest efforts of human wisdom, in its endeavours to find out the real cause of all human miseries, and to provide the remedies to cure the moral distempers to which our nature is subject. the fact of man's wretched and fallen condition was clearly perceived by the buddhist philosopher, but he failed in his attempts to help man out of the difficulties which encompass him in all directions, and to bring him back to the path of truth and salvation. the efforts begun on the banks of the ganges at an early period, and carried on with the greatest ardour and perseverance, have proved as abortive as those made at a later period throughout greece and italy by the greatest and brightest geniuses of antiquity. what a grand and irresistible demonstration both of the absolute inability of man to rescue from evil and attain good, and of the indispensable necessity of divine interference to help him in accomplishing that twofold achievement! it may be said in favour of buddhism, that no philosophico-religious system has ever upheld, to an equal degree, the notions of a saviour and deliverer, and of the necessity of his mission for procuring the salvation, in a buddhist sense, of man. the _rôle_ of buddha, from beginning to end, is that of a deliverer, who preaches a law designed to secure to man deliverance from all the miseries under which he is labouring. but by an inexplicable and deplorable eccentricity, the pretended saviour, after having taught man the way to deliver himself from the tyranny of his passions, only leads him, after all, into the bottomless gulf of total annihilation. buddhism, such as we find it in burmah, appears to have retained, to a great extent, its original character and primitive genuineness, exhibiting, as it does, the most correct forms and features of that protean creed. at the epoch the burmans left the northern valleys and settled in the country they now inhabit, they were a half-civilised mongolian tribe, with no kind of worship, except a sort of geniolatry, much similar to what we see now existing among the various tribes bordering on burmah. they were in the same condition when the first buddhist missionaries arrived among them. deposited in this almost virginal soil, the seed of buddhism grew up freely without encountering any obstacle to check its growth. philosophy, which, in its too often erratic rambles in search of truth, changes, corrects, improves, destroys, and, in numberless ways, modifies all that it meets, never flourished in these parts; and, therefore, did not work on the religious institutions, which accordingly have remained up to this day nearly the same as they were when first imported into burmah. the free discussion of religious and moral subjects, which constituted the very life of the indian schools, and begat so many various, incoherent, and contradictory opinions on the most essential points of religion and philosophy, is the sign of an advanced state of civilisation, such as does not appear to have ever existed on the banks of the irrawaddy. owing to its geographical position, and perhaps, also, to political causes, burmah has ever remained out of the reach of hindu influence, which in nepaul has coloured buddhism with hindu myths, and habited it in gross forms of idolatry. in china, where there already subsisted at the time of the arrival of the preachers of the new doctrine the worship of heroes and ancestors, buddhism, like an immense parasitic plant, extended itself all over the institutions which it covered rather than destroyed, allowing the ancient forms to subsist under the disguise it afforded them. but such was not the state of burmah when visited by the first heralds of buddhism. the epoch of the introduction of buddhism in burmah has hitherto been a matter of conjecture. according to burmese annals, boudha-gautha, at the end of the fourth century of our era, brought from ceylon a copy of the scriptures, and did for burmah what fa-hian, the chinese pilgrim, accomplished a few years afterwards in india and ceylon for the benefit of his country. but burmans maintain that they were followers of buddha long before that epoch. if an inference may be drawn from analogy, it is probable that they are right in their assertion. china is fully as far from the ancient seat of buddhism as burmah. yet it appears from the chinese annals that the doctrines of the indian philosopher were already propagated in some parts of that empire in the middle of the first century of our era, and probably at an earlier date. there is no improbability in concluding that, at least at the same time, buddhist missionaries had penetrated into this country to propagate their tenets. according to buddhistic annals, it was after the holding of the d council, after gaudama's death, b.c., that two missionaries carried religion to thaton, the ruins of which are still to be seen between the mouths of the tsitang and salween rivers, and established buddhism in pegu. be that as it may, we know, from the magnificent buddhist monuments of pagan, that that religion had reached, in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a degree of splendour that has never since been equalled. the buddhist scriptures are divided into three great parts, the thoots or instructions, the wini or discipline, and the abidama or metaphysics. agreeably to this division, the matter of the following pages is arranged under three heads. the life of buddha, with some portions of his preaching, will convey notions of his principal teachings and doctrines. it is accompanied with copious annotations intended to explain the text, and to convey detailed notices of the system of buddhism in general, and particularly as it is found existing in burmah. we have added a few small dzats, or accounts of some of the former existences of gaudama, and the summary of two large ones. in the notice on the phongyies will be found the chief points of discipline fully explained and developed. we have endeavoured to render as complete as possible the account of the buddhist religious, or phongyies. it is an exposition and practical illustration of the highest results that can be obtained under the influence of the doctrines of the indian philosopher. in the ways to neibban an attempt has been made to set forth and unfold the chief points of metaphysics upon which hinges the whole religious system. we confess that the summary of metaphysics is rather concise. we were reluctant to proceed too far in this subject, which, to the generality of readers, is an uninviting one. a suggestion from captain h. hopkinson, commissioner of the martaban and tenasserim provinces, has induced us to add a few remarks on the names and situations of the principal towns and countries mentioned in the legend, with the view of identifying them with modern sites and places. it is hardly necessary to state here that the writer, when he undertook this work, had no other object in view than that of merely expounding the religious system of buddhism as it is, explaining its doctrines and practices as correctly as it was in his power to do, regardless of their merits and demerits. his information has been derived from the perusal of the religious books of the burmans, and from frequent conversations on religion, during several years, with the best informed among the laity and the religious whom he has had the chance of meeting. the surest way perhaps of coming to at least an exact and accurate knowledge of the history and doctrines of buddhism would be to give a translation of the legends of buddha, such as they are to be met with in all countries where buddhism has established its sway, and to accompany these translations with an exposition of the various doctrinal points, such as they are held, understood, and believed by these various nations. this has already been done by eminent orientalists, on thibetan, sanscrit, cingalese, and chinese originals. a similar work, executed by competent persons among the shans, siamese, cambodians, and cochin chinese, would considerably help the savants in europe, who have assumed the difficult task of expounding the buddhist system in its complex and multifarious forms, to give a full, general, and comprehensive view of that great religious creed with all its variations. the best way to undermine the foundations of a false creed and successfully attack it, is to lay it open to the eyes of all and exhibit it as it really is. error never retains its hold over the mind except under the mask of truth which it contrives to assume. when deprived of the mask that has covered its emptiness and unreality, it vanishes away as a phantom and an illusion. we are happy in having an opportunity of returning publicly our thanks to the worthy commissioner of pegu, major a. p. phayre, for his kind exertions in furthering the publication of this work. not only is he an eminent oriental scholar, and profoundly versed in all that has reference to buddhism, but his great delight is to encourage every effort that tends to unfold and explain a creed which, despite all that has been written about it in the several countries where it flourishes, still contains many mysteries in the parts relating to its history and doctrines that require clearing up. we have, with a deeply-felt distrust of our poor abilities, taken the best portion out of our limited stock of information concerning the buddhist system as it exists in these parts, and, with a willing heart, presented it to the public. we hope that our example may induce others, whose stores of knowledge on this subject are fuller and richer than ours, to act in a similar spirit in aid of the prosecution of a great object, viz., the acquisition of a correct knowledge of the religion of nearly , , of our fellow-men. rangoon, _october_ . preface to the second edition. the first edition of the life of gaudama being out of print for the last five or six years, we have, at the request of several highly esteemed persons, come to the determination of publishing a second and much-enlarged edition of the same work. in carrying on the plan of improvement which we had in contemplation, we have been favoured by a happy circumstance. we have, after much labour, found and procured, in the burmese capital, a very rare palm-leaf manuscript, the contents of which have supplied us with copies and interesting details respecting the sayings and doings of gaudama. the book is known under the pali name of tatha-gatha-oudana, the meaning of which is joyful utterance, or praises, of the tatha-gatha. the latter expression is one of the many titles given to gaudama: it means, he who has come like all his predecessors. in the opinion of buddhists, the buddhas who appear throughout the duration of a world, or in the various series of succeeding worlds, have all the same mission to accomplish; they are gifted with the same perfect science, and are filled with similar feelings of compassion for and benevolence towards all beings. hence the denomination which is fitly given to gaudama, the last of them. in the course of the work will be found some particulars concerning the author of the manuscript referred to, and the place where it was composed. we have only to state here that we have gathered therefrom much information on the condition of gaudama, previous to his last existence, on the origin of the kapilawot country, where he was born, and on the kings he has descended from. we have also met with many new details on the great intellectual working of gaudama's mind, during the forty-nine days he spent in meditation around the bodi-tree, particularly on the important theory of the twelve nidanas, or causes and effects, which, with the four sublime truths, constitutes the very essence of the system. we have also found many important particulars concerning the whereabouts of gaudama during the first twenty years of his public life, and the conversions he effected whilst engaged in the work of an itinerant preacher. here, too, we have gleaned and selected a few of the instructions he delivered to the people that crowded about him. the story of dewadat is narrated at great length. we have carefully written down what is said of the three assemblies, or councils, held at radzagio, wethalie, and pataliputra, and what is mentioned of the kings who reigned in magatha, from adzatathat to dammathoka. we have mentioned the great fact of the spread of buddhism beyond the boundaries of magatha after the holding of the third council, taking care to relate what we have found stated concerning its diffusion in pegu and burmah. numerous notes have been added to those of the first edition, for the purpose of elucidating and explaining, as far as we are able, the principles of buddhism and whatever is connected with that religious system. rangoon, _may_ . contents. legend or life of the burmese buddha, called gaudama. page chapter i. invocation of the burmese translator -- slow but steady progress of phralaong towards the buddhaship -- promise made to him by the buddha deipinkara -- origin and beginning of the kapilawot country and of its rulers -- birth of thoodaudana -- his marriage with the princess maia -- rumour of the coming birth of a buddha -- phralaong in the seats of nats -- dream of maia -- conception of phralaong -- wonders attending that event. chapter ii. birth of buddha in a forest -- rejoicings on that occasion -- kaladewila -- prediction of the pounhas -- vain efforts of thoodaudana to thwart the effect of the prediction. chapter iii. a name is given to the child -- prediction of the pounhas respecting the child -- death of maia -- miraculous occurrence at the child's cradle -- adolescence of the phralaong -- he sees the four signs -- return from the garden to the royal city. chapter iv. phralaong leaves his palace, the royal city, and retires into solitude amidst the plaudits of the nats -- he cuts his fine hair with a stroke of his sword, and puts on the habit of rahan -- he begs his food at radzagio -- his interview with the ruler of that place -- his studies under two rathees -- his fast and penances in the solitude of oorouwela during six years. chapter v. thoodzata's offering to phralaong -- his five dreams -- he shapes his course towards the gniaong tree -- miraculous appearance of a throne -- victory of phralaong over manh nat -- his meditations during forty-nine days near the bodi tree -- he at last obtains the perfect science -- he overcomes the temptations directed against him by the daughters of manh -- buddha preaches the law to a pounha and to two merchants. chapter vi. buddha hesitates to undertake the task of preaching the law -- the great brahma entreats him to preach the law to all beings -- his assent to the entreaties -- journey towards migadawon -- he meets ouppaka -- his first preachings -- conversion of a young nobleman named ratha, followed by that of his father and other relatives -- conversion of several other noblemen -- instructions to the rahans -- conversion of the three kathabas. chapter vii. buddha's sermon on the mountain -- interview of buddha and king pimpathara in the vicinity of the city of radzagio -- answer of kathaba to buddha's interrogation -- instructions delivered to the king and his attendants -- solemn entry of buddha into radzagio -- donation of the weloowon monastery to buddha -- conversion of thariputra and maukalan -- the rahans are keenly taunted by the people of radzagio. chapter viii. thoodaudana, desirous to see his son, sends messengers to him -- they become converts -- kaludari, a last messenger, prevails on buddha to go to kapilawot -- his reception -- conversion of the king and of yathaudara -- nanda and raoula put on the religious habit -- conversion of ananda and of several of his relatives -- temptation of ananda -- conversion of eggidatta -- story of tsampooka. chapter ix. a rich man of thawattie, named anatapein, becomes a convert -- story of dzewaka -- he cures buddha of a painful distemper -- the people of wethalie send a deputation to buddha -- digression on the manner buddha daily spent his time -- settling of a quarrel between the inhabitants of kaulia and those of kapilawot -- new converts are strengthened in their faith -- thoodaudana's death in the arms of his son -- queen patzapati and many noble ladies are elevated to the rank of rahaness -- conversion of kema, the first queen of king pimpathara -- heretics near thawattie are confounded by the display of miraculous powers -- buddha goes to the seat of tawadeintha, to preach the law to his mother. chapter x. buddha's proceedings in the seat of tawadeintha -- his triumphant return to the seat of men, in the city of thin-ka-tha -- he is calumniated by the heretics of thawattie -- eighth season spent in the forest of tesakala -- subsequent preachings -- he meets with a bad reception in the kothambi country -- dissension among the disciples -- reconciliation -- travels of buddha -- preaching to a pounha who tilled a field. chapter xi. voyage to tsalia -- instructions to meggia -- raoula is made a professed religious -- manahan's questions to buddha -- misbehaviour of thouppabuda -- questions proposed by nats in the dzetawon monastery -- conversion of a biloo -- episode of thirima at radzagio -- attention paid to a poor pounha and to a weaver's daughter, on account of their faith -- in the twentieth season, appointment of ananda to the stewardship -- conversion of a famous robber. chapter xii. buddha is slandered in thawattie -- questions put to him by a pounha -- story of anatapein's daughter -- conversion of a pounha whose navel emitted rays of light -- blank in a great part of buddha's life -- story of dewadat -- his jealousy towards buddha -- his friendship with prince adzatathat -- his ambition -- his attempt to kill buddha -- his miserable end. legend of the burmese buddha called gaudama. chapter i. _invocation of the burmese translator -- slow but steady progress of phralaong towards the buddhaship -- promise made to him by the buddha deipinkara -- origin and beginning of the kapilawot country and of its rulers -- birth of thoodaudana -- his marriage with the princess maia -- rumour of the coming birth of a buddha -- phralaong in the seat of nats -- dream of maia -- conception of phralaong -- wonders attending that event._ i adore[ ] buddha who has gloriously emerged from the bottomless whirlpool of endless existences, who has extinguished the burning fire of anger and other passions, who has opened and illuminated the fathomless abyss of dark ignorance, and who is the greatest and most excellent of all beings. i adore the law which the most excellent buddha has published, which is infinitely high and incomparably profound, exceedingly acceptable, and most earnestly wished-for by nats and men, capable to wipe off the stains of concupiscence, and is immutable. i adore the assembly of the perfect, of the pure and illustrious ariahs in their eight sublime states, who have overcome all the passions that torment other mortals, by eradicating the very root of concupiscence, and who are famous above all other beings. i undertake to translate from the pali[ ] text the history of our most excellent phra, from the period he left toocita,[ ] the fourth abode of nats, to the time he entered into the state of neibban. previous, however, to commencing the work, i will relate succinctly what is found in our books respecting the great being who, by a slow but sure process, was qualifying himself for his great and high destiny. it is stated that all the following particulars were narrated by gaudama himself to the great disciple thariputra. for seven thingies of worlds, he who was to become a buddha felt, during that immense number of revolutions of nature, a thought for the buddhaship awakening in his soul. this thought was succeeded by a wish, a desire, and a longing for that extraordinary calling. he began to understand that the practice of the virtues of the highest order was requisite to enable him to attain the glorious object of his ardent wishes, and no less than , buddhas appeared during that space of time. when the above period had at last come to an end, the inward workings of his soul prompted him to ask openly for the buddhaship. the period of asking lasted nine thingies of worlds. it was brightened and illustrated by the successive manifestation of , buddhas. in the beginning of this latter period, the future gaudama was a prince of the name of laukatara, ruler of the nanda country. at that time there appeared in the country of kapilawot a buddha called thakiamuni paurana gaudama. as he happened to travel through the nanda country, with the twofold object of preaching the law and begging for his food, the ruler laukatara made great offerings to him. meanwhile, with a marked earnestness, he solicited at the feet of thakiamuni the favour of becoming, at some future time, a buddha like himself. he expressed the wish to be born in the same country, from the same father and mother, to have for his wife the very same queen, to ride the same horse, to be attended by the same companions and the same two great disciples on the right and on the left. to this request thakiamuni replied in the affirmative, but he added that an immense length of time had still to elapse ere the objects of his petition could be fully granted. a similar application was repeatedly made to all the other succeeding buddhas, and a like promise was held out to him. the third period of four thingies of worlds was remarkable for the complete absence of all that could enlighten or illustrate the various states of existence. a complete moral and intellectual darkness was spread over all beings, and kept them wrapped up in utter darkness. no buddhas, no pitzekabuddhas appeared to illuminate by their doctrine and science the minds of men. no tsekiawade, or king of the world, made his appearance to infuse life and energy in the midst of the universal slumbering. but the hundred thousand revolutions of nature that followed were more fortunate. there flourished no less than twenty-seven buddhas, from tahingara, the first in the series, to kathaba, the last one immediately preceding gaudama. during the period when the buddha named deipinkara was the teacher of all beings, our future gaudama was born in the country of amarawatti, from illustrious and rich parents belonging to the caste of pounhas. while still a youth, he lost both his parents and inherited their property. in the midst of pleasure and plenty he one day made this reflection:--the riches that i now possess were my parents' property, but they have not been able to save them from the miseries attending death. they will not, alas! afford to me a better and more secure fate. when i go into the grave, they will not come along with me. this bodily frame i am clad in is not worthy to be pitied. why should i bestow signs of compassion upon it? filled with impurities, burdened by rottenness, it has all the elements of destruction in the compounded parts of its existence. towards neibban i will turn my regards; upon it my eyes shall be riveted. there is the tank in which all the impurities of passion may be washed away. now i will forsake everything, and go forthwith in search of a teacher that will point out to me the way that leads to the state neibban. full of these thoughts, the young man gave away to the needy all that he possessed, reserving nothing to himself. freed from the trammels of riches, he withdrew into a lonely place, where the nats had prepared beforehand all that was necessary to minister to his wants. he embraced the profession or mode of life of a rahan, or perfect. attired in the dress of his new profession, he lived for some time on this spot under the name of thoomeda. displeased, however, with the too easy mode of life he was leading, he left that spot, and contented himself with dwelling under the shade of trees. he, however, went forth from time to time in quest of his food. a few years previous to the retirement of thoomeda into solitude, he who was to be the buddha deipinkara migrated from one of the nats' seats, and was incarnated in the womb of the princess thoomeda, wife of thoodewa, king of the ramawatti country. subsequently he was married to the princess padouma, who bore unto him a son, named oothabakanda. on the same year in which the child was born, the king left his palace on an elephant's back, withdrew into some lonely place, practised during ten months all sorts of self-inflicted penances, and, under the shade of the tree gniaong kiat, became a buddha. on that occasion the earth quivered with great violence, but the hermit thoomeda, being in ecstasy at that moment, knew nothing of the extraordinary occurrence. on a certain day, deipinkara was travelling through the country for the twofold purpose of preaching the law and collecting his food. arrived near a place where the road was very bad, he stopped for a while until the road should be made passable. the people hastened from all parts to come and prepare the road for deipinkara and his followers. thoomeda, gifted with the privilege of travelling through the air, happened to pass over the spot where crowds of people were busily engaged in preparing and levelling a road. the hermit alighted on that spot, and inquired of the people what was the reason of their busy exertions. they told him that the most excellent deipinkara was expected with a large retinue of disciples, and that they strained every nerve to have the road ready for them. thoomeda begged to be permitted to bear a part in the good work, and asked that a certain extent of the road be assigned to him as his task. his request was granted, and he forthwith set to work with the greatest diligence. it was all but finished when buddha deipinkara, followed by forty thousand disciples, made his appearance. thoomeda, actuated by an ardent desire of testifying his respect to the holy personage, without a moment's hesitation flung himself into the hollow that was as yet not filled, and lying on his belly, with his back upwards, bridged the place, and entreated the buddha and his followers to cross the hollow by trampling over his body. great and abundant shall be the merits that i, said he within himself, shall gain by this good work. no doubt i will receive from the mouth of deipinkara the assurance that i shall, hereafter, obtain the buddhaship. the buddha, standing over him, admired the humble and fervent devotedness of thoomeda. with one glance he perceived all that was going on in the hermit's mind, and with a loud voice, that could be heard by all his disciples, he assured him that four thingies and one hundred thousand worlds hence he would become a buddha, the fourth that would appear during the world, called badda. he went on to describe minutely the principal events that were to illustrate his future career. no sooner was this revelation made to him than thoomeda hastened back to his forest. sitting at the foot of a tree, he encouraged himself by fine comparisons to the practice of those virtues that were best suited to weaken in him the influence of the passions. in the different existences that followed, thoomeda, at all the periods of the appearance of some buddhas, received a confirmation of the promise he had had from the lips of deipinkara. this present world we live in has been favoured above all others. already three buddhas have appeared, viz., kaukkasan, gaunagong, and kathaba. these all belonged to the caste of pounhas, and he who was to be hereafter our gaudama, during the many existences he passed through, at the time of the manifestations of those three buddhas, was always born of the same caste. kathaba is said to have lived and preached during the ninth andrakap. it was he who, for the last time, assured the future gaudama that he would obtain the buddhaship during the tenth andrakap. we will only mention his last existence in the seat of man, previous to the one in which he was to obtain the great prize he had laboured for with so much earnestness during innumerable existences. he became prince under the name of wethandra, and practised to an eminent, nay heroic, degree the virtues of liberality and charity. to such an extent did he obey the dictates of his liberal heart, that, after having given away all the royal treasures, his white elephant, &c., he did not shrink from parting with his own wife, the princess madi, and his two children, dzali and gahna. he then died and migrated to the toocita seat, and enjoyed the blissfulness and felicity of nats, under the name of saytakaytoo, during fifty-seven koudes of years. the origin and beginning of the kapilawot country, as well as of its rulers, are to be alluded to as briefly as possible. in the country of the middle, mitzimadesa, the kings that ruled from the time of mahathamadat to that of ookakaritz, king of benares, were , in number. the last-named monarch was married to five wives, and had children by them all. the first queen happening to die, the king became passionately enamoured of a young woman, whom he married. she soon presented him with a son, whom the king, pressed by his young wife's solicitations, declared heir-apparent, to the prejudice of his elder sons. as might have been expected, the four elder sons loudly complained of the preference given to their younger brother. to put an end to these domestic disputes, the king called his four sons and their five sisters, gave them a large retinue, and bade them go in a northerly direction, in search of a spot favourable for building a new city. they followed their father's advice. after long wandering through the forests, they came to a place where lived the rathee kapila, who, becoming acquainted with the object of their errand, desired them to stay with him and found a city. he also wished that on the very spot where his hut stood the king's palace should be erected. he predicted that this city would become great, powerful, and illustrious; that it would be a city of peace, since the animals in the forests lived peaceably, without ever attempting to inflict harm on each other. the proposal was cheerfully accepted. all the people set to work with great earnestness. when the work was completed, they offered the new city to kapila, who was made their teacher. hence the name of kapilawottoo, or kapilawot. the four princes, finding that among their followers there were no daughters of the royal race whom they could marry, resolved, in order to keep pure the blood-royal, to marry their four youngest sisters. the eldest one was raised to the dignity of queen-mother. ookamukka, the eldest of the brothers, was the first king of kapilawot. whilst these things were taking place, the king of benares, having been attacked with leprosy, had left his throne and retired to a forest north of his capital. there he found his cure under the shade of the kalau tree. at the same time the eldest sister, named peya, who had become queen-mother, was seized with the same distemper, and went into the same forest. she met with the king, whom she knew not. by his advice she sat under the kalau tree, and the beneficent smell of the leaves soon worked a perfect cure. they were subsequently married, and had a numerous progeny. they settled on this spot, and built the city of kaulya. the small river rohani flowed between kaulya and kapilawot.[a] [a] when laying before the reader a short and concise account of the being who was to become the buddha called gaudama, the writer deems it necessary to make a general observation, which, he hopes, will greatly help the reader to understand correctly several passages of the following pages. gaudama was a hindu, brought up by hindu masters, and initiated in all the knowledge possessed by the society he lived in. he accepted the fabulous genealogies of kings such as they were found in the writings of his days. the same may be said of the erroneous notions respecting our globe, the size and motions of the sun and the moon and other heavenly bodies, the explanations of many natural phenomena, the description of hell, of the seats of reward, &c. teacher as he was of moral precepts, based upon metaphysical principles, gaudama concerned himself very little about these things, which, in his eyes, were not worth the consideration of a sage. but he, or more probably his disciples, availed themselves of these notions for resting upon them some portions of their system, and giving them such developments as best suited their views. these notions, though wedded to the religious system originated by gaudama, do not, strictly speaking, belong to it. they existed before his appearance in the schools of philosophy; they formed a part of the stock of knowledge possessed by the society in which he was reared. to account properly for these particulars and many others belonging to the disciplinary regulations, recourse must be had to the study of the ancient religion of the hindus, brahminism. in the account of the foundation of the kapilawot city, we find that the practice of leaving the eldest sister unmarried, and of the princes marrying their own sisters, is up to this day observed by the royal family of burmah. the eldest daughter of the reigning monarch is to remain unmarried during her parents' life, and the first queen is often, if not always, the sister or half-sister of the king. the same unnatural practice prevailed in the royal family of the ancient persians. from ookamukka, the first king of kapilawot, to prince wethandra, there are but seven successive kings. from dzali, the son of wethandra, to dzeyathana, the great-grandfather of gaudama, there were , kings. let it be borne in mind, that, during that period of time, our phralaong, or future of gaudama, was in one of the nats' seats. the princes of kapilawot were wont to go and sport on the water of a lake somewhat distant from the city. they at first erected a temporary place of residence in the vicinity of that sheet of water, and finally built a city which received the name of dewaha. it had likewise its kings of the same thagiwi race. dzeyathana, the king of kapilawot, had a son named thiahanoo, and a daughter named yathaudara. aukaka, king of dewaha, his contemporary, had also a son and a daughter, eetzana and kitzana. thiahanoo was married to kitzana, who bore unto him five sons, thoodaudana, kanwaudana, thoukkaudana, thekkaudana, and amittaudana; and two daughters, amita and pilita. eetzana, the son of the king of dewa, married yathaudara, daughter of dzeyathana, king of kapilawot. from this marriage were born two sons, thoopabuddha and dantapani, and two daughters, maia and patzapati. when eetzana became king of dewaha, a considerable error had crept into the calendar. a correction was deemed necessary. there lived a celebrated hermit, or rathee, named deweela, well versed in the science of calculation. after several consultations held on this important subject in the presence of the king, it was agreed that the kaudza era of years should be done away with on a saturday, the first of the moon of tabaong, and that the new era should be made to begin on a sunday, on the first day of the waxing moon of the month tagoo. this was called the eetzana era. on the th of the new era, thoodaudana was born in the city of kapilawot; and on the twelfth year, maia was born at dewaha. in the days of the buddha wipathi, the future maia was then the daughter of a pounha. her father, who tenderly loved her, gave her one day a fine nosegay with a great quantity of the choicest perfumes and essences. the young girl, delighted with these articles, hastened to the place where lived wipathi, and with pious and fervent earnestness laid at his feet all that she had received from her father. wipathi, admiring the fervent liberality of the damsel, assured her that she would hereafter become the mother of a buddha, who was to be called gaudama. when thoodaudana was eighteen years of age, his father, king thiahanoo, called eight pounhas skilled in the science of astrology, and directed them to go with a large retinue and splendid presents in search of a royal princess to be married to his son. the eight pounhas departed. they visited several countries, but all in vain; they could not find one princess worthy of their master's son. at last they came to the city of dewaha. they had no sooner arrived in sight of it than they saw many signs which prognosticated that in the city would be found an accomplished princess, in every respect qualified to become the wife of the heir to the throne of kapilawot. at that time the young maia had gone to enjoy herself in a garden outside the city. it was situated on a gently sloping ground, covered with all sorts of the finest and rarest trees. a small brook, winding its course in various directions, shed on every hand, from its gently murmuring waters, a delicious freshness. thither the royal messengers resorted. they found the princess in the midst of her companions, outshining them all in beauty, like the moon among the stars. admitted into her presence, the head of the deputation attempted to speak and explain the object of his visit; but he was so much overwhelmed by the beauty and the graceful and dignified appearance of the princess, that his voice failed him, and he fainted three times in succession. as each fit came on him several damsels ran to his assistance with pitchers of fresh water, and brought him back to his senses. having recovered his spirits, the chief pounha felt encouraged by some graceful and kind words from the lips of the princess. he explained to her, in the choicest expressions, the object of his mission; and with a faltering and timid tone of voice stated to her that he had come to entreat her to accept presents from, and the hand of, prince thoodaudana. meanwhile he poured at her feet the brightest jewels and rarest articles. the princess, with a sweet voice, modestly replied that she was under the protection and care of her beloved parents, whose will she never resisted; that it was to them that this affair should be referred. for her own part, she had but one thing to do--to abide by her parents' wishes. satisfied with the answer, the pounhas retired, and hastened to the palace of king eetzana, to whom they related all that had just happened. the king graciously agreed to the proposal, and, in proof of his perfect satisfaction, sent in return a deputation with many presents to prince thoodaudana and his father. as might be expected, the royal messengers were well received at kapilawot. thiahanoo and his son set out with a countless retinue for the city of dewaha. in a grove of mango-trees an immense building was erected, out of the city, for their reception and accommodation; and in the middle of that building a spacious hall was arranged with infinite art for the marriage ceremony. when all the preparations were completed, the bridegroom, attended by his father, king thiahanoo and the chief of brahmas, went out to meet the bride, who was coming from the garden, accompanied by her mother and the wife of the great thagia. both advanced towards the centre of the hall, near a stand raised for the occasion. thoodaudana first stretched forth his hand and laid it over that place. maia gracefully did the same. they then took each other's hands, in token of the mutual consent. at that auspicious moment all the musical instruments resounded, and proclaimed in gladdening airs the happy event. the pounhas, holding the sacred shell in their hands, poured the blessed water over their heads, uttering all sorts of blessings. the parents and relatives joined in invoking upon the young couple the choicest benedictions. the king, princes, pounhas, and nobles vied with each other in making presents, and wishing them all sorts of happiness. when the festival was over, thiahanoo desired to go back to his country with his son and daughter-in-law. this was done with the utmost pomp and solemnity. on his return, he continued to govern his people with great prudence and wisdom, and at last died and migrated to one of the nats' seats. he was succeeded by his son thoodaudana, who, with his amiable wife, religiously observed the five precepts and the ten rules of kings. by his beneficence and liberality to all, he won the sincere affection of his people. it was on the twenty-eighth year of the new era that he was married. soon after, he took for his second wife, patzapati, the youngest sister of maia. thoodaudana's sister, amitau, was married to thouppabuddha, the son of king eetzana. about four thingies,[ ] an hundred thousand worlds ago,[ ] the most excellent buddha, who is infinitely wise and far superior to the three orders of beings, the brahmas, the nats,[ ] and men, received at the feet of the phra deipinkara the assurance that he would afterwards become himself a buddha. at this time he was a rathee,[ ] under the name of thoomeda. during that immense space of time, he practised in the highest degree the ten great virtues, the five renouncings, and the three mighty works of perfection.[ ] having become a great prince[ ] under the name of wethandra, he reached the acme of self-abnegation and renouncement to all the things of this world. after his death, he migrated to toocita, the fourth abode of nats. during his sojourn in that happy place, enjoying the fulness of pleasure allotted to the fortunate inhabitants of those blissful regions, a sudden and uncommon rumour, accompanied with an extraordinary commotion proclaimed the gladdening tidings that a phra was soon to make his appearance in this world.[b] [b] _remark of the burmese translator._--there are three solemn occasions on which this great rumour is noised abroad. the first, when the nats, guardians of this world, knowing that , years hence the end of this world is to come, show themselves amongst men with their heads hanging down, a sorrowful countenance, and tears streaming down their faces. they are clad in a red dress, and proclaim aloud to all mortals the destruction of this planet , years hence. they earnestly call upon men to devote themselves to the observance of the law, to the practice of virtue, the support of parents, and the respect due to virtuous personages. the second occasion is, when the same nats proclaim to men that a thousand years hence a buddha or phra will appear amongst them; and the third is, when they come and announce to men that within a hundred years there will be in this world a mighty prince, whose unlimited sway shall extend over the four great islands. on hearing that a phra was soon to make his appearance amongst men, all the nats, the peaceful inhabitants of the fortunate abode of toocita, assembled in all haste and crowded around phralaong,[ ] eagerly inquiring of him, who was the fortunate nat to whom was reserved the signal honour of attaining the incomparable dignity of buddha. the reason which directed their steps towards phralaong, and suggested their inquiry, was, that in him were already to be observed unmistakable signs, foreshadowing his future greatness. no sooner did it become known that this incomparable destination was to be his happy lot, than nats from all parts of the world resorted to the abode of toocita, to meet phralaong and to congratulate him upon this happy occasion. "most glorious nat," did they say to him, "you have practised most perfectly the ten great virtues;[ ] the time is now come for you to obtain the sublime nature of buddha. during former existences, you most rigidly attended to the observance of the greatest precepts, and walked steadily in the path of the highest virtues; you then sighed after and longed for the happiness of nats and brahmas; but now you have most gloriously achieved the mightiest work, and reached the acme of perfection. it remains with you only to aspire at the full possession of the supreme intelligence, which will enable you to open to all brahmas, nats, and men the way to the deliverance from those endless series of countless existences[ ] through which they are doomed to pass. now the light of the law is extinguished, a universal darkness has overspread all minds. men are more than ever slaves to their passions; there is a total lack of love among them; they hate each other, keep up quarrels, strifes and contentions, and mercilessly destroy each other. you alone can free them from the vicissitudes and miseries essentially connected with the present state of all beings. the time is at last come, when you are to become a buddha." unwilling to return at once a positive answer, phralaong modestly replied that he wanted some time to inquire particularly into the great circumstances always attending the coming of a buddha in this world, viz., the epoch or time when a buddha appears, the place which he chooses for his apparition or manifestation, the race or caste he is to be born from, and the age and quality of her who is to be his mother. as regards the first circumstance, phralaong observed that the apparition of a buddha could not have taken place during the previous period[ ] of , years and more that had just elapsed, because during that period the life of men was on the increase. the instructions on birth and death, as well as on the miseries of life, which form the true characteristics of buddha's law, would not then be received with sufficient interest and attention. had any attempt been made at that time to preach on these three great topics, the men of those days, to whom those great events would have appeared so distant, could not have been induced to look upon them with sufficient attention; the four great truths would have made no impression on their minds; vain and fruitless would have been the efforts to disentangle them from the ties of passions, then encompassing all beings, and to make them sigh after the deliverance from the miseries entailed upon mankind by birth, life, and death. the period when human life is under a hundred years' duration cannot at all be the proper period for such an important event, as the passions of men are then so many and so deeply rooted that buddha would in vain attempt to preach his law. as the characters which a man traces over the smooth surface of unruffled water instantly disappear without leaving any mark behind, so the law and instructions that one should attempt to spread on the hardened hearts of men would make no lasting impression upon them. hence he concluded that the present period, when the life of men was of about a hundred years' duration, was the proper one for the apparition of a buddha. this first point having been disposed of, phralaong examined in what part of the globe a buddha was to appear. his regards glanced over the four great islands[ ] and the small ones. he saw that the island of dzapoudiba, the southern one, had always been the favourite place selected by all former buddhas; he fixed upon it, too, for himself. that island, however, is a most extensive one, measuring in length youdzanas, in breadth , and in circumference . he knew that on that island former buddhas and semi-buddhas, the two great rahandas,[ ] or disciples of the right and left, the prince whose sway is universal, &c., had all of them invariably fixed upon and selected that island, and, amidst the various countries on the island, that of mitzima, the central one, where is to be found the district of kapilawot. "thither," said he, "shall i resort, and become a buddha." having determined the place which he was to select for his terrestrial seat, phralaong examined the race or caste from which he was to be born. the caste of the people and that of merchants appeared too low, and much wanting in respectability, and, moreover, no buddha had ever come out therefrom. that of the pounhas was in former times the most illustrious and respected, but that of princes, in those days, far surpassed it in power and consideration. he therefore fixed his choice upon the caste of princes, as most becoming his future high calling. "i choose," said he, "prince thoodaudana for my father. as to the princess who is to become my mother, she must be distinguished by a modest deportment and chaste manners, and must never have tasted any intoxicating drink. during the duration of , worlds she must have lived in the practice of virtue, performing with a scrupulous exactitude all the rules and observances prescribed by the law. the great and glorious princess maia is the only person in whom all these conditions are to be found. moreover, the period of her life shall be at an end ten months and seven days hence;[ ] she shall be my mother." having thus maturely pondered over these four circumstances, phralaong, turning to the nats that surrounded him, anxiously expecting his answer, plainly and unreservedly told them that the time for his becoming buddha had arrived, and bade them forthwith communicate this great news to all the brahmas and nats. he rose up, and, accompanied by all the nats of toocita, withdrew into the delightful garden of nandawon. after a short sojourn in that place, he left the abode of nats, descended into the seat of men, and incarnated in the womb of the glorious maia, who at once understood that she was pregnant with a boy who would obtain the buddhaship. at the same moment also the princess yathaudara, who was to be the wife of the son of maia, descended from the seats of nats, and was conceived in the womb of amitau, the wife of prince thouppabuddha. at that time the inhabitants of kapilawot were busily engaged in celebrating, in the midst of extraordinary rejoicings, the festival of the constellation of outarathan (july-august). but the virtuous maia, without mixing amidst the crowds of those devoted to amusements, during the seven days that preceded the full moon of july, spent her time among her attendants, making offerings of flowers and perfumes. the day before the full moon she rose up at an early hour, bathed in perfumed water, and distributed to the needy four hundred thousand pieces of silver. attired in her richest dress, she took her meal, and religiously performed all the pious observances usual on such occasions. this being done, she entered into her private apartment, and, lying on her couch, fell asleep and had the following dream:-- * * * * * four princes of nats, of the abode of tsadoomarit, took the princess with her couch, carried it to the mount himawonta,[ ] and deposited it on an immense and magnificent rock, sixty youdzanas long, adorned with various colours, at the spot where a splendid tree, seven youdzanas high, extends its green and rich foliage. the four queens, wives of the four princes of tsadoomarit, approaching the couch where maia was reclining, took her to the banks of the lake anawadat, washed her with the water of the lake, and spread over the couch flowers brought from the abode of nats. near the lake is a beautiful mountain of a silvery appearance, the summit whereof is crowned with a magnificent and lofty palace. on the east of the palace, in the side of the mount, is a splendid cave. within the cave, a bed similar to that of the nats was prepared. the princess was led to that place and sat on the bed, enjoying a delicious and refreshing rest. opposite this mount, and facing the cave where maia sat surrounded by her attendants, rose another mount, where phralaong, under the shape of a young white elephant, was roaming over its sides in various directions. he was soon seen coming down that hill, and, ascending the one where the princess lay on her bed, directed his course towards the cave. on the extremity of his trunk, lifted up like a beautiful string of flowers, he carried a white lily. his voice, occasionally resounding through the air, could be heard distinctly by the inmates of the grotto, and indicated his approach. he soon entered the cave, turned three times round the couch whereupon sat the princess, then, standing for a while, he came nearer, opened her right side, and appeared to conceal himself in her womb. in the morning, having awoke from her sleep, the queen related her dream to her husband. king thoodaudana sent without delay for sixty-four pounhas.[ ] on a ground lined with cow-dung, where parched rice, flowers, and other offerings were carefully deposited and profusely spread, an appropriate place was reserved for the pounhas. butter, milk, and honey were served out to them in vases of gold and silver; moreover, several suits of apparel and five cows were offered to each of them as presents, as well as many other articles. these preliminaries being arranged, the prince narrated to them the dream, with a request for its explanation. "prince," answered the pounhas, "banish from your mind all anxious thoughts, and be of a cheerful heart; the child whom the princess bears in her womb is not a girl but a boy. he will, after growing up, either live amongst men, and then become a mighty ruler, whose sway all the human race will acknowledge; or, withdrawing from the tumult of society, he will resort to some solitary place, and there embrace the profession of rahan. in that condition he will disentangle himself from the miseries attending existence, and at last attain the high dignity of buddha." such was the explanation of the dream. at the moment phralaong entered into maia's womb, a great commotion was felt throughout the four elements, and thirty-two wonders simultaneously appeared. a light of an incomparable brightness illuminated suddenly ten thousand worlds. the blind, desirous, as it were, to contemplate the glorious dignity of phralaong, recovered their sight; the deaf heard distinctly every sound; the dumb spoke with fluency; those whose bodies were bent stood up in an erect position; the lame walked with ease and swiftness; prisoners saw their fetters unloosed, and found themselves restored to liberty; the fires of hell were extinguished; the ravenous cravings of the preithas[ ] were satiated; animals were exempt from all infirmities; all rational beings uttered but words of peace and mutual benevolence; horses exhibited signs of excessive joy; elephants, with a solemn and deep voice, expressed their contentment; musical instruments resounded of themselves with the most melodious harmony; gold and silver ornaments, worn at the arms and feet, without coming in contact, emitted pleasing sounds; all places became suddenly filled with a resplendent light; refreshing breezes blew gently all over the earth; abundant rain poured from the skies during the hot season, and springs of cool water burst out in every place, carrying through prepared beds their gently murmuring streams; birds of the air stood still, forgetting their usual flight; rivers suspended their course, seized with a mighty astonishment; sea water became fresh; the five sorts of lilies were to be seen in every direction; every description of flowers burst open, displaying the richness of their brilliant colours; from the branches of all trees and the bosom of the hardest rocks, flowers shot forth, exhibiting all around the most glowing, dazzling, and varied hues; lilies, seemingly rooted in the canopy of the skies, hung down, scattering their embalmed fragrance; showers of flowers poured from the firmament on the surface of the earth; the musical tunes of the nats were heard by the rejoiced inhabitants of our globe; hundreds of thousands of worlds[ ] suddenly approached each other, sometimes in the shape of an elegant nosegay, sometimes in that of a ball of flowers or of a spheroid; the choicest essences embalmed the whole atmosphere that encompasses this world. such are the wonders that took place at the time phralaong entered his mother's womb. when this great event happened, four chiefs of nats, from the seat of tsadoomarit,[ ] armed with swords, kept an uninterrupted watch round the palace, to avert any accident that might prove hurtful to the mother or her blessed fruit. from , worlds, four nats from the same seat were actively engaged in driving away all bilous[ ] and other monsters, and forcing them to flee and hide themselves at the extremity of the earth. maia, free from every disordered propensity, spent her time with her handmaids in the interior of her apartments. her soul enjoyed, in a perfect calm, the sweetest happiness; fatigue and weariness never affected her unimpaired health. in his mother's womb, phralaong appeared like the white thread passed through the purest and finest pearls; the womb itself resembled an elegant dzedi.[ ][c] [c] _remark of the burmese translator._--it is to be borne in mind that mothers of buddhas having had the singular privilege of giving birth to a child of so exalted a dignity, it would not be convenient or becoming that other mortals should receive life in the same womb; they therefore always die seven days after their delivery and migrate to the abode of nats, called toocita. it is usual with other mothers to be delivered, lying in an horizontal position, and sometimes before or after the tenth month. but with the mother of a buddha the case is not the same; the time of her confinement invariably happens at the beginning of the tenth month, and she is always delivered in an erect and vertical position. with the solicitous care and vigilant attention with which one carries about a thabeit[ ] full of oil, the great maia watched all her movements, and during ten months unremittingly laboured for the safe preservation of the precious fruit of her womb. footnotes [ ] all buddhistic compositions are invariably prefaced with one of the following formulas of worship, always used by writers on religious subjects. the one relates to buddha alone, and the other to the three most excellent things, ever deserving the highest veneration. the first, always written in pali, beginning with the words _namau tassa_, may be translated as follows: i adore thee, or rather adoration to, the blessed, perfect, and most intelligent. here are proposed to the faith, admiration, and veneration of a true buddhist, the three great characteristics of the founder of his religion, his goodness and benevolence, his supreme perfection, and his boundless knowledge. they form the essential qualifications of a being who has assumed to himself the task of bringing men out of the abyss of darkness and ignorance, and leading them to deliverance. benevolence prompts him to undertake that great work, perfection fits him for such a high calling, and supreme science enables him to follow it up with a complete success. they are always held out to buddhists as the three bright attributes and transcendent qualities inherent in that exalted personage, which are ever to attract and concentrate upon him the respect, love, and admiration of all his sincere followers. the second formula may be considered as a short act of faith often repeated by buddhists. it consists in saying--i take refuge in buddha, the law, and the assembly. this short profession of faith is often much enlarged by the religious zeal of writers and the fervent piety of devotees. from the instance of this legend we may remark how the compiler, with a soul warmed by fervour is passing high encomiums upon each of the three sacred objects of veneration, or the sacred asylums wherein a buddhist delights to dwell. there is no doubt that this formula is a very ancient one, probably coeval with the first age of buddhism. the text of this legend bears out the correctness of this assertion. it appears that the repetition of this short sentence was the mark that distinguished converts. ordinary hearers of the preachings of buddha and his disciples evinced their adhesion to all that was delivered to them by repeating the sacred formula. it was then, and even now it is to buddhists, what the celebrated mahomedan declaration of faith--there is but one god, and mahomed is his prophet--is to the followers of the arabian prophet. it is extremely important to have an accurate idea of the three sacred abodes in which the believer expects to find a sure shelter against all errors, doubts, and fears, and a resting-place where his soul may securely enjoy the undisturbed possession of truth. they constitute what is emphatically called the three precious things. phra and buddha are two expressions which, though not having the same meaning, are used indiscriminately to designate the almost divine being, who after having gone, during myriads of successive existences, through the practice of all sorts of virtues, particularly self-denial and complete abnegation of all things, at last reaches to such a height of intellectual attainment that his mind becomes gifted with a perfect and universal intelligence or knowledge of all things. he is thus enabled to see and fathom the misery and wants of all mortal beings, and to devise means for relieving and filling them up. the law that he preaches is the wholesome balm designed to cure all moral distempers. he preaches it with unremitting zeal during a certain number of years, and commissions his chosen disciples to carry on the same benevolent and useful undertaking. having laid on a firm basis his religious institution, he arrives at the state of neibban. buddha means wise, intelligent. phra is an expression conveying the highest sense of respect, which was applied originally only to the author of buddhism, but now, through a servile adulation, it is applied to the king, his ministers, all great personages, and often by inferiors to the lowest menials of government. the word phra, coupled with that of thaking, which means lord, is used by christians in burmah to express the idea of god, the supreme being. from the foregoing lines the reader may easily infer that the author of buddhism is a mere man, superior to all other beings, not in nature, but in science and perfection. he lays no claim whatever to any kind of superiority in nature; he exhibits himself to the eyes of his disciples as one of the children of men, who has been born and is doomed to die. he carries his pretensions no farther. the idea of a supreme being is nowhere mentioned by him. in the course of his religious disputations with the brahmins, he combats the notion of a god, coolly establishing the most crude atheism. no one, it is true, can deny that in certain buddhistic countries the notion of an adibudha, or supreme being, is to be found in writings as well as popular opinions, but we know that these writings are of a comparatively recent date, and contain many doctrines foreign to genuine buddhism. this subject will, however, receive hereafter further developments. the law, the second object of veneration, is the body of doctrines delivered by buddha to his disciples during the forty-five years of his public career. he came to the perfect knowledge of that law when he attained the buddhaship under the shade of the bodi tree. at that time his mind became indefinitely expanded; his science embraced all that exists; his penetrating and searching eye reached the farthest limits of the past, saw at a glance the present, and fathomed the secrets of the future. in that position, unclouded truth shone with radiant effulgence before him, and he knew the nature of all beings individually, their condition and situation, as well as all the relations subsisting between them. he understood at once the miseries and errors attending all rational beings, the hidden causes that generated them, and the springs they issued from. at the same time he perceived distinctly the means to be employed for putting an end to so many misfortunes, and the remedies to be used for the cure of those numberless and sad moral distempers. his omniscience pointed out to him the course those beings had to follow in order to retrace their steps back from the way of error, and enter the road that would lead to the coming out from the whirlpool of moral miseries in which they had hitherto wretchedly moved during countless existences. all that gaudama said to the foregoing effect constitutes the law upon which so many high praises are lavished with such warm and fervent earnestness. a full and complete knowledge of that law, in the opinion of buddhists, dispels at once the clouds of ignorance, which, like a thick mist, encompass all beings, and sheds bright rays of pure light which enlighten the understanding. man is thus enabled to perceive distinctly the wretchedness of his position, and to discover the means wherewith he may extricate himself from the trammels of the passions and finally arrive at the state of neibban, which is, as it shall be hereafter fully explained, exemption from all the miseries attending existence. the whole law is divided into three parts; the abidama or metaphysics, thouts or moral instructions, and the wini or discipline. according to the opinion of the best informed among buddhists, the law is eternal, without a beginning or an author that might have framed its precepts. no buddha ever considered himself, or has ever been looked upon by others, as the inventor and originator of the law. he who becomes a buddha is gifted with a boundless science that enables him to come to a perfect knowledge of all that constitutes the law: he is the fortunate discoverer of things already existing, but placed far beyond the reach of the human mind. in fact, the law is eternal, but has become, since the days of a former buddha, obliterated from the minds of men, until a new one, by his omniscience, is enabled to win it back and preach it to all beings. the third object of veneration is the thanga, or assembly. the meaning of the pali word thanga is nearly equivalent to that of church or congregation. in the time gaudama lived the assembly was composed of all individuals who, becoming converts, embraced the mode of living of their preacher, and remained with him, or if they occasionally parted from him for a while, always kept a close intercourse with him, and spent a portion of their time in his company. having left the world, they subjected themselves to certain disciplinary regulations, afterwards embodied in the great compilation called wini. the members of the assembly were divided into two classes; the ariahs or venerables, who by their age, great proficiency in the knowledge of the law, and remarkable fervour in the assiduous practice of all its ordinances, occupied deservedly the first rank amongst the disciples of buddha, and ranked foremost in the assembly. the second class was composed of the bickus, or simple mendicant religious. it is difficult to assert with any degree of probability whether the upasakas, or ordinary hearers, have ever been regarded as members of the thanga, and forming a portion thereof. the upasakas were believers, but continued to live in the world, and formed, as it were, the laity of the buddhistic church. according to the opinion of buddhists in these parts, the laity is not considered as forming or constituting a part of the thanga; those only who abandon a secular life, put on the yellow canonical dress, and endeavour to tread in the footsteps of their great teacher, are entitled to the dignity of members of the assembly, to which a veneration is paid similar to that offered to buddha and the law. the ariahs, or venerables, are divided into four classes, according to their greater or less proficiency in knowledge and moral worth. they are called thotapan, thakadagan, anagam, and arahat. in the class of thotapan are included the individuals who have entered into the current, or stream, leading to deliverance, or, in other terms, who have stepped into the way of perfection. the thotapan is as yet to be born four times ere he can obtain the deliverance. those who belong to the second class glide rapidly down the stream, following steadily the way leading to perfection, and are to be born once more in the condition of nat, and once in that of man. those of the third class are to be born once in the condition of nats. finally, those of the fourth class have gone over the fourth and last way to perfection, reached the summit of science and spiritual attainments, and are ripe for the state of neibban, which they infallibly obtain after their death. the ariahs are again subdivided into eight classes, four of which include those who are following the four ways of perfection; the four others comprehend those who enjoy the reward of the duties practised in following the ways of perfection. [ ] the burmese translator of the pali text gives us to understand that his intention is not to give the history of our buddha during the countless existences that have preceded the last one, when he obtained the supreme intelligence. buddhists keep five hundred and ten histories or legends of buddha purporting to give an account of as many of his former existences; and to enhance the value of such records, the contents are supposed to have been narrated by buddha himself to his disciples and hearers. i have read most of them. two hundred of these fabulous narrations are very short, and give few particulars regarding our phra when he was as yet in the state of animal, man, and nat. they are, except the heading and the conclusion, the very same fables and _contes_ to be met with amongst all asiatic nations, which have supplied with inexhaustible stores all ancient and modern fabulists. the last ten narratives are really very complete and interesting stories of ten existences of buddha preceding the one we are about to describe, during which he is supposed to have practised the ten great virtues, the acquisition of which is an indispensable qualification for obtaining the exalted dignity of phra. some of these legends are really beautiful, interesting, and well-composed pieces of literature. [ ] toocita, or the joyful abode, is one of the seats of the nats. but in order to render more intelligible several passages of this work, it is almost indispensable to have an idea of the system adopted by buddhists in assigning to rational beings their respective seats or abodes. there are thirty-one seats assigned to all beings, which we may suppose to be disposed on an immense scale, extending from the bottom of the earth to an incommensurable height above it. at the foot we find the four states of punishment, viz., hell, the states of athourikes, preithas, and animals. next comes the abode of man. above it are the six seats of nats. these eleven seats are called the seats of passion, or concupiscence, because the beings residing therein are still subject to the influence of that passion, though not to an equal degree. above the abodes of nats we meet with the sixteen seats, called rupa, disposed perpendicularly one above the other to an incalculable height. the inhabitants of those fanciful regions are called brahmas, or perfect. they have freed themselves from concupiscence and almost all other passions, but still retain some affection for matter and material things. hence the denomination of rupa, or matter, given to the seats. the remaining portion of the scale is occupied by the four seats called arupa or immaterials, for the beings inhabiting them are entirely delivered from all passions. they have, as it were, broken asunder even the smallest ties that would attach them to this material world. they have reached the summit of perfection; one step farther, and they enter into the state neibban, the consummation, according to buddhists, of all perfection. to sum up all the above in a few words: there are four states of punishment. the seat of man is a place of probation and trial. the six abodes of nats are places of sensual pleasure and enjoyments. in the sixteen seats of rupa are to be met those beings whose delights are of a more refined and almost purely spiritual nature, though retaining as yet some slight affections for matter. in the four seats of arupa are located those beings who are wholly disentangled from material affections, who delight only in the sublimest contemplation, soaring, as it were, in the boundless regions of pure spiritualism. [ ] thingie is a number represented by a unit, followed by sixty-four ciphers; others say, one hundred and forty. [ ] buddhists have different ways of classifying the series of worlds, which they suppose to succeed to each other, after the completion of a revolution of nature. as regards buddhas, who appear at unequal intervals for illuminating and opening the way to deliverance to the then existing beings, worlds are divided into those which are favoured with the presence of one or several buddhas, and those to which so eminent a benefit is denied. the present revolution of nature, which includes the period in which we live, has been privileged above all others. no less than five buddhas, like five shining suns, are to shoot forth rays of incomparable brilliancy, and dispel the mist of thick darkness that encompasses all beings, according to their respective laws of demerits. of these five, four, namely, kaukassan, gaunagong, kathaba, gaudama, have already performed their great task. the fifth, named aremideia, is as yet to come. the religion of gaudama is to last five thousand years, of which two thousand four hundred and eight are elapsed. the names of the twenty-eight last buddhas are religiously preserved by buddhists, together with their age, their stature, the names of the trees under which they have obtained the universal intelligence, their country, the names of their father and mother, and those of their two chief disciples. deinpakara occupies the fourth place in the series. he is supposed to have been eighty cubits high, and to have lived one hundred thousand years. it is not without interest to examine whether there have existed buddhas previous to the time of gaudama, and whether the twenty-eight buddhas above alluded to are to be considered as mythological beings who have never existed. it cannot be denied that mention of former buddhas is made in the earliest sacred records, but it seems difficult to infer therefrom that they are real beings. st. the circumstances respecting their extraordinary longevity, their immense stature, and the myriads of centuries that are supposed to have elapsed from the times of the first to those of gaudama, are apparently conclusive proofs against the reality of their existence. d. the names of those personages are found mentioned in the preachings of gaudama, together with those individuals with whom he is supposed to have lived and conversed during former existences. who has ever thought of giving any credence to those fables? they were used by gaudama as so many means to give extension and solidity to the basis whereupon he intended to found his system. d. there are no historical records or monuments that can give countenance to the opposite opinion. the historical times begin with gaudama, whilst there exist historical proofs of the existence of the rival creed of brahminism anterior to the days of the acknowledged author of buddhism. it cannot be doubted that there existed in the days of buddha, in the valley of the ganges and in the punjaub, a great number of philosophers, who led a retired life, devoting their time to study and the practice of virtue. some of them occasionally sallied out of their retreats to go and deliver moral instructions to the people. the fame that attended those philosophers attracted round their lonely abodes crowds of hearers, eager to listen to their lectures and anxious to place themselves under their direction for learning the practice of virtue. in the pages of this legend will be found passages corroborating this assertion. thence arose those multifarious schools, where were elaborated the many systems, opinions, &c., for which india has been celebrated from the remotest antiquity. the writer has had the patience to read two works full of disputations between brahmins and buddhists, as well as some books of the ethics of the latter. he has been astonished to find that in those days the art of arguing, disputing, defining, &c., had been carried to such a point of nicety as almost to leave the disciples of aristotle far behind. it has been said that the gymnosophists whom alexander the great met in india were buddhist philosophers. but the particulars mentioned by greek writers respecting their manners and doctrines contradict such a supposition. they are described as living in a state of complete nakedness, and as refusing to deliver instructions to the messenger of alexander, unless he consented to strip himself of his clothes. on the other hand, we know that buddha enjoined a strict modesty on his religious, and in the book of ordinations the candidate is first asked whether he comes provided with his canonical dress. the gymnosophists are represented as practising extraordinary austerities, and holding self-destruction in great esteem. these and other practices are quite at variance with all the prescriptions of the wini, or book of discipline. it is further mentioned that the macedonian hero met with other philosophers living in community; but whether these were buddhists or not, it is impossible to decide. it can scarcely be believed that buddhism in the days of alexander could have already invaded the countries which the grecian army conquered. [ ] nat in pali means lord. its signification is exactly equivalent to that of dewa, dewata. the nats are an order of beings in the buddhistic system, occupying six seats or abodes of happiness, placed in rising succession above the abode of man. they are spirits endowed with a body of so subtle and ethereal nature as to be able to move with the utmost rapidity from their seat to that of man, and _vice versa_. they play a conspicuous part in the affairs of this world, and are supposed to exercise a considerable degree of influence over man and other creatures. fear, superstition, and ignorance have peopled all places with nats. every tree, forest, fountain, village, and town has its protecting nat. some among the nats having lost their high station through misconduct, have been banished from their seats and doomed to drag a wretched existence in some gloomy recess. their power for doing evil is supposed to be very great. hence the excessive dread of those evil genii entertained by all buddhists. a good deal of their commonest superstitious rites have been devised for propitiating those enemies to all happiness, and averting the calamitous disasters which they seem to keep hanging over our heads. though the nats' worship is universal among the buddhists of all nations, it is but fair to state that it is contrary to the principles of genuine buddhism and repugnant to its tenets. it is probable that it already existed among all the nations of eastern asia at the time they were converted to buddhism. the tribes that have not as yet been converted to buddhism have no other worship but that of the nats. to mention only the principal ones, such as the karens, the khyins, and the singphos, they may differ in the mode of performing their religious rites and superstitious ceremonies, but the object is the same, honouring and propitiating the nats. this worship is so deeply rooted in the minds of the wild and half-civilised tribes of eastern asia, that it has been, to a great extent, retained by the nations that have adopted buddhism as their religious creed. the burmans, for instance, from the king down to the lowest subject, privately and publicly indulge in the nats' worship. as to the tribes that have remained outside the pale of buddhism, they may be styled nats' worshippers. hence it may be inferred that previous to the introduction or the preaching of the tenets of the comparatively new religion in these parts, the worship of nats was universal and predominating. [ ] raci or rathee means an hermit, a personage living by himself in some lonely and solitary recess, far from the contagious atmosphere of impure society, devoting his time to meditation and contemplation. his diet is of the coarsest kind, supplied to him by the forests he lives in; the skins of some wild animals afford him a sufficient dress. most of those rathees having reached an uncommon degree of extraordinary attainment, their bodies become spiritualised to a degree which enables them to travel from place to place by following an aërial course. in all buddhistic legends, comedies, &c., they are often found interfering in the narrated stories and episodes. there is no doubt but those devotees who, in the days of buddha, spent their time in retreat, devoted to study and meditation, were brahmins. in support of this assertion we have the highest possible native authority, the institutes of menoo, compiled probably during the eighth or ninth century before christ. we find in that work, minutely described, the mode of life becoming a true brahmin. during the third part of his life, a brahmin must live as an anchorite in the woods. clad in the bark of trees or the skins of animals, with his hair and nails uncut, having no shelter whatever but that which is afforded him by the trees of the forest, keeping sometimes a strict silence, living on herbs and roots, he must train himself up to bearing with entire unconcern the cold of winter and the heat of summer. such is the course of life, according to the vedas, which the true brahmin is bound to follow during the third portion of his existence. some buddhistic zealots have sometimes endeavoured to emulate the ancient rathees in their singular mode of life. it is not quite unfrequent in our days to hear of some fervent phongies who, during the three months of lent, withdraw into solitude, to be more at liberty to devote their time to study and meditation. this observance, however, is practised by but very few individuals, and that, too, with a degree of laxity that indicates a marked decline of the pristine fervour that glowed in the soul of primitive buddhists. [ ] the three great works are; the assistance afforded to his parents and relatives, the great offerings he had made, coupled with a strict observance of the most difficult points of the law, and benevolent dispositions towards all beings indiscriminately. [ ] this extraordinary monarch, called tsekiawade, never makes his appearance during the period of time allotted to the publication and duration of the religious institutions of a buddha. [ ] here i make use of the expression phralaong, or more correctly phraalaong, to designate buddha before he obtained the supreme knowledge, when he was, as it were, slowly and gradually gravitating towards the centre of matchless perfection. in that state it is said of him that he is not yet ripe. this word involves a meaning which ought to be well understood. no single expression in our language can convey a correct idea of its import, and for this reason it has been retained through these pages. _alaong_ is a derivative from the verb _laong_, which means to be in an incipient way, in a way of progression towards something more perfect. a buddha is at first a being in a very imperfect state; but passing through countless existences, he frees himself, by a slow process, from some of his imperfections; he acquires merits which enable him to rise in the scale of progress, science, and perfection. in perusing the narrative of the five hundred and ten former existences of gaudama which have come down to us, we find that, when he was yet in the state of animal, he styled himself phralaong. the burmese have another expression of similar import to express the same meaning. they say of a being as yet in an imperfect condition that he is soft, tender as an unripe thing; and when he passes to the state of perfection, they say that he is ripe, that he has blossomed and expanded. they give to understand that he who is progressing towards the buddhaship has in himself all the elements constitutive of a buddha lying as yet concealed in himself; but when he reaches that state, then all that had hitherto remained in a state of unripeness bursts suddenly out of the bud and comes to full maturity. similar expressions are often better calculated to give a clear insight into the true and real opinions of buddhists than a lengthened and elaborate dissertation could do. [ ] the ten great virtues or duties are, liberality, observance of the precepts of the law, retreat into lonely places, wisdom, diligence, benevolence, patience, veracity, fortitude, and indifference. the five renouncements are, renouncing children, wife, goods, life, and one's self. [ ] metempsychosis is one of the fundamental dogmas of buddhism. that continual transition from one existence to another, from a state of happiness to one of unhappiness, and _vice versa_, forms a circle encompassing the buddhist in every direction. he is doomed to fluctuate incessantly on the never-settled waters of existence. hence his ardent wishes to be delivered from that most pitiable position, and his earnest longings for the ever-tranquil state of neibban, the way to which buddha alone can teach him by his precepts and his examples. this dogma is common both to brahmins and buddhists. the originator and propagator of the creed of the latter found it already established; he had but to embody it among his own conceptions, and make it agree with his new ideas. his first teachers were brahmins, and under their tuition he learned that dogma which may be considered as the basis on which hinge both systems. in fact, the two rival creeds have a common object in view, the elevating of the soul from those imperfections forced upon her by her connection with matter, and the setting of her free from the sway of passions, which keep her always linked to this world. according to the votaries of both creeds, transmigration has for its object the effecting of those several purposes. there is a curious opinion among buddhists respecting the mode of transmigrations, and there is no doubt it is a very ancient one, belonging to the genuine productions of the earliest buddhism. transmigration, they say, is caused and entirely controlled by the influence of merits and demerits, but in such a way that a being who has come to his end transmits nothing of his entity to the being to be immediately reproduced. the latter is a being apart, independent of the former, created, it is true, by the influence of the late being's good or bad deeds, but having nothing in common with him. they explain this startling doctrine by the comparison of a tree successively producing and bearing fruits, of which some are good and some bad. the fruits, though coming from the same tree, have nothing in common, either with each other or with those that were previously grown, or may afterwards grow out of the same plant; they are distinct and separate. so they say, _kan_, or the influence of merits and demerits, produces successively beings totally distinct one from the other. this atheistic or materialistic doctrine is not generally known by the common people, who practically hold that transmigration is effected in the manner professed and taught by pythagoras and his school. if between the adherents of the two creeds there is a perfect agreement respecting the means to be resorted to for reaching the point when man becomes free from miseries, ignorance, and imperfections, they are at variance as to the end to be arrived to. the brahmin leads the perfected being to the supreme essence, in which he is merged as a drop of water in the ocean, losing his personality, to form a whole with the divine substance. this is pantheism. the buddhist, ignoring a supreme being, conducts the individual that has become emancipated from the thraldom of passions to a state of complete isolation, called neibban. this is, strictly speaking, annihilation. [ ] the duration of a revolution of nature, or the time required for the formation of a world, its existence and destruction, is divided into four periods. the fourth period, or that which begins with the apparition of man on the earth until its destruction, is divided into sixty-four parts, called andrakaps. during one andrakap, the life of man increases gradually from ten years to an almost innumerable number of years; and having reached its maximum of duration, it decreases slowly to its former short duration of ten years. we live at present in that second part of an andrakap when the life of man is on the decline and decrease. if my memory serve me right, we have reached at present the ninth or tenth andrakap of the fourth period. should the calculations of buddhists ever prove correct, the deluded visionaries who look forward to an approaching millennium, have still to wait long ere their darling wishes be realised. though it be somewhat tiresome and unpleasant to have to write down the absurd and ridiculous notions burmans entertain respecting the organisation of matter, the origin, production, existence, duration, and end of the world, it appears quite necessary to give a brief account, and sketch an outline of their ideas on these subjects. the reader will then have the means of tracing up to their hindu origin several of the many threads that link buddhism to brahminism, and better understand the various details hereafter to be given, and intended for establishing a great fact, viz., the brahminical origin of the greater part of the buddhistic institutions. he will, moreover, have the satisfaction of clearly discovering, buried in the rubbish of fabulous recitals, several important facts recorded in the holy scriptures. matter is eternal, but its organisation and all the changes attending it are caused and regulated by certain laws co-eternal with it. both matter and the laws that act upon it are self-existing, independent of the action and control of any being, &c. as soon as a system of worlds is constituted, buddhists boldly assert and perseveringly maintain that the law of merit and demerit is the sole principle that regulates and controls both the physical and moral world. but how is a world brought into existence? water, or rather rain, is the chief agent, operating in the reproduction of a system of nature. during an immense period of time rain pours down with an unabating violence in the space left by the last world that has been destroyed. meanwhile strong winds, blowing from opposite directions, accumulate the water within definite and certain limits until it has filled the whole space. at last appears on the surface of water, floating like a greasy substance, the sediment deposited by water. in proportion as the water dries up under the unremitting action of the wind, that crust increases in size, until, by a slow, gradual, but sure process, it invariably assumes the shape and proportion of our planet, in the manner we are to describe. the centre of the earth, indeed of a world or system of nature, is occupied by a mountain of enormous size and elevation, called mienmo. this is surrounded by seven ranges of mountains, separated from each other by streams, equalling, in breadth and depth, the height of the mountain forming its boundaries in the direction of the central elevation. the range nearest to the mienmo rises to half its height. each successive range is half the height of the range preceding it. beyond the last stream are disposed four great islands, in the direction of the four points of the compass. each of those four islands is surrounded by five hundred smaller ones. beyond those there is water, reaching to the farthest limits of the world. the great island we inhabit is the southern one, called dzampoudipa, from the jambu, or eugenia tree, growing upon it. our planet rests on a basis of water double the thickness of the earth; the water itself is lying on a mass of air that has a thickness double that of water. below this aërial stratum is _laha_, or vacuum. let us see now in what manner our planet is peopled, and whence came its first inhabitants. from the seats of brahmas which were beyond the range of destruction when the former world perished, three celestial beings, or, according to another version, six, came on the earth, remaining on it in a state of perfect happiness, occasionally revisiting, when it pleased them, their former seats of glory. this state of things lasts during a long period. at that time the two great luminaries of the day and the stars of night have not as yet made their appearance, but rays of incomparable brightness, emanating from the pure bodies of those new inhabitants, illuminate the globe. they feed at long intervals upon a certain gelatinous substance, of such a nutritious power that the smallest quantity is sufficient to support them for a long period. this delicious food is of the most perfect flavour. but it happens that at last it disappears, and is successively replaced by two other substances, one of which resembles the tender sprout of a tree. they are so nutritious and purified that in our present condition we can have no adequate idea of their properties. they too disappear, and are succeeded by a sort of rice called _tha-le_. the inhabitants of the earth eat also of that rice. but alas! the consequences prove as fatal to them as the eating of the forbidden fruit proved to the happy denizens of eden. the brightness that had hitherto encircled their bodies and illuminated the world vanishes away, and, to their utmost dismay, they find themselves, for the first time, sunk into an abyss of unknown darkness. the eating of that coarse food creates fæces and evacuations which, forcing their way out of the body, cause the appearance of what marks the distinction of the sexes. passions, for the first time, burn and rage in the bosom of those hitherto passionless beings. they are deprived of the power to return to their celestial seats. very soon jealousy, contentions, &c., follow in the train of the egotistical distinction of _mine_ and _thine_. finding themselves in the gloom of darkness, the unhappy beings sigh for and long after light, when, on a sudden, the sun, breaking down the barrier of darkness, bursts out, rolling, as it were, in a flood of light, which illuminates the whole world; but soon disappearing in the west below the horizon, darkness seems to resume its hold. new lamentations and bewailings arise on the part of men, when in a short time appears majestically the moon, spreading its silvery and trembling rays of light. at the same time the planets and stars take their respective stations in the sky, and begin their regular revolutions. the need of settling disputes that arise is soon felt by the new inhabitants; they agree to elect a chief, whom they invest with a sufficient authority for framing regulations which are to be obligatory on every member of society, and power for enforcing obedience to those regulations. hence the origin of society. men, at first practising virtue, enjoyed a long life, the duration of which reached to the almost incredible length of a thingie. but they having much relaxed in the practice of virtue, it lessened proportionably to their want of fervour in the observance of the law, until, by their extreme wickedness, it dwindled to the short period of ten years. the same ascending and descending scale of human life, successively brought in by the law of merit and demerit, takes place sixty-four times, and constitutes an andrakap, or the duration of a world. it remains only to mention rapidly some particulars regarding the end of a revolution of nature. the cause of such an event is the influence of the demerits, prevailing to such an extent as to be all-powerful in working out destruction. two solemn warnings of the approaching dissolution of our planet are given by nats, one nearly , and the other years before that event. the bearers of such sad news make their appearance on earth with marks of deep mourning, as best suited to afford additional weight to their exhortations. they earnestly call on men to repent of their sins and amend their lives. these last summonses are generally heeded by all mankind, so that men, when the world is destroyed, generally migrate, together with the victims of hell who have atoned for their past iniquities, to those seats of brahmas that escape destruction. there are three great principles of demerit, concupiscence, anger, and ignorance. the world also is destroyed by the action of three different agents, fire, water, and wind. concupiscence is the most common, though the less heinous of the three. next comes anger, less prevailing, though it is more heinous; but ignorance is by far the most fatal of all moral distempers. the moral disorder then prevailing causes destruction by the agency that it sets in action. concupiscence has for its agency fire; anger, water; ignorance, wind; but in the following proportion. of sixty-four destructions of this world, fifty-six are caused by conflagration, seven by water, and one by wind. their respective limits of duration stand as follows: conflagration reaches to the five lowest seats of brahmas; water extends to the eighth seat, and the destructive violence of the wind is felt as far as the ninth seat. [ ] our planet or globe is composed, according to buddhists, of the mountain mienmo, being in height , youdzanas ( youdzana is, according to some authorities, equal to little less than english miles) above the surface of the earth, and in depth equal to its height. around this huge and tall elevation are disposed the four great islands, according to the four points of the compass; and each of these again is surrounded by small islands. the countries south of the great chain of the himalaya are supposed to form the great island lying at the south. it would be easy to give, at full length, the ridiculous notions entertained by buddhists of these parts on geography and cosmography, &c., &c.; but the knowledge of such puerilities is scarcely worth the attention of a serious reader, who is anxious to acquire accurate information respecting a religious system, which was designed by its inventor to be the vehicle of moral doctrines, with but very few dogmas. those speculations upon this material world have gradually found their place in the collection of sacred writings, but they are no part of the religious creed. they are of a hindu origin, and convey indian notions upon those various topics. these notions even do not belong to the system as expounded in the vedas, but have been set forth at a comparatively modern epoch. [ ] a rahanda is a being very far advanced in perfection, and gifted with high spiritual attainments, which impart to his mortal frame certain distinguished prerogatives, becoming almost spirits. concupiscence is totally extinguished in a rahanda; he may be said to be fit for the state neibban. several classes are assigned to rahandas alone, according to their various degrees of advancement in the way of perfection. [ ] it is an immutable decree that she on whom has been conferred the singular honour of giving birth to a mortal who, during the course of his existence, is to become a buddha, dies invariably seven days after her delivery, migrating to one of the delightful seats of nats. the burmese translator observes that a womb that has been, as it were, consecrated and sanctified by the presence of a child of so exalted a dignity, can never become afterwards the hidden abode of less dignified beings. it must be confessed that the conception of phralaong in his mother's womb is wrapped up in a mysterious obscurity, appearing as it does to exclude the idea of conjugal intercourse. the cochin-chinese in their religious legends pretend that buddha was conceived and born from maia in a wonderful manner, not resembling at all what takes place according to the order of nature. [ ] the mount himawonta is famous in all buddhistic compositions, as the scene where great and important events have happened. it is in all probability the himalaya, as being the highest range of mountains ever known to indian buddhists. [ ] pounhas are the brahmins who, even in those days of remote antiquity, were considered as the wisest in their generation. they had already monopolised the lucrative trade of fortune-tellers, astrologers, &c., and it appears that they have contrived to retain it up to our own days. during my first stay in burmah i became acquainted with a young pounha, wearing the white dress, and getting his livelihood by telling the horoscopes of newly-born infants, and even grown-up people. i learned from him the mode of finding out by calculation the state of the heavens at any given hour whatever. this mode of calculation is entirely based on the hindu system, and has evidently been borrowed from that people. though brahmins in those days, as in our own, worked on popular ignorance and credulity in the manner abovementioned, we ought not to lose sight of the great fact, borne out by this legend in a most distinct and explicit way, that many among them devoted all their time, energies, and abilities to the acquirement of wisdom, and the observance of the most arduous practices. their austere mode of life was to a great extent copied and imitated by the first religious of the buddhist persuasion. many ordinances and prescriptions of the wini agree, in a remarkable degree, with those enforced by the vedas. in the beginning, the resemblance must have been so great as to render the discrepancies scarcely perceptible, since we read in this very work of an injunction made to the early converts, to bestow alms on the pounhas as well as on the bickus or mendicant religious, placing them both on a footing of perfect equality. [ ] preitha is a being in a state of punishment and sufferings on account of sins committed in a former existence. he is doomed to live in the solitary recesses of uninhabited mountains, smarting under the pangs of never-satiated hunger. his body, and particularly his stomach, are of gigantic dimensions, whilst his mouth is so small that a needle could scarcely be shoved into it. [ ] in the buddhistic system of cosmogony, , worlds form one system, subject to the same immutable changes and revolutions as affect this one which we inhabit. they admit, indeed, that the number of worlds is unlimited, but they assert that those forming one system are simultaneously destroyed, reproduced and perfected, by virtue of certain eternal laws inherent in matter itself. [ ] tsadoomarit is the first of the six abodes of nats. the description of the pleasures enjoyed by the inhabitants of that seat is replete with accounts of the grossest licentiousness. [ ] a palou, or rather bilou, is a monster with a human face, supposed to feed on human flesh. his eyes are of a deep red hue, and his body of so subtle a nature as never to project any shadow. wonderful tales are told of this monster, which plays a considerable part in most of the buddhistic writings. [ ] a dzedi is a religious edifice of a conical form, supported on a square basis, and having its top covered with what the burmese call an umbrella, resembling in its shape the musical instrument vulgarly called _chapeau chinois_ by the french. on each side of the quadrangular basis are opened four niches, in the direction of the four cardinal points, destined to receive statues of buddha. this monument is of every dimension in size, from the smallest, a few feet high, to the tallest, of one or two hundred feet high. it is to be seen in every direction, and in the neighbourhood of towns every elevation is crowned with one or several dzedis. the word dzedi means a sacred depository, that is to say, a place where relics of buddha were enshrined. the word has been extended since to places which have become receptacles of the scriptures, or of the relics of distinguished religious, who had acquired eminence by their scientific and moral attainments. in the beginning, those dzedis were a kind of _tumuli_, or mounds of earth or bricks, erected upon the shrine wherein relics were enclosed. in proportion as the followers of the buddhistic faith increased in number, wealth, and influence, they erected dzedis on a grander scale, bearing always a great resemblance in shape and form to the primitive ones. the stupas or topes discovered in the punjaub, and in other parts of the indian peninsula, were real buddhistic tumuli or dzedis. during succeeding ages, when relics could not be procured, the faithful continued to erect dzedis, the sight of which was intended to remind them of the sacred relics, and they paid to those relics and monuments the same veneration as they would have offered to those enriched with those priceless objects. in burmah, in particular, the zeal, or rather the rage, for building dzedis has been carried to a degree scarcely to be credited by those who have not visited that country. in the following pages there will be found an attempt to describe the various forms given to those monuments. [ ] the thabeit is an open-mouthed pot, of a truncated spheroidical form, made of earth, iron, or brass, without ornaments, used by the buddhist monks when going abroad, in their morning excursions, to receive the alms bestowed on them by the admirers of their holy mode of life. chapter ii. _birth of buddha in a forest -- rejoicings on that occasion -- kaladewila -- prediction of the pounhas -- vain efforts of thoodaudana to thwart the effect of the prediction._ the time of her approaching confinement being close at hand, the princess solicited from her husband, king thoodaudana, leave to go to the country of dewah,[ ] amongst her friends and relatives. as soon as her request was made known, the king ordered that the whole extent of the road between kapilawot and dewah should be perfectly levelled, and lined on both sides with plantain trees, and adorned with the finest ornaments. jars, full of the purest water, were to be deposited all along the road at short intervals. a chair of gold was made ready for conveying the queen; and a thousand noblemen, attended by an innumerable retinue, were directed to accompany her during the journey. between the two countries an immense forest of lofty engyin trees extends to a great distance. as soon as the _cortège_ reached it, five water-lilies shot forth spontaneously from the stem and the main branches of each tree, and innumerable birds of all kinds, by their melodious tunes, filled the air with the most ravishing music. trees, similar in beauty to those growing in the seats of nats, apparently sensible of the presence of the incarnated buddha, seemed to share in the universal joy. on beholding this wonderful appearance of all the lofty trees of the forest, the queen felt a desire to approach nearer and enjoy the marvellous sight offered to her astonished regards. her noble attendants led her forthwith a short distance into the forest. maia, seated on her couch, along with her sister patzapati, desired her attendants to have it moved closer to an engyin tree (_shorea robusta_), which she pointed out. her wishes were immediately complied with. she then rose gently on her couch; her left hand, clasped round the neck of her sister, supported her in a standing position. with the right hand she tried to reach and break a small branch, which she wanted to carry away. on that very instant, as the slender rattan, heated by fire, bends down its tender head, all the branches lowered their extremities, offering themselves, as it were, to the hand of the queen, who unhesitatingly seized and broke the extremity of one of the young boughs. by virtue of a certain power inherent in her dignity, on a sudden all the winds blew gently throughout the forest. the attendants, having desired all the people to withdraw to a distance, disposed curtains all round the place the queen was standing on. whilst she was in that position, admiring the slender bough she held in her hands, the moment of her confinement happened, and she was delivered of a son.[d] [d] on the same day a son was born to amitaudana, called ananda. the wife of thouppaboudha of dewah was delivered of a daughter, called yathaudara, who became afterwards the wife of phralaong. anouroudha, the son of thookaudana, was ushered into existence on the same solemn occasion. the above-named ananda was first cousin to the buddha, and subsequently became the amiable, faithful, and devoted disciple who, during twenty-five years, attended on the person of buddha, and affectionately ministered to all his wants. after the death of his mother maia, phralaong was nursed and brought up with the greatest care by his aunt patzapati, sometimes called gautamee. four chief brahmas[ ] received the new-born infant on a golden net-work, and placed him in the presence of the happy mother, saying, "give yourself up, o queen, to joy and rejoicing; here is the precious and wonderful fruit of your womb."[e] [e] _remarks of the burmese translator._--when children are born they appear in this world covered all over their bodies with impure and disgusting substances. but an exception was made in favour of our infant phralaong. he was born without the least stain of offending impurity; he was ushered into this world, pure and resplendent, like a fine ruby placed on a piece of the richest cloth of kathika. he left his mother's womb with his feet and hands stretched out, exhibiting the dignified countenance of a pundit descending from the place where he has expounded the law. though both mother and child were exempt from the humiliating miseries common to all other human beings, there came down from the skies upon both, by way of a respectful offering, gentle showers of cold and warm water, succeeding each other alternately in a regular order. from the hands of the four chiefs of brahmas, four chiefs of nats received the blessed child, whom they handed over to men, who placed him on a beautiful white cloth. but to the astonishment of all, he freed himself from the hands of those attending upon him, and stood in a firm and erect position on the ground, when casting a glance towards the east, more than one thousand worlds appeared like a perfectly levelled plain. all the nats inhabiting those worlds made offerings of flowers and perfumes, exclaiming with exultation, "an exalted personage has made his appearance;--who can ever be compared to him? who has ever equalled him? he is indeed the most excellent of all beings." phralaong looked again towards the three other directions. raising his eyes upwards, and then lowering them down, he saw that there was no being equal to him. conscious of his superiority, he jumped over a distance of seven lengths of a foot, in a northern direction, exclaiming,--"this is my last birth; there shall be to me no other state of existence; i am the greatest of all beings."[ ] he then began to walk steadily in the same direction. a chief of brahmas held over his head the white umbrella.[ ] a nat carried the golden fan. other nats held in their hands the golden sword, the golden slippers, the cope set with the rarest precious stones, and other royal insignia.[f] [f] _remarks of the burmese translator._--in former existences, our phralaong is said to have spoken a few words immediately after his birth, viz., when he was mahauthata and wethandra. in the first, he came into this world holding in his hands a small plant, which a nat had brought and placed in his tender hands at that very moment. he showed it to his mother, who asked him what it was. "this is a medicinal plant," replied he, to his astonished mother. the plant was cast into a large jar full of water, and the virtualised liquid ever retained the power of curing every kind of bodily distemper. when he was born, or rather began the existence in which he was called wethandra, he stretched out his hands asking something from his mother which he might bestow on the needy. the mother put at his disposal one thousand pieces of silver. thirty-two mighty wonders had proclaimed the incarnation of phralaong in his mother's womb, and the same number of wonders announced his birth to the earth. moreover, in that same moment were born the beautiful yathaudara, ananda, the son of amitaudana, the noblemen tsanda and kaludari, and the horse kantika. the great tree bodi also sprung from the ground, in the forest of oorouwela, about two youdzanas distant from the city of radzagio, and in a north-easterly direction from that place, and the four golden vases suddenly reappeared. the inhabitants of dewah, joining those of kapilawot, set out for the latter country with the newly-born infant, to whom they rendered the greatest honours. the nats of the seat of tawadeintha, on hearing that a son was born to king thoodaudana, and that under the shade of the tree bodi[ ] he would become a true buddha with a perfect knowledge of the four great truths, gave full vent to their boundless joy, hoisting unfurled flags and banners in every direction, in token of their indescribable rejoicings. there was a celebrated rathee, named kaladewila, who had passed through the eight degrees of contemplation, and who was in the habit of resorting daily to the prince's palace for his food. on that very day, having taken his meal as usual, he ascended to the seat of tawadeintha,[ ] and found the fortunate inhabitants of that seat giving themselves up to uncommon rejoicings. he asked them the reason of such an unusual display of enrapturing transports of exultation. "it is," replied they to the inquiring rathee, "because a son is born to king thoodaudana, who will soon become a true buddha. like all former buddhas, he will preach the law and exhibit in his person and throughout his life the greatest wonders and a most accomplished pattern of the highest virtues. we will hear the law from his very mouth." on hearing the answer of the nats, kaladewila immediately left the seat of tawadeintha, and directed his aërial course towards the palace of thoodaudana. having entered into the palace and occupied the place prepared for him, he conveyed to the king the good tidings of a son having been born unto him. a few days after this message, the royal child was brought into the presence of his rejoicing father. kaladewila was present on the occasion. thoodaudana ordered that the child should be attired with the finest dress, and placed in the presence of the rathee, in order to pay him his respects. but the child rose up and set his two feet on the curled hair of the venerable personage. the persons present on the occasion, not knowing that a buddha in his last existence never bows down to any being, thought that the head of the imprudent child would be split into seven parts as a punishment for his unbecoming behaviour. but kaladewila, rising up from his seat, and lifting up his hands to his forehead, bowed respectfully to the infant phralaong. the king, astonished at such an unusual condescension from so eminent a personage, followed his example, and out of respect prostrated himself before his son. by virtue of his great spiritual attainments, kaladewila could recollect at once all that had taken place during the forty preceding worlds, and foresee all that would happen during the same number of future revolutions of nature. on seeing the high perfections shining forth in our phralaong, he considered attentively whether he would become a buddha or not. having ascertained that such a dignity was reserved for him, he wished to know if the remaining period of his own existence would permit him to witness the happy moment when he would be a buddha. to his deep regret, he foresaw that the end of his life would come before the occurrence of that great event, and that he would have then migrated to one of the seats of arupa, and be, therefore, deprived of the favour of hearing the law from his mouth. this foresight caused a profound sadness in his heart, and abundant tears flowed from his eyes. but when he reflected on the future destiny of the blessed child, he could not contain within himself the pure joy that overflowed his soul. the people present on the occasion soon observed the opposite emotions which alternately affected the soul of kaladewila. they asked him the reason of such an unusual occurrence. "i rejoice," said he, "at the glorious destiny of that child; but i feel sad and disconsolate when i think that it will not be given to me to see and contemplate him clothed with the dignity of buddha. i bewail with tears my great misfortune." with a view of assuaging his sorrow, kaladewila, casting another glance towards future events, eagerly sought to discover if, among his relatives, there would not be at least one who would be so fortunate as to see phralaong in the nature of buddha. he saw with inexpressible delight that his nephew nalaka would enjoy the blessing denied to himself. thereupon he went in all haste to his sister's house, inquiring about her son. at his request the lad was brought into his presence. "beloved nephew," said the venerable rathee, "thirty-five years hence,[ ] the son of king thoodaudana will become a buddha; you will contemplate him in that sublime and exalted nature. from this day, therefore, you shall embrace the profession of rahan." the young man, who descended from a long succession of wealthy noblemen, said within himself, "my uncle, indeed, never says anything but under the impulse of irresistible and cogent motives. i will follow his advice and will become a recluse." he immediately ordered the purchase of the insignia of his new profession, a patta, a thingan,[ ] and other articles. his head was shaved, and he put on the yellow garb. attired in his new dress, he looked all round, and saw that, amongst all beings, the rahans are by far the most excellent. then turning towards the place which phralaong occupied, he prostrated himself five successive times in that direction, rose up, placed the patta in its bag, threw it over his shoulder, and directed his steps towards the solitude of himawonta, where he devoted himself to all the exercises of his profession. at the time phralaong became a buddha, our hermit went to that great master, learnt from him the works that lead to the state of perfect stability of mind, returned back to his solitude, and attained to the perfection of rahanda by the practice of the eminent works. seven months after his return, the end of his existence arrived, when, disentangled from all the ties that had hitherto kept him in the world of passions, he reached the happy state of neibban. footnotes [ ] this country of dewah is one of the sixteen countries, so much celebrated in the buddhistic annals, where the greatest religious events have taken place. they are placed in the centre, north, and north-west portions of hindustan. in this place was born the celebrated dewadat, who became brother-in-law to buddha himself. but notwithstanding the close ties of relationship that united him to so saintly a personage, dewadat is represented as the incarnation of evil, ever opposed to buddha in his benevolent designs in favour of human kind. at last, in an attempt against his brother-in-law's life, he met with a condign punishment. the earth burst open under his feet, and, surrounded by devouring flames, he rolled down to the bottom of the lowest hell, acknowledging, however, in the accents of a true but tardy repentance, his errors and the unconquerable power of buddha. three red-hot iron bars transfix him perpendicularly, hanging him in an erect position, whilst three other bars pierce him through the shoulders and the side. for his repentance he is to be delivered hereafter from those torments, and restored to earth, in order to acquire merits that may entitle him to a better place in future existences. some accounts mention that he is to become a pietzega buddha. this story respecting dewadat has given rise in burmah to a very strange misconception. the burmese, with their usual thoughtlessness, on hearing of the particulars respecting the sufferings and mode of death of our saviour, concluded that he must have been no other but dewadat himself, and that, for holding opinions opposite to those of buddha, he suffered such a punishment. the writer was not a little surprised to find in the writings of the old barnabite missionaries a lengthened confutation of this erroneous supposition. [ ] according to buddhistic notions, buddha labours during his mortal career for the benefit of all living beings. his benevolent and compassionate heart, free from all partiality, feels an ardent desire of opening before them the way that leads to deliverance from the miseries of every succeeding existence, and of bringing them finally to the never troubled state of neibban. such a generous and benevolent disposition constitutes the genuine characteristic of buddha. the brahmas, inhabiting the sixteen seats of rupa, are all but ripe for obtaining the crowning point of buddhistic perfection. they only wait for the presence of a buddha to unloose, by his preachings, the slender ties that keep them still connected with this material world. the nats, though far less advanced in merits and perfection, eagerly look forward for the apparition of that great personage, who is to point out to them the means of freeing themselves from the influence of passions, and thereby destroying in them the principle of demerits. men, also, in their state of probation and trial, want the mighty aid of a buddha, who will enable them by his transcendent doctrine to advance in merits, so as either to arrive at once at the ever-quiescent state of neibban, or progress gradually on the way. hence, on his birth, buddha is ministered to by those three sorts of intelligent beings, who are particularly destined to share in the blessings his coming is designed to shower on them. the mission of a buddha is that of a saviour. his great object, to make use of a buddhistic expression, is, during his existence, to procure the deliverance of all the beings that will listen to his instructions and observe the precepts of the law. he is distinguished by feelings of compassion and an ardent love for all beings, as well as by an earnest desire of labouring for their welfare. these are the true characteristics of his heart. in this religious system mention is often made of pitzegabuddhas, who have all the science and merits of a buddha, but they are deficient in the above-mentioned qualities, which form, as it were, the essence of a true and genuine buddha. they are never therefore honoured with the noble appellation of buddha. [ ] the chinese, cochin-chinese, cingalese, and nepaulese legends all agree in attributing to phralaong the use of reason from the moment he was born, as well as the power of uttering with a proud accent the following words: "i am the greatest of all beings; this is my last existence." to his own eyes he must have appeared in this world without any competitor, since he knew already that he was destined to release countless beings from the trammels of existence, and lead them to a state of perfect rest, screened for ever from the incessant action of merits and demerits. he alone whose mind is deeply imbued with buddhistic notions can boast exultingly that he has at length arrived at his last existence, and that, within a few years, he will escape out of the whirlpool of endless existences, wherein he has been turning and fluctuating from a state of happiness to one of wretchedness. this perpetual vicissitude is to him the greatest evil, the opposite of which is, therefore, the greatest good. no wonder, then, to hear our phralaong, who was better acquainted with the miseries attending existence than any one else, exclaiming with the accents of a complete joy--"this is my last existence." the burmese translator seems delighted to remark that on two former occasions phralaong, then an infant, had spoken distinct words, which he addressed to his mother. this happened in the beginning of the two existences during which he practised two of the ten great virtues. it took place first on the day he was born to that existence, when, under the name of mahauthata, he displayed consummate skill and wisdom. the legend of mahauthata is a very amusing performance, written in a very pure language, and relating stories about as credible as those we read in the arabian tales of a thousand and one nights. what surprised the writer not a little, was to find, in perusing that composition, a decision given by our mahauthata, in a case perfectly similar to that which showed forth, in the presence of all israel, the incomparable wisdom of solomon. when phralaong practised the last and most perfect of virtues, liberality, carried to its farthest limits, ending in perfect abnegation of self, and renouncing all that he possessed, he entered, too, into this world with the faculty of speech, and became a prince under the name of wethandra. the legend of wethandra is by far the best of all. taking it as a mere romance, it is replete with circumstantial details well calculated to excite the finest emotions of the heart. the latter part, in particular, can scarcely be read without heart-moving feelings of pity and commiseration, on beholding our phralaong parting willingly with all his property, with his wife and his lovely children, and finally offering his own person, to satisfy the ever-renewed calls on his unbounded generosity. [ ] in burmah the use of the white umbrella is limited to the king and idols. the former can never move without having some one to hold over his head this distinguishing mark of royalty. any one who has been introduced into the palace of amerapoora will not have forgotten how great was his satisfaction on beholding the white umbrella towering above the sides of passages, and moving in the direction he was sitting in. he knew that the time of his expectation was at an end, and that in a moment he would behold the golden face. [ ] in glancing over the genealogy of the twenty-eight last buddhas, the writer has observed that every buddha has always obtained the supreme intelligence under the shadow of some trees. our phralaong, as will be seen hereafter, attained to the exalted dignity of buddha under the tree baudhi (_ficus religiosa_), which grew up spontaneously at the very moment he was born. the writer has never been able to discover any well-grounded reason to account for this remarkable circumstance, so carefully noted down, relating the particulars attending the elevation of a being to this high station. for want of a better one, he will be permitted to hazard the following conjecture. our phralaong, previous to his becoming a buddha, withdrew into solitude for the purpose of fitting himself for his future calling, in imitation of all his predecessors, leading an ascetic life, and devoting all his undivided attention and mental energies to meditation and contemplation, coupled with works of the most rigorous mortification. the senses, he knew well, were to be submitted to the uncontrolled sway of reason, by allowing to himself only what was barely requisite for supporting nature. regardless of every comfort, his mind was bent upon acquiring the sublime knowledge of the principle and origin of all things, on fathoming the miseries of all beings, and on endeavouring to discover the most efficacious means of affording them a thorough relief, by pointing out to them the road they had to follow in order to disentangle themselves from the trammels of existence, and arrive at a state of perfect rest. in common with all other ascetics, our phralaong had no other shelter against the inclemency of the seasons but the protecting shadow of trees. it was under the cooling and refreshing foliage of the trees of the forests, that he spent his time in the placid and undisturbed work of meditation, acquiring gradually that matchless knowledge and consummate wisdom which he needed for carrying on to perfection the benevolent undertaking he had in contemplation. [ ] it is a maxim generally received amongst buddhists, that he who has far advanced in the way of perfection acquires extraordinary privileges both in his soul and his body. the latter obtains a sort of spiritualised nature, or rather matter becomes so refined and purified that he is enabled to travel over distances with almost the rapidity of the thought of the mind. the former, by the help of continual meditation on the causes and nature of all things, enlarges incessantly its sphere of knowledge. the remembrance of the past revives in the mind. from the lofty position such a being is placed in, he calmly considers and watches the movement of events that will take place in future times. the more his mind expands, and the sphere of his knowledge extends, the greater are the perfections and refinements attending the coarser part of his being. [ ] according to the prophecy of kaladewila, phralaong is to become buddha when thirty-five years old. the total duration of his life being eighty years, it follows that he has lived as buddha forty-five years. the advice of the old rathee to his nephew nalaka, to become a rahan in order to better dispose himself to welcome the coming of buddha, and listen with greater benefit to his preachings, leads me to make a remark and write down an observation that has been already alluded to. from this passage and many others which the reader will easily notice hereafter, as well as from the example of buddha himself, one must suppose that at the time phralaong was born, some institutions, the most important one at least, viz., that of the rahans, recluses, or monks, already existed in a more or less perfect state. relying solely on the authority of this legend, no attempt at denying this supposition can ever be made. kaladewila speaks of the order of rahans as of a thing well known. nalaka sends to the bazaar for the purchase of the dress and other articles he wanted for his new mode of life. phralaong, on his way to his garden, sees a rahan, whose habits and manners are described to him by his coachman. having become buddha, he meets with ascetics and recluses living in community, leading a life much resembling that which he is supposed to have hereafter instituted, holding but few opinions, which, according to his own standard, were heretical. from these facts flows the natural conclusion that gaudama is not the inventor or originator of all the buddhistic disciplinary institutions. he found among the multifarious sects of brahminism many practices and ordinances which he approved of and incorporated or embodied in his new system. this is another proof, amounting to a demonstration, that buddhism is an offshoot of the great hindu system. in this respect, gaudama borrowed largely from what he found existing in his own days, in the schools he resorted to, and re-echoed many tenets upheld by the masters under whom he studied the sciences and the training to morals and virtue. he enlarged and developed certain favourite theories and principles which had found favour with him; at the same time, for the purpose of leading his disciples to perfection, he enforced many disciplinary regulations, almost similar to those he had been subjected to during the years of his probation. he was certainly an ardent promoter of the perfected and improved system he endeavoured to introduce. [ ] the thingan or tsiwaran is composed of three parts--the thinbaing, resembling an ample petticoat, bound up to the waist, with a leathern girdle, and falling down to the heels; the kowot, which consists of a sort of cloak of a rectangular shape, covering the shoulders and breast, and reaching somewhat below the knee; and the dougout, which is a piece of cloth of the same shape, folded many times, thrown over the left shoulder when going abroad, and used to sit on when no proper seat has been prepared. the colour of these three pieces, constituting the dress of a recluse, is invariably yellow. the jack-tree supplies the material for dyeing the cloth yellow. in order to maintain a spirit of perfect poverty among the members of the order of the recluse, the wini prescribes that the tsiwaran ought to be made up with rags picked up here and there, and sewed together. the rule, in this respect, at least as far as its spirit goes, is thoroughly disregarded, and has become almost a dead letter. the hairs of the head and the beard, being too often objects which vanity turns to its own purposes, are, to say the least, mere superfluities. a stern contemner of worldly things must, of course, do away with things which may prove temptations to him, or at least afford him unnecessary trouble. hence no layman can ever aspire to become a rahan unless he has previously submitted to the operation of a complete shaving of the head, including even the eye-brows. chapter iii. _a name is given to the child -- prediction of the pounhas respecting the child -- death of maia -- miraculous occurrence at the child's cradle -- adolescence of the phralaong -- he sees the four signs -- return from the garden to the royal city._ five days after the birth of phralaong, took place the ceremony of washing the head and giving him a name. in the apartment of the palace several kinds of perfumed wood and essences, such as sandal-wood, lignum, aloes, camphor, &c., were strewed profusely, as well as the most exquisitely scented flowers and parched rice. the nogana (a sort of beverage made of milk, sugar, and honey) was prepared in great abundance. one hundred and eighty pounhas,[ ] the most versed in the science of astrology, were invited to partake of a splendid entertainment in the palace. the king made to every one of them costly presents, and desired them to examine carefully all the signs, prognosticating the future destiny of his son. amidst that crowd of soothsayers, eight pounhas were present, who explained the dream that maia had in the beginning of her pregnancy. seven of them, lifting up the index[ ] of each hand of the child, were amazed at the wonderful signs their eyes met. "if this child," said they, "remain in the society of men, he will become a mighty ruler that will bring all nations under his sway; but if he embrace the profession of recluse, he will certainly become a buddha." they began to foretell the incomparable glory and high honours that would attend his universal reign. the eighth pounha, named kauntagnia, the descendant of the celebrated son of thoodata, and the youngest of all, raised up the index of one hand of the child. struck with the wonderful and unmistakable signs that forced themselves on his view, he exclaimed, "no! this child will not remain long in the society of men; he will free himself from the vicissitudes[ ] and miseries attending the existence of all beings, and will finally become a buddha." as the child was to be the instrument for promoting the welfare and merits of all mortals, they gave him the name of theiddat. seven days after her confinement maia died, and by the virtue of her merits migrated to the seat of toocita, and became the daughter of a nat.[g] her death was not the result of her delivery, but she departed this world because the term of her life had come. on their return to their home, the pounhas assembled their children and said to them, "we are already advanced in years. we dare not promise to ourselves that we will ever see the son of king thoodaudana become a buddha; but to you such a favour is reserved. listen respectfully to all his instructions, and endeavour to enter the profession of rahan without delay, and withdraw into solitude. let us also all join you in that holy vocation." three pounhas refused the invitation, and would not enter the profession. the five others cheerfully gave up everything, and became distinguished members of the ascetic body. [g] maia was confined in the beginning of the third age. this expression is rather a very loose and general one, and is far from indicating, with any approach to accuracy, the period of maia's age when she was delivered of her son. the age of man is divided into three parts. the first extends from birth to the sixteenth or eighteenth year; the second goes to the forty-fifth year or thereabout; and the third, from the forty-fifth year to the end of life. phralaong was born on the th year of the eatzana era, on the th after the full moon of the month katsong. maia was therefore fifty-six years old. the author of this work strives hard to prove this the age, apparently advanced of maia, was the best fitted for securing the safety and perfection of the fruit of her womb. king thoodaudana, hearing of the explanation given by the pounhas, inquired whether his son was really to become a rahan. having been assured that all the signs predicted the future destiny of his son to such a calling, he desired to know what those signs were. he was told that the four following things were the very signs foreshowing the future career of his son, viz., an old man, a sick man, a dead man, and a recluse.[ ] as soon as his son should successively remark those four signs, he would immediately come to the conclusion that the state of rahan alone is worthy of the warm admiration and eager wishes of a wise man. king thoodaudana, who ardently wished to see his son become a great monarch, whose sway would extend over the four great islands and the two thousand smaller ones, gave the strictest orders that none of the four omens should ever meet his eyes. guards were placed in every direction at distances of a mile, charged with but one care, that of keeping out of his son's sight the appearance of these fatal omens. on that day eighty thousand noblemen, who were present at the great rejoicings, pledged themselves each one to give one of his male children to attend on the royal infant. "if he become," said they, "a mighty monarch, let our sons be ever with him, as a guard of honour to confer additional lustre on his wonderful reign. if he be ever elevated to the sublime dignity of buddha, let our children enter the holy profession of recluse, and follow him whithersoever he may direct his steps." thoodaudana, with the tender solicitude of a vigilant father, procured for his beloved offspring nurses exempt from all corporeal defects, and remarkable for their beautiful and graceful appearance. the child grew up, surrounded with a brilliant retinue of numerous attendants. on a certain day happened the joyful feast of the ploughing season. the whole country, by the magnificence of the ornaments that decorated it, resembled one of the seats of nats. the country people without exception, wearing new dresses, went to the palace. one thousand ploughs and the same number of pairs of bullocks were prepared for the occasion. eight hundred ploughs, less one, were to be handled and guided by noblemen. the ploughs, as well as the yokes and the horns of the bullocks, were covered with silver leaves. but the one reserved for the monarch was covered with leaves of gold. accompanied by a countless crowd of his people, king thoodaudana left the royal city and went into the middle of extensive fields. the royal infant was brought out by his nurses on this joyful occasion. a splendid jambu tree (_eugenia_), loaded with thick and luxuriant green foliage, offered on that spot a refreshing place under the shade of its far-spreading branches. here the bed of the child was deposited. a gilt canopy was immediately raised above it, and curtains, embroidered with gold, were disposed round it. guardians having been appointed to watch over the infant, the king, attended by all his courtiers, directed his steps towards the place where all the ploughs were held in readiness. he instantly put his hands to his own plough; eight hundred noblemen, less one, and the country people followed his example. pressing forward his bullocks, the king ploughed to and fro through the extent of the fields. all the ploughmen, emulating their royal lord, drove their ploughs in a uniform direction. the scene presented a most animated and stirring spectacle on an immense scale. the applauding multitude filled the air with cries of joy and exultation. the nurses, who kept watch by the side of the infant's cradle, excited by the animated scene, forgot the prince's orders, and ran near to the spot to enjoy the soul-stirring sight displayed before their admiring eyes. phralaong, casting a glance all round, and seeing no one close by him, rose up instantly, and, sitting in a cross-legged position, remained absorbed as it were in a profound meditation. the other nurses, busy in preparing the prince's meal, had spent more time than was at first contemplated. the shadow of the trees had, by the movement of the sun, turned in an opposite direction. the nurses, reminded by this sight that the infant had been left alone, and that his couch was exposed to the rays of the sun, hastened back to the spot they had so imprudently left. but great was their surprise when they saw that the shadow of the jambu tree had not changed its position, and that the child was quietly sitting on his bed. the news of that wonder was immediately conveyed to king thoodaudana, who came in all haste to witness it. he forthwith prostrated himself before his son, saying, "this is, beloved child, the second time that i bow to you." phralaong[ ] having reached his sixteenth year, his father ordered three palaces to be built for each season of the year. each palace had nine stories; and forty thousand maidens, skilful in playing all sorts of musical instruments, were in continual attendance upon him, and charmed all his moments by uninterrupted dances and music. phralaong appeared among them with the beauty and dignity of a nat, surrounded with an immense retinue of daughters of nats. according to the change of seasons he passed from one palace into another, moving as it were in a circle of ever-renewed pleasures and amusements. it was then that phralaong was married to the beautiful yathaudara, his first cousin, and the daughter of thouppabudha and of amitau. it was in the eighty-sixth year of his grandfather's era that he was married, and also consecrated prince royal by the pouring of the blessed water over his head. whilst phralaong was spending his time in the midst of pleasures, his relatives complained to the king of the conduct of his son. they strongly remonstrated against his mode of living, which precluded him from applying himself to the acquisition of those attainments befitting his exalted station. sensible of these reproaches, thoodaudana sent for his son, to whom he made known the complaints directed against him by his relatives. without showing any emotion, the young prince replied, "let it be announced at the sound of the drum throughout the country, that this day week i will show to my relatives in the presence of the best masters that i am fully conversant with the eighteen sorts of arts and sciences." on the appointed day he displayed before them the extent of his knowledge; they were satisfied, and their doubts and anxieties on his account were entirely removed. on a certain day phralaong, desiring to go and enjoy some sports in his garden, ordered his coachman to have his conveyance ready for that purpose. four horses, richly caparisoned, were put to a beautiful carriage, that resembled the dwelling-place of a nat. phralaong having occupied his seat, the coachman drove rapidly towards the garden. the nats, who knew that the time was near at hand when phralaong would become a buddha, resolved to place successively before his eyes the four signs foreshowing his future high dignity. one of them assumed the form of an old man, the body bending forward, with grey hairs, a shrivelled skin, and leaning languidly on a heavy staff. in that attire, he advanced slowly, with trembling steps, towards the prince's conveyance. he was seen and remarked only by phralaong and his coachman. "who is that man?" said the prince to his driver; "the hairs of his head, indeed, do not resemble those of other men." "prince," answered the coachman, "he is an old man. every born being is doomed to become like him; his appearance must undergo the greatest changes, the skin by the action of time will shrivel, the hairs turn grey, the veins and arteries, losing their suppleness and elasticity, will become stiff and hardened, the flesh will gradually sink and almost disappear, leaving the bare bones covered with dry skin." "what?" said to himself the terrified prince; "birth is indeed a great evil, ushering all beings into a wretched condition, which must be inevitably attended with the disgusting infirmities of old age!" his mind being taken up entirely with such considerations, he ordered his coachman to drive back to the palace. thoodaudana, having inquired from his courtiers what motive had induced his son to return so soon from the place of amusement, was told that he had seen an old man, and that he entertained the thought of becoming a rahan.[h] "alas!" said he, "they will succeed in thwarting the high destiny of my son. but let us try now every means to afford him some distraction, so that he may forget the evil idea that has just started up in his mind." he gave orders to bring to his son's palace the prettiest and most accomplished dancing-girls, that, in the midst of ever renewed pleasure, he might lose sight of the thought of ever entering the profession of rahan. the guard surrounding his palace was doubled, so as to preclude the possibility of his ever seeing the other signs. [h] in the course of this work the word rahan is often used. it is of the greatest importance that the reader should firmly seize the meaning that it is designed to convey. we find it employed to designate, in general, the religious belonging either to the buddhistic or brahminical sects. when buddhists happen to mention their brethren of the opposite creed, who have renounced the world and devoted themselves to the practice of religious duties, they invariably call them rahans. when they speak of pounhas or brahmins, who are living in the world, leading an ordinary secular mode of life, they never style them rahans. thence we may safely infer that the individuals to whom this denomination was applied formed a class of devotees quite distinct from the laymen. that class, it appears, comprised all the individuals who lived either in community under the superintendence and guidance of a spiritual superior, or privately in forests under the protecting shade of trees, and in lonely and solitary places. the latter religious are, however, generally designated by the appellation of ascetics and rathees. they were the forefathers of those fanatics who up to our days have appeared through the breadth and length of the indian peninsula, practising penitential deeds of the most cruel and revolting description. they are described by buddhists as wearing curled and twisted hair, clad in the skins of wild beasts, and not unfrequently quite destitute of any sort of clothing, and in a state of complete nakedness. the former, who lived in community, did not lead the same course of life. we find some communities, the three, for instance, under the guidance of the three kathabas, in the ouroowela forest, not far from radzagio, whose inmates are called either rahans or rathees. this indicates that their mode of life partook both of the common and hermitical life, resembling, to a certain extent, that which was observed by the christian communities of cenobites established in the desert of upper egypt during the first ages of our era. those communities appear to have been the centres in which principles were established, opinions discussed, and theories elaborated. the chiefs enjoyed high reputation for learning. persons desirous to acquire proficiency in science resorted to their abode, and, under their tuition, strove to acquire wisdom. the following pages of this work will afford several striking illustrations of the view just sketched out. on another day, phralaong, on his way to his garden, met with the same nat under the form of a sick man, who appeared quite sinking under the weight of the most loathsome disease. frightened at such a sight, phralaong, hearing from the mouth of his faithful driver what this disgusting object was, returned in all haste to his palace. his father, more and more disturbed at the news conveyed to him, multiplied the pleasures and enjoyments destined for his son, and doubled the number of guards that had to watch over him. on a third occasion, whilst the prince was taking a walk, the same nat, assuming the shape of a dead man, offered to the astonished regards of the prince the shocking sight of a corpse. trembling with fear, the young prince came back forthwith to his residence. thoodaudana, being soon informed of what had taken place, resorted to fresh precautions, and extended to the distance of one youdzana the immense line of countless guards set all round the palace. on a fourth occasion, the prince, driving rapidly towards his garden, was met on his way by the same nat under the meek form of a rahan. the curiosity of the prince was awakened by the extraordinary sight of that new personage: he asked his coachman what he was. "prince," answered the coachman, "he is a rahan." at the same time, though little acquainted with the high dignity and sublime qualifications of a recluse, he was enabled, by the power of the nats, to praise and extol in dignified language the profession and merits of rahans. the prince felt instantaneously an almost irresistible inclination to embrace that attractive mode of life. he quietly went as far as his garden. the whole day was spent in all sorts of rural diversions. having bathed in a magnificent tank, he went a little before sunset to rest awhile on a large well-polished stone table, overshaded by the far-spread branches of beautiful trees hanging above it, waiting for the time to put on his richest dress. all his attendants were busily engaged in preparing the finest clothes and most elegant ornaments. when all was ready, they stood silent round him, waiting for his orders. perfumes of every description were disposed in a circular row with the various ornaments on the table whereon the prince was sitting. at that very moment a chief thagia was quietly enjoying a delicious and refreshing rest on the famous stone table called pantoo kambala. on a sudden, he felt his seat as it were getting hot. "lo! what does this mean?" said the astonished thagia; "am i doomed to lose my happy state?" having recollected himself, and reflected a while on the cause of such a wonderful occurrence, he soon knew that phralaong was preparing to put on for the last time his princely dress. he called to him the son of a nat, named withakioon, and said to him, "on this day, at midnight, prince theiddat is to leave his palace and withdraw into solitude. now he is in his garden, preparing to put on his richest attire for the last time. go, therefore, without a moment's delay, to the place where he is sitting, surrounded by his attendants, and perform to him all the required services." bowing respectfully to the chief of thagias, withakioon obeyed, and by the power inherent in the nature of nats, he was in an instant carried to the presence of phralaong. he assumed the figure of his barber, and immediately set to work to arrange the turban with as much taste as art round his head. phralaong soon found out that the skilful hand which disposed the folds of his head-dress was not that of a man, but of a nat. one fold of the turban appeared like one thousand, and ten folds like ten thousand folds, offering the magical _coup-d'oeil_ of as many different pieces of cloth, arranged with the most consummate skill. the extremity of the turban, which crossed vertically the whole breadth of the countless folds, appeared covered with a profusion of shining rubies. the head of phralaong was small, but the folds of the turban seemed numberless. how could that be so? it is a wonder surpassing our understanding; it would be rashness and temerity to allow our minds to dwell too much upon it. having completely dressed, phralaong[ ] found himself surrounded by all sorts of musicians, singers, and dancers, vying with each other in their endeavours to increase the rejoicing. the pounhas sang aloud his praise. "may he conquer and triumph! may his wishes and desires be ever fulfilled!" the multitude repeated incessantly in his honour stanzas of praises and blessings. in the midst of universal rejoicings, phralaong ascended his carriage. he had scarcely seated himself on it, when a message, sent by his father, conveyed to him the gladdening tidings that yathaudara had been delivered of a son. "that child," replied he with great coolness, "is a new and strong tie that i will have to break." the answer having been brought to his father, thoodaudana could not understand its meaning. he, however, caused his grandson to be named raoula. phralaong, sitting in his carriage, surrounded by crowds of people, who rent the air with cries of joy and jubilation, entered into the city of kapilawot. at that moment a princess, named keissa gautami, was contemplating from her apartments the triumphant entrance of phralaong into the city. she admired the noble and graceful deportment of prince theiddat, and exclaimed with feelings of inexpressible delight, "happy the father and mother who have such an incomparable son! happy the wife who is blest with such an accomplished husband!" on hearing those words, phralaong desired to understand their meaning and know their bearing. "by what means," said he to himself, "can a heart find peace and happiness?" as his heart was already disentangled from the thraldom of passions, he readily perceived that real happiness could be found but in the extinction of concupiscence, pride, ignorance, and other passions. he resolved henceforth to search ardently for the happy state of neibban, by quitting the world that very night, leaving the society of men, and withdrawing into solitude. detaching from his neck a collar of pearls of immense value, he sent it to keissa gautami, as a token of gratitude for the excellent lesson she had given him by the words which she had uttered in his praise. the young princess received it as a mark of favour which she imagined prince theiddat intended to pay her. without further notice of her, he retired into his own apartment to enjoy some rest. footnotes [ ] which of the two systems, buddhism or brahminism, is the most ancient? this is a question which learned orientalists have in former days variously answered. if, however, some credit is to be given to this legend, and the hero thereof is to be regarded as the author of buddhism, the solution of that much-controverted question is comparatively easy, and seems to admit of no doubt. priority of antiquity is decidedly in favour of brahminism. at the time buddha was born, and in his own country, we find already subsisting the great politico-religious fabric of hinduism. the distinction of caste is already mentioned in several passages. we find the pounhas or brahmins already monopolising the lucrative trade of soothsaying, and regarded as the best informed among their countrymen. they are treated with great respect and consideration even by proud monarchs, who testify their regard for them by costly presents and every possible mark of distinction. it is true that their caste is not always spoken of with great regard by buddhist authors; but this is to be attributed to the deadly enmity that prevailed at a later period between those two great rival sects, which have so long struggled for supremacy over the indian peninsula. the brahminical creed is spoken of in very disparaging terms by buddhists; and, as a matter of course, they have been reciprocally handled severely by their opponents. to those who feel inclined to regard buddha as but a great reformer of a religious system already existing, the question will not appear cleared of all difficulty. but upon them rests the task of establishing on uncontrovertible grounds their hypothesis, ere any serious attention can be paid to the conclusion they would fain infer in favour of the superior antiquity of buddhism. as for us, we believe buddha to be the real author of the great religious system under examination. but, at the same time, we readily concede that many elements found existing in those days were seized upon by buddha, and skilfully arranged so as to harmonise well with his plans. [ ] superstition and ignorance seem to have been in all ages and under every climate the prolific source of human follies and mental delusions. man has always been and will ever be the same ridiculously superstitious being, as long as his mind is left to itself, unenlightened by revelation. with few exceptions, the greatest men of italy and greece were as superstitious as the _vulgus_, to whom, in every other respect, they were so superior. the resemblance error bears to truth, when human passions have some interest at stake, deceives many; under deceitful appearances it finds its way to the mind, and then clings to the heart. there is in man an innate desire of tearing asunder the thick veil that hides from him the knowledge of future events. unable to comprehend the perfect economy of an all-wise providence in the disposition and management of the affairs of this world, he has recourse to the most absurd means for satiating the cravings of his inordinate curiosity. hence the prevailing superstition of those days, which induced men to believe that brahmins, on inspecting the inner part of the hand, could discover certain signs, foreshowing the good or bad destiny of every individual. [ ] metempsychosis, or the transmigration of the soul from one state of existence into another in the same world, is one of the leading dogmas of buddhism. many passages of the present work, or rather the buddhistic system as a whole, can never be understood unless this tenet be always borne in mind. it is by passing through countless existences that a being is slowly purified of his imperfections, and gradually advances in the way of merits and perfection. the sacred writings of buddhists mention that our phralaong had to range, during innumerable existences, the whole series of the animal kingdom, from the dove to the elephant, ere he could be born in the state of man, when, in this condition, he, as stated by himself, went often into hell to atone for certain trespassings. pythagoras had likely borrowed, and received directly or indirectly from the east, this doctrine, which his school re-echoed throughout greece and italy. the end of metempsychosis is, according to buddhists, the state of neibban. on this point the author of buddhism has been at variance with other religious schools, which in his own days held and professed the dogma of transmigration. [ ] the three first allegorical omens or signs which, according to the foretelling of the pounhas, were to be seen and observed hereafter by phralaong, are designed to mean and express the compound of all miseries attending human existence, from the moment man crosses the threshold of life to that of death. the view of these objects was intended to make him disgusted with a state necessarily accompanied with such an amount of wretchedness. he was soon induced by reflection to hold in contempt the things of this world, and consequently to seek with ardour some means of estranging himself from all visible and material objects. the fourth sign, that is to say, the view of a rahan, or a contemner of this world, aspiring to perfect disengagement from the trammels of passion, and shaping his course towards neibban, was the very pattern he had to imitate and follow for arriving to that state of perfection which he felt a strong, though as yet somewhat confused, desire of possessing. the nats or dewatas are the ever-ready ministers for affording to phralaong the assistance he requires to reach in safety the buddhaship. they rejoice at the news of his approaching conception in the womb of maia; they watch over the mother who is to give birth to so blessed a child; they receive the newly-born infant, and hand him over to men; they baffle, by their almost supernatural power, the obstacles which the worldly-minded thoodaudana tries to throw in the way of his son's vocation; in a word, their angelical ministrations are always at hand to help and protect our phralaong, and enable him to reach that state wherein he shall be fully qualified for announcing to men the law of deliverance. the belief in the agency of angels between heaven and earth, and their being the messengers of god for conveying, on solemn occasions, his mandates to men, is coeval, according to sacred records, with the appearance of man in this world. innumerable are the instances of angelical ministrations mentioned in the holy writ. we look upon angels as mere spiritual substances, assuming a human form, when, by the command of god, they have to bring down to men some divine message. in the system of the buddhists, nats are described as having bodies indeed, but of such a pure nature, particularly those inhabiting the superior seats, that they are not only not subjected to the miseries inherent in our nature, but are moreover gifted with such superior attainments as almost to enjoy the perfections and qualifications inherent in the nature of spirits. on this occasion the nats are endeavouring to make virtue triumph over vice; but, in the course of this legend, we will have several opportunities of remarking a counteraction worked up by evil or wicked nats for upholding the reign of passion or of sin. in this system the two contending elements of good and evil have each its own advocates and supporters. a hindu milton might have found two thousand years ago a ready theme for writing, in sanscrit or pali, a poem similar to that more recently composed by the immortal english bard. [ ] from what has been already mentioned of the life of our phralaong, we may see that many particulars regarding his birth and his childhood have been described with sufficient accuracy; but little or nothing is said of his adolescence, at least until the age of sixteen, when he gets united to the famous and youthful yathaudara. in common with many other great men, almost all the years of the private life of this celebrated and extraordinary personage are wrapped up in a complete obscurity. we may conclude from his great proficiency in the knowledge of those sciences and attainments befitting his high situation, he was not remiss, since he was enabled to set at defiance the greatest masters of those days. in the midst of pleasures he knew how to devote the best part of his time to study, unless we suppose that science was infused into his mind by no exertion of his own. the burmese have a regular mania for dividing with a mathematical precision what at first appears to admit of no such division. virtues, vices, sciences, arts, &c., all, in a word, are subjected to a rigorous division, which, if arbitrary in itself, has the great advantage of conferring a substantial help to the memory. [ ] the triumphant return of phralaong from his garden to the city, when he is attired with the richest dress, is commemorated by buddhists, at least in burmah, on the day a young boy is preparing to enter into a monastery of recluses for the purpose of putting on the yellow robe, and preparing himself to become afterwards a member of the order, if he feel an inclination to enlist in its ranks. phralaong was bidding a last farewell to the world, its pomps and vanities. so the youthful candidate is doing who is led processionally through the streets, riding a richly-caparisoned horse, or sitting on an elegant palanquin, carried on the shoulders of men. a description of this ceremony will be found in the notice on the buddhistic monks or talapoins. i am obliged to confess that i have found it somewhat difficult to discover any connection between the expressions made use of by keissa gautami and the inference drawn therefrom by phralaong. the explanation of the difficulty may be, however, stated as follows:--gautami bestows the epithet happy or blessed upon the father and mother as well as on the wife of prince theiddat, because she remarked and observed in him those qualities and accomplishments befitting a worthy son and a good husband. the words blessed and happy struck the mind of the future buddha, attracted his attention, and drew forth his exertions to find out their true import. he asks himself, in what consists true and real happiness? where is it to be found? by what means can such an invaluable treasure be procured? can it be conferred upon man by the possession of some exterior object? can his parents or wife be really happy by the mere accidental ties that connect them with his person? no, answers our young philosopher to himself: happiness can be procured but by waging war against passions, and carrying it on until their total destruction. then the victorious soul, sitting calmly on the ruins of her deadly opponents, enjoys in the undisturbed contemplation of truth an indescribable happiness. in this we clearly perceive the unmistakable bearing of buddhistic morals. it is as it were the embryo of the whole system. king thoodaudana, influenced by worldly considerations, eagerly wished his son to become a great monarch instead of a poor and humble recluse, even a buddha. this alone suggests the idea that in those days the _rôle_ of a buddha was not held in so great an esteem and veneration as it was afterwards. had it been otherwise, the most ambitious father might have remained well satisfied with the certainty of seeing his own son becoming a personage before whom the proudest monarch would one day lower to the dust their crowned heads. at that time a buddha, or the personage honoured with that title, was looked upon as a mere sage, distinguished among his fellow-men by his great wisdom and eminent proficiency in the study of philosophy. it is highly probable that this name had been bestowed upon a great many illustrious individuals who lived before the days of gaudama. hence the fabricated genealogy of twenty-eight former buddhas, supposed to have lived myriads of years and worlds previously, including the three that have preceded him during the continuance of this system of nature. here a superstitious and ill-judged enthusiasm has raised up heaps of extravagancies, setting up a ridiculous theory, designed to connect the _rôle_ of the present buddha with those of a fabulous antiquity, and give additional lustre to it. there is no doubt that the glowing halo of sacredness and glory, encircling now the name of buddha, has never adorned that of any former one. it has been created by the extraordinary progress his doctrines made at first in the indian peninsula, and next throughout eastern asia, and kept up by the fervent admiration of his enthusiastic followers. the means resorted to by thoodaudana to retain his son in the world of passions, and thereby thwart his vocation, could not, we hardly need mention, be approved of by any moralist of even the greatest elasticity of conscience and principles; but they were eminently fitted to try the soundness of phralaong's calling, and the strong and tenacious dispositions of his energetic mind. they set out in vivid colours the firmness of purpose and irresistible determination of his soul in following up his vocation to a holier mode of life; and what is yet more wonderful, the very objects that were designed to enslave him became the instruments which helped him in gaining and ascertaining his liberty. magnificent, indeed, is the spectacle offered by a young prince remaining unmoved in the midst of the most captivating, soul-stirring, and heart-melting attractions; sitting coolly on his couch, and looking with indifference, nay, with disgust, on the crowd of sleeping beauties. chapter iv. _phralaong leaves his palace, the royal city, and retires into solitude, amidst the plaudits of the nats -- he cuts his fine hair with a stroke of his sword, and puts on the habit of rahan -- he begs his food at radzagio -- his interview with the ruler of that place -- his studies under two rathees -- his fast and penances in the solitude of oorouwela during six years._ phralaong had scarcely begun to recline on his couch, when a crowd of young damsels, whose beauty equalled that of the daughters of nats, executed all sorts of dances to the sound of the most ravishing symphony, and displayed in all their movements the graceful forms of their elegant and well-shaped persons, in order to make some impression upon his heart. but all was in vain; they were foiled in their repeated attempts. phralaong fell into a deep sleep. the damsels, in their disappointment, ceased their dances, laid aside their musical instruments, and, soon following the example of phralaong, quietly yielded to the soporific influence caused by their useless and harassing exertions. the lamps, lighted with fragrant oil, continued to pour a flood of bright light throughout the apartments. phralaong awoke a little before midnight, and sat in a cross-legged position on his couch. looking all around him, he saw the varied attitudes and uninviting appearance of the sleeping damsels. some were snoring, others gnashing their teeth, others had their mouths wide open; some tossed heavily from the right to the left side, others stretched one arm upwards and the other downwards; some, seized as it were with a frantic pang, suddenly coiled up their legs for a while, and with the same violent motion again pushed them down. this unexpected exhibition made a strong impression on phralaong; his heart was set, if possible, freer from the ties of concupiscence, or rather he was confirmed in his contempt for all worldly pleasures. it appeared to him that his magnificent apartments were filled with the most loathsome and putrid carcasses. the seats of passions, those of rupa and those of arupa, that is to say, the whole world, seemed, to his eyes, like a house that is a prey to the devouring flames. "all that," said he to himself, "is most disgusting and despicable." at the same time his ardent desires for the profession of rahan were increasing with an uncontrollable energy. "on this day, at this very moment," said he with an unshaken firmness, "i will retire into a solitary place." he rose instantly and went to the arched door of his apartment. "who is here watching?" said he to the first person he met. "your servant," replied instantly the vigilant nobleman tsanda. "rise up quickly," replied the prince; "now i am ready to retire from the world and resort to some lonely place. go to the stable and prepare the fastest of my horses." tsanda bowed respectfully to his master, and executed his orders with the utmost celerity. the horse kantika, knowing the intentions of the prince, felt an inexpressible joy at being selected for such a good errand, and he testified his joy by loud neighs; but, by the power of the nats, the sound of his voice was silenced, so that none heard it. while tsanda, in compliance with the orders he had received, was making the necessary preparations, phralaong desired to see his newly born son raoula. he opened gently the door of the room where the princess was sleeping, having one of her hands placed over the head of the infant. phralaong, stopping at the threshold, said to himself:--"if i go farther to contemplate the child, i will have to remove the hand of the mother; she may be awakened by this movement, and then she will prove a great obstacle to my departure. i will see the child after i have become a buddha." he then instantly shut the door and left the palace. his charger was waiting for him. "to your swiftness," said phralaong to kantika, "do i trust for executing my great design. i must become a buddha, and labour for the deliverance of men and nats from the miseries of existence, and lead them safely to the peaceful shores of neibban." in a moment he was on the back of his favourite horse. kantika was a magnificent animal; his body measured eighteen cubits in length, with which his height and circumference were in perfect proportion. the hair was of a beautiful white, resembling a newly cleaned shell; his swiftness was unrivalled, and his neighings could be heard at a very great distance; but on this occasion the nats interfered, no sound of his voice was heard, and the noise of his steps was completely silenced. having reached the gate of the city, phralaong stopped for a while, uncertain as regarded the course he was to follow. to open the gate, which a thousand men could with difficulty cause to turn upon its hinges, was deemed an impossibility. whilst he was deliberating with his faithful attendant tsanda, the huge gate was silently opened by the nats, and a free passage given to him through it. it was in the year when he left kapilawot. phralaong had scarcely crossed the threshold of the gate when the tempter endeavoured to thwart his pious design. manh[ ] nat resolved to prevent him from retiring into solitude and becoming a buddha. standing in the air, he cried aloud, "prince theiddat, do not attempt to lead the life of a recluse; seven days hence you will become a tsekiawaday; your sway shall extend over the four great islands; return forthwith to your palace." "who are you?" replied phralaong. "i am manh nat," cried the voice. "i know," said phralaong, "that i can become a tsekiawaday, but i feel not the least inclination for earthly dignities; my aim is to arrive at the nature of buddha." the tempter, urged onward by his three wicked propensities, concupiscence, ignorance, and anger, did not part for a moment from phralaong; but as the shadow always accompanies the body, he too, from that day, always followed phralaong, striving to throw every obstacle in his way towards the dignity of buddha. trampling down every human and worldly consideration, and despising a power full of vanity and illusion, phralaong left the city of kapilawot, at the full moon of july under the constellation oottarathan. a little while after, he felt a strong desire to turn round his head and cast a last glance at the magnificent city he was leaving behind him; but he soon overcame that inordinate desire and denied himself this gratification. it is said that on the very instant he was combating the rising sense of curiosity the mighty earth turned with great velocity, like a potter's wheel, so that the very object he denied himself the satisfaction of contemplating came of itself under his eyes. phralaong hesitated a while as to the direction he was to follow, but he resolved instantly to push on straight before him. his progress through the country resembled a splendid triumphal ovation. sixty thousand nats marched in front of him, an equal number followed him, and as many surrounded him on his right and on his left. all of them carried lighted torches, pouring a flood of light in every direction; others again spread perfumes and flowers brought from their own seats. all joined in chorus, singing the praises of phralaong. the sound of their united voices resembled loud peals of continued thunder, and the resounding of the mighty waves at the foot of the mount oogando. flowers, shedding the most fragrant odour, were seen gracefully undulating in the air, like an immense canopy, extending to the farthest limits of the horizon. during that night, phralaong, attended with that brilliant retinue, travelled a distance of thirty youdzanas, and arrived on the banks of the river anauma. turning his face towards tsanda, he asked what was the river's name. "anauma is its name," replied his faithful attendant. "i will not," said phralaong to himself, "show myself unworthy of the high dignity i aspire to." spurring his horse, the fierce animal leaped at once to the opposite bank. phralaong alighted on the ground, which was covered with a fine sand resembling pearls, when the rays of the sun fell upon it in the morning. on that spot he divested himself of his dress, and calling tsanda to him, he directed him to take charge of his ornaments, and carry them back with the horse kantika to his palace. for himself, he had made up his mind to become a rahan. "your servant too," replied tsanda, "will become also a recluse in your company." "no," said the prince, "the profession of rahan does not at present befit you." he reiterated this prohibition three times. when he was handing over to tsanda his costly ornaments, he said to himself, "these long hairs that cover my head, and my beard too, are superfluities unbecoming the profession of rahan." whereupon with one hand unsheathing his sword, and with the other seizing his comely hairs, he cut them with a single stroke. what remained of his hairs on the head measured about one inch and a half in length. in like manner he disposed of his beard. from that time he never needed shaving; the hairs of his beard and those of the head never grew longer during the remainder of his life.[ ] holding his hairs and turban together, he cried aloud, "if i am destined to become a buddha, let these hairs and turban remain suspended in the air; if not, let them drop down on the ground." throwing up both to the height of one youdzana, they remained suspended in the air, until a nat came with a rich basket, put them therein, and carried them to the seat of tawadeintha. he there erected the dzedi dzoulamani, wherein they were religiously deposited. casting his regards on his own person, phralaong saw that his rich and shining robe did not answer his purpose, nor appear befitting the poor and humble profession he was about to embrace. while his attention was taken up with this consideration, a great brahma, named gatigara, who in the days of the buddha kathaba had been an intimate friend of our phralaong, and who, during the period that elapsed between the manifestation of that buddha to the present time, had not grown old, discovered at once the perplexity of his friend's mind. "prince theiddat," said he, "is preparing to become a rahan, but he is not supplied with the dress and other implements essentially required for his future calling. i will provide him now with the thinbaing, the kowot, the dugout, the patta, the leathern girdle, the hatchet, the needle, and filter."[ ] he took with him all these articles, and in an instant arrived in the presence of phralaong, to whom he presented them. though unacquainted with the details of that dress, and untrained in the use of those new implements, the prince, like a man who had been a recluse during several existences, put on with a graceful gravity his new dress. he adjusted the thinbaing round his waist, covered his body with the kowot, threw the dugout over his shoulders, and suspended to his neck the bag containing the earthen patta. assuming the grave, meek, and dignified countenance of a rahan, he called tsanda and bade him go back to his father and relate to him all that he had seen. tsanda, complying with his master's request, prostrated himself three times before him; then, rising up, he wheeled to the right and departed. the spirited horse, hearing the last words of phralaong, could no more control his grief.[ ] "alas!" said he, "i will see no more my master in this world." his sorrow grew so great that his heart split into two parts, and he died on the spot. after his death, he became a nat in the seat of tawadeintha. the affliction of tsanda at parting with his good master was increased by the death of kantika. the tears that streamed down his cheeks resembled drops of liquid silver. phralaong, having thus begun the life of a recluse, spent seven days alone in a forest of mango trees, enjoying in that retirement the peace and happiness of soul which solitude alone can confer. the place, in the neighbourhood of which he began his religious life, is called anupyia, in the country belonging to the malla princes. he then started for the country of radzagio, travelling on foot a distance of thirty youdzanas. arrived near the gate of the royal city, phralaong stopped for a while, saying within himself, "peimpathara, the king of this country, will no doubt hear of my arrival in this place. knowing that the son of king thoodaudana is actually in his own royal city, he will insist upon my accepting all sorts of presents. but now, in my capacity of rahan, i must decline accepting them, and by the rules of my profession i am bound to go and beg along the streets, from house to house, the food necessary for my support." he instantly resumed his journey, entered the city through the eastern gate, the patta hanging on his side, and followed the first row of houses, receiving the alms which pious hands offered him. at the moment of his arrival the whole city was shaken by a mighty commotion, like that which is felt in the seat of thoora when the nat athoorein makes his apparition in it. the inhabitants, terrified at such an ominous sign, ran in all haste to the palace. admitted into the presence of the monarch, they told him that they knew not what sort of being had just arrived in the city, walking through the streets and begging alms. they could not ascertain whether he was a nat, a man, or a galong. the king, looking from his apartments over the city, saw phralaong, whose meek deportment removed all anxiety from his mind. he, however, directed a few of his noblemen to go and watch attentively all the movements of the stranger. "if he be," said he, "a bilou, he will soon leave the city and vanish away; if a nat, he will raise himself in the air; if a naga, he will plunge to the bottom of the earth." phralaong, having obtained the quantity of rice, vegetables, &c., he thought sufficient for his meal, left the city through the same gate by which he had entered it, sat down at the foot of a small hill, his face turned towards the east, and tried to make his meal with the things he had received. he could not swallow the first mouthful, which he threw out of his mouth in utter disgust. accustomed to live sumptuously and feed on the most delicate things, his eyes could not bear even the sight of that loathsome mixture of the coarsest articles of food collected at the bottom of his patta. he soon, however, recovered from that shock; and gathered fresh strength to subdue the opposition of nature, overcome its repugnance, and conquer its resistance. reproaching himself for such an unbecoming weakness:--"was i not aware," said he, with a feeling of indignation against himself, "that when i took up the dress of a mendicant such would be my food? the moment is come to trample upon nature's appetites." whereupon he took up his patta, ate cheerfully his meal, and never afterwards did he ever feel any repugnance at what things soever he had to eat. the king's messengers, having closely watched and attentively observed all that had happened, returned to their master, to whom they related all the particulars that they had witnessed. "let my carriage be ready," said the king, "and you, follow me to the place where this stranger is resting." he soon perceived phralaong at a distance, sitting quietly after his refection. peimpathara alighted from his conveyance, respectfully drew near to phralaong, and, having occupied a seat in a becoming place, was overwhelmed with contentment and inexpressible joy to such an extent, indeed, that he could scarcely find words to give utterance to his feelings. having at last recovered from the first impression, he addressed phralaong in the following manner:--"venerable rahan, you seem to be young still, and in the prime of your life; in your person you are gifted with the most attractive and noble qualities, indicating surely your illustrious and royal extraction. i have under my control and in my possession a countless crowd of officers, elephants, horses and chariots, affording every desirable convenience for pleasure and amusement of every description. please to accept of a numerous retinue of attendants, with whom you may enjoy yourself whilst remaining within my dominions. may i be allowed to ask what country you belong to, who you are, and from what illustrious lineage and descent you are come?" phralaong said to himself:--"it is evident that the king is unacquainted with both my name and origin; i will, however, satisfy him on the subject of his inquiry." pointing out with his hand in the direction of the place he had come from, he said:--"i arrive from the country which has been governed by a long succession of the descendants of prince kothala. i have, indeed, been born from royal progenitors, but i have abandoned all the prerogatives attached to my position, and embraced the profession of rahan. from my heart i have rooted up concupiscence, covetousness, and all affections to the things of this world." to this the king replied:--"i have heard that prince theiddat, son of king thoodaudana, had seen four great signs, portending his future destiny for the profession of rahan, which would be but a step to lead him to the exalted dignity of a buddha. the first part of the prediction has been already fulfilled. when the second shall have received its accomplishment, i beg you will show your benevolence to me and my people. i hope my kingdom will be the first country you will direct your steps to, after having acquired the supreme science." to this phralaong graciously assented. phralaong, having left the king, resumed his journey, and fell in with a rathee,[ ] or hermit, named alara, and inquired about the several dzans. alara satisfied him on four kinds of dzans, but as regards the fifth, he was obliged to refer him to another rathee, named oudaka, who gave him the necessary explanations. having nothing more to learn from these masters, phralaong said to himself, "the knowledge i have thus acquired is not sufficient to enable me to obtain the dignity of buddha." whereupon he resolved to devote himself to the kamatan[ ] or meditation on the instability and nothingness of all that exists. to effectuate thoroughly his purpose, he repaired to the solitude of oorouwela, where he devoted all his time to the deepest meditation. on a certain day it happened that five rahans, on their way to a certain place to get their food, arrived at the spot where phralaong lived and had already entered on the course of his penitential deeds. they soon became impressed with the idea that our hermit was to become a buddha. they resolved to stay with him and render him all the needful services, such as sweeping the place, cooking rice, &c. the time for the six years of meditation was nearly over, when phralaong undertook a great fast,[ ] which was carried to such a degree of abstemiousness that he scarcely allowed to himself the use of a grain of rice or sesame a day, and finally denied himself even that feeble pittance. but the nats, who observed his excessive mortification, inserted nat food through the pores of his skin. whilst phralaong was thus undergoing such a severe fasting, his face, which was of a beautiful gold colour, became black; the thirty-two marks indicative of his future dignity disappeared. on a certain day, when he was walking in a much enfeebled state, on a sudden he felt an extreme weakness, similar to that caused by a dire starvation. unable to stand up any longer, he fainted and fell on the ground. among the nats that were present, some said, "the rahan gaudama is dead indeed;" some others replied, "he is not dead, but has fainted from want of food." those who believed he was dead hastened to his father's palace to convey to him the sad message of his son's death. thoodaudana inquired if his son died previous to his becoming a buddha. having been answered in the affirmative, he refused to give credit to the words of the nats. the reason of his doubting the accuracy of the report was, that he had witnessed the great wonders prognosticating his son's future dignity that had taken place, first when phralaong, then an infant, was placed in the presence of a famous rathee, and secondly, when he slept under the shade of the tree tsampoo-thabia. the fainting being over, and phralaong having recovered his senses, the same nats went in all haste to thoodaudana, to inform him of his son's happy recovery. "i knew well," said the king, "that my son could not die ere he had become a buddha." the fame of phralaong's having spent six years in solitude, addicted to meditation and mortification, spread abroad like the sound of a great bell,[ ] hung in the canopy of the skies. phralaong soon remarked that fasting and mortification were not works of sufficient value for obtaining the dignity of buddha; he took up his patta and went to the neighbouring village to get his food. having eaten it, he grew stronger; his beautiful face shone again like gold, and the thirty-two signs reappeared.[ ] the five rahans that had lived with him said to each other--"it is in vain that the rahan gaudama has, during six years of mortification and sufferings, sought the dignity of buddha; he is now compelled to go out in search of food; assuredly, if he be obliged to live on such food, when shall he ever become a buddha? he goes out in quest of food; verily, he aims at enriching himself. as the man that wants drops of dew or water to refresh and wash his forehead, has to look for them, so we have to go somewhere else to learn the way to, and the merit of, dzan, which we have not been able to obtain from him." whereupon they left phralaong, took up their pattas and tsiwarans, went to a distance of eighteen youdzanas, and withdrew into the forest of migadawon, near baranathee. footnotes [ ] phralaong having overcome with uncommon fortitude the numberless obstacles which he had encountered on the part of men, will have now to meet another foe, perhaps more formidable, a wicked nat, or demon. his name, according to its orthography, is mar or mara, but the burmese call him manh, which means pride. manh is, therefore, the evil spirit of pride, or rather personified pride, and the enemy of mankind, ever ready to oppose the benevolent designs and generous efforts of buddha in carrying on his great undertaking, conceived to benefit humanity, by teaching men the way that leads to deliverance from all miseries. the first plan concocted by manh for stopping, at the very outset, the progress of phralaong, was to flatter his ambition by promising him _all the kingdoms of this world and their glory_. from that day the tempter never lost sight of the benevolent buddha, but followed him everywhere, endeavouring to prevent the immense success that was to attend his future mission. the evil propensities which constitute, as it were, the very essence of manh's nature, are concupiscence, envy, and an irresistible proneness to do harm. the devil indeed could hardly be made up of worse materials. it is really interesting through the course of this legend to read of the uninterrupted efforts made by the personification of evil to thwart buddha in all his benevolent designs. the antagonism begins now, but it will be maintained with an obstinate and prolonged activity during the whole life of buddha. [ ] this circumstance explains one peculiarity observable in all the statues representing buddha. the head is invariably covered with sharp points, resembling those thorns with which the thick envelope of the durian fruit is armed. often i had inquired as to the motive that induced native sculptors to leave on the head of all statues that sort of inverted nails, without ever being able to obtain any satisfactory answer. it was only after having read this passage of the life of buddha that i was enabled to account for this apparently singular custom, which is designed to remind all buddhists of the ever-continued wonder whereby the hairs which remained on buddha's head never grew longer from the day he cut them with his sword. [ ] every talapoin or recluse must be provided with one needle, wherewith he is to sew his dress, one hatchet to cut the wood he may be in need of, either for erecting a shelter for himself or for other purposes, and one filter to strain the water he intends to drink, that it might be cleared from all impurities, but chiefly of insects or any living body that might be in it, which would expose the drinker thereof to the enormous sin of causing the death of some animal. [ ] the various accounts that are given of the horse kantika, and the grief he feels at parting with his master, grief which reaches so far as to cause his death, may appear somewhat extraordinary, puerile, and ridiculous to every one except to buddhists. one great principle of that religious system is that man does not differ from animals in nature, but only in relative perfection. in animals there are souls as well as in men, but these souls, on account of the paucity of their merits and the multiplicity of their demerits, are yet in a very imperfect state. when the law of demerits grows weak, and that of merits gathers strength, the soul, though continuing to inhabit the body of animals, has the knowledge of good and evil, and can attain to a certain degree of perfection. buddhistic writings supply many instances of this belief. whilst buddha was in the desert, an elephant ministered to all his wants. as a reward for such a series of services, buddha preached to him the law, and led him at once to the deliverance, that is to say, to the state of neibban. when one animal has progressed so far in the way of merits as to be able to discern between good and bad, it is said that he is ripe, or fit to become man. the horse kantika seems to have reached that state of full ripeness, since, after his death, he passed to the state of nat. this peculiar tenet of buddhistic faith accounts for the first of the five great commands, which extends the formal injunction of "thou shalt not kill" to animals. when a candidate is admitted, according to the prescriptions contained in the sacred kambawa, into the order of rahans, he is expressly and solemnly commanded to refrain from committing four sins, which would deprive him _de facto_ of the dignity he has been elevated to. the taking away willingly of the life of anything animated, is one of these four trespassings. [ ] the fact of buddha placing himself under the tuition of two masters or teachers, leading an ascetic life, to learn from them notions of the most abstruse nature, establishes, beyond all doubt, the high antiquity of the existence in india of a large number of individuals, who, living in some retired spot, far from the tumult of society, endeavoured, by constant application, to dive into the deepest recesses of morals and metaphysics. the fame of the learning of many among them attracted to their solitude crowds of disciples, anxious to study under such eminent masters. hence we see some of these rathees at the head of four or five hundred disciples. there is no doubt that the most distinguished rathees became the founders of many of those philosophico-religious schools for which india was renowned from the remotest antiquity. like many others who thirsted for knowledge, phralaong resorted to the schools of the rathees, as to the then most celebrated seats of learning. from this fact we may be allowed to draw another inference, which may be considered as a consequence of what has been stated in a foregoing note, regarding the superior antiquity of brahminism over buddhism. phralaong was brought up in the bosom of a society regulated and governed by brahminical institutions. he must have been imbued from the earliest days of his elementary education with the notions generally taught, viz.: the brahminical ones. when he grew up and began to think for himself, he was displeased with certain doctrines which did not tally with his own ideas. following the example of many that had preceded him in the way of innovation, he boldly shaped his course in a new direction, and soon arrived at a final issue on many points, both with his teachers and some of the doctrines generally received in the society in which he had been brought up. we may, therefore, safely conclude that the doctrines supposed to have been preached by the latest buddha are but an off-shoot of brahminism. this may serve to account for the great resemblance subsisting between many doctrines of both creeds. the cardinal points on which these two systems essentially differ are the beginning and the end of living beings. between these two extremes there is a multitude of points on which both systems so perfectly agree that they appear blended together. the rathees seem, according to the institutes of menoo, to have been first in observing two practices, much enforced by the wini in subsequent times. they were supported by the alms bestowed on them by their disciples and the admirers of their singular mode of life. they were courted and esteemed by the world, in proportion to the contempt they appeared to hold it in. denying to themselves the pleasures which were opposed to their austere life, they observed, as long as they remained rathees, the rules of the strictest celibacy. phralaong, preparing himself for his future high calling, began to study the science of _dzan_ under distinguished masters. what is meant by dzan? this pali word means thought, reflection, meditation. it is often designed by the burmese to mean a peculiar state of the soul that has already made great progress in the way of perfection. phralaong intended, by placing himself under the direction of those eminent teachers, to learn the great art of training his mind for the obtaining, by constant and well-directed meditations, of high mental attainments. in the book of buddhistic metaphysics, i have found the science of dzan divided into five parts, or rather five steps, which the mind has to ascend successively ere it can enjoy a state of perfect quiescence, the highest point a perfected being can arrive at before reaching the state of neibban. in the first step the soul searches after what is good and perfect, and having discovered it, turns its attention and the energy of its faculties towards it. in the second, the soul begins to contemplate steadily what it has first discovered, and rivets upon it its attention. in the third stage, the soul fondly relishes, and is, as it were, entirely taken with it. in the fourth, the soul calmly enjoys and quietly feasts on the pure truths it has loved in the former state. in the fifth, the soul, perfectly satiated with the knowledge of truth, remains in a state of complete quietude, perfect fixity, unmoved stability, which nothing can any longer alter or disturb. the burmese and all buddhists, always fond of what is wonderful, attribute supernatural perfections to those who have so far advanced in mental attainments. their bodies become, as it were, half-spiritualised, so that they can, according to their wishes, carry themselves through the air from one place to another, without the least hindrance or difficulty. [ ] kamatan means the fixing of the attention on one object, so as to investigate thoroughly all its constituent parts, its principle and origin, its existence and its final destruction. it is that part of metaphysics which treats of the beginning, nature, and end of beings. to become proficient in that science, a man must be gifted with a most extensive knowledge and an analysing mind of no common cast. the process of kamatan is as follows. let it be supposed that man intends to contemplate one of the four elements, fire, for instance; he abstracts himself from every object which is not fire, and devotes all his attention to the contemplation of that object alone; he examines the nature of fire, and finding it a compound of several distinct parts, he investigates the cause or causes that keep those parts together, and soon discovers that they are but accidental ones, the action whereof may be impeded or destroyed by the occurrence of any sudden accident. he concludes that fire has but a fictitious ephemeral existence. the same method is followed in examining the other elements, and gradually all other things he may come in contact with, and his final conclusion is, that all things placed without him are destitute of real existence, being mere illusions, divested of all reality. he infers, again, that all things are subjected to the law of incessant change, without fixity or stability. the wise man, therefore, can feel no attachment to objects which, in his own opinion, are but illusions and deception: his mind can nowhere find rest in the midst of illusions always succeeding to each other. having surveyed all that is distinct of self, he applies himself to the work of investigating the origin and nature of his body. after a lengthened examination, he arrives, as a matter of course, at the same conclusion. his body is a mere illusion without reality, subjected to changes and destruction. he feels that it is as yet distinct from self. he despises his body, as he does everything else, and has no concern for it. he longs for the state of neibban, as the only one worthy of the wise man's earnest desire. by such a preliminary step, the student, having estranged himself from this world of illusions, advances towards the study of the excellent works which will pave the way to neibban. the burmese reckon forty kamatans. they are often repeated over by devotees, whose weak intellect is utterly incapable of understanding the meaning they are designed to convey to the mind. notwithstanding his singular aptitude in acquiring knowledge, phralaong devoted six whole years, in the solitude of oorouwela, busily engaged in mastering the profound science he aimed at acquiring. it was during that time that he received the visits of five rahans, whose chief was named koondanha. they were very probably, like so many of their profession, travelling about in search of knowledge. they placed themselves under the direction of phralaong, and in exchange for the lessons they received from him, they served him as humble and grateful disciples are wont to attend on a highly esteemed teacher. in this, as well as many other circumstances, we see that, previous to gaudama's preachings, there already existed in india an order of devotees or enthusiasts, who lived secluded from the world, devoted to the study of religious doctrines and the practice of virtues of the highest order. the order of buddhistic monks or talapoins, which was subsequently established by the author of buddhism, is but a modification of what actually subsisted in full vigour in his own country and in his own time. [ ] in a buddhistic point of view the only reason that may be assigned for the extraordinary fast of phralaong is the satisfaction of showing to the world the display of wonderful action. fasting and other works of mortification have always been much practised by the indian philosophers of past ages, who thereby attracted the notice, respect, admiration, and veneration of the world. such rigorous exercises, too, were deemed of great help for enabling the soul to have a more perfect control over the senses, and subjecting them to the empire of reason. they are also conducive towards the calm and undisturbed state in which the soul is better fitted for the arduous task of constant meditation. the fast of gaudama, preparatory to his obtaining the buddhaship, recalls to mind that which our lord underwent ere he began his divine mission. if the writer, in the course of this work, has made once or twice a remark of similar import, he has done so, not with the intention of drawing a parallel as between facts, but to communicate to the reader the feelings of surprise and astonishment he experienced when he thought he met with circumstances respecting the founder of buddhism which apparently bore great similarity to some connected with the mission of our saviour. [ ] bells are common in burmah, and the people of that country are well acquainted with the art of casting them. most of the bells to be seen in the pagodas are of small dimensions, and differing in shape somewhat from those used in europe. the inferior part is less widened, and there is a large hole in the centre of the upper part. no tongue is hung in the interior, but the sound is produced by striking with a horn of deer or elk the outward surface of the lower part. no belfry is erected for the bells; they are fixed on a piece of timber, laid horizontally, and supported at its two extremities by two posts, at such a height that the inferior part of the bell is raised about five feet above the ground. the largest specimens of burmese art in casting bells of great weight are the two bells to be seen, the one in the large pagoda of rangoon, called shway dagon, and the other at mingon, about twelve or fifteen miles north of amerapoura, on the western bank of the irrawaddy. the first, in the town of rangoon, was cast in , when king tharawaddy visited the place, with the intention of founding a new city, more distant from the river, and nearer to the mount upon which rises the splendid shway dagon. in its shape and form it exactly resembles the kind of bells above described. here are some particulars respecting that large piece of metal, collected from the inscription to be seen upon it. it was cast on the fifth day of the full moon of tabodwai (february), of the burmese era. the weight of metal is , lbs.; its height - / cubits; its diameter cubits; its thickness fingers or inches. but during the process of melting, the well-disposed came forward and threw in copper, silver, and gold in great quantities. it is supposed, says the writer of the inscription, that in this way the weight was increased one-fourth. the bell of mingon was cast in the beginning of this century. in shape and form it resembles our bells in europe. it is probable that some foreigner residing at ava suggested the idea of giving such an unusual form to that monumental bell. its height is feet, besides feet for hanging apparatus. it has feet in diameter, and from to inches in thickness. its weight is supposed to exceed two hundred thousand english pounds. in the interior large yellowish and greyish streaks indicate that considerable quantities of gold and silver had been thrown in during the process of melting. no idea can at present be had of the power of the sound of that bell, as its enormous weight has caused the pillars that support it partially to give way. to prevent a fatal disaster, the orifice of the bell has been made to rest on large short posts, sunk in the ground and rising about three feet above it. in no respect can these bells bear any comparison with those of europe. they are mightily rough and rude attempts at doing works on a scale far surpassing the abilities of native workmen, who otherwise succeed tolerably well in casting the comparatively small bells commonly met with in the courtyards of pagodas. [ ] one of the genuine characters of buddhism is correctly exhibited in this observation of phralaong's respecting fasts, mortifications, and other self-inflicted penances. they are not looked upon as the immediate way leading to perfection, nor as _a portion_ or a part of perfection itself. such deeds are but means resorted to for weakening passions and increasing the power of the spiritual principle over the natural one: they are preparatory to the great work of meditation or the study of truth, which is the only high-road to perfection. to the sage that has already begun the laborious task of investigating truth, such practices are of no use, and are nowhere insisted on as necessary, or even useful. in the book of discipline, no mention is made of them. the life of the initiated is one of self-denial; all superfluities and luxuries are strictly interdicted; all that is calculated to minister to passions and pleasure is carefully excluded. but the great austerities and macerations practised by the religious of the brahminical sect are at once rejected by the buddhist sages as unprofitable and unnecessary to them. the inmates of the buddhist monasteries in our days are never seen indulging in those cruel, disgusting, and unnatural practices performed from time immemorial by some of their brethren of the hindu persuasion. this constitutes one of the principal differences or discrepancies between the two systems. with the founder of buddhism fasts and penitential deeds are of great concern to him who is as yet in the world, living under the tyrannical yoke of passions and the influence of the senses. by him they are viewed as powerful auxiliaries in the spiritual warfare for obtaining the mastery over passions. this point once gained, the sage can at once dispense with their aid as being no longer required. the follower of the hindu creed looks upon those practices as _per se_ eminently meritorious and capable of leading him to perfection; hence the mania for carrying those observances to a degree revolting to reason, and even to the plain good sense of the people. chapter v. _thoodzata's offering to phralaong -- his five dreams -- he shapes his course towards the gniaong tree -- miraculous appearance of a throne -- victory of phralaong over manh nat -- his meditations during forty-nine days near the bodi tree -- he at last obtains the perfect science -- he overcomes the temptation directed against him by the daughters of manh -- buddha preaches the law to a pounha and to two merchants._ at that time, in the solitude of oorouwela, there lived in a village a rich man, named thena. he had a daughter named thoodzata. having attained the years of puberty, she repaired to a place where there was a gniaong tree, and made the following prayer to the nat guardian of the place[ ]:--"if i marry a husband that will prove a suitable match, and the first fruit of our union be a male child, i will spend annually in alms deeds , pieces of silver, and make an offering at this spot." her prayer was heard, and its twofold object granted. when phralaong had ended the six years of his fasting and mortification, on the day of the full moon of the month katson, thoodzata was preparing to make her grateful offering to the nat of the place. she had been keeping one thousand cows in a place abounding with sweet vines; the milk of those thousand was given to five hundred cows; these again fed with their own milk two hundred and fifty others, and so on, in a diminishing proportion, until it happened that sixteen cows fed eight others with their milk. so these eight cows gave a milk, rich, sweet, and flavoured beyond all description. on the day of the full moon of katson,[ ] thoodzata rose at an early hour to make ready her offering, and disposed everything that the cows should be simultaneously milked. when they were to be milked, the young calves of their own accord kept at a distance; and as soon as the vessels were brought near, the milk began to flow in streams from the udders into the vessels. she took the milk and poured it into a large caldron, set on the fire which she had herself kindled. the milk began to boil; bubbles formed on the surface of the liquid, turned on the right and sunk in, not a single drop being spilt out; no smoke arose from the fireplace. four kings of nats watched about while the caldron was boiling; the great brahma kept open an umbrella over it; a thagia brought fuel and fed the fire. other nats, by their supernatural power, infused honey into the milk, and communicated thereto a flavour, such as the like is not to be found in the abode of men. on this occasion alone, and on the day phralaong entered the state of neibban, the nats infused honey into his food. wondering at the so many extraordinary signs which she saw, thoodzata called her female slave, named sounama, related to her all that she had observed, and directed her to go to the gniaong tree, and clear the place where she intended to make her offering. the servant, complying with her mistress' direction, soon arrived at the foot of the tree. on that very night phralaong had had five dreams.[ ] st, it appeared to him that the earth was his sleeping place, with the himawonta for his pillow. his right hand rested on the western ocean, his left on the eastern ocean, and his feet on the southern ocean. nd, a kind of grass, named tyria, appeared to grow out of his navel and reach to the skies. rd, ants of a white appearance ascended from his feet to the knee and covered his legs. th, birds of varied colour and size appeared to come from all directions and fall at his feet, when, on a sudden, they all appeared white. th, it seemed to him that he was walking on a mountain of filth, and that he passed over it without being in the least contaminated. phralaong, awaking from his sleep, said to himself, after having reflected for a while on those five dreams,--"today i shall certainly become a buddha." thereupon he rose instantly, washed his hands and face, put on his dress, and quietly waited the break of day, to go out in quest of his food. the moment being arrived to go out, he took up his patta, and walked in the direction of the gniaong tree. the whole tree was made shining by the rays which issued from his person; he rested there for a while. at that very moment arrived sounama, to clear, according to her mistress' orders, the place for her offering. as she approached, she saw phralaong at the foot of the tree. the rays of light which beamed out of his person were reflected on the tree, which exhibited a most splendid and dazzling appearance. on observing this wonder, sounama said to herself: "of course the nat has come down from the tree to receive the offering with his own hands." overcome with an unutterable joy, she immediately ran to her mistress and related her adventure. thoodzata was delighted at this occurrence, and wishing to give a substantial proof of her gratitude for such good news, she said to sounama: "from this moment you are no more my servant; i adopt you for my elder daughter." she gave her instantly all the ornaments suitable to her new position. it is customary for all the phralaongs to be provided, on the day they are to become buddha, with a gold cup of an immense value. thoodzata ordered a golden vessel to be brought, and poured therein the nogana or boiled milk. as the water glides from the leaf of the water-lily without leaving thereon any trace, so the nogana slided from the pot into the golden cup and filled it up. she covered this cup with another of the same precious metal, and wrapped up the whole with a white cloth. she forthwith put on her finest dress, and, becomingly attired, she carried the golden cup over her head; and with a decent gravity walked towards the gniaong tree. overwhelmed with joy at seeing phralaong, she reverentially advanced towards him, whom she mistook for a nat. when near him, she placed gently the golden vessel on the ground, and offered him in a gold basin scented water to wash his hands. at that moment, the earthen patta offered to phralaong by the brahma gatikara disappeared. perceiving that his patta had disappeared, he stretched forth his right hand, and washed it in the scented water; at the same time thoodzata presented to him the golden cup containing the nogana. having observed that she had caught the eyes of phralaong, she said to him: "my lord nat, i beg to offer you this food, together with the vessel that contains it." having respectfully bowed down to him, she continued: "may your joy and happiness be as great as mine; may you always delight in the happiest rest, ever surrounded by a great and brilliant retinue." making then the offering of the gold cup, worth , pieces of silver, with the same disinterestedness as if she had given over only the dry leaf of a tree, she withdrew and returned to her home with a heart overflowing with joy. phralaong rising up took with him the golden cup, and having turned to the left of the gniaong tree, went to the bank of the river neritzara, to a place where more than , buddhas had bathed, ere they obtained the supreme intelligence. on the banks of that river is a bathing-place. having left on that spot his golden cup, he undressed himself, and descended into the river. when he had bathed, he came out and put on his yellow robe, which in shape and form resembled that of his predecessors. he sat down, his face turned towards the east; his face resembled in appearance a well-ripe palm-fruit. he divided his exquisite fruit into forty-nine mouthfuls, which he ate entire, without mixing any water with it. during forty-nine days he spent round the bodi tree, buddha never bathed, nor took any food, nor experienced the least want. his appearance and countenance remained unchanged; he spent the whole time absorbed, as it were, in an uninterrupted meditation. holding up in his hands the empty golden vessel, phralaong made the following prayer: "if on this day i am to become a buddha, let this cup float on the water and ascend the stream." whereupon he flung it into the stream, when, by the power and influence of phralaong's former good works, the vessel, gently gliding towards the middle of the river, and then beating up the stream, ascended it with the swiftness of a horse to the distance of eighty cubits, when it stopped, sunk into a whirlpool, went down to the country of naga, and made a noise, on coming in contact with and striking against the three vessels of the three last buddhas, viz.: kaukathan, gaunagong, and kathaba. on hearing this unusual noise, the chief of nagas awoke from his sleep, and said: "how is this? yesterday, a buddha appeared in the world; today, again, there is another." and in more than one hundred stanzas he sung praises to buddha. * * * * * on the banks of the river neritzara there is a grove of sala trees, whither phralaong repaired to spend the day under their cooling shade. in the evening he rose up and walked with the dignified and noble bearing of a lion, in a road eight oothabas wide, made by the nats, and strewed with flowers, towards the gniaong tree. the nats, nagas, and galongs joined in singing praises to him, playing instruments, and making offerings of the finest flowers and most exquisite perfumes, brought from their own seats. the same rejoicings took place in ten thousand other worlds. whilst on his way towards the tree, he met with a young man, just returning with a grass-load he had cut in the fields. foreseeing that phralaong might require some portion of it for his use, he presented him an offering of eight handfuls of grass, which were willingly accepted. arrived close to the gniaong tree,[ ] phralaong stopped at the south of the tree, his face turned towards the north, when, on a sudden, the southern point of the globe seemed to lower down to the hell awidzi, the lowest of all, whilst the northern one appeared to reach the sky. then he said, "verily this is not the place where i shall become a buddha." thence phralaong went on his right side towards the east of the tree, and standing up, his face turned towards the west, he said, "this is indeed the place where all the preceding buddhas have obtained the supreme intelligence. here, too, is the very spot whereupon i shall become a buddha, and set up my throne." he took, by one of their extremities, the eight handfuls of grass and scattered them on the ground, when, on a sudden, there appeared emerging, as it were, from the bottom of the earth, a throne fourteen cubits high, adorned with the choicest sculptures and paintings, superior in perfection to all that art could produce. phralaong, then facing the east, uttered the following imprecation: "if i am not destined to become a buddha, may my bones, veins, and skin remain on this throne, and my blood and flesh be dried up." he then ascended the throne, with his back turned against the tree, and his face towards the east. he sat down in a cross-legged position, firmly resolved never to vacate the throne, ere he had become a buddha. such firmness of purpose, which the combined elements could not shake for a moment, no one ought to think of ever becoming possessed of. whilst phralaong was sitting on the throne in that cross-legged position, manh nat said to himself, "i will not suffer prince theiddat to overstep the boundaries of my empire." he summoned all his warriors and shouted to them. on hearing their chief's voice, the warriors gathered thick round his person. his countless followers in front, on his right and on his left, reached to the distance of eighteen youdzanas, and above him to that of nine only. behind him, they extended to the very limits of the world. the cries of that immense multitude were re-echoed at a distance of ten thousand youdzanas, and resembled the roaring of the mighty sea. manh nat rode the elephant girimegala, measuring in length five youdzanas. supplied with one thousand right arms, he wielded all sorts of the most deadly weapons. his countless warriors, to avoid confusion, were all disposed in ranks, bearing their respective armour. they appeared like immense clouds, slowly rolling on and converging towards phralaong. at that time, nats surrounded phralaong, singing praises to him; the chief thagia was playing on his conch, whereof a single blowing resounds for four entire months; the chief naga was uttering stanzas in his honour; a chief brahma held over him the white umbrella. on the approach of manh nat's army, they were all seized with an uncontrollable fear, and fled to their respective places. the naga dived into the bottom of the earth, to a depth of five hundred youdzanas, and covering his face with his two wings, fell into a deep sleep. the thagia, swinging his conch upon his shoulders, ran to the extremity of the world. the brahma, holding still the umbrella by the extremity of the handle, went up to his own country. phralaong was, therefore, left alone. manh nat, turning to his followers, cried to them, "there is, indeed, no one equal to the prince theiddat; let us not attack him in front, but let us assail him from the north side." at that moment, phralaong, lifting his eyes, looked on his right, left, and front, for the crowd of nats, brahmas, and thagias that were paying him their respects. but they had all disappeared. he saw the army of manh nat coming thick upon him from the north, like a mighty storm. "what!" said he, "is it against me alone that such a countless crowd of warriors has been assembled? i have no one to help me, no father, no brothers, no sisters, no friends, and no relatives. but i have with me the ten great virtues which i have practised; the merits i have acquired in the practice of these virtues will be my safeguard and protection; these are my offensive and defensive weapons, and with them i will crush down the great army of manh." whereupon he quietly remained meditating upon the merits of the ten great virtues. whilst phralaong was thus absorbed in meditation, manh nat began his attack upon him. he caused a wind to blow with such an extraordinary violence that it brought down the tops of mountains, though they were one or two youdzanas thick. the trees of the forests were shattered to atoms. but the virtue of phralaong's merits preserved him from the destructive storm. his tsiwaran itself was not agitated. perceiving that his first effort was useless, manh caused a heavy rain to fall with such violence that it tore the earth, and opened it to its very bottom. but not even a single drop touched phralaong's person. to this succeeded a shower of rocks, accompanied with smoke and fire; but they were changed into immense masses of flowers, which dropped at buddha's feet. there came afterwards another shower of swords, knives, and all kinds of cutting weapons, emitting smoke and fire. they all fell powerless at the feet of phralaong. a storm of burning ashes and sand soon darkened the atmosphere, but they fell in front of him like fragrant dust. clouds of mud succeeded, which fell like perfumes all round and over phralaong. manh caused a thick darkness to fill the atmosphere, but to phralaong it emitted rays of the purest light. the enraged manh cried to his followers, "why do you stand looking on? rush at once upon him and compel him to flee before me." sitting on his huge elephant, and brandishing his formidable weapons, manh approached close to phralaong and said to him, "theiddat, this throne is not made for you; vacate it forthwith; it is my property." phralaong calmly answered, "you have not as yet practised the ten great virtues, nor gone through the five acts of self-denial; you have never devoted your life to help others to acquire merits; in a word, you have not yet done all the needful to enable you to attain the supreme dignity of phra. this throne, therefore, cannot be yours." unable to control any longer his passion, manh threw his formidable weapons at phralaong; but they were converted into garlands of beautiful flowers, that adapted themselves gracefully round his body. his sword and other weapons, that could cut at once through the hardest rocks, were employed with no better success. the soldiers of manh, hoping that their united efforts would have a better result, and that they could thrust phralaong from his throne, made a sudden and simultaneous rush at him, rolling against him, with an irresistible force, huge rocks, as large as mountains; but by the virtue of their opponent's merits, they were converted into fine nosegays, that gently dropped at his feet. at that time the nats, from their seats, looked down on the scene of the combat, suspended between hope and fear. phralaong at that moment said to manh: "how do you dare to pretend to the possession of this throne? could you ever prove, by indisputable evidence, that you have ever made offerings enough to be deserving of this throne?" manh, turning to his followers, answered: "here are my witnesses; they will all bear evidence in my favour." at the same moment they all shouted aloud, to testify their approval of mania's words. "as to you, prince theiddat, where are the witnesses that will bear evidence in your favour and prove the justness of your claim to the possession of this throne?" phralaong replied: "my witnesses are not like yours, men or any living beings.[ ] the earth itself will give testimony to me. for, without alluding even to those offerings i have made during several previous existences, i will but mention the forty-seven great ones i made whilst i lived as prince wethandra." stretching out his right hand, which he had kept hitherto under the folds of his garments, and pointing to the earth, he said with a firm voice: "earth, is it not true that at the time i was prince wethandra i made forty great offerings?" the earth replied with a deep and loud roaring, resounding in the midst of manh's legions, like the sound of countless voices, threatening to spread death and destruction in their ranks. the famous charger of manh bent his knees, and paid homage to phralaong. manh himself, disheartened and discomfited, fled to the country of wathawatti. his followers were so overpowered by fear that they flung away all that could impede their retreat, and ran away in every direction. such was the confusion and disorder that prevailed that two warriors could not be seen following the same course in their flight. looking from their seats on the defeat of manh and the glorious victory of phralaong, the nats[ ] rent the air with shouts of exultation. the brahmas, nagas, and galongs joined the nats in celebrating his triumph over his enemies. they all hastened from more than ten thousand worlds to pay their respects and offer their felicitations, presenting him with flowers and perfumes, saying: "victory and glory to phralaong! shame and defeat to the infamous manh!" it was a little while before sunset when phralaong had achieved his splendid victory over his proud foe. at that time he was wrapped up, as it were, in the profoundest meditation. the extremities of the branches of the bodi tree[ ] fell gently over him, and, by their undulations, seemed caressing, as it were, his tsiwaran; they resembled so many beautiful nosegays of red flowers that were offered to him. at the first watch of the night phralaong applied all the energies of his powerful mind to ascertain the laws of the causes and effects, in order to account for all that is in existence. he argued in the following manner: "pain and all sorts of miseries do exist in this world. why do they exist? because there is birth. why is there birth? because there is conception. now conception does take place, because there is existence, or that moral state produced by the action or influence of merits and demerits. existence is brought in by _upadan_, or the combining of affections calculated to cause the coming into existence. the latter has for its cause the desire. the desire is produced by sensation. the latter is caused by the contact. the contact takes place because there are the six senses. the six senses do exist, because there is name and form, that is to say, the exterior sign of the ideal being and the type of the real being. name and form owe their existence to erroneous knowledge; the latter in its turn is produced by the imagination, which has for its cause ignorance."[ ] having followed in his mind the succession of the twelve causes and effect, and reached the last link of that chain, phralaong said to himself: "ignorance, or no science, is the first cause which gives rise to all the phenomena i have successively reviewed. from it springs the world and all the beings it contains. it is the cause of that universal illusion in which man and all beings are miserably lulled. by what means can this ignorance be done away with? doubtless by knowledge and true science. by means of the light that science spreads i clearly see the unreality of all that exists, and i am freed from that illusion which makes other beings to believe that such thing exists, when, in reality, it does not exist. the imagination, or the faculty to imagine the existence of things which do not exist, is done away with. the same fate is reserved to the false knowledge resulting therefrom to the name and form, to the six senses, to contact, to sensation, to desire, to conception, to existence, to birth, and to pain or miseries." * * * * * then phralaong says to himself: "the knowledge of the four great truths is the true light that can dispel ignorance and procure the real science, whereby the coming out from the whirlpool of existences, or from the state of illusion, can be perfectly effected. these four truths are: , the miseries of existence; , the cause productive of misery, which is the desire, ever-renewed, of satisfying oneself without being able ever to secure that end; , the destruction of that desire, or the estranging oneself from it, is the important affair deserving the most serious attention; , the means of obtaining the individual annihilation of that desire is supplied solely by the four meggas, or highways, leading to perfection. but these meggas can be followed only by those who have a right intention, a right will, and who, throughout life, exert themselves to regulate their action, conduct, language, thought, and meditations." it was then that the heart of phralaong acquired an unshakable firmness, a perfect purity or exemption from all passions, an unutterable meekness, and a strong feeling of tender compassion towards all beings. when these fundamental truths had been known, felt, and relished,[ ] phralaong's mind, casting a glance over the past, was able to discover at once all that had taken place during the countless states of his former existences. he recollected the name he had borne, those of his parents, the places he had seen and visited, the caste he had belonged to, and all the chief events that had marked the course of his progress through the continual migrations. he likewise saw reflected, as in a mirror, the former conditions of existence of all other beings. the immense development and expansion of his mind, which enabled him to fathom the depth of the past, happened during the first watch of the night. he applied now all the expanded powers of his incomparable mind to take a correct survey of all the beings now in existence. he glanced over all those that were in hell, and the other three states of punishment, those living on earth, and those dwelling in the twenty-six superior seats. he at once understood distinctly their state, condition, merits, demerits, and all that appertained to their physical and moral constitutive parts. this labour occupied his mind up to midnight. urged by the merciful and compassionate dispositions of his soul, phralaong often revolved within himself the following: "all is misery and affliction in this world; all beings are miserably detained in the vortex of existences; they float over the whirlpool of desire and concupiscence; they are carried to and fro by the fallacious cravings of a never-obtained satisfaction. they must be taught to put an end to concupiscence by freeing themselves from its influence. their minds must be imbued with the knowledge of the four great truths. the four ways that i have discovered shall inevitably lead men and nats to that most desirable end. these ways ought to be pointed out to them, that, by following them, men and nats may obtain the deliverance." whilst these thoughts thronged through his mind, a little before break of day, in the rd year of the eatzana era, on the day of the full moon of katson, the perfect science broke at once over him: he became the buddha. when this great wonder took place, ten thousand worlds were shaken twelve times with such a violence as to make hairs stand on one end. these words, "most excellent being," were heard throughout the same series of worlds. magnificent ornaments decorated all places. flagstaffs appeared in every direction, adorned with splendid streamers. of such dimensions were they that the extremities of those in the east reached the opposite side of the west; and those in the north, the southern boundary. some flags, hanging from the seats of brahmas, reached the surface of the earth. all the trees of ten thousand worlds shot out branches, loaded with fruits and flowers. the five sorts of lilies bloomed spontaneously. from the clefts of rocks beautiful flowers sprang out. the whole universe appeared like an immense garden, covered with flowers; a vivid light illuminated those places, the darkness of which could not be dispersed by the united rays of seven suns. the water, which fills the immensity of the deep, at a depth of eighty-four thousand youdzanas, became fresh and offered a most agreeable drink. rivers suspended their course; the blind recovered their sight, the deaf could hear, and the lame were able to walk freely. the captives were freed from their chains and restored to their liberty. innumerable other wonders took place at the moment phralaong received the supreme intelligence. he said then to himself, "previous to my obtaining the supreme knowledge, i have, during countless generations, moved in the circle of ever-renewed existences, and borne-up misery. now i see this distinctly. again, i perceive how i can emancipate myself from the trammels of existence, and extricate myself from all miseries and wretchedness attending generation; my will is fixed on the most amiable state of neibban. i have now arrived to that state of perfection that excludes all passions." it was at the full moon of the month katson, when these memorable occurrences took place, and it was daylight when phralaong at last obtained the fulness of the buddhaship. after this glorious and triumphant achievement, phralaong, whom from this moment we must call phra or buddha, continued to remain on the throne, in a cross-legged position, with a mind absorbed in contemplation during seven days. mental exertion and labour were at an end. truth in its effulgent beauty encompassed his mind and shed over it the purest rays. placed in that luminous centre, phra saw all beings entangled in the web of passions, tossed over the raging billows of the sea of renewed existences, whirling in the vortex of endless miseries, tormented incessantly and wounded to the quick by the sting of concupiscence, sunk into the dark abyss of ignorance, the wretched victims of an illusory, unsubstantial, and unreal world. he said then to himself: "in all the worlds there is no one but me who knows how to break through the web of passions, to still the waves that waft beings from one state into another, to save them from the whirlpool of miseries, to put an end to concupiscence and break its sting, to dispel the mist of ignorance by the light of truth, to teach all intelligent beings the unreality and nonexistence of this world, and thereby lead them to the true state of neibban." having thus given vent to the feelings of compassion that pressed on his benevolent heart, phra, glancing over future events, delighted in contemplating the great number of beings who would avail themselves of his preachings, and labour to free themselves from the slavery of passions. he counted the multitudes who would enter the ways that lead to the deliverance, and would obtain the rewards to be enjoyed by those who will follow one of those ways. the baranathee country would be favoured first of all with the preaching of the law of the wheel. he reviewed the countries where his religion would be firmly established. he saw that maheinda, the son of king asoka, would carry his law to ceylon, two hundred and thirty-six years after his neibban. when these and other subjects were fully exhausted, the most excellent phra came down from his throne and went to a distance of ten fathoms from the bodi tree, in a north-east direction. there he stood, his eyes fixedly riveted on the throne, without a single wink, during seven consecutive days, given up to the most intense and undisturbed meditation. the nats, observing this extraordinary posture, imagined that he regretted the throne he had just vacated, and that he wanted to repossess himself of it. they concluded that, such being the case, prince theiddat had not as yet obtained the buddhaship. when the period of seven days was over, buddha, who knew the innermost thoughts of the nats, resolved to put an end to their incredulous thinking respecting his person. for that purpose, he had recourse to the display of miraculous powers.[ ] he raised himself high up in the air, and, to their astonished regards, he wrought at once more than a thousand wonders, which had the immediate effect of silencing all their doubts, and convincing them that he was indeed the buddha. having come down to the place which he had started from, for the display of prodigies, buddha went to the north of the tree bodi at a distance of only two fathoms from it. he spent this time in walking to and fro from east to west, during seven days, over a road, prepared for that purpose by the nats. he was engaged all the while in the work of the sublimest contemplation. he then shaped his course in a north-west direction, at a distance of thirteen fathoms from the sacred tree. there stood a beautiful house, shining like gold, resplendent with precious stones. it was a temporary residence, purposely prepared for him by the nats. thither he repaired, and sat down in a cross-legged position during seven days. he devoted all his time to meditating on the abidamma, or the most excellent science. this science is divided into seven books. phra had already gone over the six first and fully mastered their contents, but the six glories had not as yet shot forth from his person. it was only after having mastered the contents of the last division, named pathan, divided into twenty-four parts, that the six glories appeared. like the great fishes that delight to sport only in the great ocean, the mind of buddha expanded itself with indescribable eagerness, and delighted to run unrestrained through the unbounded field opened before him by the contents of that volume. brown rays issued from his hairs, beard, and eyelids. gold-like rays shot forth from his eyes and skin; from his flesh and blood dashed out purple beams, and from his teeth and bones escaped rays, white like the leaves of the lily; from his hands and feet emanated rays of a deep-red colour, which, falling on the surrounding objects, made them appear like so many rubies of the purest water. his forehead sent forth undulating rays, resembling those reflected by cut crystal. the objects which received those rays appeared as mirrors, reflecting the rays of the sun. those six rays of various hues caused the earth to resemble a globe of the finest gold. those beams at first penetrated through our globe, which is eighty-two thousand youdzanas thick, and thence illuminated the mass of water which supports our planet. it resembled a sea of gold. that body of water, though four hundred and eighty thousand youdzanas thick, could not stop the elastic projection of those rays, which went forth through a stratum of air nine hundred and sixty thousand youdzanas thick, and were lost in the vacuum. some beams, following a vertical direction, rushed through the six seats of nats, the sixteen of brahmas, and the four superior ones, and thence were lost in vacuum. other rays, following a horizontal direction, penetrated through an infinite series of worlds. the sun, the moon, the stars appeared like opaque bodies, deprived of light. the famous garden of nats, their splendid palace, the ornaments hanging from the tree padetha were all cast into the shade and appeared obscure, as if wrapped up in complete darkness. the body of the chief brahma, which sends forth light through one million of systems, emitted then but the feeble and uncertain light of the glowworm at sunrise. this marvellous light, emanating from the person of buddha, was not the result of vowing or praying; but all the constituent parts of his body became purified to such an extent by the sublime meditation of the most excellent law that they shone with a matchless brightness. having thus spent seven days in that place, close to the bodi tree, he repaired to the foot of another gniaong tree, called adzapala, or the shepherds' tree, so called because, under its cooling shade, shepherds and their flocks of goats rested during the heat of the day. it was situated at the east of the bodi, at a distance of thirty fathoms. there he sat in a cross-legged position, during seven days, enjoying the sweetness of self-recollection. it was near to that place that the vile manh, who, since his great attack on buddha, had never lost sight of him, but had always secretly followed him with a wicked spirit, was compelled to confess that he had not been able to discover in that rahan anything blamable, and expressed the fear of seeing him at once pass over the boundaries of his empire. the tempter stooped in the middle of the highway, and across it drew successively sixteen lines, as he went on reflecting on sixteen different subjects. when he had thought over each of the ten great virtues, he drew, first, ten lines, saying: "the great rahan has indeed practised to a high degree those ten virtues. i cannot presume to compare myself to him." in drawing the eleventh, he confessed that he had not, like that rahan, the science that enabled to know the inclinations and dispositions of all beings. in drawing the twelfth, he said that he had not as yet acquired the knowledge of all that concerns the nature of the various beings. drawing the four remaining lines, he confessed successively that he did not feel, like that rahan, a tender compassion for the beings yet entangled in the miseries of existence, nor could he perform miracles, nor perceive everything, nor attain to the perfect and supreme knowledge of the law. on all these subjects he avowed his decided inferiority to the great rahan. whilst manh was thus engaged with a sad heart in meditating over those rather humiliating points, he was at last found out by his three daughters, tahna,[ ] aratee, and raga, who had for some time been looking after him. when they saw their father with a downcast countenance, they came to him, and inquired about the motive of his deep affliction. "beloved daughters," replied manh, "i see this rahan escaping from my dominion, and notwithstanding my searching examination, i have not been able to detect him in anything reprehensible. this is the only cause of my inexpressible affliction." "dear father," replied they, "banish all sorrows from your mind, and be of a good heart; we will very soon find out the weak side of the great rahan, and triumphantly bring him back within the hitherto unpassed limits of your empire." "beware of the man you will have to deal with," replied manh. "i believe that no effort, however great, directed against him, will ever be rewarded with success. he is of a firm mind and unshaken purpose. i fear you shall never succeed in bringing him back within my dominions." "dear father," said they, "we women know how to manage such affairs; we will catch him like a bird in the net of concupiscence; let fear and anxiety be for ever dispelled from your heart." having given this assurance, forthwith they went to buddha, and said to him, "illustrious rahan, we approach you respectfully and express the wish of staying with you, that we may minister to all your wants." without in the least heeding their words, or even casting a glance at them, the most excellent buddha remained unmoved, enjoying the happiness of meditation. knowing that the same appearance, face, and bodily accomplishments might not be equally pleasing, they assumed, one the appearance of a heart-winning young girl, another that of a blooming virgin, and the third that of a fine middle-aged beauty. having thus made their arrangements, they approached buddha, and several times expressed to him the desire of staying with him and ministering to his wants. unmoved by all their allurements, buddha said to them, "for what purpose do you come to me? you might have some chance of success with those that have not as yet extinguished the fire of passion, and rooted it from their heart; but i, like all the buddhas, my predecessors, have destroyed in me concupiscence, passion, and ignorance. no effort, on your part, will ever be able to bring me back into the world of passions. i am free from all passions, and have obtained supreme wisdom. by what possible means could you ever succeed in bringing me back into the whirlpool of passions?" the three daughters of manh, covered with confusion, yet overawed with admiration and astonishment, said to each other, "our father forsooth had given us a good and wise warning. this great rahan deserves the praises of men and nats. everything in him is perfect; to him it belongs to instruct men in all things they want to know." saying this, they, with a downcast countenance, returned to their father. it was in that very same place, at the foot of the adzapala gniaong, that a heretic pounha, named mingalika, proud of his caste, came with hasty steps, speaking loudly, and with little respect approached the spot where buddha was sitting.[ ] having entered into conversation with him, the pounha heard from his mouth instructions worthy of being ever remembered. he said to buddha, "lord gaudama, i have two questions to put to you. whence comes the name pounha? what are the duties to be performed in order to become a real pounha?" buddha, penetrating with the keen eye of wisdom into the innermost soul of his interlocutor, answered, "the real and genuine pounha is he who has renounced all passions, put an end to concupiscence, and has entered the ways leading to perfection. but there are others, who are proud of their origin, who walk hastily, speak with a loud voice, and who have not done what is needful to destroy the influence of passions. these are called pounhas because of their caste and birth. but the true sage avoids everything that is rash, impetuous or noisy: he has conquered all his passions, and put an end to the principle of demerits. his heart loves the repetition of formulas of prayers, and delights in the exercise of meditation. he has reached the last way to perfection. in him there is no longer wavering, or doubt, or pride. this man really deserves the name of pounha, or pure: he is indeed the true pounha according to the law." the instruction being finished, the pounha rose respectfully from his place, wheeled to the right and departed. buddha continued the sublime work of contemplating pure truth through the means of intense reflection. having remained seven days in that position, buddha arose in an ecstasy and went to the south-eastern side of the bodi tree, to a distance of an oothaba ( oothaba=to tas, ta=to cubits), on the sixth day after the full moon of nayon. on that spot there was a tank called hidza-lee-dana. on the bank of that tank, he sat under the shade of the kiin tree, in a cross-legged position during seven days, enjoying the delight of meditation. during those seven days rain fell in abundance, and it was very cold. a naga, chief of that tank, would have made a building to protect buddha against the inclemency of the weather, but he preferred, in order to gain greater merits, to coil himself up sevenfold round his person, and to place his head above him, with his large hood extended. when the seven days were over and the rain had ceased, the naga quitted his position; then assuming the appearance of a young man, he prostrated himself before buddha and worshipped him. buddha said: "he who aims at obtaining the state of neibban ought to possess the knowledge of the four roads leading thereto, as well as that of the four great truths and of all laws. he ought to bear no anger towards other men, nor harm them in any way soever. happy he who receives such instructions." buddha moved from that place, and went to the south of the bodi tree, to a distance of forty fathoms. at the foot of the linloon tree he sat in a cross-legged position, having his mind deeply engaged in the exercise of the sublimest contemplation. in that position he spent seven entire days, which completed the forty-nine days which were to be devoted to reflection and meditation around the bodi tree. when this period of days was over, at daybreak, on the fifth day after the full moon of watso, he felt the want of food. this was quickly perceived by a thagia, who hastened from his seat to the spot where buddha was staying, and offered him some thit khia fruits, others say kia-dzoo fruits, to prepare his system to receive more substantial food. after he had eaten them, the same celestial attendant brought him some water to rinse his mouth, and to wash his face and hands. buddha continued to remain in the same position under the cooling and protecting shade of the linloon tree. to consecrate, as it were, and perpetuate the remembrance of the seven spots occupied by buddha during the forty-nine days that he spent round the tree bodi, a dzedy was erected on each of those seven places. king pathenadi kosala surrounded them with a double wall, and subsequently king dammathoka added two others. there were only three openings, or gates, to penetrate into the enclosed ground, one on the north, another on the east, and the third on the south. the river neritzara rolls its deep blue waters in a south-eastern direction from the bodi tree, to a distance of eight oothabas from it. on the eastern bank of that stream another dzedy has been erected on the spot where, previous to his becoming a buddha, he had eaten the forty-nine mouthfuls of the delicious nogana offered to him by the pious thoodzata. whilst buddha was sitting in a cross-legged position under the linloon tree, two brothers named tapoosa and palekat, merchants by profession, arrived with five hundred carts in the oorouwela forest, at the very place where buddha was staying. they had sailed from their native town, called[ ] oukkalaba, which lies in a south-eastern direction from the mitzima country, bound for the port of adzeitta. after landing, they hired five hundred carts to carry their goods to a place called soowama. they were on their way to their destination when they arrived in the oorouwela forest. great was their surprise when they saw on a sudden all their carts unable to move, and arrested by some invisible power. a nat who had been formerly their relative stopped by his power the wheels of the carriages. surprised at such a wonder, the merchants prayed to the nat who was guardian of that place. the nat, assuming a visible shape, appeared before them and said to them: "the illustrious buddha who by the knowledge of the four great truths has arrived to the nature of phra, is now sitting at the foot of the linloon tree. go now to that place, and offer him some sweet bread and honey; you shall derive therefrom great merits for many days and nights to come." the two brothers, joyfully complying with the nat's request, prepared the sweet bread and honey, and hastened in the direction that had been indicated to them. having placed themselves in a suitable position and prostrated themselves before buddha, they said: "most glorious phra, please to accept these offerings; great merits doubtless will be our reward for many days to come." buddha had no patta to put those offerings in, for the one he had received from the brahma gatigara had disappeared when thoodzata made him her great offerings. whilst he was thinking on what he had to do, four nats came and presented him each with one patta, made of nila or sapphire stone. phra accepted the four pattas, not from motives of covetousness, but to let each nat have an equal share in such meritorious work. he put the four pattas one in the other, and by the power of his will they on a sudden became but one patta, so that each nat lost nothing of the merit of his offerings. buddha received the offerings of the two merchants in that patta, and satisfied his appetite. the two brothers said to buddha: "we have on this day approached you, worshipped you, and respectfully listened to your instructions; please to consider us as your devoted followers for the remainder of our lives."[ ] they obtained the position of upathaka. they continued addressing buddha, and said: "what shall we henceforth worship?" buddha, rubbing his hand over his head, gave them a few of the hairs that had adhered to his fingers, bidding them to keep carefully those relics. the two brothers, overjoyed at such a valuable present, most respectfully received it, prostrated themselves before buddha, and departed. footnotes [ ] the nats or dewatas play a conspicuous part in the affairs of this world. their seats are in the six lower heavens, forming, with the abode of man and the four states of punishment, the eleven seats of passions. but they often quit their respective places, and interfere with the chief events that take place among men. hence we see them ever attentive in ministering to all the wants of the future buddha. besides, they are made to watch over trees, forests, villages, towns, cities, fountains, rivers, &c. these are the good and benevolent nats. this world is also supposed to be peopled with wicked nats, whose nature is ever prone to the evil. a good deal of the worship of buddhists consists in superstitious ceremonies and offerings made for propitiating the wicked nats, and obtaining favours and temporal advantages from the good ones. such a worship is universal, and fully countenanced by the talapoins, though in opposition to the real doctrines of genuine buddhism. all kinds of misfortunes are attributed to the malignant interference of the evil nats. in cases of severe illness that have resisted the skill of native medical art, the physician gravely tells the patient and his relatives that it is useless to have recourse any longer to medicines, but a conjuror must be sent for to drive out the malignant spirit, who is the author of the complaint. meanwhile directions are given for the erection of a shed, where offerings intended for the inimical nat are deposited. a female relative of the patient begins dancing to the sound of musical instruments. the dance goes on, at first in rather a quiet manner, but it gradually grows more animated until it reaches the acme of animal frenzy. at that moment the bodily strength of the dancing lady becomes exhausted; she drops on the ground in a state of apparent faintness. she is then approached by the conjuror, who asks her if the invisible foe has relinquished his hold over the diseased. being answered in the affirmative, he bids the physician give medicines to the patient, assuring him that his remedies will now act beneficially for restoring the health of the sick, since their action will meet no further opposition from the wicked nat. ignorance brings everywhere superstition in its train. when man is unacquainted with the natural cause that has produced a result, or an effect, which attracts powerfully his mind's attention and affects him to a great degree, he is induced by his own weakness to believe in the agency of some unknown being, to account for the effect that he perceives. he devises the most ridiculous means for expressing his gratitude to his invisible benefactor, if the result be a favourable one; and has recourse to the most extravagant measures to counteract the evil influence of his supposed enemy, if the result be fatal to him. having once entered into the dark way of superstition, man is hurried on in countless false directions by fear, hope, and other passions, in the midst of the daily occurrence of multifarious and unforeseen events and circumstances. hence the expression or manifestation of his superstition assumes a variety of forms, and undergoes changes to an extent that baffles every attempt at either counting their numberless kinds or following them up through their ever-changing course. in addition to the stores of superstitions bequeathed by the generation that has preceded him, man has those of his own creation; and the latter, if the thought of his mind and the desires of his heart could be analysed, would be found far exceeding the former in number. having spent many years in a country where buddhism has prevailed from time immemorial, and observed the effects of superstition over the people in their daily doings, the writer has come to the conclusion that there is scarcely an action done without the influence of some superstitious motive or consideration. but the most prolific source of superstition is the belief in the existence of countless good and evil nats, with whom the imagination of buddhists has peopled this world. it can scarcely be understood how the followers of an atheistical creed can make, consistently with their opinions, an attempt at prayer. such an act of devotion implies the belief in a being superior to men, who has a controlling power over them, and in whose hands their destinies are placed. with a believer in god, prayer is a sacred, nay, a natural duty. but such cannot be the case with atheists. despite the withering and despairing influence of atheism, nothing can possibly obliterate from the conscience and heart of man that inward faith in a supreme being. the pious thoodzata has in view the attainment of two objects: she prays, without knowing to whom, that by the agency of some one she might obtain the objects of her petition; she is anxious to show her gratitude when she sees that her prayer has been heard. her faith in the _quasi_ omnipotence of the genii makes her address thanks to them. the nat is not the person to whom her prayer appears directed, but he is rather a witness of her petition. the burmese, in general, under difficult circumstances, unforeseen difficulties, and sudden calamities, use always the cry, _phra kaiba_--god assist me--to obtain from above assistance and protection. yet that phra cannot be their buddha, though he be in their opinion the phra _par excellence_, since they openly declare that he in no way interferes in the management of this world's affairs. whence that involuntary cry for assistance, but from the innate consciousness that above man there is some one ruling over his destinies? an atheistical system may be elaborated in a school of metaphysics, and forced upon ignorant and unreflecting masses, but practice will ever belie theory. man, in spite of his errors and follies, is naturally a believing being; his own weakness and multiplied wants ever compel him to have recourse to some great being that can help and assist him, and supply, to a certain extent, the deficiency which, in spite of himself, he is compelled to acknowledge existing in him as a stern and humiliating reality. [ ] the burmese, like all trans-gangetic nations, divide the year into twelve lunar months of twenty-nine and thirty days alternately. every third year they add one month, or as they say, double the month of watso (july). the year begins on, or about, the th of april. the days of worship are the days of the four quarters of the moon; but the days of the new and full moon seem to have preference over those of the two other quarters, which latter are scarcely noticed or distinguished from common days. it was on the day of the full moon of april that thoodzata made her grand offering. [ ] the burmese translator, not having given in his remarks the explanation or interpretation of phralaong's five dreams, it seems rather presumptuous to attempt doing a thing, the neglect of which, on the part of the author, may be attributed either to voluntary omission or to incapacity and inability. let us try to make up, in part, for the deficiency. the first dream prognosticated the future greatness of phralaong, whose sway, by the diffusion of his doctrines throughout the world, was to be universal, extending from one sea to the other sea. the grass growing out of his navel and reaching to the sky was indicative of the spreading of his law, not only amongst the beings inhabiting the seat of men, but also amidst those dwelling in the abodes of nats and brahmas. the ants covering his legs offer an enigma, the explanation of which is reserved to some future oedipus. as to the birds of various colours, gathering round him, from the four points of the compass, and on a sudden becoming all white, by their contact with him, they represent the innumerable beings that will come to hear the preaching of the future buddha with divers dispositions, and different progress in the way of merits, and will all be perfected by their following the true way to merit, that he will point out to them. the fifth dream in which phralaong thought he was walking on a mountain of filth, without being in the least contaminated by it, foreshowed the incomparable perfection and purity of buddha, who, though remaining in the world of passions, was no more to be affected by their influence. [ ] we have now reached the most interesting episode of phralaong's life. he is to become a perfected buddha under the shade of the gniaong or banyan tree (_ficus indica_, _ficus religiosa_). there are two circumstances attending that great event, deserving peculiar notice. the first is the preference given to the east over the three other points of the compass, and the second, the mighty combat that takes place between phralaong and the wicked nat manh, or mar. i notice the first circumstance because it agrees with the tradition prevailing amongst most nations previous to or about the coming of our lord, that from the east there was to come an extraordinary personage, who would confer on the human race the greatest benefits, and cause the return of happy times, like the golden age so much celebrated by poets. the roman historian suetonius bears testimony to the existence of that tradition as being universally known in his own days. it is not impossible that the same notion, not unknown in the far east, might have induced phralaong to look towards the east at the supreme moment when perfect intelligence was to become his happy lot. it may be said in opposition to this supposition, that the splendour and magnificence of the sun, emerging from the bosom of night, and dispelling darkness by pouring a flood of light on the face of the earth, restoring nature to life and action, was a sufficient inducement to phralaong for giving preference to the east. but to an ascetic like him, who is convinced that this world is a mere illusion, such a consideration would weigh very little on his mind, and would not be a sufficient motive to induce him to give so marked a preference to the east. the second circumstance remarkable for the time it occurred, is the great combat between phralaong and manh. the first is the personification of goodness and benevolence towards all beings; the second is the personification of consummate wickedness. the contest is to take place between the good principle on the one hand, and the evil one on the other. phralaong, on his becoming buddha, will preach a law designed to dispel mental darkness, to check vicious passions, to show the right way to perfection, to unloose the ties that keep beings in the wretched state of existence, and enable them to reach safely the peaceful shores of neibban. manh, the devil himself, the father of darkness, of lies and deceit, delights in seeing all beings plunged into the abyss of vices, carried out of the right way by the impetuous and irresistible torrent of their passions, and doomed to turn for ever in the whirlpool of endless existences. he looks upon himself as the king of this world, and proudly exults in contemplating all beings bending their neck under his tyrannical yoke, and acknowledging his undisputed power. now the moment approaches when a mighty antagonist will contend with him for the empire of the world. his mission will be to labour incessantly for the delivery of all beings from the grasp of their mortal enemy, and set them free from the tyranny of passions. manh is enraged at the audacious pretensions of phralaong. hence the gigantic efforts he makes to maintain his rights, and retain possession of his empire. at the time phralaong left the world to become a rahan, manh endeavoured to dissuade him from attempting such a design. but on this occasion, the tempter summons all his forces to avert, by an irresistible attack, the deadly blow soon to be levelled at him. it is needless to add that the reader, in perusing the detailed account of the attack of manh against phralaong, ought to bear in mind that it exhibits throughout but an allegory of the opposition of evil to good. the victory of phralaong over manh exemplifies the final triumph of truth over error. when the contest was nearly over, phralaong objected to the claims of manh to the possession of his throne, on the ground that he never had practised the ten great virtues, nor performed works of kindness, charity, and benevolence, which alone can entitle a being to obtain the buddhaship. it is to be borne in mind that these qualifications form the real characteristics of a buddha, together with the possession of the supreme intelligence. in this system, they admit that there exist certain beings called pitzega-buddhas, who possess all the knowledge and science of a genuine buddha, but as they are divested of those benevolent feelings which induce the former to labour earnestly for the benefit and salvation of all beings, they cannot be assimilated to the real buddhas. the cross-legged position which our buddha has always taken in preference to any other, whilst he spent forty-nine days at the foot of and in various places round the bodi tree, is, as every one knows, peculiar to and a favourite with all asiatics. but with him, it is the fittest position for meditation and contemplation. hence most of the statues or images of gaudama exhibit or represent him in the cross-legged position which he occupied when he attained the buddhaship. as this event is by far the most important of his life, it is but natural that this great occurrence should ever be forced upon the attention and memory of his followers, by objects representing him on that most important stage of his last existence. it is not unusual to meet with statues of gaudama, sometimes of colossal dimensions, representing him in a reclining position. this is the peculiar situation he occupied when he died. hence those two most common images of gaudama are designed to remind his followers of the two greatest circumstances of his life, viz., his becoming buddha, and his entering the state of neibban. here again one is forcibly compelled to reflect on the singular _rôle_ attributed to those pitzega-buddhas. they possess all the science of a buddha, but are deficient in that kindness, benevolence, and zeal which prompt the real buddhas to labour so strenuously for the deliverance of all beings. they appear only in those ages of darkness and ignorance which are not to be brightened and enlightened by the presence of a buddha. they are like smaller luminaries, shedding a pale light among men to prevent their sinking into an unfathomable abyss of ignorance; they maintain on earth some sparks of the knowledge of fundamental truths, which otherwise would be completely obliterated from the memory of men. not unlike the prophets of old, they prepare men in an indirect manner for the coming of the future deliverer. their mission being at an end, when a buddha is to come among men, they disappear, and none of them is to be seen either in the days of buddha or during all the time his religion is to last. [ ] the witness whom phralaong summoned in support of his claim to the undisturbed possession of the throne was the earth itself. it maybe from the example that was set on this occasion that buddhists have borrowed the habit of calling the earth as a witness of the good works they have done or are doing. i will briefly relate what is done and said on such occasions. during my former residence in burmah i observed on a certain occasion, when taking my evening walk, about ten or twelve persons of both sexes assembled on a rather retired spot in the vicinity of a pagoda. as they appeared all quite attentive, i came near to them to see what was the cause that had brought them thither, and what occurrence seemed to rivet their attention. as i was known to some of them, they were not frightened by my sudden apparition. on my asking them the motive of their assembling here at a late hour, they said that, having buried yesterday a child two years old, they came to make some offerings of boiled rice, plantains, and other fruits, to propitiate the nat of the place. having asked them to repeat the formula they had uttered on the occasion, they kindly complied with my request. here is the substance of that formula. "believing in the three precious things, buddha, the law, and the assembly of the perfect, i make this offering, that i may be delivered from all present and future miseries. may all beings existing in the four states of punishment reach the fortunate seats of nats. i wish all my relatives and all men inhabiting this and other worlds to have a share in this meritorious work. o earth and you nats, guardians of this place, be witness to the offering i am making." on uttering these last words, the offerer of the present, or a talapoin, sent for this purpose, pours down some water on the ground. [ ] as the nats and all other beings are to be benefited by the preachings of buddha, it is but natural that they all join in singing his praises and exalting his glorious achievements. the nagas and galongs are fabulous animals, which are often mentioned in the course of this legend. it has been observed in a former note that, according to the buddhistic notions, animals are beings in a state of punishment, differing from man, not in nature, but in merits. some of them, having nearly exhausted the sum of their demerits, begin to feel the influence of former merits. they are supposed to have, to a certain extent, the use of reason. no wonder if they rejoice at seeing the triumph of him who is to help them in advancing towards a condition better than their present one. [ ] the banyan tree, at the foot of which phralaong obtains perfect intelligence, is occasionally called throughout this narrative the bodi tree. the word bodi means wisdom, science, or knowledge. the burmese, in their sacred writings, always mention the tree by that name, because, under its shade, perfect science was communicated to phralaong. it is supposed to occupy the very centre of the island of dzampudiba. during all the while phra or buddha (let us call him now by that name) remained under that tree his mind was engaged in the most profound meditation, which the gigantic efforts of his enemy could scarcely interrupt. it is not to be inferred from the narrative in the text that supreme intelligence was communicated suddenly or by miraculous process to our buddha. he was already prepared, by former mental labours, for that grand result; he had previously capacitated himself, by studies and reflection, for the reception of that more than human science; he required but a last and mighty effort of his intelligence to arrive finally at the acme of knowledge, and thereby to become a perfect buddha. that last effort was made on this occasion, and crowned with the most complete success. he gained the science of the past, present, and future. it would be somewhat curious to investigate the motives that have determined buddhists to give to that sacred tree the name of bodi. at first sight one will infer that such a name was given to the tree because, under its refreshing and cooling shade the bodi, or supreme intelligence, was communicated to phralaong. the occurrence, however extraordinary it be, is scarcely sufficient to account for such an appellation. bearing in mind the numerous and striking instances of certain revealed facts and truths, offered to the attention of the reader of this legend, in a deformed but yet recognisable shape, it would not be quite out of the limits of probability to suppose that this is also a remnant of the tradition of the tree of knowledge that occupied the centre of the garden of eden. [ ] the theory of the twelve causes and effects is, in itself, very abstruse, and almost above the comprehension of those uninitiated in the metaphysics of buddhists. i will attempt to analyse it in as simple and clear a way as possible. this theory is very ancient, probably coeval with the first ages of buddhism. it forms this basis of its ontology and metaphysics in the same manner as the four great and transcendent truths are the foundation whereupon rests the system of morals. it is probable that gaudama, in his preachings, which were very simple, and within the reach of ordinary minds, never formulated his doctrine on this essential point in such a dry and concise manner. but the seed was sown, and the germ deposited here and there in his instructions. his immediate disciples, in endeavouring to give a distant shape to their master's doctrines, gradually framed the formula or theory just stated. it, in fact, presents the very characteristics of a system elaborated in a philosophical school. in taking our departure from the first cause, which is _awidza_, or ignorance, or the wanting in science, or no knowledge, we have to follow the different stages and conditions of a being until it reaches decrepitude, old age, and death. when we speak of ignorance, or no science, we must not suppose the material existence of a being that ignores. but we must take ignorance in an abstract sense, deprived of forms, and subsisting in a manner very different from what we are wont to consider ordinary beings. a european has a great difficulty in finding his way through a process of reasoning so extraordinary, and so different from that positivism which he is used to. but with the buddhist the case is widely different. he can pass from the abstract to the concrete, from the ideal to the real, with the greatest ease. but let us follow the scale of the causes and effects, upon which there are twelve steps. from ignorance comes _sangkara_, that is to say, conception or imagination, which mistakes for reality what is unreal, which looks on this world as something substantial, whilst it is, indeed, nothing but shadow and emptiness, assuming forms which pass away as quick as the representations of theatrical exhibitions. sangkara, in its turn, begets _wignian_, or knowledge, attended with a notion of sentiment, implying that of soul and life, in an abstract sense. from wignian proceeds _namrup_, the name and form, because knowledge can have for its object but name and form, &c., or, to speak in the language of buddhists, things that are external and internal. but let it be borne in mind that what is herein meant is but the individuality of an ideal being. the name and form give birth to the _chayatana_, six senses, or seats of the sensible qualities. to our division of the five ordinary senses buddhists add the sixth sense of mano, or the heart, the internal sense. through the senses we are put in communication or contact with all objects; hence the six senses give rise to the sixth cause _pasa_, which means, properly speaking, contact. from this cause flows the seventh one, called _wedana_, or sensation, or, more generally still, sensibility. in fact, there can be no contact from which there will not result some sensation, either pleasant or unpleasant, _wedana_ gives infallibly rise to _tahna_, or passion, or desire, or inclination. from this point the series of causes and effects is comparatively easy, because it presents conditions essentially connected with a material object. by tahna we ought not to understand only the mere inclination that the sexes have one for the other, but the general propensity created in a being by any contact whatever, or perhaps, as usual with buddhists, the desire taken in an abstract sense. the immediate result from tahna is _upadan_, the attachment, or the conception. it is that state in which the desire adheres to something, assumes a shape. it is, in fact, the being conceived. from the state of conception the being passes into that of _bawa_, or existence, or that condition which is created and made by the influence of former good or bad deeds preceding birth, which is but the apparition of the being into this world. _dzati_, or birth, is the eleventh cause. it is the ushering of a being into the world. there are six ways by which a being comes into this world, viz., those of nat, man, assura, preitta, animal, and the inhabitant of hell. birth is accomplished in four different manners, by humidity, an egg, a matrice, and metamorphosis. the twelfth and last step in the ladder of the causes and effects is decrepitude and death. in fact, every being that is born must grow old, decay, and finally die. such is the process followed by buddhists in attempting to account for all that exists. what effect could such a reasoning have over the mind of the generality of hearers it is difficult to say. but we may rest assured that, though these principles existed, as an embryo, in the discourses of the author of buddhism, they were never laid before the generality of hearers in that crude scholastic form. such abstruse ideas, when analysed and commented upon by buddhist doctors, gave rise to the most opposite conclusions. the materialist school based its revolting doctrines upon that theory; we may add that the opinions of that school are generally held in burmah, and by the great mass of buddhists. some other doctors reasoned in the following manner: ignorance supposes two things, a being ignoring and a thing ignored, that is to say, man and the world. they admitted the eternity of a soul which had to pass through the series above enumerated. with them metempsychosis was a process exactly similar to that imagined by the brahmins. as to the world, it was, to them, an unreality. knowledge enabled them to come to the position of understanding and believing that there is no such thing as what we by mistake call world. the latter opinion, which seems to admit of a principle existing distinct from matter, is opposed to the former and general one, which supposes that spirit is but a modification of matter. we deliberately make use of the doubt, implying expression, at the head of the preceding sentence, respecting the real opinions of the latter school, because, in their way of arguing, it is impossible not to come to the painful conclusion that they ignore, or do not admit, a distinction between spirit and matter. [ ] in a work different from that which has been translated is found a more developed exposition of the four great and sublime truths. we think that the reader will like to see in what manner buddhists themselves understand this important subject, which is, with them, the foundation of their doctrine on morals. there are four great truths: pain, the production of pain, the destruction of pain, and the way leading to that destruction. what is pain, which is the first of the great truths? it is birth, old age, sickness, death, the coming in contact with what we dislike, the separation from what we feel an attachment for, the illusion which begets false knowledge. all that is pain. what is the production of pain, the second sublime truth? it is the desire which incessantly longs for an illusory satisfaction, which can never be obtained. that desire is a perpetually renewed craving, coveting objects here and there, and never satiated. such is the cause productive of pain; such is the prolific source of all miseries. what is the destruction of pain, which is the third great truth? it is the doing away with that desire which always shows itself, searches after this or that object, is always attended with feelings of pleasure, or some other sensations. it is the perfect and entire stifling of that craving which always covets, and is never satiated. the estranging oneself from that desire and that craving, the complete destruction of both, constitutes the third great truth. what is the way leading to the destruction of that desire, which is the fourth great truth? the way which one has to follow, in order to obtain that most desirable result, is that which the wise man invariably follows, when he is with an intention, will, diligence, action, life, language, thought, and meditation, always pure and correct. the four truths are exceedingly praised by buddhists. they constitute what is emphatically called the law of the wheel, incessantly revolving upon itself, and always presenting successively those four points to the attentive consideration and affectionate piety of the faithful. they are the offensive weapons wherewith passions are attacked and destroyed: they are the sword that cuts asunder the link that retains a being in the circle of existences. the revelation, or manifestation of those truths, is the great work that a buddha has to perform. when it is made, all beings in their respective seats rejoice in an extraordinary manner. inanimate nature even partakes in the universal joy. the earth shakes with a great violence, and the greatest prodigies proclaim aloud the fortunate manifestation of a law which opens to all beings the way leading to deliverance. the preaching of that doctrine took place for the first time in the forest of migadawon, not far from baranathee, in the presence and for the benefit of the five rahans, who had attended on buddha, during the six years of mortification which he spent to prepare and qualify himself for the buddhaship. [ ] buddhists allow to their buddha the power of working wonders and miracles. how is this power conferred upon him? this is a difficulty they cannot explain satisfactorily. the science of buddha makes him acquainted with all the laws regulating nature, that is to say, the _ensemble_ of the animate and inanimate beings constituting a world; but one is at a loss to find the origin of that power which enables him, as often as he likes, to suspend the course of those laws. be that as it may, certain it is that buddha resorted always, during the course of his preachings, to miracles, in order to convince those who seemed to listen with rather an incredulous ear to his doctrines. miracles were used successfully, as powerful and irresistible weapons, against certain heretics, the brahmins, in particular, who taught doctrines opposed to his own. they often accompanied his preachings, for increasing faith in the heart of his hearers. [ ] the great tempter had been foiled in all his attempts to conquer buddha. in the sadness of his heart he was compelled to acknowledge the superiority of his opponent and confess his defeat. his three daughters came to console him, promising that they would, by their united efforts, overcome the firmness of the great rahan, by awakening in his heart the fire of concupiscence. the names of those three daughters of manh denote concupiscence. these new enemies of buddha, therefore, are mere personifications of the passion of lust. pride, personified in manh, had proved powerless against the virtue of buddha; he is now assailed from a different quarter; the attack is to be directed against the weakest side of human nature. but it is as successless as the former one: it affords to buddha another occasion for a fresh triumph. [ ] in burmah the originator of the great buddhistic system is called gaudama, and this appellation, according to many, appears to be his family name. when he is called rahan gaudama, it means the ascetic belonging to the family of gaudama. in nepaul, the same personage is known under the name of thakiamuni, that is to say, the ascetic of the thakia family. those who refused to believe in buddha and his doctrines, those who held tenets disagreeing with his own, and professed what, in the opinion of their adversaries, was termed a heretical creed, invariably called buddha by his family name, placing him on the same level with so many of his contemporaries who led the same mode of life. the siamese give the appellation of sammana khodom to their buddha, that is to say, thramana gaudama, or gautama. the sanscrit word thramana means an ascetic who has conquered his passions and lives on alms. gaudama belonged to the kchatria caste. kings and all royal families in those days came out of the same caste. hence his father thoodaudana was king of the country of kapilawot, anciently a small state, north of goruckpore. the young pounha, not unlike the young man mentioned in the gospel, had, by the preachings of gaudama, become acquainted with all the laws and practices relating to the general duties and obligations incumbent on men in general. he might have perhaps added that he had observed all those precepts from his youth, or, at least, that he was sure now, with the additional light he had received from his eminent teacher, to observe faithfully all the injunctions mentioned in the course of the lecture: but he was not satisfied with an ordinary proficiency in virtue and observances; he aimed at superior attainments; he wished to obtain the greatest perfection, that is to say, that of brahmas. in what does such a perfection consist? the book of metaphysics informs us that the five states of dzan, or contemplations, are enjoyed by the beings located in the sixteen seats of brahmas, in the following order. the first state, or that of consideration, is shared by all the beings inhabiting the three first seats of brahmas. their occupation is to consider the various subjects the mind has to dwell on. the second dzan, or reflection, is reserved for the beings occupying the next three seats. those beings have no more to look out for subjects of meditation. their sole occupation is to dive into truth and fathom its depth and various bearings. the third state of dzan procures the pleasure which is derived from the contemplation of truth, and belongs to the beings of the three seats, superior to those just alluded to; in the fourth dzan is enjoyed a placid happiness, which is the result of the possession of truth; it is reserved for the beings of the three next seats. the fifth dzan, or perfect stability, is the happy lot of the beings living in the five last seats. those fortunate inmates are so entirely rooted in truth, and so perfectly exempt from all that causes mutability, that they arrive at a state of complete fixity, the whole of their soul being riveted on truth. apology is certainly due to the reader, who is but slightly initiated in such abstruse subjects, for laying before him particulars with which he is so unfamiliar; but this trouble must be borne up by him who desires to obtain access into the gloomy sanctuary of buddhism. [ ] the episode of these two merchants is well known to the inhabitants of the irrawaddy valley. in three different manuscripts which the writer has had in his hands, he has found it related with almost the same particulars. oukkalaba, the place the two young men started from, was situated probably on the spot now occupied by the village of twaintay, or not far from it. how far that place was from the sea in those remote times it is not possible to ascertain with precision. certain it is, that it was a port from which vessels sailed across the bay of bengal. the port of eedzeitha has not as yet been identified with any known locality. it was situated in all probability between the mouth of the krichna and that of the hoogly. one of the manuscripts mentions that when gaudama handed over to the two merchants eight hairs of his head, he bade them, on their arrival in their country, deposit the hairs on a small hill called seingouttara, where the relics of the three former buddhas of our period had been enshrined. they were twenty-seven days in reaching maudin or cape negrais, rather a long voyage. having come to their own place, they related to the governor all the particulars of their interesting journey. the latter, without loss of time, assembled the people and set out in search of the seingouttara mount. all the eminences were cleared of their brushwood, but the mount could not be discovered. not knowing what to do, they consulted the nats on that affair. at last, through their assistance, the mount was found out. but when they inquired about the place of the relics of the three former buddhas, the nats of yesapan, inandra, and gauveinda confessed that they knew nothing on the subject, but referred the inquirers to other nats older than they, viz.: those of deckina, yauhani, maubee, ameisa, and tsoolay, who at once pointed out the spot which they were so eagerly searching after. this spot is no other than the one over which stands and towers the lofty and massive shoay dagon. they erected a dzedy, in which they enshrined the relics they had brought with them, the eight hairs of buddha. this story is doubtless the foundation on which rests the popular belief that those very hairs are to this day in the interior of that monument, and the true source from which has originated the profound veneration which, in our own days, buddhists, from all parts of burmah, siam, and the shan states, pay by their pilgrimages and offerings to the dagon pagoda. [ ] upasaka is a pali word which is designed to mean those persons who, having heard the instructions of buddha, and professed a faith or belief in him and his doctrines, did not enter the profession of rahans. hence they are quite distinct from the bikus or mendicants, who formed the first class of the hearers of buddha, and renounced the world in imitation of their great master. the upasakas were therefore people adhering to the doctrines of buddha, but as yet remaining engaged in the ordinary pursuits of life. the two brothers became disciples of buddha, but not of the first class, since they did not embrace the more perfect mode of life of the ascetics. this is the first instance in this legend of an allusion being made to relics, that is to say, to objects supposed to be surrounded with a certain amount of sacredness, and esteemed on that account to be worthy of receiving from devotees respect and veneration. the two young converts, not as yet confirmed in the new faith they had embraced, thought they wanted some exterior object to which they might hereafter direct their homage and offer their respects. they were as yet far from being acquainted with the sublime science of their eminent teacher, who, disregarding matter and all its modifications, could not but feel quite indifferent respecting the pretended value of relics of even the most sacred character. how is it that the stern moralist, the contemner of this illusory world, could think of giving a few hairs of his head to two new young converts, that they might use them as objects of worship? buddha doubtless knew exactly and appreciated admirably the wants and necessities of human nature as it is, and will very likely ever be to the end of ages. men are led, actuated, impressioned, and influenced by the senses; in fact, it is through their senses that the knowledge of things is conveyed to their minds. he gave to his imperfectly instructed disciples a thing that would serve to vivify and reanimate in their memory the remembrance of buddha, and of the instructions they had heard from him. those grossly-minded hearers asked for an object they might carry about with them and worship. buddha, out of deference for their weak intellect, gave them a few hairs of his head, the sight of which was designed to maintain in their souls a tender affection for the person of him these things had belonged to. this subject will receive hereafter the further treatment it deserves when we come to examine the nature of the worship paid by buddhists to the images of gaudama, and to the relics and dzedis. chapter vi. _buddha hesitates to undertake the task of preaching the law -- the great brahma entreats him to preach the law to all beings -- his assent to the entreaties -- journey towards migadawon -- he meets ouppaka -- his first preachings -- conversion of a young nobleman named ratha, followed by that of his father and other relatives -- conversion of several other noblemen -- instructions to the rahans -- conversion of the three kathabas._ having come to the end of his great meditations,[ ] buddha left this spot and returned to the place called adzapala, where he revolved the following subject in his mind:--"the knowledge," said he, "of the law and of the four great truths, which i alone possess, is very hard to be had. the law is deep; it is difficult to know and understand it; it is very sublime, and can be comprehended only by the means of earnest meditation. it is sweet, filling the soul with joy, and accessible only to the wise. now all beings are sunk very low by the influence of the five great passions; they cannot free themselves from their baneful operation, which is the source of all mutability. but the law of mutability is the opposite of the law of neibban or rest. this law is hard to be understood. if i ever preach that law, beings will not be able to understand me, and from my preaching there will result but a useless fatigue and unprofitable weariness," buddha thus remained almost disinclined to undertake the great duty of preaching the law. the great brahma, observing what was taking place in buddha's soul, cried out: "alas! all mankind are doomed to be lost. he who deserves to be worshipped by all beings now feels no disposition to announce the law to them." he instantly left his seat, and having repaired to the presence of phra, his cloak over his shoulders with one extremity hanging backward, he bent his knee, lifted up his joined hands to the forehead before the sage, and said to him: "most illustrious buddha, who art adorned with the six glories, do condescend to preach the most excellent law; the number of those buried under the weight and filth of passions is comparatively small; if they do not listen to the law there will be no great loss. but there is an immense number of beings who will understand the law. in this world there are beings who are moderately given up to the gratification of sensual appetites; and there are also a great many who are following heretical opinions to whom the knowledge of truth is necessary, and who will easily come to it. lay now open the way that leads to the perfection of ariahs; those perfections are the gates to neibban." thus he entreated buddha. this brahma had been in the time of buddha kathaba a rahan, under the name of thabaka, and was transferred to the first seat of brahma for the duration of a world. on hearing the supplications of that brahma, buddha began to feel a tender compassion for all beings. with the keen eyes of a buddha he glanced over the whole world. he discovered distinctly those beings who were as yet completely sunk in the filth of passions, those who were but partly under the control of passions, and those whose dispositions seemed to be more promising. he then made to the chief of brahmas the solemn promise that he would preach his law to all beings. satisfied with the answer he had received, the chief rose up, withdrew respectfully at a proper distance, and turning on the right, left the presence of buddha and returned to his own seat. another thought preoccupied the mind of buddha. "to whom," said he, "shall i announce the law?" having pondered a while over this subject, he added: "the rathee alara of the kalama race is gifted with wisdom and an uncommonly penetrating mind; passions have scarcely any influence over him. i will first preach to him the most excellent law." a nat then said to phra that alara had died seven days ago. buddha, to whom the past is known, had already seen that alara was dead. he said: "great indeed is the loss alara has met with; he would have doubtless been able to understand right well the law i intended to preach to him. to whom shall i go now?" having paused a while, he added: "the rathee oodaka, son of prince rama, has a quick perception; he will easily understand my doctrine; to him i will announce the law." but the same nat told him that oodaka had died the night before last, at midnight. "o! great is the loss that has come upon oodaka; he would have easily acquired the knowledge of the perfect law." buddha considered a third time, and said to himself: "to whom shall i go to preach the law?" after a moment's delay he added: "many are the services i received in the wilderness from the five rahans who lived with me.[ ] i will repay their good offices to me, by preaching to them the law, but where are they now?" his penetrating regards soon discovered them in the solitude of migadawon. having enjoyed himself in the place adzapala, buddha went on towards the country of baranathee. all the former buddhas travelled through the air, but our buddha, who had merciful designs over upaka, went on foot. on his way to the village of gaya, at a distance of three gawots from the bodi tree, buddha went to rest, at midday, for a while under the cooling shade of a tree. there he was seen by the heretic rahan upaka, who, approaching near him, said, "o rahan, all your exterior bespeaks the most amiable qualities; your countenance is at once modest and beautiful. under what teacher have you become a rahan? to what law or doctrine have you given preference in your arduous studies?" buddha answered: "upaka, i have triumphed over all the laws of mutability; i am acquainted with all the laws that rule this universe, and the beings existing therein; from concupiscence and other passions i am wholly disengaged. i have come to preach the most excellent law to all beings, and teach them the four great truths i alone am acquainted with. i will beat the great drum of the law. i have no teacher, and among nats and men there is none equal to me. because of my victory, i have been named zeena. now i am proceeding to the country of baranathee, for the sake of preaching the law." upaka replied, "you are certainly the illustrious gaudama." he then shook his head, turned away from the road, and went to the village of wingaha. the instructions, however, germinated as good seed in the soul of upaka, and were the foundation of his subsequent conversion, which happened as follows:--after this interview with gaudama, upaka dwelt as a hermit in the village of wingaha, where a shed was erected for his dwelling. a hunter brought him support. it happened that the hunter being engaged in a hunting excursion, his daughter went to the hermit's cell, to carry him his food. upaka was smitten by the beauty of the damsel. he stretched himself on his belly and said to himself, "i will take no food, nor change this position, unless i obtain the object of my wishes." he stayed for several days in that position without uttering a word, or making a single movement, or taking any food. at last the hunter returned, and went forthwith to the hermit's cell to inquire about the cause of his strange behaviour. he pulled him by the feet, calling him aloud by the name of hermit; after a while a sepulchral groan was heard, indicating that he was still alive. the good hunter affectionately entreated him to mention to him what he wanted; that he was ready to give him anything that he would ask. the hermit a second time made a prolonged groan, as a man endeavouring to gather strength. he then mentioned to the hunter the passion he had for his daughter, and swore that he would die on the spot if his demand were rejected. the father having given his consent, upaka rose up, and was soon married to tsawama, who after due time presented him with a son. it happened that tsawama soon began to dislike her husband, and poured upon him on every occasion all sorts of abuse. unable to bear any longer the unpleasant behaviour of his wife, upaka said to himself, "i have here neither friend nor supporter: i will go to my friend dzina; he will receive me with kindness." hereupon he departed, inquiring everywhere about his friend dzina. at last he arrived at the place where buddha was staying with his disciples. some of them, hearing upaka inquiring with a loud voice about his friend dzina, took him into the presence of buddha, who, understanding at once the sad and painful state of the old man, kindly asked what he wanted. upaka replied that he desired to become a samanay under his direction. buddha, to try his disposition, said to him, "you are too old, upaka, to enter upon the course of the severe life of a samanay, and conform to the enjoined practices." but the latter renewing his entreaties, he was admitted among the members of the assembly. he became an anagam, died and migrated to one of the seats of brahmas. after a short stay up there, he obtained the deliverance. his son was thoobadda, who became afterwards an illustrious convert. buddha continued his way towards baranathee, and soon reached the solitude of migadawon, a little distant from baranathee, and went to the place where lived the five unbelieving rahans. when they saw him coming at a distance, they said to each other, "the rahan gaudama is in search after disciples; he has just performed penitential deeds, and he is looking out for alms and clothes. let us pay no respect to him in the way of going out to meet him, of receiving the tsiwaran from his hands, of presenting him water to wash his feet and preparing a place to sit on; let him sit wherever he pleases." such was the plan they concerted among themselves. but when buddha drew near, they could adhere no longer to their resolution. they rose up and went out to welcome his arrival. one took the tsiwaran from his hands, another the patta, a third one brought water for the washing of the feet, and a fourth one prepared a becoming place to rest. buddha sat in the place that had been prepared for him. they called him by the name of gaudama and other appellations, usually bestowed on ordinary rahans. buddha meekly replied to them, "do not call me any longer by the name of gaudama, or any other title bestowed on an ascetic. i have become a rahanda; i alone am acquainted with the four fundamental truths. now i am come to preach to you the true law. listen, o rahans, to my words; i will lead you to the true state of neibban. my law will make you acquainted not only with the truths to be known, but at the same time point out to you the duties you have to perform, in order to obtain the state of arahat. there are four ways leading to perfection. he who steadily follows them will enjoy the rewards and merits gained by his exertions. in that position he will see distinctly his own self; the light of neibban will break forth upon him. but in order to obtain the great results i set forth before you, he must forsake his house and the world, and become a rahan." the unbelieving rahans persisted in not acknowledging him as a buddha, and reproached him with going about in search of disciples and in quest of alms. the same preaching was repeated by buddha, and the same answer was returned by his incredulous hearers. at last buddha, assuming a lofty and commanding tone, said to them, "i declare unto you that i am a buddha, knowing the four great truths and showing the way to neibban." the hitherto unbelieving ascetics humbled themselves, and declared their belief in him and in all that he had taught. from that moment they entered on the four ways of perfection. the day was that of the full moon of watso. the preaching began at the moment when half the disc of the sun was visible on the western horizon, and half that of the moon was above the eastern horizon. when completed, the sun had just disappeared, and the moon's entire globe was visible on the horizon. the five first converts were named kautagnya, baddiha, wappa, mahanan, and asadzi. the nats, guardians of the country of baranathee[ ] and migadawon, hearing the sublime instructions delivered by buddha on this occasion, cried aloud, "the law which the most excellent buddha preaches is such as no man, pounha or brahma, can teach." their united voices were heard in the lowest seat of nats; the inhabitants of that seat, catching their words, repeated them, and they were heard by those of the next seat, and so on, until they reached the seats of brahmas, and were re-echoed through , worlds. a mighty commotion was felt all over these worlds. the five at first unbelieving, but now believing rahans obtained the perfection of thautapati. buddha often repeated to those that approached him, "come to me; i preach a doctrine which leads to the deliverance from all the miseries attending existence." on that day, being the full moon of watso, eighteen koodes ( , , , ) of nats and brahmas who had heard his preachings obtained the deliverance. the conversation of those five rahans exhibited to the world the splendid and wonderful sight of six rahandas assembled in the same place. at that time, whilst buddha was in the migadawon grove, the memorable conversion of a young layman took place. there was in the country of baranathee the son of a rich man, named ratha. he was of very gentle and amiable disposition. his father had built for him three palaces for each season of the year. a crowd of young damsels, skilful in the art of playing on all sorts of musical instruments, attended him in each of those palaces. ratha spent his time in the midst of pleasure and amusements. on a certain day, while surrounded with female dancers and singers, he fell into a deep sleep. the musicians, following his example, laid aside their instruments, and fell asleep too. the lamps, filled with oil, continued to pour a flood of light throughout the apartments. awaking sooner than usual, ratha saw the musicians all asleep round him in various and unseemly situations. some slept with wide-opened mouths, some had dishevelled hair, some were snoring aloud, some had their instruments lying on themselves, and others by their sides. the whole exhibited a vast scene of the greatest confusion and disorder. sitting on his couch in a cross-legged position, the young man silently gazed with amazement and disgust over the unseemly spectacle displayed before him; then he said to himself, "the nature and condition of the body constitute indeed a truly heavy burden; that coarser part of our being affords a great deal of trouble and affliction." whereupon he instantly arose from his couch, put on his gilt slippers, and came down to the door of his apartment. the nats, who kept a vigilant watch, lest any one should oppose him in the execution of his holy purpose, kept open the door of the house, as well as the gate of the city. ratha, free from all impediments, directed his steps towards the solitude of migadawon. at that time buddha, who had left his sleeping place at a very early hour, was walking in front of the house. he saw at a distance a young man coming in the direction he was in. he instantly stopped his pacing, and going into his own apartment, sat as usual on his seat, awaiting the arrival of the young stranger, who soon made his appearance and stated modestly the object of his visit. buddha said to him, "o ratha! the law of neibban is the only true one: alone it is never attended with misery and affliction. o ratha! come nearer to me; remain in this place; to you i will make known the most perfect and valuable law." on hearing these kind and inviting expressions, ratha felt his heart overflow with the purest joy. he instantly put off his slippers, drew nearer to buddha, bowed down three times before him, withdrew then to a becoming distance, and remained in a respectful attitude. buddha began to preach the law, unfolding successively the various merits obtained by alms-giving, by a strict performance of all duties and practices of the law, and, above all, by renouncing the pleasures of this world. during all the while the heart of the young visitor expanded in a wonderful manner: he felt the ties that hitherto had bound him as it were to the world gradually relaxing and giving way before the unresisting influence of buddha's words. the good dispositions of the young hearer were soon remarked by buddha, who went on explaining all that related to the miseries attending existence, the passions tyrannising over the soul, the means wherewith to become exempt from those passions, and the great ways leading to perfection. after having listened to that series of instructions, ratha, like a white cloth that easily retains the impressions of various colours printed upon it, felt himself freed from all passions, and reached at once the state of thautapati. ratha's mother, not meeting her son early, went up as usual to his apartment, and, to her great surprise, found him gone; moreover she observed unmistakable marks of his sudden and unexpected departure. she ran forthwith to her husband, and announced to him the sad tidings. on hearing of such an unlooked-for event, the father sent messengers in the direction of the four points of the compass, with positive orders to search incessantly after his son, and leave no means of inquiry untried. as to himself he resolved to go to the solitude of migadawon, in the hope of finding out some track of his son's escape. he had scarcely travelled a limited distance, when he observed on the ground the marks of his son's footsteps. he followed them up, and soon came in sight of buddha's resting-place. ratha was at the time listening with deepest attention to all the words of his great teacher. by the power of buddha he remained hidden from the eyes of his father, who came up, and, having paid his respects to gaudama, eagerly asked him if he had not seen his son. gaudama bade him sit down and rest after the fatigue of his journey. meanwhile he assured him that he would soon see his son. rejoiced at such an assurance, ratha's father complied with the invitation he had received. buddha announced his law to this distinguished hearer, and soon led him to the perfection of thautapati. filled with joy and gratitude, the new convert exclaimed, "o illustrious phra, your doctrine is a most excellent one; when you preach it, you do like him who replaces on its basis an upset cup; like him, too, who brings to light precious things, which had hitherto remained in darkness; like him who points out the right way to those that have lost it; who kindles a brilliant light in the middle of darkness; who opens the mind's eyes that they might see the pure truth. henceforth i adhere to you and to your holy law; please to reckon me as one of your disciples and supporters." this was the first layman that became a disciple of gaudama, in the capacity of upasaka.[ ] whilst buddha was busily engaged in imparting instruction to ratha's father, the young man had entered into a deep and solemn meditation over some of the highest maxims he had heard from his great teacher. he was calmly surveying, as it were, all the things of this world; the more he progressed in that great work, the more he felt there was in himself no affection whatever for anything. he had not yet become a rahan, nor put on the rahan's dress. phra, who attentively watched all the movements of his pupil's mind, concluded from his present dispositions that there could be no fear of his ever returning into the world of passions. he suddenly caused by his mighty power the son to become visible to his father's eyes. the father, perceiving on a sudden his son sitting close by him, said, "beloved son, your mother is now bathed in tears, and almost sinking under the weight of affliction caused by your sudden departure; come now to her, and by your presence restore her to life, and infuse into her desolated soul some consolation." ratha, calm and unmoved, made no reply, but cast a look at his master. buddha, addressing ratha's father, said to him, "what will you have to state in reply to what i am about to tell you? your son knows what you know; he sees what you see; his heart is entirely disentangled from all attachment to worldly objects; passions are dead in him. who will now ever presume to say that he ought to subject himself again to them and bend his neck under their baneful influence?" "i have spoken rashly," replied the father; "let my son continue to enjoy the favour of your society; let him remain with you for ever and become your disciple. the only favour i request for myself is to have the satisfaction of receiving you in my house with my son attending you, and there to enjoy the happiness of supplying you with your food." buddha by his silence assented to his request. no sooner had his father departed than ratha applied for the dignity of rahan, which was forthwith conferred upon him. at that time there were in the world seven rahandas. on the following morning, gaudama, putting on his yellow tsiwaran, and carrying the patta under his arm, attended by the rahan ratha, sallied from his house, and went, according to his promise, to the place of ratha's father, to receive his food. he had scarce entered the house and occupied the seat prepared for him, when the mother of the new rahan and she who was formerly his wife came both to pay him their respects. buddha preached to them the law, explaining in particular the three[ ] principal observances becoming their sex and condition. the effect of the preaching was immediate and irresistible: they became exempt from all sins, and attained the state of the perfect, of thautapati, and became, among the persons of their sex, the first upasakas. they desired to be ranked among his disciples, and devoted themselves to his service. they were the first persons of their sex who took refuge in the three precious things, buddha, his law, and the assembly of the perfect. gaudama and his faithful attendant, having eaten the excellent and savoury food prepared for them, departed from the house and returned to the monastery. four young men[ ] belonging to the most illustrious families of baranathee, and formerly connected with ratha by the ties of intimate friendship, having heard that their friend had shaved his head and beard, had put on a yellow dress and become a rahan, said among themselves: "our friend has withdrawn from the society of men, given up all pleasures, and has entered into the society of rahans. there can be no doubt but the law of wini[ ] is most excellent and sublime, and the profession of rahan most perfect." whereupon they came to the place their friend resided in, prostrated themselves before him, as usual in such circumstances, and sat down at a respectful and becoming distance. ratha took them before buddha, praying him to deliver to those who had been his friends in the world the same instructions he had received from him. gaudama willingly assented to his request, and forthwith began to explain to them the nature and abundance of merits derived from alms-giving. he initiated them into the knowledge of the chief precepts and observances of the law. these young hearers received with a cheerful heart his instructions, and felt within themselves an unknown power, dissolving gradually all the ties that had hitherto retained them in the world of passions. delighted at remarking so good dispositions in those young men, gaudama explained to them the higher doctrine of the four great and fundamental truths which lead to perfection.[ ] when the preaching was over, they applied for and obtained the dignity of rahans. there were at that time eleven rahandas in the whole world. fifty other young men of good descent, who had been the companions of ratha while in the world, having heard that their friend had left the world, had put on the yellow garb and become rahan, said to each other: "the law which our friend listened to may not be a bad one; the profession he has entered into may not be as despicable as many people are wont to assert." they resolved to judge for themselves and to be eye-witnesses to all that had been said on the subject. they set out for the monastery ratha was living in, came into his presence, paid their respects to him, and stopped at a proper distance in a respectful posture. hatha led them to his great teacher, humbly craving for his former friends the same favour he had done to him. buddha graciously assented to the request, and imparted instruction to his young hearers, with such a happy result that they instantly applied for admittance to the dignity of rahans. this favour was granted to them. the total number of rahandas was thereby raised to sixty-one. on a certain day, gaudama called his disciples into his presence,[ ] and said to them: "beloved rahans, i am exempt from the five great passions which, like an immense net, encompass men and nats. you too, owing to the instructions you have received from me, enjoy the same glorious privilege. there is now incumbent on us a great duty, that of labouring effectually in behalf of men and nats, and procuring to them the invaluable blessing of the deliverance. to the end of securing more effectually the success of such an undertaking, let us part with each other and proceed in various and opposite directions, so that not two of us should follow up the same way. go ye now and preach the most excellent law, expounding every point thereof, and unfolding it with care and attention in all its bearings and particulars. explain the beginning, the middle, and the end of the law to all men, without exception; let everything respecting it be made publicly known and brought to the broad daylight. show now to men and nats the way leading to the practice of pure and meritorious works. you will meet, doubtless, with a great number of mortals, not as yet hopelessly given up to their passions, and who will avail themselves of your preaching for reconquering their hitherto forfeited liberty, and freeing themselves from the thraldom of passions. for my own part, i will direct my course towards the village of thena situated in the vicinity of the solitude of ooroowela." at that time the wicked nat manh came into the presence of buddha, and tempted him in the following manner: "men and nats," said he, "have the five senses; through those five senses passions act upon them, encompass their whole being, and finally keep them bound up with the chains of an unresistible slavery. as to you, rahan, you are not an exception to that universal condition, and you have not yet outstepped the boundaries of my empire." phra replied: "o vile and wretched nat! i am well acquainted with the passions men and nats are subjected to. but i have freed myself from them all, and have thereby placed myself without the pale of your empire; you are at last vanquished and conquered." manh, yet undismayed, replied: "o rahan, you may be possessed of the power of flying through the air; but even in that condition, those passions which are inherent in the nature of mortal beings will accompany you, so that you cannot flatter yourself of living without the boundaries of my empire." phra retorted: "o wicked nat, concupiscence and all other passions i have stifled to death in me so that you are at last conquered." manh, the most wretched among the wretched, was compelled to confess with a broken heart that phra had conquered him, and he instantly vanished away. full of fervour in preaching the law, the rahans saw themselves surrounded with crowds of converts, who asked for the dignity of rahan. they poured in daily from all parts, into the presence of buddha to receive at his hands the much-longed-for high dignity.[ ] buddha said to them, "beloved rahans, it is painful and troublesome both to you and to those who desire to be admitted into our holy brotherhood to come from such a great distance to me. i now give to you the power of conferring the dignity of patzin and rahan on those whom you may deem worthy to receive it. this is the summary way you will have to follow on such occasions. every candidate shall have his hair and beard shaved, and shall be provided with the tsiwaran of yellow colour. these preliminaries being arranged, the candidate, with the extremities of the kowot thrown over his shoulders, shall place himself in a squatting position, his joined hands raised to the forehead, repeating three times, 'i adhere to buddha, to the law, and to the assembly of the perfect.'" gaudama, assembling again round him the rahans, said to them, "beloved rahans, it is owing to my wisdom, aided by constant reflection and meditation, that i have at last reached the incomparable state of arahatapho; endeavour all of you to follow my example, and arrive at last at the same state of excellence and perfection." the vile and wretched nat manh appeared again before buddha, striving to tempt him in the same manner as before. buddha, discovering the snares laid down by the tempter, returned the same reply. finding himself discovered, manh vanished from his presence. having spent his first lent[ ] in the solitude of migadawon, phra shaped his course in the direction of the forest of ooroowela. on his way to that place he stopped for a while in a jungle, and sat under a tree, to enjoy some rest under its cool shade. at that time thirty young noblemen had come to the jungle to indulge in sports and diversions. each of them had brought his wife, with the exception of one, who, having no wife, was accompanied by a harlot. during the night the harlot rose up unperceived, picked up the best articles belonging to the parties, and carrying them with her, took to her heels through the dense forest. in the morning the thirty young noblemen, rising up, soon perceived the havoc made in the richest articles of their dress, and set out in search of her who they suspected had done the mischief. they came by chance to the spot where gaudama was sitting in a cross-legged position, and inquired from him whether he had seen a woman passing by. buddha said to them, "which, in your opinion, is the best and most advantageous thing, either to go in search of yourselves or in search of a woman?" they replied, "of course it is preferable to look after ourselves." "if so," replied buddha, "stay with me for a while; i will preach my law to you, and, with its help, you will arrive at the knowledge of self, and thence at perfection." they cheerfully assented to his request, listened attentively to his instructions, and obtained the state of perfect believers, but in various degrees, according to their respective dispositions. they gave up the habit of drunkenness they had hitherto indulged in, and persevered in the observance of the five great precepts. [it is to be remarked, adds the burmese translator, that this happy result was secured to the fortunate hearers by the influence of good works made during former existences.[ ]] gaudama, having so happily completed the conversion of those young noblemen, rose up and continued his journey in the direction of the forest of ooroowela. at that time there were three distinguished and far-famed teachers who presided over a vast number of rathees or disciples leading an ascetic life. they were named ooroowela kathaba, nadi kathaba, and gaya kathaba. the first had under him five hundred disciples, the second three hundred, and the third two hundred. buddha went up to the monastery of ooroowela kathaba, and said to him, "i carry but a few articles with me, and need but a small place to rest in; i beg of you to be allowed to spend the night only in your kitchen." kathaba answered: "since you have so few things with you, i willingly allow you to accommodate yourself in the best way you can in the cook-room; but i must inform you that the naga guardian of the place is an animal of a very wicked temper, powerfully strong, and having a most deadly venom." "i fear not the naga," replied buddha; "i am well satisfied with your allowing me a place in the cook-room." whereupon he entered into the kitchen, sat down in a cross-legged position, and, keeping his body in an erect posture, remained absorbed, as it were, in the deepest contemplation. the naga soon appeared, and irritated at seeing that a stranger presumed to remain in a place committed to his care, resolved to drive out the intruder. he began to vomit a cloud of smoke which he directed at the face of the stranger. buddha said to himself, "i will do no harm to that naga; i will leave intact his skin, flesh, and bones; but i will conquer him with the very same weapons he uses against me." whereupon he emitted by his own power such a volume of thick smoke as soon to silence his adversary, and oblige him to have recourse to more effectual means of attack. he vomited out burning flames. phra opposed flames far more active and destructive than those of the naga. they shone forth with such an uncommon brightness as to attract a number of rathees, who stood motionless, admiring the beautiful countenance of buddha, and wondering at his matchless power. the naga, vanquished, gave up the contest, and left to buddha the undisputed possession of the cook-room during the whole night. in the morning opening his patta, phra thrust in the terrified naga, and brought it to ooroowela kathaba, who, surprised at the power of the stranger, said, "this rahanda cannot as yet be compared to me." he desired him to stay in his monastery, promising to supply him with food as long as he should be with him. phra accepted the proffered invitation, and fixed his residence in the midst of a grove little distant from the cell of kathaba. whilst he was there, four chiefs of nats of the seat of tsadoomarit came at midnight to the spot where rested phra. they were very handsome, and a bright hue, encompassing their bodies, filled the grove with a resplendent light. kathaba, surprised, came to buddha, and said to him, "great rahan, the hour of taking your food is at hand; your rice is ready, come and eat it. how is it that at midnight there was such an uncommon splendour? one would have thought that the whole forest in the neighbourhood was lined with immense fires, spreading a blaze of light." phra answering said, "this wonder was caused by the presence of four chiefs of nats that came to visit me and hear my preachings." kathaba said to himself, "great indeed must be the virtue of this rahan, since nats come to see him and acknowledge him for their teacher. he is not yet, however, my equal." buddha ate his rice, and went back to the same place. on another occasion, in the middle of the night, the chief of thagias came to the grove of buddha, and by his power caused a flood of light similar to that produced by a thousand lighted fires to pour its effulgent rays in every direction. in the morning, kathaba went to the great rahan inviting him to come and eat his rice. meanwhile he asked him the reason of the wonderful light that had been kept up about from midnight until morning, which surpassed in brilliancy that which had been seen on a former occasion. phra told him that he had been visited by the chief of thagias, who came for the purpose of hearing his instructions. kathaba thought within himself: "great indeed is the glory and dignity of this rahan, but he is not as yet a rahanda." phra ate his food, and continued to stay in the same grove. on another occasion, at the same late hour, phra received the visit of the chief of the brahmas. the flood of light that was sent forth by his body surpassed in effulgent splendour all that had been seen. kathaba came as usual, in the morning, to invite the great rahan to come and take his food, requesting him at the same time to inform him of the cause of the great wonder that had just taken place. phra told him that the chief of brahmas had waited upon him to listen to his preachings. kathaba wondered the more at the dignity of this great rahan, who attracted round him so eminent a visitor. but he said within himself: "this rahan is not yet a rahanda that can be compared to me." phra partook of his food, and continued his stay in the same grove. on a certain day, the people of the country had prepared offerings on a large scale to be presented to kathaba. on hearing this welcome news, the rathee thought within himself as follows: "the people are disposing everything to make large offerings to me. it is as well this rahan should not be present on the occasion. he might make a display of his power in the presence of the multitude, who, taken up with admiration for his person, would make great offerings to him, whilst i should see my own decrease in a proportion. to-morrow i will contrive in such a way as to prevent the great rahan from being present." buddha discovered at a glance all that was going on in kathaba's mind. unwilling to offer any annoyance to his host, he conveyed himself to the island of ootoogara, where he collected his meal, which he came to eat on the banks of the lake anawadat. he spent the whole day there, and by his miraculous power he was back to his grove at an early hour on the following day. the rathee came as usual, to invite him to partake of his meal that was ready, and inquired from him why he had not made his appearance on the day previous. buddha, without the least emotion that could betray an angry feeling, related to kathaba all that had passed in his mind, and informed him of the place he had been to. kathaba, astonished at what he heard, said to himself: "the knowledge of this rahan is transcendent indeed, since he is even acquainted with the thoughts of my mind; his power too is wonderfully great; but withal, he is not as yet a rahanda comparable to me." buddha, having eaten his meal, withdrew to his grove. on a certain day buddha wished to wash his dress. a thagia, knowing the thought that occupied his mind, dug a small square tank, and approaching him respectfully, invited him to wash his tsiwaran therein. buddha then thought: where shall i find a stone to rub it upon? the thagia, having brought a stone, said to him: "illustrious phra, here is a stone to rub your tsiwaran on." he thought again: where is a proper place to dry it upon? the nat that watched the tree yekada caused it to bend its branches, and said: "my lord, here is a fit place to hang up your tsiwaran." he thought again: where is a fit spot to extend my clothes upon? the chief of thagias brought a large and well-polished stone, and said: "o illustrious phra, here is a fit place to lay your tsiwaran upon." in the morning, kathaba repaired as usual to his guest's place, to invite him to take his meal. surprised at what he perceived, he said to buddha: "o rahan, formerly there were here neither tank nor stone; how is it that they are here now? how is it, moreover, that the tree yekadat is now bending down its branches?" phra related then to the rathee all that had happened, informing him that the chief of thagias and one nat had done all those works for him, and ministered to all his wants. kathaba wondered more than before at the great virtue and surpassing excellency of the great rahan; but he persisted in his former opinion, that the great rahan was not a rahanda that could equal him. buddha, having taken his meal, returned to his grove. on another occasion, the rathee went to buddha's place, to invite him to come and partake of his meal. "very well," said buddha, "i have a small business to do now; go beforehand, and i will follow you a few moments hence." whereupon kathaba went back to his cell. as to phra, he went to pluck a fruit from the jambu tree, and arrived at the eating place before kathaba could reach it. the rathee, on arriving there, was quite surprised to find phra already waiting for him. "how is this?" said he, with an unfeigned feeling of surprise, "and by what way did you come and contrive to arrive here before me?" phra said to him: "after your departure, i plucked one fruit from a jambu tree, and yet i have reached this spot sooner than you. here is the fruit i have brought. it is as full of flavour as it is beautiful; allow me to present you with it, that you may eat it." "o! no, great rahan," replied the rathee, "it is not becoming that i should eat it, but rather keep it for yourself." he thought within himself: "wonderful is indeed the power and eminent excellency of that great rahan; but he is not as yet a rahan that can be ranked to me." phra ate his rice, and returned to his grove. on another day, phra gave a fresh proof of his miraculous power, by bringing to kathaba a mango fruit, plucked from a mango tree growing near the jambu tree, and so went on for several days, bringing fruits that grew at the extremity of the southern island. on another day, phra ascended to the seat of tawadeintha, and brought therefrom a beautiful water-lily, and yet arrived at the place where his meal was ready before kathaba himself. the latter, quite amazed at seeing a flower from the nat country, thought within himself: "wonderful, indeed, is the power of that great rahan, who has brought here, from the seats of nats, a beautiful lily in such a short space of time; but he is not as yet equal to me." on a certain day, the rathees were busy splitting firewood. they got a large log of wood upon which their united efforts could make no impression. kathaba thought within himself: "the great rahan is gifted with mighty power; let us try him on this occasion." he desired gaudama to split the hard log. gaudama split it in a moment in five hundred pieces. the rathees then tried to light up the fuel, but they could not succeed. kathaba requested his guest to come to their assistance. in an instant, the five hundred pieces were set in a blaze, and presented the terrifying sight of five hundred large fires. the rathees begged the great rahan to extinguish those fires which threatened a general conflagration. their request was instantaneously granted; the five hundred fires were extinguished. during the cold season in the months of january and february, when a heavy cold dew falls, the rathees amused themselves with plunging and swimming in the river neritzara. phra caused five hundred fires to blaze out on the banks of the river. the rathees, coming out of the stream, warmed themselves by the side of those fires. they all wondered at the astonishing power of the great rahan. but kathaba persisted in saying that he was not a rahanda like him. on a certain day, a great rain poured in torrents, so that the water overflowed all the country, but it did not reach the spot gaudama stood upon. he thought within himself: it is good that i should create a beautiful dry road in the midst of the water. he did so, and walked on the dry road, and clouds of dust rose in the air. kathaba, much concerned regarding the fate of his guest, took a boat, and, with the assistance of his disciples, pulled in the direction of buddha's grove; but what was their surprise, when reaching the spot they found, instead of water, a firm dry road, and buddha calmly walking to and fro. "is it you, great rahan," cried kathaba, "whom we see here?" "yes," replied gaudama, "it is i indeed." he had scarcely returned this answer, when he rose in the air and stood for a while above the boat. kathaba thought again within himself: "great indeed must be the perfections and attainments of the great rahan, since water even cannot harm him, but he is not yet a rahanda like me." phra, who knew what was taking place in kathaba's mind, said to himself: long time has this rathee kept thinking within himself: this rahan is great, but i am still greater than he; it is time now that i should inspire him with fear and surprise. addressing kathaba, he said: "rathee, you are not a rahanda that has arrived to the perfection of arahat; you have never performed the meritorious actions of the four ways to perfection; you are not, therefore, a rahanda. but i have, during former existences, carefully attended to those practices which have enabled me to reach perfection, and finally obtain the buddhaship." astonished at such an unexpected declaration, kathaba humbled himself, fell on his knees, and prostrated himself at the feet of buddha, saying: "illustrious phra, i wish to become rahan under your direction." phra replied: "kathaba, you have under you five hundred rathees, go and inform them of all that has happened." whereupon kathaba went to the place where the rathees had assembled, and said to them: "i wish to place myself under the direction of the great rahan." the five hundred rathees told him that they were willing to follow his example, since he had been hitherto to them such an excellent teacher. they rose up, and, collecting their utensils, such as the twisted hairs, and forked staff, the hairy girdle, the honey filtre, &c., flung them into the river; then they came, and, prostrating themselves at the feet of buddha, craved admittance to the dignity of rahans. nadi kathaba, seeing the utensils floating on the water and carried down by the stream, called his followers and said to them: "some misfortune must have befallen my elder brother; let us go and see what has happened." they were no sooner arrived, than kathaba related to them all that had just taken place. nadi kathaba went forthwith to buddha's cell, attended all his disciples. falling all at the feet of phra, they declared their readiness to become his disciples, and applied for the dignity of rahan. gaya kathaba, who lived a little below the place of nadi kathaba, seeing on the surface of the water the utensils of the followers of both his brothers floating in the direction of the stream, hastened, with his two hundred disciples, to the place of ooroowela kathaba. on his being informed of all that had occurred, he and his followers threw themselves at gaudama's feet, praying for admittance into the order of rahans. they were all admitted. the conversion of ooroowela kathaba was brought about by the display, on the part of buddha, of no less than three thousand five hundred and sixty wonders.[ ] footnotes [ ] i have, except on one occasion, always made use of the terms meditation and contemplation to express the inward working of buddha's mind during the forty-nine days he spent at the foot of the banyan tree. but the burmese translator most commonly employs a much stronger expression, conveying the idea of trance and ecstasy. hence after having remained seven days on the same spot, deeply engaged in considering some parts of the law he was soon to preach, it is said of him that he comes out from a state of perfect ecstasy. this expression implies a state of complete mental abstraction, when the soul, disentangled from the trammels of sense, raises itself above this material world, contemplates pure truth and delights in it. all her faculties are taken up with the beauty and perfection of truth; she clings to it with all her might, regardless of all the illusions this world is filled with. this situation of the soul is much esteemed by all fervent buddhists. it is the lot of but a few privileged rahans, who have made great progress in perfection, and obtained an almost entire mastery over their passions and senses. this great gift is, as one may well imagine, ardently coveted by many, who, though not possessing it, lay claim to it on false pretences. this being a sin devotees who relish a contemplative life are very liable to, which the framer of the regulations of the buddhist monks has pronounced as _ipso facto_ excluding from the society all those who would falsely claim the possession of uncommon spiritual attainments which they have not. in the book of ordination used for the admission of candidates to the order of rahans or talapoins, this sin is the last of the four offences which deprive a member of the order of his dignity, and cause his expulsion from the society. [ ] the five rahans alluded to are the very same individuals who met phralaong in the solitude at the time he was undergoing a great fast and performing all sorts of works of self-denial and corporal austerities in the most rigorous manner. during all the time he spent in those hard exercises of strict mortification, to conquer his passions and secure the complete triumph of the mind over the senses, he was assisted in all his wants by those five rahans, who rendered to him the usual services disciples are wont to perform to their teacher. when they saw phralaong at the end of his mighty efforts in that great struggle resuming the habits of a mendicant, they left him at once, unwilling to believe that he would ever become a buddha. our phra, not unmindful of the good services he had received from them, resolved to impart first to them the blessings of his preachings. alara and oodaka, his two first teachers in the science of dzan, were destined to be the first who would have heard the good news had they not been dead. gratitude seems to have been the first and main motive that induced him to select as the first objects of his mission the very same persons who had been instrumental in furthering his efforts to acquire the buddhaship. the unpleasant epithet of heretic is given to those five rahans, as well as to another named upaka, as designed to mean that they held tenets at variance with those of buddha, and refused to acknowledge him as possessed of the perfect intelligence. buddhists, in their writings, invariably call their opponents by the name of holders of false doctrines. the brahmins or pounhas who refused to seek refuge in buddha, his law, and the assembly of his disciples, are spoken of as professors of heterodoxical doctrines. from the narrative of this legend we may conclude, with a probability amounting almost to certitude, that buddha in his preachings addressed himself first to the brahmins, as being by their caste the most influential portion of the hindu community. those that are called by the name of pounhas are the brahmins living in the world and following the ordinary pursuits of life. those that are mentioned by the names of rahans and rathees are probably brahmins, or at least belong to some other distinguished caste like that of the kchatrias, but are members of some religious order or ascetics. they were in those days men whom, in imitation of the ancient greeks, we may call philosophers, and who belonged to one or other of the branches into which the great indian school was divided. we may conjecture that at that time india exhibited a scene much resembling that which greece subsequently offered to the eyes of the observer in the days of socrates and plato, when schools of philosophy were to be met with in every direction. the hindu philosophers, favoured by climate and their ardent imagination, carried much further than the greek wise men, both in theory and practice, the discussion of dogmas and the fervour of religious practices. if credit is to be given to our legend in a historical point of view, we may safely conclude that such was the state of india when buddha began his preachings. his first hearers were rahans, rathees, and pounhas, that is to say, the most learned and wisest men in those days. the latter in particular seemed at first disinclined to offer opposition to buddha; they listened to him as to a distinguished philosopher; his arguments were examined, discussed, and answered by them in the best way they could. in that polemical warfare, arguments were at first the only offensive and defensive weapons used and handled by the combatants on both sides. buddha's two favourite doctrines of atheism and neibban, which established the two broad lines of separation between the two systems, begat much discussion and created some animosity between him and his adversaries. but what widened the gap between the two parties, and placed them in a hostile array against each other, was the broad principle of equality amongst men, latent in the bosom of buddha's doctrines, and levelled at the distinction of castes. buddha preached to men of all conditions without exception; he opened before all the ways that lead to neibban; made no distinction between man and man, except that which is drawn by virtue and vice, merits and demerits. he allowed every one to approach him and take rank among his disciples; faith in his doctrine entitled any man to be numbered amidst his followers; the entrance into the order of rahans or perfect was open to all those who, by their meritorious actions and renouncing the world, qualified themselves for this dignity. this principle, which put on a footing of equality men of all castes and nations, and recognised no real superiority but that which is conferred by virtue and merit, could not prove agreeable to the proud brahmins. it provoked, by its gradual development, the animosity of the opponents of buddha's doctrines. the battle of arguments, after having raged with various success, was afterwards converted into one of a bloody character, which ended in the total extermination or expulsion of the buddhists from the indian peninsula. [ ] the mission of buddha is not, as previously observed, confined to men living on earth, but it extends its beneficial action over all the beings inhabiting the six seats of nats and sixteen of brahmas. those beings, the latter in particular, are much advanced in perfection, but they are not yet ripe for the sublime state of neibban. though freed, at least the brahmas, from the influence of passions, they retain as yet some inclination for matter; they want the help of a buddha to break at once the few slender ties that retain them in the state of existence. the first preaching of buddha was rewarded with the conversion of five rahans, and of a countless number of nats and brahmas. such a plentiful harvest he could scarcely anticipate to reap; and the beginning of his career, attended with such wonderful success, amply repaid him for the extraordinary exertions he made in order to qualify himself for the buddhaship. the author of the legend remarks, with an unfeigned pleasure, that owing to the conversion of the five rahans, the worlds witnessed the beautiful sight of six rahandas congregated on the same spot. the rahanda has attained the summit of perfection; he has arrived at the last existence; his death will relieve him from the burden of existence, and open to him the way leading to perfect rest, to complete abstraction--in a word, to neibban. the rahandas rank first among the disciples and hearers of buddha; they constitute the _élite_ of his followers, and form the most distinguished portion of the assembly or congregation of the perfect. we have already stated that the members composing the assembly of the hearers were divided into distinct sections, and formed different degrees, according to the difference of their respective progress on the way of perfection. [ ] it may be interesting to give an abridgment of an instruction or sermon delivered by gaudama to a nat. it will be as a fair specimen of other similar performances. the nat made his appearance at nightfall, and respectfully entreated buddha to deliver certain instructions which would enable men to come to the understanding of many points of the law on which they had hitherto fruitlessly meditated. buddha was then in the monastery of dzetawon, in the country of thawattie. this sermon is supposed to have been repeated by ananda, who had heard it from the mouth of buddha himself. it is, according to the burmese, the most excellent sermon; it contains thirty-eight points. "young nat," said buddha, "here are the most excellent things men and nats ought to attend to, in order to capacitate themselves for the state of neibban: to shun the company of the foolish; to be always with the wise; to proffer homage to those that are deserving of it; to remain in a place becoming one's condition; to have always with one's self the influence of former good works; steadily to maintain a perfect behaviour; to be delighted to hear and see much, in order to increase knowledge; to study all that is not sinful; to apply one's self to acquire the knowledge of wini. let every one's conversation be regulated by righteous principles; let every one minister to the wants of his father and mother; provide all the necessaries for his wife and children; perform no action under the evil influence of temptation; bestow alms; observe the precepts of the law; assist one's relatives and friends; perform no actions but such as are exempt from sin; be ever diligent in such avoiding, and abstain from intoxicating drink. let no one be remiss in the practice of the law of merits. let every one bear respect to all men; be ever humble; be easily satisfied and content; gratefully acknowledge favours; listen to the preaching of the law in its proper time; be patient; delight in good conversation; visit the religious from time to time; converse on religious subjects; cultivate the virtue of mortification; practise works of virtue; pay attention always to the four great truths; keep the eyes fixed on neibban. finally, let one in the middle of the eight afflictions of this world be, like the rahanda, firm, without disquietude, fearless, with a perfect composure. o young nat, whoever observes these perfect laws shall never be overcome by the enemies of the good: he shall enjoy the peace of ariahs." within a narrow compass, buddha has condensed an abridgment of almost all moral virtues. the first portion of these precepts contains injunctions to shun all that may prove an impediment to the practice of good works. the second part inculcates the necessity of regulating one's mind and intention for a regular discharge of the duties incumbent on each man in his separate station. then follows a recommendation to bestow assistance on parents, relatives, and all men in general. next to that, we find recommended the virtues of humility, resignation, gratitude, and patience. after this, the preacher insists on the necessity of studying the law, visiting religious, conversing on religious subjects. when this is done, the hearer is commanded to study with great attention the four great truths, and keep his mind's eye ever fixed on the happy state of neibban, which, though as yet distant, ought never to be lost sight of. thus prepared, the hearer must be bent upon acquiring the qualifications befitting the true sage. like the one mentioned by the latin poet, who would remain firm, fearless, and unmoved, even in the midst of the ruins of the crumbling universe, the buddhist sage must ever remain calm, composed, and unshaken among all the vicissitudes of life. here is again clearly pointed out the final end to be arrived at, viz., that of perfect mental stability. this state is the foreshadowing of that of neibban. [ ] from the perusal of this legend, it can be remarked that buddha, in the course of his preachings, withheld from no one the knowledge of his doctrine, but, on the contrary, aimed at popularising it in every possible way. in this respect he widely differed from the brahmins, who enveloped their tenets in a mysterious obscurity, and even in that state of semi-incomprehensibility, condescended to offer them to the consideration of but a few selected adepts. but buddha followed quite an opposite course. he preached to all without exception. on this occasion we see him engaged in explaining to the mother and wife of ratha duties truly becoming their sex and position. he warned them against the danger of speaking too much, or speaking hastily and with a tone of dissatisfaction. he desired them to be always cool and moderate in their conversation, and to take a pleasure in conversing on religious topics, such as the practice of the ten great duties, the merits of almsgiving, and on the other precepts of the law. he showed to them the unbecomingness of inconsistency in speaking, and finally concluded by exhorting them to allow wisdom to guide them in the right use of the faculty of speech. every one will agree in this that the lecture was a very appropriate one, and would suit women of our days as well as those of buddha's times. it is not easy to determine whether these two female converts became rahanesses by forsaking the world and devoting all their time to religious observances, or simply believed in buddha's doctrines and continued to live in the world. the burmese translator makes use of expressions liable to both interpretations. i feel inclined to adopt the second supposition. they became female upasakas, and continued to live in the world. we shall see, hereafter, that gaudama's aunt, patzapati, was the first, after much entreating, who was allowed to become a rahaness. the great former of the buddhistic disciplinary regulations has also laid down rules for the institution and management of an order of female devotees, to match, as it were, with that of talapoins. hence in almost all countries where buddhism flourishes, there are to be met houses and monasteries which are the abodes of those pious women, who emulate rahans in the strict observance of practices of the highest order. their dress, except the colour, which is white, is quite similar to that of talapoins; their head is shaved; they live in strict continence as long as they continue to wear the dress of their profession. they have certain formulas of prayer to repeat every day several times. their diet is the same as that of talapoins; they are forbidden to take any food after midday. i am not aware that they render any service to society in the way of keeping schools for the benefit of female children. they live on alms freely bestowed on them by their co-religionists. the burmese honour them with the title of mathi-la-shing, which means ladies of the religious duties. the order of those female devotees is now much on the decline; the inmates of houses are but few, enjoying a very small share of public esteem and respect. they are generally looked upon with feelings akin to those entertained towards beggars. in the wini, or book of discipline, the relations that are allowed to subsist between the two orders of male and female devotees are minutely described and clearly laid down, so as to prevent the evils that might result from a familiar and unnecessary intercourse. thoroughly acquainted with the weakest side of human nature, the author of the wini has legislated on that subject with the utmost circumspection. he allowed rather aged rahans to be the spiritual advisers of the rahanesses, but he denies them the leave of ever going to their houses under any pretext whatever. when the latter want to hear preaching or receive some advice from the rahans, they resort in broad daylight to the monastery, are permitted to stay in a large hall open to the public, at a considerable distance from him whom they desire to consult. having briefly and with becoming reverence made known the object of their visit, and received some spiritual instructions, they immediately return to their own place. the same reflection may be applied to the conversion of ratha's father. it is said that he was the first convert out of the body of laymen. he does not appear to have forsaken the world and become a first-class convert. he became a thautapati, and at once entered one of the four ways leading to perfection, but remained in the world. [ ] the conversion of ratha and of his young friends shows to us distinctly the tendency of buddha's preachings, and their effect over those who believed in him. ratha is represented as a young worldly-minded man, who, in the midst of riches, has denied himself to no kind of pleasure. he feels that the enjoyments he was so fond of can in no manner satisfy the cravings of his heart: he is disgusted at them, and resolves to withdraw into solitude, with the intention of placing himself under the direction of some eminent teacher, and learn from him the way to happiness. he hopes that the study of philosophy will lead him to true wisdom and the acquirement of the means that may render him happy. he luckily falls in with buddha, who explains to him that the senses are the instruments through which passions act upon and tyrannise over the soul, by keeping it in a painful subjection to matter. he points out to him the necessity of freeing himself from their control. this principle of buddhism, which aims at disengaging the soul from matter, isolating it from all that proves a burden to it, and delivering it from the tyrannical yoke of concupiscence, is in itself perfectly correct, but, carried beyond its legitimate consequences, it becomes false and absurd. according to buddhists, the soul, disentangled from all that exists, finds itself alone without any object it can adhere to; folding itself up into its own being, it remains in a state of internal contemplation, destitute alike of all active feelings of pleasure and pain. this doctrine was known in the time of buddha, as far as the principle is concerned. the rathees and other sages in those days upheld it both in theory and practice; but, on the consequences, the originator of buddhism was at issue with his contemporaries, and struck out a new path in the boundless field of speculative philosophy. [ ] the wini is one of the great divisions of buddhistic sacred writings. the pitagat, or collection of all the scriptures, is divided into three parts--the thouts, containing the preachings of buddha, the wini, or book of the discipline, and the abidama, or the book of metaphysics. that compilation is supposed to embody the doctrines of buddha in a complete manner. these books have not been written by buddha himself, since it is said of him that he never wrote down anything. the first buddhistic compositions were certainly written by the disciples of phra, or their immediate successors. but there arose some disputes among the followers of buddha, as to the genuineness of the doctrines contained in the various writings published by the chief disciples. to settle the controversy, an assembly or council of the most influential members of the buddhistic creed, under the presidency of kathaba, was held about three months after gaudama's demise. the writings regarded as spurious were set aside, and those purporting to contain the pure doctrines of phra were collected into one body, and formed, as it were, the canon of sacred books. the matter so far was settled for the time being, but the human mind, when unrestrained by authority, acted in those days with the same result as it does in our own times. various and different were the constructions put on the same text by the expounders of the buddhistic law. all parties admitted the same books, but they dissented from each other in the interpretation. some of the books hitherto regarded as sacred were altered or rejected altogether to make room for the works of new doctors. confusion prevailed to such an extent, that an hundred years later a second council was assembled for determining the authenticity of the real and genuine writings. a new compilation was made and approved of by the assembly. the evil was remedied; but the same causes that had exercised so baneful an influence previously to the time of the second council soon worked again and produced a similar result. two hundred and thirty-five years after gaudama's death a third council was assembled. the books compiled by the second council were revised and apparently much abridged, and with the sanction of the assembled fathers a new canon of scriptures was issued. the pitagat in its present shape is regarded as the work of this last assembly. all the books are written in the pali or magatha language. in the beginning of the fifth century of our era, according to our author's computation, a learned man, named boudagautha, went to ceylon, and brought back to burmah a copy of the collection of the pitagat. then he introduced into this country the alphabet now in use, and translated into the vernacular a portion of the scriptures. this important subject shall receive hereafter fuller development. [ ] the four principles or truths so often alluded to in the course of this work ought to be well understood, in order to get a clear insight into the system under consideration. these four truths are as follows:-- . there are afflictions and miseries attending the existence of all beings. . there are passions and, in particular, concupiscence, which are the causes of all miseries. . there is neibban, which is the exemption of all passions, and, consequently, the deliverance from all miseries. . there are the four ways or high roads leading to neibban. here is the summary of the sublime knowledge and transcendent science possessed by a buddha: these four fundamental truths form the four features or characteristics of his law; they safely guide man in the way to deliverance. the buddhist sage, who longs to become perfect, must study with attention the position of all beings in this world, survey with a patient regard their diversified conditions, and fathom the depth of the abyss of miseries in which they are miserably sunk. a vague, general and superficial knowledge of these miseries is insufficient to create that perfect acquaintance with human wretchedness. he ought to examine one after the other those series of afflictions, until he feels, as it were, their unbearable weight pressing over his soul. this first step having been made by the means of reflection, meditation, and experience, the sage, standing by the side of all miseries that press upon all beings, as a physician, by the bed of a patient, inquires into the cause of such an awful moral disorder. he soon discovers the generating causes of that universal distemper; they are the passions in general; or rather, to speak more in accordance with buddhistic expressions, concupiscence, anger, and ignorance are the springs all demerits flow from, are the impure sources wherefrom originate all the miseries and afflictions this world is filled with. the destruction of those passions is the main and great object he has in view. he, therefore, leaves the world and renounces all pleasures and worldly possessions, in order to extinguish concupiscence; he practises patience under the most trying circumstances, that anger may no longer have any power over him; he studies the law, and meditates on all its points, in order to dispel the dark atmosphere of ignorance by the bright light of knowledge. having advanced so far, the sage has not yet reached the final object of his desires; he has not yet attained to the end he anxiously wishes to come to. he is just prepared and qualified for going in search of it. neibban, or the _absolute_ exemption and _permanent_ deliverance from the four causes productive of existence, or of a state of being, is the only thing he deems worthy to be desired and earnestly longed for. the sage, perceiving such a desirable state, sighs after it with all the powers of his soul. neibban is to him what the harbour is to the storm-beaten mariner, or deliverance to the worn-out inmate of a dark dungeon. but such a happy state is, as yet, at a great distance; where is the road leading thereto? this is the last truth the sage has to investigate. the four roads to perfection are opened before him. these he must follow with perseverance; they will conduct him to neibban. they are a perfect belief, a perfect reflection, a perfect use of speech, and a perfect conduct. [ ] buddha, having trained up his disciples to the knowledge of his doctrines as well as to the practice of his ordinances, elevates them to the dignity of preachers, or, to be more correct, makes them fellow-labourers in the arduous task of imparting to mankind the wholesome knowledge of saving truths. an unbounded field is opened before him; the number of beings who are designed to partake of the blessings of his doctrines is incalculably great. his own efforts will not prove adequate to the difficulties such a mighty undertaking is encompassed with; he joins to himself fervent disciples that have reached all but the farthest limit of perfection by the thorough control they have obtained over their passions; he considers them as instruments well fitted for carrying into execution his benevolent designs, and entrusts them with the mission he has entered upon. by adopting such a step, the wise founder of buddhism establishes a regular order of men, whom he commissions to go and preach to all living creatures the doctrines they have learnt from him. the commission he imparted to them was evidently to be handed down to their successors in the same office. he may now die, but he is sure that the work he has begun shall be carried on with zeal and devotedness by men who have renounced the world and given up all sorts of enjoyments, that they might engage in the great undertaking with a heart perfectly disentangled from all ties and impediments of every description. in entrusting his disciples with the important duty of teaching mankind, buddha, obeying the impulse of his universal charity, desires them to go all over the world and preach all the truth to all mortals. he distinctly charges them to announce openly and unreservedly all that they have heard from him. in these instructions the plan of buddha is clearly laid down, and the features of the mission he assumes distinctly delineated. his object is to spread his doctrines all over the world and to bring all beings under his moral sway. he makes no distinction between man and man, nation and nation. though belonging by birth to a high caste, he disregards at once those worldly barriers whereby men are separated from each other, and acknowledges no dignity but that which is conferred by virtue. bold, indeed, was the step that he took in a country where the distinction of caste is so deeply rooted in the habits of the people, that all human efforts have, hitherto, proved abortive in destroying it. it has already been hinted in a foregoing note that gaudama placed himself on a new ground, in opposition to the brahminical doctrines. he, doubtless, cautiously avoided to wound directly the feelings of his antagonists; but, at the same time, he adroitly sowed the seed of a mighty revolution, that was to change, if left to grow freely, the face of the indian peninsula. his doctrine bore two characteristics, that were to distinguish it essentially from that of his adversaries; it was popular and universal, whereas that of his opponents was wrapped up in a mysterious obscurity, and unfolded completely only to a privileged caste. another great difference between the two systems is this: buddha paid little attention to the dogmatical portion of religion, but laid the greatest stress on morals. the dogmas are few and little insisted on. he aimed at correcting the vices of the heart, but exerted himself little to redress the errors of the mind. [ ] in these new instructions delivered to the rahans, buddha gives them the power of receiving into the ranks of the assembly those of their converts who should prove foremost in understanding the law and observing its highest practices. he empowers them to confer on others the dignity of rahans, and admit them to the various steps that lead to that uppermost one. to observe uniformity in the reception of candidates to the various orders, buddha laid down a number of regulations embodied in the kambawa, or book used as a sort of ritual on the days of admission of candidates to the dignity of patzins and rahans. the contents of this small but interesting work may be seen in the notice on the order of talapoins, or buddhist monks, inserted at the end of this volume. that the reader may have now an idea of the general purpose and object of these regulations, i will sketch a slight outline of them. the candidate, who seeks for admission among the members of the order, has to appear before an assembly of rahans, presided over by a dignitary. he must be provided with the dress of the order, and a patta or the pot of a mendicant. he is presented to the assembly by a rahan, upon whom devolves the important duty of instructing him in all that regards the profession he is about to embrace, and lead him through the ordeal of the ceremony. he is solemnly interrogated before the assembly on the several defects and impediments which incapacitate an individual for admission into the order. on his declaring that he is free from such impediments, he is, with the consent of the assembled fathers, promoted to the rank of patzin. but before he is allowed to take his place among his brethren, he is instructed in the four principal duties he will have to observe, and warned against the four capital sins, the commission of which would deprive him of his high and holy character, and cause his expulsion from the society. it is supposed that the candidate, previous to his making application for obtaining the dignity of rahan, has qualified himself by study and a good life for admittance among the perfect. by surrounding the admission of candidates into the ranks of the order with a display of ceremonies, the shrewd framer of these regulations intended to encircle the whole body with a halo of dignity and sacredness, and at the same time to provide, as far as human wisdom allows, against the reception of unworthy postulants. hitherto buddha had reserved to himself alone the power of elevating hearers or converts to the dignity of rahans; now he transfers to his disciples that power and bids them use it as they had seen him do, in behalf of those whom they deem worthy applicants. he has established a society, and striven to infuse into it all the elements necessary for keeping it up hereafter, and securing its existence and permanency. he sets up a kind of ecclesiastical hierarchy, which is to be perpetuated during the ages to come by the same means and power that brought it into existence. having put such a power into the hands of his disciples, buddha very properly exhorts them to emulate him in his efforts to become perfect. he sets himself as a pattern of perfection, and bids them all imitate the examples he places before them. he shows briefly to them by what means he has attained the state of arahatapho, and stimulates them to the adopting of similar means. the word arahatapho is composed of two words--arahat, which means perfect, and pho or phola, as the orthography indicates, which means reward, merit. the state of arahatapho is that in which a man enjoys the merits or reward of perfection, which he has reached by the practice of virtue, and particularly the acquirement of wisdom or knowledge of the highest points of the law. it is used often in opposition to the word arahatamegata, which signifies the ways or roads leading to perfection. [ ] i have translated by _lent_ the burmese expression watso, which is but the pali term wasa, burmanised. the word "lent," which has been adopted, is designed to express not the real meaning of wasa, but to convey to the reader's mind the idea of a time devoted to religious observances. wasa means a season, but it is intended to designate the rainy season, which in those parts of the peninsula where buddha was residing begins in july and ends in november. during that period the communications between villages and towns are difficult, if not impossible. the religious mendicants were allowed in former times, very likely from the very days of buddha, to retire into the houses of friends and supporters, from which they went forth occasionally begging their food. in the beginning, those who were admitted in the society did not live in community, as was afterwards done in those countries where buddhism has been of a long time in a flourishing condition. they were allowed to withdraw into solitude, and lead an ascetic life, or to travel from one place to another to preach the law and make converts. this work could not be well done during the rainy season. hence the disciples, while as yet few in number, gathered round their master during that period to hear instructions from him, and practise virtue under his immediate superintendence. they lived with him during all the time the rainy season lasted. this was called to spend the season. in the course of this legend, the same expression is often met with. it is said of buddha that he spent a season in such a place, another in another place, to indicate that he stayed in one place during the rainy season, which precluded the possibility of doing the duties of an itinerant preacher. when the religious order became regularly constituted, and the basis it was to stand on was fairly laid down, the ever-increasing number of members made them feel the want of secluded places where they could live in community, and at the same time quite retired from the world. houses or monasteries were erected for receiving the pious rahans. the inmates of those dwellings lived under the direction of a superior, devoting their time to study, meditation, and the observances of the law. they were allowed to go out in the morning very early, to beg and collect the food they wanted for the day. such is the state the religious are living in up to our own time in burmah, ceylon, thibet, siam, and in the other countries where buddhism has been firmly established. the religious season, or lent, lasts three months. it begins in the full moon of watso (july) and ends at the full moon of thadinkiout (october). the keeping of the season in burmah is as follows:--on the days of the new and full moon crowds of people resort to the pagodas, carrying offerings of flowers, small candles, oil, &c. a great many are found to spend the night in the bungalows erected, chiefly for that purpose, in their immediate vicinity. women occupy bungalows separated from those of men. it must be admitted that there, as in churches, they far outnumber the men. on such occasions, religion appears to be rather the pretext than the real object of such assemblies. with the exception of old men and women, who are heard to converse on religious topics, and repeat some parts of the law, or recite some praises in honour of buddha, the others seem to care very little for religion. the younger portion of the weaker sex freely indulge in the pleasure of conversation. it is quite a treat to them to have such a fine opportunity of giving full scope to their talkative powers. during that season the pious faithful are charitably inclined to bestow alms on the rahans. all the necessaries of life pour with abundance and profusion into the monasteries. besides alms-giving and resorting to the pagodas, some fervent laymen practise abstinence and fasting to a certain extent; these, however, are but few. during that period the buddhist recluses are often invited to go to certain places, prepared for the purpose, to preach the law to and receive alms from crowds of hearers who are gathered thither on such occasions. talapoins are generally seated on an elevated platform, facing the congregation; they keep their large fans before the face through modesty, to save themselves from the danger of looking on some tempting object. they repeat in chorus certain passages of the life of buddha, enumerate the five great precepts and other observances of the law. the whole preaching generally goes on in pali, that is to say, in a language unknown to the congregation. when they have done their duty they withdraw, followed by a great number of their disciples, carrying back to the monasteries all the offerings made by the faithful. it happens also, although but seldom in our days, that some fervent recluses withdraw during the whole or a part of the lent season into solitary places, living by themselves, and devoting all their time to reading the books of the law, and meditating on the most important points and maxims of religion. [ ] the remarks of the burmese translator afford me an opportunity of explaining one of the leading tenets of the buddhistic creed. all beings in this world are subjected to the double influence of their merits and demerits. the good influence predominates when the sum of merits surpasses that of demerits, and it is superseded by the latter when the contrary takes place. this principle once admitted, buddhists explain the good or evil that befalls every individual in every conceivable state of existence. is a man dead, he is attended on his way to another state of being both by his merits and demerits, who, like two inseparable companions, follow him whithersoever he goes. should the sum of demerits prove greater, he is forced into hell, or into some other state of punishment, to bear sufferings proportionately to his offences, until he has fully paid off his debt, or, to speak the language of buddhists, until the sum of his demerits be quite exhausted. if, on the contrary, at the moment of his death the influence of merits be the strongest, he is directed into a state of happiness, pleasure, and enjoyment, say in one of the seats of nats or brahmas, and remains there as long as the action of the good influence lasts. when it is over he comes again into the abode of man, or in a state of probation, when he has to labour anew for amassing new and greater merits, that will hereafter entitle him to a higher reward than the one he had previously enjoyed. from the foregoing observations it is evident that the idea of a supreme being rewarding the good and punishing the wicked is carefully excluded, and all foreign interference on this subject entirely done away with. another conclusion flowing from the same source is, that there is no eternity of reward or punishment, but both last for a longer or shorter period, in proportion to the sum of merits and demerits, and consequently to the power of each influence respectively. it may be asked what becomes of the sum of demerits and its consequent evil influence, whilst the superior good influence prevails? the sum of demerits remains all the while entire and undiminished; the operation of the evil influence is suspended, and has no power whatever, its own being checked by a greater one. but the sum of merits being exhausted, and its inherent action at an end, the opposite one is set at liberty, and acts on the individual proportionately to its own strength, and lasts until it is all exhausted. as man can never be without some merits or demerits, good or bad deeds, he must be either in a state of reward or punishment; this is, if i may say so, the mainspring that moves all beings into the whirlpool of countless existences, wherein they meet happiness or unhappiness according to their deserts. the being that tends strongly and perseveringly through his various existences towards perfection, weakens gradually, and finally destroys in himself the law of demerits; he ascends steadily the steps of the ladder of perfection by the practice of the highest virtues. having reached its summit, there is no more reason for his going through other existences, and he steps at once into the state of neibban. on the above principle buddhists account for all the various phases of human existence. is a child born from rich, great, and distinguished parents, does he become a wealthy and powerful man, does he become a king or a nobleman, &c.--he is indebted for all that to merits acquired during former existences. is another child born in a low, poor, and wretched condition, is he born with bodily or intellectual defects and imperfections, &c., &c.--his former demerits are the principle and cause of all his subsequent misfortunes. the doctrine of merits and demerits, and of their concomitant influences, has been fully illustrated in the person of buddha himself during his former existences. he said of himself to his disciples that he had passed with various fortune through the range of the animal kingdom, from the dove to the elephant; that being man he had been often in hell, and in various positions of riches and poverty, greatness and meanness, until by his mighty efforts he at last freed himself from all evil influence, and reached his present state of perfection. he is supposed to have recounted to his disciples on different occasions five hundred and ten of his former existences. [ ] it has been asserted in a former note that the preachings of buddha were accompanied with miracles, to impart an additional weight and an irresistible evidence to his doctrines. this assertion is fully corroborated by all the particulars attending the conversion of the three kathabas and their disciples. on this occasion buddha met with the greatest amount of stubborn resistance on the part of ooroowela kathaba. there is no doubt but our great preacher resorted to every means of persuasion to carry conviction to the mind of his distinguished hearer. he had, however, to deal with a man full of his own merits and excellence, who thought himself far superior to every one else. his best arguments proved powerless before a self-conceited individual, who was used to give and not to receive instruction, and enjoyed a far-famed celebrity. buddha was compelled to resort to his unbounded power of working miracles, and with it overcame at last the obstinate and blind resistance of the proud rathee. no conquest had ever been so dearly bought; but it proved well worth the extraordinary efforts made to obtain it. kathaba became one of the most staunch adherents of buddha, and one of the most fervent disciples, who laboured hard for the propagation of buddhism. he is the most celebrated of all buddhistic monks, and to his name is ever prefixed the distinguished epithet of maha, which means great. after gaudama's demise, he became the patriarch of the buddhists. by his care and exertions, a council of five hundred rahans was assembled at radzagio, under the reign of king adzatathat, to condemn the unbecoming language used by some false or imperfectly taught converts, who wished to shake off, on many points, the authority of buddha. in the episode of the conversion of the three kathabas, the attentive reader cannot fail to have observed one particular that throws some light on the position several heads of philosophical schools occupied in the days that saw the origin of buddhism. those sages lived in retired places, far from the bustle and tumult of the world. it is probable that at first they were alone, or with but a few other individuals who delighted in the same mode of life. their time was entirely taken up with study and meditation. the object of their studies and reflections was the boundless field of metaphysics and morals. their diet was plain, and their abstemiousness carried to a degree hindu devotees and fanatics are alone capable of reaching. the fame of the proficiency of some of those individuals in science and virtue soon attracted to their solitude numbers of pupils, eager to place themselves under the tuition and discipline of masters so eminent in every respect. the three kathabas must have been celebrated throughout the country, since we find them at the head of so many disciples. humility has never been the _forte_ of the heathen sages, either in or out of india. conceit and self-esteem were fostered in their souls by the consciousness of their own superiority and excellence, by the praises lavished on them by their disciples, and not a little by the seclusion from society to which they voluntarily resigned themselves. spiritual pride, like a cunning foe, occupied in the heart the place vacated by passions of a coarser nature and less delicate tinge. the conduct of the elder kathaba fully bears out the truth and correctness of the above assertion. chapter vii. _buddha's sermon on the mountain -- interview of buddha and king pimpathara in the vicinity of the city of radzagio -- answer of kathaba to buddha's interrogation -- instructions delivered to the king and his attendants -- solemn entry of buddha into radzagio -- donation of the weloowon monastery to buddha -- conversion of thariputra and maukalan -- the rahans are keenly taunted by the people of radzagio._ accompanied by his thousand followers, phra went to the village of gayathitha. this village stands on the bank of the river gaia. close to it, there is a mountain resembling in appearance an elephant's head. on the top of the mountain stands a large rock, wide enough to accommodate buddha and all his attendants. he ascended the mountain with his disciples, and, having reached its summit, sat down. summoning all his disciples, he said to them: "beloved bickus, all that is to be met with in the three abodes of men, nats, and brahmas, is like a burning flame. but why is it so? because the eyes are a burning flame; the objects perceived by the eyes, the view of those objects, the feeling created by that view, are all like a burning flame. the sensations produced by the eyes cause a succession of pleasant and painful feelings, but these are likewise a burning flame. what are the causes productive of such a burning? it is the fire of concupiscence, of anger, of ignorance, of birth, of death, of old age, and of anxiety. again, the ear is a burning flame; the sounds, the perception of the sounds, the sensations caused by the sounds, are all a burning flame; the pleasure or pain produced by the sounds are also a burning flame, which is fed by the fire of concupiscence, anger, ignorance, birth, old age, death, anxiety, tears, affliction, and trouble. again, the sense of smelling is a burning flame; the odours, the perception of odours, the sensations produced by odours, are all a burning flame; the pleasure and pain resulting therefrom are but a burning flame, fed by concupiscence, anger, ignorance, birth, old age, death, disquietude, tears, affliction, and sorrow. again, the taste is a burning flame; the objects tasted, the perception of those objects, the sensations produced by them, are all a burning flame, kept up by the fire of concupiscence, anger, ignorance, birth, old age, death, anxiety, tears, affliction, and sorrow. again, the sense of feeling, the objects felt, the perception of those objects, the sensations produced by them, are a burning flame; the pleasure and pain resulting therefrom are but a burning flame, fostered by concupiscence, anger, ignorance, birth, old age, death, anxiety, tears, affliction, and sorrow. again, the heart is a burning flame, as well as all the objects perceived by it, and the sensations produced in it; the pleasure and pain caused by the heart are too a burning flame, kept up by the fire of concupiscence, anger, ignorance, birth, old age, death, disquietude, tears, affliction, and sorrow. beloved bickus, they who understand the doctrine i have preached, and see through it, are full of wisdom and deserve to be called my disciples. they are displeased with the senses, the objects of the senses, matter, pleasure and pain, as well as with all the affections of the heart. they become free from concupiscence, and therefore exempt from passions. they have acquired the true wisdom that leads to perfection; they are delivered at once from the miseries of another birth. having practised the most excellent works, nothing more remains to be performed by them. they want no more the guidance of the sixteen laws, for they have reached far beyond them."[ ] having thus spoken, buddha remained silent. his hearers felt themselves wholly disentangled from the trammels of passion, and disengaged from all affections to material objects, and they who had been but rahans became rahandas. whilst the most excellent phra was enjoying himself in the place of gayathitha, he recollected that, at the time when he was but a phralaong, being near the mountain pantawa, he had received from king pimpathara an invitation to come to his own country and preach the law. accompanied with his thousand rahandas, he set out for the country of radzagio. having arrived at a small distance from the royal city he went to the latti grove, about three gawots from radzagio, a place planted with palm trees. the king, having heard of his arrival, said to his people: "the descendant of a long succession of illustrious princes, the great rahan gaudama, has entered into our country, and is now in the grove of palm trees, in the garden of tandiwana." the happy news was soon re-echoed throughout the country. the people said among themselves: "the great gaudama is come indeed. he is perfectly acquainted with all that relates to the three states of men, nats, and brahmas; he preaches a sublime and lovely law; the morals that he announces are pure, like a shell newly cleansed." pimpathara, placing himself at the head of , warriors, surrounded by crowds of nobles and pounhas, went to the garden of tandiwana, where phra was seated in the middle of his disciples. he paid his respects by prostrating himself before him, and then withdrew to a becoming distance. the countless crowd followed the example of their monarch, and seated themselves at a becoming distance. some of them remained conversing with buddha, and heard from him words worthy to be ever remembered; some others, having their hands joined to the forehead, remained in a respectful attitude; some were praising his illustrious ancestors; others remained modestly silent. all of them, perceiving the three kathabas close to the person of phra, doubted whether gaudama was their disciple, or they, his disciples. buddha, seeing at once what thought occupied the mind of the warriors, noblemen, and pounhas, addressed the elder kathaba, called ooroowela kathaba, and said to him: "kathaba, you who lived formerly in the solitude of of ooroowela, answer the question i am now putting to you. you were formerly a teacher of rathees, who practised works of great mortification, to such an extent that their bodies were emaciated by self-inflicted penances: what has induced you to give up the sacrifices you were wont to make?" "blessed buddha," answered kathaba, "i have observed that exterior objects, the sounds, the taste, the gratification of the senses, are but miserable filth; and, therefore, i take no more delight in the offering of small and great sacrifices." buddha replied, "kathaba, if you be no longer pleased with what is beautiful to the eyes, pleasant to the ear, palatable to the taste, and agreeable to the gratification of the senses, in what do you presently find pleasure and delight?" kathaba answered, "blessed buddha, the state of neibban is a state of rest, but that rest cannot be found as long as we live under the empire of senses and passions. that rest excludes existence, birth, old age, and death; the great mental attainments alone lead thereto. i know and see that happy state. i long for it. i am, therefore, displeased with the making of great and small sacrifices." having thus spoken, kathaba rose up, worshipped buddha by prostrating himself before him, and touching with his forehead the extremities of his feet, and said, "o most excellent buddha, you are my teacher, and i am your disciple." all the people, seeing what kathaba had done, knew that he was practising virtue under the direction of gaudama.[ ] phra, who was acquainted with their innermost thoughts, knew that they were longing to hear the preaching of the law. as he had always done, he began to preach to them the virtue of liberality in almsgiving, and then unfolded before them, with matchless eloquence, the advantages of leaving the world, &c. the hearers felt an inward delight in all that was said to them. observing the favourable impression made upon them, gaudama continued to instruct them on the four laws, regarding the miseries of this world, the passions, the practice of excellent works, and the ways to perfection. at the conclusion of these instructions, the king and , of the assembly, like a piece of white cloth which, when plunged into dye, retains the colour it receives, obtained instantly the state thautapan.[ ] as to the , remaining hearers, they believed in the three precious things in the capacity of upathakas. the ruler of the country of magataritz, king pimpathara, having obtained the state of thautapan, said to gaudama, "illustrious buddha, some years ago, when i was but a crown prince of this country, i entertained five desires, which were all happily accomplished. here are the five desires--i wished to become king; i desired that the phra, worthy of receiving the homage of all men, should come into my kingdom; that i might have the privilege of approaching him; that he might preach his doctrine to me; and, finally, that i might thoroughly understand all his preaching. these five wishes have been fully realised. your law, o most excellent buddha, is a most perfect law. to what shall i liken it as regards the happy results it produces? it is like replacing on its proper basis a vase that was bottom upwards, or setting to light objects hitherto buried in deep darkness; it is an excellent guide that shows out the right way; it is like a brilliant light, shining forth and dispelling darkness. now i take refuge in you, your law, and the assembly of the perfect. henceforth i will be your supporter, and to-morrow i will supply you and your disciples with all that is necessary for the support of nature." buddha, by his silence, testified his acceptance of the offered favour. whereupon the king rose up, prostrated himself before him, and, turning on the right, left the place, and returned to his palace. early in the morning pimpathara ordered all sorts of eatables to be prepared. meanwhile he sent messengers to buddha to inform him that his meal was ready. buddha, rising up, put on his dress, and, carrying his patta, set out for radzagio, followed by his one thousand disciples. at that time a prince of thagias, assuming the appearance of a handsome young man, walked a little distance in front of buddha, singing to his praise several stanzas. "behold the most excellent is advancing towards radzagio with his one thousand disciples. in his soul he is full of meekness and amiability; he is exempt from all passions; his face is beautiful, and shines forth like the star thigi; he has escaped out of the whirlpool of existences, and delivered himself from the miseries of transmigration. he is on his way to the city of radzagio attended by a thousand rahandas." (the same stanza is thrice repeated.) "he who has obtained the perfection of ariahs, who has practised the ten great virtues, who has a universal knowledge, who knows and preaches the law of merits, who discovers at once the sublime attainments, the most perfect being, the most excellent, is entering into the city of radzagio attended by a thousand rahandas." the inhabitants of the city, seeing the beautiful appearance of that young man, and hearing all that he was singing aloud, said to each other, "who is that young man whose countenance is so lovely, and whose mouth proclaims such wonderful things?" the thagia, hearing what was said of him, replied, "o children of men! the most excellent phra whom you see is gifted with an incomparable wisdom; all perfections are in him; he is free of all passions; no being can ever be compared to him; he is worthy to receive the homage and respect of men and nats; his unwavering mind is ever fixed in truth; he announces a law extending to all things. as for me, i am but his humble servant."[ ] having reached the king's palace, buddha was received with every demonstration of respect, and led to the place prepared for him. pimpathara thought within himself of the thing which could prove acceptable to phra, in order to offer it to him. he said within himself, "my garden, which is situated near the city, would doubtless be a very fit place for buddha and his followers to live in. as it lies not far from the city, it would be a place of easy resort to all those who should feel inclined to visit buddha and pay him their respects; it is, moreover, far enough off, so that the noise and cries of the people could not be heard therein. the place is peculiarly fitted for retreat and contemplation; it will assuredly prove agreeable to buddha." whereupon he rose up, and, holding in his hand a golden shell like a cup, he made to phra a solemn offering of that garden which was called weloowon.[ ] gaudama remained silent, in token of his acceptance of the gift. he preached the law and left the palace. at that time he called his disciples and said to them, "beloved rahans, i give you permission to receive offerings." in the country of radzagio there was a heterodox rahan named thindzi, who had under him five hundred and fifty disciples. thariputra and maukalan were at that time practising virtue under the guidance of that master. here is the way they became rahans. when they were but laymen, under the names of oopathi and kaulita, on a certain day, surrounded by two hundred and twenty companions, they went to the top of a lofty mountain to enjoy the sight of countless multitudes of people sporting and playing in the surrounding flat country. while they were gazing over the crowds of human beings they said to each other, "in a hundred years hence all these living beings shall have fallen a prey to death." whereupon they rose up and left the place, but their minds were deeply preoccupied with the idea of death. while the two friends were walking silently together, they began at last to communicate to each other the result of their reflections. "if there be," said they, "a principle of death, a universal tendency towards destruction, there must be, too, its opposite principle, that of not dying and escaping destruction." on that very instant they resolved to search ardently for the excellent law that teaches the way of not dying, and obtain the state of perfect fixity and immutability. in those parts there lived six heterodox teachers who were named mekkali, gau, sala, thindzi, jani, and ganti; among them thindzi was the only one who, with his disciples, wore white clothes. they went to the place where lived the rahan thindzi, placed themselves under his direction, and put on the dress of rahan. within three days they acquired the science, wisdom, and knowledge of their teacher without having as yet reached the object of their eager pursuit. they said to thindzi, "teacher, is this all that you know? and have you no other science to teach us?" "i have indeed," replied the teacher, "taught you all the knowledge i possess." finding nothing satisfactory in the answer, the two friends said, "let us continue seeking for the law that has reality in itself; the first that shall have discovered it shall, without delay, communicate it to the other." on a certain morning one of gaudama's disciples named athadzi, having put on his religious habit, and carrying his patta on his left arm, went out to receive his rice. everything about his person was noble and graceful; his countenance and behaviour were at once gentle and dignified, whether he walked or stopped, looked forward to the right or the left, or sat in a cross-legged position. the false rahan oopathi, who became afterwards thariputra, perceiving the rahan athadzi with such a meek and dignified deportment, said to himself, "such a rahan is assuredly worthy to receive offerings: he has doubtless attained perfection. i will go to him and ask him, in case he has had a teacher, who is that distinguished instructor under whom he practises virtue; and in case of his being himself a teacher, what is the doctrine that he teaches. but it is not becoming to put to him any question whilst he is on his way to beg alms. i will follow at a distance." athadzi, having collected alms, left the city and went to a small dzeat, where he sat down and ate his meal. oopathi followed him thither. having entered into the dzeat, he rendered to him the services that a disciple usually pays to his teacher. when the meal of athadzi was over, he poured water over his hands, and with a heart overflowing with joy, he conversed with him for a while. he withdrew then to a becoming distance, and addressed him as follows: "great rahan, your exterior is full of meekness and benevolence; your countenance bespeaks the purity and innocence of your soul; if you be a disciple, pray under what teacher have you become a rahan? who is your guide in the way to perfection? and what is the doctrine he is preaching to you?" "young rahan," replied athadzi, "have you not heard of the illustrious buddha, the descendant of a long succession of great monarchs, who has entered the profession of rahan? i have become rahan under him; he is my teacher; to his doctrine i cling with all the energy of my soul." "what is the doctrine of that great master?" asked oopathi. "i am but a novice in the profession," replied modestly athadzi, "and am as yet imperfectly acquainted with the doctrine of my teacher. the little, however, i know, i will freely communicate to you." oopathi entreated him to do so. athadzi replied, "the law which i have learned at the feet of buddha explains all that relates to matter, to the principles that act upon it, to passions, and to the mind; it makes man despise all that is material, conquer his passions, and regulate his mind." on hearing this doctrine, oopathi felt the ties of passions gradually relaxing and giving way; his soul became, as it were, disentangled from the influence of the senses. he became enamoured with such a pure and perfect law, and obtained the condition of thautapan. convinced that he had at last found what he had hitherto searched after in vain, the law of neibban, he went without delay to his friend, to make him share in the beneficial result of his fortunate discovery. kaulita, perceiving his friend coming up to him with a rejoicing countenance, indicative of the happiness his soul was inwardly enjoying, asked him if he had found what he had hitherto vainly looked for. oopathi related to him all the particulars of his conversation with the rahan athadzi. whereupon kaulita became instantly a thautapan. both resolved to leave their teacher thindzi, and go immediately to place themselves under the guidance of buddha. three times they applied for permission to execute their design, and three times it was denied them. at last they departed, each with his two hundred and twenty companions. thindzi, enraged at being left alone, died, vomiting blood from his mouth. when the two friends and their followers were drawing near to the place of weloowon, phra assembled all his disciples and said to them, "behold these two friends coming up to me; they will become my two beloved disciples; their minds are acute and penetrating; they actually take delight in the law of neibban; their thoughts are converging towards that great centre of truth; they come to me, and they will become my two most excellent disciples." while he was speaking, the two friends crossed the threshold of the monastery, and prostrated themselves at the feet of buddha, humbly craving the favour of being admitted among his disciples to practise virtue under his immediate direction. on this occasion phra uttered the following words: "o bickus, come to me; i preach the most excellent law: apply yourselves to the practice of the most perfect works, which will put an end to all miseries." a suit of dress and a patta were handed to each of the two friends, that were henceforth to be called thariputra and maukalan, and they became members of the assembly. having put on the new dress, they appeared to the eyes of all with the decent and dignified deportment of rahans that had sixty years of profession. their followers became bickus of the second order. seven days after, maukalan became a rahanda; but it took fifteen days for thariputra to obtain the same favour. the two new converts were elevated to the dignity of disciples of the right and of the left; that is to say, they obtained precedence over all others. the distinction thus granted to thariputra and maukalan excited a feeling of jealousy among the disciples of buddha. in their conversations they complained to each other of the preference given to those who had just been admitted among the members of assembly. they went so far as to say that buddha had acted in this case under the influence of human considerations. these remarks were brought to the notice of buddha, who assembled his disciples, and said to them, "beloved bickus, my conduct in this instance has not been guided by unworthy motives; i have acted as i ought to have done. in the days of the phra anaumadathi, the two friends were leading the life of ascetics. they paid the greatest respect and veneration to the then existing buddha, and entreated him, by repeated supplications, to hold out to them the solemn promise that they would become the disciples of the right and of the left of some future buddha. anaumadathi replied to them that the object of their wishes should be granted unto them when the buddha gaudama would appear in the world. this is, beloved bickus, the reason that has influenced me in elevating to the first rank the two new converts." the answer completely satisfied the disciples, and effectually silenced all murmurs. further particulars regarding the promise that these two illustrious friends received in the time of the buddha anaumadathi may be read, with circumstantial details, in the book called apadan-tera. the inhabitants of the magatha country, seeing that so many persons, chiefly belonging to the first families, were embracing the profession of rahans, said amongst themselves, "behold how the rahan gaudama, by his preachings, causes the depopulation of the country, and forces countless wives to the unwished-for state of widowhood. a thousand rathees have embraced the profession of rahans; all the disciples of thindzi have followed their example; many others will soon tread in their footsteps. what will become of our country?" with these and other expressions, they gave vent to their hatred of the rahans, and endeavoured to pour over them all kinds of ridicule and abuse. they concluded by saying, "the great rahan has come to the city of radzagio, which is like a cow-pen, surrounded by five hills;[ ] he has now with him the disciples of thindzi; who will be the next to go to him?" the rahans, hearing all that was said against them, went to buddha and related to him all that they had heard. to console them, buddha said, "beloved bickus, the abuses, sarcasms, and ridicule levelled at you shall not last long; seven days hence all shall be over. here is the reply you will make to the revilers: like all his predecessors, buddha is striving to preach a most perfect law; by the means of the truths which he proclaims for the benefit of all, he brings men over to himself. what shall it avail any man to feel envious at the success he obtains by so legitimate a means?" the same torrent of ridicule having been poured on the rahans, when they went out, they followed the advice of their great teacher, replied in the manner they had been taught to do, and the storm was soon over. the people understood that the great rahan was preaching a perfect law, and that he never resorted but to fair means to attract disciples round his person. here ends the narrative of the conversion and vocation of thariputra and maukalan. footnotes [ ] the philosophical discourse of buddha on the mountain may be considered as the summary of his theory of morals. it is confessedly very obscure and much above the ordinary level of the human understanding. the hearers whom he addressed were persons already trained up to his teaching, and therefore prepared for understanding such doctrines. had he spoken in that abstruse style to common people, it is certain he would have missed his aim and exposed himself to the chance of not being understood. but he addressed a select audience, whose minds were fully capable of comprehending his most elevated doctrines. he calls his disciples bickus, or mendicants, to remind them of the state of voluntary poverty they had embraced when they became his followers, and to impress their minds with contempt for the riches and pleasures of this world. he lays it down as a great and general principle that all that exists resembles a flame that dazzles the eyes by its brilliancy and torments by its burning effects. here appears the favourite notion of buddhism that there is nothing substantial and real in this world, and that the continual changes and vicissitudes we are exposed to are the cause of painful sensations. buddha reviews the six senses (the heart, according to his theory, is the seat of a sixth sense) in succession, and as they are the channels through which affections are produced on the soul, he compares to a burning flame the organs of the senses, the various objects of the action of the senses, the results painful or agreeable produced by them. hence he fulminates a general and sweeping condemnation against all that exists out of man. the senses, being the means through which matter influences the soul, share in the universal doom. buddha sets forth the causes productive of that burning flame. they are--first, the three great and general principles of demerits, viz., concupiscence, anger, and ignorance. in the book of ethics these three principles are explained at great length; they are represented as the springs from which flow all other passions. in a lengthened digression the author aims at simplifying the question, and endeavours to show, by a logical process, that ignorance is the head source from which concupiscence and passion take their rise. it is, therefore, according to buddhists, into the dark recess of ignorance that metaphysicians must penetrate in order to discover the first cause of all moral disorders. every being has his mind more or less encompassed by a thick mist that prevents him from seeing truth. he mistakes good for evil, right for wrong; he erroneously clings to material objects that have no reality, no substance, no consistence; his passions are kept alive by his love or hatred of vain illusions. the flame is, moreover, fed by birth, old age, death, afflictions, &c., which are as many _foci_ wherefrom radiate out on all surrounding objects fires which keep up the general conflagration. but they play only a secondary action, dependent on the three great causes of all evils just alluded to. what causes birth, old age, and death? inquires the buddhist. the law of merits and demerits is the immediate answer to the question; it might be added thereto, the necessity of acquiring merits and gravitating towards perfection. a man is born to innumerable succeeding existences by virtue of his imperfections, and that he might acquire fresh merits by the practice of virtue. by birth, a being is ushered into a new existence or into a new state, where the burning flame which is supposed to spread over all that exists exercises its teasing and tormenting influence over him. old age and death are two periods when a radical change operates upon a being, and places him in a different situation where he experiences the baneful effects of the conflagration. "blessed are they," says buddha, "who understand this; they are full of wisdom; they become displeased with all passions and with all the things they act upon. the causes of existences being done away with, they have reached the terminus of all possible existences; one step more and they find themselves placed beyond the influence of the power of attraction that retains forcibly all beings in the vortex of existences, and brings them towards the centre of perfection; they are in fact entering into the state of neibban." [ ] from the purport of kathaba's reply to buddha's question, it may be inferred with certainty that the rathees were in the habit of making sacrifices or burnt-offerings. these sacrifices again were distinguished into two classes; the one, including the small or daily ones, and the other, the great burnt-offerings, made on solemn occasions. that these sacrifices were not performed by the killing and immolating of animals, there can be no doubt, as such an act would have been contrary to the tender regard they always had for the life of animals. the institutes of menu come to our help to elucidate this point. the brahmin is enjoined, according to that compilation of laws, to make burnt-offerings of clarified butter and other articles to the manes of his ancestors. agreeably to this regulation, kathaba performed those rites, which, in the opinion of buddha, were perfectly useless, since they could not be the means of elevating the performer to the knowledge and perfection requisite for obtaining what he always calls _per excellence_ the deliverance. kathaba is rather obscure in his answer. it seems that he intended to acknowledge that, notwithstanding the sacrifices and burnt-offerings he had made, and upon the value of which he had laid much stress, concupiscence and other vicious propensities were still deeply rooted in him; that, through the channel of his senses, exterior objects continued to make impressions on his soul. he had, therefore, become disgusted with practices which could not free him from the action and influence of passions and matter. in the opinion of buddha, the observance of exterior religious rites can never elevate man to the sublime knowledge of pure truth, which alone does confer real perfection to him who has become a true sage, and is deemed worthy of obtaining the deliverance. a serious application of the mind to the meditation of the law and the nature of beings, is the only way leading to the acquirement of true wisdom. as long as kathaba was contented with material acts of worship, and his mind's attention was engrossed with those vain ceremonials, he had not as yet entered in the way of perfection. he had hitherto missed the true path; he had wandered in the broad road of error, encompassed by mental darkness, and deceived by perpetual illusions. his extensive knowledge had served but to lead him in the wrong direction. he wanted the guidance of buddha to enable him to retrace his steps and find the right way. he had to become sensible of the truth of the great fundamental maxims of all real wisdom, viz., that in this world all is subjected to change and to pain; and that all beings are mere illusions, destitute of all reality. [ ] to complete what has already been stated respecting the ariahs or venerables in a foregoing note, the following is added. the reader must bear in mind that the ariahs are divided into four classes, named--thautapan, thakadagam, anagam, and arahats, and according to the particular position occupied by the beings of those states, each class is subdivided into two: thus, for instance, thautapatti megata means he who has entered and is walking, as it were, in the way of the perfection of thautapan; and thautapatti-pho indicates those who enjoy the merits and blessings of the state of thautapan; and so with the three superior stages of perfection. to obtain the state of thautapan, a man must have left the direction followed up by all creatures and entered into the direction or way that leads to deliverance. he will have yet to go through , kaps or durations of worlds, and must be born seven times more in the state of man and nat before he be a perfected being, ripe for the state of neibban. those who have reached the state of thakadagam shall have to pass through , kaps, and be born once in the state of nat and once in the state of man, before they be perfected. those who have obtained the third step of anagam have to travel through , kaps, and are no more to undergo the process of birth at the end of that period they are perfected. the fourth stage of perfection, that of arahat, is the highest a being can ever obtain. the fortunate arahat is gifted with supernatural powers. at the end of , kaps he is perfected, and reaches the state of deliverance. those four states are often called the four great roads leading to deliverance or to neibban. it may be asked whether the state of thautapan is the first step reached by every one that adheres to buddha's doctrines or whether it is the one that requires a certain progress in the way of believing and practising? it seems, from the narrative of the conversion of king pimpathara and his followers, that the state of thautapan is the reward of those who have shown a more than common proficiency and fervour in adhering to buddha and his doctrines, but not the first step to enter into the assembly of the faithful and become a member thereof. one may be a simple hearer, or upathaka, believing in the three precious things, without attaining that of thautapan. on this occasion, the king and , of his warriors and noblemen became thautapans, whereas the remaining , became believers and members of the assembly without reaching any further. the first entered into the stream or current leading to perfection. the latter were fervent believers, observed the five precepts, but in no way aspired to the attainment of the doctrines of a higher order. [ ] is not that young man doing the duty of forerunner of buddha on the occasion of his solemn entry into the city of radzagio? the narrative of the donation of the grove or garden of weloowon by king pimpathara to buddha, discloses the manner in which buddhistic monks have become holders, not as individuals, but as members of society, of landed properties. buddha and his disciples at first had no place as a body or a society to live in; hitherto he had taken up his quarters in any place where people were willing to receive him. he must have often been put to great inconvenience, particularly after the accession of new disciples, who daily crowded about him. the pious king felt the disadvantage the society was labouring under: he resolved to give them a place where the assembly might live and remain. the donation was as solemn as possible. it transferred to buddha the property of the garden, without any condition, for ever. the donation, on the other hand, was fully accepted. this is, i believe, the first instance of an act of this description. the grove and monastery of weloowon is much celebrated in buddha's life. in burmese towns a particular spot is allowed for the building of houses or monasteries for buddhistic recluses or monks. it is somewhat isolated from all other buildings, and forms, as it were, the quarter of the yellow-dressed personages. here is a general description of one of these buildings. they are of an oblong-square shape, raised about eight or ten feet above the ground, and supported on wooden posts, and sometimes, though seldom, on brick pillars. the frame of the edifice is of wood, and planks form the wall. above the first roof rises a second one of smaller dimensions, and a third one, yet smaller than the second. this style of roofing a building is allowed only for pagodas, talapoins' houses, and royal palaces. the place between the soil and the floor is left open and never converted to any use. a flight of steps, made of wood or bricks, leads to the entrance of the edifice, the interior whereof is generally divided as follows:--one vast hall designed for the reception of visitors, and used also as a schoolroom for the boys who go to learn the rudiments of reading, writing, and sometimes ciphering. except on grand occasions, the talapoins generally stay in that hall, doing away with their time in the best way they can, occasionally reading books, counting their beads, chewing betel, and very often sleeping. at the extremity of the hall there is a place raised one or two steps above the level. a portion of that place is left vacant, and reserved for the sittings of the talapoins, when they receive visitors; the other portion, which extends to the wall, is occupied by idols or representations of buddha, raised on pedestals, and sometimes placed on shelves, with the few implements required for exterior worship. there, too, are to be seen a few trunks ornamented with sculptures and gildings, and containing books belonging to the monastery. the hall and the place as far as the walls occupy just one-half of the oblong-square. the other half, parallel to the first, is occupied by rooms intended for the storing of alms, and as dormitories for the inmates of the house. in some, monasteries the ceiling is painted and partly gilt. the cook-room, when there is one, is connected with the extremity of the square opposite to the one occupied by the idols. it is generally on the same level with the floor of the building. government has nothing to do with the erection, repairs, and maintenance of these edifices. they are erected and kept up by private individuals, who deem it very meritorious to build such places. those whose piety actuates and prompts them to undertake such an expensive work assume the title of kiaong taga, which means supporter of a pagoda or talapoins' residence. they are proud of such distinction, cause themselves to be called by that title, and always make it to follow their names in signing any paper or document. the above descriptive sketch of a monastery is rather incomplete, if applied to those found in the large places of burmah proper, and particularly in the capital. some of them are laid out on a scale of vastness and magnificence difficult to realise by those who have not examined them. a large open gallery runs all round the building; a second one of a rectangular shape, but protected by the roof, forms, as it were, on the four sides the _vestibulum_ to the central portion of the edifice. it is the place where the phongies spend the greater part of their time, either in talking with the numerous idlers that visit them, or in teaching children. large shutters separate this from the open verandah; they may be thrown all open by pushing forward the lower part, the upper one remaining fixed by hinges, and so may be opened to the height required to protect the inmates from the rain and the sun. the central hall, by far the finest and loftiest of the building, is reserved for the idols and all the implements of worship, and the boxes containing the books of the monastery, commonly put together in a very disordered way. the ceiling is gilt and adorned, often with taste and elegance. a partition divides the hall into two equal parts. the one towards the east is for some huge statue of gaudama, and smaller ones with many articles of worship. the other, facing the south, is used for several purposes; sometimes as dormitories for the talapoins. the posts supporting the interior part are six or eight in number, and offer the finest specimens of teak timber i have ever seen, some being fully sixty and seventy feet high. in some of these monasteries the best parts of the interior are gilt, and sometimes the exterior sides; the ornaments of the extremities of the roof and the space between the roofs are covered with gold leaves. in those two places too are displayed carvings, which reflect great credit on the skill of native workmen, and elicit the admiration of foreigners. one of these monasteries called the kioung-dau-gye, near the place where the arracan idol is, and another close to the place where the supreme head of talapoins is living, are the finest and largest specimens of monasteries the writer has ever seen in burmah. [ ] on the occasion of the presentation to buddha of the weloowon monastery, and of the lands attached to it, by king pimpathara, there was observed a curious ceremony, often alluded to in buddhist writings. he held in his hands a golden pitcher full of water, which he kept pouring down on the ground, whilst he pronounced the formula of donation. this is a ceremony of indian origin, which, with many others, has been imported into these parts along with the religious doctrines. it is intended to be an exterior sign of, or testimony to, the offering that is made on the occasion. when it is performed, the parties pronounce a certain formula, calling the nats, guardians of the place, to witness the act of donation, and, in particular, the nat that is supposed to rule over the earth; and at the same time the offerer, not satisfied with receiving for his own benefit the merits of his pious liberality, expresses the earnest desire that all men, or rather all beings, should share with him in the blessings he expects to reap from his good deed. the generous and liberal disposition of the donor, it may be observed, exhibits the truly pleasing display of an amount of charity and brotherly love scarcely to be expected from the followers of an erroneous creed. the ceremony, therefore, has a twofold object, conferring unreserved and absolute efficiency on the act of donation, and dividing or apportioning the merits of the good work among all beings. in perusing attentively the contents of this legend, the reader will easily follow the gradual development of the buddhist religious system, and, in particular, the establishment of most of the disciplinary regulations in full force in our own days in most of the countries where that form of religion has obtained a long standing and a predominating footing. at first the religious that constituted the body of the followers of buddha were few, and could easily, in the company of their eminent teacher, procure, in accordance with the vow of strict poverty they had made, shelter, food, and raiment. there was no need for them to accept, in the shape of donation, anything beyond what was absolutely necessary for the wants of the day. we may conjecture that their leader watched with a jealous care over his religious on this point, to establish them in the spirit of poverty and of a thorough contempt for the things of this world. but the society or fraternity growing numerous, the dependence on the daily offerings appeared not to meet in sufficient manner the real necessities it felt, particularly as regards shelter. this want was quickly perceived and keenly felt by the pious king pimpathara, who came to the resolution of presenting buddha and his followers with a proper place to withdraw to at all times, but particularly during the wet season, when the pouring of the annual rains puts a check of four months to the religious peregrinations of the preachers. the same motives that induced buddha to accept the proffered royal gift influenced him likewise to grant to his religious the dangerous, it is true, but the absolutely necessary permission of receiving offerings of houses and lands. from that time, the religious communities have made use of the privilege granted to them in all the places where they have been established. in burmah this favour has not been abused, and the religious body, though never standing in want of anything required for the daily use, cannot be said to be wealthy. having not to cast in the scales of the political balance the weight of riches, and the preponderance essentially attending the possession of them, their influence in the political affairs is not, at least exteriorly, felt. [ ] in his archaeological survey report, general cunningham has supplied us with an accurate description of the position and ruins of the celebrated city of radzagio. his own measurements of the old ramparts, that are still visible, agree to a surprising degree with those of the two chinese pilgrims, fa-hian and hwen-tsan, who visited the same spot in the fourth and sixth century of our era. the city was situated in a valley, surrounded by five hills, which are named gigakuta, isigli, wibhara, wipula, and pandawa. it was five miles in circumference. this is meant for the circuit of the inner wall. the exterior one was nearly nine miles. on the southern face of the wibhara mountain is the famous cave at the entrance of which was held the first buddhist council, not long after the cremation of buddha's remains. there is no doubt that the heights were, in the palmy days of buddhism, covered with buddhistic monuments. as the place was subsequently occupied by brahmins and mussulmans, the dzedis and monasteries have been mercilessly pulled down to furnish materials for musjids, tombs, and temples. the eminences are now covered with mussulman tombs, which occupy the places formerly adorned with pagodas. springs of hot water were numerous in the vicinity of the city. the writer has only met once in buddhistic compositions an allusion to that natural phenomenon so beneficial to people living in hot climates. the modern rajghir, both by name and situation, brings to our recollection the celebrated capital of magatha, so famous in buddhistic annals. as the extent of radzagio has been so accurately determined by ancient and modern visitors, one can well afford to laugh at the immensely exaggerated number of houses that are supposed by certain burmese writers to have composed the city. chapter viii. _thoodaudana, desirous to see his son, sends messengers to him -- they become converts -- kaludari, a last messenger, prevails on buddha to go to kapilawot -- his reception -- conversion of the king and of yathaudara -- nanda and raoula put on the religious habit -- conversion of ananda and of several of his relatives -- temptation of ananda -- conversion of eggidatta -- story of tsampooka._ whilst the most excellent phra remained in the weloowon monastery, enjoying himself in the midst of his disciples and the crowds of hearers that daily resorted thither to listen to his preachings, his father thoodaudana[ ] who had ever been anxiously and sedulously gathering every possible information respecting his son, from the time he withdrew into solitude, and performed during six years the hardest works of bodily mortification, was then informed that his son had already begun to preach the most perfect law, and was actually staying in the city of radzagio. he felt then an irresistible desire to see him once more before his death. he therefore ordered a nobleman of his court into his presence, and said to him: "nobleman, take with you a retinue of a thousand followers, and go forthwith to the city of radzagio. tell my son that i am now much advanced in years, that i long to see him once more before i die; desire him, therefore, to come over with you to the country of kapilawot." the nobleman, having received the royal message, took leave from the king, and attended by a thousand followers, set out for radzagio. when he drew near to the weloowon monastery, he found it crowded with an innumerable multitude of people, listening with a respectful attention to buddha's instructions. unwilling to disturb the audience, the nobleman delayed for a while the delivery of his royal master's message. halting at the verge of the crowd, he, with his followers, eagerly lent the utmost attention to all that buddha was saying. they at once obtained the state of arahat, and applied for admission into the order of rahans. the favour was granted. to obtain pattas and tsiwarans for so great a number of applicants, buddha stretched his right arm, when there appeared at once the pattas and dresses required. the new converts put on the dress of their order, when they all appeared with the dignified countenance and meek deportment of rahans who had had sixty years of profession. having arrived at the exalted state of ariahs, they became indifferent and unconcerned about all the things of this material world, and the king's mandate was entirely lost sight of. the sovereign of kapilawot, seeing that his nobleman did not return from the country of magatha,[ ] and that no news was heard of him, despatched a second messenger with an equal number of followers on the same errand. they all were taken up with buddha's preachings and became rahandas. the same thing happened to seven messengers successively sent to radzagio for the same purpose. they, with their respective retinues, became converts of the first class. disappointed at seeing that none of the messengers had returned to bring him any news regarding his son, king thoodaudana exclaimed: "is there no one in my palace that bears any affection unto me? shall i not be able to get a person who could procure for me some information respecting my son?" he looked among his courtiers and selected one, named kaludari, as the fittest person for such a difficult errand. kaludari had been born on the same day as buddha: with him he had spent the age of his infancy, and lived on terms of the most sincere friendship. the king said to him: "noble kaludari, you know how earnestly i long to see my son. nine messengers have already been sent to the city of radzagio to invite my son to come over to me, and none of them has as yet come back to me, to bring information respecting the object of my tenderest affections. i am old now, and the end of my existence is quite uncertain; could you not undertake to bring my son over to me? whether you become rahan or not, let me have the happiness of contemplating once more my beloved son ere i leave this world." the nobleman promised to the king to comply with his royal order. attended by a retinue of a thousand followers, he set out for the city of radzagio. having reached the weloowon monastery, he listened to buddha's preachings, and, like the former messengers, he became at once a rahanda with all his followers. gaudama, having obtained the buddhaship, spent the first season (lent) in the solitude of migadawon. thence he proceeded to the solitude of ooroowela, where he remained three months, until he had completed the work of converting the three kathabas. it was on the full moon of piatho (january) that he entered into the city of radzagio, accompanied by his thousand disciples. he had just stayed two months in that place, so that there were five months since he had left the country of baranathee. seven days after kaludari's arrival, the cold season being nearly over, the new convert addressed buddha as follows: "illustrious phra, the cold season is over, and the warm season has just begun; this is now the proper time to travel through the country; nature wears a green aspect; the trees of the forests are in full blossom; the roads are lined to right and left with trees loaded with fragrant blossoms and delicious fruits; the peacock proudly expands its magnificent tail; birds of every description fill the air with their ravishing and melodious singing. at this season heat and cold are equally temperate, and nature is scattering profusely its choicest gifts." by such and similar allurements kaludari endeavoured to dispose buddha to undertake a journey to kapilawot. gaudama hearing all these words said: "what means this? to what purpose are uttered so many fine expressions?" kaludari replied: "your father, o blessed buddha, is advanced in years; he has sent me to invite you to come over to kapilawot, that he might see you before his death. he and your royal parents will be rejoiced at hearing your most excellent law." "well," said buddha, "go and tell the rahans to hold themselves ready for the journey." it was arranged that ten thousand rahandas from magatha and ten thousand from kapilawot would accompany the illustrious traveller. the distance between the two countries is sixty youdzanas.[ ] sixty days were to be employed in going over that distance, so they were to travel at the rate of but one youdzana a day. kaludari was anxious to go and inform the king of the happy issue of his negotiation. he flew through the air, and in a short time reached the palace of the lord of kapilawot. the king, seeing him, was exceedingly glad; he desired the illustrious rahan to sit in a becoming place, and gave orders that his patta should be filled with the choicest dishes from the royal table. meanwhile kaludari related to the king all the circumstances attending his journey. when he had spoken, thoodaudana desired him to take his meal. kaludari begged to be excused, saying that he would go and take his meal in the presence of buddha. "where is he now?" replied the king. "mighty lord," answered kaludari, "buddha, accompanied by twenty thousand rahandas, is on his way to this country, to pay a visit to his royal father; on this very day he has left the city of radzagio." thoodaudana was exceedingly pleased; he said again to kaludari, "eat your meal here, and please to take another meal to my son; i wish to supply him daily with food during his journey." kaludari acceded to the king's request. when his meal was over, they cleansed his patta with the most exquisite perfumes, and afterwards filled it with the best and choicest eatables. the patta was then respectfully handed to the aërial messenger, who, in the presence of a large crowd of people, rose in the air with the patta under his arm, and in an instant arrived in presence of gaudama, to whom he offered the vessel containing the delicious food from his father's table. buddha received the food with pleasure, and ate it. the same thing was daily performed during all the time the journey lasted. kaludari went every day to the palace through the air, ate his meal there, and brought that of his distinguished instructor, who during all the way partook of no other food but that which was brought over to him from his father's palace. every day kaludari carried news of the progress of buddha's journey. by this means he increased in the heart of all an ardent desire of seeing him, and disposed every one to wait on the great gaudama with favourable and good dispositions. the services rendered on this occasion by kaludari were much valued by buddha himself, who said: "kaludari is disposing the people to welcome our arrival; he is therefore one of the most excellent among my disciples." the princes and all the members of the royal family, having heard of gaudama's arrival, consulted among themselves as to the best means of paying due respect to the noble and illustrious visitor. they selected the grove of nigraudatha[ ] as the fittest place to receive him with his disciples. the place was properly cleared and made ready for the long-expected company. the inhabitants of the country, attended with their richest dress, carrying flowers and perfumes, went out to meet buddha.[ ] children of both sexes opened the procession; they were followed by the children of the noblest families; next came all the persons belonging to the royal family. all went to the grove of nigraudatha, where buddha had just arrived with the twenty thousand rahans that accompanied him. the princes, secretly influenced by pride, thus thought within themselves: this prince theiddat is younger than we all; he is but our nephew, let the young people prostrate themselves before him; as to ourselves, let us remain sitting down behind them. this was quickly perceived by buddha, who said to himself: my relatives refuse to prostrate themselves before me; i will now even compel them to do so. whereupon he entered into ecstasy, rose in the air, and standing over the heads of his relatives, as a person shaking dust over them, he exhibited to their astonished regards, on a white mango-tree, wonders of fire and water. thoodaudana, surprised at such a wonderful display of supernatural power, exclaimed: "illustrious buddha, on the day you were born they brought you to the presence of the rathee kaladewela, to do homage to him; on that occasion, having seen you placing your two feet on the rathee's forehead, i prostrated myself before you for the first time. on the day of the ploughing solemn rejoicings, you were placed under the shade of the tree tsampoothapye. the sun by its daily motion had caused the shadows of all surrounding trees to change their direction; that of the tree under which you were placed alone remaining unmoved. i prostrated myself a second time before you; and now, at the sight of this new wonder, i again bow down to you." the example of the king was instantly imitated by all the princes, who humbly bowed down to buddha. satisfied with having humbled his proud relatives, buddha came down and sat in the place prepared for him. he then caused a shower of red rain to pour down over the assembled multitudes. it had the virtue to wet those who liked it, and not to wet those who disliked it. "this is not," said buddha, "the only time when such a wonder has happened; the same thing took place once during one of my former existences, when i was prince wethandra." he went on, relating the most interesting circumstances of that former state of existence. the whole assembly now delighted at hearing his preachings and witnessing the display of his power. they all withdrew when the preaching was over, and retired to their respective places, without, however, inviting buddha to come and take his meals in their houses. on the following morning, buddha set out with his twenty thousand followers to get his meal. when he had arrived at the gate of the city, he stood for a while, deliberating within himself whether he would go to the palace to receive his meal, or go from street to street to beg for it. he paused for a while, reflecting on the course of conduct that had been followed by all the former buddhas. having known that they all, without exception, had been in the habit of going out from house to house in quest of their food, he resolved at once to follow their example. whereupon he entered the city and began to perambulate the streets in search of his food. the citizens, from the various stories of their houses, were looking out with amazement at such an unusual sight. "how is this?" said they; "we see prince raoula and his mother yathaudara going out attired in the richest dresses, sitting in the most elegant conveyance, and now prince theiddat[ ] is appearing in the streets with his hair and beard shaved, and his body covered with a yellow dress befitting a mendicant. such a thing is unbecoming indeed." whilst they were holding this language, on a sudden, rays of the purest light shot forth from the body of buddha, and illuminated all the objects around his person. at this unexpected sight, they all joined in praising and extolling the virtue and glory of buddha. king thoodaudana was soon informed that his son was perambulating the streets of the city in the dress of a mendicant. startled at such a news, he rose, and seizing the extremity of his outer garment, ran to the encounter of his son. as soon as he saw him he exclaimed: "illustrious buddha, why do you expose us to such a shame? is it necessary to go from door to door to beg your food? could not a better and more decent mode be resorted to for supplying your wants?" "my noble father," said buddha, "it is meet and convenient that all rahans should go out and beg their food." "but," replied the monarch, "are we not the descendants of the illustrious prince thamadat? there is not a single person in our illustrious race that has ever acted in such an indecorous manner." buddha retorted, "my noble father,[ ] the descent from the glorious princes thamadat is something that belongs both to you and your royal family: the lineage of a buddha is quite different from that of kings and princes; it bears no resemblance to it. their ways and manners must essentially differ from those of princes. all former buddhas have always been in the habit of thus going out in search of their food." then stopping his course and standing in the street, he uttered the following stanzas, "my noble father, it is not proper that i should ever neglect the duty of receiving alms; it is an action good in itself, tallying with truth, deserving of great merits, and productive of happiness in this and future existences." when he had spoken, his father obtained the state of thautapan. he went to the palace with his father, saying, "those who go to beg food according to the injunction and prescription of the law, are doing well, and prepare themselves for a state of happiness both for the present and future: those who do go begging, but without any regard to the ordinances of the law, ought to refrain from doing so." he was speaking in that way when he entered the palace. his aunt gaudamee became a thautapan. his father, after this second preaching, reached the state thagadagan. thoodaudana invited phra and his followers to ascend to the upper part of the palace and partake of the meal prepared for them. when the meal was over, all the ladies of the palace came to pay their respects to buddha. some of them urged the princess yathaudara to do the same. but she refused to comply with their request, in the hope that a greater deference would be shown to her, and buddha would come and visit her in her apartments. perceiving her studied inattendance, phra said to his father, "my noble father, i will go and visit the princess, and will, without saying a single word, make her pay obedience to, and prostrate herself before me." king thoodaudana took up the patta, and accompanied his son to the princess's apartments, together with his two disciples, thariputra and maukalan. buddha had scarcely been seated on the place destined to him, when yathaudara threw herself at buddha's feet, and placing her two hands on both ankles, touched repeatedly the upper part with her forehead. meanwhile thoodaudana mentioned to his son the respectful and affectionate regard she had ever entertained for his person. "since she heard," added the king, "that you had put on the yellow robe, she would wear only clothes of that colour; when she knew that you took but one meal a day, that you slept on a small and low couch, and gave up, without regret, the use of perfumes, she instantly followed your example, ate but one meal a day, slept on a low couch, and gave up without grief the use of essences." "illustrious monarch," replied buddha, "i do not wonder at the practices of late observed by the princess yathaudara; in former times, when her merits were as yet only few and imperfect, she was living at the foot of a certain mountain, and knew, even then, how to behave with becomingness, and attend with a strict regard to all religious duties." this very day, that is to say, the second day after the full moon of katson, was fixed as the time for the taking place of five grand ceremonies. nanda,[ ] the younger brother of buddha, was to have his head washed, to put on the thingkiit, or royal head ornament, to be raised to the dignity of crown prince, to be put in possession of his own palace, and to be married. when phra was leaving the palace, he bade the young prince take his patta and follow him. nanda instantly complied with the request, and departed. he was just leaving the palace, when the young lady he was to marry heard the sound of the steps and of the voice of her lover. she was then busily engaged in combing her beautiful and shining black hair. with the left hand drawing aside her hair, and with the right leaning on the window-frame, she, with a sweet yet tremulous voice, eagerly recommended him soon to return. she then continued to follow him with anxious eyes until he could be seen no longer. meanwhile, resting against the window-side, she had her heart full of ominous forebodings. nanda would have gladly given back the patta to his owner; but as he felt backward to hand it over to him, he followed buddha as far as the monastery. though he had no intention of becoming rahan on his way to that place, yet, despite of his former dispositions, he entered into the society of the perfect. so that on the second day after phra's arrival at kapilawot, nanda became a rahan. some other writings mention that this happened only on the third day. on the seventh day after phra had entered into the city of kapilawot, the mother of raoula, princess yathaudara, put on her son the choicest ornaments, and sent him to phra, saying previously to him: "dearest son, he whom you see surrounded by twenty thousand rahandas, whose face resembles gold, and whose body is similar to that of the chief of brahmas, is indeed your father. he was formerly the owner of the four gold vases which disappeared on the very day he withdrew into solitude; go to him now, and say respectfully, that, being at present crown prince of this kingdom, destined to succeed your grandfather on the throne, you wish to become possessed of the property that will fall to you in right of inheritance." the young prince departed. having come into the presence of buddha, he endeavoured, with the simplicity and amiability becoming a young lad, to ingratiate himself in his father's favour, and said how happy he was to be with him, adding many other particulars befitting his age and position. buddha, having eaten his meal and performed his usual devotions, rose up and departed. raoula followed behind, saying: "father, give me my inheritance." buddha appearing neither displeased nor vexed at such a demand, none of his followers durst tell the young prince to desist from his apparently rude behaviour, and go back to the palace. they all soon reached the monastery. phra thus thought within himself: raoula is asking from me perishable things, but i will give him something more excellent and lasting. i will make him partaker of those goods i have gathered at the foot of the bodi tree, and thereby will provide for him a better inheritance for the future. whereupon he called thariputra, and said to him: "beloved disciple, the young prince raoula asks from me a worldly inheritance, which would avail him nothing, but i wish to present him with something more excellent, an imperishable inheritance; let him become a rahan." maukalan shaved the head of raoula and attired him with the tsiwaran. thariputra gave him the first instructions. when hereafter he became patzing, kathaba trained him up to the duties of his new profession. king thoodaudana had seen his first son prince theiddat leave the palace and all the attracting allurements of a brilliant court; despite of all his precautions, he subsequently witnessed his going into a solitude and becoming a rahan. next to him, his younger son nanda, though assured by the promises of soothsayers of becoming a great and mighty ruler, had joined the society of rahans. these two events had deeply afflicted him. but, on hearing that his grandson had also become a rahan, he could no longer keep his affliction within himself. "i had," said he, "hoped that my grandson would succeed me on the throne; this thought consoled me for the loss of my two sons. what will become of my throne? now the royal succession is at an end, and the line of direct descendants is for ever cut and irrevocably broken asunder." thoodaudana obtained the state of anagam. he said to himself: it is enough that i should have had so much to suffer and endure on the occasion of my two sons and my grandson becoming rahans; i will spare to other parents a similar affliction. he went to buddha's place, and having paid him his respects in a becoming manner, asked him to establish a regulation forbidding any son to become rahan, unless he had the consent of his parents. buddha assented to his father's wish and preached to him the law. when the instruction was finished, the king bowed to him, rose up, turned on the right, and departed. buddha, calling immediately the rahans, said to them: "beloved bickus, no one is to be admitted to the profession of rahan, ere he has obtained the consent of his parents: any one that shall trespass this regulation shall be guilty of a sin." on a certain day, phra having eaten his meal at his father's palace, the king related to him the circumstance of a nat, who, whilst he was undergoing great austerities in the solitude, had come and conveyed the report of his son having succumbed under the hardships of mortification; but he would never give credit to such a rumour, as he was certain that his son could not die ere he had become a buddha. "my illustrious father," replied buddha, "you are much advanced in merits; there is no wonder at your not believing a false report; but even in former ages, when your merits were as yet very imperfect, you refused to believe your son was dead, though in proof of this assertion bones were exhibited before you in confirmation of the report." and he went on relating many particulars that are to be found in the history of maha damma pala. it was at the conclusion of this discourse that the king became anagam. having thus firmly established his father in the three degrees of perfection, buddha returned to the country of radzagio. during this voyage, the most excellent phra arrived at the village of anupya, in the country of the malla princes. in the neighbourhood of the village there is a grove of mango-trees. to that place he withdrew with his twenty thousand disciples, and enjoyed himself in that secluded and delightful retreat. while he dwelt on that spot, the seed of the law that he had planted in his native city was silently taking deep root in the hearts of many. his uncle thekkaudana had two sons, named mahanan and anooroudha. on a certain day mahanan said to his younger brother: "from among the several families of the royal race, many persons have left the world and embraced the religious profession under the guidance of buddha. our family is the only one that has not as yet given any member to the assembly. i will make you a proposal: either you will become an ascetic, and leave me your inheritance; or i will myself take that step, and make over to you all that i possess." anooroudha at once accepted the proposal. when the intentions of the two brothers became known, five young princes, their playmates and relatives, named bagoo, kimila, baddya, ananda,[ ] and dewadat, desired to join them in their pious design. having put on their finest dress, they went into the country, having no other attendant but oopali, their barber. they shaped their course in the direction of anupya. being at a small distance from the mango-trees' grove, the young princes stripped themselves of their rich dresses, and gave them all to the barber, as an acknowledgment of his services. the latter at first accepted them, and was preparing to return, when the following thought occurred to his mind: "if i go back to kapilawot with these fine and rich apparels, the king and the people will believe that i have come by foul means in possession of so many valuables, and i shall certainly be put to death. i will follow my masters, and never leave them." hereupon he returned in all haste and joined them at the very moment they were disposing themselves to enter into the anupya mango-trees' grove. oopali was admitted into their company, and ushered along with them into buddha's presence. having paid their respects in the usual manner, they applied for the dignity of members of the assembly. their request was granted. but previous to passing through the prescribed ceremonies, the princes said one to another: "great indeed and deeply rooted is the pride of princes: it is extremely difficult to shake it off, and free oneself of its tyrannical exactions. let oopali be first ordained; we will have an opportunity of humbling ourselves by prostrating ourselves before him." their request was granted. after having paid their respects to the newly ordained convert, they were likewise admitted among the members of the assembly. their proficiency in spiritual progress was not the same. during the second lent, which they spent in the weloowon monastery, baddya, bagoo, and kimila reached the culminating point of perfection by becoming rahandas. ananda became thautapatti. anooroudha greatly advanced in the higher path of metaphysics. as to dewadat, he never attained more than the laukithamabat. a little while after the conversion of the royal princes, buddha left anupya, continued his voyage to radzagio, and forthwith retired into the weloowon monastery to spend his second lent. the time was chiefly employed in training up the new converts in the knowledge of the great truths, and in the practice of virtue. his son raoula, about eight years old, evinced the greatest dispositions. his attainments were far above his age, and often elicited the admiration of the rahans. on a certain occasion buddha overheard them expressing their astonishment at the surprising progress raoula was making in his studies. coming among them as if perchance, phra asked them what was the subject of their conversation. they answered that they were praising and extolling the wonderful abilities of raoula, and his matchless good dispositions. thereupon buddha remarked that this was not to be wondered at. then he related to them the dzat miga, by which he showed to them that during former existences raoula had distinguished himself in a conspicuous manner by his excellent and admirable dispositions. as a reward for his good behaviour and high mental qualifications, he was made patzin. his mind continuing to expand in an almost miraculous manner, he became a rahanda with myriads of nats. during the same season, buddha often went to radzagio to beg his food. there was in that city a flower-seller, who was wont to bring eight bouquets every day to the king, and receive in return from the royal hands eight pieces of silver. on a certain day, as he was coming from the country into the town with his usual supply of flowers for the king, he happened to see buddha in the streets at a moment when, by a miraculous display of his power, the six glories beamed out of his body. he then said to himself: "i wish to go and offer these flowers to buddha. but the king will doubtless be much angry with me. he may have me arrested, thrown into prison, and put to death for having failed in offering him the usual present. despite the great danger that hangs over me, i will go to buddha and offer him my flowers. great, indeed, and lasting shall be the merits i will gain; they will follow me during countless existences." with a heart full of joy, thoomana, for such is his name, went to the resting-place where buddha was seated, surrounded by crowds of people, and laid the flowers at his feet. with a marked satisfaction, gaudama accepted the offer. thoomana went home and related to his wife what had just happened. the latter, irritated partly by the fear of the king's wrath, and partly by the loss of the money she daily received, began to abuse her husband in the coarsest language. she was so much maddened by passion that she in all haste went to the king, denounced her husband, and instantly sued for a divorce. pimpathara revolted at such an act of unparalleled audacity, ordered her to withdraw from his presence and go back to her house. meanwhile he commanded one of his courtiers to order the flower-seller to come to the palace on the following day. as a matter of course, the royal request was punctually complied with. in the presence of the assembled courtiers, the king highly praised the conduct of thoomana, and instantly rewarded him with great liberality. as thoomana had offered to buddha eight bunches of flowers, the king, to acknowledge in a distinct manner such an offering, gave him eight elephants, eight horses, eight slaves, eight bullocks, eight thousand pieces of silver, and the revenue of eight villages. buddha likewise exceedingly extolled the meritorious behaviour of thoomana in the presence of the people, and said that during a whole world he would be exempt from the four states of punishment, enjoy happiness in the seat of man and in those of nats, and finally become a pitzega-buddha. the value of the offering, though little in itself, became great by the imminent risks he voluntarily exposed himself to. he made his offering, though he was certain of incurring on that account the ruler's displeasure. when the season of retirement was over, gaudama travelled through different places. he went to patzanawonta in the dzetia country, thence he passed into the bisakila forest, and returned to radzagio, in the grove of yin-daik trees, near the burial-place. whilst buddha was in the splendid dzetawon monastery, just presented to him, a strong temptation came upon ananda to renounce his calling and return into the world. he went so far as to tell some of his brethren that he recollected the promise of a prompt return which he made to his young bride dzanapada-kaliani, and that now he wished to fulfil it by immediately going back into his palace, and resuming his former mode of life. this was soon reported to gaudama, who resorted to the following expedient to crush in the bud the rising temptation. he took ananda by the arm, rose with him in the air, and led him in the direction of the nats' seat of tawadeintha. on their way, buddha, by a miraculous process, exhibited to the eyes of his companion the sight of an immense forest in conflagration. on the burnt stump of a tree he showed him a female monkey horribly mutilated, having her tail, ears, and nose cut off. at such a sight the horrified ananda turned away his eyes in disgust. a little while after this, buddha exhibited before him the dazzling and heart-captivating sight of a long array of five hundred matchless beauties. they were daughters of nats going to pay their respects to the great thagia. ananda was gazing at them with silent but enraptured feelings. buddha said to him: "do you believe those beauties before you to be equal to dzanapada?" "she is no more to these perfect forms," answered he, "than the bleeding female monkey we have left behind us is to her." "all these celestial damsels," said buddha, "i shall give to you, provided you agree to remain in the monastery for some years longer." "willingly do i accept the proposal," replied ananda; "i will stay cheerfully in the monastery on such favourable terms." whereupon both returned to the monastery. * * * * * the members of the assembly soon became acquainted with what had passed between the master and the disciple, and keenly taunted ananda with their sarcastic remarks upon the daughters of nats. ashamed of himself, ananda withdrew into solitude. there he devoted himself to reflection and penitential deeds, and finally annihilated the evil desires of his unsubdued passion. when the inward struggle was over and peace had been restored in him, ananda went to buddha's presence, and stated his willingness to dwell for ever in a monastery and lead a religious life. meantime he released him from the promise he had made to him respecting the celestial beauties. buddha was much pleased at such a happy change. he said to the assembled religious: "previous to this occurrence, ananda resembled a badly-roofed house, which lets in the rain of passions; but now it is similar to a well-roofed building, which is so well protected that it is proof against the oozing of passions." whereupon he related the following story concerning a former existence of ananda. a merchant named kappaka had a donkey which he used to carry goods from place to place. having one day come near a place covered with trees, kappaka unloaded his animal, to allow him some time to rest and graze. meanwhile, a female donkey was likewise grazing in the neighbourhood. its presence was quickly detected by kappaka's animal. when the moment of departure had come, the latter, attracted by the female, kicked furiously at his master, and would not allow the load to be replaced on its back. the merchant, enraged at this unusual freak, began to threaten the rebellious beast, and then to hit it with the whip as hard as he could. at last the poor animal, unable to bear any longer the blows, mentioned to his master the cause of his unusual behaviour. kappaka told him that if he would but continue his voyage, he would give him at the end of the journey several fine females, much superior to the one he was now coveting. the proposal was accepted. at the end of the journey kappaka said to the beast: "i will keep my promise with you: but i must inform you that your daily provender shall not be increased; you will have to share it with your companion. subsequently you will have little ones to provide for and maintain, but your daily ration shall not be increased in the least; you shall have to work for me as much as you do at present, and also to provide for the maintenance and support of your family." the donkey, after a few moments of reflection, thought it was better to remain as he was; and from that moment he was entirely cured of his inordinate inclination. at the conclusion of the narration, buddha said: "the male donkey was he who has now become ananda; the female donkey, dzanapa-kaliani; and kappaka is now the most excellent phra, who is the teacher of men, nats and brahmas." buddha, whilst at wethalie, went out through the country, and in all the places that he visited preached to the crowds of hearers. it was during one of his benevolent errands that he met with a celebrated pounha, named eggidatta, who with a great many disciples led an ascetic life, after having been formerly, first, the chief pounha of king kothala, and next of his son. buddha earnestly desired the conversion of so distinguished a personage. maukalan was at first despatched to that famous hermit, to attempt to bring him over to his master; but he utterly failed. the reception he at first met with was anything but pleasant. the work was to be done and perfected only by the irresistible eloquence of the great preacher. buddha soon came up to the entrance of eggidatta's cell. he began to upbraid the rathee for teaching his disciples to worship mountains, trees, rivers, and all that exists in nature. he then initiated him in the knowledge of the four great truths. eggidatta, seeing the truth, at once became a convert with all his disciples. when this great spiritual conquest was achieved, buddha returned to radzagio, and spent the third season in the weloowon or bamboo-grove monastery. it was during the three months of the rainy season that buddha imparted, in a more complete manner, to his disciples the knowledge and science which during his peregrinations he had but superficially conveyed to them. at the same time, he carefully trained them up in the practice and observance of those disciplinary regulations which were intended as a means to subdue passions, to estrange them from the world and all its attractions, and to lead a spiritual life. during his stay in the monastery, among the many instructions that he gave to his disciples, i will relate the particulars that he mentioned respecting the former doings and the final conversion of the rahanda tsampooka.[ ] in the days of the buddha kathaba, tsampooka, or rather the being who in the present existence is called by that name, put on the religious dress in the thawatie country. he lived in a fine monastery, and had for his supporters the best and richest people of the place. one day, a rahan, belonging to another country, came to his monastery and begged the favour to be allowed to live therein for some time. the heartless tsampooka denied him admittance into the interior of the building, but tolerated his staying in the verandah during the cold season. the people, however, actuated by better feelings than those of their teacher, brought regularly food for the head of the house, as well as for the stranger, for whom they felt great affection. the spiteful tsampooka could not bear to see the people showing marks of kindness and benevolence towards his hated guest. on one occasion he forgot himself so far as to abuse him, by repeating the following coarse expressions: eat dirt, go naked, and sleep on the bare ground. such an inhuman behaviour soon met with a condign punishment. the wretched tsampooka had at first to endure horrible torments in hell. on his return to the seat of man on earth, he was born from respectable parents, but he was always prone from his infancy to indulge in the lowest habits. he would secretly steal away, and actually satiate the cravings of hunger by eating the most disgusting things; he would not wear clothing, but ran about in a state of nakedness; he would only sleep on the ground. his parents, after many fruitless attempts to correct him, resolved to make him over to the heterodox ascetics. these received him; but he would not eat in the company of his brethren, nor go to beg with them. he, from the moment they were absent, went to devour the refuse he could find. his eccentric and disgusting habits were soon found out, and his new friends said one to the other: "let this man be no longer allowed to live with us. should the disciples of the rahan gaudama hear that one of our company is behaving in such a manner, our brotherhood would become a laughing-stock to them." he was, therefore, expelled from this place. tsampooka went to take his abode on a rock near the place that served as receptacle to the sewers of radzagio. on that rock he remained in the most fatiguing posture; he leaned on his right hand which rested on the rock, and also on his right knee; the left leg was stretched and the left arm raised up. he kept his mouth opened. when the people asked him why he remained with his mouth wide open, as a man who is incessantly drawing air into his lungs, he answered that, refraining from the use of coarse food, he was feeding on air only: when questioned about the singular position of his two legs, he answered, that, were he to stand on both legs, the earth would instantly shake. he had been during fifty-five years in that sad position, when gaudama, moved with compassion at his pitiable condition, went in person to convert him. he began to relate to him all that he had done during former existences, mentioning in particular the sin he had been guilty of towards a brother hermit. at this unexpected declaration, tsampooka humbled himself. buddha then preached to him his law. the repenting tsampooka firmly believed in all that was said to him. he then rose up, and, with a heart overflowing with joy, instantly left his place, followed his new master, and soon became a rahanda. his proficiency in science and virtue was such that he soon occupied a distinguished rank among the members of the assembly. footnotes [ ] in glancing over the episode of thoodaudana's deputation to his son, to invite him to come and visit his native country, the reader is almost compelled to confess that the motive that influenced the king was only inspired by the natural feeling of beholding once more, before he died, him whose fame, spread far and wide, rendered him an object of universal admiration. was the monarch induced by considerations of a higher order to send for buddha? there is no distinct proof in support of this supposition. he was his father, and he but obeyed and followed the impulse of his paternal heart. he entertained a high sense of his son's distinguished qualifications. he had faith in the wonderful signs foretelling his future matchless greatness. he desired, therefore, to honour him in an extraordinary way, on the very spot where he had been born. but he appeared to concern himself very little about the doctrines he was preaching with a success never before equalled. the king exhibited a great amount of worldly-mindedness, until his mind had been enlightened by the oral instructions of the great reformer. it is difficult, if not impossible, to form an accurate idea of the effect produced on the mass of the people by buddha's preachings. we see that eminent and zealous reformer surrounded by thousands of distinguished disciples in the country of radzagio. these converts belonged chiefly to the class of anchorites and philosophers, already alluded to in foregoing notes as existing at the time buddha began to enter the career of preaching. but the great bulk of the populations of the various places he visited seemed to have received for a long time little or no impressions from his discourses. the opponents of buddha, the brahmins in particular, exercised a powerful influence over the public mind. they used it most effectually for retaining their ancient hold over the masses. it required the extraordinary display of the greatest wonders to break through the almost insuperable barriers raised by his enemies. from that period we see the people following buddha, crowding round him, and showing unmistakable signs of belief in him. the only explanation to account for this undeniable result is the philosophical method adopted by buddha in expounding the principles of his system. his mode of proceeding in the gradual development of his ideas retained the abstruseness peculiar to subjects discussed in schools of philosophy. the technical terms so familiar to scholars prove enigmatical to the uninitiated _vulgus_. it takes a long time before maxims elaborated by scholars are so far popularised as to be understood by the unlearned, which in every age and country have always constituted the great mass of the people. if the mind of the generality of men is unable to comprehend at first a system of doctrines, based on metaphysics, we cannot wonder at the slow progress made by the preachings of the great philosopher: but the working of wonders is a tangible fact operating upon the senses of the multitude, eliciting their applauses, and disposing them to yield an implicit faith to all the instructions imparted by the wonderful being that is gifted with supernatural powers. feelings, and not reason, become the foundation of a belief which grows stronger in proportion to the mysterious obscurity that encompasses the proposed dogmas, when supported by wonderful deeds. at the time thoodaudana sent messengers to his son, the great work of conversion was carried on with a most complete and hitherto unheard-of success. the hall of the weloowon monastery was too small for the thousands that flocked thither to hear gaudama. outside its precincts, crowds stood motionless, listening with unabated attention to the discourses that fell from his lips. so crowded was the audience that the messengers had no chance to make their way to the presence of the preacher. struck with the intense attention paid to what was said by their master's son, they too wished to make themselves acquainted with the subjects of the instruction. what was listened to from motives of mere curiosity, soon made a deep impression upon their mind. the magic power of the irresistible eloquence of buddha worked a thorough change almost instantaneously in their dispositions, and they became converts. so perfect was their conversion, that they forgot for the sake of truth the very object of their mission. they became at once members of the assembly, and took rank among the rahans. they attained the state of ariahs, and were foremost among the perfect. the great attainments arrived at by the ariahs communicate to the material portion of their being such an extraordinary amount of amazing virtues or properties, that it becomes so refined as to partake, to a certain degree, of a spiritual nature. hence we see the rahandas going over immense distances through the air, and performing deeds of a supernatural order. the power of working miracles is, therefore, inherent in perfection; and it is greater or smaller in proportion to the degree of perfection possessed by individuals. we find that power expanded in buddha to an unlimited extent, because his mental attainments were boundless. [ ] magatha is a country in the north of india. it occupied nearly the same extent of territory as that now called north behar in bengal. the pali or sacred language of the southern buddhists is often called the language of magatha. hence we may infer that it was the common language of that country. it is probable that the pali language was extensively spoken in the days of gaudama, and it was the channel through which he and his disciples long after him conveyed their religious instructions to the multitude of converts. the pitagat, or the last amended collection of sacred writings, is written in pali, which is looked upon in ceylon, nepaul, burmah, and siam as the language of sacred literature. except in some old manuscripts, where the old square pali letters are used, the burmese employ their common alphabetic characters for writing pali words. the words, having to pass first through a burmese ear, and next being expressed by burmese letters, undergo great changes. to such an extent does the metamorphosis reach, that very often they are scarcely recognisable. the burmans, however, deserve great credit for having, in very many instances, retained in their orthography of pali words letters which, though not at all sounded, indicate to the eye the nature of the word, its origin, and its primitive form. in the southern parts of burmah the pali language is learned but not studied, used, but not understood by the inmates of monasteries. they are all obliged to learn certain formulas of prayers to be daily recited in private, and, on great and solemn occasions, to be chanted aloud in the presence of a crowd of pious hearers. the writer, anxious to acquire some knowledge of the sacred language, often visited those monks, who, among their brethren, enjoyed a certain fame for learning, with the express intention of becoming a humble student, under the direction of one of the best informed of the society. he was thoroughly disappointed to find those who proffered their services in great earnest quite ignorant, and utterly incapable of giving him the least assistance. the burmese have translated in their vernacular tongue most of the sacred writings. in many instances the translation is not exactly what we call interlineary, but it approaches to it as nearly as possible. two, three, or four pali words are written down, and the translation in burmese follows with a profusion of words which often confuses and perplexes the reader; then come again a few other pali words, accompanied also with the translation, and so on throughout the whole work. the art of translating well and correctly from one language into another is not so common as many persons may imagine. in a good translator are required many qualifications which are not to be easily met with, particularly in a burman, to whom we may give credit for knowing well his own tongue, but who, without detracting from his literary attainments, is certainly an indifferent pali scholar. these translations may convey, perhaps, the general meaning of the original, but, as regards the correct meaning of each term, it is a luxury ever denied to the reader of such crude and imperfect compositions. [ ] it is difficult to ascertain exactly the length of the measure called youdzana, formerly used to indicate land distances. it varies from five to twelve english miles. in measuring the distance from radzagio to the brahmin village of nalanda, the birthplace of thariputra, which is one youdzana, general cunningham has found it to be seven miles. this would induce us to hold as certain that at the epoch when fa-hian visited the place, the youdzana was equal to seven miles or forty chinese _li_. but this would not prove that the more ancient youdzana was not shorter than the one used in the time of the chinese pilgrim. several authors maintain that such is the case. it appears, likewise, that the length of that measure of distance has varied with localities and places to such an extent that it has been found in some countries to be equal to more than twelve miles. we believe that when that measure of distance is mentioned in this work, one would not be far from the truth in estimating its length six or seven english miles at the utmost. [ ] the attentive reader of this work cannot fail to remark the general tendencies of buddhism to isolation, retirement, and solitude. in a retired position, the mind is less distracted or dissipated by exterior objects; it possesses a greater share of self-control, and is fitter for the arduous work of attentive reflection and deep meditation. whenever buddha, attended by his followers, reaches a place where he is to stay for a while, a grove outside the city is invariably selected. thither the great preacher retires, as to a beloved solitude. he enjoys it beyond all that can be said. alone with his spiritual family, unconcerned about the affairs of this world, he breathes at ease the pure atmosphere of a complete calm; his undisturbed soul soars freely in the boundless regions of spiritualism. what he has seen and discovered during his contemplative errands he imparts with a placid countenance and a mild voice to his disciples, endeavouring thereby to make them progress in the way of knowledge and perfection. in those solitary abodes of peace buddha was willing to receive all those who wished for instruction. they were all, without distinction of rank or caste, admitted into the presence of him who came professedly to point to men the way to happiness, helping them to disentangle themselves from the trammels of passions. he preached to all the most excellent law. the tendency to retreat and withdrawal from worldly tumult is, in our own days, conspicuous in the care taken by buddhistic monks to have their houses built in some lonely quarter of a town, assigned exclusively for that special purpose, or, as is oftener the case, in fine places at a small distance from the walls. some of those groves, in the centre of which rise the peaceful abodes of rahans, the writer has often seen and much admired. in towns or large villages, where the ground is uneven, the small heights are generally crowned with the dwellings of religious. [ ] the narrative of buddha's reception in his father's royal city suggests two reflections. the first is, that the saying _nemo propheta in suâ patriâ_ was as true in the days of gaudama as it has been in subsequent ages. the mountains of kapilawot had often re-echoed the praises of buddha and the recital of his wonderful doings. the splendid retinue of twenty thousand distinguished converts that attended his person, the hitherto unwitnessed display of miraculous powers, &c.,--all these peculiarly remarkable circumstances seemed more than sufficient to secure for him a distinguished reception among his kinsmen, who ought to have been proud of being connected with him by the ties of relationship. such, however, was not the case. actuated by the lowest feelings of base jealousy, his relatives refused to pay him the respect he was so well entitled to. their wretched obduracy was to be conquered by the awe and fear his miraculous power inspired. the second reflection suggested by the recital of the ceremonies observed on the occasion of buddha's reception in his native country is the truly pleasing fact of seeing the weaker sex appearing in public divested of the shackles put upon it by oriental jealousy. in burmah and siam the doctrines of buddhism have produced a striking, and, to the lover of true civilisation, a most interesting result, viz., established the almost complete equality of the condition of women with that of men. in those countries women are not miserably confined in the interior of their houses, without the remotest chance of ever appearing in public. they are seen circulating freely in the streets; they preside at the _comptoirs_, and hold an almost exclusive possession of the bazaars. their social position is more elevated in every respect than that of the persons of their sex in the regions where buddhism is not the predominating creed. they may be said to be men's companions, and not their slaves. they are active, industrious, and by their labours and exertions contribute their full share towards the maintenance of the family. the marital rights, however, are fully acknowledged by a respectful behaviour towards their lords. in spite of all that has been said by superficial observers, i feel convinced that manners are less corrupted in those countries where women enjoy liberty, than in those where they are buried alive by a barbarous and despotic custom in the grave of an opprobrious and vice-generating slavery. buddhism disapproves of polygamy, but it tolerates divorce. in this respect the habits of the people are of a damnable laxity. polygamy is very rare in burmah among the people. this nefarious and anti-social practice is left to the magnates of the land, from the king down to a petty myowon, who make a part of their greatness consist in placing themselves above public opinion, above moral and religious precepts, for enjoying the unrestrained gratification of the basest appetite. though divorce be a thing of common occurrence, it is looked upon as an imperfection, merely tolerated for the sake of human frailty. [ ] buddhist monks, out of humility and contempt for all worldly things, do not allow hairs or beard to grow. they walk barefooted, wearing a yellow dress of the simplest make. they are bound to live on the alms that are freely bestowed upon them. the regulations of the wini are, in this respect, most explicit, and leave no room for false interpretation. a rahan, having renounced the world, and divested himself of all worldly property, is bound by his professional vows to rely for his daily food on what he may obtain by begging. hence the appellatio of bickus, or mendicants, always bestowed on them by gaudama, whenever he addresses them in particular on certain points regarding their profession. in burmah, as soon as the day begins to dawn, a swarm of yellow-dressed monks sally forth from their abode with the patta under the left arm, and perambulate the streets in quest of food. they never ask for anything; they accept what is voluntarily tendered to them, without uttering a single word of thanks, or even looking at their generous benefactors. this action of bestowing alms on the rahans is deemed a most meritorious one. the offerer, therefore, becomes liberal, not on account of the person he is assisting, but because of the abundant merits he hopes to derive from the act. this notion agrees very well with the leading tenets of buddhism. [ ] the answer of buddha to his royal father is a most remarkable one, and deserves the attention of the observer. the great moralist does away with all the prerogatives man may derive from birth, rank, and riches. law alone can confer titles of true greatness and genuine nobility. the fervent and zealous observers of the law are alone entitled to the respect of their fellow-men. the begging of alms may be, in the eyes of worldlings, a low and mean action, but it becomes a most dignified one, because it is enforced by the law. this lofty principle boldly establishes the superiority of virtue upon the strongest basis, and sanctions the moral code he was destined to publish to men and saddle on their conscience. the criterion of all that is good, excellent, praiseworthy, and meritorious is no more to depend on the arbitrary and very often erroneous views of men, but must rest upon the immutable tenets of the eternal law, discovered, revived, and published by the omniscient buddha. this truth, like a flash of light, illuminated the king's mind, and, at this first preaching of his son, he attained the first of the four states of perfection. the princes thamadat and thoodaudana boast to have descended from are, according to buddhistic sacred books, the princes who were elected to hold supreme power at the very moment the words _mine_ and _thine_ began to be heard amongst men, after they had eaten the rice called tsale, and become subject to passions, that is to say, at the origin of society, in the beginning of the world. the kings of burmah, down to the present occupant of the throne, who are descended, in their opinion, from the kapilawot line of kings, lay claim to the same distinction. the writer has heard the present king of burmah very coolly stating as a matter of fact, which no one could think of contradicting, that he was descended from the thamadat's royal line. the princess yathaudara, mentioned in this narrative, had been the wife of buddha, ere he had withdrawn into solitude and renounced the world. a son had just been born to him when he left his father's palace. his name was raoula. the doctrine of the influence of merits gathered during former existences is forcibly illustrated in the case of yathaudara, who, unmindful of the position she occupied in former years, did not hesitate to fling herself at buddha's feet, acknowledging him to be worthy of all honour and veneration. her former merits disposed her to view in him, who had been her husband, the extraordinary personage who was to lead men through the path of virtue to the deliverance. [ ] nanda was buddha's younger brother, or rather half-brother. his mother was patzapati, the younger sister of maia. since buddha had renounced the world, nanda had become the presumptive heir to the crown of kapilawot. his conversion grieved the king much, who, to prevent the recurrence of such an event, exacted from the great reformer that in after times no one could be admitted into the society of the perfect, without having previously obtained the consent of his parents; failing such a condition, the act of admission should be considered as null and void. hence, we read in the book of ordination, or admittance to the dignity of rahan, that the person directed by the president of the assembly to examine the candidate never omits to inquire of him whether he has obtained the consent of his parents. the conversion of raoula followed that of nanda. of this new and distinguished convert no mention is made afterwards in the course of this work. he must, in all likelihood, have become a celebrated member of the assembly, as he was trained up to the functions and duties of his profession by the greatest and most renowned disciples, such as maukalan, thariputra, and kathaba. in the history of buddhism, the dzetawon monastery is not inferior in celebrity to that of weloowon. therein gaudama announced during a certain night the thirty-six beatitudes of the law to a nat that had come and requested him to make him acquainted with the most perfect points of his law. in the division of the scriptures called thoots, or sermons, we see that the most important have been delivered in the hall of that monastery. here is another instance of a donation of landed property to a religious corporation. in the first case, the gift had been made to him and to his actual followers. but in this circumstance, phra desires the rich and pious benefactor to make the donation, not only in behalf of self and the present assembly, but also in that of all future members, who might resort to this place. in a buddhistic point of view, we may conclude that the advice given to the donor was intended as a means of multiplying the sum of the merits of his liberality, which must be commensurate with the number of the individuals to whom it is designed to be extended. according to the principle respecting property, which from immemorial time has prevailed under almost all despotic governments in asia, which recognises the head of the state as the sole, real, and absolute owner of the soil, it is evident that the act of donation was, legally speaking, a declaration or a statement of the disposal an individual made of the rights such as he had them, viz., those of use, in favour of a religious body. the landed property, thus conferred, acquired a kind of sacredness which preserved it from the grasp of even the most rapacious ruler. on the other hand, the religious body had no right or power whatsoever to sell or dispose of that property. in a corporation constituted as the assembly of the disciples of buddha was, and is in our own days, the society alone could have the possession and management of immovable properties given to monasteries. donations of this kind must have stood good as long as there were members of the buddhistic religious family willing and ready to maintain their rights. nothing short of a complete revolution in the political state of the country, or the prolonged absence of the individuals vested with the right of occupation, could put an end to the effect of those deeds of donation. in burmah, the buddhist monks possess nothing beyond the ground upon which stands the monastery. from certain inscriptions found in the midst of the ruins of the temples at pagan, it is evident that in the palmy days of that city donations of landed properties, such as paddy-fields, fruit-trees, bullocks, and peasants, were made to monasteries and temples. but for the last three or four hundred years, no vestiges of such deeds have ever been found. so far as i have been able to make inquiries, i am not aware that the order has ever become possessor of lands. in ceylon such is not the case, at least was not when the english occupied the island. extensive tracts of valuable lands were in the hands of the talapoins, who thereby obtained over the people the twofold influence conferred by wealth and religion. [ ] ananda, whose conversion is here mentioned, was the son of amitaudana, a brother of king thoodaudana, and, therefore, first cousin to gaudama. he is one of the best known disciples of the celebrated philosopher of kapilawot. he has gained his well-earned fame, less by the shining attainments of his intellect than by the amiable qualities of a loving heart. he bore to buddha the most affectionate regard and the warmest attachment from the very beginning of his conversion. the master repaid the love of the disciple by tokens of a sincere esteem and tender affection. though it was a long period afterwards ere ananda was officially appointed to minister unto the personal wants of buddha, yet the good dispositions of his excellent heart prompted him to serve buddha on all occasions, and in every way that was agreeable to him. he became the medium of intercourse between his beloved master and all those that approached him. when he had to communicate orders or give directions to the religious, or when some visitors desired to wait on him, ananda was the person who transmitted all orders, and ushered visitors into the presence of the great preacher. dewadat was both first cousin to buddha and his brother-in-law. his father was thouppabudha, maia's brother. he was brother of the princess yathaudara, who had married our gaudama, when he was crown prince of kapilawot. hereafter, we shall have the opportunity of seeing that his moral dispositions were very different from those of the amiable ananda. [ ] the story of eggidatta gives us an insight into one of the tenets which was held by that ascetic. his interlocutor reproached him with worshipping mountains, trees, forests, rivers, and the heavenly bodies. from the expressions made use of by the burmese translator, the writer is inclined to believe that a direct allusion is made to pantheistic opinions. we know that most of the indian schools of philosophy have based their various systems of metaphysics upon that most erroneous foundation. according to pantheists, this world is not distinct from the essence of god; all that exists is but a manifestation or a development of the substance of god. this world is not the work of god, existing as distinct from its maker, but it is god manifesting himself substantially in all things. who could, then, wonder at the conduct of tsampooka? he worshipped god, or rather that portion of the supreme being he saw in the great and mighty subjects that surrounded him and attracted his notice. spinoza, in the seventeenth century, and his unfortunately too numerous followers in this century, have recast into a hundred different moulds the pantheistic ideas of the hindu philosophers, and offer to the intelligence of their hearers and readers, through an almost unintelligible language, the same deadly food which has finally produced on the hindu mind the sad results which we witness. if we were better acquainted with the variety of doctrines which the hindu philosophers have exhibited in the field of metaphysics, we would be soon convinced that the modern metaphysicians, who have placed themselves out of the pale of revelation, have not advanced one step in that science, and that the divergence in their opinions is but a faithful representation of the confusion which for more than two thousand years prevailed on the banks of the ganges among their predecessors in the same speculative studies. it appears that tsampooka was in his days what the jogies or hindoo penitents are up to our time. he remained on his rock, in the most difficult position, for the space of fifty-five years, exhibiting himself to the crowd, and aiming at winning their admiration by the incredible sufferings that he voluntarily submitted to. his apparent sanctity was made up of very doubtful materials. he passed himself off for a man who could remain without eating, and who was gifted with supernatural powers. plain humility, which is nothing but the result of the true knowledge of self, was not the favourite virtue of our spiritual quack. chapter ix. _a rich man of thawattie, named anatapein, becomes a convert -- story of dzewaha -- he cures buddha of a painful distemper -- the people of wethalie send a deputation to buddha -- digression on the manner buddha daily spent his time -- settling of a quarrel between the inhabitants of kaulia and those of kapilawot -- new converts are strengthened in their faith -- thoodaudana's death in the arms of his son -- queen patzapati and many noble ladies are elevated to the rank of rahaness -- conversion of kema, the first queen of king pimpathara -- heretics near thawattie are confounded by the display of miraculous powers -- buddha goes to the seat of thawadeintha, to preach the law to his mother._ when buddha was in the country of radzagio, a certain rich merchant, named anatapein, came to radzagio, with five hundred carts loaded with the most precious goods, and took his lodging in the house of an intimate friend. whilst living with his friend, he heard that gaudama had become a buddha. suddenly, he was seized with an earnest desire of seeing him and hearing his doctrine. on a certain day, he rose at an early hour, and perceived, reflected through the lattices of the window, some rays of an uncommon brightness. he went in the direction of the light to the place where buddha was preaching the law. he listened to it with great attention, and, at the end of the discourse, he obtained the state of thautapan. two days after, he made a great offering to buddha and to the assembly, and requested him to come to the country of thawattie. the request was granted. the distance to thawattie is forty-five youdzanas. anatapein spent enormous sums that one monastery should be erected at each youdzana distance. when buddha was approaching, the pious merchant arranged as follows for the reception of the distinguished visitor, and presenting to him a splendid monastery called dzetawon, which he had made ready for him. he sent first his son, richly attired, with five hundred followers, belonging to the richest families; then followed his two daughters with five hundred girls, all decked with the most costly ornaments. every one carried flags of five different colours. these were followed by five hundred dames, having the rich man's wife at their head, each carrying a pitcher of water. last of all, came anatapein, with five hundred followers, all wearing new dresses. gaudama let the crowd walk in front, and he followed attended by all the rahans. when he entered the grove, he appeared as beautiful as the peacock's tail when completely expanded. anatapein asked gaudama how he wished the donation should be made and effected? "let the monastery be offered," said buddha, "to all the rahans that may come in future to this place from what quarter soever." thereupon, the rich man, holding a golden vessel of water, poured its contents on the hands of buddha, saying: "i present this monastery to buddha and to all the rahans that may come hereafter to reside therein." buddha said prayers and thanks in token of his accepting the offering. seven days were devoted to making this great offering, and during four months uninterrupted rejoicings went on in commemoration of this great and solemn donation. for the purchase of the place, and the expenses of the ceremony, enormous sums were lavished. during the era of former buddhas this very place had always been purchased and offered to them and their disciples. [_n.b._--here is found narrated in full the history of a celebrated physician named dzewaka. as such story has no reference whatever to buddha's career, i will give but a very succinct account of it.] at a certain time,[ ] when buddha lived in the city of radzagio, the country of wethalie was made rich, gay, and attractive by the presence of a famous courtesan. a nobleman of radzagio, who had just returned from that country, narrated to the king all that he had seen at wethalie, and induced the monarch to set up, in his own kingdom, some famous courtesan, who would be skilful in music and dancing, as well as attractive by the form and accomplishments of her person. such a person having been procured, she was, by the munificence of the king, placed on a most splendid footing, and one hundred pieces of silver were to be paid for each evening's visit. the king's son being rather assiduous in his visits to her place, she became pregnant. aware of her state, the courtesan affected to be sick until her confinement. she directed her servant to throw out the newly-born infant, on a heap of rubbish, in some lonely and distant place. the next morning the king's son, going out with some attendants, chanced to pass close to the spot where the infant had been deposited. his attention having been attracted by the noise of crows hovering close by, he went to see what it was. to his great surprise, he saw an infant, yet breathing, half buried in rubbish. taken with the beauty of this little creature, the prince ordered the child to be carried to the palace, where he was brought up with the greatest care and attention. he was named dzewaka, which means life, because the prince, when he found him, inquired if he was alive. the young lad, having reached the years of discretion, was unwilling to remain in the palace, not occupied with any business. in order to afford relief and comfort to his fellow-creatures, he resolved to study medicine. he repaired to benares, placed himself under the direction of a famous physician, and soon became eminent by his extreme proficiency in the profession. having left his master, and begun practice in his own name and for his own account, dzewaka worked the most wonderful cures, which soon procured to him unbounded wealth and an extraordinary reputation. dzewaka was at the height of his fame, when, on a certain day, buddha happened to be troubled with bellyache. he called ananda and said that he wanted some medicine to relieve him from pain. ananda went to the place where lived the celebrated dzewaka, and informed him of buddha's complaint. the doctor ordered first a rubbing of oil, which was to be repeated three days after. this remedy not having a full effect, dzewaka took three lily flowers, whereupon he spread several powders, and came to buddha, saying, "most glorious phra, here is one lily flower, please to smell it; this will be followed by ten motions. here is a second one; the smelling thereof will produce a similar effect; and this one will cause the same result." having handed over the three flowers, the doctor paid his respects to buddha, turned to the right, and left the monastery. when he was crossing the gate, he thought within himself, "i have given a medicine calculated to cause thirty motions, but as the complaint is rather of a serious and obstinate character, twenty-nine motions only will take place; a warm bath would be required to produce the thirtieth;" and with this reflection he departed. buddha, who saw all that passed in the doctor's mind, called ananda and directed him to prepare a warm bath. a little while after, dzewaka came back to buddha, and explained to him his prescription. buddha was soon restored to his former health, and dzewaka told him that the people were preparing to make him offerings. maukalan went to the son of thauna, a rich man, to get some rice from a field that had been watered with milk. the owner gave rice to maukalan and urged him to partake of it, assuring him that there was some other in reserve for buddha; maukalan assented. after the meal, his patta was cleaned with perfumed water, and filled with the choicest food. maukalan took it to buddha, who ate it. afterwards he preached the law to the king and to an immense crowd; amongst them was thauna's son. they all obtained the first degree of perfection, but thauna reached at once the state of arahat. dzewaka came again to buddha's presence, and requested the favour of presenting him with two splendid pieces of cloth, which he had received in present from a king whom he had cured of a most distressing distemper. moreover, he wished that the rahans should be allowed to receive clothes of a better sort than those they were wont to wear. buddha received the two pieces and preached the law to the donor, who attained the state of thautapan. dzewaka, rising from his place, wheeled to the right and departed. a little while after, gaudama called the rahans and said to them, "beloved bickus, now i give permission to the faithful to make offerings of cloth for your dress.[ ] whoever is pleased with his present dress, let him wear it; whoever is disposed to receive some other from the people, let him do so. but i must praise you for having hitherto been satisfied with the ancient dress." the people of the city having heard of the permission given to the rahans, offered at once more than one hundred thousand pieces of cloth. their example was followed by the people of the country, who made offerings to the same amount. a little while after this, buddha received a deputation from the wethalie people, inviting him to visit their country. here is the reason of the invitation. the country was very rich and flourishing. the malla princes governed it each in turn for a certain space of time. on a sudden a terrific pestilence desolated the land, which was in a short time strewed with dead bodies in every direction. in the midst of so great a calamity some advised to propitiate the nats, by making offerings to them; others said that recourse must be had to the great teachers; a third party insisted upon calling to their aid the great gaudama, who had appeared in this world for the purpose of saving mankind. the last opinion prevailed. having ascertained that he lived at radzagio, a great number of princes, pounhas, and nobles went to radzagio, with great presents for king pimpathara, to induce him to allow the great teacher to come to their country. the object of their mission having become known, buddha agreed to go. he sallied forth from the weloowon monastery, attended by the king as far as the southern bank of the ganges. having reached the northern one, he was received with every possible mark of the highest respect and veneration. as soon as he set his feet in the country, a heavy rain fell which almost deluged the land. the water carried away the dead bodies. the atmosphere was purified, the pestilence ceased, and all the sick recovered. on the fifth day after the full moon of nayon (june), buddha having conferred such a favour to the people of wethalie, left that country and returned to radzagio, which he reached on the full moon of watso (july), just in time to spend the fourth season in the weloowon monastery. here is inserted a short sketch of the manner in which buddha spent his days during the rainy season, as the translator has found in one of the manuscripts before him. each day was divided into five parts, and a certain occupation was reserved to each part. . buddha generally rose at an early hour, a little after daybreak, washed his face, rinsed his mouth, and dressed. he then retired into a private apartment. with his all-seeing eyes, he glanced over all creatures, carefully examined the amount of their merits and demerits, and the real nature of their dispositions. the reason for his taking a survey of the state and condition of all beings was to ascertain the dispositions of the various beings, and discern those who were prepared to hear the preaching of truth from those who, on account of their demerits, were as yet unprepared for receiving beneficially for themselves such a great favour. when this was done, he put on his full canonical dress, and, with the mendicant's pot under his arm, he sallied forth in quest of his food. he invariably directed his steps towards those places where he knew that his preachings would be heard with beneficial results. sometimes he went alone; at other times he was attended with a certain number of his disciples. his countenance bespoke an unaffected modesty and an inimitable mildness. occasionally he allowed a display of wonders to take place. musical instruments emitted, of themselves, sweet tunes, which, revealing to the people the coming of buddha, rejoiced their heart and disposed them to bestow abundant alms, and to hear the preaching of the law. some of the hearers became upasakas, others thautapans, &c., &c., agreeably to every one's disposition. then he returned to his monastery. . as soon as he had arrived, he washed his feet, and during the ablution he had his disciples assembled round him, and said to them, "beloved bickus, be ever watchful and attentive, with a mind ever prone to reflection. it is exceedingly difficult to obtain the nature of man,[ ] to hear the law, to become perfect, to obtain the state of rahanda, and to arrive to the condition of a buddha." he then pointed out to them some subjects of meditation. many of the disciples devoted themselves to mental labour; some combined together manual and mental exertions; others withdrew to lonely places at the foot of certain trees, and into the caves of neighbouring hills. buddha then took his meal, and retired for awhile alone into his own private apartment. when he arose a little after mid-day, he anew contemplated all beings, and fixed his attention on those that were to come and receive his instructions. he soon came out, and at once began to impart instructions to all those that had arrived, from what place soever. when the instruction was completed, the people withdrew. . after the people's departure, buddha bathed and took a walk in the open verandah of the monastery. his mat, cushion, &c., were spread in a becoming and open place. the rahans hastened at that hour to come and communicate freely the result of their mental exertions. when they wanted any explanation, they were encouraged to put him questions, which were instantly answered; and they received submissively the answers which he condescended to give to them. this exercise lasted until it was dark. the disciples retired from their master's presence. . after their departure, the nats and other celestial beings were admitted. buddha conversed with and instructed them until nearly midnight. . buddha then walked awhile to relieve his limbs from extreme lassitude, and went into his apartment to take some rest. he rose very early, and began to review the beings who, during the days of former buddhas, had distinguished themselves by their exertions in the path of virtue and in the high mental attainments. during one of his usual benevolent errands through the country, gaudama converted ouggasena, his wife and companions. here is an abridged narrative of that event. ouggasena was the son of a rich man. in the time of his youth a company of comedians came to radzagio and exhibited during seven days in the presence of king pimpathara and his court. our young man, along with many of his companions, attended the exhibition. on a sudden, he became passionately enamoured of a rope dancing-girl, who performed many feats with accomplished grace and uncommon address. despite his parents' remonstrances and entreaties, he sacrificed to his ungoverned passion all considerations, and he married the damsel. in his new situation, he had no alternative but to learn the art of rope-dancing, tumbling feats, and standing in various attitudes on the extremity of posts or masts, sometimes sixty cubits high. during his noviciate, he had to bear the laughter and taunts of his wife and of his new friends. by dint of exertion he became proficient in the art of performing tumblers' feats with a surprising agility. one day it was announced at the sound of the drum that ouggasena was to perform on the top of a post sixty cubits high. an immense crowd of citizens went out with great eagerness to see the performance. when the amusements had just begun, buddha happened to pass by with a number of disciples. he desired maukalan to go ahead, and begin to preach to ouggasena. soon he came up himself in person, and converted the juggler, who forthwith descended from his mast, prostrated himself before buddha, and asked to be admitted as a member of the assembly. after further instructions he obtained the science of rahanda. his wife and all the company became likewise converts.[ ] buddha had now fulfilled the promise he had formerly made to the ruler of radzagio, to spend three consecutive seasons in his royal city. he went over to the wethalie country, and fixed his residence in a fine place, in the midst of a forest of sala-trees, called mahawon. whilst he enjoyed himself in that place, a quarrel took place between a portion of the people of kappila and that of kaulia, who lived on both banks of the little river rauhani. the cause of the dispute was the irrigation of paddy-fields. the small river had been duly barred, but on account of an unusual drought there was not water enough to supply the quantity required for the fields on both banks. one party wanted to have all the water, the other demurred. hence a dispute arose which, wildfire-like, spread from the banks of the stream all over both countries. a general appeal to arms ensued, and, in a short time, both armies stood facing each other in battle array. at an early hour buddha, having risen from his couch, cast, as usual, a glance over all beings. he soon saw the feud that existed between the country of his birth and that of kaulia. moved with compassion over the miseries which that people, blinded by a furious passion, were bringing upon themselves, he went through the air, and stood over and above the stream which separated the two armies. rays of glory, beaming out of his person, soon attracted general attention. both parties laid down their arms and prostrated themselves, worshipping him. he said to them, "princes and warriors, hearken to my words. which is the most valuable, a small quantity of water or the lives of countless beings, and, in particular, the lives of princes?" they answered, "of course the lives of princes and warriors are most valuable." "if so," retorted buddha, "lay aside your passion, conquer your anger, throw away your weapons of destruction, love each other, and live in peace." both parties, by a low and prolonged tone of voice, expressed their deep regret at what they had done, and their sincere desire to follow his instructions. he preached to them the law in such an impressive and convincing manner that on the spot two hundred and fifty noblemen of kappila and the same number of kaulia asked for admittance among the members of the assembly. the instruction they had heard, and which had determined their vocation, had not had time to cast deep roots in their hearts. they soon regretted their home, their families, and their former gay life. buddha, who saw what was going on in their souls, said to them, "will you come with me, and enjoy yourselves on the green banks of the beautiful lake kontala?" they joyfully accepted the proposal. by the power inherent in his nature, buddha took them through the air, and soon reached the lake. they alighted on its banks. delighted with the beautiful scenery that surrounded them, and ignorant of the new objects which they saw, they interrogated buddha about the names of the new plants and fruits which they perceived. gaudama condescended to answer all their questions. while thus engaged they saw the king of the birds of the lake resting on the branch of a tree. on a sudden five hundred birds of the same kind came crowding round their chief, and, by their cries and various attitudes, testified the happiness which they felt at being in his company. the new converts wondered at the admirable instinct of those birds, and communicated to each other their mutual surprise. as an accomplished teacher, buddha availed himself of the opportune moment, and said to them in a mild manner, "beloved disciples, what you see now and admire is the lively and true image of my family." so effectually was the instruction conveyed that they all at once became thautapan, and no longer thought of returning into the world. by the virtue inherent in their new position, they were enabled to fly through the air, and they returned with buddha into the mahawon residence. on their arrival, buddha began his fifth season in that same place. it was in the middle of that season, in the month of wakhaong (august), that he heard that his father had been seized with a violent distemper, which left him no rest either day or night. sensible of his approaching end, thoodaudana ardently wished to see his son for the last time. in the morning, at the hour when buddha was reviewing all beings, and examining with a compassionate heart their respective condition, he saw the sad and painful position of his royal father. he instantly summoned, by the means of ananda, a select band of disciples, and flying through the air, alighted with his company in front of the palace. without a moment's delay he ascended to the upper apartments, and sat on a place prepared for him, near the head of the couch upon which lay the royal patient. buddha, recollecting himself awhile, and then laying one of his hands on his father's head, said, "by the virtue of the merits i have acquired during countless existences, by the power of the fruits gathered during forty-nine days round the tree bodi, let this head be forthwith relieved from all pain." it happened so in the twinkling of an eye. nan, or nanda, the younger brother of buddha, the son of his aunt patzapati, holding the right hand of his father, said with a fervent earnestness, "by the merits that i have obtained at the feet of buddha, let this right hand be freed from all pain." and perfect cure instantly followed. ananda, phra's first cousin, held the left arm. thariputra laid his hand on the back, maukalan grasped the feet. all of them with a similar faith uttered such like prayers, and the same happy result invariably followed. thoodaudana was delivered from all pain. but he continued to remain very weak. buddha, profiting by that favourable opportunity, preached to his father the law of mutability, and gave him many and truly seasonable instructions on that most important subject. with such a persuasive language did he expound this favourite doctrine that his father became at once a rahanda. at the same time he distinctly informed him that seven days hence the end of his life would inevitably happen. thoodaudana, perfectly prepared for the new change, that is to say, for death, by his son's instructions, and thoroughly resigned, saw before him the true state of neibban, and said, "now i clearly perceive the instability of all things. i am free from all passions. i am completely disentangled from the trammels of existence." rocking himself in the bosom of these comforting truths, he spent happily the few days he had yet to live. on the last day, and for the last time, he paid his respects to buddha by worshipping him. sitting then on his couch, the royal patient humbly asked pardon in the presence of all his attendants for all offences he had committed by thoughts, words, and deeds. having performed this act of sincere humility, he consoled his wife patzapati, who sat bathed in tears, as well as the other members of the royal family, and several times repeated before them the great truth--that all beings, when they come into existence, have within, inherent in their nature, a principle of death that hurries them to their end and dissolution; that the same principle that has brought near and united beings together is always opposed, and at last overpowered by the opposite one that tends to separate them. he then placidly lay on his couch, and gently breathed his last in the day of the full moon of wakhaong, on a saturday, at the rising of the sun, in the year of the eetzana, era , at the advanced age of ninety-seven years. gaudama, after his father's demise, when all the rahans were assembled round the deathbed, said to them: "beloved bickus, behold my father's remains. he is no longer what he was a little while ago. he has undergone the change. no one can offer an effectual and lasting resistance to the principle of death, inherent in all beings. be diligent in the practice of good works: follow steadily the four roads leading to perfection." after this lecture, he consoled his aunt patzapati and the other ladies of the court, who, with dishevelled hair, were wailing aloud and striking their breasts. he minutely explained to them the consequences resulting from the great principle of mutability, which pervades all beings and infallibly leads them to destruction by the separation of their constitutive parts. when the instruction was finished, buddha directed kathaba to go and prepare the spot on which the funeral and cremation of the corpse were to take place. aided by thariputra, he washed the corpse, which was subsequently placed in great state, on a magnificent and lofty catafalco, raised for the purpose. the princes of thekkara, thoopawa, and weritzara, came to attend the royal funeral and offer presents. the corpse was carried processionally through the principal streets of the city at the sound of all musical instruments. buddha, in person, received the corpse, and laid it on the funeral pile. to no one else would he leave the honourable and pious task of setting fire to it. on that occasion there took place an indescribable outburst of wailings and lamentings. the impassible buddha preached the law on that occasion. he left aside all praises in behalf of the deceased. he was satisfied with announcing the law; and countless beings, both among men and nats, obtained the deliverance. after the loss of her royal husband, queen patzapati, profoundly impressed with all that she had seen and heard, desired to renounce the world and embrace a religious mode of life. for that purpose she came to the presence of buddha, and asked three times the permission to follow her inclination and become rahaness. three times the solicited favour was denied her. buddha then left his own native country and returned to wethalie, fixing his abode in the gutagaia-thala monastery, in the mahawon forest. buddha had not been long in this place when he had to grant the request which he at first refused to his aunt patzapati. the wives of the princes of the kappila and kaulia countries, who, to the number of , had recently renounced the world, desired also to follow the example set before them by their husbands. they went to the queen's apartments and communicated to her their design, entreating her to help them in obtaining the object of their wishes. patzapati not only promised them her support, but expressed the determination to join their company. as a token of the sincerity and earnestness of their resolution, all the ladies, without the least hesitation, cut their beautiful black hair, put on a dress in accordance with their pious intentions, and resolutely set out on foot in the direction of the wethalie country. unused to such bodily exertions, the pious pilgrims suffered much during their long journey. at last, worn out with fatigue, covered with dust, they arrived near the mahawon monastery. they respectfully stopped at the gate, and requested an interview with ananda. the latter, having ascertained from their own mouth the object of their pious and fatiguing errand, hastened into the presence of buddha, and entreated him to grant the earnest and praiseworthy demand of his aunt and of the other ladies, her companions. on hearing the request, buddha, for a while, remained silent, as if deliberating on the answer he had to give. then he said: "ananda, it is not expedient to allow women to embrace the religious state; otherwise my institutions shall not last long." ananda, undismayed by that reply, respectfully reminded buddha of all the favours he had received from patzapati, who had nursed and brought him up with the utmost care and tenderness, from the day his mother died, when he was but seven days old, and represented with a fervent earnestness the good dispositions of the pious postulants. buddha's scruples were overcome by the persuasive language of the faithful ananda. he asked whether women could observe the eight precepts: and added, that in case they would consent to bind themselves to a correct observance of them, they might be admitted as members of the assembly. fully satisfied with the answer he had obtained, the venerable ananda saluted buddha, and hastened to the gate of the monastery, where his return was impatiently awaited. on hearing the good news, patzapati, in the name of her companions, spoke to ananda: "venerable ananda, we all rejoice that the favour so often asked for has been at last granted unto us. as a young maid, who has bathed, and washed her hair, is anxiously desirous to put on her fine ornaments, as she receives with delight the beautiful and fragrant nosegays that are offered to her, so we are longing for the eight precepts, and wish for admittance into the assembly." they all promised to observe the rules of their new profession to the end of their lives. yathaudara and dzanapada-kaliani were among these converts. they all, owing to their former meritorious works, became subsequently rahandas. one of the new female converts seemed to have retained as yet a certain admiration of and fondness for her handsome features, and secretly prided herself on her beauty. buddha, who quickly perceived the latent enemy lurking in the folds of her heart, resorted to the following expedient to correct her. on a certain day, when the proud and vain woman was in his presence, he created in an instant a consummate beauty, who as much exceeded her in perfection of form as the snow-white swan surpasses the black crow. whilst she looked on this suddenly appearing rival with somewhat jealous eyes, buddha caused the beauty of his creation to appear on a sudden very old, with a wrinkled face and an emaciated frame, and to exhibit on her person all the various and disgusting inroads which the most loathsome diseases make on the human body. the change acted as an electric shock on the young religious woman. when gaudama perceived the change, and that she was so horrified at such a sight that she was nearly fainting, he said to her: "behold, my daughter, the faithful foreshowing of what shall inevitably happen to that form you are so proud of." he had scarcely spoken those words, when she was instantly and for ever cured of her vanity. buddha left wethalie and went on the makula mountain, where he spent his sixth season. during his stay in that place thousands of people were converted and obtained the deliverance. at the end of that season, buddha went to radzagio, and stayed in the weloowon monastery. it was at that time that kema, the first queen of king pimpathara, proud of her rank, youth, and beauty, was at last converted. up to that time she had obstinately refused to see buddha and hear his doctrine. on a certain day, the queen went to visit a garden which was in the neighbourhood of the weloowon grove. by a contrivance of the king, her husband, she was brought, almost against her will, into the presence of buddha, who worked out the spiritual cure of her foolish vanity by a process similar to the one above mentioned. he caused a beautiful female of his creation to pass successively, in the queen's presence, through the various stages of old age, disease, and death. her mind having been thus well prepared to hear his instructions, buddha gave her a lengthened explanation of the miseries attending the body. it had the desirable effect to convert her in so perfect a manner that she entered into the current of perfection, and became thautapan. after having obtained the consent of her lord, she was, upon her pressing solicitations, admitted into the religious order. she became a rahanda, and among the female members of the assembly she ranked as the disciple of the right. such a glorious charge was owing to her former merits. on a certain day, a rich man of the country of radzagio went to enjoy himself on the banks of the river ganges. that man was not a disciple of buddha, nor did he hold the doctrines of the opposite party. he steered a middle course between both doctrines, with a mind disposed, however, to embrace such opinions as should appear to him based on the best and strongest evidence. chance offered him a favourable opportunity to acknowledge the superiority of buddha over his opponents. he saw a log of sandal-wood floating on the stream, took it up, and had a beautiful patta made of it. when finished, he wrote upon it these words, "he who can fly in the air let him take it." the patta was raised on the top of a succession of hampers, tied together, and sixty cubits high. some heretics living in the neighbourhood asked on successive occasions the rich man to get down the patta for them; he answered them that he would give it only to him who by flight could reach it. the head man of those heretics feigned to prepare himself to fly; but when he was extending his arms, and raising one of his feet, his disciples, according to a preconcerted plan, seized him, saying, "it is not becoming that you should exert yourself for such a trifle." but the wily rich man could not be thus deceived; he persisted in his former resolution, and for six days resisted all their entreaties. on the seventh day maukalan happened to go to that place in search of his food. he was informed of all that had just happened. he was, moreover, told that the rich man and all his family would become disciples under him who could by flight possess himself of the sandal-wood patta. maukalan was ready, for the glory of buddha, to raise himself in the air, but his companion refused to allow him to do it, saying that such an easy work could easily be accomplished by one less advanced in merits. maukalan agreed to his proposal. whereupon entering into the fourth state of dzan, his companion rose in the air, carrying with the toes of one of his feet an enormous rock three-quarters of a youdzana wide. the whole space between him and the bystanders appeared darkened. every one was half dead with fear, lest, perhaps, it should fall over his head. maukalan's companion had the rock split into two parts, and his person then appeared to the view of the assembled crowd. after having during a whole day exhibited such a mighty power, he caused the rock to fall on the place he had taken it from. the rich man bade him come down, fully satisfied with the display of such power. the sandal-wood patta was taken down, filled with the best rice, and presented to him. the rahan received it and went back to his monastery. many persons living at a distance from the place where the wonder had been exhibited, followed him to the monastery, begging him to show some other signs. as they approached the monastery, buddha hearing the noise, inquired what it was. he was informed of all the particulars of the event that had just taken place. he called the rahan into his presence, took the patta, had it broken into pieces and reduced to dust.[ ] he then forbade the rahan ever to make such a display of his power. the heretics soon heard of the prohibition issued by gaudama to his disciples. they thought that no one would dare to match them in the display of wonders, and that they could easily ascertain their superiority over him. the ruler of radzagio, hearing of this news, went to buddha and inquired as to his motive for such a prohibition. buddha told him that the prohibition regarded his disciples only, but not himself. the heretics, informed of this, said, "what will become of us? gaudama himself will show signs." they held a council among themselves as to what was to be done. gaudama told the king that in four months he would make a grand display of his miraculous power in the country of thawattie, as it was in that place that all former buddhas had in former ages showed signs. the heretics from that day never lost sight of buddha for a moment; they followed him day and night. they gave orders that a large and extensive covered place should be prepared for them, where they might show their power and outshine that of the rahan gaudama. buddha having said that he would select the spot where a white mango-tree stood for the scene of his miracles, the heretics caused the total destruction of all mango-trees in that direction. on the full moon of tabaong (february), gaudama left radzagio, attended by a large retinue of disciples. he went to preach in different parts. on the seventh of the waxing moon of watso he entered the country of thawattie. a gardener gave him by way of present a large mango fruit. ananda prepared the fruit and buddha ate it. when this was done, the stone was handed to ananda with an injunction to plant it in a place prepared to receive it. when planted, buddha washed his hands over it, and on a sudden there sprang up a beautiful white mango-tree, fifty cubits high, with large branches loaded with blossoms and fruits. to prevent its being destroyed, a guard was set near it by the king's order. dismayed at such a wonderful sign, the heretics fled in every direction to conceal their shame and confusion. their head man, named pourana, took from a husbandman a large jar with a rope, tied up the vessel with one extremity of the rope, passed the other round his neck, and flinging first the jar and next himself into the river, where the water was very deep, he was drowned, and went to the lowest hell, called awidzi. buddha created in the air an immense road, reaching east and west to the extremities of the world. when the sun began to verge towards the west, he thought the time had come to ascend to that road in the presence of an immense crowd, that covered an area of thirty-six youdzanas, and there make a display of his wonderful powers. he was on the point of crossing the threshold of the building that had been erected for him by the care of nats, when a female convert, named garamie, who had become an anagam, came into his presence, and after the usual prostrations said to him, "glorious buddha, it is not necessary that you should take the trouble of working wonders; i, your servant, will do it." "what wonder will you work, my daughter, garamie?" replied buddha. "i will," said garamie, "fill up the space with water, and plunging into the water in an eastern direction, i will come back, and reappear in the west like a water-fowl. on my appearance before the crowd they will ask, what is this water-fowl? and i will answer to them, that this water-fowl is garamie, the daughter of the most excellent buddha. this is the wonder i will accomplish. the heretics, on seeing it, will say to themselves, if such be the power of garamie, how much greater and more wonderful must be that of buddha himself?" "i know," said buddha, "that you have such a power, but it is not for your sake that these crowds have been gathered together;" and he refused the solicited permission. garamie said to herself, buddha would not allow me to work this great wonder, but there is some one else that can do greater things than i; perhaps buddha will not be so inflexible with them as he is with me. she then withdrew to a becoming place. buddha thought within himself, there are many among my disciples who can make a display of great wonders; it is meet that the crowds should be aware of it, and see how, with hearts stout as that of the lion, they are ready to perform the most wonderful feats. he said aloud, "who are they that can do wonders? let them come forward." many came into his presence with a lion-like boldness and a thundering voice, craving for the honour of displaying supernatural powers. among them was a rich man, named anatapein; a female child, called tsera; a grown-up woman, and maukalan. they volunteered their services to perform the most extraordinary wonders, in order both to frighten the heretics, and make them understand that, if such a power belonged to the disciples, what that of buddha himself must be. but buddha would not accept their proffered services, and said to them that the people had not been assembled there for their sake, but for his; and that to him alone was reserved the task of enrapturing the crowds by the great wonders he was preparing to show. addressing maukalan, he said to him that, being a buddha, he could not leave to others the trouble of performing his own duty. in a former existence, when he was a bullock, he drew from a muddy place a heavily-laden cart, to save a brahmin's property and rejoice his heart. buddha ascended to the immense road which he had created in the air in the presence of the crowd, that filled a place of eighteen youdzanas in breadth and twenty-four in length. these wonders which he was about to display were the result of his own wisdom, and could not be imitated by any one. he caused a stream of water to issue from the upper part of his body and flames of fire from the lower part, and on a sudden the reverse to take place; again fire issued from his right eye, and streams of water from his left eye, and so on from his nostrils, ears, right and left, in front and behind. the same wonder too happened in such a way that the streams of fire succeeded the streams of water, but without mingling with each other. each stream in an upward direction reached the seats of brahmas; each stream in a downward direction penetrated as far as hell; each in a horizontal direction reached the extremities of the world. from each of his hairs the same wonderful display feasted the astonished eyes of the assembled people. the six glories gushed, as it were, from every part of his body, and, made it appear resplendent beyond description. having no one to converse with, he created a personage, who appeared to walk with him. sometimes he sat down, while his companion was pacing along; and at other times he himself walked, whilst his interlocutor was either standing or sitting. all the while buddha put to him questions which he readily answered, and in his turn replied to the interrogations that were made to him. at intervals phra preached to the crowd, who were exceedingly rejoiced, and sung praises to him. according to their good dispositions, he expounded the various points of the law. the people who heard him and saw the wonderful works he performed, obtained the understanding of the four great principles. buddha, having completed the twofold work of preaching to the crowds, and exciting their respect and admiration by the most astonishing display of the most extraordinary miracles, began to think within himself as follows: to what place have all former buddhas resorted after the display of signs, and spent the season? he saw by a stretch of his incomparable foresight that all of them had gone to the seat of tawadeintha, in the nats' country, to announce the perfect law to their mothers. he resolved to go thither too. with one step he reached the summit of the mountain ugando, at a distance of , youdzanas, and another step carried him to the top of the mienmo mountain. this was done without any effort on the part of buddha. those mountains lowered their summits to the very spot where he was standing, and rose up again to resume their lofty position. buddha found himself brought almost instantaneously to the seat of tawadeintha.[ ] he took his position on the immense rock pantukambala. when he lay extended there upon his tsiwaran, the huge mass on a sudden contracted itself to the very narrow dimensions of his dress. the people who had seen buddha, and who could not now descry him, found themselves in a state of bereavement, as if the sun and the moon had disappeared from the sky. they gave full vent to their cries and lamentations, saying: we are now deprived of the blessed presence of him who is the most excellent among the three sorts of beings, men, nats, and brahmas. some said he has gone to this place; some replied, no, he has gone to that place. many of the people, who had just arrived from different parts of the country, were exceedingly grieved, because they could not see him. they all repaired before maukalan, to ascertain from him what place buddha had gone to. maukalan knew it, but he wished to leave to anourouda the honour of satisfying their curiosity. the latter said to them that buddha had gone to the seat of tawadeintha to preach the law to his mother, and spend there one season on the rock of pantukambala. he added, that he would be back in three months hence, on the day of the full moon of thadin-kioot (october). they came to the spontaneous resolution to remain on that very spot, and not to return to their homes, until they had seen buddha a second time. they erected temporary sheds; and, though the place was small for such a countless multitude, they managed to accommodate themselves in the best way they could. previous to his departure, buddha had enjoined on maukalan to remain with the people and preach to them the law. maukalan faithfully complied with the request, and during three consecutive months instructed the people, and answered all their questions. the rich man anatapein fed the rahans and the assembly abundantly during the whole time. footnotes [ ] it is impossible to assign the motive that induced the compiler of buddha's life to insert in his work a long episode on the celebrated physician dzewaka. the story is in itself uninteresting, and throws no light whatever on the history of the supposed originator or reformer of buddhism. for this reason it has been thought quite unnecessary to give a complete translation of the whole passage. the name of dzewaka is quite familiar to the adepts of the medical art in burmah. many times the writer has made inquiries respecting the works of the hippocrates of india, but he has never been able to meet with mention of or allusion to such compositions. hence he has been led to suppose that the father of medicine in these countries has left behind him no writings to embody the results of his theoretical and practical favourite pursuits. surgery appears to have been no novelty with our great doctor, since we see him on an occasion extracting from the body of a prince, by means of an incision, a snake that put his life in peril. the numerous quacks who in burmah assume the name of physicians, and are ever ready to give medicines in all cases, even the most difficult and complicated, are ignorant of the very elements of the surgical art. they possess a certain number of remedies, made up of plants, which, when applied under proper circumstances and in certain cases, work wonderful cures. but the native physicians, unable in most instances to discern the true symptoms of diseases, prescribe remedies at random, and obtain, in too many cases, results most fatal to the unfortunate patient. in medicine as well as in religion, ignorance begets superstition and recourse to magical practices. we may positively assert that the black art is, with native practitioners, an essential concomitant to the practice of medicine. when a physician has exhausted the limited stock of remedies that he possesses, and he finds, in spite of his exertions, that the disease bids defiance to his skill, he gravely tells the relatives of the patient that some evil spirit is interfering with his remedies, and that he must be expelled ere there can be any chance of relieving the sufferer and obtaining his recovery. whereupon a shed is erected with the utmost speed on a spot close to the house of the patient. offerings of rice, fruits, and other articles are made to the pretended evil spirit, who is supposed to have got hold of the sufferer's body. dances of the most frantic character are carried on by his relatives. males will only officiate in default of females; preference is always given to the latter. young girls, say the burmese, are the fittest persons for the occasion, as it is supposed that the evil nat is more effectually and easily propitiated by the power of their charms. this exercise lasts until, strength at last failing them, they drop down in a state of complete exhaustion and prostration. they appear as if they had entirely lost their senses. in that state they are supposed to be inspired by the evil spirit. interrogated by the physician on the nature of the disease, and the proper remedies to be applied for eradicating it, they give answers, or rather they become channels through which the spirit, satisfied with the offerings made in his honour, condescends to declare that he has now left the patient, and that by placing him under a certain treatment, which he fails not to indicate, he will soon recover his health. occurrences of this nature are exceedingly common. they are called by the natives festivals of the _nat-pan_, or of the possessing spirit. [ ] the first followers of buddha, observing a mode of life much resembling that of the rathees, had hitherto made use of the dress they had purchased previous to their leaving the world. but when they became professed members of the new society, they were subjected to the observance of the vow of strict poverty, and had to depend entirely on public charity for the obtaining of the required food and raiment. the old clothes brought at the time of their entering the society were worn out and unfit to be put on. others were to be provided for by some means that would not wound the delicate feeling of absolute poverty. the only one that occurred was the willing and liberal dispositions of the lay members of the buddhist community. this new source of abundant alms was opened by our buddha himself, on the occasion of the offering made by dzewaka. desiring likewise to do away with the scruples many religious might entertain respecting the lawfulness or unlawfulness of receiving articles of dress, gaudama laid it down as a regulation that all the religious could lawfully accept all that might be willingly offered them by the faithful. in the foregoing pages we have seen the founder of buddhism granting to his followers permission to receive houses and landed properties presented to communities. now the same legislator, adhering to the same principle, gives a fuller development thereto, and extends to articles necessary for dress the leave to receive offerings of this description, proffered by the faithful to the religious. in the book of buddhist ordinations, or promotion to the degree of patzin, mention is made of these two sorts of permissions given to the rahans. [ ] it was at that moment that gaudama delighted to reveal to his disciples the most startling points of his doctrine, and made them familiar with certain tenets upon which he laid much stress. he wished that what he looked upon as subjects of the greatest importance, should be come familiar to them. no doubt he intended that those favourite topics should become the spiritual food upon which his disciples' minds should feed during the hours devoted to meditation. those who are uninitiated in the doctrines of buddhism will not understand the meaning of such an expression. it is difficult to obtain the nature of man. such language is, however, in perfect accordance with the principles of that system. a being, who is in one of the four states of punishment, that of an animal, for instance, shall have, in many instances, to pass through an immense number of various existences, ere he can escape from the circle of animal existences, and at last emerge into that of man. to give us an idea of the excessive difficulties a being has to encounter, they make use of the following comparison. let us suppose that a needle be dropped from one of the seats of brahmas, and at the same time a man on earth be keeping another needle with the point upwards. it will be more easy for the two needles' extremities to come in contact one with the other, than it will be to a being in the condition of animal to reach the state of man. on the same principle one can easily imagine what mighty efforts must be made during countless existences ere a simple man can obtain all the qualifications necessary for enabling him to become a buddha. the theory of gaudama, on this point, resembles much that of some modern thinkers who preach the perfectibility of man to an almost infinite degree. [ ] the conversion of ouggasena and of his companions, procured by the direct intervention of buddha himself, is another instance of the truly liberal spirit which animated the great preacher. his law was intended for all without exception. the profession of these individuals whom he so peculiarly selected was far from being a respectable one. the proud brahmin would not have condescended to take notice of people who, in his opinion, had degraded themselves so low. but the new teacher, though born from parents belonging to a high caste, entirely free from the prejudices inculcated by the narrow spirit of caste, rose himself to such a high position as to look upon man, whatever his condition or position might be, as a fellow-being fully entitled to the benefit of his instructions. this is one of the most striking features of his preachings, its universality as regards persons and places. it enables us to account for the rapid and astonishing diffusion of his doctrines through so many countries. it constitutes the essential and capital difference between the two great systems which, in days long passed by, have contested for the religious supremacy over the indian peninsula. in the subsequent story of thoodaudana's illness, we see buddha first, then ananda, thariputra, and maukalan relieving the illustrious patient from his bodily distemper, by invoking, not the interference of a supreme being, whom they ignore, but a certain power or influence connected with former good deeds. a great, nay, a miraculous, effect is produced by the agency of a cause which no one but a buddhist can understand. he has recourse to _kan_, or the influence resulting from meritorious actions, as to a mighty agent who has the power to work any desired result whatever. but how a man can by his own will control the influence of his good actions, so as to produce a grand effect in no way short of a miracle, is a thing which can in no rational way be explained or accounted for. [ ] the rebuke given by buddha to the disciple who had, without permission, made such a display of miraculous power, intended though it was for the promotion of his glory, was designed to operate as a salutary check on the pride that might find its way into the heart of even the most privileged beings. such a lesson was deemed of the greatest importance, since we find in the book of buddhistic ordinations the sin of boasting of or pretending to the power of working wonders, &c., ranked among the four capital sins, excluding a rahan for ever from the society of the perfect, and depriving him of his rank and dignity. buddha, it seems, wished to reserve to himself alone the honour of working miracles, or to give the permission, when circumstances should require it, to some of his disciples to do the same in his name and for the exaltation of his religion. the following story of purana and his five associates holds a prominent rank among the events that have rendered buddha so celebrated. gaudama, as it has been already mentioned in some foregoing notes, was an ascetic who had studied philosophy under eminent masters who belonged to the brahminical school. in many of his opinions, as well as in his mode of life, there was no perceptible difference between him and the followers of the brahmins. the writings of the latter, as well as those of the earliest buddhists, exhibit to us the sight of a great number of schools; where opinions on ontology, morals, and dogmas, &c., at once various, multifarious, and opposite, were publicly taught. then the human mind, left to its own resources, launching forth into the boundless field of speculative philosophy, ran in every direction, searching after truth. the mania for arguing, defining, drawing conclusions, &c., in those days, prevailed to an extent scarcely to be credited. many centuries before aristotle wrote the rules of dialectics, the indian philosophers had carried the art of reasoning to a great degree of nicety and shrewdness. witness the disputes and discussions between the brahmins and the immediate disciples of buddha. when our phra began to attract about his person crowds of hearers and disciples; when his opinions on the end of man were understood and appreciated; when the system of castes received the first shock from the new but rapidly progressing doctrine; when the eyes and hearts of the people were slowly at first, and rapidly afterwards, centred on the new preacher and his disciples; when at last alms, that had hitherto flowed into the abodes of the brahmins, began to enter into new channels and carry their substantial produce to the door of the followers of the new sect, then jealousy and other passions began to agitate the hearts of those who had hitherto retained an undisputed sway over the credulity of the people. they tried, if credit be given to the works of buddhists, every effort and devised every means in order to oppose the progress of the new doctrine. in this instance, purana and his friends, assisted, as the buddhists pretend, by the agency of the evil one, wished to enter into discussion with buddha and to surpass him in the display of miraculous power. the contest was to take place in the country of thawattie, in the presence of the king and of a countless multitude assembled for the purpose. purana, as usual with buddhists in regard to those who held opinions different from their own, is styled a heretic. of the opinions of the enemies of buddha nothing is said in the present work, but the writer has had the opportunity of perusing another work where a slight allusion is made to those six holders of heterodox doctrines. their opinions were at variance on the beginning of this world, the eternity of matter, the existence of the soul, and a first principle, creator of all that exists. we may infer therefrom that they were heads or chiefs of various schools, who, though not agreeing among themselves upon purely speculative doctrines, united and combined against the common enemy. a detailed account of the doctrines held by these six heretics would prove highly interesting, as it would throw some light on the very obscure and imperfectly known history of indian philosophy, in the days when buddhism assumed the shape of a religious system. to those who are unacquainted with indian literature, the great progress made by hindus in philosophical sciences at such an early period may appear somewhat doubtful: but modern discoveries made all over the indian peninsula leave not the least doubt respecting this startling assertion. at a period when greece and the other regions of europe were sunk in a state of complete ignorance, most of the branches of literature were successfully cultivated on the banks of the ganges. the study of philosophy always supposes a great intellectual advancement. there would, therefore, be no rashness whatever in asserting that the present state and condition of india, as regards literary progress, are much below the mark that was attained at such a remote period. the epoch of literary decadence began with the devastating expeditions of the fanatical moslem in the tenth century. it is probable, too, that the religious and sanguinary conflicts between the buddhists and brahminists have had their share in bringing about a similar result. the latter, having obtained the ascendancy over their adversaries, became more bigoted. they would no longer tolerate, to the same extent as before, the liberty of elaborating new systems, lest some successful philosopher might hereafter propagate opinions at variance with their own, undermine the mighty fabric of their creed, and endanger the holding of that absolute sway and paramount influence they had recovered, after centuries of a deadly contest with the disciples of the philosopher of kapilawot. [ ] the preachings of buddha were not to be confined to the narrow limits of man's abode; they were designed to reach much further. all beings living in the six seats of nats were to share with men the blessings of the publication of the perfect law. it has been already stated at length, in a foregoing note, that the condition of nats is merely a state of pleasure and enjoyment allotted to those who in former existences had done some meritorious work. the fortunate inhabitants of these celestial regions remain in those seats until the sum of their respective merits being, as it were, exhausted, they return to the abode of man, the true place of probation for all beings living therein. the condition of nat, therefore, is not a permanent one; the nat, after his time of reward is over, has to migrate to our terrestrial abode, begin a new existence, and endeavour to advance himself in the way of perfection by the practice of virtue. he is as yet very far from the state of neibban. like man, he has to learn the sublime law, and to become acquainted with the roads leading to the four high perfections. buddha, who came to announce the law of salvation to all beings, could not but go to the seats of nats, and teach them the way to free themselves from the turmoil of never-ending existence. the preachings of buddha for three consecutive months were attended with a success that must have exceeded his most sanguine expectations. millions of nats were converted, and forthwith obtained the deliverance. others less advanced in merits obtained the first, or second, or third state of perfection. during his stay in the other seats of nats, buddha gave a decision on the merits of almsgiving, which is certainly to the advantage of the yellow-dressed bickus, but appears somewhat opposed to all principles of justice and reason. in his opinion the inward dispositions of him who gives alms has nothing to do with the merits resulting from such a good work. those merits are strictly proportionate to the degree of sanctity or perfection of him who receives alms. such doctrine, destructive of the purest and noblest motives that can actuate man to do good, is openly upheld now both in theory and practice by the buddhist monks. when they receive alms from the admirers of their saintly mode of life, they never think of returning thanks to those who so liberally administer to all their material wants; they content themselves with saying, thadoo, thadoo; that is to say, well, well; and the pious offerer withdraws perfectly satisfied and happy, relying on the merits he has gained on this occasion, and longing for another opportunity of doing the like. the liberality of the laity towards the religious is carried to an excess scarcely to be credited. government do not interfere in the maintenance of the perfect, and yet they are abundantly supplied with all the necessaries, nay, the luxuries, of life. they live on the fat of the land. that the crowds of people might be better prepared for hearing the sacred law and obtaining a correct understanding of it, buddha charges maukalan to a regular fast, or at least abstinence, carried to a considerable degree. a free and copious use of nourishing substances unfits man for mental exertions, occasions in him heaviness and supineness, enervates and weakens the vigour of the intellect, and gives to matter a preponderating influence over the soul. the advice will hold good everywhere, but it becomes particularly pressing and stringent when addressed to an audience of buddhists, who require the full force of their mind to be able to understand the various bearings of a doctrine resting on the most abstruse principles, the end of which too is to disentangle the soul from the influence of materiality. up to this day in burmah there are some remnants of the observance of fast during the three months of lent, when the law is oftener expounded to and better observed by religious people. the obligation of fasting during the days of the quarters of the moon is generally admitted, and some few observe it, if not always, at least from time to time. the generality of the burmese people entirely disregard fasting. curious but interesting is the reply buddha gave to thariputra, who rejoiced exceedingly because men and nats vied with each other in paying great honours to him. he unhesitatingly states: blessed are all those who rejoice on his account. by this joy we ought not to understand the transient and momentary affection of the heart, elicited by some pleasing and agreeable occurrence; but the kind of joy alluded to is a rational, philosophical, and religious one, having its origin, first, in a full and perfect knowledge of buddha's transcendent excellence, rendering his person an object of the highest admiration; and, second, in a lively confidence in his benevolence and goodness towards all beings, which urge him to labour for their deliverance from all miseries and their guidance to a state of peace and rest. such a joy, diffused over the heart, creates an ardent love for buddha and his doctrine; that affection rests, not on buddha, as a mere individual, but on him who is the personification of a saviour of all beings. it implies faith in him and his preachings, as well as a strong confidence in his power and willingness to confer the greatest possible benefits. hence there is no wonder to hear buddha declaring all those blessed who on that solemn occasion rejoiced in him. chapter x. _buddha's proceedings in the seat of tawadeintha -- his triumphant return to the seat of men, in the city of thin-ka-tha -- he is calumniated by the heretics of thawattie -- eighth season spent in the forest of tesakala -- subsequent preachings -- he meets with a bad reception in the kothambi country -- dissension among the disciples -- reconciliation -- travels of buddha -- preaching to a pounha who tilled a field._ while buddha was in the seat of tawadeintha all the nats came from more than ten thousand worlds to his presence; but the glory that always encompasses their bodies disappeared, or was completely outshone by that of buddha's person. his mother, a daughter of nats, came from the seat of toothita to see her son and hear his instructions. she sat on his right. two sons of nats stood by the right and left of his mother. the crowd was so great that it covered a surface of eighteen youdzanas. in that immense assembly two nats were conspicuous by their particular demeanour and position. one of them stood so close to buddha as to touch almost one of his knees, the other was standing in a respectful position afar off. buddha asked the latter what he had done to deserve the place he occupied. he answered that, during former existences, he had made abundant alms indeed, but his merits had been comparatively small, because he had not done those good works to persons eminent for their sanctity. the same question was put to the other nat, who said that he was, in a former existence, living in very narrow circumstances, but that he had had the good fortune of giving alms, according to his limited means, to persons who were much advanced in merits. with a voice that was heard by the crowds on the seat of men, buddha proclaimed the immense advantage of giving alms to and supporting the rahans and those advanced in perfection. they were, said he, like good seed sown on a good field, that yields an abundance of good fruits. but alms given to those who are as yet under the tyrannical yoke of passions are like a seed deposited in a bad soil; the passions of the receiver of alms choke, as it were, the growth of merits. at the conclusion, the two nats obtained the reward of thautapan. the crowds on earth had also the benefit of hearing his instructions. whilst buddha was in the middle of the nats, he announced the law of abidama to his mother. having to go about to get his food, buddha created a likeness of another buddha, whom he commissioned to continue the preaching of the abidama. as to himself, he went to the mountain of himawonta, ate the tender branches of a certain tree, washed his face in the lake anawadat, and partook of the food he received from the northern island. thariputra went thither to render him all necessary services. when he had eaten his meal, he called thariputra, and desired him to go and preach the law of abidama to five hundred rahans, who were present when the display of wonders took place, and were much pleased with it. in the time of the buddha kathaba those five hundred rahans were bats, living in a cave much resorted to by rahans, who were wont to repeat the abidama. those bats contrived to retain a certain number of words, the meaning whereof they could not understand. when they died, they were transferred into one of the seats of nats; and when they became men anew, they had the good fortune to be born from illustrious parents, in the country of thawattie, and when phra showed his powers, they were much pleased. they became rahans under thariputra, and were the first to understand perfectly the sublime law of abidama. as to buddha, he returned to the seat of tawadeintha and continued the instructions, where the buddha of his creation had left them. at the end of three months' preaching, an innumerable number of nats knew and understood the four great principles. as to his mother, she obtained the perfection of thautapan. the time when buddha was to return to the seat of men was near at hand. the crowds, eager to know the precise time when buddha was to come back among them, went to maukalan to ascertain from him the precise day on which they would be blessed with his presence. "well," said maukalan to the people, "in a very short time i will give you an answer on the subject of your inquiry." that very instant he plunged to the bottom of the earth and reappeared, but when he was at the foot of the mienmo mountain, he ascended, in the view of the crowd whom he had left, and soon arrived in the presence of buddha, to whom he explained the object of his errand. "my son," answered buddha, "in what country does your brother thariputra spend his season?" "in the city of thin-ka-tha," replied maukalan. "well," said buddha, "seven days hence, at the full moon of thadin-kioot (october), i will descend near the gate of thin-ka-tha city; go and tell the people that those who desire to see me must go to that country, distant thirty youdzanas from thawattie. let no one take any provision; but by a rigorous abstinence let them dispose themselves to hear the law that i will preach." maukalan, having paid his respects to buddha, returned to the place where the assembled multitude anxiously waited for him. he related to them all the particulars regarding his interview with buddha, and conveyed to them the much-wished-for intelligence of his speedy return on earth. on the day of the full moon of thadin-kioot (october), buddha disposed himself to go down to the seat of men. he called a prince of thagias and directed him to prepare everything for his descent. complying with his request, the thagia prepared three ladders or stairs, one made of precious stones, occupying the middle; one on the right made of gold; and a third, made of silver, on the left. the foot of each ladder rested on the earth, near to the gate of thin-ka-tha city, and their summits leaned on the top of the mienmo mountain. the middle ladder was for buddha, the golden one for the nats, and that of silver for the brahmas. having reached the summit of the steps, buddha stopped awhile, and resolved to make a fresh display of his power. he looked upwards, and all the superior seats of brahmas were distinctly descried; on his looking downwards, his eyes could see and plunge into the bottom of the earth to the lowest hell. the nats of more than a thousand systems could see each other. men could perceive nats in their fortunate seats, and nats saw men in their terrestrial abode. the six glories streamed forth with an incomparable splendour from buddha's person, which became visible to all the crowds. there was not one who did not praise buddha. having the nats on his right, and the brahmas on his left, the most glorious phra began his triumphant coming down. he was preceded by a nat, holding a harp in his hands and playing the most melodious tunes; another nat fanned him; a chief of brahmas held over him a golden umbrella. surrounded with that brilliant _cortège_, buddha descended near the gate of thin-ka-tha city, and stopped there for awhile. thariputra came forthwith into the presence of buddha, paid him his respects at a becoming distance, and said, with a heart overflowing with joy: "on this day, o most glorious buddha, all the nats and men are showing their love to you." buddha replied: "blessed is thariputra, and blessed are all those who rejoice on my account. men and nats love him who is acquainted with the sublime law, who has put an end to his passions, and who has attained to the highest state of contemplation." at the end of his discourse, innumerable beings understood the four great principles, and the five hundred rahans whom thariputra was commissioned to instruct reached the state of arahat. on the spot where all buddhas set their feet, when coming from the seat of tawadeintha, a dzedi[ ] has always been erected. buddha, on leaving thin-ka-tha, shaped his course towards wethalie, and took his abode in the dzetawon monastery. the fame of the wonders he had performed increased his reputation, and elicited from the people fresh tokens of respect and veneration. alms poured from all quarters into the monastery; the liberality of the people towards his person and that of his disciples expanded in a wonderful manner. the heretics, who swarmed in wethalie and its neighbourhood, became exceedingly jealous of buddha's successes. the loss which they sustained in the donations of the people added fuel to the inward discontent. they resolved to devise some means to lower the character of buddha in the opinion of the people. after a long deliberation, they fixed on the following plan:--a certain woman of great beauty, but of a rather doubtful character, was induced to join them in accusing gaudama of having violated her. she contrived to assume the appearance of a person in a state of pregnancy, and, covering herself with a piece of red cloth, she went about the town spreading evil reports respecting buddha's character. she had the impudence even to go into the dzetawon monastery, and ask buddha to provide a place for her approaching confinement, and likewise maintenance for herself and the child she was by him pregnant with. such an infamous calumny did not, however, move him in the least. conscious of his innocence, he lost nothing of his usual composure and serenity. but by the interference of the thagia the slander was made manifest. two mice bit the strings that kept tied up on the abdomen the apparatus designed to prop up the deceit, and, on a sudden, the whole fell on the ground, proclaiming at once the innocence of the sage and smiting his enemies with confusion. every one present on the occasion gave vent to his just indignation at such a base attempt on the part of the heretics. but buddha meekly replied that what had just happened was a righteous retribution for a misbehaviour of his own during a former existence. at that time, he was on a certain day under the influence of liquor, when he chanced to meet on his way a pitzegabuddha. without any reason or provocation, he abused the holy man with the lowest and coarsest expressions, and went so far as to tell him that his whole life was but a series of hypocritical actions. turning then towards his disciples, he added, with a grave countenance, that what they had now witnessed was the just punishment inflicted on him under the influence of the demerit created and generated by his former evil doing. the eighth season was spent in the grove or forest of tesakala, and when the rains were over, the most excellent phra travelled throughout the country, preaching and teaching the right way to many. countless converts entered one of the four ways, and many obtained at once the deliverance. in the town of santoo-maragiri, he was preaching to the benefactors who had fed him and his disciples. among the hearers were two persons, nakoulapita and nakoulamata, husband and wife, belonging to the pounha race. during a great many successive former existences they had had the good fortune to be father, mother, uncle, aunt, &c., to buddha. during the present existence the feeling of affection towards him with whom they had been so long and so intimately connected was powerfully awakened and glowed in their hearts. under the influence of that natural, kindly, and tender feeling, they came forward, and prostrating themselves before gaudama, said to him: "dear son, how is it that you have been away from us for so long a while? we are so happy to see you after so long an absence." buddha, remaining indifferent to such a scene and language, knew at once what were the real wants of that good couple, and in what manner he could acknowledge the great favours he had during former existences received at their hands. he preached to them the most excellent law. they were thoroughly converted. the next morning they had the happiness to supply their great teacher and his company with the choicest food. meanwhile they addressed to him the following request: "during many existences we both have always been happily united: not a word of complaint or quarrel has ever passed between us. we pray that in our coming existences the same love and affection may ever unite us together." their request was affectionately granted, and buddha, in the presence of a large assembly, pronounced them blessed and happy amongst all men and women. the son of the ruler of the country where these things happened was, to his great affliction, childless. he invited buddha to come and partake of his hospitality in his house. the offer was accepted. great preparations were made for the reception of the illustrious visitor. the prince had some of his own clothes laid on the way that buddha was to follow, in the hope that by treading over them he might communicate a certain virtue, whereby he would have the object of his earnest desire realised. on his arrival near the entrance of the house, buddha stopped and refused to proceed farther. meanwhile, he beckoned ananda to remove the clothes. this was done accordingly, to the prince's deep disappointment. after the meal, gaudama explained to him that he and his wife during a former existence had lived on eggs and had killed many birds. their present barrenness was the just punishment of their former trespassing; but their actual good dispositions having atoned for the past transgressions, they would be blessed with children. both were overjoyed at this news. they believed in buddha, obtained the state of thautapan, and thereby entered into the current of perfection. their faith in buddha's word procured for them so happy a result. during all the time that elapsed after the rain, buddha travelled through the country, engaged on his usual benevolent errand, and converting many among men and nats. in the country of garurit, in a village of pounhas called magoulia, the head man, one of the richest in the place, had a daughter whose beauty equalled that of a daughter of nats. she had been in vain asked in marriage by princes, nobles, and pounhas. the proud damsel had rejected every offer. on the day that her father saw gaudama, he was struck with his manly beauty and meek deportment. he said within himself: "this man shall be a proper match for my daughter." on his return home he communicated his views to his wife. on the following day, the daughter having put on her choicest dress and richest apparels, they all three went with a large retinue to the dzetawon monastery. admitted to the presence of buddha, the father asked for his daughter the favour of being allowed to attend on him. without returning a word of reply, or giving the least sign of acceptance or refusal, buddha rose up and withdrew to a small distance, leaving behind him on the floor the print of one of his feet. the pounha's wife, well skilled in the science of interpreting wonderful signs, saw at a glance that the marks on the print indicated a man no longer under the control of passions, but a sage emancipated from the thraldom of concupiscence. she communicated her views to her husband, who had the impudence to go to buddha's presence and renew the same offer. buddha meekly replied: "pounha, i neither accept nor decline your offer; in your turn, listen to what i have to say." he then went on to relate how he had left the world, resisted manh's temptation, lived in solitude for six years, and freed himself from the net of passions. he concluded by stating that, having become a buddha, he had for ever conquered all passions. at the conclusion of the instruction, both father and mother became established in the state of thautapan. the damsel was highly offended at the refusal she experienced, and retained a strong feeling of hatred towards him who had declined her proffered favours. her father took her into the kothambi country, where she was offered to the ruler, who, smitten with her charms, elevated her to the rank of first queen. in the country of kothambi, there lived three rich men. these three men fed during the rainy season every year five hundred hermits, who came from the himalaya range for the purpose of obtaining their maintenance. these charitable laymen went over to wethalie for the purpose of trade. there they met buddha, and earnestly pressed him to come to their country and preach the law. the invitation was accepted. they returned home, and built for the accommodation of the illustrious visitor each of them one monastery. when all was ready, buddha went to kothambi, attended by five hundred disciples. he spent there the ninth season. during his stay he dwelt by turns in each of the three monasteries, and was abundantly supported by the rich man in whose monastery he took his abode. in the country of kothambi there were as yet few disciples or believers in buddha; but the number of holders of false doctrines was exceedingly great. secretly supported by the first queen, and actuated by jealousy against the new-comer, they reviled him and his disciples in every possible way, and did their utmost to destroy in public opinion his rising fame. whenever they met buddha's disciples, they abused them with the coarsest language. unable to bear any longer so many insults, ananda, in the name of his brethren, went to buddha, and asked him to remove to some other place, where they would receive a becoming treatment. "but," said buddha, "if we be ill-treated in the new place we go to, what is to be done?" "we shall proceed to some other place," replied ananda. "but," retorted buddha, "if in that new place we be likewise reviled, what then?" "we shall," replied ananda, "remove to some other place." buddha remained silent for awhile, and, casting a gentle glance on ananda, said to him: "a little patience will save us the trouble of so many travels, and certainly procure for us here what we may perhaps vainly look for anywhere else. by patience and endurance the wise man conquers all his enemies. behold the war-elephant; he plunges into the thickest of the raging conflict, regardless of the darts and arrows flying in every direction, and carries all before him. i, too, the most excellent buddha, shall certainly stay here, diligently preach the most excellent law, and perseveringly labour to disentangle men from the net of passions. in no way shall i care for the abuses they may pour on me and my disciples." not long after this a trifling accident kindled the fire of dissension among the members of the assembly. the subject was, as usual, of a trifling nature. it was concerning a point of discipline of scarcely any importance, infringed unintentionally by a rahan. he was accused by one of his brethren of having committed a sin. but he replied that, having done an act in which his will had not participated, he did not consider himself guilty. each disputant attracted to his party some religious who supported his view of the case. the kothambi rahans seem to have been the cause of the disunion which prevailed in the community, and soon, like a devouring flame, extended to the female portion of the assembly. in vain gaudama interfered, and exhorted the two parties to patience, union, and charity. in his presence the parties were silent, but in his absence the quarrel grew worse. at last his entreaties were unheeded, and discord continued to rend asunder the bond of unity. disgusted with such a state of things, buddha preached to the most distinguished members of the assembly the blessings of peace and concord. such men as baddia, kimila, and anourouddha, treasured up in their heart the instructions of their great master. but others continued the dispute. meanwhile he resolved to separate himself for a time from all company, and to go to a lonely spot to enjoy the happiness of peace and meditation. he shaped his course towards the village of palelayaka, where he received his food, and went into a grove of sala-trees, to fix his residence at the foot of one of those trees. the villagers, hearing of his intention, hastened to the spot, and built a hermit's hut for his use, and promised to supply him daily with his food. it was in this place that, delighting in the contemplation of unclouded truth, gaudama spent the tenth season alone. the rich men of the kothambi country, hearing that buddha had departed because of the dissension that took place among the rahans, became indignant. they openly declared their fixed intent of refusing to give anything for the maintenance of the rahans, until they agreed among themselves, and became reconciled with their teacher. the timely threat had the desired effect. the disputants felt the unpleasant seriousness of their uneasy position. they could hold on no longer. the rahans came to an agreement among themselves, and promised that after the season they would go to buddha and solicit his pardon. in the forest of paleliaka there lived a certain elephant, much advanced in merits, which went to buddha, and, during three months, ministered to all his wants, as a most affectionate and devoted disciple would do towards a beloved master. the three months of lent being completed, the rich man anatapein made earnest inquiries with ananda, respecting the place buddha had withdrawn to, and charged him to invite the great preacher to come back to thawattie, and live as usual in the dzetawon monastery. complying with the pious wishes of the rich man, ananda took with himself five hundred rahans, and went to the solitude of paleliaka. he was likewise followed by the five hundred refractory rahans of kothambi, who had come to wethalie. the ruler of the country and anatapein had refused at first to receive them. but the prohibition had been removed on account of their repentance. he approached alone the place where buddha was living. after the usual prostrations, gaudama inquired whether he had come alone. he replied that there were with him many of his faithful disciples and the kothambi rahans. the latter came with the express purpose of asking his pardon, and a firm resolution to yield henceforward a perfect obedience to all his commands. buddha desired them to appear in his presence. they came, were there well received, and their misbehaviour was forgiven. gaudama explained to them the great advantage of shunning bad company and of living in retirement. the hearers were fully converted and established in the state of thautapan. buddha, on his return to wethalie, continued preaching in every direction, and led to the deliverance a great number of men, nats, and brahmas. the stay in the dzetawon monastery was not very long. buddha went into the magatha country, to a pounha village, named nala. not far from that village there is the deckinagiri, or southern mountain, with a monastery. in that place buddha spent the eleventh season.[ ] his supporters were the pounhas of the village. the chief occupation of those men was the tillage of the fields. gaudama took a particular pleasure during his daily walks in conversing with them, when he met them engaged in their daily labours. one day buddha went into the fields, where he met a pounha, with whom he began to converse, in the intention of ultimately preaching to him the holy law. he spoke at first on the subject of his daily labour, his bullocks, his plough, the seed, and the harvest, which supplied the pounha and his family with their daily food during the year. he added: "i, too, am a labourer, provided with the seed and all the implements necessary for carrying on tillage." the pounha, surprised at what he heard, asked buddha in what place he had left his bullocks, the seed, the plough, &c. the latter coolly replied: "all these things are with me at present. hearken, o pounha, to what i am about to state. the seed is that fervent desire, that benevolent disposition, which prompted me at the foot of the buddha deipinkara to ask for the buddhaship: it is the science which i have gathered under the tree bodi. the rain water is that uninterrupted series of good works performed by me, until i have become a buddha. they have been as the means of watering the good seed which was in me. the knowledge, or science, and wisdom are as the yoke, as well as the plough-shaft. the heart, or the knowing principle which is in me, represents the reins that serve to guide the bullocks. the teeth of the plough represent the diligence that must be used in attending to the eradicating of the principle of demerits and of bad works. the plough-handle represents the guiding principle of the law, which enables me to remove all that is bad, and promote what is good. the food which you, o pounha, derive from your exertions, represents the pure relish which is tasted by him who is bent on avoiding evil and doing good. when you make use of the plough, you cut or uproot all bad weeds. so it is with him who is penetrated with the full meaning of the four great truths; he cuts and uproots from himself the wicked inclinations and low propensities that are in him. when the labour of the field is over, you unyoke your bullocks and leave them to go whithersoever they please; so it is with the wise man. by application to invigorating the principle of good that leads to perfection, he lets go the opposite principle which gives rise to all imperfections. the bullocks have to work hard to complete the work of tillage. so the sage has to struggle hard, to till perfectly and cultivate thoroughly the soil of his own being, and reach the happy state of neibban. the husbandman who labours so much for bringing his field into a position to receive the seed, and in every way to favour its growth, is imitated by the true sage who endeavours to free himself from the miseries attending existence, to advance in the way of merits by the practice of good works, and who thirsts after the happy condition of the perfect. he who works in the field is sometimes disappointed, and feels occasionally the pangs of hunger. he who works in the field of wisdom is exempt from all miseries and afflictions. he eats the fruit of his labour. he is fully satiated when he beholds neibban. it is in this manner, o pounha, that i am a true husbandman, and am always provided with all the implements necessary for the tillage of man's soul." the pounha, delighted with such doctrine, became a convert, and professed his belief in buddha, the law, and the assembly. subsequently he applied for admittance into the assembly, and by energetic efforts in the arduous work of meditation, he became at last a rahanda. when the rains were over, buddha travelled through the country, preaching the most excellent law, with the happiest results. he went to the town of satiabia, in the kosala country. there he received from a pounha of waritzaba an invitation to go to that place. the invitation was graciously accepted. in that town he spent the twelfth season. a great many pounhas were enlightened and converted by professing their firm adherence to the three precious things. the vile manh nat did his utmost to thwart the beneficial results of buddha's preachings. a great dearth prevailing in the country, he did all that he could to starve the most excellent buddha and all his followers. but he was frustrated in his iniquitous design by the charity of five hundred horse merchants, who had come from outharapata, and were then staying in waritzaba. buddha, leaving this country, shaped his course through the great mantala country; he travelled by the shortest route, a distance of youdzanas. he started on the day after the full moon of tabodway, and spent nearly five months in this voyage. he reached the banks of the ganges at gayagati, where he crossed the mighty stream and went to benares. he had not been long in that city, when he recrossed the ganges and went to wethalie, dwelling in the gootagarathala monastery. thence he went into thawattie, preaching through all the places he visited. when he was in the dzetawon monastery, he delivered the maha rahula instruction for the benefit of his son rahula, who then was eighteen years old. footnotes [ ] the religious edifices that are to be met with in all parts of burmah deserve a particular notice. they are called dzedis in all the buddhist writings of the burmese, but the people generally speak of them under the appellation of payas or phras, which, in this instance, is merely a title of honour of a religious character. dzedis, in the earliest days of buddhism, were sacred tumuli raised upon a shrine, wherein relics of buddha had been deposited. these structures were as so many lofty witnesses, bearing evidence to the presence of sacred and precious objects, intended to revive in the memory of the faithful the remembrance of buddha, and foster in their hearts tender feelings of devotion and a glowing fervour for his religion. from the perusal of this legend, it will appear that dzedis were likewise erected on the tombs of individuals who, during their lifetime, had obtained great distinction by their virtues and spiritual attainments among the members of the assembly. buddha himself ordered that a monument should be built over the shrine containing the relics of the two great disciples, thariputra and maukalan. in burmah, no dzedis of great dimensions and proportions have ever been erected on the ashes of distinguished phongyies. in some parts, however, particularly in the upper country, there may be seen here and there some small dzedis, a few feet high, erected on the spot where have been deposited the remains of some saintly personages. these monuments are little noticed by the people, though, on certain occasions, a few offerings of flowers, tapers, &c., are made around and in front of them. similar kinds of religious edifices have been built sometimes also to become a receptacle of the pitagat, or collection of the holy scriptures. one of the finest temples of ceylon was devoted to that purpose. there was also one in the ancient city of ava, but i am not aware that there is any of this kind at amarapoora. finally, dzedis have been erected for the sole purpose of harbouring statues of gaudama; but there is every reason to believe that this practice gained ground in subsequent ages. when a fervent buddhist, impelled by the desire of satisfying the cravings of his piety and devotion, wished to build a religious monument, and could not procure relics, he then remained contented by supplying the deficiency with images of buddha representing that eminent personage, in attitudes of body that were to remind buddhists of some of the most striking actions of his life. in many instances, dzedis have been built up, not even for the sake of sheltering statues, but for the pious purpose of reminding the people of the holy relics of buddha, and, as they used to say, for kindling in the soul a tender feeling of affectionate reverence for the person of buddha and his religion. if what is put forward as a plea for building pagodas be founded on conviction and truth, we must conclude that the inhabitants of the valley of the irrawaddy are most devotedly religious, as the mania for building dzedis has been, and even now is, carried to such a pitch as to render almost fabulous the number of religious buildings to be seen on an extent of above seven hundred miles as far as bhamo. as buddhism was imported from india into eastern asia there is no doubt that the style of architecture adopted in the erection of religious edifices came from the same quarter. to the native genius of the burmese we may allow the merit of ornamental architecture for the great monasteries, and a few details of the exterior decorations of the religious monuments; but no one will take offence at refusing to the tribes that occupy the basin of the irrawaddy the merit of originating the plan of such monuments as those to be seen in some parts of the country. it is much to their credit that they have been able to raise such mighty fabrics with the imperfect knowledge they possess and the very limited means at their disposal. the resemblance that exists between the much-defaced buddhist monuments yet to be met with in some parts of india and at java, and those now studding the banks of the irrawaddy, leaves no doubt respecting the origin of the shape and form of such monuments. at first sight, the traveller in burmah believes that there is a great variety in the shape and architecture of pagodas. he is easily led astray by many fantastical ornaments that have been added by inexperienced natives to religious monuments. after, however, a close examination of those edifices, it seems that they can be arranged into three distinct classes, to which those presenting minor differences may be referred. the first class comprises those which have a cone-like appearance, though much enlarged in the direction of the base. these are without niches, or rather ought to be without niches, as the small ones to be seen added to those monuments indicate that they are no essential appendage of the building, but rather the fanciful and tasteless work of some devotees. the pagodas of rangoon, pegu and prome offer the finest specimens of this order of edifices. the second class includes those of a dome-like shape. they are not common in burmah. the finest and grandest specimen is that of the kaong-hmoo-dau, or great meritorious work, situated west of the ancient city of tsagain. in the third class we may place all the pagodas that approximate to the temple form; that is to say, all those that offer the shape of a more or less considerable rectangle, with a large hall in the centre and several galleries running throughout. upon this rectangle a conical structure is raised, ending as usual with the tee or umbrella. the most remarkable and perfect specimens of this kind are to be seen at pagan, which may be aptly styled the city of pagodas. the cone-shaped pagoda invariably rests on a quadrangular basis a few feet high. the body of the cone in its lower part is an hexagon or octagon, broad at first, then gradually and regularly decreasing to two-thirds of its height. upon it rises the regular cone, which ends in a point covered with the gilt umbrella. the architectural ornaments of such structures are circular, bold and round lines or mouldings; above this, to the place where the cone begins, are sculptures, representing leaves shooting from the middle part, one half upwards and the other half downwards. that part is often divested of such ornaments, as is the case with the shoaydagon. on the sides of the cone are horizontal lines grouped together; each group is separated by a considerable distance, then comes a sculptured foliage, different from the one already mentioned, but disposed in a like manner. in the middle of the four sides of the base, particularly in the one facing the east, the burmese have introduced the practice of making small niches for receiving the statues representing buddha in a cross-legged position. a portico leads to them. on the four angles of the base they likewise place griffins or sometimes fantastic figures of monsters. small dzedis are often disposed on the lower parts of the hexagon or octagon. this kind of pagoda being naturally destitute of all ornaments, and standing over a tomb or a shrine, as a pillar that has gradually assumed the shape above described, is a very ancient one, and probably coeval with the earliest buddhist religious monuments. the second class of religious edifices is that of those that exhibit a dome-like appearance. they are rather uncommon in burmah. they rest on a square basis. the lower part is adorned with a few mouldings, but the greatest part offers a perfectly even superficies. the umbrella that is placed on them partakes somewhat of the appearance of the monument it is destined to crown. it considerably expands in the horizontal direction, and has a very ungraceful appearance. the kaong-hmoo-dau in the neighbourhood of tsagain rests on a basis about or feet high; the dome, according to an inscription, is feet high, the diameter, at the lowest part, is nearly feet. the whole was formerly gilt. the four sides of the square are lined with small niches, each tenanted by a small statue of gaudama. separated from the square by an open and well-paved gallery that runs all round the edifice, are disposed in a row eight hundred and two small pillars of sandstone, about feet high, with their upper part perforated, so as to afford room sufficient to receive a lamp on festival days. splendid must be the effect produced during a dark night by so many lamps, pouring a flood of light that illuminates on all sides the massive edifice. whether the monument was built about three hundred years ago, as stated to the writer by one of the guardians, or, as it is most probable, only repaired and adorned at that time, certain it is that this kind of religious edifice is very ancient, and very likely not inferior in antiquity to those above referred to. another of a similar form, but of much smaller dimensions, is to be seen at bhamo, not far from the eastern gate. the third class of pagodas comprises all those that are generally of a square form, not made of a solid masonry, but with openings or doors, a room, galleries, &c., for receiving statues of gaudama. they are all surmounted with the usual conical structure, which is, it seems, the essential appendage to all dzedis. these edifices, in my opinion, are not to be considered as tumuli or topes, but rather as places of worship, and sanctuaries for the reception of the statues of gaudama. the monuments are, i suspect, of a comparative modern origin; they have not the plainness and simplicity of the tumuli which agree so well with the simplicity of the religious form of worship of primitive buddhism. they are not made to answer the purpose for which dzedis were primitively raised. they must have been erected at times when buddhist worship, emerging from its primeval sternness of form, assumed proportions and developments congenial to the taste and wants of large religious communities. this class of temples offers a great variety of forms as to the size, dimensions, and details of architecture. but they may be all brought to this general outline. from the square body of the temple diverge, in the direction of the four points of the compass, porticoes; the one facing the east is always the largest and best adorned; sometimes there is but one portico, that of the east, and there are only doors in the middle of the three other sides. from these porticoes the galleries converge towards the centre of the temple, where are statues. in the large and magnificent pagodas of pagan, galleries with vaults in the pointed style run all round the building. some of those stupendous structures have two stories, and it is only on the second that the conical part rests, which is the essential complement of every religious building. on one of the middle-sized pagodas rises, instead of a cone, an obelisk, with ornaments that appear to resemble hieroglyphic figures. some of those obelisks swell considerably towards the middle of their height. great was the surprise and astonishment of the writer, when he observed in the same place, among the prodigious number of pagodas, in a more or less advanced state of decay, one, not considerable by its dimensions, nor in a much-ruined condition, that exhibited the solitary instance of a regular pyramid. [ ] the few particulars that have been gathered respecting the mode that buddha followed in disseminating his doctrines, exhibit him in the light of a zealous and indefatigable preacher. we see him passing from one place to another with the sole purpose of instructing the ignorant and pointing out to them the way leading to the deliverance. bebar and oude appear to have been the seat of his labours, and the scene on which he acted in behalf of all, without any distinction of condition, caste, or sex. individuals in the humblest walks of life, men engaged in wicked practices, women of an abandoned character, were all, to an equal degree, the object of his tender solicitude. they were all summoned to come to his feet and partake in the blessings that he had in store for them. gaudama was to an eminent degree an earnest and fervent propagandist. this is a striking feature in his character, which distinguishes him not only from all his contemporaries, but also from all the philosophers that have appeared throughout the indian peninsula. all these sages aimed at becoming the heads of schools, but none of them thought of promulgating a code of morals intended for the whole human race. gaudama has the honour of being the first who, with enlarged views, looked upon his fellow-men as equally entitled to the benefit of his instructions. his love of all men prompted him to undergo all sorts of fatigue, to procure for them what he imagined to be a great boon. in making this statement we have no intention to pass an opinion on the doctrines of the founder of buddhism; we merely bring forward to the notice of the reader a peculiar characteristic of that sage, which, in our humble opinion, helps to account for the extraordinary spread of buddhism from the banks of the oxus to the japanese archipelago. the tenets of that creed have become popular, because they were intended for all. false though they be, particularly in what has a reference to dogmas, they were accepted by the masses, because there were no other proffered to them. the disciples of gaudama must have been well received in the various places they went to, for they showed a disposition of mind quite unknown in those days, viz., a lively interest in the welfare of all. this zeal, which appeared so conspicuously in gaudama and during the first ages of buddhism, has become all but totally extinct. there is no desire on the part of those who in our days follow that creed to propagate its tenets among other nations or tribes. chapter xi. _voyage to tsalia -- instructions to meggia -- raoula is made a professed religious -- manahan's questions to buddha -- misbehaviour of thouppabuda -- questions proposed by nats in the dzetawon monastery -- conversion of a biloo -- episode of thirima at radzagio -- attention paid to a poor pounha and to a weaver's daughter on account of their faith -- in the twentieth season, appointment of ananda to the stewardship -- conversion of a famous robber._ after a rather short stay in thawattie, buddha went to the town of tsalia. the inhabitants built for him a monastery on a hill not far from the town, and liberally supplied him with all that he wanted. pleased with the good reception the people gave him, gaudama spent on that spot the thirteenth season. he went to receive his food in the village of dzantoo. thence travelling through the country, he reached the banks of the river kimikila and enjoyed himself in a beautiful grove of mango-trees. the disciple meggia, being too much taken up with the beauty of the place, eagerly wished to remain here for some time. as a punishment for such an inordinate attachment to a particular spot, he who had renounced the world and the gratification of passions, felt on a sudden a strange change pass over him. a flood of concupiscence inundated his soul. buddha, who saw what was taking place in meggia, gave him an instruction on contempt for the things of this world, and entirely cured him of his great spiritual distemper. thence he proceeded to thawattie into the dzetawon monastery, where he spent the fourteenth season. the great disciple thariputra, with five hundred religious, was spending the season in a neighbouring village. the people were so much pleased with him and his company, that they offered to each of them a piece of yellow silk. some religious, jealous of the great disciple, came to buddha and accused him of covetousness. buddha fully justified his great companion and commended the liberality of the donors, who had thus an opportunity of gratifying their liberality and gaining merits. the thamane raoula was then twenty years old. having reached the canonical age, he was elevated to the dignity of patzin. the young religious could scarcely defend himself from a certain feeling of vanity on account of his father's dignity and his own personal mien and bearing, which he was very fond of admiring. buddha was intimately acquainted with what was going on in raoula's soul. he preached to him the contempt of self and of all varieties of form. the instruction was so impressive that it led the young hearer to the state of rahanda. on a certain night when raoula was sleeping near the door of gaudama's private apartment, manh nat, wishing to frighten the young rahanda, created the likeness of an elephant, which, keeping his trunk over his head, suddenly made a frightful noise. buddha, who was inside, saw clearly that this was only a temptation of the vile manh. he said to him, "o wretched one, are you not aware that fear is no longer to be found in him who has become a rahanda?" manh, being discovered, vanished away, covered with shame and confusion at the abortiveness of his malicious attempt. in the same year, buddha went to kapilawot, which is in the thekka country, and took up his residence in the nigranda monastery, situated close to the banks of the river rohani. at that place he spent the fifteenth season. on a certain day, his cousin mahanan, the son of thoodaudana, came to the monastery, and having paid his respects to his illustrious relative, took the liberty to propose to him the four following questions:-- . in what consists the fulfilment of the religious duties? . what is meant by the religious disposition? . what is the real renouncing? . what is the true knowledge? buddha replied in the following manner: "the fulfilment of the religious duties consists in observing carefully the five precepts obligatory on all men. the religious disposition is but a loving inclination and affection for all that refers to buddha and the law that he has published. he who possesses it experiences a continual longing for the acquisition of merits. the renouncing is that disposition a man is habitually in when he finds his pleasure in parting with his riches for the purpose of relieving the needy and bestowing alms on the members of the assembly. finally, wisdom consists in making one's self perfectly acquainted with what can procure merits for the present and the future; under its influence man acts up to that knowledge, and also attends with the utmost diligence to what may put an end to the law of miseries." even among his nearest relatives, buddha was doomed to meet with the bitterest enemies. thouppabuda, who was at once his uncle and his father-in-law, bore to him a deadly hatred, and secretly harboured in his heart a sentiment of revenge, for two principal reasons, because his daughter yathaudara had been abandoned by gaudama, when he left his palace and began the life of an ascetic; and also for having admitted his own son dewadat among the members of the assembly. having been informed that on the following day buddha would direct his steps towards a certain quarter of the town to beg his food, thouppabuda partook largely of intoxicating liquor, to nerve himself for the execution of the design he had in his mind, and went out in the direction in which gaudama was expected to come. as soon as he saw him drawing near, he planted himself in the middle of the road, barring the passage, and loading his great relative with abuses. buddha stopped awhile without showing the least sign of emotion. then turning to ananda, he said, "great is the crime of my uncle; seven days hence he shall be swallowed up alive by the earth at the foot of the great staircase of his palace." on this fearful prediction being reported to thouppabuda, he laughed and stated that he would stay during eight days in the upper story of his palace, and belie his nephew's prediction. despite the precautions that he took, the fatal prediction was literally fulfilled. the unfortunate unrepenting prince saw the earth burst open under his feet, and he was precipitated to the very bottom of the awidzi hell. buddha took advantage of the awful punishment that had befallen a prince of his family to exhort mahanan to seek a firm asylum in the three precious things, to bear a sincere love and an affectionate fondness to all that related to the law and its practices. up to the present period of his life, buddha had reserved to himself the right of preaching the law to and extolling the merits of those who had brought him his food, after having partaken of their liberal donation. this instruction may be properly called the sermon of thanksgiving. it is called anou-mau-dana. now he allowed his disciples to do the like, and repay the generosity of their benefactors by distributing unto them the knowledge of truth. at that time buddha preached the four laws of a-sa-wan, or the four bands that retain a being in the vortex of existences. from kapilawot buddha returned to thawattie in the dzetawon monastery. at that time a nat had proposed four questions to his companions which they had not been able to answer. they were subsequently communicated to all the denizens of the six seats of nats, but no one had been able to solve the difficulty. not knowing what to do, they agreed to refer the particulars to the most excellent buddha, then in the dzetawon monastery. a deputation was forthwith sent to him with the view of proposing to him the puzzle, and entreating him to condescend to give the much-desired solution. the members of the deputation having duly paid their respects, said to him, "o most excellent phra, which is the best thing to be bestowed in alms? which is the most savoury and relishing of all things? which is the most pleasurable? which is the best and the fittest thing to put an end to passions?" to these four questions buddha answered by one word--"the law." addressing himself both to the nats and to his assembled disciples, he added, "the giving of alms, though good in itself, cannot introduce a being into the path that leads to the deliverance. the law alone can afford such a benefit. the preaching of the law, and the exertions in communicating its knowledge to others, are therefore the most excellent alms. all that in this world confers pleasure to the senses is but a means to plunge man into the vortex of existences, and thereby into all miseries. on the contrary, the hearing of the law rejoices the heart to such an extent as often to open a spring of joyful tears; it destroys concupiscence, and leads gradually out of the whirlpool of existences. it establishes man in the state of arahat, which is the end of all passions. the law, therefore, is the most savoury, the most pleasing thing, leading beings to the cessation of all miseries. you, my beloved disciples, exert yourselves in making known by your preaching the said law to all beings. this is the most excellent alms that you can bestow on the beings that inhabit the three different states of men, nats, and brahmas." buddha soon left thawattie and went to alawee. a biloo was in the habit of eating every day some children of that place. owing to the ravenous and horrible appetite of the monster, all the children had been eaten up; there remained only the child of the king, who was on the following day to be given over to him. buddha reviewed, as usual, on a certain morning the condition of all beings. he saw the sad position of the king of alawee and of his son. he resolved to proffer assistance to both, and also to convert the biloo. he arrived in the country of alawee, where he was received with every mark of respect. he forthwith went into the forest where the monster lived. at first he met with a most determined and violent opposition. but, opposing to his enraged antagonist meekness, patience, and kindness, buddha gradually softened that terrible nature. concealing affectedly the change which was taking place in him, almost against his perverse inclination, the biloo said to buddha, "i have put certain questions to many famous ascetics, but they have not been able to answer them. on seeing their utter incapacity, i have seized them, torn their bodies in pieces, and flung their quivering limbs into the ganges. such shall be your fate, o gaudama, if your science fails you on this occasion. by what means can a man get out of the stream or current of passions? how can he cross over the sea of existences? how can he free himself from the evil influence? how shall he be able to purify himself from the smallest stain of concupiscence?" buddha replied: "listen, o biloo, to my words; my answer shall fully satisfy you. by faith in and affection for the three precious things, man escapes from the current of passions. he who applies himself with a diligent earnestness to the study of the law of merits passes over the sea of existences. he who strives to practise the works that procure merits frees himself from evil influence, and from the attending miseries. finally, the knowledge of the four meggas or ways to perfection procures perfect exemption from the least remnant of concupiscence." the biloo, delighted with what he had heard, believed in buddha, and soon was firmly established in the state of thautapan. on that spot, where so glorious and unexpected a conversion had taken place, a monastery was erected. buddha spent herein the sixteenth season. as usual, myriads of nats and men who had heard his preachings obtained the deliverance. from alawee buddha went to radzagio, and spent the seventeenth season in the weloowon monastery. during that season a famous courtesan, named thirima, sister of the celebrated physician dzewaka, renowned all over the country for her wit and the incomparable charms of her person, wished to show her liberality to the disciples of buddha. every day a certain number of them went to her dwelling to receive, along with their food, abundant alms. one of the pious mendicants, in an unguarded moment, moved by an unholy curiosity, looked at her, and was instantly smitten by her charms. the mortal wound was widened and deepened by a fortuitous occurrence. on a certain day thirima fell sick. but she did not relax in her daily work of charity. weak though she was, and in her _negligée_, she insisted on the mendicants being introduced into her room, that she might pay her respects to them. the unfortunate lover was among the company. her incomparable charms were heightened by her plain dress and drooping attitude. the poor lover went back with his brethren to the monastery. the arrow had penetrated to the core of the heart. he refused to take any food, and during some days completely estranged himself from the society of his brethren. while the intestine war raged in his bosom, thirima died. buddha, desirous to cure the moral distemper of the poor religious, invited king pimpasara to be present when he should go with his disciples to see the remains of thirima. on the fourth day after thirima's death he went to her house with his disciples. there her body was laid before them, with a livid appearance, and all swollen. countless worms already issuing out through the apertures, rendered the sight loathsome, whilst a horrible stench almost forbade a standing close to it. buddha coolly asked the king, "what is that object which is stretched before us?" "thirima's body," replied the king. "when she was alive," retorted buddha, "people paid a thousand pieces of silver to enjoy her for a day. would any one take her now for half that sum?" "no," replied the king; "in all my kingdom there is not one man who would offer the smallest sum to have her remains; nay, no one could be found who would be willing to carry her to any distance unless compelled to do so." buddha, addressing the assembly, said, "behold all that remains of thirima, who was so famous for her personal attractions! what has become of that form which deceived and enslaved so many? all is subjected to mutability; there is nothing real in this world." on hearing the instruction, eighty-two thousand persons obtained the knowledge of the four truths. the rahan who, because of his passion, would not eat his food, was entirely cured of his moral distemper, and firmly established in the state of thautapan. all this happened whilst buddha spent his seventeenth season in the bamboo-grove monastery. when the season was over, he went, as usual, to preach in every direction, and returned to thawattie, to the dzetawon monastery. his stay in that place was not long. he undertook another voyage to alawee. he was received with the greatest demonstrations of joy by the people, who gladly ministered to all his wants. on a certain day, when he was to receive large offerings from the people and preach to them, it happened on that occasion that a poor pounha, who was very desirous to hear his instructions, was informed at an early hour of that very day that one of his cows had gone astray from the herd and could not be found. hereupon he felt greatly aggrieved. he was afraid to let go the golden opportunity to hear the instruction. however, he trusted that by making the utmost diligence he would be back in time. he ran in all haste until he found the strayed animal and brought it back. it was nearly midday when he returned to the town. though pressed with the pangs of hunger and overwhelmed with fatigue, he went straight forward to the place where the congregation was assembled. the offerings had been brought a long while ago; the people out of respect stood motionless, with their hands joined, in the presence of buddha, who, contrary to the general expectation, remained perfectly silent. with his supernatural vision he had seen the perfect dispositions of the poor pounha. he would have him to share in the blessing of his instruction. as soon as the pounha had taken his place among the hearers, buddha, casting a benevolent glance towards him, beckoned him to come near his person. meantime, he ordered some of his disciples to bring the poor man some food, because he was very hungry; and he would not condescend to begin the instruction till the man had been relieved from the pangs of hunger by a good meal. when the preaching was over, several rahans ridiculed the attention paid by their master to a common man. buddha, knowing their innermost thoughts, spoke to them by way of an instructive rebuke: "beloved sons, you seem to be surprised at my behaviour towards that poor pounha. but i had perceived at once the super-excellent dispositions of that man, his craving for the holy law, and his lively and strong faith in me, which prompted him to lay no stress on hunger, nor on fatigue, and to make no account of his personal discomforts, in order to satisfy his earnest longings for the law." on that occasion an immense number of hearers were converted. buddha went to a monastery built on a hill, near the town of tsalia, where he spent the eighteenth season. in that town there was a weaver, who had one daughter, who followed the same profession as her father. the damsel was very desirous to hear buddha's preachings; but on the day when buddha was to come into the town to deliver instructions to the people, it happened she had to finish the weaving of a piece of cloth that was urgently required by the owner. she then said to herself: i will exert myself with so much diligence that i will be enabled both to finish my work and listen to my teacher's preaching. she set instantly to work, wound up the thread on the quill, and took it with her, to carry it to the shed where her father's loom was. on her way to the shed, she had to pass near the place where a motionless congregation stood before buddha, eagerly waiting for the words that were to fall from his mouth. she laid aside her quill, loaded with thread, and squatted timidly behind the last rank of the congregation. buddha had seen at a glance the perfect dispositions of the young girl. it was chiefly for her benefit that he had undertaken a long journey and come over to that place. as soon as he saw her, he made her draw nearer to him. the injunction was joyfully complied with. with an encouraging tone of voice, buddha asked her whence she came and whither she was going. the damsel modestly answered that she knew whence she came, and also whither she was going; at the same time, she added that she was ignorant of the place she came from, and of the place she was going to. on hearing this apparently contradictory answer, many of the hearers could scarcely refrain from giving vent to indignant feelings. but buddha, who had fathomed the girl's wisdom, prayed them to be silent. then, turning towards his young interlocutor, he desired her to explain the meaning of her answer. she said: "i know that i come from my father's house, and that i go to our loom-shed; but what existence i have come from to this present one, this i am entirely ignorant of. i am likewise uncertain about the existence that shall follow this one. about these two points i am completely ignorant; my mind can discover neither the one nor the other." buddha extolled the wisdom of the damsel, and forthwith began his instruction. at the conclusion, she was firmly grounded in the state of thautapan. she withdrew immediately, took up her quill, and went to the shed. it happened that her father was asleep, with his hand on the loom's handle. she approached the loom, and began to arrange the thread. her father, awaking suddenly, pushed inadvertently the part of the loom his hand was laid upon, and struck his daughter in the chest. she fell down and instantly expired. overwhelmed with grief, the unfortunate father poured a flood of tears over the lifeless corpse of his daughter. unable to console himself, he rose up and went to buddha, in the hope of receiving some comfort at his feet. buddha affectionately received him, and, by his good instructions, relieved him from the load that pressed on his heart, and gradually enlightening his mind by the preaching of the four great truths, he gently infused into his heart and his soul that sweet joy which wisdom alone can impart. the weaver resolved to abandon the world, asked for admittance into the assembly, and not long after became a rahanda. this conversion was followed by that of a great many others. buddha returned to radzagio, and spent the nineteenth season in the weloowon monastery. the season being over, buddha went into the districts of magatha, preaching in all places. previous to that time, there lived at radzagio a rich man who had an only daughter, who was brought up with the greatest care and the utmost fondness. she lived in the upper apartments of a splendid dwelling. on a certain day, at an early hour in the morning, she was looking on the people that flocked from the country into the town. she saw among many a young hunter driving a cart loaded with venison. she much admired his fine, energetic appearance. she was instantly enamoured of him, and made all the necessary arrangements to elope with him. she succeeded, married the hunter, and had by him a large family. passing on one day through a forest, the most excellent buddha chanced to meet with a deer which was caught in the net of a hunter. moved with feelings of commiseration, he helped the poor beast to get out of the meshes. after this benevolent action, he went to rest under a tree. the hunter soon made his appearance, and to his great dismay at once discovered that some one had deprived him of his prey. whilst he was looking about, he saw buddha, in his yellow dress, calmly resting under the shade of a large tree. "this," said the hunter to himself, "is the man who has done the mischief; i will make him pay dear for his undue interference." hereupon he hastily took up an arrow and placed it on the bow, with the intention of shooting dead the evildoer. but despite his exertions, heightened by the thirst for revenge, he could not succeed; both his hands were seized with a sudden quivering, and his feet appeared as if nailed to the ground. he stood motionless in that attitude. absorbed in meditation, buddha was not aware what was going on so close to him. the sons of the hunter as well as their wives grew very much troubled that their father did not return at the usual hour from visiting his nets. they feared that some untoward accident had overtaken him. they armed themselves and went in search of him. they soon came to the spot where they saw the sad position of their father. at the same moment, perceiving a yellow-dressed individual, they hastily concluded, that, by the power of some charms, he had brought their father into this miserable condition. they made up their mind to kill him. but whilst they were preparing to put their cruel design into execution, their hands, suddenly benumbed, could not grasp the weapons, and they all stood motionless and speechless. awaking at last from contemplation, buddha saw the hunter and all his family standing before him. taking compassion on them, he restored them to their ordinary condition, and preached to them. they all fell at his knees, craved his pardon, believed in him, and became fervent upasakas. buddha returned to thawattie to spend the twentieth season in the dzetawon monastery. it was at that period that there happened a remarkable change in the management of the domestic affairs of gaudama. up to the present time, no one among the religious had been specially appointed to attend on buddha and administer to his wants. but some of them, as circumstances occurred, undertook the agreeable and honourable duty of serving him. however human nature will occasionally let appear, even in the best of men, some marks of its innate imperfections. on two occasions, the rahans who followed buddha and carried his mendicant's pot and a portion of his dress wished to go in one direction, whilst buddha desired them to follow in another. they had the imprudence to part company with him. both paid dearly for their disobedience. they fell into the hands of robbers, who took away all that they had, and beat them severely on the head. this twofold act of insubordination painfully affected buddha. he summoned all the religious into his presence, and declared that, being old, he wished to appoint one of them to the permanent office of personal attendant on himself. thariputra and maukalan immediately tendered their services with a pious and loving earnestness. but buddha declined to accept their offer, as well as that of the eighty principal disciples. the reason was, that their services were required for preaching to the people, and labouring with him for the dissemination of the true science among men. some of the disciples urged ananda to volunteer his services; but out of modesty he remained silent. then he added that, should buddha be willing to accept his humble services, he knew his heart's dispositions and his willingness to attend on him on all occasions; he had but to signify his good pleasure. as to him, he would be too happy to accept the office. buddha expressed his readiness to confer on him the honourable employment. he was formally appointed and nominated phra's attendant, and, during the twenty-five remaining seasons, he acted as the beloved and devoted attendant on buddha's person. through him alone visitors were ushered into buddha's presence, and orders were communicated to the members of the assembly. gaudama was then fifty-five years old. on a certain day he went to the village of dzantoo for the purpose of collecting alms. manh nat, his inveterate foe, entered into the heart of all the villagers to prevent them from giving alms to the mendicant. he succeeded so well in his wicked design that no one noticed gaudama's passage through the street, nor gave him alms. when he drew near to the gate, manh stood by the side of the street, and asked him, with a sarcastic tone, how he felt under the pangs of hunger. buddha replied to him, that he could, by entering into the state of perfect trance, remain, like the great brahma, without using material food, feeding only, as it were, on the inward happiness created by the immediate sight of unclouded truth. five hundred young virgins, who happened to return from the country into the place, prostrated themselves before buddha, listened to his instructions, and reached the state of thautapan. on leaving the place, buddha happened to travel through a forest, which had become an object of terror to all the people of kothala, as being the favourite haunt of ougalimala, a notorious robber and murderer. the ruler of the country, pasenadi, had heard from the windows of his palace the cries of his alarmed subjects. despite the many remonstrances that were made concerning the dangers of such an attempt, buddha went straight forward to the den of the formidable man, who, enraged at such presumptuous boldness, was preparing to make him pay dear for his intrusion. but he had to deal with an opponent that could not easily be frightened. to his threats and attempts to inflict harm gaudama opposed the meekest composure, the mildest expressions, and an invincible patience. softened by the kindness of his opponent, ougalimala altered the tone of his voice, and showed signs of respect to buddha. the latter, quickly perceiving the change that had taken place in the robber's soul, preached to him the law, and made of him a sincere convert. coming out from the forest which had been the scene of so many crimes, he followed buddha, with the behaviour of an humble disciple. the people of kosala could scarcely give credit to the change that had taken place in ougalimala. in a short time he became a rahanda, and died not long after he had become perfect. the members of the assembly were, on a certain day, talking among themselves about the place he had probably migrated to. buddha, who had overheard their conversation on this subject, said to them: "beloved bickus, the rahan ougalimala, who died a little while after his conversion, has reached the deliverance. his conversion was at once prompt and perfect. he was very wicked previous to his conversion, because he never cohabited except with wicked and perverse associates, the company of whom led him into all sorts of disorders. but he no sooner had the good fortune to meet me, hear my instructions, and converse with you, than he at once believed in my doctrine, adhered to me with all his might, and entered into the way leading to perfection. he laboured strenuously to destroy in himself the law of demerits, and thus rapidly reached the summit of perfection." chapter xii. _buddha is slandered in thawattie -- questions put to him by a pounha -- story of anatapein's daughter -- conversion of a pounha whose navel emitted rays of light -- blank in a great part of buddha's life -- story of dewadat -- his jealousy towards buddha -- his friendship with prince adzatathat -- his ambition -- his attempt to kill buddha -- his miserable end._ while the most excellent buddha was in the dzetawon monastery, the heretics of thawattie made another attempt to lower, nay, to destroy his reputation. they prevailed upon thondarie, a woman entirely devoted to their interests, to spread the rumour that she had spent a night in the apartments of buddha. when the calumny had been noised abroad, they suborned a gang of drunkards, to whom they promised a large sum of money, if they would do away with the instrument of the slander. they accordingly selected a favourable opportunity, killed thondarie, and threw her body into a cluster of bushes close to the monastery. when the crime had been perpetrated, the heretics raised a cry all over the country inquiring about thondarie. she could nowhere be found. search was made in every direction, until at last, by the secret directions of their emissaries, the body was found on the spot where it had been apparently concealed. the party hostile to buddha laid the crime at his door. the king of the country, urged on by them, ordered a strict inquiry to be made. the infamous trick was at last discovered in the following manner. the perpetrators of the deed happened to go into a drinking-place. heated by the liquor they had taken, they began to accuse each other of having killed thondarie. their conversation was overheard by one of the king's servants, who had them arrested and led to the palace. the king said to them, "wicked men, is it true that you have killed the woman thondarie?" they answered, "it is true we have killed her." "who advised you to commit the murder?" "the deitty teachers, who have paid us one thousand pieces of silver." indignant at such a horrible deed, the king ordered the murderers and their advisers to be put to death. their punishment consisted in their being buried in the earth up to their waist. they were subsequently covered with a heap of straw, which being set fire to, they were burnt to death. buddha told his disciples that what had happened on this melancholy occasion was but a just retribution for his having in a former existence been drunk, and in that state abused and slandered a holy personage. in one of his preaching excursions, gaudama converted a distinguished pounha, who asked him, "illustrious buddha, what has the great brahma done to merit the extraordinary glory that encompasses his person and the unsurpassed felicity that he enjoys?" to whom he answered, "the great brahma, during several existences, has bestowed abundant alms on the needy, delivered many people from great perils, and delighted in giving instruction to the ignorant. such meritorious deeds have procured for him the transcendent rank that he occupies, and secured to him for an immense period of time the matchless happiness that he possesses." two rich men, one of thawattie, and the other a denizen of the ougga city, had in their youth, when engaged in their studies, promised each other that he who should have a daughter would give her in marriage to the son of the other. when they had grown up, the rich man of thawattie became a disciple of buddha, but his friend followed the teachings of the heretics. in due time anatapein, for such was the name of the former, had a beautiful daughter. his friend ougga had also a fine grown-up son. it came to pass that ougga on a certain day arrived from his place with five hundred carts of goods to thawattie, for the purpose of trading. he lodged, as a matter of course, in his friend's house. during the conversation ougga reminded his host of their former promise, and declared that he would be too happy to have it fulfilled without delay. anatapein, having consulted his wife and daughter, and secured their consent, agreed to the proposal that was made to him. the pious rich man, however, was somewhat concerned respecting the dangers of his daughter's position in the midst of upholders of false doctrines. he gave her a retinue of female attendants, who could, by their advice and conversation, maintain intact in her the faith in buddha. when the bride arrived, after a long journey, to ougga's city, she was desired by her father-in-law to go in the company of his wife to pay her respects to his teachers, who were sitting quite naked, with dishevelled hairs, in the midst of the most disgusting uncleanness, under a shed prepared for them. unused to such an unsightly and revolting display, the modest girl recoiled back with a becoming horror, refusing even to cast a look at them. enraged at the contempt shown to his teachers, the unnatural father-in-law threatened to send her away from his house, as being an unsuitable match for his son. firm in her faith, she withstood all the efforts that were made to induce her to alter her resolution and pay attention to such individuals. she went back into her apartments. having somewhat recovered her spirits, and regained her usual calm and serene composure, the pious young lady began, in the presence of her mother-in-law and other ladies of the town, to praise and extol the glory, modesty, meekness, and all the other qualifications which adorned her great teacher and his disciples. the hearers were delighted at all that they heard, and expressed an eager desire to see them and hear their instructions. on that very day the compassionate buddha was at an early hour, as usual, reviewing the beings dwelling on the island of dzampoudipa, endeavouring to discover those that were well disposed to hear the truth. his searching glance soon discovered what was going on in the house of the rich man ougga, and the good dispositions of many of its inmates. "thither," said he, "i shall hasten to preach the law, for many shall be converted." hereupon he summoned five hundred disciples to attend him. they all took their pattas and other articles. with his company he flew through the air, and soon alighted in the courtyard of the rich man's house. all were rejoiced to see buddha and his disciples. they lent a most attentive ear to his instructions. the rich man, his household, and a great number of the people of the town were converted. anouroudha was left at ougga to complete, perfect, and extend the good work so happily begun. buddha in all haste returned to thawattie. at that time a great noise was made throughout the country on account of a certain pounha whose navel emitted a sort of light in the shape of a moon. he belonged to the party of unbelievers. he was led by them into every village and town, as a living proof of the power they possessed. at last his friends introduced him into the dzetawon monastery. he was no sooner introduced into buddha's presence, when the prodigy suddenly ceased. he went away somewhat annoyed at his misfortune; but he had scarcely crossed the threshold of the monastery when the light reappeared. three times he came before the great preacher, and three times the light was completely eclipsed. no doubt could be entertained that there was in buddha some secret power superior to the one he possessed. the pounha was at once disconcerted and bewildered. in his ignorance he attributed the accident to some superior magical formula possessed by buddha, and asked him to teach him the said formula. buddha said to him, "o pounha! i possess no charm; i ignore all magical formulas. there is in me but one virtue; it is that which i have gathered at the foot of the bodi tree during the forty-nine days that i have spent there in the deepest meditation. as to what attracts now the attention of the people in your person, you are indebted for it to the offering of a gold coronet, in the shape of a moon, you made to a buddha during a former existence. the reward bestowed on you for such a good work is but a transient one. it can afford you no real, substantial, and lasting happiness. hearken to my doctrine; it will confer on you a never-ending recompense." he went on explaining to him many points of the law. the pounha believed in buddha; nay, he applied for the dignity of rahan, and finally became a rahanda. _n.b_.--the history of buddha offers an almost complete blank as to what regards his doings and preachings during a period of nearly twenty-three years,[ ] beginning with the twenty-first season, when he was fifty-six years old, and ending with the forty-fourth season, having reached the patriarchal age of seventy-nine years. so entirely are we kept in ignorance of the important transactions that took place during so long a portion of buddha's life, that the writer, after having vainly consulted several manuscripts, is reluctantly obliged to come to the same conclusion as that which the burmese authors have arrived at, viz., that there is a complete disagreement as to even the names of the places where buddha spent the twenty-three remaining seasons. out of regard for the rich man anatapein, who for so many years had been one of his most liberal supporters, buddha spent the greatest part of the remaining seasons in the dzetawon monastery. during the few others he seems to have stayed at or near radzagio, chiefly in the weloowon monastery. the amount of seasons spent by our phra from the time he obtained the buddhaship till his death is forty-five. i find related, as a fact worthy of notice, the donation by a rich widow of wethalie, named wisaka, of the celebrated pouppayon monastery. it was situated not far from the dzetawon, in an eastern direction from that famous place. it is mentioned that when phra sallied from the dzetawon monastery by the eastern gate, the people of the country knew that he was going to dwell for awhile in the pouppayon monastery; when, on the other hand, he was observed to leave it by the northern gate, all the people understood that he was undertaking a journey through the country for the purpose of preaching. the epoch of this donation is not certain. it appears from some particulars indirectly alluded to that it must have taken place when buddha was sixty years old. in following our manuscript, we find inserted in this place the detailed accounts respecting dewadat, related by buddha himself in the dzetawon monastery, in the presence of a large party of his disciples. the fact of buddha mentioning the name of adzatathat as king of radzagio, leaves no doubt respecting the time when the awful punishment is supposed to have been meted out to dewadat, on account of the many heinous sins laid to his charge. adzatathat, having murdered his father pimpathara, by starving him to death in a prison, became king of radzagio, and succeeded him when buddha was nearly seventy-two years old. he was already king, as the sequel will show, when dewadat was as yet his spiritual adviser. it is probable that the following narrative was made not more than two years after the above date. when the most excellent buddha was in the dzetawon monastery, alluding to the sad fate that had fallen dewadat, he related the causes that had brought on this dreadful occurrence. at a certain time, when buddha was spending a season in the kosamby country, the people came in great numbers every day to the monastery to bring abundant alms, and pay their respects to him and the assembly. on certain occasions they made inquiries about the most distinguished members of the assembly, such as thariputra, maukalan, anouroudda, ananda, bagoo, kimila, and others, giving utterance to the feelings of admiration and love they entertained towards them. but they never took the least notice of dewadat. the latter keenly resented the studied slight; the more so, because he thought that in his capacity of member of the assembly and of his royal descent, he was entitled to as much consideration as many others, who in this twofold respect were greatly his inferiors. he resolved to leave the company of buddha and go to some other place. he went to radzagio and ingratiated himself in the favours of the young prince adzatathat, son of king pimpathara, the young prince, taken up with the grave manners of the new-comer, acknowledged him as his teacher, and built for him a monastery on the yauthitha hill, close to the city. some years afterwards buddha came to radzagio to spend a season in the weloowon monastery. dewadat went to his monastery. having paid his respects in the usual manner and occupied a becoming place, he three times requested the permission of having an assembly or thinga of his own, quite distinct from the other, which was under the immediate management of buddha. on this point he three times received a direct refusal to his demand. from that day the jealousy he entertained towards buddha waxed to a base envy, which soon generated in his soul a deadly hatred against him. he made up his mind to break with buddha all ties of spiritual relationship, and to become the chief of a new religious body. to succeed in his impious design he required the support of the secular arm. the king of magatha was in favour of buddha, but his son had warmly espoused the cause of dewadat. in such a position, the evil-disposed dewadat advised prince adzatathat to compass the destruction of his father, in order to become king. the ambitious son followed the detestable advice, and put an end to his father's life by starving him to death in a prison, in spite of his own mother's exertions to save her royal husband's life. it was in the thirty-seventh season of buddha's public mission that adzatathat ascended the throne of magatha. under the new king's auspices, dewadat carried everything before him with a high hand. assured of the new king's support, he hired thirty bowmen and promised them an ample reward if they killed buddha. the ruffians gladly agreed to the proposal. but when they were on the point of committing the crime, they felt themselves overawed by the presence of buddha. instead of executing the order they had received, they fell at his feet, craved his pardon, listened to his preaching, and were converted one after the other. disappointed on this point, dewadat designed another plan to rid himself of the great preacher. he watched the moment when buddha was walking at the foot of a hill, named weitsa-gout. from the summit he rolled a large stone that was to crush his enemy. fortunately on its way down the hill's side it met with a small obstacle, on which it split into several parts. one splinter alone hurt the toe of one of buddha's feet, and severely bruised it. on hearing of such a nefarious and cowardly attempt, the disciples hastened to the spot and conveyed their beloved master to his monastery. they offered to keep guard round his person, to prevent the repetition of other attempts on his life. but buddha said to them that no mortal had the power to hurt him so far as to cause his death. he thanked them for this new token of their affectionate regard towards him, and bade them return to their respective places. the celebrated physician dzewaka, having been sent for, applied a bandage, which, being removed on the following morning, it was found, to the surprise and joy of all present, that the injured toe was perfectly cured. on another occasion dewadat made a last attempt on buddha's life, in the suburbs of radzagio, by the means of an elephant, infuriated and maddened by strong liquor forced into his throat. the animal was let loose in one of the streets which gaudama was perambulating gathering alms in his mendicant's pot. but far from doing any injury to buddha, the elephant, having come into his presence, stood for awhile, and then knelt before him in token of respect. in this manner dewadat signally failed in this last wicked attempt. dewadat differed from his cousin on some points of discipline; and this difference occasioned the schism that he meditated to establish.[ ] he had proposed to buddha to make it obligatory on all rahans to live in forests at the foot of certain trees; not to receive food from the people in their own places, but to use only as articles of food such things as they could procure by their exertions; to use robes made up of rags collected in the dust of public thoroughfares, and not such as might be offered by pious laymen; to abstain from fish and meat; and to dwell in unroofed places. gaudama positively refused to accede to his demands. meanwhile he meekly warned him against the sin of schism, telling him that the commission of such an offence would throw the perpetrator into the hell awidzi for a whole revolution of nature. deaf to such a salutary warning, dewadat precipitated himself into schism. he gained over to his party five hundred inexperienced rahans of the witzi country, and with them dwelt in the monastery of gayathitha. he signally failed in his attempt to draw ananda to his side. thariputra, by the advice of buddha, went to dewadat's place. profiting from the time he was asleep at a distance, he prevailed upon the five hundred rahans to abandon schism and return to buddha, the centre of unity, who was then in the dzetawon monastery in wethalie. rising from his sleep, dewadat fell into a paroxysm of rage at the trick played on him. he instantly resolved to start for the dzetawon monastery, to have his revenge on buddha for the injury done unto him. he was carried in a litter. messenger after messenger informed buddha of the approach of his antagonist. but he calmly said to his disciples: "beloved sons, do not trouble yourselves. dewadat shall not see my face nor enter the precincts of this place." information was, in haste, conveyed that dewadat had actually reached the tank close to the monastery, and was resting a while under the shade of a tree. gaudama calmly gave the same assurance to his trembling disciples. but the moment of a terrible punishment was at hand. dewadat, quitting his couch, stood up for a while, to refresh his wearied limbs. but he was seen by his astonished and bewildered companions gradually sinking into the earth, first up to his knees, then to his navel, and finally to his shoulders. at that moment he humbled himself, confessed his fault, acknowledged and proclaimed the glory of buddha. he then disappeared, wrapt in flame, and fell to the bottom of the hell awidzi. his punishment consists in having his feet sunk ankle-deep in a burning ground; his head is covered with a red-hot pan, that caps his head down to the lobe of the ears; two huge red-hot iron bars transfixt him horizontally from right to left, two from back to front, and one impales him from top to bottom. he shall have to suffer in that frightful position during a revolution of nature. but, for his tardy and sincere repentance, he shall be delivered, and, by his exertions in practising virtue, he shall become a pitzegabuddha, under the name of atisara. adzatathat ruled over the two countries of enga and magatha. his mother was waydahi, the sister of king pathenadi, who ruled over the two countries of kaci and kosala. adzatathat, who was of a bellicose temper, quarrelled with his uncle on account of some districts in kaci, which he seized by force of arms. unable to resist the army of his nephew, pathenadi offered to the invader the hand of his daughter watzera-komma. the offer was accepted, and a reconciliation followed. three years afterwards, pathenadi lost his throne, which was seized by meittadoubba, a son he had had by a concubine. pathenadi went to radzagio to ask assistance against the usurper from his son-in-law. but he died on his way to that place. it was under the rule of meittadoubba, in the forty-fourth season, that occurred the total destruction of the thagiwi princes of kosala and kapilawot by the ambitious adzatathat. buddha spent the forty-fourth season in the dzetawon monastery. when the season was over, he went to dwell in the weitzagout monastery, near radzagio. while he was in that place, there was spread a rumour that adzatathat entertained hostile feelings towards wethalie. buddha then foretold that as long as the princes of wethalie would be united and avoid internal strife and contention, they would be more than a match for their enemy; but should quarrel take place among them, they and their country would fall an easy prey to the invader. these words, which fell from buddha's mouth, were not forgotten by a pounha who was one of adzatathat's ministers. he planned, with his royal mother's consent and secret encouragement, the destruction of the rulers of wethalie, and the conquest of that country, by contriving to sow the seed of dissension among the letziwi princes. his plan met with complete success some years later, about three years after gaudama's neibban, as we shall have the opportunity of relating. footnotes [ ] this short summary of buddha's life, indicating but little more than the names of the places where he had spent twenty seasons, and leaving us in the dark as to all the particulars regarding the twenty-three other seasons, is another illustration of the assertion, made in some foregoing passages, that the present compilation is very concise and imperfect, supplying us with but an outline of buddha's proceedings during the course of his preachings. he reached the age of eighty. according to the authority of this legend, buddha lived forty-five years after he had obtained the buddhaship. he was therefore thirty-five when he began his public life and entered the career of preaching the law. it is not in my power to say anything positive respecting the antiquity of this work, but the statement of the main facts is borne out by the united testimony of the buddhistic works existing in various parts and in different languages of eastern asia. if it be true that our buddha lived so long, we must believe that his time during the last twenty-five years was employed in the same benevolent undertaking, viz., to preach the sacred law and point out to beings the way that shall lead them to the deliverance. many volumes are full of the disputes on religious subjects between buddha and the heretics, that is to say, his opponents. we may conclude that those controversies took place during the latter part of buddha's life, as it cannot be doubted that they increased in proportion to the progress the new doctrines made among the people. if, however, we are in great part kept in the dark respecting the doings of the great reformer during a long period of his public life, we are amply compensated by the account of many interesting circumstances that occurred chiefly during the last year of his earthly career. [ ] dewadat, in insisting upon the adoption of regulations of a more rigid character, intended to imitate, to a certain extent, the conduct of the mendicants of the opposite party. he aimed at rivalling them in the practice of austere observances. it does not appear that he innovated in the dogmas that he had learned at the school of his great teacher. as his royal pupil, adzatathat, had hitherto supported the party of the pounhas, it is not improbable that dewadat wished to lessen the differences between the practices and observances of the two parties, to render them less perceptible, and by doing so, to prepare the way, by gradual approximation, for a complete fusion. he exhibited himself in the character of a rigid reformer, who was displeased with the too lenient tenor of the disciplinary regulations instituted by buddha. be that as it may, it is certain that jealousy in the beginning inspired him with the idea of separating from the assembly. this first step led him farther than he at first contemplated. he wished to set up an assembly, or thinga of his own, and thereby to place himself on a footing of equality and rivalry with his cousin. meeting with greater resistance than he expected, and being convinced that he could not succeed so long as buddha should be alive, he did not shrink from making several attempts on his life. it is a fact worthy of notice that the disturbances which took place subsequently in the buddhist society had their origin, in most instances, in points of discipline of a trivial importance, which were altered or rejected by a fraction of the assembly, whilst they were upheld with the utmost tenacity by the greater portion of the rahans, as having been established by gaudama. this observation will be fully corroborated by the particulars that we shall relate on the subject of the councils or meetings held after gaudama's death. end of vol. i. printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. edinburgh & london trübner's oriental series. [illustration] kegan paul, trench, trÜbner & co. ltd dryden house, gerrard street, london, w. "a knowledge of the commonplace, at least, of oriental literature, philosophy, and religion is as necessary to the general reader of the present day as an acquaintance with the latin and greek classics was a generation or so ago. immense strides have been made within the present century in these branches of learning; sanskrit has been brought within the range of accurate philology, and its invaluable ancient literature thoroughly investigated; the language and sacred books of the zoroastrians have been laid bare; egyptian, assyrian, and other records of the remote past have been deciphered, and a group of scholars speak of still more recondite accadian and hittite monuments; but the results of all the scholarship that has been devoted to these subjects have been almost inaccessible to the public because they were contained for the most part in learned or expensive works, or scattered throughout the numbers of scientific periodicals. messrs. trübner & co., in a spirit of enterprise which does them infinite credit, have determined to supply the constantly-increasing want, and to give in a popular, or, at least, a comprehensive form, all this mass of knowledge to the world."--_times._ the late oriental scholar, mr. romesh c. dutt, c.i.e., says:-- "i wish to say a word about this series, because i am in a special degree indebted to it. professor max müller, who has, by his lifelong labours, done more than any living scholar to elucidate ancient hindu literature and history, has now conceived the noble idea of enabling english readers to go to the fountain source, and consult oriental works in a series of faithful translations. more than thirty volumes, translated from the sanscrit, chinese, zend, pahlair, pàli, arabic, &c., have already been published, and more volumes are expected. i take this opportunity to own my great indebtedness to the volumes of this series which relate to indian history. i have freely quoted from them--allowing myself the liberty of a verbal alteration here and there; and i have seldom thought it necessary to consult these original sanscrit works which have been translated in this faithful and valuable series." * * * * * in two volumes, post vo, cloth, pp. and , price s. net. albÊrÛnÎ's india. an account of the religion, philosophy, literature, geography, chronology, astronomy, customs, laws, and astrology of india about a.d. . an english edition, with notes and indices. by dr. edward c. sachau, professor in the royal university of berlin, and principal of the seminary for oriental languages; member of the royal academy of berlin, and corresponding member of the imperial academy of vienna honorary member of the asiatic society of great britain and ireland, london, and of the american oriental society, cambridge, u.s.a. extract from preface. albêrûnî, or, as his compatriots called him, abû raihân, was born a.d. , in the territory of modern khiva, then called khwârizm, or chorasmia in antiquity. early distinguishing himself in science and literature, he played a political part as councillor of the ruling prince of his native country of the ma'mûni family. in the opening of his book albêrûnî gives an account of the circumstances which suggested to him the idea of writing the [greek: indiká]. once the conversation with a friend of his, else unknown, ran on the then existing literature on the history of religion and philosophy, its merits and demerits. when, in particular, the literature on the belief of the hindus came to be criticised, albêrûnî maintained that all of it was second-hand and thoroughly uncritical. to verify the matter, his friend once more examines the books in question, which results in his agreeing with our author, and his asking him to fill up this gap in the arabic literature of the time. the book he has produced is not a polemical one. he will not convert the hindus, nor lend a direct help to missionary zealots. he will simply describe hinduism, without identifying himself with it. he takes care to inform the reader that he is not responsible for whatsoever repugnant detail he has to relate, but the hindus themselves. he gives a repertory of information on indian subjects, destined for the use of those who lived in peaceable intercourse with them, and wished to have an insight into their mode and world of thought. the author has nothing in common with the muhammadan ghâzî who wanted to convert the hindus or to kill them, and his book scarcely reminds the reader of the incessant war between islam and india, during which it had been prepared, and by which the possibility of writing such a book had first been given. it is like a magic island of quiet, impartial research in the midst of a world of clashing swords, burning towns, and plundered temples. the object which the author had in view, and never for a moment lost sight of, was to afford the necessary information and training to "_any one_ (in islam) _who wants to converse with the hindus, and to discuss with them questions of religion, science, or literature, on the very basis of their own civilisation_." in general, it is the method of our author not to speak himself, but to let the hindus speak, giving extensive quotations from their classical authors. he presents a picture of indian civilisation as painted by the hindus themselves. many chapters, not all, open with a short characteristic introduction of a general nature. the body of most chapters consists of three parts. the first is a _précis_ of the question, as the author understands it. the second part brings forward the doctrines of the hindus, quotations from sanskrit books in the chapters on religion, philosophy, astronomy, and astrology, and other kinds of information which had been communicated to him by word of mouth, or things which he had himself observed in the chapters on literature, historic chronology, geography, law, manners, and customs. in the third part he does the same as megasthenes had already done; he tries to bring the sometimes very exotic subject nearer to the understanding of his readers by comparing it with the theories of ancient greece, and by other comparisons. in the disposition of every single chapter, as well as in the sequence of the chapters, a perspicuous, well-considered plan is apparent. there is no patchwork nor anything superfluous, and the words fit to the subject as close as possible. he does not blindly accept the traditions of former ages; he wants to understand and to criticise them. he wants to sift the wheat from the chaff, and he will discard everything that militates against the laws of nature and of reason. he criticises manuscript tradition like a modern philologist. he sometimes supposes the text to be corrupt, and inquires into the cause of the corruption; he discusses various readings, and proposes emendations. he guesses at _lacunæ_, criticises different translations, and complains of the carelessness and ignorance of the copyists. this valuable and interesting work has been out of print for many years, and second-hand copies have been very difficult to obtain even at a high premium. at the urgent request of many scholars and students both in england and india, the publishers have decided to issue the present reprint at a cheaper price than the original edition. * * * * * post vo, pp. viii. and , cloth, price s. indian poetry: containing "the indian song of songs." from the sanskrit of the "gita govinda" of jayadeva; two books from "the iliad of india" (mah[.a]bhârata), "proverbial wisdom" from the shlokas of the hitopadesa, and other oriental poems. by sir edwin arnold, m.a., k.c.i.e., c.s.i., &c., &c. contents. the indian song of songs-- introduction. hymn to vishnu. sarga the first--the sports of krishna. sarga the second--the penitence of krishna. sarga the third--krishna troubled. sarga the fourth--krishna cheered. sarga the fifth--the longings of krishna. sarga the sixth--krishna made bolder. sarga the seventh--krishna supposed false. sarga the eighth--the rebuking of krishna. sarga the ninth--the end of krishna's trial. sarga the tenth--krishna in paradise. sarga the eleventh--the union of radha and krishna. miscellaneous oriental poems-- the rajpoot wife. king saladin. the caliph's draught. hindoo funeral song. song of the serpent charmers. song of the flour-mill. taza ba taza. the mussulman paradise. dedication of a poem from the sanskrit. the rajah's ride. two books from "the iliad of india." the great journey. the entry into heaven. the night of slaughter. the morning prayer. proverbial wisdom from the shlokas of the hitopadesa. opinions of the press. "in this new volume sir edwin arnold does good service by illustrating, through the medium of his musical english melodies, the power of indian poetry to stir european emotions. 'the indian song of songs' is not unknown to scholars. sir edwin arnold will have introduced it among popular english poems."--_times._ "complete mastery of the english language, combined with genuine poetic fervour, has enabled the translator of 'the indian song of songs' to spread before his readers a feast of dulcet sounds and lyrical language. music seems to flow from his pen as naturally as rain from the cloud or song from the throat of the thrush."--_morning post._ "the poem abounds with imagery of eastern luxuriousness and sensuousness; the air seems laden with the spicy odours of the tropics, and the verse has a richness and a melody sufficient to captivate the senses of the dullest."--_standard._ * * * * * third edition. post vo, pp. viii.- , cloth, price s. the s[=a]nkhya aphorisms of kapila, with illustrative extracts from the commentaries. translated by j. r. ballantyne, ll.d., late principal of the benares college. edited by fitzedward hall. "the work displays a vast expenditure of labour and scholarship, for which students of hindoo philosophy have every reason to be grateful to dr. hall and the publishers."--_calcutta review._ * * * * * fourth edition. post vo, cloth, pp. xxiv.- , price s. the religions of india. by a. barth, member of the société asiatique of paris. authorised translation by rev. j. wood, edin. india has not only preserved for us in her vedas the most ancient and complete documents for the study of the old religious beliefs founded on nature-worship, which, in an extremely remote past, were common to all the branches of the indo-european family; she is also the only country where these beliefs, in spite of many changes both in form and fortune, continue to subsist up to the present time. whilst everywhere else they have been either as good as extinguished by monotheistic religions of foreign origin, in some instances without leaving behind them a single direct and authentic trace of their presence, or abruptly cut short in their evolution and forced to survive within the barriers, henceforth immovable, of a petty church, as in the case of parseeism,--in india alone they present up to this time, as a rich and varied literature attests, a continuous, self-determined development, in the course of which, instead of contracting, they have continued to enlarge their borders. it is owing in a great measure to this extraordinary longevity that such an interest attaches to the separate and independent study of the hindu religions, irrespective altogether of the estimate we may form of their dogmatic or practical worth. nowhere else do we meet with circumstances, on the whole, so favourable for the study of the successive transformations and destiny, so to speak, of a polytheistic idea of the universe. * * * * * post vo, cloth. pp. cviii.- and viii.- . two volumes, price s. si-yu-ki. buddhist records of the western world. translated from the chinese of huien tsiang (a.d. ). by samuel beal, b.a. (trin. col., camb.), r.n. (retired chaplain and n.i.), professor of chinese, university college, london; rector of wark, northumberland, &c. the progress which has been made in our knowledge of northern buddhism during the last few years is due very considerably to the discovery of the buddhist literature of china. this literature (now well known to us through the catalogues already published) contains, amongst other valuable works, the records of the travels of various chinese buddhist pilgrims who visited india during the early centuries of our era. these records embody the testimony of independent eyewitnesses as to the facts related in them, and having been faithfully preserved and allotted a place in the collection of the sacred book of the country, their evidence is entirely trustworthy. it would be impossible to mention _seriatim_ the various points of interest in these works, as they refer to the geography, history, manners, and religion of the people of india. the reader who looks into the pages of this book will find ample material for study on all these questions. but there is one particular that gives a more than usual interest to the records under notice, and that is the evident sincerity and enthusiasm of the travellers themselves. never did more devoted pilgrims leave their native country to encounter the perils of travel in foreign and distant lands; never did disciples more ardently desire to gaze on the sacred vestiges of their religion; never did men endure greater sufferings by desert, mountain, and sea than these simple-minded, earnest buddhist priests. and that such courage, religious devotion, and power of endurance should be exhibited by men so sluggish, as we think, in their very nature as the chinese, this is very surprising, and may perhaps arouse some consideration. * * * * * in two volumes, post vo, pp. xii.- and x.- , cloth, price s. mediÆval researches from eastern asiatic sources. fragments towards the knowledge of the geography and history of central and western asia from the thirteenth to the seventeenth century. by e. bretschneider, m.d., formerly physician of the russian legation at pekin. extract from preface the subjects dealt with in the two volumes form a carefully revised and improved edition of three essays gathered into one collection, viz.:-- . notes on chinese mediæval travellers to the west, . . notices of the mediæval geography and history of central and western asia, . . chinese intercourse with the countries of central and western asia during the fifteenth century, . since the first publication of these papers, large additions have been made to the stock of our knowledge regarding the regions of central asia which, previously to the russian occupation of these tracts, had been inaccessible to scientific exploration. thus new light has been thrown upon many interesting geographical questions suggested by the narratives of mediæval travellers, or hitherto based only upon more modern but vague and dubious chinese accounts. to bring the new edition of those former researches up to the present advanced state of knowledge on the subject, i had to study a vast amount of literature, written for the greater part in russian, which has come to light, on central asia, and was obliged to read through a great number of works and papers, some of them published in russian turkestan, and, therefore, difficult to obtain. in general, all reading accessible to me bearing on the subject has been made use of for the elucidation of mediæval geographical questions arising out of my researches. * * * * * post vo, pp. xii.- , cloth, price s. d. the history of esarhaddon (son of sennacherib), king of assyria, b.c. - . translated from the cuneiform inscriptions upon cylinders and tablets in the british museum collection; together with a grammatical analysis of each word, explanations of the ideographs by extracts from the bi-lingual syllabaries, and list of eponyms, &c. by e. a. wallis budge, m.a., litt.d., d.lit., keeper of the egyptian and assyrian antiquities in the british museum. "students of scriptural archæology will also appreciate the 'history of esarhaddon.'"--_times._ "there is much to attract the scholar in this volume. it does not pretend to popularise studies which are yet in their infancy. its primary object is to translate, but it does not assume to be more than tentative, and it offers both to the professed assyriologist and to the ordinary non-assyriological semitic scholar the means of controlling its results."--_academy._ "mr. budge's book is, of course, mainly addressed to assyrian scholars and students. they are not, it is to be feared, a very numerous class. but the more thanks are due to him on that account for the way in which he has acquitted himself in his laborious task."--_tablet._ * * * * * post vo, pp. xlviii.- , cloth, price s. the ordinances of manu. translated from the sanskrit, with an introduction. by the late a. c. burnell, ph.d., c.i.e. completed and edited by e. w. hopkins, ph.d., of columbia college, n.y. "this work is full of interest; while for the student of sociology and the science of religion it is full of importance. it is a great boon to get so notable a work in so accessible a form, admirably edited, and completely translated."--_scotsman._ "few men were more competent than burnell to give us a really good translation of this well-known law book, first rendered into english by sir william jones. burnell was not only an independent sanskrit scholar, but an experienced lawyer, and he joined to these two important qualifications the rare faculty of being able to express his thoughts in clear and trenchant english.... we ought to feel very grateful to dr. hopkins for having given us all that could be published of the translation left by burnell."--f. max mÜller in the _academy_. * * * * * third edition. post vo, cloth, pp. vi.- , price s. the bhagavad g[=i]t[=a]; or, the sacred lay. a sanskrit philosophical poem. translated, with notes, by john davies, m.a. (cantab.) member of the royal asiatic society, of the cambridge philological society, &c., and (sometime) rector of walsoken, norfolk. i. introduction. ii. translation. iii. appendix. (i) on the date at which the bhagavad g[=i]t[=a] was probably written, and on the theory that it was written under an influence derived from a knowledge of christian doctrines. (ii) the traditional line of descent of the lunar dynasty. (iii) collation of two mss. with the bonn edition of the bhagavad g[=i]t[=a], and the readings of other editions and mss. in preparing this translation of the bhagavad g[=i]t[=a], the author had before him the greek translation of galanos, and the italian version of stanislao gatti, both supplied by dr. reinhold rost. the author also consulted the french version of burnouf, the latin version of lassen, and the english versions of mr. thomson and k. t. telang. the notes of lassen have given valuable aid, as well as a paper on the bhagavad g[=i]t[=a], read before the "akademie der weissenschaften" of berlin in by w. van humboldt, which contained a scholarly review of the doctrines contained in the poem. the author has also consulted a ms. copy of the commentary on the bhagavad g[=i]t[=a], written by ['s]r[=i]dhara, and, by the kindness of dr. rost, another commentary, attributed to ['s]ankara, but written by ['s]ankara ananda saraswati (quot. at ananda), and called t[=a]tparya bodhin[=i]. * * * * * second edition. post vo, cloth, pp. viii.- , price s. hindu philosophy. the s[=a]nkhya k[=a]rik[=a] of [=i]['s]wara krishna. an exposition of the system of kapila, with an appendix on the ny[=a]ya and vai['s]eshika systems. by john davies, m.a. (cantab.) member of the royal asiatic society, of the cambridge philological society, &c., and (sometime) rector of walsoken, norfolk. extract from preface. i wish to present to my readers the philosophy of kapila as it has been set forth by his indian exponent, [=i]['s]wara krishna. the system of kapila, called the s[=a]nkhya or rationalistic, in its original form, and in its theistic development by patarijali, contains nearly all that india has produced in the department of pure philosophy. other systems, though classed as philosophic, are mainly devoted to logic and physical science, or to an exposition of the vedas. the system of kapila may be said to have only an historical value, but on this account alone it is interesting as a chapter in the history of the human mind. it is the earliest attempt on record to give an answer, from reason alone, to the mysterious questions which arise in every thoughtful mind about the origin of the world, the nature and relations of man, and his future destiny. it is interesting also and instructive to note how often the human mind moves in a circle. the latest german philosophy, the system of schopenhauer and von hartmann, is mainly a reproduction of the philosophic system of kapila in its materialistic part, presented in a more elaborate form, but on the same fundamental lines. in this respect the human intellect has gone over the same ground that it occupied more than two thousand years ago, but on a more important question it has taken a step in retreat. kapila recognised fully the existence of a soul in man, forming indeed his proper nature--the absolute ego of fichte--distinct from matter and immortal; but our latest philosophy, both here and in germany, can see in man only a highly developed physical organisation. "all external things," says kapila, "were formed that the soul might know itself and be free." "the study of psychology is vain," says schopenhauer, "for there is no psyche." * * * * * post vo, pp. , cloth, price s. a classical dictionary of hindu mythology and religion, geography, history, and literature. by john dowson, m.r.a.s., late professor of hindustani, staff college. "this not only forms an indispensable book of reference to students of indian literature, but is also of great general interest, as it gives in a concise and easily accessible form all that need be known about the personages of hindu mythology whose names are so familiar, but of whom so little is known outside the limited circle of _savants_."--_times._ "it is no slight gain when such subjects are treated fairly and fully in a moderate space; and we need only add that the few wants which we may hope to see supplied in new editions detract but little from the general excellence of mr. dowson's work."--_saturday review._ * * * * * revised edition in two volumes, post vo, pp. xxx.- ; xiv.- , cloth, price s. a history of civilisation in ancient india. based on sanskrit literature, by romesh chunder dutt, c.i.e. of the indian civil service, and of the middle temple, barrister-at-law, member of the royal asiatic society of great britain and ireland, and of the asiatic society of bengal. vol. i.--b.c. to ; vol. ii.--b.c. --a.d. . extract from preface. the method on which this work has been written is very simple. my principal object has been to furnish the general reader with a practical and handy work on the ancient history of india--not to compose an elaborate work of discussions on indian antiquities. to study clearness and conciseness on a subject like this was not, however, an easy task. every chapter in the present work deals with matters about which long researches have been made, and various opinions have been recorded. it would have afforded some satisfaction to me to have given the reader the history of every controversy, the account of every antiquarian discovery, and the pros and cons of every opinion advanced. but i could not yield to this temptation without increasing the work to three or four times its present humble size, and thus sacrificing the very object with which it is written. to carry out my primary object i have avoided every needless discussion, and i have tried to explain as clearly, concisely, and distinctly as i was able each succeeding phase of hindu civilisation and hindu life in ancient times. but, while conciseness has been the main object of the present work, i have also endeavoured to tell my story so that it may leave some distinct memories on my readers after they have closed the work. for this reason, i have avoided details as far as possible, and tried to develop, fully and clearly, the leading facts and features of each succeeding age. repetition has not been avoided where such repetition seemed necessary to impress on my readers the cardinal facts--the salient features of the story of hindu civilisation. "mr. dutt has attempted to popularise learned researches, and has undertaken a patriotic work, and in many respects none could he better prepared for the task than he.... as far as possible he allows the original texts to speak for themselves; his book is thus filled with extracts selected and translated with care; and the extracts are connected together by analyses and résumés in which we always find what is necessary, and seldom what is superfluous. he has written with enthusiasm, in a language clear and correct, and without that needless display of erudition which tires more than it instructs. on the whole i know of no work which enables one better to enter into the spirit of ancient indian thought, or which is more fascinating reading."--m. barth, _in revue critique, paris_. (translated.) * * * * * in one volume, post vo, cloth, pp. xvi.- , price s. d. lays of ancient india. selections from indian poetry rendered into english verse. by romesh chunder dutt, c.i.e. barrister-at-law, and of the indian civil service; member of the royal asiatic society, and of the asiatic society of bengal. author of "a history of civilisation in ancient india," &c. extract from preface. the time has come for placing before english readers a carefully prepared book of selections from the entire range of ancient indian poetry. such a book of selections should convey something not only of the beauty of indian poetry in general, but also of the distinctive features of the poetry of each special period--something of the freshness and simplicity of the vedic hymns, the sublime and lofty thought of the upanishads, the unsurpassed beauty of buddhist precepts, and the incomparable richness and imagery of the later or classical sanscrit poetry. and it seems to me that such a book, comprising specimens from the literature of successive periods, is likely to give the english reader a general bird's-eye view of indian poetry, indian thought, and indian religion. * * * * * revised edition. post vo, pp. , cloth, price s. d. religion in china. by joseph edkins, d.d., peking. containing a brief account of the three religions of the chinese, with observations on the prospects of christian conversion amongst that people. "dr. edkins has been most careful in noting the varied and often complex phases of opinion, so as to give an account of considerable value of the subject."--_scotsman._ "as a missionary, it has been part of dr. edkins' duty to study the existing religions in china, and his long residence in the country has enabled him to acquire an intimate knowledge of them as they at present exist."--_saturday review._ "dr. edkins' valuable work, of which this is a second and revised edition, has, from the time that it was published, been the standard authority upon the subject of which it treats."--_nonconformist._ "dr. edkins ... may now be fairly regarded as among the first authorities on chinese religion and language."--_british quarterly review._ * * * * * new and revised edition. post vo, pp. xxiv.- , cloth, price s. chinese buddhism. a volume of sketches, historical and critical. by j. edkins, d.d. author of "china's place in philology," "religion in china," &c., &c. "it contains a vast deal of important information on the subject, such as is only to be gained by long-continued study on the spot."--_athenæum._ "upon the whole, we know of no work comparable to it for the extent of its original research, and the simplicity with which this complicated system of philosophy, religion, literature, and ritual is set forth."--_british quarterly review._ "the whole volume is replete with learning.... it deserves most careful study from all interested in the history of the religions of the world, and expressly of those who are concerned in the propagation of christianity. dr. edkins notices in terms of just condemnation the exaggerated praise bestowed upon buddhism by recent english writers."--_record._ * * * * * third edition. post vo, cloth, pp. xxiv.- , price s. the philosophy of the upanishads and ancient indian metaphysics. as exhibited in a series of articles contributed to the _calcutta review_. by archibald edward gough, m.a., lincoln college, oxford; principal of the calcutta madrasa. extract from preface. those interested in the general history of philosophy will find in it an account of a very early attempt, on the part of thinkers of a rude age and race, to form a cosmological theory. the real movement of philosophic thought begins, it is true, not in india, but in ionia; but some degree of interest may still be expected to attach to the procedure of the ancient indian cosmologists. the upanishads are so many 'songs before sunrise'--spontaneous effusions of awakening reflection, half poetical, half metaphysical--that precede the conscious and methodical labour of the long succession of thinkers to construct a thoroughly intelligible conception of the sum of things. for the general reader, then, these pages may supply in detail, and in the terms of the sanskrit texts themselves, a treatment of the topics slightly sketched in the third chapter of archer butler's first series of 'lectures on the history of ancient philosophy.' the upanishads exhibit the prehistoric view of things in a na[=i]vely poetical expression, and, at the same time, in its coarsest form. any translations will be found to include the whole of the mu[n.][d.]aka, ka[t.]ha, ['s]vet[=a]['s]vatara, and m[=a][n.][d.][=u]kya upanishads, the greater part of the taittir[=i]ya and b[r.]ihad[=a]ro[n.]yaka, and portions of the chh[=a]ndogya and kena, together with extracts from the works of the indian schoolmen. * * * * * third edition. post vo, cloth, pp. xvi.- , price s. essays on the sacred language, writings, and religion of the parsis. by martin haug, ph.d., late of the universities of tübingen, göttingen, and bonn; superintendent of sanskrit studies, and professor of sanskrit in the poona college. edited and enlarged by dr. e. w. west. to which is added a biographical memoir of the late dr. haug by prof. e. p. evans. i. history of the researches into the sacred writings and religion of the parsis, from the earliest times down to the present. ii. languages of the parsi scriptures. iii. the zend-avesta, or the scripture of the parsis. iv. the zoroastrian religion, as to its origin and development. "'essays on the sacred language, writings, and religion of the parsis,' by the late dr. martin haug, edited by dr. e. w. west. the author intended, on his return from india, to expand the materials contained in this work into a comprehensive account of the zoroastrian religion, but the design was frustrated by his untimely death. we have, however, in a concise and readable form, a history of the researches into the sacred writings and religion of the parsis from the earliest times down to the present--a dissertation on the languages of the parsi scriptures, a translation of the zend-avesta, or the scripture of the parsis, and a dissertation on the zoroastrian religion, with especial reference to its origin and development."--_times._ * * * * * post vo, pp. viii. and , cloth, price s. d. manava-dharma-castra: the code of manu. original sanskrit text, with critical notes. by j. jolly, ph.d., professor of sanskrit in the university of wurzburg; late tagore professor of law in the university of calcutta. the date assigned by sir william jones to this code--the well-known great law book of the hindus--is - b.c., although the rules and precepts contained in it had probably existed as tradition for countless ages before. there has been no reliable edition of the text for students for many years past, and it is believed, therefore, that prof. jolly's work will supply a want long felt. * * * * * second edition. post vo, pp. xii.- , cloth, price s. folk-tales of kashmir. by the rev. j. hinton knowles, f.r.g.s., m.r.a.s., &c. (c.m.s.) missionary to the kashmirs. extract from preface. kashmir as a field of folk-lore literature is, perhaps, not surpassed in fertility by any other country in the world; and yet, while every year witnesses the publication of books on the subject from bengal, bombay, madras, porjáb, and other parts, this field, ripe for the harvest, has remained almost ungleaned. no doubt its isolated position and the difficulty of its language have had something to do with this apparent neglect. no apology will be needed for the presentation of this book to the public. the great interest and importance attaching to the folk-tales of any people is manifest from the great attention devoted to them by many learned writers and others. concerning the style and manner of the book, however, i would ask my readers to be lenient with me. i have sought not so much to present these tales in a purely literary form as to give them in a fair translation, and most of the work was done by lamp-light after an ordinary amount of missionary work during the day. however, such as it is, i sincerely hope it will prove a real contribution towards that increasing stock of folk-lore which is doing so much to clear away the clouds that envelop much of the practices, ideas, and beliefs which make up the daily life of the natives of our great dependencies, control their feelings, and underlie many of their actions. * * * * * post vo, pp. ix.- , cloth, price s. d. the sarva-darsana-samgraha; or, review of the different systems of hindu philosophy. by madhava acharya. translated by e. b. cowell, m.a., professor of sanskrit in the university of cambridge, and a. e. gough, m.a., professor of philosophy in the presidency college, calcutta. this work is an interesting specimen of hindu critical ability. the author successively passes in review the sixteen philosophical systems current in the fourteenth century in the south of india; and he gives what appears to him to be their most important tenets. "the translation is trustworthy throughout. a protracted sojourn in india, where there is a living tradition, has familiarised the translators with indian thought."--_athenæum._ * * * * * five volumes, post vo, cloth, price s. each. original sanskrit texts _on the origin and history of the people of india: their religion and institutions._ collected, translated, and illustrated. by j. muir, c.i.e., d.c.l., ll.d., ph.d. third edition, re-written, and greatly enlarged. vol. i.--mythical and legendary accounts of the origin of caste, with an inquiry into its existence in the vedic age. vol. ii.--inquiry whether the hindus are of trans-himalayan origin, and akin to the western branches of the indo-european race. vol. iii.--the vedas: opinions of their authors and of later indian writers on their origin, inspiration, and authority. (out of print.) vol. iv.--comparison of the vedic with the later representations of the principal indian deities. vol. v.--contributions to a knowledge of the cosmogony, mythology, religious ideas, life, and manners of the indians in the vedic age. * * * * * post vo, pp. xliv.- , cloth, price s. metrical translations from sanskrit writers. with an introduction, many prose versions, and parallel passages from classical authors. by j. muir, c.i.e., d.c.l., ll.d., ph.d. "... an agreeable introduction to hindu poetry."--_times._ "... a volume which maybe taken as a fair illustration alike of the religious and moral sentiments and of the legendary lore of the best sanskrit writers."--_edinburgh daily review._ * * * * * post vo, pp. lxv.- , cloth, price s. tibetan tales derived from indian sources. translated from the tibetan of the kah-gyur. by f. anton von schiefner. done into english from the german, with an introduction, by w. r. s. ralston, m.a. "mr. ralston, whose name is so familiar to all lovers of russian folk-lore, has supplied some interesting western analogies and parallels, drawn, for the most part, from slavonic sources, to the eastern folk-tales, culled from the kahgyur, one of the divisions of the tibetan sacred books."--_academy._ "the translation ... could scarcely have fallen into better hands. an introduction ... gives the leading facts in the lives of those scholars who have given their attention to gaining a knowledge of the tibetan literature and language."--_calcutta review._ "ought to interest all who care for the east, for amusing stories, or for comparative folk-lore."--_pall mall gazette._ * * * * * post vo, pp. xvi.- , cloth, price s. udÂnavarga. a collection of verses from the buddhist canon. compiled by dharmatrÂta. being the northern buddhist version of dhammapada. translated from the tibetan of bkah-hgyur, with notes, and extracts from the commentary of pradjnavarman, by w. woodville rockhill. "mr. rockhill's present work is the first from which assistance will be gained for a more accurate understanding of the pali text; it is, in fact, as yet the only term of comparison available to us. the 'udauavarga,' the thibetan version, was originally discovered by the late m. schiefner, who published the tibetan text, and had intended adding a translation, an intention frustrated by his death, but which has been carried out by mr. rockhill.... mr. rockhill may be congratulated for having well accomplished a difficult task."--_saturday review._ * * * * * fifth edition. post vo, pp. xv.- , cloth, price s. d. outlines of the history of religion to the spread of the universal religions. by c. p. tiele, doctor of theology, professor of the history of religions in the university of leyden. translated from the dutch by j. estlin carpenter, m.a. "few books of its size contain the result of so much wide thinking, able and laborious study, or enable the reader to gain a better bird's-eye view of the latest results of investigations into the religious history of nations. as professor tiele modestly says, 'in this little book are outlines--pencil sketches, i might say--nothing more.' but there are some men whose sketches from a thumb-nail are of far more worth than an enormous canvas covered with the crude painting of others, and it is easy to see that these pages, full of information, these sentences, cut and perhaps also dry, short and clear, condense the fruits of long and thorough research."--_scotsman._ * * * * * four volumes ready. volume v. in the press. post vo, cloth, price s. d. each. the shÁhnÁma of firdausÍ. done into english by arthur george warner, m.a., and edmond warner, b.a. february th of the present year ( ) is the nine hundredth anniversary of the completion of the sháhnamá. its author, the persian poet firdausí, spent over thirty laborious years in its composition, only to experience, when the task had been achieved, a heart-breaking disappointment well worthy of inclusion in any record of the calamities of authors. his work has survived the test of time, and by general consent is accounted to be one of the few great epics of the world. geographically and in some other respects it may be said to stand half-way between the epics of europe and those of india. in its own land it has no peer, while in construction and subject-matter it is unique. other epics centre round some heroic character or incident to which all else is subservient. in the sháhnamá there is no lack either of heroes or of incidents, but its real hero is the ancient persian people, and its theme their whole surviving legendary history from the days of the first man to the death of the last sháh in the middle of the seventeenth century of our era. it is the glory of the persian race that they alone among all nations possess such a record, based as it is on their own traditions and set forth in the words of their greatest poet. in another sense, too, the sháhnamá is unique. the author of the other great epics tell us little or nothing of their own personalities or of their sources of information. their works are fairy palaces suspended in mid air; we see the result, but know not how it was achieved. the author of the sháhnamá takes us into his confidence from the first, so that in reading it we are let into the secret of epic-making, and can apply the knowledge thus gained to solve the problem of the construction of its great congeners. to the student of comparative mythology and folk-lore, to the lover of historic romance or romantic history, and to all that are fond of tales of high achievements and the gests of heroes, the sháhnamá is a storehouse of rich and abundant material. to set forth a complete presentment of it with the needful notes and elucidations is the object of the present translation, made from two of the best printed texts of the original--that of vullers and landauer, and that of turner macan. * * * * * third edition. post vo, cloth, pp. xxiv.- , price s. d. the history of indian literature. by albrecht weber. translated from the second german edition by john mann, m.a., and thÉodor zachariae, ph.d., with the sanction of the author. dr. buhler, inspector of schools in india, writes:--"when i was professor of oriental languages in elphinstone college, i frequently felt the want of such a work to which i could refer the students." professor cowell, of cambridge, writes:--"it will be especially useful to the students in our indian colleges and universities. i used to long for such a book when i was teaching in calcutta. hindu students are intensely interested in the history of sanskrit literature, and this volume will supply them with all they want on the subject." professor whitney, yale college, newhaven, conn., u.s.a., writes:--"i was one of the class to whom the work was originally given in the form of academic lectures. at their first appearance they were by far the most learned and able treatment of their subject; and with their recent additions they still maintain decidedly the same rank." "is perhaps the most comprehensive and lucid survey of sanskrit literature extant. the essays contained in the volume were originally delivered as academic lectures, and at the time of their first publication were acknowledged to be by far the most learned and able treatment of the subject. they have now been brought up to date by the addition of all the most important results of recent research."--_times._ * * * * * second edition. post vo, pp. xxxii. and , cloth, price s. d. masnavi i ma'navi: the spiritual couplets of maulÁna jalÁlu-'d-din muhammad i ru'mi. translated and abridged by e. h. whinfield, m.a., late of h.m. bengal civil service. extract from author's preface. this is the book of the masnavi. it contains the roots of the roots of the roots of the faith, and treats of the mysteries of "union" and "certitude." thus saith the feeble slave, in need of the mercy of god, whose name be praised, muhammad, son of muhammad, son of husain, of balkh, of whom may god accept it,--"i have exerted myself to enlarge this book of poetry in rhymed couplets, which contains strange and rare narratives, beautiful sayings and recondite indications; a path for the devout, and a garden for the pious; short in its expressions, but having numerous applications." the author goes on to state that he wrote his book at the instance of shaikh hasan, son of muhammad, "a chief of the gnostics (_'arif[=i]n_) and a leader of right direction and of sure knowledge;" and concludes with a prayer that it may prove "a blessing to those who are possessed of insight, the godly, the spiritual, and the heavenly-minded, the men of light who keep silence and observe, who are absent in spirit though present in the body, very kings though clothed in rags, true nobles among the people, endued with virtues, the lights of guidance." * * * * * post vo, cloth, pp. xxxii.- , price s. d. the quatrains of omar khayyÁm. the persian text with an english verse translation. by e. h. whinfield, m.a., late of the bengal civil service. extract from the introduction. ghiás uddin abul fath omar bin ibrahim al khayyám was a native of nishapúr, one of the principal cities of khorásan. according to the preface of the calcutta ms., he died in a.d., during the reign of sultan sarjar. the date of his birth is nowhere mentioned, but he was contemporary with nizám ul mulk, the celebrated wazir of the seljuk kings, alp arslan and malik shah. this edition contains the persian test of quatrains based on a collation of eight authorities, together with english verse translations. * * * * * second edition, revised. post vo, cloth, pp. viii.- , price s. the quatrains of omar khayyÁm. translated into english verse, by e. h. whinfield, m.a., late of the bengal civil service. this edition contains of the best quatrains in the larger edition, carefully revised. * * * * * post vo, pp. vi.- , cloth, price s. modern india and the indians. being a series of impressions, notes, and essays. by sir monier williams, d.c.l., hon. ll.d. of the university of calcutta, hon. member of the bombay asiatic society, boden professor of sanskrit in the university of oxford. fifth edition, revised and augmented by considerable additions, with illustrations and a map. "in this volume we have the thoughtful impressions of a thoughtful man on some of the most important questions connected with our indian empire.... an enlightened observant man, travelling among an enlightened observant people, professor monier williams has brought before the public in a pleasant form more of the manners and customs of the queen's indian subjects than we ever remember to have seen in any one work. he not only deserves the thanks of every englishman for this able contribution to the study of modern india--a subject with which we should be specially familiar--but he deserves the thanks of every indian, parsee or hindu, buddhist and moslem, for his clear exposition of their manners, their creeds, and their necessities."--_times._ * * * * * post vo, pp. xii.- , cloth, price s. the satakas of bhartrihari. translated from the sanskrit by the rev. b. hale wortham, m.r.a.s., rector of eggesford, north devon. "a very interesting addition to trübner's oriental series."--_saturday review._ "many of the maxims in the book have a biblical ring and beauty of expression."--_st. james' gazette._ * * * * * transcriber's notes . passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. . footnotes have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the end of the chapter. . obvious punctuation errors have been silently corrected. . the original text includes greek characters. for this text version these letters have been replaced with transliterations. . the words coup-d'oeil and oedipus use an oe ligature in the original. . the letters with diacritical marks are enclosed within square braces. . numbers of the form " - / " represent fractional numbers where whole number is followed by hyphen and the fraction / . . the following misprints have been corrected: "similiar" corrected to "similar" (page x) "savans" corrected to "savants" (page xiv) "rasula" corrected to "raoula" (page xx) "ntellectual" corrected to "intellectual" (ch. i, ftn. ) "siting" corrected to "sitting" (page ) "amuesment" corrected to "amusement" (page ) "guadama" corrected to "gaudama" (page ) "ocurrence" corrected to "occurrence" (ch. v, ftn. ) "substantinl" corrected to "substantial" (page ) "undescribable" corrected to "indescribable" (page ) "pathanadi" corrected to "pathenadi" (page ) "ooodaka" corrected to "oodaka" (page ) "rathans" corrected to "rahans" (ch. vi, ftn. ) "succesively" corrected to "successively" (page ) "possesssed" corrected to "possessed" (page ) "drunkennness" corrected to "drunkenness" (page ) "tsadoumaritz" corrected to "tsadoomarit" (page ) "rathan" corrected to "rahan" (page ) "adzatatha" corrected to "adzatathat" (ch. vi, ftn. ) "perfect on" corrected to "perfection" (ch. vii, ftn. ) "morever" corrected to "moreover" (page ) "eft" corrected to "left" (page ) "buddah" corrected to "buddha" (ch. viii, ftn. ) "pracittioners" corrected to "practitioners" (ch. ix, ftn. ) "stockof" corrected to "stock of" (ch. ix, ftn. ) "patzati" corrected to "patzapati" (page ) . other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been retained. shan folk lore stories from the hill and water country by william c. griggs, m. d. to my friend j. n. cushing, d. d., f. r. a. s. _principal of the american baptist college, rangoon, and senior shan missionary, the greatest authority upon shan literature, and the translator of the bible into that language, this little book is dedicated by_ the author introduction the following stories have been taken from the great mass of unwritten lore that is to the black-eyed, brown-skinned boys and girls of the shan mountain country of burma what "jack the giant killer" and "cinderella" are to our own children. the old saw as to the songs and laws of a country may or may not be true. i feel confident, however, that stories such as these, being as they are purely native, with as little admixture of western ideas as it was possible to give them in dressing them in their garment of english words, will give a better insight into what the native of burma really is, his modes of thought and ways of looking at and measuring things, than a treatise thrice as long and representing infinitely more literary merit than will be found in these little tales; and at the same time i hope they will be found to the average reader, at least, more interesting. it may, perhaps, be not out of place to say a little of the "_hpeas_" who appear so frequently in these stories. the _hpea_ is the burman _nat_, and is "a being superior to men and inferior to brahmas, and having its dwelling in one of the six celestial regions" (doctor cushing's "shan-english dictionary"). they are universally worshiped by the inhabitants of burma. if a man has fever, the best thing to do is to "_ling hpea_," that is, to feed the spirits, and the sufferer therefore offers rice, betel-nut, painted sticks, etc. some kinds of _hpeas_ live in the sacred banyan trees, and frequently have i seen men, after a long day's march in the jungle, sit shivering on the ground when within an arm's length lay good dry fire-wood. it had fallen, however, from a tree in which lived a _hpea_, and not a man would dare touch it. big combs of honey may be in the nests of the wild bees, but it is safe from the hungry traveler if it is sheltered by such a tree. some watch over wells, tanks, and lakes, and it is notorious throughout the southern shan states, that a promising young american missionary, who was drowned while shooting, met his death by being dragged to the bottom of the lake by the guardian spirit, who had become incensed at him for killing a water-fowl on his domains. in shan folk-lore the hero does not "marry and live happy ever after," but he becomes the king of the country. american baptist shan mission house, bhamo, burma, . contents a laung khit how boh han me got his title the two chinamen the story of the princess nang kam ung how the hare deceived the tiger the story of the tortoise the sparrow's wonderful brood how the world was created how the king of pagan caught the thief list of illustrations "_each year at the feast of lights ... she prayed_" "_the man standing at the top of the tree was the long-lost brother_" "_again the cunning hare deceived the tiger_" "'_i am nothing but a tortoise swimming in the lake_'" "_on his way he saw what seemed to be a bed of flowers_" folk lore stories "a laung khit."[ ] once upon a time there was a woman who lived in the state of lai hka. she was a very pious woman and always gave the best rice and _puc_ to the priests as they walked, rice _chattie_ in hand, through the city in the early morning. every year when the girls and boys went to the river and filled their chatties with water to throw over the pagodas and idols to insure a good rainy season and abundant crops, she always had the largest bucket of the clearest water and threw it higher than anybody else. she carried the sweetest flowers to the _zayat_ every evening, and on worship days took rice in the prettiest of cups made of banana leaves and offered to the gautamas in the idol-house. but she was not happy. when her neighbors went to the pagodas they had their little ones tied upon their backs or running at their sides, but she had no child whom she could take with her, none to whom she could tell stories of the great lord sa kyah who rules over the spirits in the _hpea_ country, and so she was sad. she was getting old too, and often envied the women who lived near who had bright boys to run errands and girls to help in the house. each year at the feast of lights, when she sent her little candle floating down the river, she prayed for a child, but in vain. at last she made a pilgrimage to a pagoda where folks said was a _parah_ who would give anything that was asked of him. bright and early she set out, and on her head as an offering she carried an image of a tiger and one of a man, and when she arrived at the pagoda she offered the images and prayed for a son. while she was praying at the pagoda, lord sa kyah heard her, took pity on her, and promised her a son. but, alas! when he was born, to his mother's great sorrow, instead of being the beautiful boy she hoped for he was nothing but a frog. lord sa kyah in order to comfort her, however, told her that her son was really a great _hpea_, and that after one year and seven months he would change into the most handsome man in all the hill and water country. all the women scoffed and made fun of the poor mother, and all through the village she was called myeh khit, or "frog's mother," but she bore their jeers in silence and never reviled in return. now the king of the country had seven daughters. all were married except one, and one day myeh khit went to him to ask for this daughter in marriage for her son. the king was of course very angry that she should ask that his only remaining daughter should marry a frog, but he spoke deceitfully, called his daughter and asked her if she would be willing to accept a frog for a husband. like a dutiful daughter she told him that she would "follow his words" and do as he wished, as she had no will apart from his. [illustration: "each year at the feast of lights ... she prayed." page .] the king then called the woman and said: "o woman, i will give my only remaining daughter to your son, but i make one stipulation. you must build a road, paved and properly built, from the market-place to my palace; the sides must be decorated with painted bamboos, and the work must be done within seven days or you shall die. now go, and prepare for the work, and at the end of the seven days i will make ready the marriage feast for my daughter or order the executioner to take off your head." in great distress myeh khit returned to her home and sat down on the floor of her house and wept. all day long she bewailed her hopeless condition. in vain her son asked her the cause of her sorrow. afraid of grieving him she would not tell him; but at last when six out of the seven days had passed, and knowing the fate that awaited her on the morrow, she told him how she had gone to the king with her request, and the time being almost expired, that she must make ready to die on the morrow. "the executioner's sword has already been sharpened, my son," she said, "and to-day in bazaar they were talking of it, and promising to meet one another at the palace to-morrow when the sun should be overhead." as a last resource she made ready food and sweetmeats. she took paddy and placed it over the fire till the heat broke the husks and the pure white grains appeared. these she mixed with the whitest of sugar, and as she was too poor to own plates, she went into the jungle to where the new bamboo was bursting through its green prison, and taking the broad coverings of the new leaves she fashioned them into dishes and offered them with many prayers for help to lord sa kyah. "our lord knoweth that my son can do nothing," she cried. "he has not even hands to help, and what can our lord's slave do to avoid the great trouble to which i have arrived?" that night in the lovely _hpea_ country the mighty lord sa kyah reclined on his golden throne of state. by and by the velvet mat became so hot that he could sit upon it no longer, and looking down he saw, squatting before him on the floor, a frog. "o our lord," said the frog, "i come to remind our lord that he is his slave's father. my mother, our lord's slave, has arrived at great sorrow, and unless our lord pities us and takes compassion on our lord's slave, she will arrive at destruction to-morrow. graciously do this act of kindness, o chief of all the _hpeas_." lord sa kyah took pity on his son and promised to help him. the four strongest spirits in his kingdom were four _hpeas_. they were twins and the name of the first two was nan ta re and that of the second hte sa kyung. these powerful spirits he ordered to complete the road during the night. the next morning when the king arose he looked forth from his palace and a most wonderful sight met his gaze. he rubbed his eyes, for he believed they deceived him. he pinched himself to see whether he was really awake or whether he was dreaming. for a wonderful thing had happened during the night, so wonderful, in fact, that one cannot be surprised that he thought it unreal. from the bazaar to the very gate of the palace was a broad, smooth road. on each side were brick walls covered with the whitest of cement, and decorated with the heads of lions, and two large griffins, built of brick and covered also with cement, guarded the entrance. they were more than twelve cubits high; their mouths were wide open and showed their terrible fangs, and their eyes looked upon the king with a stony glare. the road was paved with blocks of stone cut as smooth and laid as true as the cells of a honeycomb. there was one road for men, one for oxen, and yet another for horses. _zayats_ had been built here and there so that travelers aweary could rest and be thankful, and over all was a wide canopy of white cloth that extended entirely from end to end and from side to side to protect the king from the sun when he should move along the road to observe its wonders more closely. in utter amazement he beat the gong that hung ready to his side with such vigor that _amats_, soldiers, attendants, and the people from the city, came rushing out of their houses to the palace gates expecting at least that the neighboring prince with whom they had long been at war had taken the city by surprise; but they, like the king, stood transfixed and speechless with wonder when they saw the road with its carvings and _zayats_ and the canopy with the golden border spread above all. the king called myeh khit. she came, and hidden in her turban was her son. the king had thought to punish this presumptuous woman by giving her an impossible task to do with a penalty that put her beyond the power of offending again, and was of course angry and disappointed that his scheme had been unsuccessful; but the occurrence had become the common talk of the market-place, and so he was obliged to carry out his part of the bargain, although it had gone contrary to his expectation and desires. so, much against his will, he called his daughter and gave an order that for seven days there was to be a feast in honor of the marriage of the princess. but when the rejoicings of the people were finished, khit was not given permission to live in his father's palace but was sent with his wife and mother to live in the old house where he had been born. six days after the marriage there was a feast at the pagoda, and the six daughters of the king went in state. they rode upon royal elephants; dancers danced before them; the golden umbrellas protected them from the sun; and everybody fell upon their knees and clasped their hands as the august personages went along. their retinue filled the street when they stopped at the little house where their sister lived. "o sister," they called, "are you coming to the feast?" but the poor girl in great shame told them she could not come, and when they had gone, she sat on the floor with her face in her hands and gave way to her grief. while she was sobbing, her husband approached and told her not to be sorrowful. "my father is the great lord sa kyah," said he, "and he will give me anything i ask, so do not say, 'i am ashamed to go, as i have only a frog for a husband.' you shall yet see your proud father and unkind sisters bowing before you and offering you presents as they offer to gods." seeing how distressed the poor girl really was, the lord sa kyah took pity on them and descended to earth. he brought with him wonderful white clothes such as the _hpeas_ wear. they were brighter than the stars that shoot across the sky at night, or the lightning that flashes over the heavens during the hot season. he also gave them a magic stone, which if placed under their tongues, would enable them to fly wherever they wished. the next morning was the last day of the feast when the boat races would be rowed, when the horses of the king and his chief _amats_ would race for prizes, when the best jugglers would show their most wonderful tricks, and the best dancers would dance under the booths. in the midst of the fun and excitement a great shout rent the air: "the mighty lord sa kyah is descending!" and right in the middle of the feasting there was a flash of brilliant light and two wonderful beings alighted. they were clothed in dazzling white, and flew swifter than when a kingfisher darts from a tree toward its prey in the water. every one came crowding around as near as they dared, and upon their knees offered presents of food to the wonderful beings. first and foremost came the princesses, who bowed till their foreheads touched the dust; they lifted their clasped hands over their heads and turned away their faces while they offered the sweetest and most savory food to the visitors. but it was noticed that although the spirits ate the food offered by the _amats_ and common people, they would not eat that given by the princesses, but wrapped it up and placed it on one side. the next day the princesses came to their sister's house and derided her. "o wife of an animal," they cried, "you would not come to the feast, and so you lost the chance of seeing the mighty lord sa kyah descend from the _hpea_ country," and then they told of the wonderful sight, and again made fun of their unfortunate sister. khit's wife smiled at them and then she said: "it is you who are unfortunate, not i. my husband is not the ugly animal you think him to be, but is a great and powerful _hpea_. it was not the lord sa kyah who descended yesterday, but his son, my husband, and myself, and to prove my words, whose are these?" and she produced the very bundles of food that her sisters had offered the day before to the supposed ruler of all spirits. the sisters were surprised to see that she had the food there, but they laughed her to scorn when she told them of her husband. in order that his son should become mighty and famous, the lord sa kyah sent one of his attendants to the king, and caused him to give an order to his children that they should have a boat race. the one who reached the winning post first and carried away the flag on its rattan pole was to be king in his room, and the one who came in last was to be slave to the fortunate one. there were great preparations among the servants of the six princesses, and many wagers were made as to who would be successful, but none wished to wager as to who would come in last, as all knew it would be the youngest sister. "she has no boat," said they, "and has no servants to make one, or money to buy one. even if she had, what could she do? her husband has no hands, how could he row against and defeat the swift boatmen who have been called by the princesses?" the king gave seven days in which his daughters were to prepare for the race, and during that time the shouting of the various crews as they practised on the lake was heard from early morning till the sun dropped behind the mountains, but only six boats were seen. the race was to take place on a lake at the outskirts of the city, and on the morning of the seventh day, when the six princesses took their stations they were surprised to see that there was a seventh boat there, but they did not know that it was a magic boat sent by the lord sa kyah from the _hpea_ country, and that the sixteen rowers were not men, but _hpeas_. the course was over a thousand cubits to a post, around it, and return, and so fast did the magic boat glide through the water that it had covered the entire distance and the captain had laid the flag at the king's feet before any of the other boats had reached the first pole that showed half the distance. but something even more wonderful than that had taken place. during the race, the time set apart during which the son of myeh khit was to have the form of a frog had expired, and, lo! he was now the most handsome man in all the hill and water country. he had a crown of gold upon his head, and the magic white clothes such as only _hpeas_ wear were on his person. his wife was clothed in as beautiful a manner, and the king, at last seeing the mistake he had made in treating him so badly, knelt on the shore and asked: "which lord is the son of his slave?" by which he meant, which of the lords was the one to whom he had given his daughter. but the lord khit, as he was now called, did not take a mean revenge on his unkind brothers and sisters, and when they came on their knees begging for their lives, and asking the privilege of being his slaves, he took compassion on them, and instead of ordering them to immediate execution, made them his _amats_. this is why the shans who live in the hill and water country worship sau maha khit. [ ] "'a laung,' one who is progressing toward a divine state; an incipient deity."--_cushing's "shan dictionary," p. ._ how boh han me got his title. boh han me was one of the greatest generals who ever lived in the hill and water country. just what his original name was nobody knows now, but this story tells how he gained his title. one day he went into the jungle with his wife and his two children to gather _nau_, which is a kind of _puc_ made from the young bamboo shoots. they were very successful in getting it, and were just on the point of going home with their loads, when right before them appeared a large black bear. the bear opened wide his mouth and roared, showing his immense white teeth and great throat, and came ambling toward them growling all the while in the fiercest kind of way. now as soon as the man saw the bear he just threw away all the _nau_ that he had in his hands and ran for his life, calling on his wife to do the same. the two children followed their father and left their mother to get out of her trouble as best she could. she, however, was as brave as her husband was cowardly, and instead of running away, she took a handful of the longest of the shoots and thrust them down the open throat of the bear and killed him. she then took the short sword that they had brought from home to cut the shoots, and with it she skinned the bear, cut him up, and made the skin into a sack in which to carry the meat. meanwhile her cowardly husband did not stop running till he reached the city in which he lived, and then he told all his neighbors how he had been in the jungle and a great bear had attacked them; how he had fought bravely for a long while, but at last it had killed his wife and eaten her. the neighbors were very sorry for him, but advised him to get home and fasten all the doors and windows before the spirit of his wife would have time to get in, for they said, seeing that she was killed when he was with her, her ghost would without doubt try and gain admittance to the house and haunt it. once in, it would be very difficult to get her out. the man, more frightened than ever, ran home as fast as he could and called his children to bring all the rice that was already cooked into the house, and then they fastened up the two doors and the one window with bamboos and rattan. there was to be a feast in the city that night, and the two children wanted to go and see the fun, but their father was in such a fright that he would not give them permission to go, or even to look out through the holes in the sides of the house where the bamboo matting had come unfastened and bulged away from the posts. by this time the sun had set and it was just getting dark, and the man, tired with the hunt in the jungle and the excitement after, was just going to sleep when he heard a voice that he recognized as his wife's calling to be let in. "husband, _oie_!" it called, "open the door and let me in. i am very tired and hungry, and want rice and sleep. get up quickly. why have you fastened up the window and doors with bamboos and rattan? there are no bad men around; any one would think you were afraid thieves were coming to-night." the man was frightened almost to death when he heard his wife's voice, for he felt sure it was her ghost coming to haunt him, so he called out: "ghost of my wife, _oie_! i will not let you in. if i did i would never be able to get you out again. you want to haunt this house. i will not let you in. go away, go away!" in vain the woman told him that she was indeed his wife, that she was not a ghost at all, but had killed the bear and had his skin on her back with the meat in it, and begged to be let in; the man would not believe her and so she had to wait outside. all night long she called and begged her husband to let her in, but in vain. when the sun had risen, however, he felt a little braver, and so he put his head out through the thatch, and saw that it really was his wife and not her ghost. with great joy he ran down, opened the door, and let her in, but when his wife told him how she had killed the bear, he again became frightened. "we have arrived at great trouble," said he. "when the people hear that you have killed a bear, they will most surely kill you. what shall we do to escape and be freed from the impending punishment?" but his wife was a clever woman, and when the neighbors came in to ask how it was that she had not been killed, she told a wonderful story, how through the bravery of her husband she had been saved; that he had seen the bear, and by his bravery, that was so great it was good to marvel at, it had been driven off. the neighbors were very pleased that so brave a man lived in their quarter, and he became famous, people calling him gon han me, or "the man who saw the bear." gon han me was very proud of his title, as many other vain people have been proud of titles they never earned, but it came near costing him his life, and this was the way it led him into great danger. one day a large cobra fell into the well that was in the yard before the chief door of the king's palace, and everybody was afraid to draw water because of it. when the _amats_ told the king that a cobra was in the well, he gave orders that it was to be taken out, but nobody was brave enough to go down the well and kill the snake. the chief _amat_ was in great distress. he feared the king would deprive him of his office if the snake were not killed immediately. he was not brave enough to descend himself, and money, promises, and threats were of no avail to induce any one else to go. everybody declined to take the risk, and said: "of what use is money, or horses, or buffaloes, to a man bitten by a cobra? will that free him from death? nay, go yourself." the poor _amat_ was at his wits' end, when at last one of the attendants told the king that in the quarter of the city where his sister lived, was a man so brave that he was called gon han me, and said he: "if a man is brave enough to see a bear in the jungle and not be afraid, surely he will dare go down the well and kill the cobra." the king was much pleased with the attendant for showing a way out of the difficulty. "he surely is the man we want," said he; "go and call him immediately to come and destroy the snake." the attendant of the king came to gon han me and said: "brother, _oie_! the king has heard that you are a very brave man, so brave, in fact, that your neighbors all talk of you and you have arrived at the rank of being called 'gon han me.' now in the royal well there is a snake, a cobra, which as you know is called the worst snake that lives. it is a very wicked snake and everybody has arrived at great trouble because of it. nobody dares draw water there, and the king has given orders that it is to be killed. however, no one at the palace is brave enough to descend the well and kill the snake, but when his majesty heard of your great bravery, he sent me to order you to come immediately, descend the well, and kill the cobra. he will give you great rewards, and besides will make you a _boh_ (officer) in the royal army." when gon han me heard this he was in great distress and called his wife. "wife, _oie_!" he said; "this unlucky name will certainly be the cause of my death. it will truly kill me. the king has called me to descend the royal well and kill a wicked snake that is frightening everybody in the palace. i am not brave enough to go. if i do not go, the king will have me executed. i shall be killed whichever i do. if i go the snake will kill me, if i do not go the king will kill me. i shall arrive at destruction, and all because of this miserable name." the wife pondered awhile and then advised her husband to get dressed in his best clothes and go to the palace, look down the well to see what it was like, then make some excuse to come back home and she would tell him what next to do. the man was soon dressed in his best clothes, and was already going down the steps of the house when his wife called out that he had left his _hsan_ behind him. now when the shans go into the jungle, or on a journey, they carry with them a rice-bag, or _hsan_. this is a long narrow bag, more like a footless hose than anything else, and when filled with rice it is worn around the waist, where it looks like a big snake coiled around. now gon han me was very proud of his rice-bag, for instead of being made of plain white cloth, as is the custom, it was embroidered all over with different colored wools, and was so long that it went around his waist several times. he was so excited and terrified that when he reached the well he did not notice that one end had been unfastened and was dragging on the ground, and as he went to the well to look over, it caught around his legs, overbalanced him, and he went head first into the well with a tremendous splash. the next instant the snake lifting its head darted at him, and all that the men above, who were waiting with breathless interest to discover how the battle would end, could hear, was an infinite amount of splashing, yells, and hissing. gon han me never knew how it was, but in the fall his _hsan_ became twisted around the neck of the snake, and in a few minutes it was choked to death. the man for a while could hardly believe that the snake was really dead. it seemed too good to be true, but he came to the conclusion that his _kam_[ ] was good, and he would yet be a great and famous man. he therefore assumed a heroic air, and at the top of his voice called to the men at the mouth of the well: "brethren, _oie_! i have killed the snake and thus freed you from the great danger from which you were suffering. i will now throw up the end of this long rice-bag. do you catch it and pull me and the dead snake up to dry ground." he thereupon threw up the end of the embroidered _hsan_, the men caught it, and the next minute he appeared with the dead snake in his hand. the king was very pleased with gon han me for his brave act. he gave him great rewards as he had promised, and also gave order that in future he should be known by the name of "boh han me," or "the officer who saw the bear." some time after this there was war between the king and the ruler of the next province. there was a great council called and it was unanimously agreed that as boh han me was the bravest man in the country, he should be appointed as commander-in-chief. when the message came to his house, however, it caused him great distress, for as he told his wife, he did not want to be killed in the least; he did not wish to run the risk of being killed or even hurt. besides he had never been on horseback in his life. he had a buffalo that ploughed his fields, and it is true that occasionally, tired with the day's work, he had ridden home on its back when the sun sank into the west, but he was sure that if he got on the back of a horse it would immediately divine that he was ignorant of the art of riding, did not _mau_ as he said, and he would be thrown to the ground and hurt, killed maybe. who could tell? again his clever wife came to the rescue. "you must go to the fight whether you want to or not," said she. "the king has given orders and he must be obeyed. to disobey the king is more dangerous than seeing a bear or even fighting a snake, so go you must. as to riding, that is easily managed. bring your pony here and i will show you how to ride without danger." on the never-to-be-forgotten day when the whole family went into the jungle to gather _nau_, they were very poor, but since the fight with the snake in the well, they had become rich, and so now the _boh_ had servants to do his bidding, and he therefore called one of them to saddle his pony and bring it to the door of his house. this was soon done. he took his seat, and then his wife took long pieces of rawhide and fastened his legs, from ankle to knee, on both sides to the stirrups and girths. she knotted them securely so that there would be no chance of his falling off his steed. he was very pleased that he had such a clever wife, who could help him out of every trouble into which he might fall, and rode away well pleased with himself, and soon reached the place where the soldiers were assembled awaiting his appearance before beginning the march. to have seen him nobody would have thought that he was frightened sick. he sat up bravely, and you would have thought that he was the best horseman in all the hill and water country, but all the time he was turning over in his mind the advice given by his wife when they talked it over the night before. this was what she said to him: "now, when you get to the soldiers, see them start off. give all the orders in a very loud, pompous tone. talk high, and they will think you _mau_ very much (are very clever). then you can easily find some excuse to get to the rear, and you must stay there till the fighting is all finished." there was one party to this arrangement, however, that they had both failed to take into account when making their plans, and that was the pony. they neither remembered that there was a possibility of the pony taking it into his head to carry his master where the latter did not want to go, but that was just what happened, for, when the pony saw all the other horses and the men marching off, he too commenced to move forward. he was a fine big pony and was accustomed to head processions, not to come at the tail end, and so he started off of his own accord. now we have said that his rider had never been on horseback before, but had often ridden his buffalo from the paddy field when the day's work of ploughing was over. when a man on a buffalo wishes to stop, he jerks the rope that is fastened to the animal's nose, and obedient to the signal, it stops. so, when the _boh_ found his steed forging ahead a little faster than suited him, he jerked the reins, expecting the pony to stop, but to his consternation, he found it go all the faster. he jerked harder, the pony broke into a quick trot. he jerked again, the pony began to gallop. he was now thoroughly frightened and called out at the top of his voice, but this only frightened the pony more and it began to gallop just as fast as ever it could, and worse than all, it headed straight for the enemies' soldiers, whom he could see in the distance getting ready to receive him. he cursed his wife with all his heart. if he could only fall off! she had taken too good precautions against that. he pulled and tugged, but the rawhide was strong; the knots were too tight; and every minute brought him nearer to his enemies. he could hear the shouts of his friends in the distance getting fainter and fainter as the distance increased, calling him to come back. how he wished he could! he swayed from side to side, first on one flank then on the other. the pony now had its head down between its knees, the bit between its teeth, and was tearing along like the wind. it would be hard to say which was the more frightened, the horse or its rider; each frightened the other. but there was a lower depth yet to be reached. in jumping over a hole the saddle slipped to the side, the next instant away it went, turned, and saddle, rider, and all slipped clear around, and boh han me found himself still securely lashed to the saddle, squarely under his horse instead of on it. meanwhile in the camp of the enemy a council of war was being held. "can any one tell me," asked the king, "who commands our foes?" "our lord," said one of the _amats_, "it is a man who has been picked out of the whole army, and is the bravest man who ever drew a sword. he is called boh han me because he conquered a great fierce bear in the jungle. he also went down a well in the royal palace and killed the largest and fiercest snake ever seen in all the hill and water country." the king was much disquieted when he heard of the prowess of this man, and was pondering whether it would not be better to fight with silver than steel, and offer a great reward to any man in the enemies' camp who would bring to him the head of this doughty soldier, when he heard a great shout. he sprang to the tent door and looked anxiously out. all eyes were bent in one direction and a look of intense wonder, not unmixed with fear, sat on each face. the king naturally expected to see the whole army of the enemy approaching in overwhelming numbers, but he shared the wonder of his soldiers when he saw, not an army, but one single man dashing toward him. the next instant the rider disappeared entirely, but the horse came on faster than before. next instant there was the rider again, arms tossing in the air, hair streaming behind, only to disappear the following moment in the same mysterious way. the face of the king blanched with terror as he asked in a whisper, "who is this man?" a hundred voices cried: "it is boh han me, the bravest man alive! he has some charm that makes him invisible whenever he wishes, and he cannot be hurt by sword or arrow." nothing spreads so quickly as a panic, and almost before the king was aware of it, he was carried away in the fierce rush to escape. his men were blind with fear; they threw away their arms; men and officers fled for their lives, their only thought to flee from that horse and its terrible rider who disappeared and reappeared in such an awful fashion, and in a few minutes the field was deserted and the whole army in full retreat. the horse by this time was exhausted. it stumbled, but regained its feet only to fall again immediately. it made another effort to struggle to its feet, but this time unsuccessfully, and then lay still on its side, its flanks heaving and its breath coming and going in quick sobs. very cautiously boh han me drew a knife and slowly cut one knot. the horse did not stir. another followed, and soon one leg was freed. this made the task easier, and soon both legs were cut from their bonds and he sprang to his feet, bruised and sore, it is true, but no bones broken, and only too glad to be on solid earth again, and he vowed he would never from that day forth ever get on anything that moved faster than a buffalo. what the king said when he reached the place where the foes had encamped may be imagined. he declared that a man as brave as his general had never lived in any age or country. for one man to charge a whole army, and, what was more, drive it off too, was a thing good to marvel at, and boh han me did the wisest thing he ever did in his life, he just held his peace. when they had gathered together the spoil they returned home with the hero by the side of the king. the latter gave him a grand palace with gold, silver, oxen, buffaloes, elephants, and slaves in abundance, and also the rank of boh hoh sök, which is the highest rank of general in the army, and means, "head of all the troops." the happy man lived many, many years, but he kept his promise, and whenever he wished to travel he rode upon an elephant and never again as long as he lived got upon the back of a horse. [ ] _kam_, luck, or fate. the two chinamen. ages ago, when this world was new, having been created but a short while, two chinese boys left their native country and started out on their travels to discover things new and strange. after wandering for many days they came to the hill and water country where the shans live. here they found a monastery, where lived very wise and learned priests, who instructed them in many ways. they lived here some time and won the esteem of the head priest to such an extent that he showed them a magic sword and bow that had lain in the monastery many years waiting for somebody to carry away. the law was that the man who could bend the bow or could draw the sword from its sheath should keep it. the elder brother went to the sword and tried to draw it. he pulled, he tugged, he strained, till the sweat ran down his face, but in vain. he could not draw it out one inch. seeing the ill success of his elder brother, the younger thought it impossible for him to draw the magic sword, but at his brother's command he took the handle in his hand and pulled with all his might. to everybody's surprise out came the magic sword, and the chinaman walked away in triumph. the elder brother now made up his mind that if he could not get the sword he would try for the bow, and he might have more success with that, so he exerted all his strength, and slowly, slowly bent it, till the cord was taut and the bow all ready to shoot. the people of the city were amazed that the two brothers should have such strength and good luck, and many envious eyes followed them as they again set out on their journey, carrying their trophies with them. they traveled on and on till they gave up counting the distance, it was so great, till one day, as they were resting on the banks of a large river in a far country, they saw a great fish swimming in the water. it was so great that nobody heretofore had been able to catch it, and it was in fact the king of all the fishes. it broke all the nets and smashed all the traps. it snapped all the lines that were set for it, and nobody was strong enough to pull it ashore when it did take the hook. the chinamen saw it, and the elder brother instantly strung his bow, put on a bolt, and shot the great fish as it was swimming in the shallow water. in a few minutes he had it on his shoulder, and they commenced to cross the bridge to the other side of the river. now the river was very wide, the current was very swift, and the bridge was not at all strong. it was only made of bamboos and rattan and swung from side to side as the men crossed it. when they got to the middle it began to creak and strain till the two travelers were in great fear it would break. the one who had killed it turned to his brother and said: "o brother, the fish is so heavy i am afraid the bridge will break. please draw your magic sword and cut it in halves, and then we will be able to get to the other side in safety." the younger brother therefore drew his sword and cut the fish in halves; but he did not yet know how sharp the sword was, for he cut the fish in halves, it is true, but not only that, but the whole bridge as well, so that his brother fell into the water and was immediately swept from his sight. on his part he could not of course cross, now the bridge was down, so he returned to the same side of the river and ran along the bank looking to see whether his brother would be swept ashore in some shallow place; but although he ran till he was exhausted and then traveled for many days by the side of the river through the jungle, he could discover no trace of his lost brother. swiftly down the stream his brother was carried. he tried to swim first to one bank and then to the other as the current swept him along, but in vain. at last he gave up trying. nobody knows just how long he was in the water, but for many days he floated, and when he was on the point of dying from exhaustion, cold, and hunger, his feet touched bottom, and, more dead than alive, he crawled up the bank to dry land. he found that he had landed near a garden, and, on climbing over the wall, he discovered that it belonged to the king. he was too tired to climb back again, however, so sank on the ground and the next instant fell asleep from sheer weariness. now it happened that the king of that country had just died, and his _amats_ had taken out the royal chariot and were drawing it around the city looking for the proper person to become king. as they went along they saw this young man sleeping in the royal garden with his magic bow beside him. he had come from nobody knew where. he was so strong that the river even could not kill him. above all, he had a wonderful magic bow which none of the _amats_ or nobles could bend, so they came to the conclusion that he indeed was the man who should be king of the country, and he was crowned with great pomp and magnificence. the other brother had been left standing on the bridge when the elder fell into the water, as we have said, and for many days he followed the river bank till he too arrived in a far country. it was a very strange country. there were no men there, only monkeys, but they were the very cleverest monkeys that ever lived, and were ruled over by a _nang me prah_, that is, a queen, just as men are ruled. this queen of the monkeys fell in love with the chinaman and married him, so that he became king of monkey land. they built a palace for him on the top of the highest tree in the jungle. every seventh day they brought him food. some brought plantains, some mangoes, some rice, and some fish fresh caught in the river. the elder brother had now been king of the country where he had landed for some years, and one day he remembered his younger brother, whom he had left standing on the broken bridge with the sword in his hand. he therefore called his _amats_ and told them he was going on a long journey, and that they must rule well and justly till he returned. he then called his favorite servants and set out to discover his brother. they had a great store of provisions carried by coolies. he had his royal elephants, on which he could ride when traveling over the steep mountain roads and to carry his chief queens, and ponies for riding over the plains. one night, however, he became separated from his followers and lost his way. he shouted and called, but shouted and called in vain. he could not find a trace of them. servants, horses, elephants, and goods were all gone, and he was in great fear that he would die in the jungle. when morning broke he was much surprised to see that he had arrived at a city, but that the houses were all built on the tops of the trees, and on looking closer, he discovered that instead of people living in these houses the inhabitants were all large monkeys. not a man was to be seen, and the monkeys were very fierce and screamed at him in anger from the top of every tree. one especially he noticed as being more fierce than any of the others, and he accordingly leveled his magic bow and shot it dead. as it fell from the tree to the ground he heard all the friends of the dead monkey come rushing out of their houses on the tops of the trees calling to one another that a man had killed one of their brethren, and asking that their friends would come to kill the man who had been guilty of the deed. [illustration: "the man standing at the top of the tree was the long-lost brother." page .] after a little time the king came to a tree that was taller than any other in the jungle, and upon it was a palace. stairs led from the door of the palace to the ground, and as he looked more closely he saw a man up there. in great joy he called out to him, asking to be directed. "i am the king of a far country," he said, "and i am on a journey to search for my brother, whom i have not seen for many, many years. last night i lost my way. will you take pity on me and show me the way and i will give you a great reward?" "who was your brother?" asked the man in the tree. "he was a chinese student," returned the king, "and he had a wonderful magic sword. one day as we were traveling he cut a great fish in two, but such was the virtue residing in the magic sword that he not only cut the fish in halves but the bridge as well, so i left him standing on the end of the bridge." you may imagine how pleased the king was when he discovered that the man standing at the top of the tree was the long-lost brother for whom he was searching, and he made ready to ascend to his house in the treetop. at that moment a little monkey ran down the tree toward him, and he kicked it aside, saying, "out of my way, little monkey." the small monkey in great anger said: "i am not a monkey, but your nephew." "my nephew!" exclaimed the king in great astonishment. "what do you mean by that?" his brother, the monkey king, then explained to him that he had married the queen of all the monkeys and that this was their child, that he ruled over all the monkeys, who had built this palace for him and every seventh day brought him tribute of food. "i am sorry to say, then," said the elder brother, "that i have killed one of your subjects," and at the same moment the wife and son of the dead monkey approached their king. "our lord," said they, "the man yonder has been guilty of a great crime. he entered the domains of our lord and although we did nothing to him, yet he raised his bow and killed one of the servants of our lord. therefore our lord's servants demand that he shall be killed too." "i am very sorry," said the king of the monkeys, "that you have killed that special monkey. he was very clever and brave. he was also one of my chief _amats_, and his friends will assuredly kill you." the monkeys were now assembling by hundreds and calling to each other everywhere. every treetop appeared alive with angry figures all calling for vengeance on the man who had killed their friend. the king, however, who had taken sides with his brother, was not afraid, and said he could kill all the monkeys in the country; and he drew his sword and cut in halves the monkey nearest to him. to his great surprise, however, the two halves of the monkey he had killed each became a whole monkey and attacked him again, so that he now had two to fight instead of one. if he cut off the hand or leg of a monkey with his long sword, it immediately turned into two, and he soon saw that unless he devised some other way of fighting them they would soon kill them both. he therefore rushed off to the jungle and got a great hollow bamboo. he then went to a bees' nest and swept all the bees into it, and caught a great many scorpions and centipedes, snakes and spiders. when the monkeys came toward him to renew the fight, he opened one end of the bamboo and the insects and reptiles, swarming out, very angry at being kept prisoners in the hollow bamboo, soon drove the monkeys off so that the two brothers were able to escape. shortly afterward they found the escort of the king and together returned to the city where the good elder brother made the younger his chief _amat_. now when the younger brother became _amat_, he of course saw what a great king his brother was. he saw his subjects kneel before him; he saw the royal elephants, oxen, horses, and buffaloes; he saw the riches in money, jewels, and goods that belonged to him; that his queens were the most beautiful women in the land; and he became jealous. then he coveted all these things. the next step was easy; he determined to kill his brother and become king in his stead. then he began to ponder and plot how best he could destroy the brother who had been so good to him. he did not remember how that same brother had left all these things to come and hunt for him; how he had given him riches and honor and position, so that now he was chief minister and next to him in power. no, he did not think of any of these things, but like the ungrateful man that he was, thought only that his brother had more than he. he soon came to the conclusion that he could not kill his brother in the city, for everybody loved the king, and he feared that his crime would be discovered, so he was obliged to wait until they should be alone in the jungle together. the opportunity soon came. one day the king was out hunting and had gotten separated from all his followers. his brother the _amat_ was a short distance ahead when he saw, just in front of him, a very deep hole, so deep in fact that it was impossible to see the bottom. in great excitement he turned and beckoned to the king as fast as he could, calling out in a loud voice that he had something very wonderful to show him. the king thought that at least he had discovered a mountain of rubies and came running up. he knelt by the side of the hole but could see nothing. "there is nothing down there," said he. "let our lord lean a little farther over," said the cunning _amat_. "he will then see the most wonderful thing in the world." the king bent farther over and his wicked brother gave him a push that sent him headlong to the bottom. he had now succeeded in all his plans; he had reached the height of his ambitions, but although he became king he was not happy. he had trouble all the time. it is true he had his brother's riches, that he rode the royal elephants, wore the royal robes, and lived in the royal palace, but he had trouble with his _amats_, with his soldiers, and his people, and therefore instead of being happy as he expected he would be, he was unhappy and miserable. if he had only known what was happening in the jungle he would have been more anxious still. his brother was not dead as he thought. the fall to the bottom of the hole did not kill him and he was only a prisoner. his followers had all gone back to the city with his wicked brother. he called, but called in vain. he heard nothing but the echo of his own cries, and he was about to give up in despair, when it happened that the mighty lord sa kyah coming through the jungle heard his cries and inquired the cause. the king did not know that this was the lord sa kyah, but told him all that had happened. lord sa kyah was very angry with the king's heartless brother and created at the bottom of the hole a lily of the kind that has a very long stalk. the king sat upon the blossom of the lily which then began to grow very rapidly, and as it grew carried the king up toward the mouth of the hole. as he gradually rose toward daylight he saw that a tree was growing at the very edge of the pit, and that some of the branches hung over. he saw also that a monkey was busily engaged in feeding on the leaves and fruit. the lily, of course, made no noise as it pursued its upward path; the king also kept quiet so as not to frighten the monkey, and when he was near enough suddenly put forth his hand and caught it by the tail. the monkey screamed and kicked, fought and scratched, but in vain; the king held on, and at last the monkey climbed down the tree taking the king with him, and the latter was speedily standing once more on solid ground and able to offer up his thanks to the mighty lord sa kyah. the king was not long in reaching the city and when he arrived, to his great sorrow he saw, as he expected, his ungrateful brother reigning, while the people all sorrowed for their old king. he determined to wait awhile before he declared himself, feeling that the lord sa kyah who had already once helped him when in trouble and danger would aid him in regaining his lost kingdom; so he went into the poorest part of the city, put on the poorest and most ragged clothes that he could find, and sat near the gate of the city begging, from whence he often saw his brother riding by in state. one day the heralds came riding by and stood in the open space fronting the market where the gambling booths are, and gave notice that the king had commanded that if anybody could bend the magic bow belonging to the late king, his brother, he was to be made the chief _amat_ of the kingdom and receive many and great presents besides. as may be imagined, the next day there was a great crowd gathered together at the great gate of the palace, waiting for the king. at last out he came with all his ministers and followed by attendants bearing golden umbrellas. behind him came a soldier carrying over his shoulder the magic bow which was placed at the king's feet. the king called upon his soldiers to come and bend the bow, and the strongest of them came forward, but although they pulled and tugged, tugged and strained, they could not bend it. then the people of the city, or "the king's people," as they loved to call themselves in contradistinction to the people who lived in the jungle villages, tried, but met with no better success than the soldiers. they could not bend the bow. the king then ordered the _amat löng_ to call the men from the jungle. the very strongest coolies, those who carried heavy burdens over the mountains, came in answer to the king's summons, but although some of them could carry fifty _soie_ over the highest mountain they could not draw the cord a hand's-breadth. the king, much disappointed, was about to return to the palace when a beggar man approached and bowing at his feet said he was able to draw the bow and fire an arrow from it. the king was angry at what he thought was the presumption of this beggar. the soldiers derided him, saying that the bravest of them could not draw the bow and how was a beggar to do it? the coolies also asked him whether he could carry fifty _soie_ over loi mawk pah that was called the cloud mountain, because its head was often in the clouds. but the beggar asked to be allowed to try and the king gave orders that he should be given the bow, at the same saying that he assuredly should be made _amat löng_ if he was successful, but if he could not bend the bow, he should be put to death immediately. the beggar assented to these terms and seized the bow. he took hold of the string and without any show of strength pulled it a hand's-breadth, and then as the king and his courtiers looked on in amazement he pulled it to its full length, placed the string on the ivory trigger, put an arrow on it, and asked the king where he should shoot. "straight up into the air," said the king. the beggar raised the bow, twang went the string, and the arrow whizzed out of sight. everybody stood looking up into the sky when suddenly one of the courtiers gave a warning cry. it came too late. the arrow had gone straight up, turned, and fell almost on the same spot from whence it was shot. almost, but not quite, for in its fall it struck the upturned face of the king and he fell dead. a great cry was raised as the king fell and the guards rushed forward to seize the beggar and lead him to immediate execution, but he waved them off with a gesture of his hand. the next instant his rags fell from him and he stood before them in the royal robes of a king. thus we see that the younger brother, although indeed he had not murdered his brother the king, yet did kill him in his thoughts and intentions, and he suffered the punishment that is always meted out to the man who kills his fellow. story of the princess nang kam ung there was once a king who reigned over one of the largest states in the hill and water country. for a long time there had been war between him and the _sau hpa_ of the neighboring state, but at last his soldiers had been successful, and his enemy had been driven out of his possessions, which had thereupon been added to his own. a great feast had been given when his soldiers returned to their homes, and he was now sitting with his queens and his seven daughters in the palace watching a performance given in honor of the victory. he praised the actors for their skill, and then asked his daughters whether they had enjoyed the performance. they one and all assured him that they had enjoyed it much, and then turning to them he continued: "that is right, my daughters, enjoy yourselves to-day and to-morrow and all through your lives. you are the daughters of a mighty king, and it is your lot to be happy and enjoy yourselves all your lives, therefore again i say enjoy yourselves and be happy." the eldest of the daughters, who was a perfect courtier said: "o our lord, our luck is fortunate, because it depends on that of the lord our father, and who is so fortunate as he?" the king was very pleased with the flattery of his daughter, and promised to grant any request she would make of him. the youngest daughter, however, was young and foolish, and had not yet learned the truth that in a king's presence it is not well always to say what one thinks, and therefore she said to her sister: "your luck may depend on the luck of the lord our father, but mine is my own and depends upon myself alone." when the king heard this he was very angry that one of his daughters, and she the youngest too, should have the presumption to say that she depended for anything at all on any other than he, and he determined to punish her. for a long time he pondered on the best way to do this and at last devised a plan which, if severe, was at least novel. he called his _amats_ to go throughout the whole land and search for the poorest man in all his kingdom, and when they had found him they were to bring him to the palace and he would marry his youngest daughter to him, and then, said he, "we will see about luck after that." day after day the heralds searched the land but they could not find a man poor enough to suit the king. all who were brought before him acknowledged that they had something valuable, either a little money, a precious stone, or a distant relative who was rich and from whom they could borrow a little if necessary. a man of this description would not suit the angry king. he wanted one poorer than that. at last the _amat löng_, or chief minister, brought a man before him and said that he was the poorest in all the land. his name was ai du ka ta. he was a woodseller in the bazaar, who every day went into the jungle and picked up the dead branches of the trees that had fallen to the ground, and brought them to the market every fifth day to sell. so poor was he that he did not even own the sword that is the almost inseparable companion of the shan and is used, among other things, to cut down the small trees that are left to dry for firewood, so he had to be content to pick up the small branches that he found under the trees, and got a proportionately small price when he carried his load into the bazaar. when he appeared before the king, his trousers were all fringed at the bottom where they had been torn by the thorns in the jungle. his turban months before had been white, but now it was a deep gray; it was only half its original length and was full of holes. jacket he had none, and when the king asked him how many blankets he had upon his bed at home to keep him warm at night when the cold wind brought the rain up the valley, he answered sorrowfully, "not one, our lord." he had no relative except an old mother whom he was obliged to support, and who was known throughout the district in which she lived as the woman with the bitterest tongue in all the land, and when too sick to move from her mat, she would yet fill the air with poisoned words. the king was very pleased with his _amat löng_ for finding ai du ka ta, and gave him a very fine horse as a reward. then he called his daughter, took away all her fine clothes and married her to this poorest man in his realm and drove her out of the palace amid the jeers and taunts of the very people who, before her disgrace, had waited upon her every word and had done her bidding while they trembled before her. the king also took away her old name and commanded that in future she was to be known as nang kam ung, which means, "the woman whose luck depends upon herself." the house, or rather hut, to which ai du ka ta took his bride was in the jungle. it was only four bamboo poles stuck in the ground and covered with dried grass and bushes. not even a sleeping mat was on the ground--there was no floor--and the chattie in which he cooked his rice had a hole in it, and had to be set upon three stones sideways over the fire with the hole uppermost, to prevent the water leaking and putting out the fire. fortunately the girl's mother had helped her to smuggle out her "birth-stone," which was a large, valuable ruby, and so she took it off her finger and gave it to her husband, telling him to go and sell it and buy clothes and food for both of them. ai looked at the stone and said, "who will give me food and clothes for a little red stone like that? we have no fools or mad men living near here who would do such a foolish thing as that," for you must remember he had lived in the jungle all his life, and had never heard of precious stones, much less seen one till now. his friends were just as ignorant of its value as he was. he went from house to house in the little village near, but all laughed at him till he became disgusted, threw the stone away in the jungle and came home in a very ill humor with his wife for leading him such a wild-goose chase, and making him appear foolish in the eyes of the few people he knew. his wife was in great distress when she found that he had thrown the ruby away, and told her husband that if he had gone to the city and taken it to the jewelers, instead of to the ignorant people in the jungle, they would have given him in return enough money to keep them in food and clothing all the hot season and build a new house into the bargain. ai looked at her and said: "indeed, that is a thing good to marvel at. why, i know where there are coolie-basket loads of such red stones in the dry bed of a river near where i gather sticks for fire-wood in the jungle, waiting for anybody to carry away, and i never thought them worth the labor of taking to the bazaar." the princess was full of joy when she heard this, and the next morning they borrowed two coolie baskets from a man in the village. bright and early they went to the river bed, and there, even as ai had said, were basket loads of fine rubies. they gathered them up carefully and buried most of them, covering over the hole with a flat stone, so that no one would discover their hoard, and then the princess, picking out a double handful of the largest and clearest ones, sent them to her father. the king, when he saw the jewels, instead of being pleased, fell into a great passion, called the unfortunate _amat löng_ into his presence, and after rating him soundly, deprived him of all his goods, houses, and lands, deposed him from office, and drove him from his presence as poor as ai himself had been. "i ordered you to call a poor man," roared the king to the trembling man before him. "i said he was to have no goods or property at all, and here the very next day he sends me a double handful of the very best rubies i ever saw in my life." in vain the culprit assured the king that the day before ai was certainly the poorest man in the whole kingdom, and complained that the jewels must have been the work of some _hpea_, whom he had unwittingly offended, and who had therefore determined on his ruin in revenge. the king would listen to no excuse, and the unhappy _amat_ was glad to crawl from his presence before resentment had carried him to the length of ordering his execution. the very next night a wonderful golden deer entered the royal garden where the king was accustomed to sit when it became too warm in the palace, and after doing an immense amount of mischief, eating favorite flowers, and otherwise destroying and ruining the garden, it leaped over the fence and disappeared in the early morning fog, just as the guards were arousing themselves from sleep. it was in truth not a golden deer as the guards had told the king, but a _hpea_ that had assumed this form; but the king not knowing this ordered his heralds to go through the city immediately and call upon all the inhabitants to come early next morning to help their lord catch it. ai was summoned with the rest of the people. he had no horse, but going to the city gate that day he saw that a race between horses belonging to the king was about to be run. ai was a good horseman, and asked the head horse-feeder of the king to let him ride one of the animals. he rode, and rode so well that he won the race, and that official was so pleased with him that he promised to grant him any request in his power. ai asked for the privilege of riding the same horse at the hunt next day, and the request was readily granted, and thus it happened that, next morning when he went to the place appointed, he rode a horse that was faster than any other there except the one the king himself rode. the people were divided into four parties; one toward the north, one toward the south, one east, and one west. the king stationed himself with the party at south, and the _amats_ were at the north, and when the deer was at last driven out of the jungle by the beaters it headed toward the king and dashed by him at great speed. the _hpea_ that had taken the form of the deer wished to have some fun at the king's expense, and therefore kept ahead just where the king could see him all the while, sometimes but a cubit or two away from him, and then when the country was open, darting far in advance. so swiftly did they go that in a few minutes the men on foot were left behind, and after a while all except those upon the very fastest horses were distanced, till at last only the king and ai were left, the latter but a little behind the king. all day long the chase continued till, just as the sun was setting and men and horses were both exhausted, the deer made straight for a precipice that appeared to block the path on each hand as far as the eye could reach. the king was congratulating himself that the deer could not possibly escape now, when he saw right before him an opening in the rock, and the next instant the _hpea_ disappeared in the cave and the king was obliged to give up the chase, for even if his horse could have carried him any farther, which it could not, the cave was so dark that nothing could be seen inside. the king fell from his horse almost dead with fatigue, and managed to crawl under a wide-spreading banyan tree that grew near. the only other person there was ai, and he, coming to the king, massaged his limbs till the tired monarch fell asleep. after a while he awoke and ai asked him to eat some rice he had prepared, but the king said he was too tired to eat anything; but at last he managed to eat a little sweet, glutinous rice that the princess had cooked in a hollow piece of bamboo and given to her husband before he set out that morning. the king was very grateful and asked ai his name; but the latter was afraid to tell what his real name was, so, as his mother years before had been in the habit of selling betel-nut in the bazaar, he told the king that his name was sau boo, or betel-nut seller. the king was very pleased with him and promised him great rewards when they got back to the palace; but in a few minutes he had dropped asleep again, and ai sat alone keeping guard. it was very fortunate that he too did not go to sleep, for as every one knows, the banyan is a sacred tree, and this one was inhabited by a _hpea_ who was noted for being one of the cruelest and most dreaded spirits in all the land. ai roused the king and told him there was a _hpea_ in the tree and begged him not to sleep there for it would assuredly kill them both before morning. the king said, "wake me not, trouble me not. from my head to my feet, i am nothing but aches and pains. were i to move i should die. i may as well die at the hands of the _hpea_." so saying he fell asleep again, and ai did not dare to disturb him, but watched all night long. during the night ai heard the _hpea_ grumbling to himself several times and promising himself the pleasure of killing them on the morrow, so he pretended to be asleep so that he could hear what the _hpea_ said and if possible thwart him. "these mortals have presumed to sleep under my tree," he heard him say, "but it shall be the last time they sleep anywhere. let me see," he continued, "how shall i kill them? which will be the best way? ah, i know. early to-morrow when they get ready to leave, i will break the tree in two, and the top shall fall on them. if, however, they escape, i will saw through the supports of the first bridge, so that it will break when they are in the middle, and they will fall to the bottom of the valley below. then if that should fail, i will loosen the stones of the arch of the city gate so that it will fall on them as they pass underneath, and if that does not kill them, when the king arrives at his palace and being thirsty with his long ride calls for water, i will change the water in the goblet to sharp needles that will stick in his throat and kill him. if he does not drink the water, however, he will assuredly be very tired and will go to sleep immediately, and i will send an immense rat into his room that will kill him without doubt." having finished making his plans, the _hpea_ left the tree and started the work of preparing the different traps for the mortals who had enraged his hpeaship by daring to sleep under the tree, and thus profane his home. the king was frightened half to death when he awoke next morning, and found that he had been sleeping all night under the tree of that special _hpea_; but ai, or sau boo as the king called him, told him not to be frightened for he could save his life if the king would only follow his advice and do as he told him. the king promised to follow his words implicitly, and also promised him unheard-of rewards if he only helped him to get to his palace in safety. the first danger was the tree, and so ai got their horses ready and under the pretense of allowing them to eat grass before setting out on their journey, he gradually worked them nearer and still nearer the edge of the tree, and then, with one bound, they both galloped out from under it. at the same instant there was a great crash and the whole top of the tree fell to the ground. so near did it fall on them that the king's turban was torn from his head by one of the upper branches, but beyond this no harm was done. next, instead of riding over the bridge, they went along the bank a little distance, and soon found a place where the _hük_ was narrow and leaped their horses to the other side. while they were jumping, ai threw a heavy stone he had brought with him on to the bridge, and the _hpea_, who fortunately was near-sighted, thinking it was the tread of the horses, broke it down, so that fell into the water fifty feet below, but the king and his follower were safe on the other side. the next danger was the city gate. they walked their ponies slowly as though they were very tired, till they came to within a cubit of the gate, and then galloped through at the top of their speed, and crash went the gateway behind them. they were covered with dust but not hurt. the king was very thankful to have arrived at his palace and being very thirsty with the journey and excitement, as the cunning _hpea_ had expected, called for a drink of water, but ere he could place the cup to his lips his faithful follower turned it upside down, and instead of water, out fell a cupful of sharp needles, and again the king's life was saved. worn out with his ride he told his servants to prepare his room as he would sleep. ai called the chief guard and told him to have a lamp burning all night, to take his sharpest sword with him, and guard the king carefully. in the middle of the night when the tired king was sleeping soundly, into the room came creeping slowly, slowly, the biggest rat ever seen. it had long, sharp teeth and wicked glaring eyes, and made toward the king. but the guard, warned by ai, was on the watch, and just as the rat was about to spring at the king's throat, the soldier with a sweep of his long, sharp sword cut off its head, and thus the king through the cleverness of one man escaped the last danger and could now live without fear. the next morning the king called his heralds and bade them go into the city and summon sau boo to come to the palace to be rewarded. they searched and called, but searched and called in vain. no man ever heard of a man by that name, and the king was fast getting angry when the _amats_ told him that they personally had gone to every house except one, and that was the house of ai. the king in surprise ordered them to call his son-in-law. "he may be able to tell us something about him," he observed. ai accordingly obeyed his summons, but the king was more surprised yet when ai told him that sau boo and himself were one and the same, and that it was he who had rescued the king from so many dangers. at first his father-in-law became angry and refused to believe him, but ai gave an account of everything that had happened from the time when the deer broke cover, till the rat was killed by the guard, and thus convinced the king of his truthfulness. the king then made a great feast, called all his ministers and generals together, and made a proclamation that ai in future should be his _amat löng_ and should be king when he himself died. thus did the princess prove that her luck really depended upon herself, and not on the king, and to-day we say, "may your luck be as good as the luck of nang kam ung." how the hare deceived the tiger. at the beginning of the world a hare, tiger, ox, buffalo, and horse became friends and lived together. one day the tiger was out hunting when, it being in the middle of the hot season, the jungle caught fire, and a strong wind blowing, it was not long before the whole country was in flames. the tiger fled, but the fire followed. never mind how fast he ran, the flames followed him, till he was in great fear of being burned alive. as he was rushing along he saw the ox feeding on the other side of the river and called out to him: "o friend ox, you see the fire is following me wherever i go. where is a place of refuge that i can escape the fire?" now close to the tiger was a jungle full of dried grass, such as the shans use for thatching their houses, and the ox replied, "go to the grass jungle yonder, my brother, and you will be safe." but dried grass is the most inflammable thing in the whole hill and water country, and so here, not only did the flames follow the tiger, but they ran ahead of him and threatened to engulf him on every side. in great anger he roared at the ox, "false deceiver, if ever i escape from this danger, i will return and kill you," but the ox only laughed at him and continued eating. in desperation, the tiger leaped over the flames and found himself near the horse. "o friend horse," he cried, "where can i go? i am in great danger of being burned to death." now it happened that once the tiger had been very rude to the horse and called him many bad names, so now he thought this was a good opportunity to be revenged; so he said: "yonder is a big bamboo jungle, run to that and you are safe"; but the tiger found that the horse was also a false friend, for the fire following him speedily ignited the tall bamboos which burned fiercely and falling from above, almost completely covered the poor beast. at the beginning of the world the tiger was a beautiful yellow color, but the bamboos falling all over him, burnt him in stripes, and since that time his descendants have had long black stripes all over their coats. "when i have escaped from this," yelled the angry tiger, "i will come back and kill you." "very good," sneered the horse, "and i will arch my neck so that you can get a good bite," but this was said to deceive the tiger, as the horse intended to lash out with his hind feet when the tiger came to fight him. nevertheless, from that day the necks of all horses have been arched, and they cannot fight an enemy in front, but are obliged to arch their necks, lower their heads, and kick from behind. the tiger, by this time tired to death and suffering from the burns of the bamboos, saw the buffalo and accosted him as he had his other friends. "o good friend buffalo," he cried, "i am in great danger of being burned alive. the horse and the ox have not only deceived me, but in following their advice i have arrived at a worse condition than before. what can i do to be freed from this great danger?" the buffalo looked up from the cool river where he was enjoying a bath, and taking compassion on him said: "if you will catch hold of my throat i will duck you in the river and so you shall escape from the danger that is following you." so the tiger seized the good buffalo by the throat and was held under water till the fire had burnt itself out. the tiger was very grateful to the buffalo and made an agreement with him that from that time no tiger should ever kill a buffalo, and it is only the very worst tigers, those that kill men, that ever kill a buffalo, and the tigers that are guilty of killing buffaloes are sure to be killed themselves, sooner or later. the tiger held so fast to the buffalo that when the latter came out of the water, his throat and neck were all white, and buffaloes all have that mark on their necks and throats till this very day. the tiger was so cold after his bath that he shook and shivered as though he had fever, and seeing a little house made of dried grass a short distance off he went to it and found that a hare was living there. "good friend," said the tiger, "i am so cold i am afraid i shall die. will you take compassion on me and allow me to rest in your house and get warm before i return home?" "come in, our lord," said the hare. "if our lord deigns to honor my poor house with his presence, he will confer a favor that his slave will never forget." the tiger was only too glad to go into the hare's house, and the latter immediately made room for him by sitting on the roof. soon the tiger heard click! click! click! and he called out: "o friend hare, what are you doing up there on the roof of your house?" now the hare was really at that moment striking fire with her flint and steel, but she deceived the tiger and said, "it is very cold up here, and our lord's slave was shivering," but the next moment the spark struck the dried grass on the roof and the house was soon in flames. the tiger dashed out just in time and turned in a rage on his late host, but the hare was far away, having jumped at the same moment that the spark set fire to the roof of the house. the tiger gave chase, but after a while he saw the hare sitting down and watching something intently, so he asked, "what are you looking at?" "this is a fine seat belonging to the ruler of the hares," returned she. "i would like to sit on it," said the tiger. "well," said the hare, "wait till i can go and ask our lord to give you permission." "all right, i will watch till you come back and will not kill you as i intended doing, if you get me permission to sit on it," said the tiger. now this was not a chair at all, but some hard sharp stones that the hare had covered with mud and shaped with her paws to deceive the tiger. the hare ran off a long distance and pretended to talk with some one and then called out: "the lord of the chair says, our lord the tiger may sit, if he throws himself down upon it with all his might. this is our custom." the tiger flung himself upon what he thought was the chair with all his might, but the soft mud gave way and he fell upon the stones underneath and hurt his paws badly. he therefore sprang up and vowed vengeance on the hare that he could just see far off in the distance. by and by as the hare was running along she saw a large wasps' nest hanging from the branch of a tree, so she sat down and watched it intently. when the tiger came up he was so curious to know what the hare was looking at so intently that he did not kill her, but instead asked her what she was looking at. the hare showed the tiger the wasps' nest on the tree and said: "that is the finest gong in all the hill and water country." "i would like to beat it," said the tiger. "just wait a minute," returned the hare, "and i will go to the lord of the gong and ask permission for you to beat it." the hare ran till she was far away in the jungle, and then at the top of her voice called out: "if you wish to beat the gong, the lord of the gong says you must strike it as hard as you can with your head. that is his custom." [illustration: "again the cunning hare deceived the tiger." page .] the tiger butted at the nest with all his might and made a big jagged rent in its side, and out flew the angry wasps in swarms, completely covering the poor tiger, who with a dreadful yell of pain tore away from his tormentors. his face was all swollen, and from that day till the present, the faces of tigers have all been wide and flat. again he chased the hare, and when the smart from the stings of the wasps had subsided a little, he found to his great joy that he was gaining on his enemy fast. the hare on her part saw that the tiger would soon catch her and looked around for some means of escape, and spied just before her a snake half in and half out of its hole. the hare stopped as before and sat gazing at the snake so intently that the tiger instead of killing her as he had intended to do, asked her what it was in the hole. "this," returned the hare, "is a wonderful flute that only kings and nobles are allowed to play. would our lord like to play?" "indeed i would," said the tiger; "but where is the lord of this wonderful flute? whom shall i ask for permission?" "if our lord watches right here," said the cunning hare, "his slave will go to the lord of the flute and ask permission," and the tiger, well content, sat down to wait. again the cunning hare deceived the tiger by pretending to ask permission, and when a long distance off he called as before: "our lord has permission to play the flute. let him put it in his mouth and blow with all his might. this is the custom of the lord of the flute." the foolish tiger immediately took the snake's head into his mouth, but the sound that followed came from the tiger, not from the flute, and a terrible yell he gave as the snake bit his mouth! but the hare was far away and would soon have been safe but for an unlooked for accident that nearly ended her life. the people who lived in that part of the hill and water country were at war with the state that joined them on the north, and thinking that the soldiers of the enemy would soon invade their country they had made a trap in the middle of the path over which the hare was running. first they dug a hole so deep that should anybody fall in, it would be impossible to climb out again. the sides of the pit were dug on the slant so that the opening was smaller than the bottom. over the top they had placed thin strips of bamboo that would break if any extra weight came upon them and they had covered the whole with grass and leaves so that no traveler would know that a trap was there. into this hole fell the poor little hare. presently the tiger came up to see where the hare had gone, and when he saw the hole in the middle of the path, he called out, "where are you, friend hare?" and the hare from the bottom of the trap called out, "i have fallen into a trap." then the tiger sat on the ground and just bent double with laughter to think that at last he had the hare in his power, but the little animal down in the hole although she did not say anything, thought harder in a few minutes than the tiger had in all his life. by and by as she looked up through the hole she had made in the roof, she saw that the sky overhead was getting darker and darker as a storm was coming on, so in great glee, although she pretended to be very much frightened, she called out as loudly as ever she could: "our lord tiger! our lord tiger!" at first the tiger did not answer, so the hare then called, "does not our lord see the great danger approaching? let our lord look at the sky." the tiger looked up and saw the dark clouds coming slowly, slowly on, covering the whole sky; his laughter stopped and he soon began to get very frightened. after a while, when it had become still darker, he called to the hare: "o friend, what is the matter with the sky? what is going to happen?" then the hare replied: "our lord, the sky has fallen where you see it is dark; that is far away, but in a few minutes it will fall here and everybody will be crushed to death." the foolish tiger was now frightened half to death and called to the hare: "o friend, i have treated you badly in trying to kill you. do not be angry and take revenge on me, but take compassion on my terrible condition, and graciously tell me how to escape this danger, and i swear that i will never try to harm you more." it was the hare's turn to laugh now, but she only laughed quietly to herself, for she was afraid the tiger would hear her, then she said, "down here our lord's slave is quite safe. if our lord descends, he too will be safe," and before the hare had hardly finished, the cowardly tiger made a jump for the hole the hare had made and joined her at the bottom of the trap. but the hare was not out yet and she began to plan how she could get out herself and yet keep the tiger in. at last a happy thought struck her. she sidled up to the tiger and began to tickle him in the ribs. the tiger squirmed and twisted first one way and then the other, first to one side and then to the other; at last he could stand it no longer and catching the hare he threw her out of the trap and she landed on solid ground. as soon as the hare found she was safe, she began to call at the top of her voice: "o men, come! come! i, the hare have deceived the tiger and he is at the bottom of the trap. o men, come! i, the hare call you. bring your spears and guns; bring your swords, and kill the tiger that i have tricked into entering the trap." at first the men did not believe the hare, for they did not think that an animal so small as the hare could deceive the tiger, but then they also knew that the hare was very clever and had much wisdom, so they brought their spears and their guns, their swords and their sticks, and killed the tiger in the trap. thus did the hare prove that though small she was full of wisdom, and although the tiger was bigger, stronger, and fiercer than she, yet she, through her wisdom, was able to kill him. the story of the tortoise. there was once a man who had two wives. now as everybody knows it is always the chief wife that the husband loves best, while the other instead of being _mae long_, is only _mae noi_, and this often causes jealousy and trouble in the family. it was so in this case, especially as the chief wife did not have a son to add to her dignity. they each had a daughter, the name of the chief wife's child was nang hsen gaw, and that of the other nang e. one day the husband of these women went to the lake to fish. he caught a large number of shell fish and put them on the shore for his wives to bring home. the younger took her share of the load, but, being very hungry, she ate them all. the mother of nang hsen gaw, however, was not greedy like the other woman, and so she put all the fish that were left into her bag and began to trudge slowly toward the house. now, the mother of nang e was a witch, although no one, of course, knew it. being wicked enough to be a witch, she did not hesitate at committing any other crime, even the most dreadful, and she therefore made up her mind that she would kill the mother of nang hsen gaw so that she could be the chief wife. she got home much sooner than the other woman, as she had no load to carry, and when she saw her husband he naturally asked her where the fish were. "now," she thought, "here's a good chance to get that woman out of the way," so she told her husband that his other wife was a _pör_, or witch, and she had taken all the fish away from her. now, witches are of course very much dreaded, so when the poor woman came home with her heavy load of fish, the villagers killed her with their sticks, and she was changed into a tortoise in the lake. and now at last the mother of nang e was chief wife, but do you think she was satisfied? not a bit of it. she heard that her rival was now a tortoise in the lake, and she determined to kill her again. some time after this, as nang hsen gaw was in the jungle watching the cows that belonged to her father, she walked along the edge of the lake and was very much surprised to hear her own name called in familiar tones. she looked around, but could see no one, and she was getting very frightened, thinking that it was perhaps a _hpea_ who wanted to entice her into the thick jungle so that he could devour her, but at last she looked on the ground at her feet and saw it was a tortoise that was speaking to her. "nang hsen gaw," it called. "my daughter, _oie!_ i am your mother who was killed through the wicked acts of my rival, the mother of nang e. i have arrived at great trouble, and now, instead of being the chief wife of a rich man, i am nothing but a tortoise swimming in the lake. take pity on me, my daughter, and out of compassion every day bring me cotton thread and raw cotton, so that i can weave and spin." [illustration: "'i am nothing but a tortoise swimming in the lake.'" page .] nang hsen gaw was a dutiful daughter, and every day when she went to the jungle she took cotton for her mother to spin, and thread for her to weave, and daily talked with her, telling her all the gossip of the village and anything else that she thought her mother would like to hear. but the mother of nang e was on the watch, and thinking it strange that the girl should take cotton and thread to the jungle every day, and bring none back with her when she drove the cattle back at night, she followed her, heard her talking with her mother, and thus found out in what part of the lake her enemy was, and laid her plan accordingly. that evening, unknown to her family, while her husband was busy working in his garden, she went to the house where lived the doctor of the village, unfolded her plans to him and asked for his help. being an unscrupulous man he agreed, took the silver the woman had pilfered from her husband, and promised to help her. the next day she was taken very sick and her husband called in the doctor, who told him that the woman must have a tortoise from the lake near-by. if she boiled and ate it according to his directions she would get well, if not, she would die. having performed his part of the bargain he returned to his home at the other end of the village. next morning the man went to the lake to get the tortoise. nang hsen gaw was much distressed when she saw her father set out, and her distress became worse when she saw that the wicked stepmother had directed him to the little pond where her own mother was. the man took a large bucket made out of wicker work, and commenced baling out the water, but nang hsen gaw was able to warn her mother just where her father was, so that when he was on one side of the pond her mother went to the other, but at last he sent the girl home, and in a few minutes secured the tortoise and was soon carrying it away for his wife to eat. when he got home he gave her the tortoise, little thinking who it was, and then went out, while the witch called nang hsen gaw to watch the pot which had been put over the fire. soon the poor girl heard her mother call out. she said that the hot water had reached her knees, and begged her to put out the fire. she commenced to rake out the hot embers from under the pot, when her stepmother saw what she was doing, and taking up a heavy bamboo beat her unmercifully and made her put more sticks on the fire. soon her mother complained again that the heat had reached her shoulders, and again nang e's mother beat her, and made her put more sticks on the fire. soon she heard her mother say: "my daughter, _oie_! the hot water has reached my neck and i shall soon be dead. when it is all over, do not let that wicked woman destroy me altogether, but bury me in the jungle," and in a few minutes she was dead. nang hsen gaw tried her best to get the dead body of her mother, but her stepmother watched her carefully, and all she could not eat herself she gave to the dogs, to prevent her daughter from getting any, but one dog ran off with his portion into the jungle. nang hsen gaw followed in time to rescue the webbing between the fingers.[ ] this was all that was left, but she buried that carefully in the jungle far from the house where her stepmother lived. the next day as she was walking through the jungle feeding her cows, she heard sweet music. it sounded like twelve organs all playing at the same time, and yet in harmony, each organ blending with the others. in great surprise she hunted around till she came to the spot where she had buried the part of her mother's hand, and saw that during the night this had changed into a beautiful _mai nyung kham_ tree.[ ] and so this good and dutiful daughter went every day to listen to the tree as she had gone daily to the lake when her mother had been a tortoise, and the tree sang sweeter when she was near than at any other time. but such a wonderful thing as this could not be kept a secret. others heard of it and people came from far and near to hear the sweet music come from the tree. one of the _amats_ of the great king who "ate"[ ] the country, heard that a miracle was to be seen in this jungle, and accordingly reported it to his lord, who sent men to cut the tree down and bring it to his palace. all day long the men worked at the tree, from the time the country became light till the moon rose at night, but although they had the sharpest of axes and were the most skillful workmen in all the country, yet with all their labor they could only cut through the bark, and during the night the tree grew so quickly that when the morning dawned, it was twice as large as it was the night before, and the marks made by the axes on the bark were covered with new bark harder than ever. the king was very angry when he heard of the ill success of his woodmen, had them all executed, and sent others, but they had no better success than the first. but this only made the king more stubborn and determined to get the tree at any cost, and he therefore sent the heralds all through the country and made a proclamation that any man who could bring the tree to his palace should be made his _kem möng,_ that is, heir apparent; should it be a woman, she should become _nang me prah_, or chief queen. many men therefore came with sharp _pahs_ and axes but all were equally unsuccessful, and the king despaired of ever getting the tree, when nang hsen gaw heard of the reward offered by the king, and told the heralds she could bring the tree to his palace. the king was full of joy when he heard this, and made great preparations for her. on her part she simply went to the jungle and, taking off her turban, fastened it around the tree and carried it bodily into the palace where it sang as sweetly every day as when it was in the jungle. when the mother of nang e heard of the good fortune that had befallen nang hsen gaw she was very angry, and calling her own daughter to follow her, she set off for the capital. when she had arrived there she disguised herself and became a servant to the queen, and pondered how she could kill the _nang me prah_ and put her own daughter nang e in her place. one day this wicked woman told the queen that she had found some fine soap beans and bark, that she was very skillful in shampooing, and as the next day was to be a great feast when the queen would follow the king on her royal elephant, the soap beans would make her black hair blacker, and the gloss glossier than ever, and asked her to allow her to wash the queen's head at a well that was just outside the gate of the palace, near the royal gardens, where the water was very sweet. the queen consented and called her attendants to follow, but the stepmother was much too cunning to allow that, so she told the queen that her method of washing was better than any other woman's but it was a secret, and she would reserve it for her majesty's own private use, but she did not want any of the attendants to see how it was done. if they did, she added, the next day at the feast every lady in the court would have hair as glossy as the queen's, but if they went alone, her hair would be as much more beautiful than any other woman's as the sun is more beautiful than the bamboo torch that lights the way through the jungle at night, when there is no moon. the young queen was not proof against this flattery, and so the two women went alone out of the palace, the very guards who watched at the gates not knowing whither they were going. they soon arrived at the well, and as the queen was bending over, her long hair covering her face so that she could see nothing, her wicked stepmother suddenly drew a knife and stabbed her to the heart, then, calling her daughter to help, she buried the poor young queen under the road leading to the well. she took the royal robes and put them on her own daughter, nang e, who returned to the royal palace and entered the royal apartments, all the attendants thinking it was the real queen returned from a bath in the river. that same afternoon, as the king walked through the palace, he was surprised to see that the wonderful singing tree was all withered and mute. in great distress he called for the queen and ordered her to make the tree sing as before, but although nang e tried with all her might, she could make no sound. she tapped it softly as she had seen nang hsen gaw do, but all in vain. it was silent. now the king was in the habit of wearing burmese clothing instead of shan, and one day when he had gone to his room to put on his _ptsoe_, he found that a little sparrow had built, her nest in it. he was a very kind man, and so allowed the little bird to live there, and in gratitude to the king this sparrow was in the habit of telling him all she saw as she flew around the city from morn to night, and whenever the king wished to find out anything that puzzled him, he would often call the sparrow to tell him what to do. he therefore now called the little bird and asked it what ailed the tree, and the sparrow told him that the woman who was then in the royal apartments and wearing the clothes of the _nang me prah_ was not the real queen, but a woman named nang e, and seeing her approach, the brave little bird began whistling, "this is not the _nang me prah_, this is nang e, nang e. oh! nang e!" in a great rage the king commanded his servants to call the woman, and when she was come into the royal presence she dared not open her mouth to answer the king, for she was not so clever as her mother, who could disguise her voice as well as her face, and she knew that if she began to speak the king would see that she was not nang hsen gaw, so she remained silent. but this did not save her, for the king looked at her and said: "you wear the robes and jewels of my queen, but you have not the same face, and you are afraid to speak to me," and he immediately called his chief executioner to take her away and cut off her head. but even this did not bring back the music to the tree, and the king was disconsolate. the next morning when the guard of the royal garden went to his post, he saw, near the well, a beautiful _mawk moo_ flower, took it home with him and placed it in the _chattie_ of water that every shan keeps in his house as an offering to the _hpeas_. the old mother nai, soon after took her basket and went to the bazaar to buy _puc_ for her son's breakfast, but when she returned she was surprised to see that during her absence some one had swept the house, cooked the food, and that the "morning rice" was all ready to eat. the eating-tray was set out in the middle of the room. the rice and curry was arranged in order on it, and the drinking _chattie_ was full of scented water. she called her son and all the neighbors to ask who had done this, but no one could tell her, and in great amazement they sat down to their meal. that evening the same thing happened again. while she was out, the house was again swept, the food was prepared, and the tray arranged as in the morning. for several days this happened, and then the old woman determined to hide and see who did these kind acts. she did so, and was amazed to see that as soon as she had left the house (she went under the floor and looked up through a hole between the bamboos), that a spirit came out of the _mawk moo_ flower that her son had brought from the road leading to the well, and commenced to sweep the house. in the midst of it the old woman rushed up to the flower and destroyed it, so that the spirit could not go back to its refuge. at the same instant, it changed into the most beautiful woman ever seen. that afternoon, nang hsen gaw, for the spirit was she, told old nai how her stepmother had killed her at the well, and buried her, and how she had been changed into the spirit of the beautiful _mawk moo_ flower the guard had brought to the house, and that she would soon go back to the king in the palace. they neither of them had seen the little sparrow sitting on the roof, but she had been there all the time, and now flew off to the king and told him all that she had heard. the king gave orders that the wicked mother of nang e should be executed immediately, and that a band of soldiers should go to the guard's house to escort his bride back in state to the palace, where she reigned many, many years, till she saw her grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow up. as soon as the queen entered the gate, the tree began to play; the withered leaves put on a bright hue, and beautiful flowers burst into bloom; and while nang hsen gaw lived, the tree bloomed and played sweetest music every day. the lessons that this story teaches are: as surely as the wheels of the cart follow the oxen, so surely will wickedness be punished. if you sin you must suffer. the man who kills another will assuredly meet the same fate. [ ] the shans call the two front feet of a quadruped "hands." the digits are called "fingers" not "toes." [ ] the sacred peepul tree. [ ] the shans do not usually say that a king "rules" over a country, but the expression generally used is that he "eats" it; a very suggestive and alas! too often only too true expression. the sparrow's wonderful brood. many, many years ago, at the beginning of the world, a little sparrow built her nest on the top of a tall tree that grew near the edge of a lake. in it she laid five little eggs, and never was mother bird prouder than she, and all day long she flew from tree to tree chirping out her joy. so proud in fact was she, and so much noise did she make, that a monkey that lived on the other side of the lake was struck with the remembrance of how he had once dined with great satisfaction on eggs laid by the sparrow's sister, and in a few minutes he was on his way to repeat the performance. in vain the little bird cried and begged him to spare her brood, promising to show him where the sweetest plantains in all the country were growing; the monkey only laughed at her and climbed the tree to get the prize. the next moment the robber would have gotten his spoil, and this wonderful story would never have been told, but just then the great lord sa kyah looked earthward and saw the tragedy that was taking place. like a drop of rain that falls from a tree when the wind blows after a shower, the mighty lord descended, and when the would-be robber reached the nest his hand entered an empty one. [illustration: "on his way he saw what seemed to be a bed of flowers." page .] the eggs were soon brought back from the _hpea_ country where the lord sa kyah had taken them for safety, and in due time were hatched. out of the first protruded a sharp bill, and a kingfisher, bright of plumage and swift of wing, broke out of its speckled prison. the next egg broke and a buffalo came out, to be followed by a lordly striped tiger from the next. a terrible _hpea-loo_, with head and claws like a bird and body like a man, tore his way out of the next one, already looking around for a man whom he might devour for his first meal. only one egg remained, and that the smallest of all, but out of it came a man, and the mighty lord sa kyah smiled when he saw him, and said that although he was the smallest and the last, yet he must feed his brothers and take care of them. one hot day in summer the buffalo that had come out of one of the eggs, walking through the jungle, much troubled by mosquitoes, thought how nice would be a wallow in a hole well known to him under the shade of the trees by the bank of the lake, where the sun had not dried the mud to the hardness of bricks as it had in every other wallow, and accordingly turned his huge body in its direction, and slowly set off toward it. on his way there he saw on the ground what appeared to him to be a bed of flowers growing on the bank of the lake, and after smelling it carefully over, leisurely ate it all up. the sun was hot, the earth dry, and the flowers had long ago died, and what the buffalo thought were flowers were really ten white jackets and ten red skirts. but when he had finished his meal he continued his journey to the wallow, and then with a grunt expressive of great satisfaction, sinking into the soft mud till only the tips of his horns and the top of his head were visible, he closed his eyes and enjoyed himself. by and by there was a great commotion in the water--shouts, laughter, and jokes, together with a great splashing. the lazy buffalo opened one eye and saw ten young girls who were having great fun in the cool water, throwing it over one another and chasing each other here and there. when they came to the place where they had left their clothes, however, their mirth received a sudden check. they had all disappeared! they stood up to their armpits in the water looking at each other with very long faces till, spying the buffalo in his mud bath, they approached him, and in the most courteous language asked him whether he had seen their dresses. the great beast closed the eye he had opened, and slowly uncovered the other one, but beyond this took no notice of the maids forlorn. then, calling him "kind brother buffalo," they begged him to answer them, saying that all the people who left the village to go to the bazaar before the sun had risen would soon be passing on their way home. the buffalo blew a big cloud of mud and water from his nostrils, but said never a word. now it happened that the youngest of the sparrow's brood, the man, was in the jungle all the time. he had seen his brother eat up all the clothes and had heard all the conversation. he had noticed too, that although all the maidens were beautiful, the youngest was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. he saw how straight was her form, how black was her hair, and that her eyes were the color of the sky when there are many stars but no moon, and he determined to get her for his wife. he therefore now approached the party and told them that he could help them, and that no one besides could tell them where their clothes were, but that they must promise that the one whom he should pick out should be his wife. to this they agreed, and thus it happened that he became possessed of the most beautiful woman in all the shan country. so beautiful in fact was she, that it is said the birds stopped in the middle of a song when they saw her. the squirrels stopped half-way up the tree in their search for nuts as she walked under the trees, and her fame spread far and wide. at this time a hunter came wandering through the jungle in search of game, and saw her standing at her door. he, like everybody else, was struck with her wonderful beauty, and he thought to himself, "for a long time i have been most unfortunate. i have caught but few animals, and their furs have been poor and mangy. now, if i tell the king of my country about this beautiful girl, he will give me a great reward." thus reasoning he set out home and told the king what he had seen, enlarging upon her great beauty till the king resolved to get her at any cost. he therefore set out, taking with him soldiers and attendants as became such a mighty lord, and when he saw the object of his journey he acknowledged that the hunter had not deceived him, and he determined to take her back with him to the palace; but at the same time he made up his mind to go about it in a cunning way. now this king had a wonderful fighting cock of which he was very proud, and which had never been beaten. it had a beak of iron and spurs as sharp as the knives that come from lai hka, and a voice so loud and piercing that every morning when he crowed every other rooster in the city scurried away in fright at the challenge. the king, therefore, said that he and the woman's husband should have a cock fight. he would wager his country against the other's wife. in great sorrow the man went out into the jungle to think over his misfortune, and while sitting on the ground in a most disconsolate manner he heard a little bird calling his name, and looking up he saw his brother, the kingfisher, perched above him. "o brother, do not fear," said the bright little bird. "i do not forget that you are my brother and have guarded me long, and now i will surely help you in your trouble." when the time came for the fight, therefore, and the king's fighting cock stood proudly up, suddenly down from a tree flew the kingfisher, pecked him with his long, sharp bill, and then flew away before he could so much as turn his head. time and again this happened till the king's challenger finally stretched himself dead on the ground. the fight ending in this way, however, did not suit the selfish king a bit, and he therefore said it was not a fair fight, and brought out a large, fierce dog. this dog was the terror of the state, but the king said that it should fight any other dog that could be brought against it for the same stakes as before. the tiger brother, however, was on the watch, and before the dog could get near his opponent, a blow from his paw ended his career. still the king persisted in his unjust course, and now declared that the wager should be finally settled by a fight between two buffaloes. now the buffalo brother was ashamed of the way in which he had treated the girls in the water, and had long wished for an opportunity to retrieve his honor, so that he now fought with such bravery against the royal buffalo that he speedily conquered it. then the king, seeing that he was beaten every time, threw off all disguise and said plainly that he had come to get the girl for his wife, had brought soldiers to help him if necessary, and he would take her in spite of losing the different battles, and in spite of her husband or anybody else. he stepped forward to take her, but he did not know that one more brother yet remained to be heard from, for out of the jungle with a dreadful yell came rushing the _hpea-loo_, his beak open, his claws outstretched, and king, soldiers, and courtiers all disappeared down his ravenous maw. the next month the fortunate man with his beautiful wife became king in the place of his enemy, and lived to be the oldest monarch in the whole of the shan country. how the world was created. in the beginning of the world, many, many cycles ago, so long ago, in fact, that no man knows how long it was, there were no trees, no hills, no land, nothing but water. the wind blew the waters hither and thither, sometimes in great waves, sometimes in quiet ripples; the wind blew, the waves rolled, and that was all. now it happened that gong gow, the great spirit spider, felt weary with carrying around her heavy burden of eggs wrapped up so carefully in their white covering fastened to her waist, therefore she said to herself: "i would fain place my eggs in a safe place, but know of none where they can hatch themselves without danger," so she searched through the universe to find a suitable place, and at last she spied the water that is now the world, and in it began to spin her web. backward and forward, forward and backward, round and round, in and out she wove, till at last all was done, and full of content she left her eggs in their web prison nest and journeyed away. the wind blew and drove the water hither and thither as aforetime, and soon little pieces of solid substance caught in the meshes of the web, and behold! as the time passed the solid substance became more solid till it formed mud and separated itself from the water, and when the mud had dried, lo! it was the earth. so the eggs of the great spirit spider were safely locked up within the earth; by and by they hatched, and breaking forth there appeared the first man, boo pau, and the first woman, myeh pau, from whom all the ancient people who belonged to the first race were descended. many, many years passed and people lived out their lives, till one day the great earth caught fire. it burned fiercer than anybody's imagination can conceive, and it destroyed everything. all the beautiful forests with their green coverings of moss and leaves, all the cities which the first race had builded were burned down, till by and by there was naught more for the fire to consume, and it was then the end of the hot season; the time of wet came soon after, and the rain fell upon the burning earth in such torrents that the whole sky was covered with the steam. now it happened that in möng hpea, the far-away land where dwell the powerful spirits whom we call "hsangs," the smell of the steam ascended and ascended till all the spirits smelled the sweet scent, and said to themselves: "behold, there appears a sweet smell arising from below, what can it be?" and there was much marveling at what could cause such sweet-smelling incense as that then ascending. and it also happened that in möng hpea were nine spirits, five of them males and four females, and these being of more adventurous spirit than their fellows, determined to find out for themselves where the sweet perfume came from. so they set out on their travels downward. they descended faster and faster, and the faster they descended the sweeter became the smell, till at last they landed upon this world of ours, and bending down to the earth they tore great handfuls of it out and ate it with the greatest relish. it was morning time when they descended, and they fed upon the fragrant earth all day till the sun set and the shades of evening began to surround them, then the eldest of the spirits looked around upon his fellows, and said: "brethren, oie! it is time that we ascended to our own country," and as the rest assented they stood up to return, but alas! they could not rise, they had eaten so much earth it had made them too heavy to soar, and from that day to the day they died none of them ever found their way back to the beautiful country of the hsangs, but had to spend all their lives upon this earth of ours. thus we see that it is earthly desires that keep us from the spirit country. we see, or we hear, we smell or desire some earthly thing. we get our desires, but they keep us pinned down to the earth. we cannot go to the spirit country because of them. when the spirits discovered that they could not return to the hsang country they agreed that they would marry each other and take up their abode upon this earth of ours. but here arose a difficulty; there were five male hsangs but only four females! there was chance of a great quarrel, but the strongest of them, his name was hsin kyan, thought within himself: "i am stronger than any of my brothers and could easily defeat them and marry whom i will, but what merit would there be in that? i will ask them whether they would be willing to make me king and each of them give me of their daughters when they are old enough, then in time i shall have wives and power as well." thus we see it is the man who is willing to control his desires and wait who becomes great. hsin kyan's brethren were very glad to make the agreement and thus it was that he became the ruler of them all. when the daughters of the others were old enough, they brought them to the king, and from that day it has been the custom for men to offer their daughters to the king. now it happened that the universal lord, sa kyah, who rules over all spirits and men looked earthward and saw the new kingdom that was established; he became jealous and determined to kill hsin kyan and take his kingdom away from him. but hsin kyan was very subtle and cunning, so he tattooed himself with charms of such great strength that even the mighty lord sa kyah could not kill him. for many years they fought. great mountains were thrown by each combatant at the other, but hsin kyan could not defeat the lord sa kyah, neither could the lord sa kyah kill hsin kyan. our great ancestor hsin kyan had seven daughters, whose names to this day are remembered among us as they have been given to the different days of the week, from nang ta nang nooie, the eldest, after whom we call the first day of the week wan ta nang nooie, to nang hsa ne, the youngest, and when the mighty lord sa kyah found that he could not kill their father, he spoke to these daughters and told them he was searching for one whom he would make his chief queen, and that if one of them would kill his enemy, their father, and bring to him his head, he would choose that one to be his queen and make her joint ruler of the universe; with him she should govern everything created. but the charms tattooed upon hsin kyan were very potent. water would not drown him; fire would not burn him; rope would not strangle him; and he was invulnerable against thrust of spear and stroke of sword, and although all seven of his daughters tried to kill him yet they were not able to do so and six of them gave up the attempt in despair. one day, however, the youngest, she whom we worship on the seventh day of the week and because she was the smallest call it wan hsa nae, was walking in the jungle, and as she was passing under a tree she saw a bird sitting upon its topmost branch. now this girl knew how clever birds are, and so she said to it: "brother bird, oie! can you tell me how i can kill my father?" now although this daughter was the youngest, yet she was more lovely than all her sisters, and the bird was so pleased with her that he said: "nang hsa nae, you are so beautiful that i will tell you the secret of your father's charm. water cannot drown him, fire cannot burn him, neither can sword or spear wound him, but there is one way in which he may be killed. take you, seven strands of a spider's web and twist them into a cord, then with a piece of white bamboo make a bow; with this you will be able to cut off the head of your father and take it to the mighty lord sa kyah, and oh!" continued the clever bird, "when you are his queen, do not forget the good turn i have done you, and the debt of gratitude you owe me therefor." nang hsa nae was full of joy when she learned the secret of her father's charm and she promised the little bird that when she became queen of the universe she would grant him any desire that he craved. that night when everybody else was asleep, nang hsa nae crept to her father's side and with the bow made of the seven twisted strands of a spider's web killed him and cut off his head. with great joy she carried it to the universal lord. he was very glad to find that his enemy was at last dead, but although he had given his word to her, yet he would not marry nang hsa nae, for, said he, she has killed her father although i could not conquer him. were i to marry her, who will go surety for her that she will not do the same to me? so the wicked daughter did not gain her ambitious end after all. not only that, however, but she and her sisters received a punishment, one they are even now suffering, and will continue till the world ends. it is this: when they found that the lord sa kyah would not marry their youngest sister or even accept their father's head, they said among themselves: "what shall we do with the head of our father? where shall we bury it? should we place it in the earth the whole world would catch on fire; should we throw it into the sea, all the seven oceans would immediately boil; what shall we do?" in their distress they went to the mighty lord sa kyah and in humble tones begged his lordship to give them advice so that they would be freed from the terrible trouble to which their wickedness had brought them. he looked at them and said: "this is what you must do. you," pointing to the youngest, "must carry your father's head in your arms all this year, and when the year is finished you can give it to the sister who is next older than yourself. she will carry it for a year and thus one of you will ever after bear it." and so it is. we know when the year ends because then come the wan kyap or washing days, when the princess who has carried her father's head for a year gives it to her elder sister and washes the bloodstains from her clothes. from these spirits all the inhabitants of the world are descended, and so we see the saying of our philosophers is true, "we have all descended from spirits." how the king of pagan caught the thief. many, many years ago there lived near the old city of pagan a famous robber chief who was so fierce and cruel that he made all men fear his name. he stole and killed and burned till the mothers used to frighten their disobedient children by saying, "boh lek byah will get thee." he was a very brave and clever thief, and he became so strong that the headmen and elders of all the towns and villages throughout the country were obliged to fee him with money and goods, and if by any chance they did not pay this blackmail immediately it was demanded, that very night the followers of the robber chief would assuredly burn down their village and kill every man, woman, and child within it, for this was shan and burmese custom. boh lek byah entered every house in pagan. none was too big, none too small. he stole from the _whon's_ house as easily as from the hut of the poor man; it made no difference to him, till at last the palace where the great king lived was the only place whence he had not gotten booty. several of his followers were caught and crucified, but that did not stop his bad actions or frighten him. in the old days, when a robber was caught he was taken to the jungle where the tigers are. all the tigers knew the place of execution as well as a dog knows worship days when the women offer rice and curry at the pagodas. they used to tie the thieves fast to the cross by their feet, hands, and hair, and when they had jeered at them and the women and children had pelted them with stones and beaten them with bamboos, everybody went home and left them for the tigers to eat, and thus they did to the followers of maung lek byah, but they could never catch the robber chief himself. at last the people of pagan city came to the amat löng, who was next in rank to the king himself, and said: "our lord, for long thy slaves have been in great and sore trouble, and unless our lord takes pity upon his servants we shall all arrive at destruction." "what can i do?" cried the _amat_, in a loud, angry voice, "has he not stolen from me? did i not pay him two whole _ticcals_ of pure silver as protection money no later than the last water feast, and yet did he not rob me as i was coming home in my boat yesternight, and when i told him that i was the amat löng, did he not laugh in my face and yet rob me just the same. what can i do?" "our lord can go to the ruler of the golden palace and plead for his slaves," suggested one of the suppliants. now, the amat löng was a very cunning man, and he knew that if the king heard that boh lek byah had stolen so much from his subjects he would be very angry, and might perhaps even deprive him of his rank as chief amat, for it was his duty to see that all robbers were caught and punished, therefore after thinking for a while, he said: "my friends, listen to me; let us each give silver, as much as we can afford; it is better to give part of our possessions than to have everything taken from us. dost hear? this silver we will give to the _boh_, and he will then not trouble us any more, but will go to towns where the people are poorer and cannot afford to give as much as we, the citizens of this royal city of pagan; then shall we have peace." this advice was very good and would have been acted upon, but unfortunately, one of the little princes happened to be in the audience chamber that morning and heard what had been said. he went to his father, the ruler of the golden palace, and told the king what he had heard; therefore his majesty called the _amat_ to the golden foot and asked him of these things. "what is this i hear?" he demanded. "has this wicked man robbed as much as the people say? why hast thou not caught him as it was thy duty to do?" "son of the sun," replied the servant, trembling very much as he kneeled before him, for who would not be afraid when the king is angry? "it is true; but this thief is a very wicked and clever thief, besides which he has a wonderful charm tattooed upon his body which is so potent that it makes him invulnerable to wounds from sword or gun, neither can he be bound with ropes, therefore it hath been impossible for the slave of our lord the king to capture or harm him." "then," said the king, still very angry, "get thee a charm still more potent than the one the robber chief hath, for if thou dost not bring him or his head to me ere three days have elapsed, thou shalt fall from thy rank of chief _amat_. dost thou hear?" the _amat_ bowed till his head touched the floor before the golden foot and he crawled away from the presence the most unhappy man in all the king's possessions. then in great haste he ran to his house and called all the charm-makers in the city to come to him without delay. then when they had assembled before him he commanded them to make him a charm which would be stronger than the one tattooed upon the body of the robber chief, boh lek byah. but the charm-sellers one and all declared that this was an impossibility, for the thief had upon the luckiest day of the whole year eaten a piece of flesh cut from the body of a murdered man, and so he could not be harmed in any way, neither was it in their power to give his lordship the amat a charm stronger than his. very frightened was the amat when he heard this, and very frightened were the soldiers who had been ordered to go with him and catch the thief. their wives also cried all that night, for they knew what a terrible man the robber was, and how angry he would be with the men who had dared come to capture him. he would show no mercy, and without doubt would kill them all, and in derision send their heads back to the city afterward. this the robber had done before more than once to parties of soldiers sent to take him. now it happened that among the soldiers who followed the amat löng was one who had a very wise and clever wife, and when she saw her husband march away and knew the great danger that he and his fellows were in, she went to the wife of another soldier, and this is what she said: "sister, oie, listen to my words. if we do naught but sit in our houses and weep our husbands will all assuredly arrive at destruction, for the _boh_ is a very cruel and cunning man. of what use will our houses be to us if we have no husbands? listen, therefore, to what i say. the man who collects the blackmail for the _boh_ from the headman of a village across the river and delivers it into his hand is well known to me. his name is maung gyei, and he sells books in the bazaar. he is a very wise man, and knows all the followers of the boh lek byah. let our husbands fight the _boh_ with silver. it is sharper than a sword, and injures not the man who handles it skillfully. we will collect all the money we can. i will sell my earrings, thou canst sell thy bracelets, and the wives of all the other soldiers can do likewise. this will bring a big bag of silver, and half of it we will give to maung gyei. he will then call some of the followers of the _boh_ to a secret place and tell him that the amat löng will give him the balance in return for the head of their master, if they take it to his lordship ere three days have have elapsed. our husbands will then bring the head of this wicked man to the royal palace and lay it before the golden foot; they will reap much honor and glory for having fulfilled the order of the king and the country will be freed from this great trouble." now, when the wives of the other soldiers heard these words they perceived that she was indeed a very clever woman, fit to be the wife of a great _amat_ instead of a common soldier, and one ran swiftly after the _amat_ and his men, for in truth they had not gone far, but were traveling slowly, because they feared to come up with the _boh_ and his fierce followers; and they were filled with joy at the good news the messenger brought them. at the order of the _amat_ his men hid themselves in a thick jungle till the money should be collected and brought to them. after two days and when it was very dark, a man came to them saying that he was the friend of maung gyei, and bore with him the head of the robber chief, and thereupon showed it wrapped up in a cloth. then were the soldiers full of joy again, and they paid the money to him, and that night they slept peacefully, for they knew that their enemy could harm them no more, and that they had been delivered from the great danger which had been threatening them. before they slept the _amat_ sent a swift messenger to the city to tell the king the good news that the robber chief was dead, and that they were bearing his head with them and would present it before the golden foot the next morning. next day, therefore, at the head of his men, he marched to the golden palace, and the people of the city were so full of joy over the fact that boh lek byah was dead, that great numbers followed the procession to the palace gates in the hopes of getting a glimpse at the head of their enemy, and everybody praised the amat löng for his bravery and wisdom in killing the robber chief who had oppressed them so sorely. his wife also called musicians and dancers, and gave orders to her servants to prepare a great feast that night in honor of her brave husband. they reached the golden foot and knelt before the throne, but when the basket was opened, behold, it contained the head of another man, and not that of the _boh_ at all. then did all the people in the city laugh at the _amat_ because his enemy had deceived him, and he fell from his rank of chief _amat_. all his golden umbrellas were taken away from him and given to his successor, and he was obliged to earn his living by selling medicines in bazaar, and from that day till he died he bore the nickname of amat toak arah;[ ] but the people all praised the cleverness of his enemy, the thief. now, when the king saw how cunning boh lek byah was and how easily he had deceived his servant, he determined that he himself would take the robber chief and thus gain great credit and renown. to this end he gave orders to the headman of every village throughout his kingdom that directly the robber should come within his jurisdiction he was to report immediately, and the king would send a trusty officer to arrest him. he did not tell them that he himself would go, therefore for a long time the headmen feared to obey the order of the king for, said they among themselves: "the _boh_ deceived the amat löng, who was one of the most cunning of men, and will he not escape from any other whom it should please our lord the king to send against him? is there any more cunning man in the palace now than before? when he finds out also that we have reported his presence to the king his mind will become hot against us, and he will without doubt return and destroy all our houses and kill everybody in our village. nay, it is better to give him silver and beg him begone elsewhere," so although they told the messengers of the king they would follow his words, they simply held their peace when the dreaded robber chief was near their village. but after a long time the headman of myo haung, who was braver than his fellows, came to the palace and told the king that the _boh_ was then at his village, and would leave when it became dark, taking boat for myo kywe, which was a suburb of the city of pagan. the heart of the king was filled with joy when he heard this piece of good news, and he gave the headman a great reward. also he took off the royal robes such as is the custom of kings to wear, and put on very poor ones so that no one would think that he was the lord who ate the country of pagan. he also took with him a sword; not the royal sword with the silver sheath and ivory handle, but an old dah with a wooden handle bound around with rattan string, and a sheath of wood, such as the common people carry, then he went to the bank of the river near myo kywe and waited. he waited long, but his heart was strong and he did not become discouraged by reason of the waiting, and at last he saw coming down the river a small boat, and in it a man whom he knew immediately to be the thief. maung lek byah guided his boat toward the bank near where the king was seated, for he was a skillful oarsman, and when he had fastened it with a rattan loop to the end of his oar stuck into the soft mud at the water's edge he ascended the path to the village, and as he reached the top of the bank he caught sight of the king in his dingy clothes and wearing the old sword with the wooden handle, sitting on the side of the path. he was surprised to see a man there at that time of night, for the gongs which call the priests and old women to worship had sounded long before, and everybody in the village was sound asleep, therefore he gazed earnestly at the king and then called out: "who is that?" "it is a man who wishes to arrive at the rank of disciple to our lord," replied the king. "art thou a man of the day or a man of the night?" asked the robber looking down at him. "thy servant is a man of the night," replied the king. "hast thou not heard how many of my followers have been caught and executed? how that the tigers at the entering in of the villages will not now eat oxen but wait till one of my men is tied up for them? i tell thee they have not long to wait either. art thou not afraid?" "ah, our lord," replied the king, "thy disciples suffered because they did not take heed and follow in the footsteps of our lord, therefore have they arrived at destruction; but thy servant will study thee, o payah, and thus will i learn how to become a great _boh_ and also to escape their fate." now when the king talked in this fashion the _boh_ was very pleased with him, and gave him permission to follow. he also promised to teach his new disciple all his arts; that he would not let him ever be caught and would make him as famous a _boh_ even as he was. "and so," said he, "as thou hast a sword with thee, follow me. i will give thee thy first lesson." now it happened that as they walked along toward the city the thief began to think within himself, "who can this new disciple be? he surely comes from a high family, for he speaks not like the common people, but as kings have a custom of speaking. he wears the clothes of a common man, and carries the sword of a coolie, but yet his words are the words of one used to command. can he be a spy sent by the _amat_ whom i tricked so nicely the other day, i wonder?" and thus he turned it over and over in his mind. the _hpeas_ have ever aided the kings of burma, and now those whom the king had been in the habit of feeding daily were watching over him, and when they heard the _boh_ thus talk with himself, for the spirits can hear us think even when we make no sounds of words, they put it into the head of the robber to go to the house of the king's own astrologer. it was not very far and they soon arrived there. then maung lek byah said to the king: "stay thou here and watch; if thou dost see or hear aught come and call me," but he himself went under the house of the astrologer to discover whether he slept or not. when he knew that the man was sound asleep he would draw a sharp knife which he carried in his girdle, cut a hole in the mat side of the house, creep in through this hole and take what he wished; then he would escape before the lord of the house awoke. as he was watching, however, he heard the astrologer come out upon the veranda so that he could study the stars, for that was his custom; then he heard him say to himself: "truly this is a good thing to marvel at, for i see the star of that famous robber chief, boh lek byah, and following it closely is the star of none other than the ruler of the golden palace himself." for a long time the astrologer sat upon his veranda pondering over this strange occurrence and trying to think what it should portend; but in vain. he could think of no solution of the mystery, so after again saying that it was a good thing to marvel at he gave it up and went into his house to sleep. thus did the thief discover the high rank of his new disciple, for the astrologer knew the star of the _boh_ well and would make no mistake. he also knew the star of the king. had this same astrologer not cast the horoscope of the robber chief and foretold which days were lucky and which unlucky to him, so that by taking heed he had never been caught? therefore when he again came forth from under the royal astrologer's house and saw the king was still waiting without, even as he had given orders, his mind was filled with great fear. then said the king directly he saw the robber: "o kin byah, thy servant knows a place where there are so many rubies that they are as common as _maknin_ seeds that the children play with in the dust; gold is as plentiful as iron is with us, and there is enough silk to stock ten bazaars. all this is within reach of our hands. i can guide thee to the place, for i know it well; wilt thou follow?" then said the thief: "i know of but one place of which thou canst say that with truth, and that is the golden palace; but a man may not enter there and live. knowest thou not that the guards carry sharp _dahs_, and that if a man is caught there without permission from the king or one of his _amats_, he is immediately impaled? in very truth it is a place good to shun and fear greatly, even as the den of a hungry tiger in the jungle." "true, o brave man," replied the king, "but this evening as i passed by the palace i saw hanging from the top of the wall a rope-ladder; we can climb over, take enough to make us rich for the rest of our lives, and run away before the guards with the sharp _dahs_ discover that we have been there. thus shall we earn much wealth and glory, and people throughout the land will call our lord the 'boh who entered the golden palace,' and all men will fear his name more than the name of a hungry leopard." then were the thoughts of the _boh_ in great confusion, and he said to himself: "of a truth i am about to arrive at destruction at last. i have had my last adventure. if i do not follow the king he will assuredly call out to the guard and i shall be taken. if i go, how shall i be delivered from the great dangers which will surround me in the golden palace? i am undone whichever way i take." then said he to the king: "o disciple, whom i love much, i fear to enter the golden palace, for this i perceive is one of my unlucky days. we will therefore go to pin tha village, for i saw this morning a great number of coolies there. they were following a great prince from the hills. they have been traveling far to-day and are therefore heavy with sleep, and we can despoil them of as much as we can carry away. as they are very weary with their journey, none will know aught till they awake in the morning." "upon what day wast thou born?" demanded the king, and the _boh_ said that it was upon a saturday. "then," said the king, "behold! this is a lucky day," and he drew forth from under his jacket a horoscope, which showed that this was a lucky day upon which a man who had been born upon a saturday could undertake any deed requiring great wisdom and bravery in its accomplishment, and in spite of all that maung lek byah could say the king led the way toward the palace, and the _boh_ was obliged to follow him, which he did with very slow and hesitating steps, for his heart had become as weak as water. even as the king had said, there was a rope-ladder hanging over the palace wall, and the _boh_ perceived in what manner the king had left the golden palace, but being a very wise man he followed without opening his mouth. they passed through the palace courtyard and saw there a thing good to marvel at; all the guards who ought to have been watching their lord were slumbering, so that the king and the _boh_ gathered up all the spears and _dahs_ belonging to these men and carried them away, hiding them in a secret place under one of the houses. as they entered the palace buildings the thief became so full of alarm that all his strength left him and he could hardly walk. then the king saw that his follower had arrived at great fear, and as they passed the house where the royal food was prepared, he said: "friend, i perceive that thou art in sore distress; come, eat the food i am about to prepare for thee and thou wilt become strong." "nay," said the _boh_, "that i cannot do. can a common man eat of the golden food and live? this will i not do; surely i should be accounted worthy of death." the king would not listen to him, but entered the royal kitchen, and with his own hands cooked some food which he compelled the thief to eat. now, the king had prepared two messes, one in which he had cunningly placed some opium and one without, and it was the food which contained the opium that the king gave to the _boh_. therefore, after a little time, he said to the king: "o disciple of mine, i know not what is the matter with me. i have no strength and although it is death to sleep in the golden palace yet must i sleep, for if i do not i shall surely die." as he said these words his head drooped upon his chest, his eyes closed and he fell asleep. once more was the heart of the king filled with joy and he bound the _boh_ with strong ropes in great haste and made him a prisoner. early the next morning the king called the officer who was in charge of the guard the night before and when he was come before the face of his majesty, the king said: "i have a parable to tell thee. once upon a time there was a great king and in his country was also a famous robber chief and, behold, one night the king was sore troubled with questions of statecraft so that he could not sleep, therefore he walked throughout his palace. as he was passing through the courtyard he spied a ladder hanging from the top of the wall. now the thief of whom i have spoken had that very night entered the golden palace and at that same moment the king caught sight of him, loaded down with plunder, creeping toward the rope ladder beside which he stood. then the king fell upon him and took him prisoner, bound him securely with strong ropes and dragged him to a safe place; but the soldiers who should have been watching were all asleep. what should be done to such guards as these?" now the officer did not yet know that the _dahs_ of his men had been stolen, so bowing before the golden foot, he replied: "head of thy servant's body, there is but one thing to be done, they are worthy of death. their lord should pass judgment upon them without mercy and that immediately." "that is a good judgment," replied the king, and turning again to the officer of the guard, he said: "last night i saw the great and renowned robber chief, boh lek byah, in this palace. i took him prisoner with mine own hands, behold, he lies tied fast with ropes in yonder room, but all the guards who should have been watching were asleep. where are their _dahs_? let every man who has no sword be impaled before i eat my morning rice." then were the hearts of the king's _amats_ full of joy when they heard that the thief whom they all feared was a prisoner in the palace, and they praised the wondrous bravery and subtlety of their royal master, saying that without doubt he was the bravest and wisest king who ever sat under a white umbrella. the king was very proud as he listened to their praises and gave orders that the robber chief should be brought before him. when boh lek byah was led to the golden foot he prostrated himself, and the king said: "if a man be found in the royal palace at night what hath custom decreed should be the punishment for his presumption?" then the prisoner said: "king above all kings, it is death." "hast thou anything to say why thou shouldst not be impaled or given to the tigers to eat?" demanded the king in a terrible voice. "lord of the world," replied the unfortunate man, "last night thou didst ask to become disciple to our lord's slave. will the disciple order his teacher to be executed? when our lord's slave was beneath the royal astrologer's house he discovered that his new disciple was the eater of the country and so when our lord of the golden palace ordered his slave to enter, he would have been worthy of death had he not obeyed. will the son of the sun execute his slave for following his words?" then when the king heard that the robber had known who he really was, he marveled much at his wisdom, and said: "assuredly thou art too wise a man for the tigers to eat. take thou yonder sword, it belonged to him who yesterday was captain of the royal guard. follow me and thou shalt later become my chief _amat_." [ ] literally, "the counselor who fell from his rank," _i. e._, was degraded. glossary of terms puc. curry. zayat. a place built for the accommodation of travelers, also used as an assembly place for worship, especially during religious feasts; they are usually built near monasteries. parah. (burmese, _payah_) a god; an image of gautama buddha. kam. luck. mau. to be skillful. amat lÃ�ng. the chief amat or chief counselor of a prince. soie. the indian "_viss_"; a weight equal to about three and a half pounds avoirdupois. chattie. a cooking pot, usually made of earthenware. hÃ�k. a deep rent in the earth with steep sides; a ravine; a torrent usually runs in it during the rainy season, but it is dry in the hot season. hpea. spirit or supernatural being. amat. a minister of state. hsan. a rice bag. nang me prah. a queen. transcriber's note: . page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=kv maaaayaaj . the diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. appleton's town and country library no. a galahad of the creeks _ninth edition_. the honour of savelli. by s. levett yeats. mo. cloth, $ . ; paper, cents. * * * * * "unsurpassably written, full of matter of historical value, and in excellence of composition, clearness of description and delineation of character is assuredly one of the first in the field."--_chicago journal_. "the story is full of romance, life, and action.... one of those which demand reading through at a sitting."--_san francisco chronicle_. "a picturesque and exciting panorama of the most brilliant and eventful period of old italian history."--_london times_. "the book is a first-rate piece of work, and holds the reader enchained from the sensational outset to the very last page."--_london athenæum_. "stirring incidents and adventures follow so closely upon each other's heels that the reader becomes fascinated. it is a story to be read and reread for the mere pleasure the reading gives."--_new york evening world_. * * * * * d. appleton and company, new york. a galahad of the creeks * * * the widow lamport. by s. levett-yeats author of the honour of savelli new york d. appleton and company copyright, , by d. appleton and company contents. * * * * * a galahad of the creeks. i.--the coming of the woon. ii.--a dinner à deux. iii.--father fragrance limes a twig. iv.--ruys smalley. v.--"furiis agitates amor." vi.--anthony pozendine speaks up. vii.--the ruby bracelet. viii.--the sirkar's salt. ix.--his lady's gage. x.--an atonement. xi.--the patience of habakkuk smalley. xii.--the episode of li fong. xiii.--an overreach. xiv.--pallida mors. xv.--the passing of the woon. * * * * * the widow lamport. i.--at the door of the tabernacle. ii.--a cup of tea. iii.--a billet-doux. iv.--yes. v.--mrs. bunny doubts. vi.--master edward bunny. vii.--dungaree's belt. viii.--cast out from the fold. ix.--at the divan exchange. x.--exit manuel. xi.--the happy pair. xii.--the devil at work. xiii.--husband and wife. xiv.--john galbraith goes. xv.--the glory departs. xvi.--an account balanced. xvii.--from the choir of the holy innocents. a galahad of the creeks. chapter i. the coming of the woon. the good ship steered toward the east, to the east, o'er the salt sea foam; and years rolled by, and time grew old, but she nevermore came home. _voyage of the tobias_. when a man has taken a first-class degree, when he has won his blue, and has passed high into the indian civil service without the wet-nursing of a crammer, it might be hazarded that he is worth something. one might go further and picture out his future career--how he would be a prop of israel; how, step by step, he would rise until the honourable council enshrouded him; and how, after a life of useful work, he would, like oliver, desire more, and drop into being the bore of "the house," or into the warmest corner of the "oriental," and dream over the fire of the time when he was his honour the lieutenant governor; but the lion is very old now--let him doze. peregrine jackson had taken the first steps to qualify for this part in the tragedy of life, for this forging of the links of that mysterious chain of which we know not the beginning and may never know the end until, as to longinus, the gates of immortality are opened unto us. but the tall, straight, broad-shouldered young englishman was thinking of none of these things at present. he had elected to serve in burma, and he was now posted as assistant commissioner, practically governor of pazobin, which is in lower burma, and lies near the sea on a slimy creek of the irawadi. he leaned over the gunwale of the river steamer that was bearing him to his destination, and the skipper, the sleeves of his gray-flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, stood beside him and pointed out pazobin, which lay about two miles off, clinging like a limpet to the river bank. now, a burman river steamer can walk, and at twelve knots an hour two miles would not take long to cover--in fact, the woon had already whistled shrilly to announce her coming--a whistle that found a hundred echoes in the forest which fringed the banks, until it died away in fitful cadences in some unknown swamp. and let it be remembered that this is the country of the creeks. here the irawadi, whose source no man knoweth, comes down from its cradle of snow, past the tremendous defiles of bhamo, through the whole length of that strange land from which the veil has only just been lifted, past cities and temples, until at last the mystery of waters spread out with a hundred thirsty throats toward the sea, and puddles its blue field with a muddy yellow far out, even to where the breakers hiss around cape negrais. between the wide necks that stretch out to the sea the water has made for itself countless cuttings, through which it ebbs and flows sluggishly beneath the shadows of a primeval forest. the whistle of the steamer was answered by the dull boom of a signal gun, and the broad bosom of the creek was almost immediately dotted over with a vast number of small craft making their way toward the incoming mail boat. "there's the pagoda," and the mudlark, as captains of burman river steamers are irreverently called, pointed to the gilded cupola which rose high above the feathers of the bamboos that surrounded it. "there's the jetty," he added, "and there's the courthouse. you'll know more about that presently. wonder how you'll like sitting there ten hours a day? and, by george, there's the _nga-pe!_" "the what?" but as jackson spoke, a puff of wind brought a decomposed odour to the steamer. it was overpowering, an all-pervading essence, and for a moment peregrine forgot everything in a vain effort to beat off the evil with his pocket-handkerchief. "it's all right when you're used to it," mocked the captain, "and you mustn't turn up your nose at it, for that delicate condiment is the main source of revenue of your district. wait till i take you up some day with a shipload on board! and now, your humble, i must be off." he vanished to attend to his duties, which to the non-professional onlooker appeared to consist principally of swinging his arms round like the sails of a windmill and using frightful language toward a person whom he called the _serang_. the fitful wind, changing at this time, relieved jackson from the terrible odour, and allowed him to look with a somewhat despairing curiosity at his new home. before him lay a fleet of small fishing craft and a single row of bathing machines on stilts. the latter were the houses of the inhabitants, and they were all built on piles. they were of the roughest possible description, but here and there a plutocrat had got some corrugated iron to make a roof with and to excite thereby the envy, malice, and hatred of his fellows. there was but one street, from the end of which the jetty projected into the river. beyond this rose some larger buildings, the largest of which had been pointed out by the skipper as the courthouse. a little way inland towered the gilded spire of the pagoda, with its umbrella crest that swung slowly round in the breeze. the one street of the township was thoroughly alive. it seemed as if a swarm of butterflies was on the move in the bright sunshine. everywhere there was the sheen of brilliant colour--red, yellow, electric blue, and that strange tint which is known to milliners as _sang de b[oe]uf_. the small boats surrounded the steamer, and, regardless of the danger of being swamped, recklessly jammed up against her. with few exceptions their occupants were either women or chinamen. these latter exchanged joyous greetings with their compatriots on board, and, swarming up the ship's side, set vigorously to work preparing to land their consignments as soon as ever the steamer drifted alongside the jetty. the ladies followed almost as rapidly, and their agility and the skill which they displayed in preventing the too great exposure of shapely limbs was beyond all praise. the women had brought with them their peddling wares, and a brisk market was opened--sharks' teeth, an invaluable love philter, silks and fruits, and the nameless little wants of semicivilized life. one held high above her head a row of mutton chops impaled upon a bamboo skewer. "excellent they are," she cried; "they have come from the fat sheep the mail brought for me all the way from calcutta." everybody was smoking, except the chinamen and the man at the wheel, who were too busy. the burman man was, however, so absorbed in the contemplation of his own dignity that he did nothing but smoke; the burman woman, on the other hand, simply coaled herself with each whiff of the long green cheroot she sucked, and every puff inspired her with fresh energy for the driving of a bargain. through all the maze of business, however, madam remained a very woman, and many an astute deal was lost as the joints of her armour were pierced by ah-sin's oily tongue or the open admiration in loo-ga-lay's little eyes. they were now so close to the shore that jackson could distinctly see the faces of the people and the medals on the breasts of the half company of sikh police that were formed up on the jetty--a tribute of honour to him, as he found out subsequently. two europeans stood amid the crowd; in one, dressed in a police uniform, peregrine recognised hawkshawe, the district police officer, who, while nominally his second in command, was really to be jackson's dry nurse in controlling his charge until he was fit to fly alone. this period of probation would be, of course, just as long or as short as peregrine chose to make it, for a member of the indian civil service is ordinarily hatched full-fledged--a diplomat, a magistrate, anything you will. in the other, who stood beside the police officer, jackson, although new to the country, recognised the missionary. his unkempt beard and hair, his long clerical coat of raw silk, and the dejected appearance of his lean face, hall-marked him as such distinctly. the steamer had now come almost opposite the jetty. a light line, one end of which was attached to the hawser, was cleverly thrown out and as cleverly caught by a blue-bloused lascar. the hawser was dragged to the shore to the accompaniment of a "hillee-haulee" chorus, and it surged through the water like an unwilling water boa being pulled to land. at length the end of the huge rope touched the bank, somebody jumped into the ooze and lifted it with both arms, somebody else twisted it deftly round a short stumpy pillar, and then, with a drumming of the donkey engine and an insistent hiss-hiss of the paddles, the steamer sidled slowly alongside the jetty until she almost touched it. in an instant the bridge was placed in position and a crowd that seemed all elbows met an invading army bent upon forcing its way on board, and there was a little trouble. with the aid of a fierce-looking sergeant, who used his cane freely, hawkshawe made his way on deck, and after a brief greeting with the skipper came up to peregrine. "you're jackson, i suppose? i'm hawkshawe." the two men shook hands and looked each other straight in the face. each saw the other's strength. it was later on they noticed the loose rivets in each other's mail. after a few moments spent in desultory conversation, during which jackson heard and replied to the usual question of how he liked the country, the two prepared to leave the ship, and peregrine sought the skipper to say adieu. "good-bye, captain." "good-bye. the next time you come with me i'll have the _nga-pe_ all ready for you." they were over the bridge, the guard of honour had presented arms, and the reverend doctor habakkuk smalley, american missionary, was introduced. dr. smalley performed the feat of shaking hands, of mopping his face with a red handkerchief, and of asking jackson if he had "got it" all at once. "got it!" was the reply; "i should think we all did--got it nearly a mile up. it was most horrible!" dr. smalley groaned aloud, and stretched forth both hands in protest. "sir," he began, but hawkshawe interposed. "excuse me for a moment, doctor, but i must introduce these people to the new king," and he led up the portly native treasury officer to the bewildered jackson, who found himself compelled to make and to answer civil speeches, while he was wondering how he could have given offence. the presentations were rapidly brought to an end, and hawkshawe urged a move toward breakfast, turning to include dr. smalley in the invitation; but the reverend gentleman was nowhere to be seen. he had stalked off in high dudgeon. "i've done something to offend dr. smalley; let me go after him and explain, if i can, though what it can be i can't guess," said jackson. "i should think you have!" was the answer. "fancy smalley asking you his usual question about your certainty of your salvation, and only think of your reply!" "but i meant that fearful-smelling compound!" hawkshawe's laugh pealed out loudly. "well, if a man will speak of religion like the measles, he must expect to be misunderstood. but there is no use in saying anything now. i will square matters for you. smalley is a very good fellow really, and you will get to like him and---- but you must be very hungry. my men will take your traps over to your own place, and you have to breakfast with me, and can then go on, if you like. here is the trap. jump in." after the cramped life of the river steamer, however, the traveller wished to stretch his limbs a little, and begged to be permitted to walk. to this hawkshawe agreed with an inward curse, for walking exercise is hateful to the anglo-burmese. he will ride or drive anywhere, but the climate does not contemplate walking. it is not in the programme. an officious peon opened a huge umbrella over jackson's head notwithstanding his protests, and a small procession was formed. this was increased to a very respectable size by the time they reached their destination, for most of the inhabitants of the place, having nothing better to do, attached themselves in a semiofficial manner to the party, and there was quite a crowd when, after a final leave-taking, jackson and his host entered the house. it was a great pleasure to find that there were houses far back from the dreary little town on the river bank. it was disheartening to think that one had to live amid the malodorous mud and slime, and it was equally cheering to find instead of this a trim garden and a fantastically pretty little house, with a breakfast table set out in a shady veranda, which overlooked a lawn as green as emerald, upon which two little fox terriers were chasing each other in joyous play, to the detriment of the turf but to their own great good. "you may consider yourself fairly installed now," said hawkshawe, "and after breakfast we will take a run down to the courts. drage, your predecessor, left only three days ago, but his house, which you have taken, will suit you admirably. you will find yourself very comfortable there, for drage did himself well." after breakfast hawkshawe's fast-trotting pony took them the one mile to the courthouse "in less than no time," as the policeman said, and, the trifling business of the first day concluded, they drove to the house jackson was to occupy. he had taken it over as it stood from his predecessor, who had gone home on long furlough, and he was much pleased to find it comfortable beyond his expectations. all his heavy baggage had come on before, and ah-geelong, the chinese servant, whom he had engaged as head man, was evidently a treasure. his books were neatly stacked in their shelves, and not with the titles upside down, for ah-geelong was skilled in the english tongue after his kind. everything was spotlessly clean, from the half-dozen servants, who greeted him respectfully as he arrived, to the shining floor of the rooms, on the dark wood of which a mirrorlike polish had been scrubbed. after a few minutes hawkshawe drove off, having made jackson promise to dine with him that evening, and peregrine was left to himself. he spent about an hour in arranging photographs and a few paintings, and then made a tour of the house and grounds. his ponies--two strong cobby little shans--had come, and were looking sleek and comfortable in their stalls. he came back and made for the room which ah-geelong had arranged as his master's study. the chinaman had selected this with a natural taste that could not be surpassed. the wide windows of the room opened into a veranda, from which there was an outlook over the river. there was a perfect north light, and the soft sea breeze that had travelled so many miles came in cool puffs past the _quis-qualis_ blossoms that twined and thrust themselves through the trellis work of the veranda. he wheeled out a small table and sat down to write home, for the steamer left early the next morning and the mails went with her. the letter was to his father, and, after describing the events of his journey, he went on to explain the feelings which moved him on his entry into the task of governing his fellow-creatures. he was aware that he ought to have first learned to govern himself; but practical work mostly leaves out that little detail upon which the moralist insists. beyond a certain amount of book knowledge, he knew little or nothing of the people upon whom he was pitchforked by a gazette notification. he had been told that the burman was incapable of progress, a sluggard, and a fop, and that the chinaman was the future of burma. his work was to collect the revenue, to preserve order, and to administer the law. but jackson was not satisfied with accepting as an axiom the definition of the burman given to him, nor did he feel that to carry out the mere routine of his work was sufficient. he had read much of the civilization of the east; but, after all, what is the civilization of the east to that of the west! jackson was bringing all the active, vigorous west with him to this sleepy hollow in the creeks, and his coming would be as a breath of strong air to an invalid. he mapped out his programme. he would be to the benighted creatures--for of course they were benighted--over whom he was placed what his father had been and was to him, and so on for many pages of what a high-souled boy always dreams when he enters upon the battle of the east. with few exceptions, he comes out of the struggle dispirited and broken, feeling that the strong years of his life have been wasted in trying to affix the impression of a seal upon water. he folded his letter, and, ringing the little bell which stood near him, gave it to the servant who came to carry to the post. he then rose and, leaning over the railings of the veranda, looked out before him. it was almost sunset, and a veil of shimmering gold was over the land. the yellow light fell softly on the sleepy forest and trembled over the dreaming river. out on the west stretched a long, thin line of purple clouds, and his heart went forth there, for beyond was home--home, which he should see again when his task was done--when he had struck the dead budh once more into life--when the east had heard the message he bore it from the west. chapter ii. a dinner À deux. ho! a flowing bowl and a merry lass, and a fig for monk or friar! and the clean white light of a sword in fight, and gold to my heart's desire. _the buccaneer_. eight o'clock! there was just time to dress and reach hawkshawe's house, unless jackson wanted to be late for dinner. he was unromantic enough to have an extremely good appetite, and a man must dine even if he is going to make the old east new. he got through his dressing as quickly as possible, and found his pony waiting for him under the portico that protected the front door of the house. ah-geelong followed close at his heels with an enormous hand lantern, which threw a blaze of light many yards around them. peregrine protested. "there is a bright moon, ah-geelong; you surely do not want a lamp! you might as well bring an umbrella!" "plentee snakee, master," and the chinaman pointed generally all around him with a long knotted bamboo staff. the argument was unanswerable. out of deference, therefore, to the cobra the lantern was permitted to assist the moonlight, and the procession moved off. peregrine determined that, snake or no snake, he would come back without the lantern, and as he rode took little mental bearings, in order to guide himself home again. on arrival, he sent back the pony with his groom, and ah-geelong disappeared into the servants' quarters with his cosmos burner. hawkshawe came forward with cordial greeting, and it might have been fancy, but as they entered the drawing-room peregrine thought he saw the curtain that guarded the entrance to a side door falling swiftly, and the flicker of a silken _tamein_ as it vanished from sight. "take that long chair," said hawkshawe, "and have a sherry and bitters; it will give you a fillip up!" jackson did not want the fillip up, but he took the sherry and bitters. he did not do so, however, in his host's scientific way. hawkshawe first sprinkled the bitters in, and holding the glass before him bent it on one side, slowly turning it until there was a streak of burnt sienna winding round the inside; then he poured in the sherry and drank sip by sip with deep satisfaction. "it's the only way to get the true flavour of the bitters," he remarked. this was, of course, utter nonsense; but hawkshawe fully believed it, and said the words so positively that his listener bowed to his superior knowledge and also believed. when hawkshawe had absorbed some of the flavour of the bitters, he asked, "how have you been amusing yourself since i left you--office files?" "no, a lot came in, but i have reserved them for later on. i've been writing letters. the mail goes out to-morrow, and i took the opportunity to write home." "of course you did. i never write home now. the fact is i haven't seen old england for many a long year now, and one loses touch. besides, i never was a good hand at writing letters, and i don't suppose anything i have to say would be particularly interesting." "i should have thought it was quite the other way, hawkshawe." as jackson spoke dinner was announced, and they moved to the dining-room. it was dinner _à deux_, and for a few moments the conversation was general, hawkshawe asking about friends at the capital, most of whom jackson had met, notwithstanding his short stay there; but in this respect the east is a very small place. finally hawkshawe got on to the subject of his work, and gave a most interesting account of the robber gangs, or dacoits, that infested the district, concluding by expressing his firm belief that the chief malefactor was a well-known priest, who to all appearance had abandoned the world, but who, hawkshawe was convinced, although he had apparently nothing to support his statement, acted as a fence, and was at the bottom of all the mischief. "and you really think," inquired jackson, "that this man is a sort of head centre? it seems improbable, if what i have read and heard of the buddhist priesthood is true; but i suppose there are exceptions." hawkshawe slowly raised his glass to the light and watched the little beads in the ayala. "nothing is improbable in this country, as you will find after a few years' experience," he answered, half in mockery and half in earnest. "for instance, i believe it is really true that the bad characters of the adjoining district of myobin were all driven here by the mosquitoes. they grow a special kind in myobin--big gray ones about half an inch long, and striped like a tiger. they were more effective than the police; the dacoit couldn't stand them and came here, worse luck!" "the obvious course, then, would be to import some of your tiger-striped friends," laughed jackson. hawkshawe sighed. "we have done that, but it was of no use; there is something in the air here which does not agree with that particular brand of insect life. but, joking apart, the dacoits are a very serious evil here, and i have made little or no headway against them. now and then i score a success, but i put down all my failures to the priest bah hmoay--old father fragrance." "i suppose there is no way of clearing the fragrant old gentleman out?" "none; but if one could be devised, you would end all our troubles and earn smalley's undying gratitude as well. but bah hmoay is a power in the land in more ways than one, as you will find before many weeks, or rather days, have passed." "why smalley's gratitude in particular?" "because two of a trade never agree, i fancy. i don't mean by this that smalley is a dacoit in disguise, but that they are both bigoted representatives of religion, and each believes the other to be the fiend himself. by the way, the mention of smalley reminds me that i have explained your little mistake of this morning to the reverend habakkuk, and he is quite prepared to smoke the pipe of peace with you; and this is well, as he is the only doctor within a hundred miles, and no one knows what may happen. of course, he will bother you a good deal; but i should think you would know how to meet him when he opens fire on the mission side." "it was very good of you to explain. i think also that i know what smalley wants, and i must say i don't see why government should help the mission on purely religious grounds--and he won't take help on any other. as an educationalist, smalley should of course be helped, and the same argument would apply to the pagoda schools, over which i suppose bah hmoay presides. i don't think we should bring in religion into grants in aid, and it doesn't seem as if christianity suits the eastern. what do you think?" "don't know; all that's beyond me. i do know, however, that the native christian is generally a d--d scoundrel. try these cigars--they are specially made, and you must be patriotic and adopt your new country properly. if you won't face them, there are some havanas--made of cabbage leaves probably." "thanks," said jackson, "but i am afraid i am not yet blooded sufficiently for a burman cheroot. i shall move up to the height by easy stages, and, if you will permit me, will stick to the havanas, which i am sure you libel." "they are better for the nerves, at any rate," replied hawkshawe, and jackson noted how the flaring, sputtering vesta he lighted trembled in the policeman's hand as he held it to the cheroot. for the true enjoyment of tobacco there must be silence and repose. although jackson was utterly unable to attack a yard of poison, such as hawkshawe was smoking, he knew how to enjoy a cigar, and the havana was very good. the little incident of the curtain and the silken robe came into his mind again, and he caught himself getting curious about it. hawkshawe was smoking nervously with quick, short puffs; he continually took the cheroot out of his mouth and rolled it between his fingers, apparently to make the rank leaf draw easier, and assisted his tobacco with short nips of old brandy--a thing which was not good to see. jackson made no attempt to speak, and they smoked without a word being exchanged until the silence was apparently too much for the policeman, and he suddenly asked, "i suppose you like your new house?" "very much indeed. you were right in saying that drage did himself well. it is very nearly perfect." "do you know what became of his impedimenta?" jackson understood the question, and flushed with anger. he controlled himself, however, and answered shortly: "no; those are matters about which i am not in the least concerned, nor do i think any one else should be." "don't you?" said hawkshawe--his potations had evidently loosened his tongue--"don't you? well, it will force itself on you some day. you shy at it now. we all did--i did--thomson, perkins, drage did--and yet you see we are as we are. we have found that the cycle of cathay is better than the fifty years of europe." "and you call yourselves rulers of men! why should you go down to the level of the brute if you happen to live near him?" "don't know, my dear fellow, except that one gets to like, or like the brute after a time. why, man," and hawkshawe rose and began to pace the room, "what have we got to live for in this infernal country? you rot here--_rot_, i say--and your mind and your body both go to ooze and slime. books! one can't read in this climate. the blue mould covers them up, as it has covered me, and as it will cover you and many a better man yet, and you will be as i am." hawkshawe filled his glass and drank to the dregs. it seemed as if he were toasting the success of his hideous prophecy. "_and you will be as i am!_" the words hit jackson like a life sentence. he looked at the man before him, at the promise in the high aquiline features and still, clear eyes, and then he saw the little crowsfeet round the eyelids, the puffy cheeks and trembling hands, and shuddered. no! it would never come to that with him. but a dread rose in his heart. what, after all, if he was wrong in his thoughts of his strength? hawkshawe looked to him with a strange light in his eyes. "come," he said, "let me show you what it is like." it was evident that hawkshawe was determined, with a half-drunken persistence, to continue a subject that was more than unpleasant to his guest, and there was only one course open to jackson, and that was to get away as quietly as possible. "i don't think i will venture," he replied, "and, at the risk of offending you, i must ask you to excuse me for to-night. one always has a lot to do on first coming to a place, and i am no exception to the rule. no, not any more, thank you, to-night; but i will have another of those cheroots, if i may." "i suppose if wilful will, then wilful must, but you are losing a new experience," said hawkshawe, as he accompanied his guest to the door. he there found that peregrine was going to walk home. "let me order my trap for you, or a pony, if you prefer to ride?" he asked. "no, thanks, hawkshawe; there is a bright moon, and i know my way perfectly. i go to plan the suppression of bah hmoay. goodnight!" the hard gravel crunched under his firm footsteps as he walked down the drive. hawkshawe stood looking after him. "he knows his way, he says. i wish i knew mine. mr. peregrine jackson strikes me as rather a cold-blooded prig. i never could stand that sort of fellow--no," and, as if to keep his heart up, he sang: "pass the bowl, the merry, merry bowl, let it brim with good red wine. i have pledged my soul to the merry, merry bowl, and the ruby light of wine." he trolled out the verse in a rich baritone as he walked upstairs and entered his drawing-room. taking up a book, he flung himself into the same long chair he had so hospitably pressed on jackson earlier in the evening. he glanced over the leaves for a few moments; but the effort to read was beyond him, and putting down the volume he stared moodily into space. he had done this for years. every evening, except when he was on active service--and he was keen enough then--he had drunk more than was good for him, and sat drearily through an hour or so before going to sleep. ordinarily he did not think at all on such occasions; but somehow jackson's attitude had impressed itself on him, and he was feeling nervous and depressed. there was that also which brought a hot flush of shame to his forehead, for he had lied to his guest when he had expressed his inability to bring bah hmoay, the dacoit priest, to justice. it would all come out some day, and then he, hawkshawe, would be cast adrift on the river of shame. "d--n!" he hissed between his teeth, and buried his hot face between his hands. the curtain before a door that led to an inner room was lifted, and a figure entered the room. it was that of a woman dressed in the national costume of burma, which is so adapted to conceal as well as reveal the figure. taller than ordinary, she had a face and form of imperial beauty, and as she stood there, looking at the bowed head before her, it was possible to understand hawkshawe when he said that for himself he had chosen the cycle of cathay. she crossed the room with light steps, and, laying her hand on his shoulder, asked in burmese, "what is the matter? are you ill?" jackson had touched a lost chord in hawkshawe's memory, and the murmurs of the white past were sighing in his ears. he raised his head wearily, and drooped it again. "no, ma mie, not ill in body but sick at heart." she looked at him, and, untutored savage as she was, she understood, and, stooping suddenly, kissed him with a fierce little pressure. "hawkshawe," she said, "i have news for you--good news. look up, my husband!" chapter iii. father fragrance limes a twig. _ruys_.--i care for naught but gold. gold holds the keys of this strong earth, and i am earthy, of its mould. that unseen thing, the crown of glory, lies beyond the stars; i know it not.... give me my gold. _maraffa, a tragedy_. a broad streak of yellow water is drowsing toward the sea, and lies hedged in to the right and to the left by the most luxuriant vegetation. here teak and mango, palm and bamboo grow side by side, and are laced together by the octopus arms of the cobweb of creepers that spreads over the forest and tries in vain to bind down its splendid growth. there is hardly any sign of animal life, although the forests teem with it. occasionally the great woodpecker or a flight of green paroquets flash like emeralds through the patches of sunshine between the leaves, or the melancholy cry of a mule pheasant echoes dismally through the woods. yet although no beast and hardly a bird may be seen, this void is filled by the ever-present abundance of insects, for here is their paradise. it is true that those grotesque specimens of creation which, like the sons of belial, wander forth at night, are reserving themselves in a million cracks and crannies for the pleasures of the evening; but the gnat and mosquito are on the alert, and the fly is here on his path of annoyance. through the dense masses of foliage glide, like the snakes which infest them, the creeks that cut the delta of the irawadi into numberless channels, and while thus dividing it serve as a means of communication from one part of the country to the other; for who, unless an englishman, would scramble through the bramble and thorn of the jungle? who would do so, when it is so easy to sit in a canoe and ship silently along the ooze of the creeks? some little way back from the main stream a canoe lies hidden in a small backwater. there are two occupants, and, being burmans, they are of course both smoking, for smoke to the burman is what beer is to the saxon, a derringer to the gentlemen of arkansas, or opium to the celestial. one of the two, in whose powerful hand is grasped a long-bladed paddle, is apparently a man of the people. he wears his hair long, and the golden brown of his limbs is covered with tattoo marks in strange devices. the other is a man of god; his yellow robe, his shaven crown, mark the priest of budh. there is no asceticism, however, in the fat cheeks, or in the beadlike eyes which glint out from above the high cheek bones. the mouth is like a sword cut, long and cruel-looking, and the sensual aspect of the face is only matched by its cunning and treacherous look. "payah," said the man with the paddle, using a burmese title of the highest respect, "we have now waited for two hours; the steamer will not come to-day." the priest went on smoking as if he had not heard the remark, and his companion relapsed into silence. after a few minutes, however, the clerical gentleman found voice. "moung sen," said he, "your name means red diamond, but it ought to have meant a clod. did i not tell you that the steamer will come to-day? and i tell you again she will come. the wire has brought me the news. two hours! what are two hours to me? i gain two hundred years of eternal bliss by meditating during two hours on holy matters of which you laymen know nothing---- hark! there is the whistle that was to be our signal." and even as he spoke the shrill whistle of the woon announced her coming, and the dull boom of the answering gun from pazobin rang out in response. moung sen bent his back to the paddle, and the boat shot out of the backwater to the very edge of the creek. there, concealed by the drooping foliage, they could see without being seen, and watch without any risk of discovery. "payah bah hmoay, the steamer approaches near," and, parting the screen of leaves with his hands, moung sen peered out. "yes, and with it jackson, the new ruler of the land. i heard him say in rangoon that he would stamp out all evildoers, so you, moung sen, had better be careful." the boatman showed a row of teeth that would have driven a tiger mad with envy, and chuckled to himself. as the steamer came near they could hear the hissing of the paddles, and the wash rocked the canoe up and down to the no small danger of its upsetting. moung sen was longing for a race. he would have dearly liked to have pulled against the steamer for the jetty. his slanting eyes twinkled with excitement, and he turned an imploring look on bah hmoay. "ho!" grunted father fragrance, "be still. what with racing and gambling and women, you will come to a bad end some day--hang to a string and dance upon nothing. is this a time to think of racing, when that young fool on the steamer yonder is come here with his new-fangled notions? back, i say! our friends have heard the steamer's whistle and will have assembled. here! give me a paddle too." he seized the spare paddle that was handed to him, and, loosening his robe to give his arm free play, rowed with a most unclerical skill. guided by their powerful strokes the canoe sped back, and, taking a narrow cutting at the head of the backwater, they rowed steadily on for ten minutes and then stopped. moung sen put his hands to his mouth and hooted twice like an owl. a cock crowed twice in reply. "they are there," he said, and, running the canoe on to the bank, the two men secured it firmly with a creeper, then, taking an almost invisible path, they trotted along it like sleuthhounds. after a short distance was travelled in this manner moung sen hooted again, and again the cock answered as it were out of the hollow of a huge silk-cotton tree a few yards away. then the tree began to give up its fruit. one by one four men came out of the hollow, and half a dozen others dropped lightly from the branches where they had lain concealed. each as he approached the priest bowed lowly before him. they took their places in a semicircle whose ends were to the right and left of bah hmoay. he gazed on them for a moment; they were a strong and likely looking set of men, fit for any devil's work. the chequered light fell on the bronze of their bodies, for they were naked to the waist, lit up the hideous blue and red of the tattoo marks with which they were covered, and ran in a line of fire on the long straight blades of the _dahs_ they held in their hands. then bah hmoay spoke, taking the men before him into his confidence, choosing his language simply, and appealing to all their weaknesses. "and now, my companions," he concluded, "i have told you all that i learned during my visit to rangoon, and how the plans are progressing. at wuntho the chief is ready to take up arms; the shan states are on fire--on fire, i say--and every creek and jungle holds gallant men only waiting for the signal to rise. our whole difficulty is money--for when was a burman rich? i propose, however, to meet this, and to find funds by a bold stroke. you all know the treasury at yeo. it is thirty miles from here, and there are a hundred rupees there, all with the white queen's head on them. half shall be yours; the other half goes to the cause. are you ready?" there was a murmur of assent. "thank you. there is but one word more: in a week from to-day--the day of the guinea pig--you must be at yeo. and now for the water of the oath." he loosened a small pocketbook from his waist cloth as he said these words, and, writing a few lines on a page, tore it out. one held an earthen vessel full of water before him, and another lit a sulphur match. the boh put the match to the paper and held it over the water, into which as it burned away the cinders fell; but when the flame got too close to his fingers to be pleasant the chief dropped the little unburned tag of paper into the water, and it went out with a splutter. then taking the vessel in his hands, he swore to be faithful to the men before him, and, drinking a little, handed it to moung sen. that worthy pledged his soul on his good faith to the assembly, and, taking his sip, passed on the bowl. it went the round of every man there until it reached the last, who, when he too had sworn and drunken, dropped the vessel to the ground, where it broke into pieces. this closed the chapter of the order, and the knights proceeded to disperse, each man with his long green cheroot burning in his mouth and his _dah_ tucked away over his shoulder, a grotesque amalgam of devil and the child, the like of which is not equalled anywhere in the world. bah hmoay and his little john were once more alone, and the boh or chief turned to his subaltern with a somewhat anxious look in his eyes, and asked: "do you think they will be true?" "my name means red diamond, but it ought to mean a clod," laughed moung sen. "yes, i think they will be true, and will all be hanged for their faith, while you will end as a great man. but there is something else to do to-day." "hawkshawe--true--i have not forgotten; however, we ought to be getting back," and making for the canoe they rowed out into the open stream and then drifted down toward the town. as the priest stepped from the canoe his face assumed the severe expression of sanctity suitable to his calling; an obsequious disciple met him and opened an umbrella over his head, and he walked toward the pagoda or temple meeting with respectful greetings from all. he entered the gates of the pagoda, on either side of which grinned two colossal griffins, and, making his way through a courtyard thronged with worshippers, passed into the great hall, where a huge image of gautama looked down upon him with calm, inquiring eyes. a tall, graceful woman stood at the foot of the idol, and as the priest approached she looked at him with something of impatience in her glance, and said, "i have been waiting here for nearly an hour." "my daughter, it is patience and resignation which, united with thought, leads us to holy nirvana." "pish! i haven't come here to bandy words about nirvana. was it for this you sent loo-ga-lay for me?" bah hmoay dropped his voice to a whisper as he said, "you are too hasty; women are always so. follow me," and, passing behind the idol, he touched a door which seemed to open of its own accord, disclosing a small passage dimly lighted by a single lamp. at the end of the passage was a small archway, so low that it was necessary for both to stoop as they entered it, and beyond was a large hall, along whose sides a row of gautamas or images of the budh was arranged with military precision. the images were alternately of white and black marble, and at the extreme end lay a huge recumbent casting of the messiah of the east. small lozenge-shaped cuttings in the wall above let in bars of light, which fell on the dim statues and made the polished brass of the recumbent image glow as if it were red-hot. the girl leaned lightly against the arm of the huge figure, and something flashed in her hand as she did so. bah hmoay observed it as he pointed to the dagger, and said with a smile, "you are very careful, ma mie; too careful for one so beautiful." there was enough in the speaker's voice to make his listener turn on him like a panther, and father fragrance stepped back with a hasty apology. then he spoke in a low tone for some time, the woman all the while keeping her guarded attitude. "there," he said at last, "this is a good offer. will it do?" "i am selling my husband's honour," she replied. "no, it is worth a larger price." the priest uttered an exclamation of impatience, and moving off a few feet stooped near the foot of an idol, and picking up something from a recess there returned bearing it in his hands. he held it to the light as he approached, and ma mie saw that it was a bracelet of rubies, which flashed and glowed with a hundred colours. she almost gasped as she looked at it. "oh, how lovely!" "let me put it on your arm." bah hmoay, suiting his action to his words, stepped back with an admiring look. "there is nothing like this in all pazobin," he said. "i will add it to my offer." the woman hesitated and was lost. "it is a bargain," she said, and the face of father fragrance glowed with joy. "the new englishman comes to dine with him to-night," she added. "when he is gone, i will settle all. and now i must go; i have been away too long." "you can go this way," said the priest as he turned the key in a carved door toward the right, and opening it showed ma mie a back path that led out of the pagoda gardens. "and remember, the police guard must be very weak at yeo next friday." she nodded and passed out, and bah hmoay watched her down the pathway and saw her raise her arm and look at the bracelet upon it. "selling her husband's honour!" he laughed to himself. "when had hawkshawe any to sell? those ideas of hers are, however, very expensive, and i had to take away my peace offering from this old gentleman here." he patted the face of the idol from under whose foot he had removed the jewels. "however, he won't miss it, and friday evening will see me repaid and ready to buy another rag of mr. hawkshawe's honour." chapter iv. ruys smalley. he rode toward the dragon gate, and blew a ringing call, a virgin knight, in armour bright, 'twere sad to see him fall. ah, saints of heaven, steel his heart, and nerve his arm withal! _sir amory_. jackson walked out into the moonlight with a feeling of relief at having escaped from hawkshawe. his disgust at his host's code of morality was only equalled by his pity for him. perhaps, after all, the man did not mean what he said; and it was possible that an appeal to philip sober would result in the expression of sentiments widely different from those which bubbled forth from philip charged with a quart of ayala, sundry short brandies, and a multitude of "baby pegs," as three fingers of mountain dew tempered with a split soda are called in the country of the creeks. peregrine hesitated a moment whether he should go straight home or walk on a little. a great mass of official papers had come to the house as he left it that evening, and his work was cut out for him; but after what had happened he was in no mood to begin at once. he pulled out his watch, and seeing by the bright moon that it was barely half-past ten, decided to adopt the latter course. he walked slowly toward the river face, and then across the soft sand to the deserted jetty, where he paced up and down its full length. in front of the dark outline of the forest a few twinkling lights marked the sleeping town, for pazobin went to roost early. the fishing craft were all huddled together like sheep in a pen, and the outgoing tide lapped angrily at the wooden piles below. the wind bore to him the soft tinkle of the bells that swung from the golden umbrella on the spire of the pagoda. their dreamy monotone fitted exactly with the scene, and seemed to call all good buddhists to that nirvana which to them is the end of all things. everything was calm except the mind of the man who paced the teak planking of the jetty. jackson was in that temper which would have been horrible doubt to an older man, but which to him in his youthful confidence in his own power was absolute certainty. he had shaken off the momentary terror of hawkshawe's prophecy, "and you will be as i am!" that would never be; his young heart swelled with pride as he drew himself up in the consciousness of his strength. he did not seek aid in prayer. he had never sought it, except in dim infancy. since his mother's death, in his childhood, he had known no care but that of his father, and the older man had brought up his son in his own creed, which was, to summarize it, man. and peregrine drunk it all in eagerly and was an apt pupil. he held himself apart from all beliefs--calvary, mecca, the groves of gya, were all one to him in that they all aimed at the good of mankind, in that they had all accomplished untold good. he was aware of the rewards offered to the faithful--the harp and crown of the christian, the sensual paradise of the moslem, the merging into the deity of the buddhist--and none of these tempted. he had looked with scorn on the professor of a faith who calculated on the advantages that would accrue to him from his fidelity; he despised the human being who sold good works for a price and speculated in futurity like a stock broker making a time bargain. he was young and very cocksure. the solitary up-and-down tramp, combined with the cheroot and his naturally calm temper, began to quiet peregrine's excitement, and he finally put aside all thoughts of hawkshawe and stopped for a moment near the huge crane which stretched out its long arm over the river as if begging for something. the havana had burned low by this time, and he flung it from him, watching the little arc of fire die away with an angry hiss into the water below. then he turned to go. he recrossed the sand, once more passed hawkshawe's house, from an upper window of which the light was burning brightly, and, turning to the right, took, as he imagined, the road home. he had said that he thought he knew his way perfectly, but now it seemed as if the bearings he had taken were all wrong. one tree was like another, one bend of the road was like every other he had passed. the few houses were all built on the same plan, and he could scarcely discern them in the mass of foliage with which they were surrounded. it flashed upon him that he had lost his way, when he was so sure of it. what if he had miscalculated his strength as he had done the road? he stopped for a moment near a wooden gate to try and see if he could find a landmark, and as he did so a sudden blaze of light streamed out of one of the windows of a long building that lay within the gateway. a moment after the droning tones of an american organ stole into the night, and above them rang out a woman's voice clear and distinct: my god, i love thee; not because i hope for heaven thereby, nor yet because who love thee not are lost eternally. he listened in a manner spellbound not only by the voice, which was of the rarest order, but also by the words, which poured forth from the heart, the genuine unselfishness of the christian's belief. that pure flood of melody floating into the night seemed to give all his convictions the lie as it passed out on its way beyond the stars to god's throne. cheap and jingling as the verses were, the simple words sung by such a voice carried with them a revelation he had never imagined. he wondered to himself what manner of woman this was whose voice affected him so powerfully. he determined to see this beautiful saint--for of course she was beautiful--and stepping cautiously down the road approached the open window through which the song poured. standing back amid the yellow and purple leaves of a croton, he peered in, and saw a long narrow hall filled with rows of empty benches. at the head of the room, and close to the window, was a low dais, and upon this the organ was placed. the singer was seated with her back turned toward him; but the light from a shaded lamp lit up the sunny gold of her hair and fell on the outlines of an exquisite figure. she was alone, singing to the night. overcome with curiosity, peregrine stole softly to the window and raised himself slightly with his hands to look in. as he did so the sudden snapping bark of a dog, hitherto lying concealed near its mistress's dress, rang out, and the singer turned round so sharply that it was impossible for peregrine to withdraw unobserved; but as she turned he saw that the perfect beauty of her face more than realized the picture he had drawn in his imagination. "who are you? what do you want?" she gasped, with an alarmed light in her eyes. "i am very sorry," explained peregrine humbly. "i have lost my way, and seeing a light and hearing music thought i--i----" and he stammered and broke down for a moment; but picking himself up, went on, "i have only arrived here to-day. my name is jackson, and the house i want to find is the one that was occupied by mr. drage; perhaps you know it, and if you can give me a rough idea how to find it i shall be very grateful, and i hope you will accept my sincere apologies for having frightened you." as he spoke, the look of fear on his listener's face passed away. "be quiet, flirt!" she said to the little dog, who kept alternately growling and yapping to herself, and then, turning to jackson: "yes, you did startle me at first. so you are mr. jackson. my husband--that is, dr. smalley--said he met you to-day," and she smiled as if she was thinking of something that amused her. "this," she continued with a little wave of the hand, "is the school, and we live next door. if you will kindly come in by that door to your left you can help me to shut the musical box, and then i will take you right away to my husband, and he will see you through the wilderness to your home." the slight american accent in her voice lent her words a piquant charm, and it was with a true american's ready resourcefulness that she carried on the conversation with jackson and attempted to take stock of him at the same time as he stood outside, half in shadow and half in light. "it is very kind of you," said peregrine gratefully, and he made toward the door, delighted with the lucky accident that had brought him this adventure. nevertheless, the words "my husband" did not please him. so this beautiful creature was smalley's wife! "i wonder," he muttered to himself, "if marriages are really made in heaven, why they don't assort people better." there was, however, no more time for regretful reflection, for the door was opened by his involuntary hostess, and they walked up to the dais together. as jackson closed the organ mrs. smalley looked at him from under her long lashes, and a faint colour stole into her cheeks. she stood by placidly, however, holding a large hymn book in her hand and saying nothing. when he had finished, she spoke: "now you can carry the light and come along--tchick, flirtie!" and they went into the garden, peregrine full of pleasure at being ordered about in this unceremonious manner, and his companion walking demurely beside him. a few steps brought them to the parsonage; the reverend habakkuk was summoned from the interior and matters explained to him. he hospitably pressed jackson to stay and have some refreshment, but peregrine noticed an impatient look in his hostess's face and declined. smalley determined to lead peregrine back himself, notwithstanding his protestations that all he wanted was a few simple directions, and, putting on a wide felt hat, turned to his wife, "i shall be back soon, ruys; do not wait for me." "good-night, mrs. smalley." for the life of him peregrine could not help throwing a shade of regret into the last words, and an odd light came into his listener's eyes. "good-night, mr. jackson. i am--we both are--_so_ glad you _lost_ your way here. i trust you will in future be able to find it often." she made a demure little courtesy as she said this in an even voice, and jackson and his host passed out of the house. she listened till the sound of their footsteps died away, and then turning round to her dog picked it up and sat in a chair with the little animal in her lap. "flirt," she said, "i guess he's perfectly luv-ly. there, you can go down now. i want to think." and she sat leaning back in her easy-chair with a pleased expression on her face until habakkuk returned, and said, as he put down his hat: "a most excellent young man that, ruys; i am afraid i misjudged him sadly to-day," and the missionary, pulling a chair near his wife, rubbed the palms of his hands together softly. "remarkably good-looking, too, don't you think?" she turned and looked him full in the face. "i don't think i've given mr. jackson's looks a thought." "of course not, of course not," said habakkuk timidly, and began to repeat the nervous rubbing of his hands together. "why of course not?" the calm tone in which this question was asked entirely upset smalley; he stopped his hand exercise, and, crossing one leg over his knee, began to nurse it and sway slightly backward and forward. he did not answer his wife's question, and she watched him for a moment, and in her heart began to wonder how it was she had ever consented to marry this lanky, shuffling creature before her. she knew his moral character was irreproachable; if only his personal appearance were more prepossessing. she had truly and honestly tried to do her duty as his wife, but the chains of her bondage were beginning to gall. mentally she was far smalley's inferior. she could not live in the clear ether, in the pure air of his thoughts, and she was always unconsciously dragging him down while making many an honest effort to rise to his level. she had lived so quietly for so long a time that the sudden and unconventional manner of her meeting with jackson had affected her powerfully. there was no denying that he was good-looking, and she had drifted into a flirtation with him at sight as naturally as a duck takes to the water. oh, if life were only different for her! she thought as she watched smalley swinging himself in his chair. the slow motion exasperated her; her nerves were at a tension, and she said sharply: "habakkuk, i wish you wouldn't fidget so! can't you sit still anyhow, like any other mortal? do read, or do something. i want to think, and my head is aching." "of course, of course," assented the missionary, and a furious light gleamed in his wife's eyes, which, fortunately for him, habakkuk did not observe. he was a man slow of thought, and it was only after a little time that he began to realize that his wife had said she was in pain. he looked at her softly from his calm blue eyes, and then, putting forth his hand, laid it gently on hers. ruys received the caress passively. then habakkuk was emboldened, and he tried to draw her toward him. she evaded him, however, by a deft turn of the shoulder, and, rising, walked to a table in the room, and picking up a heavy bible placed it before her husband, as she said primly: "it is getting very late. i think you had better read a chapter before going to bed." chapter v. "furiis agitatus amor." belike for her, a royal crown i'd wager to a penny piece. _old play_. as jackson and his guide left the gates of the parsonage peregrine struggled with a temptation to look back over his shoulder. finally he gave in with a sense of shame at his weakness, and then was unreasonably irritated to find that no shadowy figure behind the tinkling bead screen before the open window watched their passage down the moonlit road. the result was that for the first few hundred yards of their walk there was very little talk, for peregrine's silence discouraged all the missionary's attempts at conversation. suddenly the whole countryside seemed to be filled with the flashing light of gems. a blaze of jewelled glory came and vanished in a moment, and then appeared again in all its fairy beauty to slip away as swiftly as before. "what on earth is that?" asked peregrine, moved out of his reserve at the sight. "bugs," replied habakkuk, "fire-bugs. they're pretty lively to-night, anyhow. each one with the little lantern god has given him. they don't make a real show, however, because of the moon." "of course," said peregrine, "i might have known they were fireflies, but it all came so suddenly, and i had no idea the sight was so perfectly beautiful," and he pointed to the millions of little lights twinkling through the night. "i guess so, mr. jackson; just as if all the little stars had come down to earth and hung themselves out on the trees to dry." the constraint with which the walk began now vanished, and smalley took the opportunity to read jackson a lecture on the subject of health, summing up with these words, "i am speaking as a medical man now, mr. jackson; you must remember to take care of no. --that is, of yourself. this is a most treacherous climate, and i have known many men stronger even than you look fall before it like withered leaves. take a quinine pill daily, and always wear flannel next to your skin. i don't do it myself, but then i'm a seasoned vessel. ah! here we are at your gate." "do come in, dr. smalley?" and jackson held the wicket invitingly open. "no, no, thanks," replied habakkuk. "pooh, man! don't thank me for showing you the way a few yards. good-night! i must get back, for my wife is sure to be waiting for me." the last words jarred on jackson, and he felt all his old feelings returning as he shook hands with his guide, who turned and shuffled off into the moonlight. when jackson had got about a third of the way down to his own door, however, he heard his name shouted out by habakkuk. "what is it?" he called out as he hastened back. "only this--don't forget about the flannel and the quinine. good-night!" "confound him!" and the angry young man turned on his heel and entered the house. it was very fairly late now, and jackson had worked himself again into a thoroughly excited frame of mind. ah-geelong devoted himself to making his master comfortable for the night, and as the slippered galahad sat in an easy-chair trying to collect himself and gather together the fragments of resolve to attack the pile of papers he saw on the table in his study, he heard the angry fizz of a soda-water bottle and the hissing of its contents as it was poured into a long tumbler and placed beside him. "what _are_ you doing, ah-geelong?" "allee masters dlinkee peg--peg him keep off fever. dlinkee peg and go sleep," and ah-geelong almost lit up the room with the shining row of teeth he displayed. it was impossible to be angry, but jackson told the man to go, and he went, wondering, perhaps, wherein he had done wrong. peregrine rose from his seat and went to his study. but over the file before him flirted the outlines of the face he had seen. "ruys," he murmured to himself, repeating the name by which he had heard her called, and it almost seemed to him that she replied, and that he heard the melody of her voice again. the far-off shadows of the room gathered to themselves form and substance, and as he leaned back idly there rose before him the vision of the dimly lighted school hall and that golden head bending slightly over the music. he had never been in love, and he gave himself up for the moment to the fascination of dreaming over the face he had seen. this was what inspired the knights of old. he stretched out his strong right arm and almost felt that he held a lance in rest. what would he not give to know that this peerless woman was his own? how he would work and labour! but a few short hours ago he was bowing at the shrine of a lofty ideal that was to carry him through life, at that invisible glory which strengthened his shrinking heart and nerved him to the highest for duty's sake. and all this was gone. the old god was dethroned in a moment, and the soft notes of a woman's voice, the touch of her hand, a glance from her eyes, and the past was rolled up like a scroll. "my god," he said, "can this be love?" it never struck him that he had unconsciously appealed to that godhead in whom he thought he had no belief. he was not able to think of that then--of how in a moment of trial the doubting soul turns instinctively to cling for support to that ethereal essence we call the creator, and endows it with a living faculty to hear and to answer. surely this spontaneous appealing to a higher power is something more than the mere force of habit. it springs from the heart pure as the snows of everest, genuine and true. and this is the instinct which is not taken into account in the mathematical reasoning of the atheist; the touch of fire that would enlighten him out of his darkness is wanting. he will allow the instinct which tells an animal of his danger, which signals to him a friend; but to man, the highest of all animals, will he deny the instinct of the soul which shouts aloud to him the existence of god. and the answer to peregrine's question came unspoken, but he felt it ringing within him. yes, and a hot flush of shame went over him as he thought of another man's wife. "it will not be! it shall not be!" he said, and he fought with himself as a strong man can fight. he fought with the devil that tempted until he saw the light of the morning star pale in the east and a pink flush steal into the sky; and then, being utterly wearied, he lay down and slept a dreamful sleep. it seemed to him that he was standing beside his own body and watching a dark stream trickle slowly, slowly from his heart. around him were misty figures whom he could not recognise, and he lay there very still and silent. suddenly there was a flash of golden hair, and a woman robed in white stooped and kissed him on the forehead, and as she rose he knew the glorious beauty of her face, and then he awoke. chapter vi. anthony pozendine speaks up. hark unto me! myself will weave the plot close as the spider's web, with threads as fine. _old play_. anthony pozendine, the half-caste head clerk of the district office of pazobin, had evidently something on his mind. he sat at his desk amid a heap of files, over which his head just appeared, and every now and again his squeaky voice rose in petulant complaint or censure of one of his subordinates. "here, mr. pillay, can't you add, eh? you make out four hundred cases tried last quarter, and seven hundred convictions! sshoo!" and he flung a file across the room at the unfortunate mr. pillay, who stooped and, picking it up humbly, went on with his work. through the half-open door of the office the buzz of voices from the court room came in, and occasionally a peon would enter with a request for pozendine to see either hawkshawe or jackson. when it was to see jackson, anthony obeyed with a resigned air and a certain amount of pleasure, because he knew he was being sent for to remove some difficulty of routine which the new chief felt, and this would raise him in the eyes of his subordinate clerks, and make them think the power of pozendine was great in the land. when it was to see hawkshawe, anthony's thin legs trembled under him, and he went with an outside assumption of dignity but a great fear in his heart, and when he returned there was generally an explosion of some kind. hawkshawe had already sent for him four times to-day, and anthony's temper was in shreds. he had just taken a fair sheet of foolscap, folded it lengthwise, and written in a clerkly hand across the half margin near the top "memo. for orders," when again the messenger entered with a request from hawkshawe, that was practically an order, to see him at once. "damn!" said anthony so loudly that the ten busy heads in the room bobbed up from among the heaps of papers in which they were buried, and ten scared faces looked at anthony in alarm. ten pairs of eyes were fixed upon him with anxious inquiry in their gaze, and the magnetic effect of this made the head clerk cough nervously and very nearly upset the inkstand. "are you coming?" said the messenger in an insolent tone, as he stood in an easy attitude before anthony and inserted a piece of betel between his teeth. anthony glared at him. "i'm coming," he said. "go 'way," and then he turned on his assistants. "wot are you all looking at, eh? wasting time this way and that way. think gov'ment pays you to sit in your chairs and look about! here you, mr. rozario, you joined office a last-grade clerk two years ago, you're a last-grade clerk now, you'll leave it a last grade, i think. g'long and work--plentee of work--if not, i will reduce establishment." ten heads sank back into their papers, and the little man, seizing a file in his hand, walked slowly out with becoming dignity, his heart, however, full of combined fear and anger. he was absent for fully half an hour, and the clerks once or twice distinctly heard the strident tones of hawkshawe's voice echoing along the long passage, through the court where jackson sat, and into the room where they worked. "big row on," remarked mr. rozario to no one in particular. "pozendine ketching it warm, warm." finally the head clerk reappeared, but he came back with hasty steps and a face in which green predominated over its habitually yellow tinge. there were two blue lines to mark his lips, and his hands shivered over his papers as he stood at his desk in an irresolute sort of way. finally he could contain himself no longer, and turned to his chief assistant. "mr. iyer," said he, "am i head clerk of the district office or head clerk of the police office, eh? answer me, eh?" the stout madrassee clerk looked at a fellow, who looked at another, and then, as if by one impulse, the whole room arose and crowded around pozendine. "am i," repeated anthony, "head clerk of the district office or of the police office?" "you're chief clerk," hazarded mr. rozario. "yes," assented anthony, "i am the chief clerk. i have served gov'ment twentee-four years, and now mr. hawkshawe he sends for me and tells me before a menial servant that i know nothing. why, i taught four deputy commissioners their work! who writes revenue report? who writes notes on crops? who makes tabular statements? who drafts to commissioner and revises administration report? who attends to district roads? who sees to cess collections, budget work, record and despatch, stamps and stationery, office routine and discipline, eh? who? who? who? and now mr. hawkshawe he sends for me to look over mr. drage's report on police. 'pozendine,' he says, 'you're a damfool'--call me, anthony pozendine, head clerk of the district, _damfool!_ 'sir,' i said, 'that's mr. drage's order,' and he say, 'you ought to have been able to tell mr. drage what to write.' 'see,' he say, 'now that mr. drage has gone on leave nothing can be done about this, and it will give beastly trouble--and now be off with you, infernal idiot!' _damfool and infernal idiot!_ i will report to commissioner at once by wire through assistant commissioner and resign. now you go on with your work." he flung himself down into his seat and began to scribble a long complaint to jackson about the treatment he had received from hawkshawe. there was much irrelevant matter in it, and his pen fairly hissed along the paper. while he was thus engaged the madrassee clerk iyer rose softly and, stealing toward pozendine, whispered in his ear. it was like one devil tempting another, and anthony's face was perfectly satanic in its expression of glee as he listened. "plenty witness--ma mie's sister my wife," murmured iyer, and his yellow eyes twinkled like two evil stars. pozendine nodded his head. "ah, ha! mr. hawkshawe, you call me damfool--i will brand you dam' blaggard!" he hissed out aloud as his busy fingers travelled over the paper and iyer went back to his seat. the madrassee watched his superior keenly from his chair, and a wicked smile stole over his features as he half expressed his thoughts. "pozendine will get sack, and i will become chief clerk." he then placidly put up a memo. for orders on the subject of the wasteful extravagance in blue pencil indulged in by the district engineer. * * * * * "i can not stand that beast of a head clerk, jackson," and hawkshawe, flinging himself into a chair, pulled out a long brown-leather cheroot case and extracted a gigantic cheroot therefrom. peregrine looked up as he said slowly: "why not? he seems a decent sort of fellow--all nerves, though, i expect, but most men of his class are. but what has he been doing to upset you?" "oh, nothing in particular, only i don't like him; can't help it, perhaps, but i hate him like poison. why don't you get rid of the brute? he's been too long here. is a sort of power in the place, and owns property. that's the sort of man who gets his palm greased, you know." "it's a very serious matter to punish a man for a fault you think he's going to commit. still, as you say, he has too much power; but that can be remedied without resorting to anything like the measures you suggest." hawkshawe shrugged his broad shoulders. "as you please; but if the crash comes, don't say i didn't warn you. however, i didn't come to talk to you about this, but to ask you if you think it wise to have so much money at yeo. there's close on a hundred thousand there, and the engineer on the famine works a native, too." "what can be done? there is a strong guard, i believe?" "yes, twenty men, and old serferez ali, my inspector, commands them. he's the best man in the service. still, i think you had better bring in the money." "you think there is any danger?" "absolutely none that i know of at present; but old bah hmoay has been so quiet of late that i'm afraid mischief is brewing, and one never knows what may happen." "we have, then, two alternatives before us--either to bring in the money or the greater part of it here, and send it out as it is wanted, exposing it to the danger of being stuck up, to use a slang phrase, on its passage, or to increase the police guard. have we the men?" "yes," he said, "i can spare thirty men on saturday, and will send them up then. with fifty men serferez ali could hold out against ten thousand dacoits." "very well, so be it." "that's settled, then. hola! what have we here, a _billet-doux?_" and hawkshawe held between his finger and thumb the gray envelope he had taken from the messenger who brought it into the room and handed it to peregrine. "is the fair ruys asking you to dinner?" for the life of him jackson could not help the hot blood rushing to his face, and there was something inexpressibly galling in hawkshawe's tone. "excuse me," and he tore open the envelope. it was an invitation to dine, and as he put it down hawkshawe made a further remark that stung him to the quick. he turned round upon his visitor and said shortly, "supposing we drop the subject or drop each other." hawkshawe stared at him, and then, pulling his cheroot slowly from his mouth, apologized awkwardly. "didn't mean to offend you, old chap--beg pardon and all that--will come in and see if you can go out for a ride later on." he clanked out of the room and left jackson to himself. peregrine picked up the note and read it again, and there was again a struggle within him. should he face or flee the temptation? he felt that the latter alternative was hardly possible, and then it would be cowardly. no, he was going to deliberately try his strength against himself; the battle should be fought out to the end. he would face the trouble and he would conquer. he felt that the love that had sprung into being, like pallas, full armed, could only be conquered by grappling it by the throat. he could not run from himself, and he would not if he could. so he wrote a few lines accepting the invitation, and then, deliberately tearing ruys's letter up into the smallest fragments, turned to his files and plodded on steadily. he must have worked in this way for at least a couple of hours when an unaccountable feeling told him there was some one in the room. he looked up, but saw no one, and was just about to turn to his work again when something was thrust over his shoulder, and, turning round, he saw anthony pozendine. "what is it, mr. pozendine?" anthony could hardly speak. he stammered out something about mr. hawkshawe--abuse--damfool--and, placing his complaint on the table before his chief, stood bolt upright at attention, for he was a volunteer. jackson patiently read every line of the four pages of foolscap, and then turned gravely on anthony. "mr. pozendine, you are on very dangerous ground. if your story about the abuse is true, you have perhaps a little cause of complaint; but as for the rest, it is absurd. do you know what you are saying about mr. hawkshawe?" "yes, sir. it is true. i will go into court and swear; so also will mr. iyer." peregrine touched a bell. "send mr. iyer here," he said to the messenger. a minute after mr. iyer came. he stepped into the room briskly, seemed a trifle surprised to see anthony, but said nothing. "mr. iyer," said jackson, "mr. pozendine here says you are prepared to bear him out in certain statements he makes. perhaps, mr. pozendine, you had better explain." "yes, sir," said anthony, while the madrassee's face assumed an expression of the utmost concern. "you know what i have written here?" said anthony. "no," replied iyer, holding up a deprecating hand, "i know nothing." "didn't mr. hawkshawe call me a damfool?" "every one say so, but i didn't hear. i know nothing." "the man is frightened, sir," said anthony to jackson. "there is no necessity to be frightened, mr. iyer; you can speak freely." "frightened!" said mr. iyer. "why should i be frightened? i am an honest man, of a large family, and will speak the truth." anthony's face brightened up as he asked, "didn't mr. hawkshawe take money?" "iyoo!" exclaimed the madrassee, flinging up his arms; "i never heard these things. sir, this man pozendine is trying to get me into trouble. he is my enemy since long time. he one big liar," and the madrassee shook a finger at pozendine. "mr. hawkshawe take bribe! no, not mr. hawkshawe, but mr. pozendine. he take bribe from bah hmoay and moung sen over dorian fruit--witness--all bazaar knows it. i will bring four--five--one hundred witness. sir, this one big scoundrel!" it was too much for pozendine; his nerves had given way, and with a scream he flung himself at jackson's feet and grovelled there. "pity!" he yelled; "i have twenty-four years' service--pardon!" * * * * * an hour later, when hawkshawe came according to his word to see if jackson would go for a ride, he found peregrine apparently idling before his table. "ha! i see you've found nothing to do; come along." "i can't," said peregrine; "i want to think out something." "oh, don't let that little affair of pozendine's bother you. it didn't happen in your time, you know. you'll get all the credit of finding out about the bribery and corruption." "do you know what has happened?" "ain't i your fouché? are you coming?" "no, thanks. i must think this out." hawkshawe turned and went, whistling gaily. mounting his horse, he galloped down a long embankment along the river face, and then, reining in, stood apparently watching pazobin robed in the glories of a wondrous sunset. "by jove!" he exclaimed, "i very nearly made an ass of myself over that police guard. anyhow, if this comes off, no more of it; but ma mie is getting dangerous. my nerve is not what it used to be, but--i must get rid of her at all risks. damn that straight-laced fool jackson! he's always bringing back recollections to me, and i, alban hawkshawe, can not afford to remember--to think that my honour was once as clean as the palm of my hand, and now----" he put spurs to his waler, and galloped into the gray mist that surrounded the forest. * * * * * a week after, the big native rice boat that slowly made its way up the river to rangoon bore with it two passengers. one, seated among a heap of brass pots and pans, surrounded by eatables, principally fruit, could be recognised as mr. iyer; the other, who crouched on a coil of rope, was anthony pozendine. neither spoke to the other, but in their eyes was a sullen hatred which showed what their thoughts were, and if either had the courage there would have been murder on the big boat that worked its sluggish way upstream. one morning, however, the madrassee spoke to his companion. "we are both ruined, pozendine," he said. "what will you do?" anthony made no answer, and iyer went on. "there is only one chance--let us join together in rangoon and tell all about hawkshawe. we know true things, and government will give us back our posts. i swear by krishna that i will be true; give me your hand." pozendine stretched out his sticky fingers, and the hands of the two men met. then they sat together and talked all day as if there never had been any enmity between them, planning the coup which was to get them back their post, with a mental reservation that when this was accomplished there was yet another account to settle. chapter vii. the ruby bracelet. once was my shield as white as driven snow, once was mine honour clean, and i, a man, could gaze upon my fellows, meet their eyes with eyes as honest--but all that is past. _old play_. "see," said ma mie, holding her arm to the light and displaying the splendour of the bracelet, "is it not beautiful, hawkshawe?" the pale amber of her silken robe fell partially on the jewels as she said this, and flinging it back with a graceful gesture ma mie again raised the soft outline of her arm, and with lips half parted gazed upon the red glow of the rubies with a childish delight. they were standing near a window of hawkshawe's house, at the very window from which the light streamed out, a long banner of brightness, when jackson went back from his solitary ramble on the jetty. the glare that dazzled outside fell softly through the bamboo _jalousie_, and warmed the scarlet of the rubies on ma mie's arm to a thousand different tints. a curious steely blaze came into hawkshawe's eyes, and the wrinkles around them gathered into deeper folds as he bent over the gems. for the time the look of avarice in his features gave them a wondrously jewish cast. his aquiline nose seemed to fall over his lips, and the lips themselves tightened into a long, hard outline. he gently unclasped the bracelet and held it in his hand, then he tossed it lightly in the air, and as it fell back like a star he caught it deftly. "the stones are of the purest water, ma mie, but i alone have the right to clasp them on you. let me do so now." he fastened the jewel once more on her. "now," he said, "they look perfect--now that i have put them on you myself, and you can feel that they have come from me. is it not so?" he drew her toward himself, while all the time his eyes remained fixed on the gems with a terrible greed in their expression. she remained as he had placed her, her head leaning against his shoulder and her eyes half closed. "shall i break it to her?" muttered hawkshawe. "it has to be done very soon, and might be done now." they remained for a moment silent. "ma mie," said hawkshawe, "would you be very sorry if i were to go away for a short time?" she looked up at him with a startled air and drew back. "you go away; you are not ill, are you? yes, i think you are ill. you were ill that night when that man jackson came to dine here and cast his spell on you. you have never been well since. at night i have heard you call out strange things. yes, if you like, we will go away--you and i, to ava; it is cool and pleasant there, and you will get well. you want rest, and you are tired. is it not so? you said so that night." the woman seemed to know of the evil that hung over her, and was making a desperate fight. all the pleasure that had brightened her face left it, and left it in a moment haggard and wan. she had expected this crisis a hundred times, and a hundred times nothing had come. still, the feeling that she was on the brink of a precipice never left her. she knew that some day would come to her, as it came to all women of her class, that parting which left the man free as air and the woman in reality still in an abyss. this spectre was always in shadow before her, unseen but felt, and now--she knew that it was coming--she gave a quick gasp after her speech and waited. "no, ma mie," said hawkshawe, and he threw a very tender inflection in his voice. "no, we can not go together this time. i want to go home to my own country. i have not seen it for many years. i will come back again, and in the meantime you must wait for me at your home. you have money. this"--he touched the bracelet on the shuddering arm--"and other things. besides, i will see that you have more. i intend to go in about a month, and it would be well if you were to start for ava in, say, a fortnight. bah hmoay will take you--or shall i send for some of your people? there, don't cry!" he tried to draw her again toward him, but she broke from his arms with an angry sob. "you! you! you! to do this!" she gasped. "you, the father of my dead child! you, who vowed and swore--you, who came with humble entreaty to me! oh, i was a fool, a fool! all women are fools, and all men liars! do you think my heart is a stone? have i not been faithful? ah, hawkshawe, do not send me away! see, i will follow you as a slave to the uttermost parts of the earth. don't go; i know you are not coming back--don't," and she sank on her knees with a cry that came from the soul. it would have melted any heart but alban hawkshawe's. "confound it!" he said, pulling savagely at his mustache, "i must end this somehow.--look here, ma mie, look at the matter sensibly; don't be a fool." "fool!" and she sprang up--"fool! yes, i am a fool to have trusted you--trust a liar to lie!" and she laughed bitterly. "see, i have given you my all, i have given my soul for you, worthless as you are, and you are mine. you say you are going for a short time and that you will come back to me. you lie, and you know it! you never mean to come back. to think that you should perjure yourself at such a moment! you are mine, i say; i have paid too great a price for you. where you go, i am; where you live, there shall i be. we shall never part--never--until that which we call death comes between us!" "be sensible! i will give you plenty." "ah, heart of stone! it is nothing but gold with you. yes, i will buy you. here, take this. is it a fair price?" and, unclasping the bracelet, she tossed it to him with an imperial gesture, and it fell with a tinkling crash on the polished wood of the floor. hawkshawe paled to an ashy gray. he raised his hand as if to strike the proud face before him, but his eyes sank as he met ma mie's fearless gaze, and his hand slowly drooped again. then he stooped and picked up the bracelet. "it is worth ten thousand," he murmured to himself, and the elvish light in his eyes answered the wicked sparkle of rubies in his hand. gathering up her robe, ma mie stepped out of the room with a breaking heart and head held erect and defiant, and when hawkshawe looked up he was alone. he slipped the jewel into his pocket, and, going to a side-table, poured himself out a glass of brandy, and then another and another, and while he stood near the table drinking feverishly ma mie watched him through the curtain from the door of her room, her hand clasping the jade hilt of the stiletto she wore at her girdle. "ah!" she thought aloud, "i could kill him now as he soddens himself with drink. but he is mine, and---- oh, the shame of it! i love him! he is mine, and will remain mine if i have to drag his soul to hell!" chapter viii. the sirkar's salt. have i not eaten the sirkar's salt? wherefore then shall i tell a lie? wherefore lie? nay, mine oath is true, true as above us spreads the sky. we lost, but a traitor hand was there, and the soldier fell in the liar's snare. _lays of the punjab_. loo-ga-lay said it was only a mistake, but the childlike innocence of his face, his oaths and protestations, the twenty hired witnesses he brought to prove him guiltless availed him not, and the richly deserved three months' "rigorous" was duly awarded. with the giving of this sentence, the details of which are of no account, the official programme of the day was over, and peregrine free from office routine until monday morning. he was to see ruys this afternoon, and her face appeared to flit before him and his heart bowed down to the vision; but he set his teeth and put away the thoughts that came whether he would or not. was he not measuring the strength of his soul or will, as he would have called it, against the strength of his passion? he was going to pit the ideal against the real, and to his strong young heart the struggle could have but one issue. he knew--none better--that he was running a desperate risk, but there was no doubt in his mind that the danger had to be faced, and there was a curious pleasure in facing the danger. and all this war, which was to make or mar him, was to be silently fought out in the drawing-room of a very pretty woman. he found her there, looking the picture of repose, her little dog coiled snugly at her feet, and a yellow-backed novel before her. she put the book down with a smile as he came in, and held out her hand. "i am so glad to see you, mr. jackson. you must be horrified to see me, a parson's wife, reading a yellow-back; but it is armorel of lyonesse, and books like that make one feel good, do they not? one seems to want so much support to keep on the straight path through life." he picked up the volume from the table. "yes," he said, "armorel was a woman who would have made any man great. she was one to die for." "or to live for, don't you think? i should certainly not like the man i loved to die for me." a subtle inflection of the voice made him almost start as he looked up, but the gray deep of her eyes was pure and unruffled. "i would rather," she continued, "die for the man i loved. i think women were made for sacrifice." "don't you think that men are capable of it?" "of sacrificing women--yes. is it not done daily? look at that man in this book--what do they call him? ah, yes, roland--roland lee. what a worthless wretch he was, to what an abyss he sank! did not armorel fling herself away on him? is it not a terrible thing for a man to bind a pure woman to him, knowing that she must find out things that tell her her idol has feet of clay? oh, yes! the woman builds herself such castles in the air, and how they crumble and fade!" "and does this never happen to man?" "i don't think so. i don't think that a man ever loves in the sense that a woman wishes to be loved." she bent forward and took the book from his hand as she spoke. the touch of her fingers almost made his limbs tremble as he put down with a mighty effort the rush of words that came to his lips. he said quietly enough, however, "i do not think you judge us fairly, and you, at any rate, have nothing to complain of." not a muscle of her face moved as she folded the book, held half open in her hand, and placed it in a small wickerwork basket that stood on a table near her. over this she cast a piece of embroidery work, and a moment after her husband entered the room. he greeted peregrine cordially, and then, disjointing himself, sank into a chair with a weary look in his eyes. "are you feeling very tired?" how the worn look passed from the man's face at his wife's question! "no, ruys; tired--not a bit of it." peregrine cut in here and asked if it was not an off day with the mission schools. "yes, and that's the worst of it. it means that on monday one has to start fresh again. satan takes a long pull on saturday and sunday, and these burmans seem to have a natural affinity for him." "i suppose i should hardly say it to you, but it seems to me we are beginning at the wrong end. we are giving these people the gospel before they have been put in a state to understand it. how can they understand the greatest of all mysteries, which even we--i say it with all deference--do not understand?" "'knock, and it shall be opened,'" quoted habakkuk. "mr. jackson, i was once as you are, searching for a light, groping about in darkness and----" the flutelike voice of mrs. smalley intervened. "come, and finish your speech in the garden. i have had my tea-table set out there, and it looks as if it were expecting us. come along, mr. jackson, and come, husband." she put her hand slightly on habakkuk's shoulder as she said these words, and the face of the priest shone with a great joy; but underneath the long lashes of her eyes she glanced softly on peregrine. jackson's honest heart rebelled against this; he felt that there was a double game being played, felt it indistinctly, but still that perception gave him a little extra strength, as if there was a flaw in the chain that bound him. yet the thought was horribly disloyal to this peerless woman, to impute to her the motives of a common flirt, and it was with a conflict within a conflict in his heart that he took his seat on the rustic bench near the tea-table and watched the white hands of his hostess as she busied herself over the delicate teacups. habakkuk declined to sit down. he helped himself to a huge slice of cake, and, holding this in one hand and his tea in the other, paced up and down ready to carry on the discussion. he cut a half-moon out of the cake with an enormous, bite, and, waving the remnants in the air, resumed his speech. "wal, as i was saying, i was searching for a light. i had not then received my call to the ministry, and while hunting for food for the soul was compelled to shift round considerable for food for the body. i had taken my medical degrees, but the lord was good to the folk of derringerville, and they flourished and were strong. hence i concluded to betake me down south, and near the sierra blanca found an ideal spot for a doctor. there were thousands of typhoid microbes in every square inch of air--in fact, it was where typhoid had its office--but the inhabitants were spry. at first they died rather than call me in, but elder bullin, a real smart man he was, convoked the estates one day, and then a deputation waited on me--there was calvin snipe, dacotah dick, and the elder himself. they drank the half bottle of whisky i had left, and then put the matter squarely to me. i was to be paid a thumping good salary as doctor to the town. if any one was ill, however, the salary should cease until he was well again or died; the committee was to decide in the latter event if i had done my best, and, if the decision was favourable, arrears would be paid me on the first clean bill of health. i was, however, bound down for five years, and, seeing i was on the hard pan, they offered to pay down an advance. i rose to the situation, papers were signed then and there, and dacotah dick paid me my advance on the nail. next day the whole place was down with fever, and i went to work--had to take off my coat to it. there was, of course, no pay for me, but i had the advance, and rubbed along on that. by-and-bye the money dwindled away, and i was once more stranded. i applied for more, but was sternly refused. i then suggested resigning, and calvin snipe pulled out his six-shooter and asked if i could read the maker's name on it for him. wal, things were looking very blue, so one fine night i----" "good gracious! here is mr. hawkshawe, and half a dozen men with him. i wonder what the matter can be? he is coming straight up to us." and, sure enough, there was hawkshawe riding into the gate with a tail of policemen behind him. he halted the men with a quick order, and, dismounting, walked rapidly across the lawn toward the tea drinkers, accompanied by one who appeared from his dress to be a subaltern police officer. the man was travel-stained and bespattered with mud, and he held one arm tightly to his side as he leaned heavily on a long curved sword as if to support himself. "how are you, mrs. smalley? very sorry to interrupt your tea party, but this is pressing business.--good afternoon, doctor.--look here, jackson, they've looted the treasury at yeo. here is serferez ali, my inspector, who will tell you all about it--and great news, too, with the bad. i think we have that scoundrel bah hmoay redhanded at last. i heard you were here, and stopped on my way to tell you. i have, of course, made an official report; you will find that the garrison was weakened on the strength of a forged order from me--the order is with my report." jackson was struck dumb for a moment by the enormity of the disaster; he found voice, however, to ask if the whole of the money had been stolen, and if bah hmoay had been arrested. "the money's all gone," said hawkshawe, "and bah hmoay isn't arrested, but he will be, i hope, in twenty-four hours. in the meantime i've placed a watch on the pagoda, and now there is not a moment to lose. stay"--he bent and whispered a few words in jackson's ear, and then with a hasty good-bye turned and went off. when hawkshawe had gone jackson turned to the inspector and asked him to briefly detail what had happened. dr. smalley's knowledge of the language was of great help at this moment, and serferez ali, presenting the hilt of his sword for jackson to touch, began: "i beg to represent that i was placed in charge of the money at the sub-treasury at yeo with a guard of twenty men. night and day the proper watch was kept. i have served the sirkar for thirty years, and was i going to neglect this? on the night before last moung sen, the letter carrier, brought me a letter from hawkshawe sahib. that letter has been sent to you with the sahib's report. it was a forgery, as hawkshawe sahib's letter will show; but i am a man little skilled in writing, and i obeyed. ten of our men were ordered back next morning to pazobin, as a disturbance was expected there, according to the letter. in the morning i sent back the ten men and told the engineer babu what had happened, and said that until the guard came back payments should not be made, as there were not enough men to attend to these duties. the babu sat down to write to you about it, and i determined with the few men i had to double my precautions. there was a bright moon that night, and during the day i had the trees near the treasury gate cut down, so that men might not steal upon us unawares. at eleven that night, after going my rounds, i sat down to my meal with hashim khan, a fellow-countryman of mine from the punjab. as we sat down before the fire a shot was fired, and hashim fell forward on his face a dead man. then i heard the sentries coming back, and i knew the dacoits had attacked the treasury. there were nine men besides myself, and we answered the fire of the dacoits; but presently the woodwork of the building blazed up, and we, being choked with the smoke, had to come forth, having beni sing and jowahir dead, and another, a man from amritsur, was burned in the flames. then we seven who were left formed in a ring, and the dacoits closed in upon us. with mine own eyes i saw bah hmoay, the priest, leading them on, and struck at him twice, but god preserves him to die at the end of a halter, and moung sen was there too, leading the robbers on. i will swear that i saw them, for the light of the burning building was as day. and we fought until all died, one by one, except myself, and i too had died but that fate preserves me to see bah hmoay pass to hell, and, making a dash into the darkness, i escaped. i travelled all the rest of the night and all day, only meeting hawkshawe sahib an hour ago----" he swayed gently backward as he said this, and smalley caught him as he was falling. "he is wounded, i fear, and must be seen to at once." chapter ix. his lady's gage. belle mabel gathered a blood-red rose, to give to her own true knight. _the ballade of the rose_. there was a price on bah hmoay's head, and if moung sen had come within the pale of the law it would have gone hard with him. their stronghold in pazobin was now a thing, of the past, for the pagoda was watched night and day, and every little township and village was placarded with a minute description of the robber priest and his lieutenant. when hawkshawe dashed out in pursuit, after the first news of the robbery, he meant death to father fragrance. he was well aware of the truth of the proverb that dead men tell no tales, and assuredly bah hmoay would have found nirvana if hawkshawe had met him. the policeman made a forced march all that night, and in the early gray of the morning was at yeo. he scoured the country for miles, and one by one the dacoits fell into his hands. and when, three weeks later, he was recalled to headquarters by an urgent letter from jackson, there were but two left of the knights of the silk cotton tree--two of the ten who had taken the water of the oath--namely, the reverend priest and the red diamond. it is true that there were a number of others who had joined in the assault on the sub-treasury, and who, if caught, would have paid for their crime with their lives; but these ten formed the regular gang, and now eight of them were taken alive and two were hunted men. old serferez ali recovered from his wound, which was after all but slight, took hawkshawe's place on the track, and vowed by the prophet's head that hashim's death should be revenged tenfold, for was not hashim of gugar khan his father's nephew's cousin on the sister's side? moreover, he was a friend, and it was not the law that would avenge his death, but serferez ali himself, who had learned many ways of doing this. serferez swore that they should not hang until he had satisfied himself; the law could then work its will on what remained of them, and the grim old man, hollow-eyed and gaunt, was relentless in his pursuit. information came to him somehow, and it was only the impassable jungles that saved the criminals from his vengeance. hawkshawe was puzzled and annoyed at jackson's letter recalling him to headquarters. he had been working splendidly when this sudden stoppage came. it will be remembered, however, that it was no ordinary interest that spurred him on. the priest knew too much, and hawkshawe's one hope was to seal his lips forever, for now that he was hunted in this way there was no knowing to what the dacoit might turn and cling for safety, and it was in his power to do incalculable harm to, if not to ruin, hawkshawe. and therefore it was galling to think that, after all, his prey had escaped him. as he rode back he pulled out and read the official letter he had received and thrust angrily into his breast pocket. there was nothing in it but an urgent request to come back at once. "confound him!" said hawkshawe, "he might have written a line to tell me what it was about." and it was with rage in his heart that he rode into his house and, flinging the reins to his groom, went upstairs. a big envelope marked "urgent" was on the table, and ma mie was there, with a troubled look on her face. as he came in she could contain herself no longer, and with a cry flung herself on his breast and called out: "they have found out! they have found out! fly, hawkshawe!" "what the devil does this all mean?" said hawkshawe angrily, and yet with a sickening foreboding in his heart. he snatched up the great brown envelope and read with whitening lips. it was, in brief, an order from government suspending him pending certain inquiries that were to be made, and adding as a rider that he was not to leave pazobin until the final orders of the governor had been communicated to him. he did not notice a small note that dropped out from the official inclosure, but ma mie stooped and, picking it up, handed it to him. it contained a few lines from peregrine telling him to keep up heart; that he, jackson, was sure the charges were trumped up and would fall to the ground. the letter closed with an earnest assurance of sympathy and a brief intimation that his successor, phipson, had already arrived, and was of necessity staying with jackson, there being no other house available for him. the blow had fallen at last, and fallen just as hawkshawe had almost completed his most brilliant departmental achievement. he guessed instinctively whose hands had struck it--the wretched half-caste pozendine and his former enemy iyer were leagued together in this. perhaps they had no proofs, but that was, after all, a straw to clutch at. he knew he was guilty, and for the moment he was overcome. he sank back into a chair with an oath, and his hand slid of its own accord to the butt of his revolver; but ma mie was quick. "not that way! not that way!" she cried as she clung to his wrist and wrenched the weapon away from his after all not unwilling hand. but a still more terrible trial awaited hawkshawe, and that was the formal delivering over of his office to phipson. he was treated with the greatest consideration, but this sympathetic treatment only added to the agony, though it was difficult to say who felt it most, honest young phipson, with his soft heart, or the proud and guilty man whose place he had taken. when it was all over, hawkshawe went back to his house and shut himself up, going nowhere--not even to his garden gate--doing nothing, but morosely sitting in his long cane chair smoking and drinking. "it is too cruel of them not to let the poor man go away," said mrs. smalley; and habakkuk thought that if he were to go and see him hawkshawe might be cheered up a bit. "there is no use, doctor," said jackson. "i went myself, but could gain no admittance; perhaps it would be wiser to leave him alone. he will come out of this trial all right, i hope----" "if ever he lives through it," said phipson, and they all understood, though no one spoke another word. smalley now turned the conversation by speaking of a mission school he had founded at dagon, which had flourished in so remarkable a manner that he almost thought it advisable to go and live there himself. "and leave pazobin?" said jackson. "why, we couldn't do without you, doctor." habakkuk was flattered at the compliment, and explained that after all it was only an idea that might never come to anything, and he and phipson strolled off together to look at some plants, for phipson was an amateur gardener and smalley an enthusiast. ruys and jackson were, alone. "you surely do not think that dr. smalley will move to dagon?" he asked. "why not?" was the reply. "if his work takes him there, and he feels a call, he must go--and of course i." "i know," interrupted jackson, "of course you will go also to aid and help him." their eyes met, and his fell before the limpid light in hers. "of course," she said slowly, "there is no other thing for me to do, unless i were to stay here and look after what is left. there is much to do, you know. and now take me to the garden. i want to see what those two are looking at." it was a wilderness of a garden for all smalley's care, and one might easily have been lost in it. side by side they walked down a pathway, and in the far distance they caught a glimpse of phipson and his host poring over a row of flower pots. jackson was about to keep straight on, when mrs. smalley deliberately turned into a bypath, and he followed her, admiring the perfect outline of her figure and the easy grace of her walk. "isn't this an odd place?" she said, as on taking a turn they came upon what was evidently the ruin of an old temple. all that remained, however, was the plinth and a single griffin of monstrous size, that stood up above the shrubbery around it and glared down upon the intruders. "fancy if such things really lived," and she dug the silver-mounted cane she carried into the plaster. "they did, i think, in the old days," replied jackson. "it must have been just such a monster who guarded castle dolorous and carried away the white lady to keep her a close prisoner." "and of course a youthful knight came and blew on a silver bugle, and then there was a fight." "yes, and the knight won, and the fair lady gave him a gage to wear, and perhaps----" "oh, never mind the perhaps--she gave him her gage, did she? what did she give?" and as ruys said this she loosened with her hand a bunch of mignonette that was pinned to her dress. "oh, a ribbon or a kerchief, or maybe a flower, and the knight wore it as a charm against all evil, and a light to guide him on his quest." "yes," she said dreamily, "the good old days--i would we were now in them. i can not picture a knight in a tweed suit--can you? how would a gage look on that?" and with a sudden movement of her hand she placed the flowers against peregrine's breast and held them there. "will you let it rest there?" his voice sounded strange and hollow to himself. ruys bent forward and fastened the flowers in his coat slowly and deliberately, standing close to him as she did this, and a mad longing came over the man to clasp her to him, to ask her to put her white arms round his neck and say she loved him, to tell her she was loved with a love that could only end with his death. but he held out somehow, god alone knows how, and when ruys had pinned the flowers over his heart she said softly: "there, that is my gage; remember, it is to be an amulet to guide you to the right." the sweet scent of the mignonette floated around him, there was a dreaming look in ruys's face as she met his look, and now her eyes fell before him, and she half turned her face away to hide the pink flush that came into her cheek. there was a moment of breathless anxiety to the man when he felt that he must yield, but he righted himself with a mighty effort as he said: "i will keep the gage forever, mrs. smalley, although i am afraid i am but an unworthy knight." neither spoke a word after that, but, as it were, instinctively turned to leave a place which was so dangerous to both. they walked back together until they once more reached the broad road, and then ruys turned abruptly. "i have got a headache, mr. jackson, and i think i will go in. don't tell my husband; it is a mere trifle. see, there are mr. phipson and he talking; go and join them. i--i--want to be alone." she turned and walked slowly down toward the house, and jackson stood still, staring after her with an uncomfortable feeling that her last words suggested an understanding between them that did not exactly exist. he bent his head down till his lips touched the flowers she gave him, and then he went forward to meet his host and phipson. in the meantime ruys reached her room, and, having carefully shut the door, deliberately proceeded to have a good cry. it was a sheer case of nerves with her, and the nerves had given way. she had played with edged tools and now found that they could cut, and began to realize that she was almost if not quite in love with this impassive youth. the woman was a curious mixture of good and bad. she laid herself out to do a wrong thing, and took a keen pleasure in so doing, then would come the reaction and bitter regret. she went down on her knees in an impulsive manner and prayed to god to forgive her sin, and she vowed then and there to dedicate her life to his service. then she got up, washed off the traces of her tears, and came down to her husband. the mail had come in, and habakkuk was seated reading his paper. "have they gone?" she asked. "yes," replied habakkuk, "left about twenty minutes ago." she sat down on a rug near her husband's feet and rested her head on his knee. habakkuk put down the paper he was reading and stroked the soft curls on her head with a gentle hand. she looked up after a while. "did you mean what you said about going to dagon?" "why?" "because, if you did, i want you to go at once, and take me with you." "why, little woman, what is the matter?" she got up impatiently. "oh, you men--you men! will you never understand?" chapter x. an atonement. _ruys_.--can i give back? well, then i will restore. death pays all debts. _maraffa: a tragedy_. in a solitary room of his house, shut out from the light of day, hawkshawe was drinking himself to madness and to death. the weary weeks dragged themselves on, one after the other, in connection with his case, and yet nothing was done beyond the order which kept him under judgment. the government had not as yet even decided what steps they were to take in the matter. called upon for an explanation, hawkshawe had sent up a long memorial, full, as memorials always are, of points that did not bear on the question. he clutched at any straw to save himself, and there was without doubt a good record of good work done by him. practically, however, he was already condemned, and the governor had made up his mind almost as soon as he heard of the case. he was a man whose muscular morality could endure no backsliding, and the taint of the old days still hung around burma. he had sworn to purify it, and he meant to keep his word. "these are the men," he said, referring to hawkshawe, "that we want to get rid of, and any excuse should be seized upon, for they have dragged the name of englishmen in the mud; of course, however, mr. hawkshawe must have every opportunity of defending himself." the head of the police, to whom these words were spoken, went away with misgivings in his heart about hawkshawe. "he'll get over the bribery and corruption part of the affair," he said to a confidential friend--in other words, to his wife. "there's no real proof except the statements of those dismissed scoundrels and half a dozen other blackguards; but the other thing will smash him, and, with all his faults, he is very nearly my best man." "and he ought to be turned out," said the lady. "i have no pity for men like mr. hawkshawe." the chief remained silent, knowing that here argument was unavailing, but nevertheless he still regretted hawkshawe's fate. and from this it will be inferred that a long connection with the seamy side of mankind had more or less blunted the fine edge of his susceptibilities, and that he was prepared to use any tools if they served his business, which was the suppression and detection of crime; and perhaps he was right. in the meantime alban hawkshawe slipped down with frightful rapidity. he was like a man sliding down a snowy slope beneath which yawned a precipice, and he was reaching the abyss at a frightful pace. he would have killed himself had he dared; once he had almost done so, but the little hole in the muzzle of the revolver he held to his mouth looked so pitiless that he drew it back shrinking. his nerves were weakened, and there was a terrible bodily fear of that death which he felt could alone be his release. it was open to him to have left pazobin and run the chance of arrest; but the very attempt at flight would establish his guilt, and he was quick-witted enough to see that his only chance was to fight, and, although the waters were over him, yet his arm was stretched out to grasp the one little straw in which there might be safety. strange as it may seem, he began to feel an injured man. there was the shame and indignity of being kept a prisoner at large, to feel that every one around him knew of his fall, to know that they knew him guilty, to know that they who crouched before him formerly were laughing over their opium pipes at his downfall. the very servants knew it. he saw this in their faces. these thoughts drove him faster and faster on his course, and he vainly tried to flee from himself in the stupor of drink. and then the time came when drink did not produce forgetfulness. but ma mie clung to him with the affection of a dog. she endured his abuse and his blows, for hawkshawe had reached a stage when he was no longer restrained from violence because the object was a woman. the poor creature tried to keep him from his besetting vice; she brought out all her little arts which were once wont to please and to beguile, but to no purpose. hawkshawe insisted on having her about him, but it was not to console; it was because he wanted some one upon whom to work off the fits of semi-madness that came on him. his servants fled in terror, and after a time he began to feel that he could not bear to be alone. his excited brain conjured up strange images about him, and finally the wild beast within the man awoke in its full strength, and he was no longer a human being, but had gone back to that early time when man was as savage as a tiger is now. it seemed as if the soul had flitted from him while he still lived. he had now got out of hand entirely, and ma mie dared not approach him, but she hung around trying to anticipate his wants and watching his progress with a sickening heart. finally the time came when she went mad also, for one night hawkshawe put a fearful insult on her. she drew her dagger to kill him, but he had strength to wrench it from her grasp and flung her to the corner of the room, where she lay stunned and bleeding. after a time she picked herself up and stepped out of the room without a look at the wretched hawkshawe and his still more vile companion. "order her to come back," said the woman who was with hawkshawe; "i want her to attend on me." "so she shall," was the brutal reply. "here, ma mie!" he shouted, but there was no answer. he got up and staggered to her room. it was empty, but from the open window he saw her figure as it flitted down the road, and a wailing sob reached his ears. "by god, she shall come back!" he yelled, and, bareheaded as he was, reeled out of the house, followed by the mocking laughter of the she-devil within. * * * * * they had just dined, and peregrine, leaning back in his chair, was listening to a plaintive little melody played by phipson on his fiddle. phipson fiddled; he did not play the violin, but his fiddling was very sweet and good to hear. he finished his little air with a flourish, and, resting the instrument lightly on the table before him, said, "i wonder you don't play something or other; it is a great distraction!" jackson had no time to answer; almost as the words left phipson they heard footsteps rushing up the stairs, and ah-geelong's voice raised in expostulation. the next moment ma mie burst into the room. she held in her hand a bundle of papers, which she flung before jackson. "there," she half screamed, "i give him up; he is a double traitor! o hawkshawe, hawkshawe!" "yes, hawkshawe, hawkshawe!" answered a mocking voice, and hawkshawe stepped in, holding ah-geelong out at arm's length before him with a grip of iron. he shook the chinaman like a rat, and, flinging him behind him, sprang straight at ma mie and struck a terrible blow at her. it was well that phipson saw what was coming and hit up hawkshawe's arm. the next moment the madman had flung himself on him, and the two rolled over together. "he's choking me, jackson!" and peregrine woke up as from a dream. with the assistance of ah-geelong he managed to free phipson, but it took the united efforts of all three to hold the maniac down. hawkshawe, when he found that he was overpowered, lay perfectly still for a moment, a white foam round his lips and his eyes shifting nervously about in their deep sockets like those of an ape. he then said quite quietly, "let me up; the game is played out. i can do no more." ah-geelong gave a warning glance, and whispered to jackson, "plenty dlunk." but both peregrine and phipson felt that he would attempt no more violence, and, ordering the chinaman to stand back, helped him to rise, which he did slowly, and then glared round him with his restless, fiery eyes. "where is my wife?" he asked, and then they saw for the first time that ma mie had gone. the thought that she had escaped him seemed to rouse him to fury again. "devil!" he shrieked, and made a dash for the door. peregrine and phipson were before him, however. "for god's sake, sit still and pull yourself together, hawkshawe!" said phipson. he looked at them and, throwing his head back, laughed, and his voice was as the howl of a beast. "sit still! how can i sit still? there is something broken in my head; there are the fires of hell in my heart. a devil is ever leaning over my shoulder, and---- ma mie, you traitress, where are you? let me pass," he shouted, "or i will---- ugh! there it is!" he turned and, glancing over his shoulder, saw ah-geelong moving softly toward him, and then with a bitter curse sprang backward out into the veranda, and the next moment there was a dull thud below, and all was very still. they picked him up gently and bore him to jackson's own room. phipson ran for smalley, and when habakkuk came he looked at the man carefully. "i will do what i can," he said, "but no human art can save him; he is most fearfully injured. i doubt if he will live through until the morning." but when the morning came hawkshawe was still alive, and when the sun sank he was not dead. there was one who came and took her place by the sick-bed as if it was her right, and neither of the three men had the heart to forbid ma mie. all through the long hours she never left him, and they were her hands that lifted his head as the last breath came and alban hawkshawe passed away. he never once regained consciousness, and it was only his extraordinary muscular vitality that kept him living for so long a time. when it was all over and smalley had gone, promising to come again with the morning, phipson and peregrine went back downstairs to the dining-room and there sat up together. sleep was impossible, and to both of them death like this was a new and terrible thing. it was then that ah-geelong came in softly and brought a message from ma mie to say that she wished to see them. "ask her to come in," said peregrine, and she came. she held in her hands a small inlaid casket, which she placed on the shining woodwork of the table. her eyes were tearless, but her voice trembled as she spoke. "see," she said, "what was my husband is lying dead above, and dead in dishonour. i have come to make his memory clean and to restore----" with a quick movement of her hands she opened the casket and scattered its contents on the table. it was full of precious stones, and above them all coiled the ruby bracelet, and the evil light of the gems seemed to blaze and sputter through the night. "i restore, as he would have restored if god did not make him mad; here they are, jewels for which he sold his honour and i my soul. and now good-bye. you were good to him, and you saved my life. ma mie will never forget." they let her go without a word, and she passed out into the darkness forever from their sight. chapter xi. the patience of habakkuk smalley. to-night i pass the narrow straits which lead unto the unknown sea. god, who knoweth the hearts of man, make thou my pathway clear to me! _voyage of the tobias_. ruys's repentant fit soon began to pass away, and there seemed every prospect of an aftermath of backsliding. she had honestly and soulfully tried to mend, and for a few weeks everything went smoothly--at least outwardly--for there was a hard struggle going on within. then she began to think the air was getting too pure for her to live in, and then in her desperation she again opened up the subject of the removal to dagon, and to her surprise and joy found her husband met her more than halfway in this. she had no very definite object in urging the move beyond that it would enable her to flee an ever-present temptation. it would have been well for smalley if he had seen what was going on, but habakkuk had never gauged that wayward heart. with all his love for her, he had never been able to understand his wife. it was a mystery to him how she had ever come to marry him, how he had ever come to ask her to share his lot. she had accepted the offer in one of those capricious moods in which women of her nature do absolutely anything, and she was, in fact, nothing more or less than a refined and educated ma mie, without, perhaps, the rugged nobleness of the burman woman. when she first knew habakkuk he had just thrown aside a lucrative practice as a physician to enter the ministry with a view to going on the eastern mission. this in itself was sufficient to attract an emotional woman, and there was something also in the innate nobleness of soul within his ungainly frame that drew her toward him. she had one of her "good" fits on. here was something so very different from the smart young men of her set who worshipped the almighty dollar, and dreamed of the almighty dollar, whose one idea was to amass a fortune, and to whom a business operation which successfully brought a friend perhaps to ruin was a creditable thing. she felt that marriage with such an one was a moral abasement, and so she signalled, in that silent way that women know, to the strong and loving nature that was hovering near her, and he came at her call. something within him, he knew not what, prompted him to speak, and he simply told her of his love, and turned to go. it never for one moment crossed him that he would meet anything but a refusal, and when she softly called him back and put her hand in his, he was unable at first to realize that his apparently absurd ambition had been crowned with success. they were married, and almost immediately left for the east, and almost as immediately ruys began to repent of the step she had taken and wished herself back again. those smart young men who worshipped the almighty dollar--after all, they were not so bad. she began to contrast them with her husband, and then she began to be miserable. habakkuk saw this much, that she was miserable, and put it down to seasickness. by the time he reached burma he reflected that his wife had about fifty different characters, and could slip on one as easily as she slipped on a dress. he was a sensible man and resigned himself to his fate, and then she trampled upon him because he yielded, and he bore it all with a silent misery eating at his heart. then after a time his love seemed to sleep into a kind of intimate friendship; but ruys saw this, and would fan it all up again, and, as soon as she succeeded, relapse into an icy dullness that made life almost unendurable. it was their last evening at pazobin; the parsonage had been practically dismantled of its ornaments, and ruys, with a straw hat in her hand, stood in what was once her very pretty drawing-room. habakkuk stepped in with his slouching gait. "i wish," said she, "you wouldn't stoop so. why don't you hold yourself up? there!" and she straightened him; "if you always carry yourself like that it would be so different." "i'll try," said habakkuk. "i must enroll myself as chaplain to the pazobin volunteers. there are six men in the regiment, but i'll get drilled. will that suit?" she was in a gay mood, and laughed blithely. "yes, it will do very well, and i shall have to work some colours and give it to the gallant regiment. but you are not to go with them when they go fighting dacoits," and she came close up to him. habakkuk for once plucked up courage, and, putting his arm round his wife's waist, kissed her, and to his surprise the caress was returned. he could hardly believe it, but she disengaged herself from his arm and said, "i want you to go down to the boats and see that everything is ready, like a dear; then you can come back for me, and take me on board." habakkuk felt that he could have gone to the end of the world. he was off in a moment, and went away holding himself very erect. his wife looked after him with a strange smile on her face. "i have got him away for a good hour, at any rate," she said to herself, and stepping out into the garden walked slowly down to the ruined temple, and when she reached there she looked around as if expecting some one. "i wonder if he will come?" she said, and almost as the words escaped her peregrine walked quickly across the side and came straight up to her. "i only got your note this minute, mrs. smalley," he said; "of course i was coming to see you off. it will be a great disappointment to phipson. there was news which took him out this afternoon. our friends the dacoits are to the fore again." "i thought you would come this way," she said, "and walked up here to meet you. dr. smalley will be back soon; he has gone down to the boats to see after things." "i wish i could have persuaded you not to go," said peregrine. "you don't know what a loss you will be to us." the young man had won a great victory as he thought. within the last few weeks ruys's own attempts at escape had helped him. he had seen the struggle, and as he now stood over her his eyes were fearless with the strong light of power and resolve. her knight--he had sworn to be her knight, and was wearing her token next to his heart. his hand should be the last to drag her down, and therefore his voice was kind and courteous, but nothing more, as he expressed his civil regrets at her departure. with ruys it was different. she had taken a hasty resolve to have one more interview with jackson, and then to say good-bye forever. she had determined to meet him here and ask him never to see her again, and now that the opportunity which she herself had foolishly made had come she was unable to speak, and her lips whitened as she stood still before him; and then he saw that she was crying, and took her gently by the hand. "mrs. smalley--ruys," he said, "be brave. see, you are my sister; i will look to you for help and counsel, and will be as a brother to you. be brave." and even as she spoke the floodgates were opened, and all the passionate woman spoke: "i love you! i love you! how can i be your sister? oh, what shall i do? what shall i do?" and she burst into hysterical sobs, and the next moment was in peregrine's arms, with her soft cheek resting against his shoulder and her heart to his. for one wild moment peregrine forgot all. "my queen! my queen!" he said, and kissed her unresisting lips and held her to him. he put her from him, and as she stood with downcast eyes and trembling limbs before him, he spoke: "good-bye; it must be good-bye forever now." she made no answer, but looked after his retreating figure with sad, dreamy eyes, and then with a white face and aching heart turned and walked backward to the house. * * * * * "_my god, thou hast forsaken me!_" never did cry more bitter come from the soul of the prophet than came from the heart of habakkuk smalley from the spot where he had watched the whole meeting and seen the parting of the two. he had been a witness to it all from start to finish, and only perhaps a priest could have restrained himself as well as he had done up to now. it seemed as if his life had crumbled away. he now knew what he had never expected, and like an inspiration the motives of his wife in forcing him to leave the place flashed upon him. after all, the temptation had been resisted, and who was he to judge. he thought of the lesson his master had taught in a case of terrible reality, and was he, a priest of the gospel, to stop at less than this? he kneeled down on the turf, and, holding up his arms to heaven, prayed. "god," he cried, "thou hast hunted me like a deer on the mountain side, and i am sorely wounded----" he could say no more, but gasped out "strength! strength!" and then after a while a peace came upon him and he arose and followed the footsteps of his wife. he found her sitting in their now cheerless room, and her features seemed pinched and drawn. never a word did habakkuk speak of what he knew, but his voice was as kind and gentle as ever. "everything is ready," he said; "shall we go?" now ruys made no answer, but simply rose, and they went forth together. chapter xii. the episode of li fong. "by the prophet's head, he shall die," he said, "by the knife of the khyberee!" _civil and military gazette_. li fong, contractor and general shopkeeper, was wearied of dorian fruit, of _nga-pe_, and of pazobin. li was no "eleven o'clock chink "--that is, a chinaman born and bred out of the celestial empire--but was a pure hankow man, and had migrated to burma with the philanthropic motive of spreading enlightenment among the outer barbarians, and to extract as much as he could out of the country he was honouring with his presence. but he was tired of pazobin. pazobin had no more to give, and for him the orange was sucked dry. his real business did not lie among the lead-foil packets of bad tea, with the cubes of china sugar, that crumbled to dust at the touch, with the inferior writing paper, the preserved ginger, and the pickled bamboo, with which his little shop was stocked. no, it had other and more paying ramifications, or li could not have looked so sleek and comfortable as he sat in his cane chair beneath a green and yellow paper lantern and inhaled a long cigarette, the _soupcon_ of opium in the tobacco imparting a dreamy flavour to his smoke. but li was not in his usual spirits. "allee pidgin gone," his thoughts ran on; "li he go too." yes, this was true, too true. all business, really paying business, had gone since pozendine and iyer were swept away with other refuse, and there was nothing to be done with mr. pillay, who reigned in their place. profits had come down to zero, for mr. pillay was that _rara avis_ of his class--an honest man. li fong's approaches toward him had resulted in li's being treated with indignity, and, what was worse, in attracting the particular attention of jackson toward the chinaman. and when the special attention of a district officer is drawn to a person like li, it is better for him or her to move on, and our sleek friend, fully aware of this, was on the eve of his departure. but he was going heavily laden. he had sold his shop, and was for this night a care-taker only. honest yen chow, of myobin, was the purchaser. yen would come to-morrow, and then li was free as air. he smoked his cigarette comfortably through, and dozed off slowly. when he awoke he found that the township was going to bed. it was not a bad idea, thought li. he would do the same. he turned down the burner of the little kerosene lamp that was placed within the gaudy lantern, locked his shop door, and went inside. here, in a little back room, in heat and stuffiness so great that only a chinaman could endure it, li fong lived his celibate life. he lit a small lamp carefully and placed it in a corner of the room; then he kneeled down, but not to pray. he merely fumbled under a heap of bedding and pulled out a small box. his eyes sparkled with delight as he opened the casket, and he gazed at the contents with a smile of deep satisfaction. when he had gladdened his eyes he shut the lid slowly with a regretful snap, and put aside the treasure. there was one more delight before sleep came, and that was contained in his opium pipe. he lit this with a luxurious slowness, and then, stretched out on his pallet, smoked himself into paradise. what rosy dreams were li's! he would be a mandarin of the green button, his ancestors would be ennobled, he might become an amban! "to-mollow," he murmured to himself; but to-morrow never came to li on earth. li dreamed on, sunk in lethargy, and finally fell into profound sleep, and the lamp burned low. when he awoke again it was with the consciousness of physical pain, and behold! the lamp was burning brightly in the room. two men were seated beside the light, and spread out on the floor were the jewels the little box contained. the men were arranging them in little heaps, counting them carefully. li made a frantic effort to call out, but he was gagged. then he rolled over toward the men, and the light of despair was in his eyes. "keep him quiet, moung sen," said one of the two, and the taller man held his sharp _dah_ over li, who crouched still, making no effort to move. the other finished his counting, and then swept the jewels into a bag. then he turned savagely on the chinaman. "beast!" he said, "and you were going away with the earnings of honest men!" then, changing his voice: "what! and you wouldn't even come and say good-bye to an old friend--to poor old father fragrance! it was very wrong of you, li fong, very wrong." moung sen here pricked li with the _dah_, and a shiver went over the limbs of the bound man. bah hmoay then spoke again. "to think that you can't even speak, li fong, that your wicked mouth is gagged, and that all my money--_our_ money," and he pointed to moung sen, "has come back to its rightful owners, and some more besides! li fong, you were going a far journey with all that wealth. you will now go a farther journey, where wealth will no longer avail you--where the gems of the world are useless. li fong, you are going to die!" if eyes could have spoken there would have been a piteous appeal for mercy, but being merely eyes they could only look words, not speak them. * * * * * "i never knew a more atrocious thing in my life," said phipson to his chief. "we found the poor devil with his throat slit from ear to ear, and on the wall of the room, scratched in charcoal, the respectful compliments of bah hmoay to you. confound the brute! i'd give ten years of my life to see him swinging at the end of a rope!" jackson rose from his chair and slowly paced the room. after six months of absolute quiet he had begun to think that the dacoit had disappeared with the destruction of his gang, when here came a fresh atrocity--an atrocity out-heroding the others. it was too bad, and yet, after all, in his heart jackson could not help admiring the daring of the man. "by jove!" he said, "that fellow should be bottled and kept as a curiosity. had he lived a hundred years ago, he would have died a prince." "he'll die very high up," grunted phipson. "the inspector sahib has come on urgent business," announced an orderly. "tell him to come in," said phipson, and serferez ali entered the room. he explained briefly that he had at last a clew to the hiding place of the dacoits, and begged permission to start off at once. it is needless to say that this permission was readily granted, and phipson himself expressed his intention of accompanying the party. he noticed, however, the shade of disappointment that passed over serferez ali's face as he said he would come, and, being a generous young fellow, guessed its meaning. it was as if the old man had said, "do not rob me of the honour," and the mute appeal won its way. "no, on second thoughts, i don't think i shall come, serferez." "may you end as a lord sahib!" said the inspector. "by sunset the heads of the base born will be in your veranda." "take a strong body of men with you, inspector," said jackson, and serferez said, "huzoor!" saluted, and went out. he passed down the drive with rapid strides, and regained the police barracks with all speed. here he picked out half a dozen men, and in a few minutes they were in a long snake boat rowing steadily and swiftly toward the great silk-cotton tree. "one thousand rupees for bah hmoay dead or alive, and five hundred for moung sen, my children," said serferez from the tiller, "and i will give up my share. you can all cut your names after this and go back to the grants the sirkar is giving on the chenab without fear of that jackal's spawn, shankar the bunnia. ahi! for the five rivers, but serferez must die here--die in the swamps of this ill-begotten land." "aho!" grunted the bearded sikhs, and the boat fairly hissed along the water. it was a long row and a stiff row against the main stream, but presently they entered the backwater, and the boat slid like a huge saurian on the ooze. they passed deeper and deeper into the jungle, which hung so thickly about the creek that the men had to stoop below the gunwale to prevent the branches from stopping their progress and the terrible thorns from doing them injury. finally they could proceed no farther; so tangled was the maze of forest, so thickly did it overhang the water, that it seemed as if the creek ran into the bowels of the earth with a sudden abruptness. very softly did serferez ground the boat, and one by one they all stepped out. "stay you here and look after the boat," whispered serferez to the youngest of the men. "and, fool! don't sit in the boat, but hide _here_--_here_ in the bushes, and keep your eyes and ears open. shoot the first burman who comes near it dead. don't waste time in asking questions. remember this, or you will never see the white hills again, i swear by the prophet's head!" and he tapped his sword hilt significantly. after this no word was spoken, but the five men with serferez at their head made their way in indian file through the forest. sometimes they were able to walk, but most frequently they had to resort to the tedious process of crawling through the jungle on all fours. they dared not use their _dahs_ to cut the underwood, for the slightest sound might alarm their quarry, and many a detour had to be made to find a passage. serferez himself acted as guide, and he made no mistakes. finally they came to the little clearing, and halted on its borders. a little to the left the huge silk-cotton tree reared its white trunk and spread out its huge ghostly arms like a forest giant struck with white leprosy. it was in full bloom, and the magnificent scarlet and orange of the bombax flowers starred its foliage, and ever and anon dropped with soft heaviness on the turf below. but it was not this, nor the hummingbirds that dipped their long beaks into the red cups of the flowers, that made the eyes of the men watching from the jungle lighten and serferez's lips to draw back with a tigerish snarl. there, under the tree, not forty yards away, seated, smoking comfortably, were the two men whom they had sought for so long. two of the police put up their rifles, but at a glance from their chief put them down again. "alive," he whispered; "you two go round and then rush them; they will come straight at us, and then----" the two men sidled off like snakes noiselessly through the damp undergrowth. moung sen now began to sing in a droning voice: "mah se hath a dower of roses, mah kit hath a dower of pelf; and i sigh for the scent of the roses, but die for the gleam of the pelf." "but die for the gleam of the pelf," echoed the priest sonorously. "mah se hath the grace of an angel, mah kit she is crooked and old." crack! went the sharp report of a police carbine, and a bullet whistled harmlessly over the singer's head. "may hell burn those fools!" shouted serferez. "come on!" and almost before the words had left him he was on the dacoits. the boh sprang straight at him, and aimed a terrible cut at serferez. he parried this, but it shivered his sword to splinters, and would have killed him on the spot but for the folds of his turban. it bore him on his knees, however, and had bah hmoay been allowed a moment's more time serferez would have slept in paradise. but the opportunity was not to be lost; without a second's hesitation the dacoit chief sprang off, and, cutting down another man with a back-handed sweep of his long dah, dashed into the jungle and was lost. not so moung sen. the minstrel was overpowered at the outset, and was now sitting like a trussed fowl securely bound with the long coils of a couple of turbans. serferez had regained his feet, and shouted out, "who fired that shot?" one of the men explained that his rifle had gone off by accident--caught in a twig. "you are a liar, bullen, son of bishen!" said the inspector; "and that shot of yours has cost us a thousand rupees. still, one remains in the net.--ho, moung sen! red diamond! do you remember me? i have come to pay back the debt i owe you." moung sen made no answer, but strained at the bandages that bound him until the muscles of his arms swelled out like knotted ropes. "he will be very heavy to carry to the boat, will he not, my children?" said serferez. "and the law is uncertain--he may not hang." "and nine men from the doab died that day at yeo," said one. "we get no more for his head than for the rest of him," added another. "and he attempts to escape," said a third, pointing to the man, who strained desperately to free himself. * * * * * in the dusk of the evening seven men of the sikh police rolled out something from a cloth at the feet of phipson. "may it please the feeder of the poor," said serferez, "the base born attempted to escape as the other did, and there was no way but this," and he held the grinning head of moung sen out at arm's length before him. chapter xiii. an overreach. saddle me straight the red roan mare, she of the waziri breed; the wings of death are beating the air, hola! the waziri steed! the wings of death are fleet and strong, but we win the race, though the race be long. _lays of the punjab_. "ruys, would you like to go home?" "home! this is my home, is it not?" "you know what i mean," said habakkuk. "this is getting too much for you," and he stopped in a hesitating sort of way. a sad little smile lit up his wife's face--a face that had grown stronger and braver with the soul struggle of the past year. it was changed, too; the old brightness, the old vivacity had gone, but there was a serious light in the eyes that told of battle fought and victory won. and habakkuk missed that old brightness and saw not the struggle. he was always dull, even if he knew how to suffer and be strong. but he thought that his wife was dying for freedom, and he vowed in his heart that, in so far as he could give her freedom, she should be free. home--yes, home was the best place for her. he would never see it again, but she would be uncaged. he was not rich in the world's goods, and what he had he gave freely to the cause for which he laboured; but he held his hand back now, and during the past year the cause had suffered in this respect. but this little wrong was necessary to lighten a stricken heart. and while he thus laboured his wife saw it all with a woman's quickness, and inch by inch he was gaining ground, unknown at first to herself and through all utterly unguessed by him. at last the summer madness of the past drifted away, at last she began to realize, and just as she had done so this blundering fool asked her to go. it was too bad! after all, she had her woman's rights. why did he not try to win her back with soft words? a new softness, a new mistrust of herself had come over her, and she could not speak. and then she dissembled and evaded the question. "i am very well," she said; "there is nothing the matter with me." smalley made no answer, and his wife, rising, went to the door and then stopped. for a moment the thought flashed upon her that she would ask him to come with her as far as the schoolhouse of dagon. but he saw nothing in her hesitation. finally she left him and went to her daily duties; but as she walked down the grassy lane that led to the school she thought to herself that if he had made any advance, ever so little a one, that she would have spoken. after all, this was part of her punishment, and she should bear it, her thoughts ran on. "alms, in the name of the buddh!" an old man, shaking with palsy, held out a gourd to her, and ruys gave to him and walked on. the beggar picked out the coin from the calabash and poised it lightly on his finger. the palsy had all gone now, and his hand was as firm as a rock. "three times," he muttered to himself--"three times has my hand been crossed with silver to-day. by god! i have him now. thanks to the chattering tongue of that servant girl, i know her secret and his. i will strike _there_--_there!_"--and he pointed to the retreating figure--"and this will make him live with a heart wound. for a whole year have i waited and worked and planned, and now the time has come. oh, that this were the day! but i will not disregard a single omen. thrice crossed with silver, therefore the third day from this. courage, bah hmoay!" once more palsy stricken, his feeble steps tottered along the lane and led him toward the pagoda. there at the feet of one of the two great griffins that guarded the gate he crouched, swinging himself backward and forward, and ever and anon calling out, "alms, in the name of the buddh!" so he sat until about the hour of sunset, when the womanfolk of the place gathered to the temple, and then he saw one whose stately step and carriage were unmistakable. it was ma mie, and as she passed by he called out her name softly, and she turned with a start. at a glance she recognised him. "_you_ here!" she said with a little gasp that choked the word "devil!" which she hissed under the breath. "yes, but not alone. where can we speak?" "come to my house; my mother is there, and there is no harm in listening to the advice of a holy bonze." "ever ready with your tongue as usual," said the dacoit as he rose, flung his saffron robe loosely around him and followed her with feeble steps. and as she led him toward the house ma mie was thirsting for revenge. here, here was the man who had led her into disaster, and he, above all others, with a price on his head, was walking beside her, going to her own house. the old fox was noosed at last, and it was with a beating heart that she led him into her house, where her mother, old, wrinkled, and hideous beyond measure, mumbled out a greeting. "see, mother, this is a friend, a holy man, whom i have brought to rest here a while. i knew him in the old days, and he has something to say to me." the hag chuckled out: "he is too old for a lover; let him speak, i will not be in hearing," and she went out of the door and sat hard by on a rude seat at the foot of a large palm tree. "now, what is it you want here?" said ma mie; "you with a price on your head!" "you, at any rate, will not give me away." "and why not?" "first, because your brother is one of us, and lies sick in a place i know of; if i am lost, so is he--i have but to speak a word; and, secondly, because you want revenge, and i offer it to you." ma mie dropped her eyes for a moment to hide the fierce light that came into them, and pretended to adjust the rich folds of her _tamein_. "yes," she said slowly, "i want revenge," and she looked at bah hmoay straight in the face. "then listen; i want your help. i am not alone, as i said. away in the swamp lie twenty good men who would raze this place to the ground if anything were to happen to me. i, too, want revenge, and upon jackson--he who ruined your husband, he who has hunted me until i live a beast of the field. i could kill him at any time, but that is not enough. i want him to live with a wound on his heart from which he will never recover. i will kill him afterward if it suits me, and now--stoop--see here," and the dacoit rapidly whispered to ma mie words that made her start back and say, "no! no!" "but i say yes--think of it--it is a vengeance worthy of a burman. we will sack the place on the third night from this, and but one shall be spared. i shall take her to my swamp, and she shall live as my slave; but these white women are delicate, and i do not want her to die _yet_. i want your help, therefore--a woman needs a woman. soh! you understand? you can name your price." "vengeance has no price," said ma mie, "and i agree." "so be it," said the dacoit. "then you will be ready?" "yes," she replied; "and now go." "my blessing," and the dacoit rose and tottered out of the room. "ho, mother!" he said as he passed the old mah kit, "the night air is chilly for old bones; you had better go in." "old bones," the hag mumbled--"old bones, but eyes young yet, young yet. there is devilment abroad. what is it, daughter?" she asked as she entered the room. "it would have been death, mother, had he stayed another five minutes. i would have put my dagger in his heart. but let me be; i will tell you all. i must think." and she sat moodily slowly drawing the point of her stiletto in little crosses on the wood flooring. an hour or two passed in this way, and then ma mie looked up. "mother," she said, "i am going on a journey. i shall be back on the third day from this. if _he_ comes, make some excuse. listen, it will be worth a thousand to us." "clever girl! clever girl!" said the hag; "leave it to ma kit. i know now. oh, yes, i know many things that nobody else knows. he! he! when are you going, child?" "now," said ma mie. "the little steamer touches here at ten to-night, and it now wants but a half hour to the time." her packing arrangements were of the simplest character, and an hour later she was leaning over the side of the small steamer that plied between dagon and pazobin, with burning revenge in her heart and a long cheroot in her mouth--bathos and tragedy hand in hand. the morning brought her to pazobin, and she went straight to jackson's house. to her dismay, she found he was not there--he had gone to the district the night before, and phipson with him. then she bethought her of the native deputy magistrate; but he was a burman, and she doubted him. finally she thought of old serferez ali, and, seeking him out, poured the information into the old man's ears. it was not the reward she wanted, it was revenge; but not revenge upon jackson, but upon the fiend who had tempted and was now tempting again to drag her to the lowest deep. "is all this true, girl?" said the inspector, and ma mie merely looked at him in reply. he was satisfied. "go back at once," he said; "the dispatch boat leaves this afternoon; you will be there by the early morning; and stay--not a word of this to a soul. you have money?" ma mie laughed. "yes," she said. "and see, i will add five hundred rupees to the government reward if you have him this time." she turned and was gone. "light of my eyes! thou art gone," said serferez to himself. "fool that i was not to recognise her! but, allah! this is no time for words. bullen! bullen! thief from the boab, saddle me the roan mare--and listen, on your head! bear this telegram, and let it be despatched at once. i want the police steamer at myo to-night; and you, sergeant, be ready with twenty picked men at the quay to-morrow morning at seven. soh! is the mare ready? on your heads, see that my orders are carried out to the letter." he swung himself into the saddle, and five minutes later was debte riding at a breakneck pace to jackson's camp. chapter xiv. pallida mors. ah! woe is me! they brought him home, my winsome knight of dee: on lances four my knight they bore, who died for love and me. _old ballad_. three men ride through the shivering moonlight--ride with teeth set hard and eyes that looked straight before them. neck and neck they race across the open, and then the man on the left mutters a curse as they come to a stretch of rice fields. the long rice stalks seem planted in plate glass, but it is only water. under the water lies three feet of mud, and beyond, like a huge dismasted hulk, rises the solid outline of the forest. the fields are divided by narrow embankments, and, as it is impossible to gallop through the quagmire, they resign themselves to circumstances, and pick their way slowly in indian file across the narrow ridges that separate the sloppy water-logged fields. yet they speak no word. after a time, short in itself, but which seems endless to the leader, they reached the end of the rice ground, and then the foremost horseman spoke. "good god! must we crawl through this as well?" "by your favour, sahib, the road is to the right. let me lead." there is a scatter of dead leaves, and serferez, galloping forward, plunged into the dark archway of foliage. through its deep gloom they race, and the hoofs of the horses fall with a dead sound on the damp bed of leaves below them. shurr-r-r-sh! a sound of wild boar plunges into the thickets, with much grunting and hubbub over the strange sight that flashes past them. the old boar peers after the horsemen with his bloodshot eyes, the white foam hissing round his tushes, then with a peculiar long-drawn moan of anger he turns and shambles slowly after his tribe. light at last!--the fires of a native hamlet and the indescribable odours that always hang around it. they dash past. there is a yell of rage from the napless yellow pariah dog, roused from his sleep in the middle of the road. he was nearly killed, and he protests vigorously against such reckless riding. a chorus of his fellows take up his complaint, and the riders push on amid a storm of howls. "don't think this beast will hold out," said phipson suddenly. the horse was almost staggering in its stride under him, and he knew by the ominous way in which the poor animal seized the bit between his teeth at intervals and flung forward his head that it could not keep up the pace for long. no one answered, for at that time the loud, deep whistle of a steamer reached their ears, ringing through the woods with echo upon echo. "allah ho akbar! 'tis the steamer!" shouted serferez. "thank god!" came in deeper tones from the very hearts of the two englishmen. the horses themselves seemed to know it. brave hearts! they had won a race for life, and ten minutes later kind hands were rubbing them down on the deck of the little beeloo, and the old panjabi was purring over the neck of his roan. "there is none like thee in the land, my pearl," he said softly as he stroked her silver mane--"there is none like thee in the land. by the prophet's head, i swear that for this night's work i will never forget thee--never!" "what's the time, phipson?" "two thirty," said phipson, holding his watch out to the broad moonlight. "we reach pazobin at seven to-morrow, pick up the men, and go straight on." peregrine made no answer, but his white face as it shone out of the moonlight almost scared phipson, so fixed and rigid was its look. "i say, jackson!" "what is it?" "that was a devil of a ride. think i'll turn in and take a nap, and you'd better do the same." this was the policeman's way of telling his friend he looked worn to death. "no, thanks, phipson, i can't sleep; i must see this thing through." phipson stretched himself out in a long cane chair and watched his friend as he paced slowly up and down the small quarterdeck. "he must be devilish keen," he murmured to himself, "or devilish hard hit." and then all the starlight seemed to dim, and he was asleep. in the white mists of the morning they reached pazobin, and, taking on board their men, started on at once. phipson had persuaded peregrine to rest. "look here," he said, "this is all tommy rot! you've got to rest. have some grub first, throw away that infernal cheroot, and go and lie down. you've _fighting_ to do this evening, and will want your head and your nerves in first-rate order." there was no gainsaying this, and after lunch jackson fell into a deep sleep. he was aroused by a scrunching noise, and woke with a start. "what's the matter?" "the matter is that it's half-past six, and that damned idiot of a _serang_ has stuck us fast into a sandbank, and we can only get off with the next tide. there's only one thing to be done. get the boats from thomadine village and row for it." thomadine village was half a mile below, but a small boat had raced them as far as the scene of the disaster. matters were rapidly explained to the occupants of the boat, the explanation was made clear by the line of shining barrels that was pointed toward them, and they pulled up alongside the beeloo. some of the crew were temporarily transferred to the steamer, three or four policemen took their places, and the long canoe danced back to the village. it was fully an hour before it returned, bringing with it two other canoes, and, leaving the police tug with strict orders to come on with the next tide, jackson and his men embarked in the boats, and, hugging the bank, rowed for their lives. it was no time for words, no time for anything but to strain every muscle to reach their goal. suddenly a broad sheet of flame lit the sky, and the reports of half a dozen matchlocks rang out in quick succession; then came the short, sharp crack of a winchester, then another and another. "by god, they've begun!" shouted phipson. "row on, you devils!" "there's a short cut by the creek, sahib!" called out serferez, and the snake head of the leading boat, steered by jackson, turned promptly round, and with a little white sparkle of foam fizzing over her bows she shot into the creek, followed in quick succession by her fellows. the sky was one sheet of light, for the village had been fired in several places, and the houses blazed up like touchwood. long forks of flame from the mission school sprang up to the sky, and a dense cloud of smoke rolled westward with the breeze. still the winchester kept speaking, and every shot gave the rescue party hope, for they knew that smalley was selling his life dearly. "we divide here into two parties," said phipson as they landed. "you, inspector, take six men with you, and make for the boats. we will drive on to you. by god," he added, pulling his revolver out, "i rather think we're only just in time!" serferez needed no second bidding, but was already off, and jackson and his companion marched rapidly forward. "we'll give them a volley from here," said phipson as they reached the skirts of the clearing round the little mission school, about which the firing was concentrated. "by jove! they're going to batter down the door. steady, men! fire!" the crackling of the volley was followed by a cheer, and in a moment the police had rushed forward and were engaged hand to hand with the dacoits. some one sprang straight at jackson, but his hand seemed to lift itself up of its own accord, and a second after a huddled mass lay before the smoking barrel of his revolver. the issue was not one moment in doubt, and in a few seconds the dacoits were heading straight for their boats. here they were intercepted by serferez and his party, who gave them a warm reception. three or four of the dacoits, however, among whom was the boh, secured a boat and rowed off for their lives. "follow them!" shouted jackson, springing into the snake boat; "not a man must escape!" phipson and a few others took another boat, and there was a hot pursuit. the dacoits realized, however, that it was no use, and, evidently resolving to die fighting, ran their boat ashore on a small island near the middle of the river and took to the thickets, from which they began a smart fire. "go behind, and take them on the rear," called out jackson to his companion. almost as the words were spoken phipson's boat turned to the left and was round the head of the little island. "sit down, sahib; don't stand up--we are quite close to them now," said the _naick_ of police, who was in jackson's boat. peregrine laughed, and the next moment the _naick_ uttered a cry of horror, for a red tongue of flame shot out of the covert, and jackson, flinging his hands up, fell forward on his face with a gasping sob. with a yell of rage the police grounded their boat and rushed into the jungle. there was but half an acre of ground, and bullen, son of bishen, sikh from the doab, had gone berseker. as the men landed the dacoits made for the opposite side of the little island, but to their dismay found phipson there. with a curse bah hmoay darted back into the cover, followed in hot haste by phipson. and here in the uncertain light, where the jungle was so tangled that there was barely room to use a sword, there was a short but desperate fight. "come on, jackson, we have the lot here! where on earth are you?" shouted phipson as his revolver barked out like a snapping pup, and one of the dacoits fell dead, and another, staggering backward, was finished by a policeman with his _dah_. "where are you, jackson?" called out phipson again. "jackson is in hell--where you will follow him!" and the boh sprang at phipson like a panther. a projecting branch saved him from the downward sweep of the long _dah_, the revolver snapped out again, and the next moment they had grappled each other by the throat. "i'm afraid it's no use, bah hmoay," said phipson as he shook off his assailant like a rat, and, throwing him heavily, placed the barrel of his revolver against his temple. click! click! the handcuffs were on him like a flash of lightning, and the boh was surrounded by a group of men. "this is bah hmoay himself," said one of the policemen as he held a rudely improvised torch at the face of the captive. "there isn't another of them alive on the island," said bishen. "two were killed by your honour, two i have accounted for, and this is the last." "where is the sahib?" "he awaits you in the boat," said bishen, and a chill went through phipson's heart. "why--what is the matter? speak, can't you?" "the doctor sahib will tell. some one from the island fired, and the sahib, he was standing, fell back in the boat; but the doctor sahib's knowledge is great. he will live." bah hmoay was subjected to the indignity of being frog-marched to the boat. he was flung in without much ceremony, and a loaded carbine held at his head. when phipson reached his friend he found him unconscious, and sadly the two boats rowed back to the village. as they approached phipson saw by the still burning town the tall figure of serferez ali talking to smalley, and close by the white fluttering of a woman's dress. "by god!" he groaned, "i don't think it was worth it, even for this. jackson, old man, can't you speak?" but there was no answer, and almost at this moment they reached the landing place. a cheer went up from those on shore, and smalley came forward with outstretched hand. "i can't thank you enough. come, let my wife thank you, too. where is jackson?" phipson shook hands with them both. "where is mr. jackson?" asked ruys. there was no help for it but to speak out at once before her. as the words left phipson's lips smalley was beside the boat, and they tenderly lifted out the wounded man and placed him on an improvised couch of greatcoats. they stood round him in a sad group while smalley with gentle hands examined the wound, and the silence was only once broken when a great sob burst from honest serferez ali, and the old man turned away with his head hanging down. ruys held a lantern for her husband, and phipson noticed that there was not a quiver in her hand, although her lips were blue. after a time smalley rose to his feet and shook his head. "he can not even be moved from here," he whispered, "and all my appliances are under that blazing roof. god works very hardly sometimes." the dying man moaned feebly, and ruys was on her knees beside him. "what is it? can't you speak? oh, husband, can not you save him?" "god knows that i would!" said habakkuk sadly, and then his wife bent low to hide the tears that fell fast down her cheeks. that strange power of hearing, that supreme strength which comes to persons at the last, came to peregrine now. "die!" he said; "who says i am going to die? i am young yet; my work is not done. mother," he cried, "i am coming!" ruys bent down and kissed the hot forehead softly. there was a shivering of the limbs, and the strong young spirit had passed. chapter xv. the passing of the woon. pick up the threads, the web is spun; for weal or woe, the task is done. _maraffa_. "good-bye, phipson. we can never forget what we owe you--you and the poor boy who lies there. come to us when you can. we will give you a warm welcome. it's a big country, and there's room for a young man with hands and feet. good-bye again!" habakkuk shook hands cordially with phipson, and passed up the gangway of the woon to join his wife, who had already said farewell. the siren whistle screamed shrilly, and with much laughter and good-humoured hustling the crowd on board left the decks, the paddles drummed, and the woon sidled back from the quay, and then, turning gracefully round, steamed down the river, followed by a multitude of boats whose gaily dressed occupants formed bright groups of gorgeous colour on the gleaming water. phipson stood and watched, and answered the wave of the white handkerchief from the stern; stood and watched until the convoy of boats became but little black specks, and the woon entered a curve of golden water that reflected back the glories of the sunset and was lost to view. in the fore part of the ship, beside his belongings, sat serferez ali, who had cut his name, and was going back to enjoy his well-earned pension in his home in the salt range of the punjab. he was rich with this and the rewards he had gained, and if at times he had done things which our civilization does not approve of, that did not the less make him a gallant old specimen of his class. occasionally he would rise, and, walking to the inclosed space reserved for horses, caress the soft muzzle of his roan, a round, black muzzle that thrust itself confidingly forward toward him. "we are going back, motee, my heart--going back out of this accursed land of swamps. didst thou think, thou of the waziri, that i would leave thee to die here? nay, nay! we are going back to the land where women bring forth men. but we saw the assassin hang before we went--hang-like the dog he was; and bullen, son of bishen, thy old comrade, brave, but a fool, is now inspector in _my_ place. but comfort thee, my pearl, we are going _home!_" the mare whinnied back to her master, and the old man sought his seat again, keeping one eye on a heavy brass-bound box and the other on his favourite. at intervals he watched the broad fan of the electric light throw its white radiance across the river, and murmured to himself as he inhaled the grateful fumes of the hubble-bubble: "prophet of god! but these english are a wonderful race! nevertheless, except for their cursed engines, the _khalsa_ would still have been. _ahi!_ those were the battles of giants!" on the quarter deck ruys, very pale and white, leaned back in a lounge chair, and habakkuk stood beside her with a new light in his eyes. they watched the thin scimitar of the new moon gleam out of the sky, and the gray mists creep up the river and enfold the dim and now distant outlines of the forest. they were leaving the country, leaving the east for good. one felt that to other and stronger hands must be left the work so well begun by him; and as for the other, she had gone through the furnace and had come out pure gold. from his post by the man at the wheel skipper jack watched the pair. he was a man whom the ordinary cares of the world troubled not, but on the present occasion serious misfortune had assailed him, and he was out of temper. his tobacco had run out, and he had sunk to the degradation of filling his pipe with the half-burned stump of a cheroot. skipper jack stood, therefore, hard by the man at the wheel, and, while his keen eyes evermore watched the ship's course, his tongue murmured strange oaths under his beard. but what was that, seen through the gloom, that crinkled up the gnarled features of the skipper into a sour smile of amusement? he saw it again, and in his astonishment almost dropped his favourite clay. "bust me foolish!" he muttered to himself. "blowed if the parson ain't a-spooning the missis! gr-r-r! the old pipe is out!" the widow lamport but i laye a-wakynge, and loe! ye dawne was breakynge, and rarelye pyped a larke for ye promyse of ye daye: "uppe and sette yr lance in reste! uppe and followe on ye queste! leave ye issue to bee guessed at ye endynge of ye waye "-- as i laye a-wakynge, 'twas soe she seemed to say-- "whatte and if it alle bee feynynge? there be better thynges than gaynynge, better pryzes than attaynynge." and 'twas truthe she seemed to saye. whyles the dawne was breakynge, i rode upon my waye. q. (_oxford magazine_.) the widow lamport. chapter i. at the door of the tabernacle. when mrs. lamport, the pretty widow, was observed standing outside the door of the methodist meeting-house in rigaum one sabbath morning after service, the congregation began to wonder and cast little inquiring looks at each other. they were serious folk, and it was clear to them that the proper course to pursue, after attending divine worship, was to make one's way soberly home, looking neither to the right nor to the left, lest the enemy of mankind should seize his opportunity to the ruin of a soul. her presence excited curiosity the more as none of the worshippers had seen her in church that day. this absence disappointed the womankind, who were wont to take surreptitious notes of halsa lamport's dress, between their fingers, as they knelt apparently absorbed in prayer. mrs. lamport stood on the steps of the chapel entrance, leaning lightly on the end of her parasol, a neat figure dressed in white, with a coquettish knot of red ribbons in her high straw hat. the flash of these ribbons in the sunlight caught the eye of elder bullin as he stepped forth, smug and clean shaven, his two daughters following demurely in his footsteps. a scowl passed over the old man's features, and he muttered something under his breath about rahab and the city wall. as the people filed out of church they stared at mrs. lamport. most of the young men lifted their hats, but the greater portion of the women pursed up their lips and sniffed at the figure before them. there were two crimson spots on the widow's cheeks now; she had a temper, and it was evident that it was being put to trial. she rattled the plated end of her parasol on the stone steps, and made an impatient movement. let it be at once understood that, as far as the good people of the rigaum tabernacle knew, there was no record against mrs. lamport, except the fact that she was a pure european, and they, for the most part, were of mixed descent. she had come suddenly into their midst about a year ago, and all that they knew of her was that she boarded with the bunnys, and was supposed to be a distant connection of theirs. her living with the bunnys ensured her toleration, for mr. bunny was the registrar of a government office, and not a man to be offended with impunity. nevertheless the word was passed that friendly relations with the pretty widow were not to be cultivated. it was not to be denied that she was diligent in her attendance at chapel, that no word of hers had given offence--yet the women took alarm, the husbands yielded to their wives, and mr. bunny's influence alone preserved an armed neutrality. as mr. bunny and his wife came out of church they stopped and looked inquiringly at the widow, for she had pleaded a headache as an excuse for not attending service with them. "come to meet us?" asked mrs. bunny with a smile. "no," was the reply; "i have come to meet mr. galbraith." almost as the words were spoken the pastor appeared, and after a few moments' conversation he and mrs. lamport moved off slowly together, under the shadow of the palm trees, in the direction of mr. bunny's house. mrs. bunny discreetly induced her husband to take a longer road, and as for those of the congregation who overheard the words spoken, they remained almost struck dumb with astonishment. mr. sarkies, however, a semi-armenian, and a member of the congregation, who was himself looked upon with suspicion as not having yet found christ, made a little mistake at this moment. "well, i'm damned!" said he to himself as he struck his gray pantaloons with a thin cane smartly and looked after the retreating pair. sarkies prided himself somewhat on being a lady-killer, and it had been his intention, as soon as he had straightened his collar sufficiently, to give the widow the pleasure of his company home. it was unfortunate for him, however, that the bad word caught elder bullin's ear. the old man had stopped for a moment, much against his will, to reply to a remark made by a friend. he was about to rebuke the speaker for having his thoughts on earthly matters on the lord's day when the oath, softly spoken though it was, reached him. he turned sharply. "young man," said he, "swear not at all. behold!" he added, pointing with his stick at the shrinking figure before him, "here is one whose paths are in the valley of sin, and whose ways lead him to hell fire." "oh, paw!" exclaimed his eldest daughter deprecatingly. "i--i beg pardon, mr. bullin," stammered sarkies; "it slipped out." "never you come to my house again," continued the elder. "i will bring your scandalous conduct before the next meeting." sarkies tried vainly to smile and carry it off with a high hand, but the elder's words attracted a crowd, and their united attention was too much for him. he made an effort, however, to retreat with dignity. "i don't want--come to y'r'ouse," he said with a sickly smile as he pushed his hat slightly on one side of his head and moved off with an air of apparent unconcern. at this junction miss bullin burst into tears. "shame! shame! lizzie!" exclaimed her sister laura; but lizzie was not to be appeased. she wore her heart upon her sleeve, after the manner of some women. "oh, my jimmy!" she cried, and the elder was moved to uncontrollable wrath. "g'home at once," he shouted, "or i'll jimmy you--jimmy, indeed. g'home, you----" he checked himself, and followed his trembling daughters to his brownberry, for he was a "carriage man." this unexpected scene withdrew all attention from the widow and her companion, and when, the principal actors in it had gone, all thought of halsa lamport, for the present, vanished from the minds of the church-goers, whose ways home were full of prophecies on the consequences of mr. sarkies's folly. chapter ii. a cup of tea. the rigaum methodist tabernacle was in a suburb of bombay called by that name. it was a small oblong building, washed a pale blue, and embedded in a nest of cocoa palms. to the right a jain temple raised its gold-tipped cupola, and the chimes of the bell which called together the christian worshippers of the chapel were often drowned in the discordant shriek of the conch horn, the shrill blast of trumpets, and the incessant beating of drums. this had resulted in a lawsuit, which ended in leaving the parties much as they were before, except that it was a virtual triumph for the heathen, and his uncanny rejoicings on the sabbath became more intolerable than ever. so strong indeed was the feeling on the point that elder bullin concluded an extempore prayer one day with the words, "_and we pray thee, o merciful father! to teach us to forgive our enemies; but to send down the lightning of thy wrath on the heathen, that they, the revilers and mockers of thy worship, may burn in torment without end--amen_." with the exception of the pastor, john galbraith, and halsa lamport, the congregation consisted of anglo-indians and eurasians of the middle and lower classes, the hereditary office hands of the indian government. the church and the congregation were the remains of a wave of religious enthusiasm that had passed over bombay some years ago. this originated with an american evangelist, who sought the east to carry, as he said, "the glad tidings to the heathen white." the revivalist met for a time with a success beyond his hopes, and established at least a dozen churches which were filled with devout worshippers. when the "bishop," as they loved to call him, left to return home, matters were apparently on a firm basis; but in a few years the zeal he inspired died away, and the light burned but in a few places, one of which was in the chapel at rigaum. here, at any rate, it seemed to burn almost as brightly as in the palmy days of the bishop, and there was no doubt that this was due to the pastor. by no means a learned man, yet with a sympathetic manner and a fund of quiet humour that attracted all who came under its influence, galbraith was enabled to hold his flock together when their naturally flighty nature and mutual jealousies would have driven them to dissolve with curses. the pastor lived in a small house adjoining the church, from which it was separated by a brick wall. a narrow gate allowed a passage from the chapel enclosure to the "manse," as it was called. in the little plot of ground before the house galbraith had tried to cultivate a garden, but his efforts were not particularly successful. nothing would grow here except cocoa palms. there was an everlasting haze of soft dust in the air. the people were accustomed to it, but on a stranger the effect was suffocating. one felt choked in this spot where no pure air ever penetrated the wall of palms. it was never really cool, but a damp pall of dust hung over everything. on the morning we speak of galbraith rose at an early hour, and, sitting in the small portico of his house, called for a cup of tea. after a little time his goanese servant appeared, bearing a tray in his hands, on which was a tea-pot, a cup and saucer, with an electro-plated spoon lying beside it; there was a toast also, set in a drunken fashion in a rack. manuel's appearance was not attractive, as he shuffled along with his burden, the ends of his toes stuck into a pair of slippers which clicked under his feet. he placed the tea things down on the small table beside galbraith with a sulky slam that set the spoon twittering in the saucer, and said-- "master's tea ready." the pastor poured himself out a cup, and looked for the milk and sugar. there was none. "boy," said he, "where is the milk and the sugar?" "yessar," and manuel disappeared into the house. "it's very odd," mused galbraith; "manuel has been with me nearly two years now, and he persists in not bringing milk and sugar with my morning tea. i must really speak to him--perhaps it is a judgment on me for employing a follower of the scarlet woman." he stirred the tea he had poured out, and tasted it, but set it down with a wry face. "the old adam is still strong within me," he said with a half-smile. "i can not bear tea alone." in the meantime manuel reached the back of the house and looked round for the goat he had forgotten to milk. the goat was there, in the veranda, and at sight of him she fled toward the temple, the goanese in hot pursuit. "jesu maria!" he exclaimed as he seized her at last. "but thou art accursed among beasts--stand still, pig, and be milked." he squeezed a certain amount of milk into a jug, and, giving the goat a parting kick, ran back into the house, the jug held at arm's-length in front of him. on a sideboard was a small glass bowl, in which there were a few lumps of sugar. manuel transferred one to his mouth, and then taking up the basin in his disengaged hand hastened into the portico. he placed the milk and sugar on the table, and silently took up a position behind his master's back. "manuel," began galbraith. "yessar." "why is it that i have always to ask you about the milk and sugar. negligent in these little matters, i fear that you neglect also your higher duties." manuel ran his fingers uneasily through his oily locks, and burst out, "nosar--confess, sar--reglar." "confess!" exclaimed galbraith, roused at having his servant's religious belief thrust before him; "confess to an idol." "nosar--confess to father st. francis." "pish!" and galbraith helped himself to a fresh cup of tea, but said no more. when he had finished, the goanese removed the tea things, and the pastor remained sitting in his easy-chair. he would have liked to smoke; in fact, an almost intolerable longing seized him, but he thrust it down. "i will not desecrate the sabbath," he said. he would not even look at his flowers; but after staring for a few minutes at the cheerless walls of the meeting-house, rose and went in. chapter iii. a billet-doux. as galbraith went into the house he noticed the dreary aspect of the rooms. he laid his hand for a moment on a small side-table, and when he lifted his fingers off their impression was distinctly visible on the dusty surface. a picture on the wall before him had slipped from its moorings, and hung in a helpless sort of way from a brass-headed nail. the pastor mounted a chair, and set the picture straight, wiping the glass carefully with his pocket-handkerchief. as he stepped down he called to mind a remark made by good-natured mrs. bunny. "you want a wife," she said to him one day, when he complained of some domestic trouble, in which manuel had played a principal part. her eyes rested, as she said this, on halsa lamport, who was standing in the veranda attending to a canary. galbraith followed the glance, and although he smiled a little, and parried the speech, mrs. bunny's words set him thinking seriously. and now the little episode of the milk and sugar and the untidy room brought mrs. bunny's words back again. it struck him that mrs. lamport was very kind and gracious to him. the recollection of their last meeting, and the slight yet warm pressure of her hand which had sent the blood dancing through his veins, came vividly before him. he reached his dressing-room, and looked at the glass. the few gray hairs were not unbecoming, and he was a well set up man--not bad looking too, he thought, and then--he blushed like a girl at his own folly, and proceeded to dress. service was at eleven. it was now only eight, so that galbraith had three hours at his disposal. there was, of course, a sunday-school class, but this was under the special care of elder bullin. it was on such mornings that the elder was in his element. he insisted on a verbatim repetition by heart of a chapter of the bible by every member of his small class, and in case of failure--three mistakes only were allowed--he painted in glowing colours the horrors of eternal torment that awaited the culprit, when his earthly life closed. he would go so far as to definitely state that the shadowy wings of death were at that moment hovering over the class, and it often happened that a small member was so overcome with terror that he had to retire bellowing lustily. fortnightly the elder gave the class an extempore lecture of vast length, and on the following day his two daughters were required to write this out from memory, a labour watered with their tears. galbraith completed his toilet, and went into his study to touch up his sermon. the text he had chosen was, "and god hath both raised up the lord, and will also raise up us by his own power." they were strong, healthful words, but the pastor was not quite certain that he realized their meaning. he was of those who judge of great things by comparing them with little things. he had found that small vices were extremely hard, sometimes impossible, to get rid of, notwithstanding the most assiduous application to the deity. he almost despaired at times of one of the primal doctrines of his sect--the direct intervention of providence in the affairs of this world. he was by turns full of certainty and full of doubt. he was willing to concede that the all-seeing eye marked the sparrow falling, but for the life of him he could not help asking himself why the sparrow was allowed to come to disaster. his profession and education taught him that such a question was almost a deadly sin, and then would come a long fight between the man's religion and his reasoning powers. he ran his eyes over the text at the head of his sermon with a look of doubt in them, and while doing so his hand unconsciously stole to the corner of his table, where a brown cherry-wood pipe lay snugly on a fur tobacco-bag. the touch of his fingers against the satin surface of the wood aroused him in a moment to a sense of what he was about to do. he looked at his outstretched hand, the pipe held between his fingers, and then burst out laughing. a moment after his face became grave. "the sparrow was not allowed to fall this time, at any rate," he said, as he put down the pipe and lifted up a small bible. he turned to the chapter whence he had taken his text, and read it attentively to the end. he went on to the next chapter. it was that in which st. paul lectures the corinthians on their conjugal duties. john galbraith read this slowly, his eyebrows now and then contracting into a slight frown. while he read the face of halsa lamport seemed to come between him and the pages, and unseen lips to murmur her name in his ears. there was no use in resisting any longer. in fact, he had never made any resistance, but from the time of mrs. bunny's speech mentally associated the widow in all his actions; perhaps, too, the defects in his domestic arrangements had their effect, although he may not have been conscious of the full extent of the power. "i'll risk it," he said, with sudden resolution, as he pulled a piece of writing paper toward himself and seized a pen. but it was easier said than done, and john ran through a good dozen sheets before he decided on what to say. what he did say was this. he wrote to halsa lamport asking for an interview that day as he had that to tell her which was of the greatest importance to himself. the note was very brief, and contained nothing more. he folded and addressed the letter as manuel came in to announce breakfast. manuel had smartened himself up. he had on a clean white linen jacket. his hair was more resplendent than ever. galbraith felt that breakfast was out of the question. he was feverishly eager now for the time to come when he should see halsa, and hear from her "ay" or "nay." "i don't think i'll have any breakfast to-day; and look here, manuel, take this note to mr. bunny's house, and give it to mrs. lamport. bring the answer back before i go to church." now the bunnys lived some little distance away from the manse, and manuel was not fond of walking. he tried to put off the evil hour by an affectation of concern. he took the note from galbraith, and said-- "yessar--master not ill?" "no--no," replied galbraith; "take the note at once, please." "fry pomflit for breakfas, sar," said manuel, "and prong curry--all spile." "never mind, manuel--we'll have some another day. take that letter and--run." manuel did as he was bidden, and galbraith watched him shuffling along the road until he reached the corner where pedro pinto's liquor stall stood. manuel hesitated a moment here. a glass of toddy, a liquor made out of the fermented sap of the palmyra, would be very grateful; but--he glanced round only to find the pastor standing at the gate and watching him. with a sigh the goanese turned and went on; but, now that he had passed the curve of the street, slackened his pace to a leisurely walk. he remained away for more than an hour, during which time galbraith paced the little veranda impatiently, wondering whether there would be any reply to his note. it was impossible to think of anything else, and each moment seemed to him an age. at intervals he walked to the gate, and looked down the road, but there was no sign of manuel. at last he saw him turn the corner; whereupon, filled with a sudden terror, john hastily retreated into his study, and began to turn over the leaves of his sermon. he tried to persuade himself that he had retired because it was undignified to watch his servant in this manner, but the thick beating of his heart told him he lied to himself. at last there was a shuffle at the door, and manuel, coming in, stood before his master silently. galbraith looked at him. "did you give the letter? was there any answer?" "yessar." manuel produced a little gray square envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to galbraith. "very well," said the pastor as he stretched forth his hand to receive the letter, "you can go now." "master have tiffin?" inquired manuel, but galbraith peremptorily ordered him out of the room. when he had gone john tore the note open. it was written on that abominable pattern of paper which folds like an envelope, and as a consequence, galbraith in his excitement tore the whole letter in two. with hands that trembled with eagerness he placed the pieces together, and resting them on the table, read the reply-- "_i will meet you after church, and we can walk home together_." there was no signature, but galbraith knew the handwriting. he looked furtively around, and then kissing the precious scraps of paper, locked them carefully away. chapter iv. yes. on leaving the church, galbraith and his companion walked slowly down the road. the street was hedged in between two low walls, gray with age, and partly coated with a short, thick moss, whose original colour was hidden by the dust lying heavy upon it. the tops of the walls were covered with bits of broken glass, fragments of bottles stuck upright into the masonry as a defence against trespassers. behind these barriers, on either side, the date and cocoa palms grew in thick profusion, hiding from view the dwelling-houses which lay among them. at short intervals a disreputable-looking gate was passed, the paint peeling off in patches from the wood-work. with the exception of the one or two couples returning from service, and a few native christians at pinto's liquor stall, lounging with the flies among the long-necked glass bottles, there were no people in the street. the middle of the road was six inches deep in fine dust, but on the side where the pavement should have been, was a small pathway, beaten hard, with just sufficient room for two, provided they walked somewhat closely to each other. john went in the dust, leaving his companion the whole of the sidewalk. his boots were covered with the clinging gray powder, and a portion of it had sprinkled itself on his clothes. "it's very dusty there, mr. galbraith; don't you think you had better come on to the sidewalk?" "thank you," said john humbly, as he joined the widow. as he came up, the folds of her dress brushed against him, and her shoulder grazed his. the touch sent a thrill through galbraith's veins. "i--i beg pardon," said he nervously, "i am very awkward." the widow smiled slightly, and shot a glance at him from under her dark eye-lashes. "i don't see that you have anything to beg pardon for." galbraith was about to say that all life should be one appeal for pardon, but he checked himself, and, glancing at the walls on either side of them, remarked-- "i wonder how many thousands of bottles were used to make that defence work on the walls here!" "i really couldn't tell, mr. galbraith," replied the widow a little sharply. john remained silent and abashed for a few moments, and at last she spoke. "i got your letter, of course, this morning. what was it you were going to tell me? not about the glass bottles, i hope?" and she showed an even row of pearly teeth between her red lips. a cold sweat burst out on galbraith's forehead, and his tongue seemed paralysed. "i--i," he stammered, and then he clutched at a straw. "but what a number of people are on the road to-day." "there is the short cut, and i think we had better take that." the widow lifted her skirts slightly, and daintily tripped across. john caught a glimpse of an exquisite foot and ankle as he followed. "lord," he cried in his heart, "deliver me from temptation!" arrived at the opposite side of the road, halsa turned to her companion, and putting out her foot, looked ruefully at it. "i have made my boots so dusty--what a horrid road this is!" john glanced round him nervously, then he pulled out his handkerchief. "may i?" he asked in a hesitating manner as he waved the folds in the air. "if you would be so kind;" and john, stooping down, brushed away the dust from one dainty foot, and then the other. he could not help lingering over the task. the widow, looking down on him, smiled to herself. "he's getting on," she murmured, and then-- "i think that will do--thank you so much. i'm afraid you have ruined that handkerchief--i'm so sorry." john gave a last brush at the boot before him and rose. he was a little red in the face, but--he was getting on. "i shall always keep this handkerchief sacredly, mrs. lamport," said he, putting it into his pocket carefully. "how ridiculous!" and the widow gave a little toss to her head, her colour rising slightly. they walked down the lane until they reached a small gateway. "this," said halsa as she passed through it, "takes us into the custard apple garden, immediately behind the palm tree, and my favourite seat is there--near the well." galbraith followed her under the shade of the palms to the orchard. their feet crackled over the dry leaves. a rough wooden seat was placed near a banyan tree which spread its shade over the well. behind the seat was a thick lentena hedge in full bloom, and the butterflies were playing in a small cloud over the blossoms. close to them a few mynas squabbled over some fallen fruit, and a gray squirrel scuttled past their feet up the trunk of the banyan, and chattered shrilly at them from its branches. the widow sank into the seat with a comfortable purr, and began tracing imaginary diagrams with the end of her parasol among the fallen leaves at her feet. galbraith remained standing. "won't you sit down, mr. galbraith?" and halsa pointed to the vacant space at her side. "there's room for two." "it is not very warm to-day," he said, as he accepted the invitation. "no; i think it is quite cool. look at the clouds. i shouldn't be surprised if there was rain;" and the widow looked up at the fleecy masses which had floated between the sunlight and the earth, hiding the glare and cooling the day. "yes, i think we want some rain. this is about the time it usually comes." "does it?" halsa turned her eyes straight upon galbraith as she said this and looked at him. they were very pretty eyes, very honest and true. galbraith had thought over what he meant to say, but could remember nothing. all at once a desperate courage seemed to possess him. "halsa," he said--his voice was very low and tender--"will you give me this?" he took her hand as he spoke. it lay in his unresistingly. it seemed to return his warm pressure. the widow's eyes were lowered now, and her cheeks like flame. "my dear," he said, and halsa, lifting up her face, answered, "i will." galbraith could hardly believe himself. he could almost hear the beating of his own heart as he sat with halsa lamport's hand in his. after a while she drew her hand gently away. "was it this that you meant to tell me?" she asked, and john smiled back "yes." there was another silence of a few minutes. galbraith breathed a silent prayer for the blessing which he believed had been vouchsafed to him. "lord," he murmured to himself, "i see thy work in this." "it's getting late," said halsa suddenly. "they must be back from church now, and will miss us." she rose and stood near galbraith, her dress touching him. john stood up meekly, and as he stood the widow started back with a little cry, "don't!" "don't--what?" "i--i thought----" she did not finish her sentence, for the next moment galbraith's arm was round her waist, and he drew her toward him. except his mother, he had never touched lip of woman. he kissed her gently with the tenderest possible pressure, and then he kissed her again and again, until at last halsa drew herself from his arm. "there," she said, "i think that's enough for you to-day." john wondered to himself if he could ever have enough of the nectar he had tasted. "we must really go in now," said halsa decisively. "one kiss more," he pleaded. his arm was round her waist; her lips were once more raised to his, when there was a crash in the lentena hedge, a rush of scampering feet, and a shrill voice called out: "oh my! how nice! i'm going to tell mummy." the lovers shot back from each other, and the widow bit her lips with anger. "it's that horrid little eddy bunny. he must have been watching us the whole time. i should like to shake him," and she stamped her foot. john recovered himself. "never mind, darling," he said. "eddy will only break the news for us." it was wonderful how easy it all seemed now. chapter v. mrs. bunny doubts. on sundays the carved blackwood furniture in the bunny's drawing-room emerged from its weekly suit of holland and shone resplendent in red satin upholstery. mr. bunny had exchanged his boots for a pair of list slippers, and was seated in a straight-backed chair, his spectacles pushed on to his forehead. he was a little ill-tempered at having had to take that long road home, and regretted that he had not taken out his brownberry. it was just this point, however, that he was unwilling to concede to elder bullin. in a recent argument bunny maintained that it was flying in the face of divine law to work a horse on a sunday. the elder held more practical opinions on the subject, and there had almost been an open rupture. since that time, however, bunny walked to church on the sabbath, but was beginning to regret his line of action. he was not a young man, and adipose tissue had increased with his years. it irritated him to see the elder pass him with his pair of katty-war horses. bunny had only one. the irritation he felt, however, was equalled by the sense of satisfaction that stole over the elder as he passed his opponent engaged in carrying out his convictions. there was a rustle, and mrs. bunny came into the room in her black silk dress. she was nearly fifteen years younger than her husband, a somewhat uncommon thing in the class of life to which they belonged, where husband and wife are mostly of the same age, or very near it. her active habits had, moreover, prevented her from running into flesh as most eurasian women do. she came into the room briskly, stopped, set some grass in a vase straight, and picking up the evangelical record, the organ of the methodist community, settled herself in a chair opposite bunny, after giving a satisfied glance round the room. "halsa and mr. galbraith haven't come in yet?" said bunny, a tone of inquiry in his voice. "they'll be in just now," replied his wife, unfolding the sheets of the paper and smiling to herself. she was a cunning little woman, and had long read galbraith's feelings in his eyes. "where's eddy?" asked the father. eddy was their only child, a boy about twelve years of age. "i think i'll hear him his chapter," he added. "yes--where's the boy? ed-dee!--ed-dee!" and mrs. bunny cried aloud for her offspring. there was a patter of footsteps in the hall, a rush up the passage, and eddy burst into the room. "oh, maw!" he exclaimed, "mr. galbraith is kissing aunty halsa in the garden!" "what!" shouted bunny, fairly jumping to his feet. mrs. bunny burst out laughing. "you old goose, wait till they come in, and you'll hear more." "on the lord's day, too!" said bunny, holding up his hands. "and what were you doing in the garden? have you learned your chapter?" eddy shuffled from one leg to the other. "it was very long," he protested with a whimper. "i'll long you--come with me," and bunny took eddy's right ear between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. eddy set up a dolorous howling, and mrs. bunny interposed. "remember it's sunday, tom," she said. "oh--here you are," she added, as galbraith and halsa came into the room. eddy seized his opportunity, and made a run for it. galbraith came forward at once, leading halsa by the hand. "mr. bunny," he said, "i have asked halsa to be my wife, and she has said----" "yes--i knew she would," and mrs. bunny kissed halsa, who blushed and trembled very much. mr. bunny shook hands alternately with halsa and galbraith. "i am very glad," he said. "i didn't think of this; but i am very glad." after a while galbraith left. it was agreed that the engagement should be given out at the next meeting of the council of the tabernacle, which was to be held in a few days. "but eddy knows all about it," said mrs. bunny, and halsa blushed furiously, while galbraith looked helplessly around. "i don't think eddy will say much after i have spoken to him," said bunny; "and, galbraith, don't forget that you dine here to-night." they all walked home after the evening service, and dined quietly and happily together. when the time came for galbraith to go, halsa walked with him to the gate. they lingered for a moment there together. "good-night, john." she raised her face to his, and he kissed her softly. "you do not regret?" asked galbraith, and for answer halsa kissed him of her own accord. he turned at last, and vanished into the gloom. that night when they retired to rest, and bunny and his wife had read a chapter of the big leather-covered bible, which lay on a small table in their bedroom, mrs. bunny turned to her husband. "tom," she said, "what if all this should end badly? i am frightened now." "why should it end badly?" and bunny wiped his spectacles carefully and folded them into their case. "i am afraid now--i don't know why. why don't you tell me all about halsa? you never have." "there's not much to tell. you knew stephen lamport, my cousin, when he married halsa six years ago, and we went on board the petrel and met them. you know what a scoundrel stephen was. he led her an awful life for six years, and then deserted her before that last voyage of his to the mauritius, when the mahi went down with all on board. lamport was a big blackguard, but he is dead now." "what if stephen is not dead?" "not dead--that's nonsense. but it's half-past ten, and i'm going to bed." nevertheless maggie bunny lay awake late that night. what if stephen lamport should not be dead? she kept ever thinking to herself. at last she stole out of bed and prayed in the dim light for halsa and galbraith. when she rose she felt comforted and refreshed. she stole back slowly; bunny was asleep, and she looked at his face. "he is a good man," she murmured; "but----" chapter vi. master edward bunny. mr. sarkies lived with his widowed mother and an unmarried aunt, an elderly spinster, in a small house behind that occupied by the bunnys. the family were of armenian descent, although they were unwilling to own the fact. wherever they went, however, they bore the cachet of their origin with them in their noses, the insignia of race bestowed upon them by providence. when the wave of religious enthusiasm swept over bombay it caught up among other flotsam the sarkies family. the head of the house died shortly after this event, making a most edifying end. he left a little money, and his son was educated as well as it was possible for a man of his class, and was now an assistant accountant in the great firm of apcoon brothers, and in receipt of a salary of about two hundred pounds a year. of a light, volatile character by nature, the strain of having to live under the restraints of the sect to which he belonged was sometimes too much for sarkies, and he often broke out occasionally, as on the memorable sunday when the elder fell foul of him, with disastrous results to himself. he was idolized by his mother and his aunt, and was a contributor to the poet's corner of the bombay bouncer. he had been much touched by the emotion displayed by lizzie bullin when the elder attacked him. he sat up half the night pouring his feelings into verse. he rose early, and copied the verses out neatly on a piece of bright pink baskeville paper, with a blue j. s. in rustic letters on the top. this he folded carefully in an envelope, but did not address it. "don't want rows," he said emphatically to himself. his excitement was so great that he contented himself with about one-third of his usual quantity of curry for breakfast, and, entering his buggy, a legacy from his father, in which an old flea-bitten arab worked loyally, he drove toward his place of business. "mind and come back earlee, jimmee!" screamed his aunt after him. "yes, auntee," and the buggy rattled out of the gate on to the road, a cloud of dust rising behind it. he had not gone far when he saw eddy bunny before him, walking to school, a satchel full of books swinging in his hand. a happy thought struck sarkies; eddy bunny attended the high school, where both boys and girls were taught, in different classes, however. now sarkies knew that a small sister of lizzie's was also a pupil at the school. if he could only induce eddy to give the verses to florry they would be sure to reach safely. he pulled up, therefore. "hallo, eddy!" "hallo!" shouted back the boy, making a shambling sort of salute. "want a lift?--drive you to school." "orright," and eddy climbed in. "when i grow up i'm going to get a buggy better than this." sarkies felt a little nettled, but made no reply. he hit the horse smartly, and the beast kicked up its heels, and then went on. "i say, give me the whip." "here you are; and look here, eddy, i want you to do something for me." "aw!" "do you know florry bullin?" "she's my sweetheart," replied eddy; "i'm going to marry her when i grow up." better and better, thought sarkies. "well, look here, eddy: lizzie is _my_ sweetheart, and i want to marry her." "then you are not going to marry aunty halsa? but she wouldn't marry you; she is going to marry mr. galbraith." "what!" sarkies pulled the reins in and stopped the horse. "yes. what'er you stopping for?"--chick, slish--and eddy used the whip with all his little might. "are you sure of this?" asked sarkies, as they moved on. "yes; paw said he'd lick me if i spoke about it." "well, look here, eddy; i want you to give a letter i have to lizzie; give it to florry, and tell her to give it. i will give you a ru--no, eight annas, if you do this, and mind and keep quiet about it, or i'll tell that you spoke about aunty halsa." "give me the eight annas," said eddy, stretching out his disengaged hand. they had reached the school gate by this time. "all right; get down first." eddy descended, and held out a small paw, into which sarkies dropped the coin. "quick!" said eddy, "the bell is ringing. give me the letter." sarkies handed him the note. "be careful," he said, and eddy, nodding, turned back in the direction of the school. he had not gone ten yards, however, when he stopped suddenly. "mr. sarkies!" he shouted. "what is it?" "oh! i heard paw tell maw that you are to be turned out of church--wot fun!" he turned again and ran down the road toward the school. sarkies was taken aback. he had no idea that the elder meant to carry his threat out. "damfool!" he burst out savagely and loudly, for there was no danger of being overheard. having relieved his feelings in this manner, he urged the old arab forward, and the buggy once more joggled down the road. it was not until the half-hour's recess that eddy obtained an opportunity to deliver the note. he pulled out of his satchel, which hung on a peg in the veranda of the school, a brown paper parcel containing his lunch--egg sandwiches. clutching this in one hand, he made his way to the back garden of the school, and found flora bullin there. it was their trysting place. "have a sweet?" she asked, handing him a lozenge which had become rather damp and limp in her hand. "lozengers--eh!" said eddy, and transferred the delicate morsel to his mouth. "i say," he said, "that's nice." he took a huge bite out of one of his egg sandwiches and began to speak again, with his mouth full. "i say, florry, jim sarkies is sweet on lizzie." "lizzie is a horrid cat," replied florry, as she soberly chose a sweet for herself out of a glass bottle. "she pinched me--awfool, last night, as i lay awake and listened. see there," and florry bared a small arm showing the blue marks of a finger and thumb. eddy examined it gravely. "how did you get caught?" he inquired--"laff?" "yes." "well, you are a muff. i never get caught that way." "oh, but you're a boy!" "yes; when i'm a man i'm going to marry you--do you hear that?" florry nodded. "all right," she said. "what did jimmee say about lizzie?" "oh! he gave me--a--hm--no--he gave me a letter for lizzie, and i promised to give it to you to give to her, y'know." "where's the letter?--give it to me." eddy pulled out of his pocket the envelope, now soiled and grimy from contact with a peg-top, a bit of native sweetmeat, and the leather pouch of his catapult. "here 'tis," he said; "you'll give it to lizzie?" florry took the letter carefully. "it's very dirty," she said, as she slipped it into her pocket. there was a silence of about a minute, during which time eddy finished the remainder of his sandwiches. "well," he said, "i'm off to bowl a little; you girls are no use--can't do anything." "stop a minute, eddy. lizzie _is_ a cat. she don't like you neither. wouldn't it be fun to give this letter to paw?" "urn," reflected eddy, "lizzie pinched you. i won't have anybody pinching you, y'know. i'm going to marry you when i grow up. serve jimmy sarkies right, too," he added, suddenly brightening up--"awful sneak. yes, leave it on your paw's table, and say nothing. i'm off now, only ten minutes left." "look here, eddy." "oh, bother! what's it now?" "only this. i might like to marry some one else, you know, when i grow up. ta--ta." she blew a kiss at him, and was gone. eddy thrust his hands into his pockets and looked moodily after her. suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. "it's billy bunder," he said, striking his clenched fist into his open palm--"only wait till i catch him----" clang, clang, went the school bell. the recess was over. chapter vii. dungaree's belt. digby street, so named after a former governor of the presidency, is not more than three miles from the tabernacle. probably in no part of the world does vice cover itself with so hideous a garb as here. an atmosphere of evil hangs over the dingy houses, packed closely to each other, whose inhabitants follow nameless occupations. when the night comes the street lamps shine on strange scenes. in the day all is silent as the grave. at the corner of the street is a small house. a faded sign-board, with the words "hotel metropole" in yellow letters on a blue field, explains its character. the landlord is a parsee, or fire-worshipper, who has added an english word to his eastern name, and is known to his customers, and to the police, as kavasji pain-killer. mine host stands at the open entrance to his house. a misshapen figure, with dull eyes and bloated features, he reminds one of the strange bird-eating spiders of the forests of the east and west indies. as this man gazes aimlessly down the road, he sees a few dim figures flitting in front of him. they move on rapidly for a few yards and stop. suddenly there is a flash of light above them, and as each street lamp is lit, a small halo is formed in the evil night haze now beginning to envelop the street. it is not yet time, however, for the inhabitants to awaken from their drunken slumbers. it is later on that the lost legion rises. as the figures disappeared from view the landlord turned slowly and moved into the bar-room, where there was a thick odour of stale liquor and staler tobacco. the room was empty, save for the figure of a man lying asleep at a small marble-topped table, his head resting on his arms. from a smaller room beyond, the door of which was closed, came the sound of voices, and now and then an oath, or a hoarse laugh. kavasji made a movement as if to approach the door, but changing his mind passed behind the bar, and settling himself into a cane chair, dozed off comfortably. in the meantime the conversation in the next room grew louder, and apparently more mirthful. there were two men there, sitting at a table, over which a well-thumbed pack of cards was scattered in some confusion. the room was littered with the _débris_ from empty pipes and the remains of half-burnt matches. a reflecting lamp, glaring from the wall, exactly opposite the door, threw out the figures in strong relief. "and so, messmate, i scooped in the dust--every dollar of it." and the speaker, a tall, powerful man, whose shirt-sleeves, pulled up to the elbow, showed the tattoo marks on his arms, brought his fists on the table with a crash that made the glasses clink. "it was hellish cute," said his companion, as he leaned back and laughed heartily, showing an even row of strong white teeth through the masses of red hair with which the lower portion of his face was covered. "i don't know a man, dungaree," he added, "who could have done it save yourself." the giant grinned in response to the compliment, and, pulling out a jack-knife, began to pare some tobacco from a twist lying on the table beside him. "that," said he, nodding his head at the knife as he finished the operation, "was the tickler." "rayther light for the work," said the red-haired man, as he picked the knife up and poised it in his hand. "there's the weight behind it," answered dungaree bill, puffing away at his short pipe. "true, but i prefer a brace and bit. i did something like that myself, 'bout--let me see--six years ago, i think; but it don't matter. whole shipload went down. no time to lower boats, except captain's gig. lord, how i did laugh! you know the old trick--_sabe?_" "and blowed the oof after," laughed his companion. "not much," was the reply. "some shad-belly of a lawyer began to ask questions--curse him!--and the work--well done, too--went for nothing." "and you?" "went under." "and serve you right for a chowder-headed clam. i was wise enough to take my share in advance--and stick to it, too." the giant tapped his hand over his waist as he spoke, and reaching for the bottle began to pour out another drink for himself. "god's curse," said he, "there's nothing in here." the red-haired man's small eyes were twinkling under the skull-cap pulled well over his brows. "i'll play you for another," he said. "done with you; but let us have the drink first." "all right; what shall it be?" "monkeys," replied dungaree, "and let their tails be curled. after this i'm off--we sail with the tide." the red-haired man rose from his chair, and, opening the door, passed into the bar-room. a hanging lamp was burning in the centre, and kavasji slept peacefully. walking with a slightly unsteady gait he reached the bar, and, leaning with both hands on it, shouted out: "two monkeys; and mind you, kavasji, lift up your elbow." kavasji scrambled from his chair, and, placing two tumblers on the table, half filled them with rum. he then turned to a rack where there were a number of bottles of aerated water. as his back was turned the man at the bar pulled out a small phial containing a colourless liquid, and emptied it into one of the tumblers. he had just time to replace the phial in his pocket when kavasji turned and filled the glasses with what he called tonic water. "that'll do, sonny," said the red-haired man, placing some silver coins with a smart click on the bar. "this settles the shot," and seizing a glass in each hand he lurched forward to rejoin his friend. kavasji tested the coins carefully with his teeth and rang them on a table. then opening a drawer, he shut them up with sundry companions. the man sleeping at the table rose, and, after staring vacantly about him for a moment, walked out slowly into the street. as his friend entered the room dungaree bill took one of the "monkeys" from his outstretched hand. they, clinked the glasses together above and below. "here's luck," said bill. the other nodded, and they drained the glasses. "tails curly enough?" asked the red-haired man. "i guess so," said dungaree, wiping his mouth with the back of his hairy hand. "and now," said he, "for the game." they arranged the cards; dungaree cut, and the red-haired man dealt. after a few rounds the effect of the drug began to tell. the giant's head sank upon his breast, and the little man's eyes twinkled with a vicious glee. "wake up, dungaree," he said; "you're asleep, man." "by god," said the other, "you've----" his head dropped once more, and the long, powerful arms hung listlessly by his side. the red-haired man had started from his seat at dungaree's words, and in his hand held an open knife, which he had drawn like lightning. he heaved a sigh of relief as he saw dungaree's head sink back. then rapidly approaching him, he rifled him with a practised hand. he undid the canvas belt from his waist, and felt it heavy as he raised it and transferred it to his own person. he then moved toward the door, but a sudden thought struck him, and he returned. he took up dungaree's knife from the table. "might as well ease him of this," he said; "he will do somebody a hurt when he awakens." opening the door, he stepped into the barroom, and, reeling up to a table near the door, called for another drink. kavasji once more turned his back, and with the noiseless rapidity of a cat the robber vanished into the street, which was already beginning to awaken. he dashed down a small alley, and only stopped after he had run for about half an hour. "i guess," said he, "steve lamport, you are born again." then turning down a broad street, he walked slowly forward in the direction of the nearest railway station. chapter viii. cast out from the fold. a council, of which galbraith was _ex-officio_ president, controlled the affairs of the tabernacle, and adjudicated on all offences committed by members of the congregation against the rules of the body. as far as he was able the pastor tempered the decrees of the council with mercy, and there was yet another thing which made this body weak in comparison with similar institutions in the west. this was the natural shallowness of the east indian, and his inability to feel or think deeply. in this manner the gloomy tenets of a religious sect, which called themselves the elect of heaven, and condemned all others to eternal torment, were softened. the instances were rare in which those terrible mental struggles so often described in the annals of methodism took place. at the same time the belief in the direct interposition of the creator in the smallest matters was intensified almost beyond imagination, and meanings were often assigned to the most ordinary actions of everyday life which, if they were not sad, would be laughable to contemplate. galbraith was an unconscious doubter, and he was perhaps the only man there whose faith, unknown to himself, was tottering on its foundations. in a dim sort of way he was conscious that there was something wrong with himself, and the impulse to throw off the chains of the cheerless belief to which he was bound was at times almost greater than he could endure. it was his hourly duty to exhort his flock to find christ. many of them asserted that they had made the discovery, and looked with complacent satisfaction on the certainty of future salvation. but while john galbraith was raising his voice and preaching to his people, there was that within him that told him that he himself was unable to find the haven of rest, and a longing for a warmer belief, one full of love and charity, would come upon him. * * * * * elder bullin, arrayed in a solemn suit of black, stood, hat in hand, at his doorstep. his brownberry was ready, the lamps flashing brightly in the darkness of the evening. it was the date of the monthly meeting of the tabernacle, and the elder was determined to put mr. sarkies out of the fold, that "tainted wether," whose further touch was contamination. his daughters stood beside him to see him off, and the elder, rapping his stick on the fibre matting, impressed upon the girls the necessity for holding godly communion among themselves during his absence. his speech was interrupted by the fact that in slipping his hand into his waistcoat pocket, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten his spectacles. hastily stopping his discourse, he walked back to his room, and found the brown leather case lying on a square envelope on his writing-table. he picked up the case, and, pulling out the glasses, fixed them carefully over his eyes. he then picked up the envelope. it was not addressed, but carefully sealed. he rubbed it between his finger and thumb. there was evidently something inside it. the bright pink colour aroused his suspicions. "the livery of the scarlet woman," he said, as he tore it open. as he read, the expression of his countenance changed from profound astonishment to anger, and then to utter contempt. "verses--poetry--satan hath lain in wait for this unhappy young man, and his portion shall be of the wrath to come--verses--and to me--pah!" he recognised the writing and the monogram, and was self-complacent enough to imagine that the verses were addressed to him. when he returned to the hall his daughters were still dutifully waiting there. he said no word to them, however, but, entering his carriage, closed the door after him with a bang, and was rapidly driven off. the meeting was to be held in the church, and all the members of the council were already expecting the elder. on his arrival there was a solemn scene of handshaking all round, and then the pastor opened the meeting with a short but fervent prayer. at the conclusion of this, a decorous time was allowed for the members to recover a sitting posture, and mr. bunny, rising, begged permission to address the assembly. in a few words he explained that it was above all things desirable that their pastor should be a married man, and went on to say that the lord had worked this out in his own manner, so that the spirit had moved galbraith to seek the hand of their beloved sister, halsa lamport, in marriage, and that it was proposed to celebrate the ceremony with all the speed consistent with good taste. mr. bunny trusted that the assemblage would rejoice with their beloved guide in his choice. it was scarcely possible to do otherwise than congratulate galbraith, and the council did so, but in a half-hearted fashion that showed they doubted his wisdom. elder bullin alone raised his voice in protest. "she walks forth decked in gay colours that are not of the lord's," he said, "and has not found the perfect peace. far be it for me to interfere in this matter, but my conscience"--here he smote his breast with his hand--"tells me that it would have been wiser----" mr. bunny started up, but galbraith laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "gently, brother," he said; "let the elder say his say." but the murmur of discontent that arose told the elder he had gone far enough. "i will say no more on this point," he said; "but as i am now addressing the meeting, desire to bring to its notice the scandalous conduct of our brother, james sarkies, who, on the sabbath before last, profaned the lord's day by cursing within the precincts of the temple. of what avail is it that such should be of our fold--better is it that we cast out the offending member. does not the scripture say, 'if thine eye offend thee, cast it out'?" "the scripture also says, 'judge not, that ye be not judged,'" replied galbraith. elder bullin lifted his eyes in smug satisfaction to the ceiling. "i," he said, somewhat irrelevantly, "am sure of my salvation; are you of yours? do you know where your footsteps lead you? mine lead me to the golden gates." at that moment the desire to say that he was walking blindly, and needed light more than any there, swept over galbraith. he controlled himself with an effort, however, and sat still, leaning lightly on the table with his elbow. "and furthermore," went on the elder, "the misguided youth has so far lost his respect for age that he has addressed me for forgiveness in poetry, and mocked me before my face." he laid the offending verses on the table as he spoke. "this is his writing," he said; "those who wish may read it." mr. bunny stretched forth his hand and handed the paper to the pastor. galbraith read it with an amusement he could not conceal. "i think, elder," he said, "this was not meant for you." bullin fairly gurgled with rage. "i will read it aloud," he said, "and let the council judge." the paper trembled in his hand as he spoke, and it was with a voice quivering with anger that he read the unfortunate sarkies's production. almost as the first verse was begun, however, a smile appeared on the faces of the members in assembly, and as the elder went on they burst out into uncontrollable mirth. bullin dashed the paper on the table, and made as if he were about to leave the meeting. "i will depart," said he; "the devil has possessed you that you laugh at the mockery to my gray hairs." he had reached the door before restraining hands seized him, and he was brought back with many apologies. notwithstanding their amusement, the council were resolved to make an example of sarkies. galbraith, however, made an effort in his defence. he hoped, he said, to bring the erring youth back to better ways. but notwithstanding all his persuasions, he was outvoted in this instance, even bunny taking the elder's side, and the expulsion of sarkies was decided on. bullin was not inclined to let the grass grow under his feet. the formal letter was then and there written, signed by all the members, and handed to the clerk for despatch. it was now deemed advisable to bring the sitting to a close, and this was done with the same formal ceremony of prayer which opened it. the members now dispersed, the elder showing his gratitude for bunny's support by insisting on driving him home. chapter ix. at the divan exchange. when the news that sarkies was cast out of the bosom of the church reached the family, there was at first consternation and despair. but pride came to their rescue. "i don't care," said jimmy; and the mother and the aunt, tossing their heads, echoed his sentiments. mrs. sarkies returned a small box full of woolwork, the shop of the dorcas society, with a stinging note to mrs. bunny, in which she accused that innocent woman of having conspired to bring about the annoyance to which they were subjected. mrs. sarkies was convinced that it was solely through mrs. bunny's desire to have charge of the work of the dorcas society that all this had happened. the next sunday the whole sarkies family drove slowly past the tabernacle in a hired phaeton just as the congregation were coming out after service, and cut every member dead. it was glorious. they came back to their midday meal feeling a calm satisfaction at having revenged a great wrong. there was much discussion as to whether the family should join the congregation of the established church, or take the bolder step of going over to rome--the latter for preference, as it would fairly spite their enemies. the question, however, was for the present left in abeyance, and until it was settled they decided not to go to any church at all. mr. sarkies himself felt a load lifted from his mind at this decision. he determined not to let his love affair rest, and, notwithstanding every precaution, managed to obtain an interview with lizzie, by the simple process of clambering up the trunk of a cocoanut palm which leaned against the high wall surrounding the elder's garden. mr. sarkies climbed up sufficiently high to overlook the wall, and lizzie stood on the ground below him. the glass-covered wall was, however, between them. the position was not dignified, nor was it exactly comfortable, and mr. sarkies dreaded the general publicity of the whole scene. still, however, he came to a satisfactory understanding with lizzie. when she finally turned and vanished amid the trees, her white dress flitting through the open spaces in a ghostly manner, sarkies came down with a sigh of relief, and, arranging his somewhat disordered dress, walked slowly toward a cab-stand. hailing a buggy, and jingling some coin in his pocket, he jumped in and drove rapidly toward the fort. he had mentally determined to celebrate his success by having an evening at the divan exchange, a saloon kept by an enterprising american, who concocted wondrous drinks, where the billiard-table was good, and the ice-creams marvellous. there was quite a crowd of cabs collected at the door, and the place was full when sarkies entered it. over the bar was a huge transparency representing the face of a clock, with the legend "no tick here" inscribed in large capitals on its face--a motto often full of sore disappointment to the customers. immediately below this stood colonel william p. tamblyn, the proprietor, watching the practised hand of his tapsters as they poured forth monkeys, dogs' noses, eye openers, maiden's blushes, and other drinks whose name is legion. from the rooms above came the click of billiard balls, and the monotonous call of the marker--"fiftee--fiftee-two--good game, sar!" little marble-topped tables were scattered about, and from a daïs in the corner half a dozen musicians regaled the company with a choice selection of airs, from the "blue danube" to "yankee doodle." the music was almost drowned in the buzz of voices. all nationalities except china were represented here. colonel tamblyn announced that he drew the line there, and a flaring poster both outside and inside announced that "chinamen and soldiers in uniform are not admitted." sarkies obtained a suitable drink; he chose that pink compound of rum, mint, crushed ice, and peach brandy which rejoices in the name of maiden's blush, and bore it away with him to the billiard-room upstairs. the tables were full, and sarkies, making himself comfortable on a bench, waited for his turn to come. beside him sat a neat-looking man, clean-shaven, with red hair and small black bead eyes. his blue coat with brass anchor buttons explained his calling. his ducks were spotlessly white, and the pipe-clay on his canvas shoes evidently just dry. "may i trouble you for a light?" said the man. "certainly;" and sarkies handed him a small plated box containing wax vestas. the stranger lit a cheroot, and, returning the box, inquired, "come here often?" "ya'as--sometimes," and sarkies took a pull at his drink. "this is about the first time i've been here; my ship has only just come in. pleasant place this." and the stranger watched the end of his cheroot keenly to see that it was burning properly. "have a game after this?" asked sarkies, and the stranger agreed. they were able to get a table, and a small bet was made on the game, which sarkies, much to his delight, won. the stranger paid up, and as he did so he remarked: "you play a very good game--may i ask your name?" "oh, sarkies--i'm in apcoon brothers." "the great shipping agents--delighted to meet you--allow me to present my card to you," and mr. sarkies's new acquaintance drew a card from a new leather case and handed it to him. sarkies regretted within himself that he had not brought a card-case with him, and determined in future never to be without one. he bowed politely over the outstretched hand of his companion, and took the card between his fingers; as he glanced at it an expression of surprise came over his face. "captain s. lamport, merchant marine," he said aloud. "this is strange." a shadow passed over his companion's face. "i don't see anything strange in my name," he said a little sternly. sarkies looked at him; there was an ugly scowl on his face, and the armenian felt a little alarmed. "not that, captain," he said; "only i know a person named lamport--and she is--i mean she is a widow, and is going to be married." the stranger's brow cleared. "let us sit down for a bit," he said. "i am much interested--and, sir, may i ask are you the happy man?" "oh, no--the padre of our--i mean the methodist church--a mr. galbraith." "um! i see," mused captain lamport; "lots of money--eh!" "i expect so." and then with a knowing smile sarkies added, "the padre has the church funds, y'know." "he! he!" laughed the captain, and poked sarkies in the ribs; "sly dog--you're a deep one, you are." mr. sarkies, much flattered by the compliment, proposed a drink, and the captain assented. in answer to his host's request to "name the poison," the captain suggested monkeys, and the monkeys were brought. then there was more billiards and more betting, then a little rest and more monkeys, then monkeys, billiards, and betting combined, and finally mr. sarkies knew no more. when he awoke again the stars were shining palely above him, and there was a faint flush in the east. his hands were resting on something damp on each side of him; he looked, and realized that he was on the open plain in front of the fort. instinctively he felt for his watch chain. it was gone. mr. sarkies rose to his feet, and the horizon swam before him. he placed his hand to his burning head, and staggered rather than walked toward the road. a late cab passed. into this he entered and drove home. chapter x. exit manuel. during the last few days there had been great changes in the interior of the manse. the worn-out matting was renewed, and the squatter spider expelled from the corner where he had long revelled in security. the tumble-down sofa was condemned, and a comfortable lounge took its place. everywhere there was a look of freshness. all day long there was the sound of hammering and cleaning up. halsa and mrs. bunny personally superintended the reformation. galbraith was willing enough to help, but he had no "hands," and was therefore relegated to his study. but with manuel it was different. for the first time in his life manuel realized what work was, and he was profoundly convinced that he and true labour would never agree. it was not enough that he had been called upon to clean and scrub, to hew wood and draw water, but insult was added to injury by mrs. bunny inquiring into the arrangements of the _menage_. "two bags of sugar a month!" said that excellent woman, holding up her hands in despair; "why, if it were all used, the man must be a lollipop shop inside." "who keeps the keys?" asked halsa. she was halfway up a ladder, a small hammer in her hand. manuel stood at the foot of the ladder holding it firmly with one hand, so that it should not slip, while with the other he held out at arm's length a plate full of tin tacks. the position was strained and unpleasant. "who keeps the keys? oh!" she shrieked, "how sharp those nails are!" and she drew back her fingers smartly and began to examine their tips. to one of them a tack was clinging. halsa hastily descended, and mrs. bunny removed the offending tack. it left a small blue mark on the finger tip. in the meanwhile manuel remained silent. he had no intention of replying to the question, and his yellow eyes glistened with pleasure at the little accident, which had apparently called away attention from an embarrassing inquiry. but manuel was mistaken, for when halsa had examined the mark for a moment, and was satisfied that it was only a prick, she returned again to the charge and repeated her question. "i keep keys," replied manuel sulkily. "i told you so, halsa," said mrs. bunny, waving a damp duster in the air. mrs. bunny had not mentioned the fact, but it was a little weakness of hers to refer to former prophecies after a thing had happened. "never mind," halsa said, "you couldn't expect john to look after these things." there was a sense of proprietorship in her tone that was delightful to galbraith, who had come in to see how things were going on, and had been an unobserved witness of the scene. halsa was looking very pretty. her arms were bare up to the elbows, and there was a bright flush on her cheeks. the brown hair, usually neatly braided, had become a little disarranged, and curled in an unruly manner over her forehead. mrs. bunny suddenly remembered that there was something to do in the study, and manuel, ever watchful for an opportunity to escape, laid down the plate of tacks and vanished noiselessly. galbraith glanced round him, and then his arm stole forth. halsa avoided the caress by stepping back, and asked him how he thought the room looked. "i never thought it could look so well," he replied, and he spoke truly. the magic of feminine hands had changed the cheerless-looking room into a bright, cosy chamber. it was not that the things were valuable; fifty pounds might have covered the cost of everything, except the american harmonium, which stood where the fireplace ought to have been. all the effect lay in the nameless power of arrangement which only a woman possesses--a touch here--a touch there--and the thing is done. "i am glad you like it," said halsa, as she stepped nearer to galbraith. "see how i've hurt my finger;" and she held the wounded member up for inspection. john took the small hand in his, and looked at the blue mark on her finger tip. it was hardly perceptible. the shadow of a smile flickered across his face as he kissed the little fingers tenderly, and then, drawing halsa closer to him, kissed her once more on the lips--she nothing resisting now. mrs. bunny's discreet cough in the next room warned them of her impending return, and when the good lady came in halsa had once more mounted the ladder. when she had finished her work she came down, and they all took a final survey of their labour, and were pleased by it. then manuel was recalled from the back of the house, where he was employed in solacing his feelings with a native cigarette, and cursing his existence in the _patois_ of goa. a few orders were given to him with regard to clearing up some _débris_, and then the party, including galbraith, went into the hall, where the ladies put on their hats, and, escorted by the pastor, returned home. the whole home party of the bunnys, except eddy, were to dine at the manse that night with galbraith, and he was nervously anxious about the success of the entertainment. manuel watched them as they went down the road. he shook his fist after the retreating figures. "oh, yes!" he said, "manuel this and manuel that--manuel light fire--light lamps--clean house--make fuss-class dinner--sancta maria! what manuel not do!--iyoo!" he crossed himself fervently, and went on--"missus come--missus want keep keys--manuel not a dog--jesu!" he exclaimed, "there is that accursed goat among the new flowers." he hastened out of the door, drove the milch goat to the back of the house, and fastened her up securely. then, coming back, he conscientiously carried out the final instructions given him--picking up the litter of cotton and tags of hangings which lay on the floor, and when this was over made his way to the kitchen, where he exercised all his skill in superintending the preparation of a "fuss-class dinner." two things were a matter of regret to him: one that he was not sufficiently skilled to write out a _menu_ card, but this he hoped to arrange with the assistance of pedro pinto's son, who attended the school attached to the monastery of st. vincent de paul; the other was that there were to be no wines, for both host and guests were teetotallers, and the drinking of wine or spirits in any form, unless medicinally prescribed, was regarded as a deadly sin. galbraith came out of his study a little before dinner-time to see how things were. manuel was not there, and it seemed as if some unseen hand had set the table, had arranged that oddly pretty pattern of leaves on the snowy table-cloth, and placed that bouquet of fresh fuchsias beside the plate where halsa was to sit. galbraith himself looked years younger. he glanced about him with a satisfied air, and then going back into his study, waited impatiently for the sound of wheels to tell him that his guests had come. punctual to the moment mr. bunny's brownberry came up. galbraith stepped up to the door of the carriage, and helped out mrs. bunny and halsa, the latter giving his hand a little squeeze. mr. bunny emerged last of all, a pile of wraps on his arm, and, after directing the coachman to return at precisely ten o'clock, followed his wife and halsa lamport into the house. they all assembled in the cosy little parlour, and in a few minutes manuel came in. he whispered something to galbraith, and then slipped out again. he had conveyed thus mysteriously the announcement that dinner was ready. they all went in without any ceremony; the ladies first, the men behind. grace was, of course, said, but galbraith took care that it should not be unnecessarily long. the dinner was excellent, and full justice was done to the meal. manuel attempted to make up for the want of a written _menu_, that picaroon boy of pinto's not having come to write it as arranged, by calling out the names of the dishes. "krab cutlit, sar," he said, as he thrust the delicacy before mr. bunny. "prong curry, madam--berry good," and he held the dish for mrs. bunny. galbraith, however, interfered, much to manuel's disappointment. he made up, however, for this by the air with which he filled the tumblers with water--the grand butler serving louis quatorze could not have done it with a better manner. at last it was all over; mr. bunny ate his last walnut, and washed it with a better manner. at last it was all and played patience; then there was a little talking, and precisely at ten the carriage came. mr. bunny could not be induced to stay a moment later. there was much hand-shaking, and a kiss for halsa, soberly given in the bunnys' presence by galbraith, and received by the widow with becoming modesty. when they had gone galbraith lit a pipe, and, opening an old volume of ingram, set himself out for an hour's read. he was interrupted by a cough, and, looking up, saw manuel in front of him. manuel shifted a clean white napkin from one hand to another, and asked, "dinner good, sar----yyerything praper?" "yes, indeed, manuel; i am very much pleased with you." "thank you, sar," and manuel bowed; "but, sar, i come for leave." "leave, manuel?--do you mean to say you want to go?" "yessar--missus come, and yverything spile--missus keep keys--missus take account--missus measure out sugar--tea--work too much. my mother also dead in goa, and i want leave." galbraith looked at him. "but i will increase your pay." "no, sar; all pay same like to manuel when in service, but when missus come--i no stay. my mother berry ill." galbraith smiled. "i thought your mother was dead," he said; "but it does not matter, you can go." manuel bowed again, and retired. chapter xi. the happy pair. the combined news that sarkies was expelled from the fold and that their pastor was, almost at once, to marry the pretty widow, became the property of the congregation the day after the meeting. in family conclaves sarkies was regarded as doomed to eternal perdition, and heads were gravely shaken over galbraith's choice. still, he commanded their respect, and his influence was strong--so strong that elder bullin found he was unable to get supporters to move a resolution condemning the pastor's choice, and calling upon him to give up the care of his flock. mr. bullin urged that this was vitally necessary for the well-being of the community, but the severity of his action against sarkies frightened some, mr. bunny's influence prevailed over others, and the general liking for galbraith was so great that his flock began in a few days to extend a portion of their regard for him to his intended wife. the elder therefore failed, but his voice did not remain unheard both in public and in private. this, however, unconsciously helped to assist galbraith's cause, as the elder was more feared than loved, and the people he was dealing with wanted real courage of purpose. even if their objections had taken head, the agitation would have been confined to private whisperings and perhaps a solemnly worded letter to the bombay bouncer. at length the day came for the marriage, and the ceremony was performed in the tabernacle by the pastor of another congregation, an out-station resident, who came in specially for the purpose. the elder refused to attend, and forbade his daughters going; but this was a sight not to be missed, and both lizzie and laura were there. it is some consolation to know that their father did not discover this. with the exception of mr. bullin, however, every member of the congregation was present. even mr. sarkies waited patiently at the chapel entrance, and as he stood he saw a neatly-dressed man step out of a hired buggy and pass into the church. when the bride came sarkies slipped into the church unobserved and witnessed the whole ceremony. he was able also to recognise in the neatly-dressed man the affable stranger of the divan exchange. the bride, however, claimed his attention, and his friend was forgotten as he looked at her. very pretty looked halsa in her dark-gray dress, with hat to match, and when the words were spoken which made her john galbraith's wife, the whole party adjourned to mr. bunny's, all but sarkies the outcast and the neat-looking stranger, who passed him unobserved, and, getting into his buggy, drove away rapidly. at mr. bunny's all was very gay. as a special occasion glasses of ginger wine were served round with the cake, and the bride's health drunk amid much applause. with hearts warmed by the cordial, these emotional people felt that halsa galbraith was now one of them, and they one and all shook hands with her heartily. as the time approached for the happy couple to depart on their short honeymoon, order was called, and the guests, having arranged themselves soberly, listened to an exhortation from the rev. samuel boase, the clergyman who officiated at the marriage. the worthy man discoursed at some length on the holiness of the institution, and it was only the sound of carriage wheels, as they grated away from the portico, that aroused him to the fact that the newly-wedded pair had slipped away unobserved. hastily concluding his speech, the reverend gentleman included his amen in a rush for the bag of rice, and, seizing a handful, attempted to pursue the carriage, followed by all the guests. they were too late, however, and all came in hot, breathless, and a little disappointed. eddy bunny alone was satisfied. armed with an old shoe, he had concealed himself in the shrubbery, and as the carriage drove by he aimed this at galbraith with a precision acquired by long practice with the catapult. it was some little time before the victim recovered from the shock, and when he did the carriage was well on its way toward the railway station. the honeymoon lasted barely a fortnight, for two reasons, one being that the rev. samuel boase was unable to take galbraith's work for more than that period, and the other the important factor of expense. back they came, then, from a short trip to the hills near bombay. it was the first real holiday galbraith had ever enjoyed. the long day's dream under the trees, the gathering of ferns in some secluded glen, the rest, and, above all, the dear companionship he had, combined to make it very sweet. galbraith told his wife of the mental struggle he was perpetually undergoing, and received much help from her clear common sense and healthful sympathy. she in her turn gave him no half-confidence, but told him honestly the story of her life. she touched as lightly as possible on her former husband's ill-treatment of her, on his cruelty and neglect, for the man was dead. she told him how, two years back, the mahi sailed from cochin for the mauritius, and from that time was heard of no more, until a solitary survivor came back with a dreadful tale of the sea. he told how the ship had been scuttled, how all the boats were rendered useless except one, into which the captain and two others escaped. clinging to a spar himself, he had seen a great green wave swamp the boat, and then for him came three days of hideous agony, and at last rescue. of the death of her husband no doubt ever crossed halsa's mind. she had seen the newspaper reports of the inquiry into the disaster, and had interviewed the rescued man. she opened a school at cochin, and was enabled to keep her head above water with this, and with the proceeds of flower-painting, in which she had some proficiency. then came a fortunate legacy of some four hundred pounds, and she consulted mr. bunny, a cousin of her husband, on business matters connected with this. the bunnys had repeatedly asked her before to make her home with them, and they renewed this invitation now in so kind a manner that halsa accepted. it was an invitation to stay until she could obtain some suitable employment; but a year passed--"and you found the employment," said galbraith; "you have to take care of me now." and halsa smiled at him from under her dark eye-lashes in reply. back they came, then, and even elder bullin was there to receive them. "let bygones be bygones, elder," said the pastor, as he shook the stiff fingers the old man held out. bullin mumbled something which no one heard, but all believed that a reconciliation had taken place. halsa entered heartily into her husband's work. she discarded the high straw hats, the red ribbons, and fluttering white raiment, and the only trace of her former somewhat coquettish taste in dress was now in the exceeding neatness of her sober-coloured garments. she was quick and clever at figures, and galbraith willingly relinquished to her the charge of keeping the accounts of the tabernacle funds. she wore the key of the cash-box in a chain suspended round her neck; and at the monthly audit elder bullin confessed that never had the cash-book been so neat or so well kept. "i do believe the old man is getting fond of me," said halsa, as she stood by her husband and watched the elder as he slowly walked up the garden toward the gate, his big umbrella spread over him. and galbraith, being in love, did what was expected of him. now all this time a nameless horror was approaching nearer and nearer. chapter xii. the devil at work. a dull, miserable evening, gray clouds, drizzling rain, and a damp heat. the loud blast of the conch horn from the jain temple echoed in the heavy air. the sound made the window panes in the study of the manse rattle, and roused halsa from her book. john had gone that day some miles away to attend a meeting of pastors, and was not to be home until late. his wife dined alone, and sat up in the study waiting for him. as the prolonged notes of the horn reached her, halsa put down her book and held her hands to her ears. when the sound died away she felt that, for the present, further reading was impossible, and glanced at the clock which ticked in a dreary manner from the wall. it was nearly nine. she rose from her seat, and, after pacing the room for a few moments, stood before the window listening to the soft patter of the rain. the sudden crunching of the gravel outside under a firm tread roused her from the half-dreamy state into which she had fallen. the footsteps were strangely familiar--yet not galbraith's--still, it could be no one else. in a moment she was in the passage and at the front door. she opened this with a little cry of welcome. "i am so glad you have come," and then she started back with a faint shriek, for the man who stepped into the passage and removed his dripping hat, diffusing a stale odour of damp clothes and liquor as he came in, was not john galbraith, but stephen lamport. there was no mistaking him as he stood there, leaning somewhat unsteadily on a stout cane, the light from a wall lamp shining full on his face, the face she knew so well, and whose memory brought up days of horror before her. there he was, his small beadlike eyes shining brightly, and his red hair glistening. "well," he said shortly, "so you're glad to see me--sure there is no mistake?" halsa made no reply. she leaned against the wall, one hand held tightly over her heart; her face was white as death, and her lips moved tremulously as if trying to frame a sentence. "well, mrs. lamport," continued her husband, "i happened to find out that he"--he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and halsa shuddered--"is on the preach, and i thought i should come and look you up for old sake's sake, more especially as i have some business with you, and i should like to settle this at once." he stretched out his hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder. the touch seemed to rouse her to fury. she sprang forward and seized the collar of his coat with both hands. "yes," she said, "you have business with me. well, then, come here--quick!" she pushed rather than led him into the study, and, closing the door, stood before him with clenched hands. "now," she said in a breath, "what do you want? i suppose that story of your death was one of your trumped-up _lies?_" lamport laughed a little. "one question at a time. the story was not a trumped-up lie, though i suppose you are sorry it was not the truth. i ought to have died, but i was spared for you, don't you see? i haven't got time to waste telling you all about it; here i am, and what i want is--money." "of course," replied halsa; "did you ever want anything else?" "not much, except to be even with you--and i have been even with you and your psalm-singing parson. i found out some time ago that you were here, and about to change your weeds, and i gave myself the pleasure of attending your wedding as an uninvited guest." "oh, god, have you no mercy?" moaned his victim. "you'd better ask god to give you the dollars--you'll want them badly, if i mistake not," said lamport as he seated himself in a chair. "how much do you want?" asked halsa in a faint voice. what she desired was to gain a little time. all this had happened with such awful suddenness. if she could persuade this man to go away with all she had, even for a day, she could decide on some course of action. at present, beyond the one idea of getting rid of lamport, nothing else crossed her mind. "oh, a thousand will see me!" said lamport. "i suppose you can give me a hundred now--take it out of the poor-box--and the rest i must have in three days, or i blow the whole gaff. i will tell you where to send it." halsa stood before him lacing and interlacing her fingers. while lamport was speaking she was thinking: money--there was no use in giving this man money, even if she could lay her hands on the impossible sum he named. she had never deceived john; she would not do so now, come what may. she was a brave woman, and rose to her trouble. "stephen lamport," she said slowly, "listen to me: you shall not have one penny from me--you can do your worst. god will help me." lamport looked at her in amazement. "you damned fool!" he said; "do you know what the consequences of this will be?" "go!" said his wife, pointing to the door; "i shall tell john galbraith all myself--he is a good man--he will know. ah!" and she sprang past lamport, "john, you have come back--save me." she looked at galbraith's face, and the glance showed that he knew all. she slid down and knelt at his feet. "forgive me," she said; "god knows that i was innocent." as galbraith entered the room lamport retreated toward the corner, and, laying his hand on the back of the chair, waited for what he fully expected would happen. he was no coward, and was quite prepared for a physical struggle. galbraith had heard all. in their excitement neither halsa nor lamport were aware that he had been in the passage almost as soon as they entered the study. the first few words that reached him rooted him to the spot, and he heard everything that followed. for the first time in his life he felt the wild beast within him awake. his breath came thick and fast, and then through it all a voice seemed to shout in his ears that he had no claim--that they who were before him were husband and wife, and he the outsider. the man lived a lifetime standing there. at last he could bear it no longer, and stepped into' the room. gently, very gently, he lifted the woman whom he loved, and supported her with his arm. "i believe every word you have said; as for that man----" his voice failed him. he stood before lamport with an ashy face that quivered with anguish. but lamport was not going to give up the struggle. he had wandered here in a half-drunken state, bent on extorting money; if this could not be done he was in the humour for any mischief. he was almost sobered by what had happened, and his malice was ready to suggest the means of inflicting further misery. there seemed no chance of the physical struggle he expected. well, he could wound in other ways than with the blade of bill's knife, over the haft of which he had gently slipped his hand. "look here," he said; "that woman there is my wife--she dare not deny it--i claim her." galbraith's hold tightened round halsa's waist, but she drew herself from him. "it is true; every word he has spoken is true; but he has forgotten the whole story--the ill-treatment, the wilful desertion, the devilish malignity of his last action. oh, god is very merciful, is he not?" she cried hysterically; "and yet you," and she pointed to lamport, "are my husband, and i suppose the law gives you the right to claim me. i am ready to go." galbraith walked to the table and sank into a chair. he buried his face in his arms, and sat there silently. while halsa spoke there had been a short but mighty struggle in his heart between the man and the priest, and as her voice ceased the priest had triumphed. the woman looked at him as he sat there, motionless and silent. "come," she said to lamport, "let us go--but first this----" she suddenly knelt at galbraith's side, and, taking his hand in both of hers, kissed it passionately, and then rising walked out of the room into the night, her companion following closely behind. how long galbraith stayed thus he never knew, but the gray light of the morning was streaming into the room when he lifted his head and looked around him. with a shudder he covered his face again with his hands. a wild thought struck him that after all it might have been a hideous dream, and he rose from his chair, but only to sink down again in despair as the horrible reality of it all forced itself upon him. he remembered it was sunday, that in a few hours it would be time for him to be in church. of course this was impossible. he felt that he could endure being in the house no longer, and, taking his soft felt hat, walked out into the garden. which way had she gone? a sob rose to his throat as he thought of this--was he right? he began to doubt, and then it struck him that he would see bunny. he would tell bunny all, and act upon his advice; but as for the church, he felt he could never enter one again. what had he done that this awful misfortune should have come upon him? he bent his steps toward the road leading to bunny's house. although the sun was barely up, he found the old man in his garden, and he came forward cheerily to meet galbraith. one look at his face, however, told him that something dreadful had occurred. "come into my office," he said, and led john to the back of the house. chapter xiii. husband and wife. on leaving the house halsa and her companion walked toward the gate. she had snatched up a hat from the stand in the passage as she passed through, but had not thought of taking a cloak, and even by the time they reached the gate the steady drizzle had drenched her light dress. she stopped here for a moment, and, turning, looked back at the house. through the mist of rain she saw the windows of the study and the lamp burning brightly. within the study was--as she thought of him, an uncontrollable sob burst from her. "are you going to stay here all night?" asked lamport roughly. "which way are we going?" she replied. "any way i choose; go straight ahead. keep alongside of me if you can; if not, follow. i want to get out of the rain." and lamport, plunging his hands deep into his pockets, stepped forward at a pace so rapid that his wife was only barely able to keep up with him. they spoke no word to each other, but at intervals lamport swore aloud to himself, and cursed halsa. he was bitterly disappointed at the failure of his plans; he was furious with halsa for following him as she had. he had not quite expected this. the drink was working in his brain, rousing him to madness. halsa felt that every step was taking her away from the best part of her life, and yet with all the sorrow was mingled a proud sense of the sacrifice she had made. then a great doubt came upon her. had she acted rightly? was this man--this fiend who had deliberately allowed her to commit a crime--worth the sacrifice? no, a thousand times no. she had it almost in her heart to turn back and throw herself at galbraith's feet, to be his slave, to be anything, rather than parted from him. then the horror and shame of it all made the hot blood rush in madness to her face. and so, on they went through the dark street, where lamps shone only at long intervals amid the ghostly gloom of the cocoa palms, and the rain now pouring fast. her clothes were drenched through, and halsa felt that her strength would not enable her to keep up with her companion much longer. at last she could endure no more, and slackened her pace. lamport walked on for a little, and then, apparently suddenly missing her from his side, turned sharply. "did i not tell you to keep up with me?" he said. halsa made no reply, but the strain was too great for her, and she burst into a passion of tears. lamport looked on her for a moment, and then, raising his clenched fist, he struck her down. "damn you!" he said, "you can die there if you like." he had longed for this opportunity ever since they had left the house. he looked at the motionless body before him. "i have a mind to finish the job," said he aloud, and his knife seemed to slip into his fingers of its own accord. he glanced round him for a moment, and as he did so he heard the rumble of carriage wheels and saw the flash of lights as they turned the corner of the dark street, not fifty yards ahead. quick as lightning lamport dashed down a narrow side road between two walls, and disappeared in the darkness. almost as he did this the carriage came up. the horses shied backward on their haunches, and then stopped dead. there was the alarmed cry of feminine voices, and an anxious inquiry made in deeper tones. the groom, descending from the seat behind, went forward. "'tis some one lying on the road dead or drunk, padre." "most likely the latter," was the reply as the padre stepped out of the carriage and went forward. "here, pedro, hand me that light. good god!" he exclaimed as he bent over the prostrate figure, "it is a woman--a european, too; there has been some devil's work here. hold the light up, pedro, while i lift her--thanks--mother," said he to another figure, that of a woman clad in a long dark gown, who had followed him out of the carriage, "this is work for you; help me with her to the carriage." he raised the body in his arms, and with the assistance of the nun and two others, her companions, who had come out of the carriage, put halsa in. "is she dead?" asked one, evidently a young woman from her voice. "no," said the nun whom the padre had addressed as mother, "she breathes yet. pedro, drive on quickly." pedro needed no further bidding; he waited but for a moment until the padre climbed on to the box seat beside him, and then urged the horses on almost at a gallop through the endless avenues of palms. finally they stopped before a large gate, and after much shouting it was opened, and the carriage drove in. they were met at the door by two nuns, and with their assistance the unconscious body of halsa was carried in. the padre examined the wound; there was a deep cut on the forehead, but nothing else. "there is no necessity for a doctor," he said, "but i shall tell d'almeida to come to-morrow. this is a case of----" he touched his hand to his heart, and, giving the nuns his blessing, entered his carriage and drove off. * * * * * very tenderly the nuns cared for halsa. she regained consciousness in the morning, but when the white-haired doctor d'almeida came he pronounced her in high fever. then came a long illness, and after that convalescence. when she was better at last, she called the superior, mother st. catherine, to her side and told her her story. "and now," she said with a faint voice, "i am better and must go." then the good nun spoke to her long and earnestly, and father st. francis came. he bore her news that made her cheek flush and then grow pale. "take time to consider," said the priest as he left her. a week after halsa saw the lady superior once more. "i have considered," she said. the superior looked into her eyes: "it is well," she said, as she stooped and kissed her. chapter xiv. john galbraith goes. about half an hour before the time fixed for morning service, mr. bunny, his face very grave and set, stepped out of the portico of the manse. he passed through the narrow wicket-gate and entered the church enclosure. the sunday-school class was over, and a few children were loitering at the main entrance. others were making their way home in little groups, a feeling of relief in their hearts, and with the consciousness of an unpleasant duty done. bunny entered the tabernacle by a side door. the clerk was already there, and with him the elder, who had just dismissed his class. they were talking in low tones, and looked up quickly as their ears caught the sound of bunny's footsteps, which rang with a harsh clang on the stone floor. a whisper had gone forth from the servants' quarters at the manse that something terrible had happened during the night. the attendant who cleaned the church, and who during the service pulled the huge fans which swung in a monotonous manner over the heads of the worshippers, echoed this whisper to the clerk. it is the way news is carried in the east, and it is very rapid. it is impossible to tell how, but the mysterious thing called bazaar gossip travels from ear to ear, from mouth to mouth, telling strange tales which afterward unfold themselves in the press as news, or are discovered in a government resolution. and so the clerk heard a story from the puller of fans, news of the last night, thick with strange scandal, and he was dropping this into the elder's attentive ears. they stopped their conversation as bunny approached, and somewhat awkwardly wished him good-morning. bunny merely nodded in reply, and, turning to the clerk, begged him to excuse him as he had something of importance to tell the elder. "if it is about mrs. galbraith, sir," replied the clerk, "i have just been telling the elder of it." bunny looked at him sharply from under his gray eyebrows, and the clerk, who was also his official subordinate, quailed under the glance. "if so, you have been speaking of what you had no right to mention; but, as you appear to know something, stay and hear what i have to say, and you will hear what is the truth." bunny then turned his back upon the clerk, and in as short a manner as possible described what had happened to the elder. he was no waster of words. he put what he had to say clearly before his listener, but his voice shook as he went on. the elder, for the first time in his life, showed that he was moved. he had opposed galbraith, quarrelled with him, and had spoken bitterly against his wife. he had thought that if some terrible sorrow overtook them it would be a righteous judgment, although he had never been able to explain to himself why this judgment should fall on them. and now that it had come, that it was staring him in all its hideous reality in the face, the elder was stirred to the deepest pity and compassion. "god help them!" he exclaimed, passing his handkerchief over his face to hide his emotion--"god help them!" when he had said this he remained silent, digging the end of his stout stick into a hassock which lay near his feet. the clerk interrupted the silence. "will there be service to-day?" he asked. "let everything go on as usual," replied the elder. "mr. bunny and myself will settle this when the time comes--and now, bunny, a word with you." the clerk took the hint and stepped back, and the two men, whose mutual jealousies had for some years past threatened to dissolve the community, walked arm-in-arm down the aisle between the grim rows of empty benches soon to be filled with sabbath worshippers. "will he go?" asked the elder. "yes," replied bunny, "and at once. i have advised this course. in his present state of mind there is nothing else for him to do." "very well," replied bullin; "we had better see him to-day; there are a few things that must be done--we, as members of the council, can arrange this." bunny thanked him. "it is what i was going to propose myself," he said; "we will see him after the congregation has been dismissed--perhaps you had better do this--he wishes to go to-night." bullin agreed. "i suppose," he asked, "you have no news of his unfortunate wi----?" he stopped and looked somewhat awkwardly at bunny. "no," was the reply, "there has not been time; but i shall arrange about that if it can be done. in the meantime galbraith must go." as they spoke the church began to fill, and people entered in groups of twos and threes, or singly. some, on entering, flung themselves devoutly on their knees and remained absorbed in prayer. others made a pretence of kneeling. a few, a very few, young men put their faces into their hats, and probably examined the maker's name therein. the clerk, who also officiated at the american harmonium, played the first bars of an old hymn; and, to the astonishment of the worshippers, elder bullin rose from his seat, and, ascending the pulpit, gave out the hymn to be sung. he led it off himself with a fairly good voice, and was accompanied by the whole congregation. at its conclusion, and when the long-drawn _amen_ died away with the notes of the organ, the elder, in a few brief words, informed the people that, owing to a domestic affliction, their beloved brother and pastor was unable to attend that day, that the trouble was of so serious a nature that it was impossible that the regular service should be held that morning, and he begged that the congregation would disperse after a short prayer and the singing of another hymn. the prayer was then offered up by the elder, and the hymn sung. one by one the people arose, after a little decorous silence, and it was not until they had passed out into the church enclosure that the full tide of their curiosity burst. lizzie and laura were besieged with questions, but they knew nothing, and the dread of the elder's wrath hurried them away. it became necessary for mr. bunny himself to go out and beg the congregation to disperse. he informed them that galbraith was very ill, and that the kindest thing they could do was to go home. this they did after some little time. after a last instruction to the clerk to hold his tongue for the present, bunny and the elder passed through the wicket-gate, and, walking slowly up the gravel path, entered the manse. the door of the study was slightly open, and bunny knocked; there was no answer, and both he and the elder stepped in. galbraith was there, sitting at his table, his white drawn face showing all the signs of the terrible time he had passed through. there was a hunted look in his eyes, which shifted their glance from side to side. bullin held out his hand without a word. galbraith rose and shook it silently, and then, turning, walked to the window. bunny approached him and whispered in his ear, while the elder employed himself in smoothing the nap of his hat with his coat-sleeve. "very well," said galbraith; "you are right--the sooner the better." what was wanted were some papers relating to the church. galbraith opened a drawer of his writing-table. they were all there, tied in neat piles, with labels showing what they were. he shuddered as he saw the handwriting on these labels, and his hand shook like a leaf in the wind as he picked out the bundles one by one and handed them to the elder. at last the necessary business was concluded, and bullin rose. he attempted to speak, but was unable to do so; and gathering up the papers in his hands, stood for a moment as if irresolute. "god help you!" he said suddenly, and turning went out of the room. bunny remained a few moments longer. "i will come back again," he said, "in an hour. it is not good for you to be left alone." he shook galbraith by the hand, and followed the elder out. when they had gone, galbraith rose and wandered round the house. breakfast was ready. he had not touched it, and at the sight of his face the servant who was waiting stepped silently out of the room. the act was in itself sympathetic, and touched galbraith. he had packed a bag with a few things, and it was lying half open on his bed. on the wall was a photograph of halsa. he took it down, and, placing it in the bag, closed it and turned the key. he then went back into his room and waited. he knew what bunny's absence meant, and he was burning with impatience for his return. on the table before him was a manuscript of his sermons. he seized it with a laugh, and began to turn over its pages. he had poured his heart into them. how had he not laboured? his was the voice that breathed consolation into many a stricken heart, and now that the time had come for him to need help, there was none there to give it. the book of books--it was lying there before him, leather bound, with gold-edged leaves--he knew it by heart; there was nothing in that that could help a sorrow like his. bit by bit he tore the manuscript into shreds, and strewed it about the floor; and when the last scrap of paper had fluttered on to the carpet beside him, he felt that he had broken with the past forever. faith--had he not faith? but what faith could stand against the cruelty of his trial? and then the remains of his religion burned up within him, and he strove to pray, but the words he uttered with his lips were unmeaning, and he rose from his knees in despair. it was somewhat late in the afternoon when bunny returned. galbraith was ready for him as he came into the house. "did you get a passage?" he asked. "yes," said bunny; "you sail with the tide to-night." they entered a hired conveyance, and bunny gave directions to drive to the quay. there was not much spoken as they drove through the streets. at length they reached the quay, and bunny would have entered the boat with galbraith, but he denied him. "no," he said, "let me go alone." bunny regretfully agreed. "you will find a letter from me awaiting you at the cape," he said as galbraith shook him warmly by the hand. "you will not fail to let me know if there is any news of her?" "no," replied bunny, "i will not." galbraith sprang into the boat, and bunny watched it as it was rowed toward the great ship lying in the harbour, the blue-peter flying at her mast-head. slowly the boat moved forward until it entered the broad band-of dazzling light on the waters, where the sun's rays were reflected back in a myriad of flashing colours. shading his eyes with his hands, bunny watched the boat until it was absorbed into that marvellous blaze of gold, and passed from his sight. at last he turned and drove back home. but from that day nothing was heard of john galbraith. chapter xv. the glory departs. all attempts to secure a suitable successor to galbraith failed. the scandal caused by the disaster, which had befallen the pastor, his mysterious disappearance, and that of mrs. lamport, deterred some; others were unwilling to leave their present posts; and of the one or two who would have taken charge of the flock, the sheep would have none of them. the law-suit with the jain temple had, moreover, so impoverished the funds of the tabernacle that it was out of the question to send over the seas for a new spiritual guide. in the meantime the feelings of the community began to find vent in the columns of the bombay bouncer. attacks were made against both bullin and bunny, and each attributed the attacks on themselves to the other. bullin, in his headstrong way, openly charged bunny with the offence of attacking him through the press. the latter denied it hotly, and replied with a countercharge. the result was a division of the community into two parties, and the beginning of the end as far as the existence of the tabernacle was concerned. about this time sarkies begged for readmission into the fold. he was supported by bunny; but bullin, regarding this as a personal affront, strained every nerve, and secured at a general meeting a verdict confirming the former sentence of excommunication. it was at this meeting that the elder, amid much confusion, charged bunny with having got halsa lamport out of the way to avoid inquiry. it was with the greatest difficulty that bunny's friends prevented a physical struggle between the two leaders. bunny and his following, however, left the church, where the meeting was held, leaving bullin in possession of the field. it was thought at first that the matter would have gone before the law-courts; but this was somehow prevented, and the bunny party, throwing off all allegiance to their former church, sought food for the soul from the rev. mr. macgoggin, of the free kirk, and sat at his feet for evermore. bullin, now left with undisputed power, conducted the services himself, and so great was his influence with the new council, practically creatures of his own, that he absolutely prevented any fresh nomination to the pastorship. in a brief period, however, his intolerance and bigotry outraged his own followers. in a few weeks his sermons, or rather lectures, were given to benches where the only audience consisted of his unfortunate daughters. at this time, too, an incident happened which fairly broke down the old man, and the congregation, at a great general meeting, finally dissolved themselves. the church was sold by auction. the worshippers scattered themselves elsewhere, and the history of the tabernacle was ended. great was the rejoicing in the jain temple. in honour of the occasion the eremite mahendra, the terrible swami, whose history will some day be written, swung himself for a whole afternoon by the simple process of fixing two iron hooks under his shoulder-blades, gaining thereby much credit and renown. an enterprising parsee purchased the property. he called the manse "the retreat," and lived there himself. he imported lime and orange trees in green tubs, and set them in rows about the garden. he may be seen among his plants any morning, clad in the whitest of coats and sheeniest of silken nether garments. over the main entrance of the whilom chapel swings his signboard. it informs the public that muncherjee cheesecake is a general merchant. the flaring poster of an american cigarette manufacturer is pasted on each of the pillars of the gates. the cigarettes may be had from muncherjee. they are very good. what happened was this. sarkies, smarting under the indignity of the second expulsion from the church, held a family council with his mother and aunt. it was about this time that an epidemic of going over to rome had set in, and the accounts of the perversion or conversion of several very great people in the british isles filled the newspapers. sarkies determined to be in the fashion, and in a few days the whole family were received into the broad bosom of the eternal church. they placed themselves under the guidance of an irish priest, and, after the first plunge was over, sarkies began to consider the confessional as a most excellent institution. _presto!_ a wave of the hand, a benediction, and the sins of the past had joined the past. he got it all out about lizzie, and was confident that he could bring her over to the church. the rev. father faly was not unwilling to help him. life was very dull under the cocoa palms. he informed sarkies that the roman catholic ritual permitted a priest to unite a minor in marriage without the guardian's consent, and watched sarkies go away with resolve on his face. under ordinary circumstances nothing would have induced lizzie to listen to sarkies's proposals of flight, but circumstances favoured the armenian. the girl had some spirit in her, and the eternal bullying of the elder was beginning to tell. besides, notwithstanding the undignified, not to say uncomfortable, position from which sarkies was compelled to plead his cause, the young man had a somewhat silken tongue, and then he had got to love lizzie, and love always finds words. so the old, old story was repeated; and lizzie, flinging over a few of her belongings in a bundle, was assisted by sarkies over the wall, and, entering the buggy, drove off with her lover. this was done in the middle of the day. sarkies knew that it was the occasion of the great and final meeting at the chapel, and that the coast would be clear. he did not reckon, however, on its being a half-holiday, and that he should meet master edward bunny on his way back from school. the old arab was urged to his fastest pace; but eddy took in the situation at a glance. "my!" he exclaimed, "there's jimmie sarkies bolting with lizzie--_youps!_" he had a shot at the buggy with his catapult; and it is worthy of record that on this occasion he missed his mark, and found that in his excitement he had used as a pellet his favourite marble, well known by the title of "aunty." this in itself was a terrible disaster, and eddy boiled with wrath. an opportunity for vengeance was at hand, however, for he had hardly gone a quarter of a mile when he met the elder returning home. the meeting had ended. the little community had ceased to exist, and with it the best part of the old man's life. he was walking under the shadow of the palms, his carriage following him slowly. his heavy eyebrows were bent in a frown, and his lips were twitching nervously. "morning, mr. bullin!" exclaimed eddy as he approached. the elder looked at him without making any answer, and passed on. but eddy was not to be put off in this manner. he followed the old man, and, catching him up, remarked, "you'll be sorry when you hear it. i fired my catapult after them." "go away, boy!" exclaimed bullin. "go away--oh, yes! i'm going--and so's lizzie and jim sarkies. i saw them going off in the bug--oh!--hoo!--boo--ooh!" it was too much for bullin. he darted forward at eddy's speech and seized him by the arm. the next moment there was a cuffing and a ringing of ears that eddy remembers to this day, notwithstanding that he is in a fair way to succeed to his father's appointment, and has a small eddy of his own. when he had finished with the boy and flung him from him, the elder jumped into his carriage and bade the coachman drive home. laura's scared face as she met him at the door, confirmed his worst fears. "are they gone?" he asked. "answer me, woman! don't stand staring there." laura burst into tears, and the elder with a hissing cry of rage re-entered his carriage and drove to the sarkies's house. there was no one there. a sudden thought struck him. "to the catholic church," he shouted; and the coachman needed no bidding to drive fast. he arrived in time to meet faly stepping out of the door. "where's my daughter?" inquired bullin, furiously shaking his fist in the priest's face. "i presume you are mr. bullin?" asked faly in reply. "yes--i'm mr. bullin; and i want to know what you've done with my daughter--you and that blackguard sarkies?" "gently, sir," was the reply. "your daughter, i believe, is now on the way to the railway station with her husband. if i mistake not, her mother-in-law and another relative accompany the bride on the honeymoon trip. i presume even you will think that sufficient punishment?" bullin attempted to speak, but in vain. his face was purple with rage, and his hands moved convulsively up and down. faly was a little touched. "i don't think you need take on so, mr. bullin," he said. "mr. sarkies will make a most excellent husband." but here the elder found tongue. "damn you!" he shrieked with a half-articulate voice, "i shall have the law on you and your brood of snakes. may god's curse follow----" faly laid his hand upon the old man's arm. "halt, sir!" he said; "you have said enough. go to the law. if redress is your due, you will get it there. go to the law, i say; but also go from here. this is no place for you." the elder stared at him for a moment, and then turning entered his carriage, and bade the coachman drive home. a week later he flung a letter across the table to laura. they were at breakfast. "send that woman her belongings," he said; "and mind you--forget from this day that she was ever your sister." and laura bowed her head meekly to hide the tears that filled her eyes. chapter xvi. an account balanced. when lamport left halsa unconscious on the roadside and escaped into darkness, he ran on without stopping for nearly half an hour. at last he pulled up, fairly exhausted, and leaned against the wall on the roadside to rest and regain his breath. the run and the excitement had sobered him, and as he rested he began to think over his next move. bill's knife was still in his hand. he closed the blade carefully. "if only they had been a minute later!" he said to himself as he put it away. yes, if only they had been a minute later stephen lamport would have added another item to his long list of crimes. not that the record troubled him in any way. his only regret was that he had been foiled. he had begun to hate his wife with the savage hatred that was born of the knowledge that he had done her terrible wrong. after a while lamport began to walk on again as fast as he was able to escape the rain. it was now very late, almost in the small hours of the morning, and a longing seized upon him for more drink. he had reached digby street by this time, and, with that strange fatality which seems to haunt criminals, the fatality which brings them back to the scenes of former crime, he entered the hotel metropole. it was still full, and lamport's entrance excited no particular attention. in the glare of the lamps, however, he was enabled to see that he was splashed and covered with mud, and his clothes, where they were not protected by his rough pea-jacket, were dripping wet. he glanced at his face in the oval mirror which gleamed from the wall. it was deathly pale, and he felt a cold shivering down his limbs. he moved into the crowd at the bar, and called out for "three fingers hot." at the sound of his voice kavasji looked up at him. lamport was, however, certain that the shaving of his beard had so altered his appearance that he was, comparatively speaking, unrecognisable; besides, as he was spattered with mud, and with his cap pulled well over his brows, he felt perfectly secure. he was mistaken, however. kavasji was one of those men who have a born genius for remembering faces, and he recognised lamport at once. he said no word at first, but silently mixed his tumbler of liquor and handed it to him. lamport stood a little on one side at the end of the bar, and began to drink. when he had finished he called for another tumbler, and as the parsee handed this to him he said in a low voice, "bill is here; he is looking for you." lamport started at the warning, but said nothing. he drank his second tumbler quietly, and, after paying his score, slipped out into the street once more. kavasji had not given this warning with any friendly feeling toward lamport, but simply for the reason that he wished to get rid of him. it was perfectly true that bill had been there that evening. he might be back at any moment, and then, if there was recognition, there would perhaps be murder. kavasji had not forgotten the scene when bill woke from his drugged sleep and found that he had missed his ship and had been robbed. in order that the matter might be kept quiet, the parsee had placed dungaree in funds, knowing that it would mostly come back to him over the counter, and what little loss he might suffer would be well repaid by the absence of a police visitation. kavasji had suffered much from such inroads. bill had, however, shown no inclination to get another ship. as long as kavasji's advance lasted he determined to wait, in the hopes of meeting lamport, of recovering his lost property and of exacting vengeance. he was perfectly convinced that it was lamport who had stolen the money. he had done similar things himself, and therefore knew. moreover, the thought that he, dungaree bill, the old and hardened campaigner, should have been taken in in so transparent a manner was gall and wormwood to him, and therefore he swore to himself that he would have vengeance, even to the death of lamport. so bill husbanded his resources and waited, and at last the time came when lamport was to reap what he had sown. this was bill's last day. he was unable to get any further funds from kavasji, and had with regret in his heart shipped on an american cargo-boat that was to sail the next day. he had stipulated for a last day on shore, and, as he had asked for no advance of pay, this was readily granted to him. besides, he was known to the master of the vessel as a good sailor, and one whom he could rely on for good as well as evil. lamport had hardly been gone half an hour when bill re-entered the bar and feverishly looked round him. it was his last chance, and he had to go back to his ship. there was a look of disappointment on his face as he saw that the man he wanted was not there, and that after all he should miss him. a light of eagerness came into his eyes as kavasji beckoned to him, and whispered a few words in his ear. "where? which way did he go?" said bill. kavasji pointed to the street, and bill, turning, rushed out of the door. once in the street, however, he looked blankly around. there was no knowing what direction lamport had taken, and with a curse on his ill-luck bill squared his broad shoulders and strode through the mud toward the quay. he could have--in fact, to keep up the tradition of his kind, he ought to have--hailed a cab and been driven toward the harbour roaring a wild song. but bill did not fancy this to-night. it was enough for him that his prey had escaped for the present. if they should meet! dungaree swore under his bushy black beard that no mortal should part them until he had exacted his tithe of vengeance to the uttermost farthing. in the meantime what had become of lamport? when he entered the street again he found that it had practically given over raining, and the moon was shining brightly behind the dark masses of clouds that glided slowly after each other. lamport looked up with an expression of relief, and his first thoughts were to make his way back to his lodgings as fast as possible, change his wet things, and sleep, if he could, over the events of the past few hours. he changed his mind, however, and, hailing a cab, told the man to drive him to the quay. why he did this it is impossible to explain. it was the working of that fatality which was leading him to the reaping of the harvest. perhaps the knowledge that dungaree was on his track induced him to do this. he wanted to think. perhaps an indefinite idea of escaping, the forlorn hope of being able to get to sea somehow, moved him. and so he went. when he reached the quay he dismissed his cab, and, walking to the end of the pier, leaned over the chains and listened to the _lap_, _lap_, _lap_ of the waters against the stone walls. under the lee of the pier was a small fleet of boats securely fastened one to the other, and heaving in unison with the motion of the sea. the myriad stars of the street lamps twinkled behind him, and the signal lights from the tall masts of the shipping in the harbour shone like beacons overhead. a high wind had arisen, an augury of fair weather, and the now rapidly moving clouds alternately obscured and unveiled the moonlight. from the far distance came the dull boom of the breakers as they beat against the head of the island, and occasionally there was a jarring sound as the sides of the boats grated against each other. lamport, leaning over the chains of the pier, noticed not one of these things. if he saw, or heard, they had no more effect on him than the flickering of one's fingers before the eyes of a blind horse. yet lamport unconsciously began to think of the past. possibly the danger he had escaped and the hour were not without their influence on him. after all, he had nothing to fear, he repeated to himself. there was not the remotest possibility of bill meeting him. anyway he would make that possibility as small as it could be by shipping himself off this very day. and while he was thinking bill came up the pier, walking rapidly with that rolling lurch peculiar to sailors. lamport was unconscious of this. he never heard the footfalls behind him, and, if he did, paid no attention to them. when bill was scarce ten yards off, lamport lighted a fusee and held it to his pipe. the sudden hiss of the match and the flare of light stopped dungaree at once, and, as the blaze lit up lamport's face, bill saw from the gesture, the poise of the head, the cunning glitter of the eye, that he had found his man. he drew back for a moment, and waited till lamport had lit his pipe and flung the end of his fusee away. bill felt the veins on his forehead stand out like knotted ropes. for a moment he stood, his sinewy hands working convulsively, and then, walking up to lamport, he gripped him on the shoulder and swung him round. there was no word spoken. quick as thought lamport's knife was in his hand. it flashed a moment in the air, and bill staggered back with an oath. he had been only just in time to escape the stroke, which nevertheless inflicted a slight flesh wound. the next moment the knife was dashed from lamport's hand, and bill's fingers were round his throat. he made an effort to struggle, he tried to shout, but, active and powerful as he was, he was like a child in the hands of the giant. * * * * * it was ended very soon, that noiseless struggle, and bill stood over the dead man. he felt for his belt, and regained it with a feeling of intense satisfaction. it was light, but the lost weight was balanced now. bill was not of those who hesitated at a critical moment. "over he goes," said he, and, lifting the body, he flung it over the chains, where it fell with a plash into the water. "and now to follow suit." he ran down the stone steps of the quay, and, carefully removing his boots, held them together in his teeth. he then pulled off his coat, and for the first time realized that he was wounded. "better this way than any other," muttered he to himself as he made a bold plunge and struck out for his ship. chapter xvii. from the choir of the holy innocents. some one has said that there is a consolation in being well dressed that even religion can not afford. it was with the consciousness of this feeling that lizzie sarkies knelt by her husband's side at midnight mass in the church of the holy innocents. it was new year's eve, and the young year was being welcomed in with all the pomp and ceremony of the roman catholic ritual. the old year was dying. it had covered its face with its mantle of broken hopes, of resolves unkept, of withered lives. with the new year would come fresh hope and high resolve. the pages of the past were to be turned down, the fair white sheets of a new record opened, the most high would lend an attentive ear to the voice of his people calling from the deep. the church was full. of those who were spared from the dangers of the past some were here to thank the godhead for his mercy, and to pray as humble creatures should for the light that never comes. there were others with dead hearts, hearts that had gotten the "dry-rot" into them. these came because the others came, because their ears were tickled by the music. their lips murmured prayers that found no echoes in their souls, and as they looked upon the host they gave no thought to the past. as for the future, with such as these the future has no lesson to learn. sufficient for them was it that they lived, and sinned, and died. lizzie, and many others beside her, occupied a place midway between these two classes. they had not as yet chosen their seats finally. as the solemn notes of the organ joined the silver voices of the choir lizzie felt the full magnetic power of the music, and prayed with her heart of hearts. when from behind the high altar the low murmur of the prayers trickled down the aisles and buzzed in her ears, lizzie's bright eyes wandered round the church up to the gallery, where the choir of dark-robed nuns sat; away into the dim colonnades, over the ghostly sea of heads; to the right, where close-cropped, straight-backed, and stalwart of limb, were ranged a contingent of the royal irish, then in garrison at bombay; in front, where sat madame eglantine, the celebrated _modiste_, with a creation of forget-me-nots on her head. at all these lizzie stared, and was comforted. how pleasant this was after the deadly monotony of the tabernacle! here all the rough edges were smoothed off, the corners rounded neatly; there all was granite of the hardest. the banners swayed their silken folds. from her niche in the wall the blessed virgin, done in wax, gazed down upon her with lustreless eyes. the tinsel looked like gold. the incense breathed its subtle and intoxicating perfume into her brain. and now the priests walked in solemn procession up the aisle, the organ pealed forth, and the joyous voices of the choir joined in the hymn of adoration. at a bound lizzie's heart went back from earth to heaven. she thrilled with a holy fervour as the music filled the church. her eyes were full of tears. suddenly the voices of the choir died away. the priests had bowed before the altar, and were praying in secret. the organ wailed tremulously. lizzie stood leaning on the seat in front of her, almost breathless with excitement. all at once from the gallery a single voice took up the anthem--full, clear, and sweet. it seemed as if it were the answer of heaven to the prayers of the faithful. "_christe cum sit hinc exire_ _du per matron me venire_ _ad palmam victoriæ_." lizzie turned her eyes toward the spot whence the voice came. the light shone full on the dark-robed figure, on the upturned face, thin and pale, and on the sad gray eyes of the singer. "_ad palmam victoriæ_." as the words reached her, lizzie felt the light of a sudden recognition. she turned to her husband and pulled him by the coat-sleeve. "jim," she said, "look up! see who is singing!" the end. ralph denham's adventures in burma [illustration: a groan burst from the white lips of the men as the seething ruin that had been their home for so many weeks disappeared slowly from view (_p. _).] ralph denham's adventures in burma _a tale of the burmese jungle_ by g. norway author of "tregarthen," "a dangerous conspirator," "loss of john humble," etc. [illustration: decoration] london sampson low, marston & co., ltd. printed in great britain by purnell and sons paulton, somerset, england contents chap. page i. ralph starts upon his voyage ii. a gale iii. fire at sea iv. the raft v. adrift on the ocean vi. the denhams at home vii. moulmein viii. kirke escapes ix. news from ralph x. the leopard xi. what befell kirke after his escape xii. the karen village xiii. the man-eater xiv. tattooing xv. the old men's faith xvi. big game xvii. the jungle fire xviii. the dacoit's head xix. lost in the jungle xx. jungle thieves xxi. the rapids xxii. kirke and denham meet xxiii. fight with dacoits xxiv. the dacoits burn the village xxv. desperation xxvi. sunshine's heroism xxvii. conclusion ralph denham's adventures in burma chapter i ralph starts upon his voyage mrs. denham sat in her parlour, a two years old baby boy asleep upon her lap, and an anxious, mournful expression upon her face. she wore the dress of a widow,--a dress so new in its folds that it was evidently but a short time since the dread messenger had paused at her threshold to bear away its master and bread-winner. the room was a shabby one; the fire but a handful of dusty ashes; rain fell without in the dreary street; it was growing dusk, and a soul-depressing cry of "want chee-e-ep? do ye want chee-e-eps?" arose ever and anon, as the ragged irish chip boy wandered up and down. it was a street of cheap houses in the suburbs of liverpool, where the misery of poor gentility is perhaps more without alloy than in any other town. but the door burst open, and a bright-faced, rosy, blue-eyed boy entered, with the freshness of out-of-doors upon him. "all alone, mother?" said he. "where's agnes? where are the little ones? why, what a scurvy fire you have! let me cheer it up a little." he began piling lumps of coal upon the embers in a scientific manner, to which a blaze quickly responded; when he swept up the hearth, and uttered an exclamation of satisfaction as he bent to kiss his mother's face. "it requires a man to make up a fire," said he. "where are all the others?" "agnes is giving the little ones their tea in the kitchen," replied mrs. denham. "i asked her to keep them out of the way for a while, because i want to talk to you, ralph dear." "all right, mother mine, fire away," said the boy, throwing himself down on the hearthrug, and resting one arm upon her knee. "ralph dear," resumed she, "your uncle sam has come home; he has been here this afternoon." "uncle sam? how jolly! when did the _pelican_ come in, mother? i did not know that she was even off holyhead." "the _pelican_ was docked last night, dear, upon the evening tide," said she; "and your uncle has been here a long time this afternoon." "was he not very sorry to hear about father?" asked ralph in a low voice. "yes, dear; but he was prepared for the news by my last letter. he is a very kind brother; he has been giving my affairs his careful consideration all the way home, and has already offered some prospect of help; but this depends upon you, ralph." "upon _me_, mother? i would be so proud to help. you may reckon upon me; but what can i do?" "what it is a bitter pill for me to swallow, my boy, yet it would be such a help that i do not know how to refuse it." "what is it, mother?" "it is for you to go out to burma, dear. when my last letter reached him, and he knew of your father's hopeless state of health, uncle sam secured for you the chance of a situation in a rice firm in rangoon. he says that there would be a salary at once, upon which you could live with care, and which would soon improve into something much better, and into a position from which, in a few years, you might help one of your brothers. it is not in the house of herford brothers,--i wish it were,--but, as he sails for them, he will often see you, and bring us home news of you. it would not be as if you went to quite a strange place, where you would know nobody; and, ralph, it would be an immense relief even to have your keep off my hands just at present. dear agnes maintains herself by her teaching; lisa's scholarship provides for her education; and if you, my darling boy, were not here we might double up closer and spare another room for a second lodger, which would be a great help to me. but i do not know how to part with you, ralph, my boy,--my dear, dear boy!" the poor lady bent her face down upon the curly, tousled head at her knee, and wept sorrowfully. ralph passed his arm round her neck in silence, for tumultuous emotion choked him, and he could not speak at first. there had been a time, not so long before, when he would have been wild with delight at the thought of leaving school, going abroad, seeing new countries, being independent. but recent events had sobered his spirits and made him more thoughtful. he pondered the scheme now without excitement or selfish pleasure; he tried to think whether it would be well for his mother were he to leave her. it seemed to him that it would be so. "mother," said he, "it is not as if agnes were not older than i. agnes is seventeen, and a companion to you, while i am not old enough to take father's place with jack and reggie. they would not attend to me nor obey me." "no, dear." "then when father was dying he bade me do my best to help you, and i promised that i would. if this is the best for you, mother, i _must_ do it." there was a manly ring in his voice as he said this, echoing so plainly the sound of the voice that was gone, that his mother almost felt as if it were her husband speaking to her in her son. they sat silent for a long time, hand clasped in hand; then the sleeping child awoke, and recalled mrs. denham to her busy life. "uncle sam is coming back to supper, and wants to talk to you about this," said she. "i will go out for a walk, to think it all over, if you don't mind, mother; i will come in again by supper time," said the boy. "do, dear; it is not a plan that should be carried out in a hurry," said she. and ralph took up his cap and went out. he strolled aimlessly up one street, down another, his hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the ground; then, with sudden determination, he changed his purposeless steps towards the town, and steadily pursued his road to meet his uncle. so rapidly did he walk now, that he reached the lodging to which captain rogers always repaired when on shore just as he was emerging from the door. "halloa, my son!" called out the sailor in cornish accents, "whither so fast?" "i came to meet you, uncle. mother has been telling me of your plan for me, and i wanted to talk to you about it while we could be alone." "ay, that's right. men can settle things between themselves better than when there is a lot of soft-hearted women by, to cry over the lord knows what. you are 'most a man now, ralph. how you have grown since i've been away! how old are you now?" "fifteen, uncle. fifteen and a half." "too old to be lopping about at your mother's apron strings. old enough to be of some use and good, are you not?" "is this plan of use, uncle? do you really think it would be good for mother?" "well, sonnie, to speak the plain truth i don't see no other way in which you are half as likely to keep off her hands. they are full enough, ralph, without a great hearty fellow like you to be eating her out of house and home." "that is so, uncle." "i think that the herfords would give you a free voyage out. i believe that i could work it so that they would. if they will, you cost her nothing more from this time. agnes is a sensible maid, she can look after your mother better than you can. i will pay her rent for her, and take jack to sea with me as soon as he is old enough; and then with a lodger or two, and the bit of money that she has, she may do fairly well. be a man, ralph, and do your part." "i will, uncle, god helping me." "well said. but now, look here, there must be no chopping and changing; no crying out that you are homesick, or don't like it, and want to come back again. if you make up your mind to go, there must be some expense incurred for your outfit; and i'll not help unless you give me your word of honour that this shall be _all_ that you mean to cost us. if i launch you, you must sail away on your own account, and make the best of matters however they may turn out. do you understand me?" "yes, uncle. is it necessary to give my answer now, this evening, or may i sleep upon it?" "i don't mind your sleeping upon it, as you call it, but i must have your answer almost at once, because i must see mr. herford about your passage, and your kit must be got ready." "i will tell you to-morrow, uncle." "mind you do. mr. herford goes from home at the end of the week, and i don't know how long he may be away. it would hurry everything up too closely to wait till he returns, when all the _pelican's_ cargo will be in course of loading, and everything else to settle." captain rogers had intended to make the evening pleasant to his sister and her young folks, but fate was too strong for him on that occasion. mrs. denham's eyes were full of tears, and she kept silence as the only way to prevent their overflow. agnes was little better, and the repressed agitation of their elders checked all the younger ones' chatter. he went away early; but ralph would not talk to any of them even when his uncle had left them. he went to his room, and spent the night in thinking, thinking, thinking; trying to make out what his father would have wished,--what was best for his mother,--where his strongest duty lay. at last he took to prayer; and, for the first time in his young life, really sought help and counsel from his father in heaven. such seeking is never unanswered; he slept, woke up clear in his mind as to what he ought to do, and told his uncle that he would go. "you decide rightly," said his uncle. "people cannot very often do just what they would like best. if i could, i would have got you a start in life nearer home, so that your mother might keep you to be a comfort to her; but she will not mind so much when you are once gone, and you will sooner be of real use to her and to your brothers in this way than in any other which any of us can command. but, remember, you must take life as it comes, and work hard for yourself once you are started." "i will, uncle, god helping me." "well said, my boy." after that, all was hurry to prepare him for this important change in his life; his mother cried incessantly; his sister agnes went about with red eyes, which could scarcely see the stitches that she set in his clothes; his uncle drove him about hither and thither; there was no time to think until the adieux were all made, and they had been towed out of dock. the _pelican of the north_ was a barque-rigged, three-masted vessel, laden with coal for moulmein; and the day was bright when she dropped down the river mersey. the crew were in good spirits, for the weather, which had been extremely dull and wet for some weeks, cleared up suddenly on the day of sailing. the chilly wind had veered into a balmy quarter, the drenching rain ceased, the sun broke out, and all the little tossing waves seemed to be dancing with joy to see its beams sparkling upon their crests. great masses of clouds were driving away, farther and farther, overhead, losing their heavy grey colour, and fast becoming soft and snowy white; while the flocks of seagulls, swooping about upon widespread pinions high in the air, might be imagined to be fleecy morsels detached from them on their course, so pure and silvery was their plumage. ralph stood by the capstan, looking back to the fort and lighthouse on the new brighton point with mixed feelings. he had never been farther away from home than this before; he was now setting off for an unknown life in a new country, among strangers, to make his own way as best he could. he was pleased with his independence, with the thought that he was thus helping his mother; but he had not imagined how love for his home would tug at his heart-strings. it was not until he had felt his mother's farewell kiss, and heard her choked voice blessing him for the last time; it was not until his dearly-loved companion-sister agnes had sobbed her good-bye on his shoulder; not till he had put the pretty baby back into his nurse's arms, and thought what a great boy he would be before he should, in all probability, see him again,--that he realised how far away he was going, and going alone. but ralph owned plenty of pluck; he meant to be brave, and to get on in his new career, so he gulped down these thoughts, and turned to brighter considerations. his uncle had secured for him a free passage out to rangoon by entering him as apprentice upon the ship's books. this is an arrangement occasionally made, by favour, in merchant ships not registered for carrying passengers. the so-called apprentice would hold rather an anomalous position, being expected to do a little light work, particularly while in port, but messing with the captain at sea. a hardy lad would have little of which to complain in the light of the great pecuniary advantage to himself, but it would depend largely upon his own tact, and also much upon the characters of the regular apprentices and the mates, as to whether he were, or were not, thoroughly comfortable upon a long voyage. captain rogers had another passenger upon this occasion, a mr. gilchrist. mr. augustus herford, the head of the firm of herford brothers, to which the _pelican of the north_ belonged, was devoted to his garden; and orchids were his reigning hobby. the craze for these flowers was then in its infancy, many varieties being unknown at that time which have since become common. burma was comparatively little explored, nor were its forests and jungles haunted by collectors as they have been of late years. mr. gilchrist was a self-made man, an enthusiast in his profession as gardener, but more capable than rich. he had educated himself, studied at kew, mastered much of the science of horticulture,--but lacked capital, and wanted to marry. when, therefore, mr. augustus herford offered him advantageous terms if he would go to burma and collect orchids for him, he accepted the commission with eagerness, knowing well that, if he succeeded, his prosperity upon his return would be assured. mr. herford was rich; he spared no expense over microscopes, books, collecting boxes, and all the properties for the expedition, and gave him a free passage out. the _pelican of the north_ was bound for moulmein with coal,--would then go to rangoon in ballast, and return laden with rice. she was towed as far as to the floating lightship; there the steam-tug cast off, and the voyage was fairly begun. by that time mr. gilchrist was down upon his marrow-bones, most horribly sick. he was a delicate man, and suffered terribly. ralph was also ill, but his uncle encouraged him to struggle against the malady, and the other apprentices ridiculed him so unmercifully as a land-lubber, that he made every effort to keep up, and this with good effect, for he was soon upon his feet again, with a furious appetite even for salt junk and fat pork. then, in his good-nature, feeling heartily for a fellow-sufferer, he began to wait upon mr. gilchrist, nursing him and tending him well. it would have been better for this gentleman had he possessed the same strong reasons for exertion as his young companion; he would perhaps have suffered less. as it was, he was ill for nearly a fortnight; and, the weather being uncertain, captain rogers and the mates were glad to be relieved from the necessity of attending upon him, having quite enough to do with sailing the ship. by degrees mr. gilchrist recovered; and, grateful for ralph's care of him, he then lent him books, talked to him about them, encouraging him to learn many things and improve himself. captain rogers was pleased that his nephew should receive such notice from so clever a man. he had not much education himself outside of his own business, but was shrewd, and entertained a great respect for what he called "book learning." "it is very kind of you, gilchrist," said he one evening, sitting with his passenger over their coffee,--"it is very kind of you to indoctrinate that lad as you are doing. it has been hard upon him to be cast upon his beam ends so early in life. his father was a well-read man, and might have given him good schooling had he lived, but my poor sister could not afford it when she was left with so many of them." "it is an amusement," replied mr. gilchrist. "it helps me to pass the time pleasantly, i assure you. i like the boy much, he is very intelligent." "he is a good sort of fellow," said the captain. "i hope he will get on. but we must be careful not to set him up too much, so as to make the other apprentices jealous of him. i have my doubts of that kirke. i hate your gentlemen apprentices; they are always more trouble than profit. that one is not worth his salt." "is he a gentleman's son, then?" "aye. his father is a friend of my boss; the lad is sent to sea because they can do nothing with him at home, but i wish they had put him in any other ship than this one." "is it usual for a gentleman to send his son to sea in the merchant service?" asked mr. gilchrist. "i wish it either were more usual or less," replied the captain. "i hate having them. it always means stupidity, idleness or scampishness; and, whichever it may be, they are no good. if a lad cannot keep his own natural position in life it does not prevent him from having big ideas of himself after coming down to another; and if he gets into ugly scrapes as a gentleman, he will get into uglier ones when the restraint upon him is less." "you have much experience in boys and men, rogers." "ah! i have--with a certain class of boys and men. now and then one finds a lad who can work with his hands when he cannot with his head, and who tries to do his best; but good seamen need to use their brains as well as other folks if they are to get on. such youngsters come to us too late. their friends don't send them until they have tried everything else and failed. the hardships of our life fall five times as heavily upon them as upon a lad who belongs to a hardier class and has begun earlier. kirke is not one of that sort; i misdoubt me but what there will be trouble with him before this voyage is over." "well, the weather seems to have taken up a better humour at last. we seem to have got out of that circle of squalls through which we have been making our way." "yes," said the captain. "we are coming in for a quieter season, if it only lasts. i wish the voyage was over, though. my wife took up a superstitious notion that we should have trouble over it. she had a dream or something which impressed her with that idea; and though i laughed at her, i cannot forget it altogether. do you believe in warnings and presentiments?" "i suppose there are few men who could say with truth that they disbelieve in them entirely, but i have seen so many come to nought that i do not entertain much faith in them." "ah! well," said the captain, finishing his cup, and rising to leave the cabin, "i suppose i am an old fool to heed such things. i don't see where mischief is to crop up unless through that lad, and he may turn out better than i fear. good-night, mr. gilchrist." "good-night." chapter ii a gale it was of little use for captain rogers to trouble himself in the hope of avoiding jealousy of ralph on the part of the other apprentices, for the feeling was already rife on the part of kirke. that ill-conditioned young man despised everyone on board for not being men of good family, as he himself was, though he was more conscious of his good birth than careful to prove himself a gentleman by his conduct. he could not see why he should be made to work, and the son of a merchant's book-keeper, a lad whose mother let lodgings for her support, should be cockered up in the captain's cabin, reading and writing at his ease, practically exempt from hard toil. ralph had not enjoyed a tenth part of the educational advantages which kirke had thrown away, and was anxious to improve himself now that a chance of doing so was presented. mr. gilchrist was teaching him mathematics and french, lending him books upon botany and natural history, especially such as treated of the country for which he was bound, and also a few volumes of history and travels. he taught him much by conversation upon these subjects; and ralph, feeling that he had one foot planted upon the social ladder, earnestly desiring to rise higher, flung himself enthusiastically into these studies as a means for so doing. his uncle did not demand much manual labour from him; he performed that cheerfully, but saw no reason why, his allotted task being done, he should occupy his own time in saving kirke from doing his share of duty. there was no great good-feeling between these lads; and harry jackson, the third apprentice, was a weak, ordinary sort of boy, who admired kirke for his adventitious graces, and had become completely his tool. the three boys all slept in part of a deckhouse amidships, a place divided between the galley and the apprentices' cabin. the ship being an old one, there were no berths for the youngsters, who slept in hammocks slung up at night, and taken down in the morning, rolled up, and stowed away to make room for their meals and accommodation through the day. ralph breakfasted with the other two apprentices, their hours being earlier than those of his uncle's cabin. after this meal, he did what work was expected from him, and liked to be clean and ready by the time when mr. gilchrist could attend to him in the poop, where chiefly he spent the remainder of the day. one morning ralph awoke suddenly, experiencing a very disagreeable shock. the time-honoured joke of letting his hammock down at the head had been played upon him, and kirke lay comfortably on his own bed squirting water all over him. "have done, kirke!" he cried angrily. "how would you like to be served so?" "try it on if you dare," retorted kirke, aiming a stream of water right into his face. "i only wish you would try it on, just once, and you would see. get up! you must swab the decks to-day, i did it yesterday." "drop that squirt, i tell you!" roared ralph, as his shirt was made dripping wet, and a fresh supply of water was drawn into the tube from the basin which kirke held between his knees. kirke's only reply was another jet, which streamed down ralph's back. ralph sprang upon his tormentor, and a struggle took place for possession of the squirt. the tin basin was upset all over the bedclothes, but denham flung it away and seized hold of the squirt. indignation gave him superior strength, he wrenched the instrument out of kirke's hands, and kirke drove his clenched fist, straight from his shoulder, into ralph's face and hit him in the eye. fireworks flashed before his vision, and he proceeded to revenge himself in a fair fight; but jackson ran screaming out of the cabin upon seeing ralph pitch kirke out of his hammock as a preliminary, and called to the mate on the watch. "mr. denham is fighting mr. kirke," cried he, "and has upset a basin of water all over him in his hammock." the mate came in. "now, my lads," commanded he, "just you understand that i'll allow no rowdy work of that sort. shut up at once, both of you." it was the voice of authority, and ralph scorned to tell tales, so he desisted, pulled a dry shirt out of his chest, and went on deck as soon as he could. being a good-natured lad, his anger had then cooled down, and he began to swab the deck, thinking that it would act as a peace-offering to give kirke the help voluntarily. kirke came out slowly and moodily, but did not begin to work on his part. he stood with his hands in his pockets, a sneer conquering the lowering gloom on his face. "i am glad you know your place at last," said he, as ralph came near him. "i'll teach you a little more before i have done with you." ralph bit his lip to force down an angry reply. he did not want to quarrel with anyone, as that might give his uncle trouble, but it was as much as he could do to keep silence. at this moment the captain himself stepped out. "ralph!" shouted he. "have you seen my three-foot rule? i can't find it." "i know where it is," replied he. "i'll fetch it." "what are you swabbing the deck for?" asked his uncle. "why are you not doing your own work, kirke? i'll have no shirking. set to at once! ralph, i want you in my cabin." kirke had no option but to take up the bucket and begin the menial work which he hated so fiercely. "mr. gilchrist is not well," said the captain. "i hope he is not in for an attack of dysentery, but he is certainly very poorly. i have persuaded him to lie still, and i wish you would put yourself tidy and come and attend to him. go to the storehouse and get out some brandy for him. here are the keys. i am wanted on deck to see about twenty things all at once." ralph hastened to obey. the ship was victualled upon teetotal principles, but a little spirit was kept for cases of emergency or illness. none had been used hitherto upon this voyage, and the decanters were empty. ralph opened the locker where the bottles were stored, took out some brandy, filled one of the little decanters which stood in a silver case, and hurried with it to the invalid's cabin, leaving everything open in the storeroom, for the moment, from his haste to relieve his friend. mr. gilchrist was very unwell indeed. he said that he was subject to these attacks at times; he did not believe that this was dysentery, he had taken a chill and should be better soon. ralph procured some hot water and prepared the cordial for him, but he was sick at once after taking it; he shivered violently, his teeth chattering in his head. this frightened his young nurse very much, for they were now in latitudes where the heat was great; no doctor was on board, and he knew little about illness. however, the patient was better after a time, the sickness ceased, the headache was lessened, a gentle perspiration broke out, and he fell asleep. ralph ventured to steal softly away, and went to lock up the spirit bottles in the storeroom. there he found, to his surprise, that not only the one which he had opened was quite empty, but one of brandy and one of rum were missing. he called his uncle, who, holding strong opinions upon the subject of temperance, was very angry. he made a strict investigation into the matter, but failed to discover the culprit. the bottles were gone--vanished; nobody would confess to knowing anything about them. captain rogers was very uneasy in his secret mind, for appearances were against ralph. no one else had been trusted with the keys, and the spirit could not have gone without hands. he knew very little personally about his nephew, being so much at sea himself. he only saw him at long intervals, and in the presence of others; he seemed a steady boy then, and rogers liked him, but this was the first chance he had met with upon which he could have gone wrong, in this manner, to his uncle's knowledge. with this doubt about him, the captain spoke very sharply to ralph as to his carelessness in leaving the locker open. mr. gilchrist took ralph's part. he said that he must have smelt the liquor upon the boy's breath had he drunk it, but the captain knew that about ralph's family history which he did not choose to talk about. ralph called himself a strict teetotaler, which the captain was not; but the elder denham had been a drunkard, and had died from the consequence of his excesses. had the madness broken out in his son? did he inherit it in his blood? had it taken that worst of all forms--secret drinking? he knew what his sister had suffered from her husband's conduct; was the same thing to begin all over again in the person of her son? for two days the captain was miserable from this unspoken fear. ralph had all the appearance of truth and honesty; mr. gilchrist was strongly in favour of his innocence; but the mate remarked that nobody but mr. denham had been trusted with the keys of the locker, not even the cook or the cook's mate, who, between them, discharged the functions of steward. for two wretched, suspicious, anxious days did this doubt cark at the captain's heart. then was little harry jackson found drunk--drunk as a lord--late one evening when off his watch. fresh investigations were set on foot, and it appeared that kirke had given the boy some liquor as a bribe for silence regarding his own potations, of which jackson could not fail to know as they shared the same cabin. denham had not slept there since mr. gilchrist's illness, for he was still unwell, though better; and ralph had begged to be allowed a bed upon the floor of his cabin, so as to attend upon him if necessary through the night. taking advantage of his absence, kirke had been enjoying himself, after his own fashion, with the stolen spirits, and inducing harry to join him so as to ensure his silence. the elder lad's head could already stand copious libations, but that of the younger one could not, and the very means adopted to secure safety led to detection. the captain, deeply annoyed with himself for suspecting his own nephew, highly wrathful for the trouble thus caused to him, punished kirke all the more severely, to give him, as he said, "a lesson which he would not forget in a hurry." ralph tried to beg him off, but his uncle was in a rage and refused to listen to him. kirke might have had all the blood of all the howards running in his veins so great was his anger at his punishment, and he vowed to himself to abscond from the ship as soon as it touched shore, nor ever to run the risk of such ignominy again. things were very uncomfortable after this event for denham. his annoyance while it was pending had been great, it had made him positively unhappy. he felt himself to blame for carelessness in leaving the locker open; he was indignant that the real culprit should cast the onus upon him, knowing him to be perfectly innocent; and he thought that his uncle should have trusted him better. at least he should have spared his own nephew from the charge of dishonesty. he could not be as friendly as before with either kirke or jackson, and felt very lonely. mr. gilchrist continued to be very unwell, unable to talk to him as usual. he had to pursue his studies without help; difficulties beset him; and the other apprentices made themselves extremely disagreeable, keeping up a constant system of petty persecution which rendered life in their cabin almost unendurable, yet of which he scorned to complain to the captain, each separate annoyance being so trivial. besides this, the wind increased in strength, and so severe a gale from the westward set in that the _pelican_ had to scud before it under bare poles. for two days there was cause for considerable anxiety, then the mercury rose, a calm clear night succeeded, followed by a bright sunny morning. "i hope the gale is over," said ralph, coming into the deckhouse and greeting the other lads cheerfully. "i daresay you do," growled kirke. "counter-jumpers and land-lubbers funk a capful of wind mightily." "i think we have had rather more than a capful these last two days," replied ralph, ignoring the insulting language. "you manage to shirk all the trouble it causes, anyway. i don't see that you need complain," said kirke with a sneer. ralph was silent. he finished his breakfast quickly and went out. the men were letting all the reefs out of the topsails, and getting the top-gallant yards across, in hopes of a fine day in which to make the most of the favourable gale. it was a bright, bustling scene, and ralph was amused by looking on. the old carpenter stood by him. this man and the sailmaker both came from the same country village in cornwall where captain rogers and ralph's mother had been born. they always sailed with the captain, if possible, from clannish attachment to him; and loved a chat with ralph from the same feeling. "nice day, wills," said the boy. "'ees, zur, but it won't last," said the carpenter. "'lamb's wool skies, and filley's tails, make lofty ships carry low sails,'" and he pointed to the drifting clouds. "that is it, is it?" said ralph. "are we not having rather a bad voyage, wills? do ships always have so much bad weather as we are meeting with?" "no, zur, but uz sailed on a vriday." "what could that have to do with it, wills? why should that bring bad luck?" "can't zay, zur, but it du." "you cornishmen are always superstitious, aren't you?" "doan't knaw, your honour, as we'm more so than others. 'tis no use to fly in the face of providence ef he've given we the gumption to zee more'n other volks." "did you ever see the flying dutchman in these latitudes, wills?" "no, zur, i can't zay as i have zeed 'un, but 'tain't given to every chield to do so. i've zeed jack harry's lights, though, and we wor wrecked then, too." "where was that?" asked ralph with interest. "close to home, it wor. we heerd the bells of the old church-tower a-calling the volks to evening service all the time we was clinging to the maintop, and the gear flying in ribbons about our faces, a-lashing uz like whips, and all of uz as worn't fast tied to the mast swept away by the sea that awful sunday night. jim pascoe wor lashed aside of me, and 'sam,' zays he, 'i wonder whether my old mawther be a-praying for me at this minute, up to church.' it didn't save he even ef she wor, for a big sea rose up, and came thundering down on uz, and he got the full heft of it right upon him, so that it beat the last spunk of life out of him then and there. there wor but six of uz, out of twenty-one, brought ashore that time alive; and there wor but life, and that wor all, among some of we." "how dreadful!" cried ralph. "what did you think about while you stood there all that time?" "i doan't knaw as i did think much, at all. zemmed as ef all thought wor beat out of uz. but they there seamen as wor drownded then answer to their names still on a stormy night when the wind blows strong from the west upon thiccee rocks." "answer to their names?" "ay. you may hear the roll called out, and they men answer 'here' as plain as you can wish, at midnight, in the heft of a storm." "do you really believe that? did you ever hear it, wills?" "well i can't zay as ever i actually heerd 'un call them, but i knaws they as has; and why for no', maister ralph. perhaps 'ee'll believe i, and find that i speak truth, when i tell 'ee this voyage is doomed to be unfortunate because we set sail on a vriday. i telled captain it would be, but he wouldn't wait for sunday though i did beg and pray 'un to do so." "i can't see what difference two days could make. it would not have saved us the weather we had two days since, nor will it make any difference in whatever may come two days hence." "theer's a-many things as 'ee be too young to onnerstand yet, maister denham." "but 'ee did ought to pay heed to 'un, maister," put in osborn, "because 'ee be cornish the same as we." "i have never been in cornwall, though, osborn." "no, i du knaw thiccee, more's the pity," replied the man. "but uz du mind your ma, when hur wor a mighty pretty little maid, a-dancing and a-singing about 'long shore, and a-chattering so gay. uz du all come from the same place, zur, and we'm proud to knaw 'ee, and to have 'ee on board, ef it be but for the trip. 'tis one and all to home, 'ee knaweth, zur." "yes," laughed ralph. "i am proud enough of my cornish blood, and would like to know more of the good old county, though i fear it will be long before i shall have the chance. you know i am going to rangoon, to push my way and try to help my mother. she does not dance nor sing much in these days. she has a lot of trouble." "so we've heerd, zur. poor little miss amy, we be main sorry to think of it. ef wills or me can ever be of any service to 'ee, zur, 'ee must look out for uz when the _pelican_ comes to rangoon. we shall always stick to cap'n, zur, as we've done for many a day. uz b'ain't likely to leave 'un to be sarved by any old trade picked up out of the slums." "that is well; and if i can help either of you at any time, you may depend upon me. it is a bargain between us," said ralph, laughing. the appearance of fine weather was delusive, for the bright sunshine changed within a few hours to fog and rain. the wind sprang up again, and the captain was forced to order the mainsail to be hauled in, the topsails close reefed, and the top-gallant yards struck. the mercury fell, the gale increased in force, and the sea ran extremely high. there was a sharp frost in the night, with snow, and the storm was as furious as ever next morning. the hatches had to be battened down, and it was dreadful for mr. gilchrist and ralph, wholly inexperienced in nautical matters, unable to see or understand what was going on, or what degree of danger there was, to hear the raging of the elements, while they were in the dark with nothing to distract their thoughts. there they were, mr. gilchrist in his berth, coughing incessantly, and ralph sitting beside him, listening to the tramp of hurried feet and the shouting voices overhead. the great sea would strike the poor labouring vessel with a force that caused it to shudder in every straining timber; it would seem to be tossed on high, and then plunge into fathomless deeps, as if sinking to the very bottom of the sea. tons of water came, ever and anon, rushing overhead. did this mean that their last hour had arrived? were they to be drowned in this awful darkness, like rats in a hole? were they never to see god's light of day again, or look once more over the fair expanse of sea and sky? they grasped each other's hands at these times, for touch was the only comfort which companionship could give. they could not talk,--awe paralysed speech. then the volumes of water seemed to drain off in descending streams through the scupper-holes, and voices would be heard again, and a few sentences of prayer would break from mr. gilchrist's lips. this lasted for two days, awful days for these poor prisoners; but the wind was in their favour, and blew them on their way, though a little too far southwards, and it moderated in course of time. the captain had the dead-lights removed, the hatches raised, and came down to see how his passengers had fared. "i never could have believed that light and air would be so welcome," said ralph; "and it is but a scotch mist yet, no pleasant sunshine." "no," replied the captain, "but you will soon have enough of sunshine now. perhaps you may even have too much of it one of these days. we have lost poor little jackson," continued he, turning to mr. gilchrist. "what! the boy apprentice?" asked he. "ay, poor child! washed overboard in the night, and one of the seamen yesterday morning. we could not help either of them, the sea was running so high. would you like to come up for a bit and see the waves for yourself now?" but mr. gilchrist declined. he dreaded bringing on one of his paroxysms of cough more than the closeness and confinement of the cabin; but ralph, shocked by his uncle's announcement, was eager to go on deck. he was not used to death, and it was very awful to him to think that, while he sat in comparative safety below, yet fearing for his own death every moment, this boy, so much younger than himself, had passed suddenly through a watery grave to the portals of that unknown world where he must meet his god. where was he now? what could he be doing? he seemed as unfit for a spiritual life as anyone whom ralph had ever met. a mere troublesome naughty boy, of the most ordinary type; rough, dirty, hungry,--a boy who could laugh at a coarse joke, use bad words, shirk his work whenever he had the chance, and who did nothing except idle play in his leisure time. what could he be doing among white-robed angels, among the spirits of good men made perfect, among cherubim and seraphim, with their pure eyes, around the father's throne? yet had god taken him. the mysteries of life and death came home, in a vivid light, to ralph's soul, as he stood holding on to a rope, and gazing down on that boiling sea, whence he dreaded, every moment, to see his young companion's white face looking up at him. kirke came by, and denham's good heart prompted him to turn round and offer him his hand. little jackson had run after kirke like a dog, admired, followed, idolised him, and ralph thought he must be as much impressed as himself by this awful event. so he put out his hand, saying-- "oh, kirke, i am so sorry to hear about jackson!" "bother you and your sorrow! i wish it had been you," replied kirke rudely. ralph turned away in silence. he, too, almost wished it had been himself, not that he felt more fit to go, but that the heartlessness of this fellow struck a chill to his heart. but kirke was not so heedless of the event as he tried to seem, nor so wholly ungrateful for ralph's sympathy as he chose to appear. this was the first blow which had struck home to him, and in his pride and sullen humour he was trying to resist its softening influence. not for the world would he have displayed any better feeling at that time, though it was not altogether absent from his heart. chapter iii fire at sea after this painful episode was over, amidst a succession of calms, varied by light south-west breezes, changing gradually more and more to the east, the _pelican of the north_ crossed the line, and proceeded upon her way in pleasant weather. ralph would have enjoyed this time much but for the pest of cockroaches which now swarmed over them and their belongings. these disgusting insects were of two sorts, one of which had always been troublesome from the first, but were now supplemented by a second, not seen much except by night, but which crawled about then in such immense numbers, through the hours of darkness, as to do great damage. they ran over the cabin floors, up the walls, were shaken out in showers from the rigging when a sail was unfurled; they honeycombed the biscuit, they were found in the boots and shoes, and made life a burden to young denham, who entertained a particular aversion to creeping insects. "how i wish we could find anything which would rid us of these beastly things?" sighed he one day to mr. gilchrist, when the vermin had been seized with a literary fureur, and eaten out the ink from some notes which he had been at considerable pains to compile from a book of natural history. "last night i thought we must have some spiritualist on board, or ghosts, or something uncanny. i was wakened up by the noise as if everything in the cabin had taken to dancing about in a frolic, till i discovered it was nothing but thousands of these horrid creatures crawling and rustling about. some nights i verily believe that they will eat us up bodily." mr. gilchrist laughed. "never mind," said he, "we shall be in cooler latitudes soon, and they will become more torpid, and go back to their holes again. we are nearing the cape." "shall we touch at the cape? shall we see the table mountain, sir, do you think?" "i rather fancy not. from what the captain said the other day, i believe that there are currents there which are apt to be trying to a heavily-laden ship such as ours. squalls are very prevalent in rounding the cape, and i think he will give it a wide berth. we do not need water, nor have we any particular reason for delaying the voyage by putting in at cape town." "we must be near land, i should think, for there are so many birds about now. some of them are birds that i never saw before." "albatrosses to wit? you do not want to shoot one, do you, and share the fate of the ancient mariner?" "no, not quite that, though if everyone who had done so were to be exposed to a similar fate there would be a good many phantom ships careering about the high-seas. lots of the ships that come into liverpool have their skins, or their bills, or something on board. i have an albatross' bill at home that a sailor gave me. i have a lot of things fastened up about the walls of my room. it is easy to get foreign curiosities in liverpool, but i left all mine as a legacy to my sister agnes, and promised to look out for more when i got to rangoon, and met with any chance of sending them home to her." "it will be a good plan. if you have any ready in time i will take them back for you, and call to see your mother to tell her how you are getting on, what sort of lodgings you have, and all about you." "that will be very kind, sir. in that case i will try to shoot one of those birds, for they are quite new to me. they are of a blue colour in part, with a black streak across the top of the wings." "those are blue petrels, i believe; birds which are only found in southern seas. we will try to preserve the skins of one or two with carbolic powder, though i fear that your friends the cockroaches will get at them." "ugh! don't call them my friends! you should have seen the third mate, mr. kershaw, teasing the cook yesterday. cook came up in the evening for a breath of air, and was leaning over the side looking down at the 'sea on fire' as they call it--it was splendid late last night. mr. kershaw came up to him and looked at him very earnestly, first on one side and then on the other, as if he saw something queer about him. cook began to squirm about uncomfortably. "'what is it, mr. kershaw?' asked he. 'is there anything wrong about me?' "'oh no, my good fellow, no,' said the mate. 'it only struck me that cockroaches are a peculiar kind of pets, but it is every man's own business if he chooses to let them sleep in the folds of his shirt. do you always keep them there?' "'where, where?' called out the cook, all in a hurry. 'cockroaches on my shirt? where?' "he was trying to see over his shoulder in an impossible kind of way; he put his hands up to his neck and down to his waist at the back; he shuddered, and shook himself, but could not find them; and it was not likely that he could, for there were none there to be found. "mr. kershaw was pretending to help him, poking at him up and down his back. "'oh, i thought i had them then!--there, under your arm,--no, down your leg. dear me! how very active they are. what remarkably fine specimens! they seem to be quite tame; how much you must know about them to live with them like this, quite in the style of a happy family. they really seem to love you. i should not like to keep them about myself though, in this manner. do you _always_ have them upon your own person, my friend?' "at last the cook twigged the joke, for we were all laughing so, but he was quite cross about it, and flung away muttering something about fools, and wishing to knock mr. kershaw's head off for him." ralph could not help laughing again at the remembrance of the scene, and mr. gilchrist joined in his merriment. but soon there was no more time for jokes or laughter, stern reality claimed all their attention. mr. gilchrist was sitting one day upon a lounging-chair, beneath the shade of an awning, when the captain approached him with anxiety plainly imprinted on his face. "how now, rogers?" said he; "your face is as long as from here to there!" "and with good reason too," replied the captain; "i fear that a terrible calamity has come upon us." "why, my good fellow, what can be going to happen now?" cried gilchrist, alarmed in his turn. "fire," said rogers laconically, but with grave emphasis. "fire!" exclaimed both gilchrist and ralph at the same instant, staring around them in perplexity upon the placid sea, the sunny sky, the swelling sails, the pennon idly fluttering on the breeze. "fire! where? how?" for all answer the captain pointed to a few slender spiral coils of smoke, issuing from the seams of the deck where the caulking had worn away. mr. gilchrist looked aghast. "do you mean the cargo?" he asked fearfully. "even so," said the captain. "it may be only heating from water reaching it during the storm. we are going to open the hatches and see if we can put it out, but i fear that the mischief was done when we loaded the coal. it was such wet weather while we were taking it on board. gilchrist," said he, lowering his voice, "if there is anything particularly valuable among your things, put it up in small compass, and be ready for the worst in case we have to take to the boats." "do you anticipate such a thing?" "it is always well to be prepared." mr. gilchrist had many things--books, maps, scientific instruments, collecting cases, a costly binocular microscope with all its appliances, and other articles, nothing having been spared for his equipment; but in the shock of this surprise he forgot them all, and, springing from his chair, hurried to the scene of action. the whole crew gathered hastily around to know the worst, and gazed with blanched faces at each other as the hatches were carefully raised. a universal cry of horror escaped them, when such a cloud of steam and smoke, with so sulphureous a stench, rushed out, upon vent being given to the hold, that they were driven back gasping for air. "good heavens!" cried mr. gilchrist, "there are two thousand tons of coal down there! the lord have mercy upon us!" "how far are we from land?" asked ralph. "i do not know. i suppose that it depends greatly on the wind for calculating the length of time it will take us to reach it. i believe the captain hoped to make moulmein in about a week or ten days more." "where is that hose?" thundered the captain. "bring it here at once. douche the hold well. mellish, we must try to jettison the cargo, and make room for water enough to reach down the hold." "right you are, sir!" cried the first mate. "who volunteers?" the hardiest men among the crew pressed forward. two parties were quickly told off, one to relieve the other. the men flew to the pumps and hose; all was excitement and hurry--not a soul of them flinched. "here, give me hold of a bucket," cried mr. gilchrist, taking his place in a line of men hauling up sea-water to supplement the volumes from the hose. ralph rushed to assist at the pumps. streams of water poured down the hold; volumes of steam arose, hissing, through the hatchways. it was long before the bravest of the men could descend, no one could have breathed in such an atmosphere; and when two leapt into the chasm at last, they had immediately to be drawn up again, fainting, scorched, choked with the sulphureous fumes. they were laid on the deck, buckets of water dashed upon them, and they came, gasping, to themselves. "'tis of no use, mates," said they. "the mouth of hell itself could be no fiercer." it was indeed like looking down the crater of a volcano to glance into that awful depth--the fire had got complete hold of the coal. "we must take to the boats, sir," said mellish. "not yet," replied the captain. "we have no security yet from that cyclone,--did boats fall into its clutches, there is no chance for them. we may skirt it in the barque by god's providence; it blows from the west'ard quarter, and its tail may help us towards the mainland quicker than boats would take us. batten down the hatches, but leave the hose room for entrance, and keep up the water as much as we can. provision the boats, and have everything ready to man them quickly when all hope is over; but we stick to the old girl to the last gasp." there were two large boats, both capable of holding ten or twelve men; two smaller ones, which could accommodate six or eight each; and the captain's gig, usually manned by a similar number. it would require the whole five to receive all the crew, for it consisted of twenty seamen, an apprentice, ralph, a cook, sailmaker, carpenter, boatswain, three mates and the captain,--thirty souls besides mr. gilchrist. even with all the five boats there would be but little space to save much of their possessions, but there was the less demand for this as the men, taking fright at the state of the cargo, refused to go below even for their own kits. indeed, the stench of sulphur, and rapid spread of the smother, justified them in their fears. the cook's galley and the storehouses were on deck, the latter in the poop, close by the captain's cabin, and the former amidships; it was therefore easy to store the boats with a sufficiency of provision and water, and captain rogers proceeded to tell off the men for each. he himself must be the last to leave the ship; and equally, of course, must mr. gilchrist be considered among the first. he must go in the first boat, commanded by mellish; eight seamen, kirke, and the carpenter would form its complement. but mr. gilchrist refused. "no," said he. "i am an interloper here, it is right that i should come last, and leave these poor fellows to have first chance of their lives. put a married man in my place, there is no one dependent upon me at home." "nay," said captain rogers, "you are my charge, i must see you safe first." "my good fellow," replied mr. gilchrist with determination, "do not waste time in arguing; i go with you." "and i too, uncle," said ralph. "do not ask me to part from you." "for you, boy," replied the captain, "right and good, you are as my own, and ought to take risks with me; but for you, gilchrist, think better of it." "now, rogers," said mr. gilchrist, "why waste time? don't you know when a man has made up his mind?" there was indeed a general perception that time was short, the men worked with all their might, and the boats were stored rapidly. the three mates and the boatswain were each to command one; the coxswains were selected from the best of the seamen, and every man was given his place, to which he was at once to repair upon a given signal. was it wise to wait longer before embarking in them? a dead calm had fallen, an ominous stillness pervaded the atmosphere, no breeze, not the faintest sigh, was there to swell the sails, and a brassy sky in the west received the sinking sun. and the little coils of smoke grew larger, they writhed up from crack and cranny like snakes, and span and twisted, puffed and swelled, with horrible sportiveness. the men worked in silence, casting fearful glances on this side and that, as they trod those decks which formed so slight a protection for them from the fiery chasm beneath. they gathered in groups as the night fell with the rapidity of those latitudes, but they did not talk. in the quiet they could hear little slippings of the coal, little reports now and then, and they fancied that a sullen roar might be distinguished, now gathering volume, then dying away. the night was very dark,--was it the looming storm or the furnace beneath them which made the air so oppressive and close? nothing could be done without light, and the suspense was horrible. every now and then the captain, holding a lantern low, swept the decks, examining to see whether the smoke had increased or lessened. there appeared to be but little difference, but such change as there was lay in the direction of increase. thicker and thicker grew the gloom, blacker and blacker the night, heavier and heavier the sultry air. then a faint moaning was heard among the shrouds, a hissing on the surface of the water, and the cyclone broke upon them with a cry as of demons rejoicing over their prey. the vessel gave a shudder like a living creature, then bounded forwards, heeling over from force of the wind in the most perilous manner; every cord straining, every sail swollen to its utmost tension. it was but the edge of the cyclone, but even that gave them enough to do. the sea boiled around them; great waves tossed the devoted ship on their crests, and buried it in their trough, driving it onward with fury all but unmanageable. then rose up a wall of water above their heads, it dashed down upon the decks, and rushed out from the scuppers in foaming streams; and in the next instant the mainsail was torn from its holdings, the mast gave way with an awful rending and crash, and beat about to this side and that, to the peril of all around. "the boats! the boats!" shrieked the men. "take to the boats!" shouted rogers. they sprang to the davits to loosen the boats, and the howling wind took the gear in its teeth and wrenched its supports from their hold, whirling the two first boats away as if they had been feathers. floods of water poured over the decks, making their way plentifully down into the hold through a thousand clefts opened by the straining timbers, and the steam rose in thicker and hotter clouds as they washed away. then a lull came,--were they out of the line of the cyclone? "cut the ropes of the starboard boats," cried the captain. "we can hold out no longer. 'tis life or death." again was the effort made,--again did failure greet the devoted men; the smaller boat was swamped at once. better fortune served them over the others; the large one and the captain's gig were lowered safely, and the men crowded into them with headlong speed, many throwing themselves into the seething water in their haste, some to be hauled on board by their comrades, and more than one to be swept out of sight for ever. hardly could the united efforts of the captain, mates, and mr. gilchrist control the panic: they stood, silent and firm, with set teeth and blanched faces, as the seamen crushed past them and dropped over the side, only endeavouring to withhold them so as to give each his fair chance of escape. minutes were like hours; the crowd lessened,--cries and shouts for haste rose up from the thronged boats. captain rogers turned, caught ralph by the arm and swung him over the side; mr. gilchrist slipped down a rope and was hauled in; mellish leapt; the captain stood alone, the last of all. he looked hurriedly around--all were gone, his duty done, and he too threw himself into the gig. so hampered were the rowers by the mass of living creatures crushed into so small a space, that they could hardly manage their oars; the boats were weighted down to the water's edge, and had not the storm spent its fury in that last awful burst, all hope of living in such a sea would have been futile. but the hand of providence was over them; they shook down into something like order, and rowed away from the doomed ship with all the expedition they could raise; and not one moment too soon; for, hardly were they at a safe distance, when, with an awful roar,--a splitting and crashing of timbers,--an explosion like the crack of doom itself,--the deck was forced upwards, its planks tossed high in air, as if they were chips, by the pillar of white steam that rose exultingly into the sky; great tongues of flame shot rapidly up through it, crimson and orange among rolling volumes of smoke; and the rising sun paled before the glowing fiery mass that reddened the waters far and wide ere it sank into their bosom, leaving its débris of burnt and blackened wastry floating idly on its surface. a groan burst from the white lips of the men as the seething ruin that had been their home for so many weeks disappeared slowly from their gaze. chapter iv the raft what were the occupants of the boats to do? what would become of them? twenty-six men in boats only meant to accommodate eighteen at most, and these with but little food or water, no change of clothes, few comforts of any kind, an insufficiency even of necessaries,--and they were within the tropics. the sun rose up in fierce majesty, and blazed down upon them like fire itself. some had no hats, and suffered terribly from this cause. the sea was like molten metal heaving close around them; the crowd impeded all proper use of the oars or sailing gear. of this last the captain's gig had none. the men looked at each other with haggard eyes, despair in their faces. it would require but a slight touch to make them abandon themselves to hopelessness, losing heart altogether, and becoming demoralised. they must be induced to do something, to strike a blow for their own salvation, or all would be lost. rogers was the right man in the right place here. out broke his cheerful voice-- "three cheers for the last of the old _pelican_, my boys! she dies gloriously after all. no ship-breaker's yard for the gallant old girl!" he led the cheers, which were echoed but faintly. "'tis well," pursued he; "'tis a crowning mercy that we are in the current which sets into the barogna flats. it will bear us along softly and well, barring any more cyclones, but it is not likely that we shall have another of those wild customers now. it has swept over for the time, anyhow." "will you not make for diamond island, sir?" asked mellish, the first mate. "by all means," said the captain, "if we are able to _make for_ anything. but, my good fellow," dropping his voice, "we must take our chance of getting _anywhere_. in this crowd we cannot hold out long, neither can we pick and choose our course. we can practically only drift, and keep up our hearts." "we are nearly sure to be met by some ship going into rangoon," said mellish, speaking with more certainty than he felt. "there is a light on the krishna shoal, if we could reach that," said kershaw, the third mate. "i was in rangoon on my first voyage, and remember it; a thing like the devil on three sticks instead of two." a laugh followed this description of the lighthouse which all the old salts knew. "ay, my lad," said the captain cheerily, "we'll make for your three-legged devil, and let him take the hindmost." "zur," said old wills, touching his forelock, "there'm a lot of spars and timbers afloat, would it not be best to try and draw enough in to make a catamaran, like az we used to be teached to make for a pinch when i wor in the navy?" "a catamaran!" exclaimed young kershaw. "why, man, what good would that be so far to sea? you may see them by the dozen off shore, but how do you propose to make one here?" "from timber-heads and greenhorn, zur," replied the old fellow very demurely. "do you think you can?" asked rogers, who was thinking too intently to have noticed this byplay. "the boats are of such different sizes." "'twon't be a fust-class affair, your honour," replied wills. "not az if we had her blessed majesty's resources to hand; but osborn here, he du knaw what i mean so well az any, and i daresay there's others too." "ay!" cried two or three. "'twould give more elbow-room d'ye zee, zur." "it would," said the captain; "but you could not do it unless the boats were nearer of a size, i am convinced." "maybe not, sir," said mr. mellish, "but there seem to be a lot of casks among the wreckage. if we could haul in half a dozen oil hogsheads, and put them three of a side, we might contrive what would relieve both boats considerably. then we might leave the big boat to keep that company, and push ahead with the gig to fetch help." "right you be, zur," said wills. there was a coil of rope in the large boat, they made a running noose in it, and endeavoured to fling it over some of the coveted casks; but the difficulty was enormous, partly from want of room in which to work, and partly from the danger that floating wreckage might swamp their boat, and so destroy their only chance of life. some spars and staves were collected, suitable to the purpose, but the sea was much agitated from the recent cyclone, and the difficulty of approaching the hogsheads was apparently insurmountable. the things might have been alive and spiteful, so persistently did they elude every wile. just when the men, utterly disheartened, were inclined to abandon the effort as hopeless, the noose caught, apparently more by haphazard than by skill, and a hogshead of oil was drawn alongside. in their excitement the men nearly upset the boat, and rogers had to repress them sternly. "have a care, men, have a care! look at the sharks all about us. you don't want to fatten them, do ye?" "broach that cask," cried one among them. "let the ile out, 'twill calm the sea." "ay!" said rogers, "let it out." another hogshead was brought in now, and, strange to say, the oil being emptied did make the water smoother as far as it reached around them. while the men in one boat redoubled their efforts to obtain more of these casks, old wills and his mate osborn connected the two empty ones by a spar laid across and firmly affixed to each end. they did this at the imminent risk of their lives, for it was necessary to get upon the spar, in a kneeling position, so as to secure the ropes firmly, and any slip into the sea would probably have been followed by a rush of white light to the spot, and the disappearance of the man, or at least of one of his members. those in the boats watched anxiously the while, crying out now and then, "'ware shark!" as these alarms were half of them false ones, the old fellows became too well accustomed to them for more than a passing glance from their work, which became safer for them as the casks were firmly fastened. in the meantime a third cask was obtained, but it seemed all but impossible to attach a fourth. there was one within approachable distance, but it bobbed a little farther off with each effort to cast the noose over it. seeing the impunity which had attended the efforts of wills and osborn, a man called whittingham, a strong active young daredevil, got upon the spar, and made his careful way out to its far end, rope in hand, coiled up, ready for a cast. he worked himself astride the spar with considerable difficulty, for the thing was up in the air at one moment, so that the lookers-on expected to see him flung backwards into the sea; then down the length would plunge, as if about to bury itself in some great green cavern, into which he must go headlong. it was like riding a kicking horse, but the hardy fellow kept his hold, reached the hogshead farthest from the boat, flung the coil, and it fell short though actually touching the cask. reclaiming the length of cord, whittingham, in defiance of all prudence, flung himself into the boiling sea and swam towards the coveted object. "come back, man! come back!" shouted the captain. "a shark! a shark!" roared the sailors. whittingham paid no heed, he reached the cask and got the rope around it. he had a cord passed round his waist, and prepared to be hauled back by it, when his awful shriek rent the air, and a groan burst from the white lips of his comrades. a huge shark had rushed swiftly up, and taken the poor fellow's legs off at his middle. the sea was crimsoned with his blood, as his head was seen turned, with an agonised expression, at sight of the certain death come upon him. in another minute the tension of the strong hands relaxed, and the man's upper half also disappeared from sight. ralph hid his face, trembling with horror. but the men knew well that this was the fate which awaited them all did the boats capsize before rescue arrived, and they redoubled their efforts to help themselves. the fatal cask was drawn in, reddened still with the lifeblood of poor whittingham, which had splashed all over it, and it enabled wills and his assistants to construct a sort of oblong frame, supported at each corner by the buoyant empty vessels. pieces of wood were laid athwart, the short way of the raft, which became safer with each fresh plank as it was affixed. the chief difficulty was to obtain the wherewithal for making these planks and timbers secure. there was but very little rope, and only such nails as clung to the riven timbers, with a few which wills, like all carpenters, happened to have in his pocket. the spars and planks were irregular in length and thickness, neither was it possible to rig up even a cord run around the raft, or any manner of bulwark wherewith to increase its safety. it could not be navigated by any means, but it could be towed at the stern of the larger boat, and serve to reduce the crush of people there, so as give free scope either to step the mast and sail her, or for the men to use their oars. both boats being thus relieved, the captain's gig would then row away, with a light complement of men, and try to make diamond island, upon which a pilot station was well known to exist; or the krishna shoal, where it was probable that help might be either obtained or signalled for by those in the lightship. with help of the current this was possible, provided the weather remained calm. the question now arose as to who should be transferred to the raft,--who could best be spared from the boats. mellish must remain in command of the large boat, with kershaw. the second mate must go with the captain. the four officers must be thus divided to ensure a head in case of accident to either one among them. the crew of the captain's gig must also be retained. they were picked men, and the most likely to hold out in case of long-continued exertion or another gale of wind. "uncle," said ralph, "i will go on the raft. i cannot help in the boat, i do not know enough, but i can make room for a better man." "you are right, my boy," said the captain a little huskily. "you are a plucky chap, and your mother shall hear of this if any of us live." "i go on the raft, equally of course," said mr. gilchrist firmly. "let we go, maister," proposed wills, usually spokesman for himself and osborn. "uz will keep an eye on the young 'un, ef it be only because he'm miss amy's chield." the captain grasped the old fellow's hand in silence, and two of the ordinary seamen, of less use than the a.b.'s, were added to the little gimcrack craft's crew. the biscuit was apportioned out to each as far as it went, and the gig parted company from its fellows. when nearly out of sight, the men lifted their oars in the air as a farewell greeting, and the fast gathering shades of night engulfed them. their companions, both in the boat and on the raft, watched their disappearance in silence. they were exhausted with the emotions of the last few days, and the heavy work of the last twenty-four hours. little could be done through the night but wait for the dawn. they set a watch, and each tried to get some rest in turn. there had been a question as to whether kirke should not have gone on the raft. it would have been fitter for him to have done so than for mr. gilchrist, who, always delicate, had recently been so ill. he was a guest, if not a passenger, and should have had the best place. he had, however, settled the question for himself, allowing no demur, and the men were grateful to him for so doing. most of them were married men, with young children or other helpless ones dependent upon them. the safety of the raft was bound up in the safety of the boat. if anything happened to swamp the boat, the raft was doomed to share the same fate; whereas, were the raft lost, those in the boat still had a chance. those who could work the oars and sails best were the right men to remain in it. but kirke was not one of these; neither his strength nor his knowledge made him as useful as an o. s. would have been, but he claimed his place in the boat as an officer, and there was no time for debate. captain rogers let it pass,--perhaps he had his own private reasons for so doing. the men owned no reasons, public or private, for keeping this much disliked young man among them; they would far rather have had ralph of the two; and thought that mr. gilchrist should have been kept in the best place. they murmured; they made remarks to each other aimed at the selfish apprentice, and which he perfectly understood; while kershaw openly taunted him with selfishness and cowardice. kirke maintained a dogged silence, but his brow became more lowering, and his mouth more set in a kind of vicious sullenness every moment. so night fell. chapter v adrift on the ocean night fell over the shipwrecked men, a strange one for the denizens of the raft. there, at least, was peace, and a hearty determination to make the best of their position. they had some sailcloth and a boat cloak. the men arranged the packages, which had been turned out to disencumber the boat, so as to make a tolerably comfortable back; they laid down a couple of planks close together, rolled up the sailcloth into a kind of cushion above them, and placed mr. gilchrist upon it, wrapped in the cloak. that gentleman would gladly have shared these accommodations among some of them, but the men would not hear of it. "lord love you, zur," said osborn, "there's enough for one, but two wouldn't zay thank'ee for a part. we'm used to roughing it. 'tis fine and cool after all the heat and pother to-day." ralph, upon whom his friend urged his wishes more strongly, only laughed. he seated himself upon one leg on a packing-case, the other foot dangling; he crossed his arms on the head of the biscuit-barrel against which mr. gilchrist leaned, half-sitting, and, burying his face upon them, said he should sleep like a top there, for he was so tired he could not keep his eyes open. the sailors squatted down, finding such ease as was possible, and quiet fell over all. the night was a dark one, and very still; there was not a breath of wind to fill the sail in the boat, half the men there were getting what repose they could, and the others trusted more to the current than to their oars through the darkness. silence had fallen upon all there as well as on the raft. but mr. gilchrist could not sleep. he was a nervous, excitable man, and the new and excessively perilous position in which he found himself precluded all possibility of sleep. his senses seemed rather to be preternaturally acute, and he could not even close his eyes. the lapping of the sea against the raft, the occasional gleam of something swiftly passing, and which he believed to be a shark accompanying the crazy little craft,--for what purpose he shuddered to think,--the occasional sounds which reached him from the boat, all kept him awake. he lay, half-reclining, with his face towards the boat, which was full in his view. he could faintly see the oars dipping into the water, keeping way on the boat, and kershaw's slim figure holding the tiller ropes. presently he saw the one set of men relieved by the other, he smiled to observe the mate's long arms tossed out, evidently accompanying a portentous yawn, and then he was replaced by a shorter, broader back, which mr. gilchrist knew must belong to kirke. a sort of half-doze succeeded for a short time, then ralph changed his position, which startled him into wakefulness once more, and discontented tones reached him from the boat. "what are you about? steer straight. you will tip us all over. what's the fellow doing?" "dropped my cap overboard. i was not going to lose it. shut up!" a few more murmurs, then all was still again; but, was he mistaken? did his eyes, unaccustomed to judge of objects in the darkness, deceive him, or were they farther from the boat than before? he peered anxiously into the gloom, and felt certain that the motion of the raft was changed. there was less ripple against its prow. "wills," said he softly to the old carpenter, who lay full length within reach of his hand,--"wills, there is something wrong." the man was on the alert instantaneously. "zur?" he asked. "i fear we have parted the towline," said mr gilchrist. wills cautiously moved to where the rope had been fastened--it hung loose, there was no tension upon it, and he hauled it in hand over hand. "my god!" he cried, "we are lost!" they shouted to the men in the boat, but the distance was widening every moment between them. kirke did not seem to hear, to understand. the men clamoured, the first mate arose, took the helm, and tried to turn her head so as to row back, but the darkness was greater than ever. those in the raft could no longer distinguish the boat, what chance therefore existed of those in the boat seeing the raft, which lay so much lower in the water? they raised a shout, hoping to direct their friends by means of sound, but that hope failed them. they kept it up till they were exhausted, till a long line of faint light illumined the east, till daylight leapt out of the sea and all was bright about them. a little breeze sprang up with the dawn, the water had not yet quite calmed down from the disturbance caused by the tornado; they looked north, south, east, and west, but saw the boat nowhere. they were alone upon the sea, with but a plank between them and death; with no means of helping themselves, with only enough food for one day, and the sharks swimming around them in sure certainty of their meal sooner or later. one of the seamen took hold of the end of the towline, and held it up for the rest to see. it had been severed with a knife! it had not been so rotten as to give of its own accord from the strain put upon it; it had not frayed itself, or broken at any weak spot, it _had been cut_. they had been cast adrift by their own companions, of malice prepense. "god forgive him!" ejaculated mr. gilchrist. "who?" gasped ralph. "the unhappy wretch who did this." ralph made no further remark; there was but one among the boat's crew who was malicious enough to be even suspected of such a crime, and the boy could not bear to think it of him. but that _somebody_ had severed the rope, was beyond doubt. the fierce sun blazed down upon the waste of water, there was nothing to be done but to sit still and bear it. their limbs were cramped from their inability to change their positions, there was no help for that. raging headache came on; there was a small tin pail, and wills tried to dip up sea-water and cast it over mr. gilchrist's fevered brow. with the first movement such a rush of sharks was made to the place as caused them all to shudder. what had they expected that they snapped so eagerly at the pail? the men were hungry, but thirst overpowered hunger, and they must economise their little stock of biscuit and water. for how many days would it avail to keep life in them were they not picked up? about noon, as well as they could judge, wills served out a biscuit each, and about a half-pint of water. ralph sickened at thought of eating, and laid the biscuit down. "that won't do, ralph," said mr. gilchrist. "you must take what means are in your power to keep your life, it is your plain duty. your life is not your own, you are only placed in charge of it, and will have to render up an account of your stewardship. how can you tell for what your master wants you? he may be preparing you by this terrible trial for the work he created you to do." "lord, zur, 'ee du spit it out like a buke," said osborn admiringly. "eat it now, maister ralph, do 'ee now, like a good chield." ralph was fain to smile, and took up the biscuit again, feeling less sick when he had swallowed it. at nightfall another was given round, and a few mouthfuls more water; then the long hours of darkness fell again upon them, only more endurable in that they were cooler. they knew that but one more meal remained, the pangs of starvation must then be theirs. it was no wonder that they had not much to say to each other, although none slept. they were in the track of ships going to rangoon, that was their only hope; but so low were they in the water, so impossible was it to raise a signal in any manner, that even in broad daylight fifty ships might pass within sight of them and never perceive their extremity. but there were no ships to be seen, nothing to break the skyline, nothing of any sort _upon_ that wide expanse of heaving water but themselves, while--the sharks--the sharks were _beneath_ its surface. towards morning, when the light breeze brought something of coolness and refreshment even to them, a little oblivion, a temporary half-forgetfulness of all around came over most of them, deepening into real sleep with some. ralph slept, and dreamed happily. he thought he saw his mother and sisters walking together. he did not think it strange that they should be walking on the sea; they were talking earnestly to each other, when his youngest sister, a pretty flaxen-headed child of three years old, popped a rosy face out of the waves at their feet, and bubbled over into such merry laughter that he laughed too, and woke himself. "why, ralph!" exclaimed mr. gilchrist, aroused by so unexpected a sound. "christ jesus!" shrieked wills at the same moment, awakened also. "christ jesus! what is here?" his yell was echoed by all the others, for a huge black mass reared itself almost above their heads, and was bearing down upon them. with the desperation of men at their last gasp they shrieked out, "hoi, hoi! hallo! hallo!" their voices seemed to make no noise, they raised them impotently to their own ears; but that was only the fancy of despair, they had a proper volume of sound in reality. they were heard, answered with an english cheer; english faces rushed to look over the top of that great thing; english voices clamoured; chains rattled; word of command was given; paddles splashed; a boat was lowered; men dropped into it over the side; a few strokes brought it to them; and they were taken on board, among exclamations of wonder and welcome. so stiff and spent were they that they had almost to be lifted into the boat, and were assisted up from it into the steamer which had rescued them; but movement eased them, and the joyous excitement of all around helped to restore them. crew, firemen, officers, passengers, swarmed around them, to congratulate them, to shake them by the hand, to clap them upon the back. hot coffee was brought as if by magic, and proved a wonderful restorer; wine, food, fruit, were lavished upon them; dry, comfortable clothes and beds were ready for their repose. oh, how exquisite to feel the cool, clean linen around them, to bathe their scorched, blistered faces in fair water, to remove the dirt of days' accumulation, to be revived with food so delicious to their palates, to feel the sweetest sleep stealing over them as they laid their heads down in security once more! until they had been fed, clothed, and rested, they were unable to give or understand information as to their whereabouts; but so completely had they lost their bearings, so utterly miscalculated the strength of the current, that though they had hoped to make diamond island, they had really passed that place, and missed all indications as to the entrance of the rangoon river. the krishna shoal had been passed unseen, the barogna flats unheeded. they had never perceived the lighthouse, or been aware that they were near it, but were drifting aimlessly about just beyond that place. the steamer was taking passengers from rangoon to moulmein, where they were landed in the course of the next day, and carried straight into hospital in high fever. the seamen were tough fellows, and soon recovered. mr. gilchrist, though considered so delicate a man, also suffered less than ralph, who, having kept up so bravely through the whole of their trials, now proved to have received a severe shock to his constitution. his brain was violently affected, and delirium was most distressing and persistent. for some days the doctors feared whether he would ever recover his reason even were his life spared to him; and, when the fever left him, his prostration was great. youth and natural good health conquered at last, and he recovered. then he learnt that the news of their rescue had been sent to rangoon, and joyfully received by his uncle and shipmates. rogers had made the pilot station on diamond island, and been helped into rangoon, where he was cordially received by the friends of his owners, and business connections. the _pelican of the north_ had been insured, though the cargo was not. the liverpool firm of herford brothers was a wealthy and liberal one, rogers and the other officers were to return home in another of its ships then unloading in rangoon; the seamen could obtain berths in any homeward-bound vessel. but there was bad news for ralph. the firm of rice merchants to which he was going had failed, and his hope of a situation in it doomed to disappointment. for some time the fate of the boat remained uncertain. chapter vi the denhams at home while the _pelican of the north_ was making this disastrous voyage, troubles had fallen thick and plenty upon the denhams at home. with ralph's departure mrs. denham had felt herself able to take a second lodger. mr. benson, head book-keeper in the firm of messrs. herford brothers, for whom captain rogers sailed, had lodged with her for some years. he was a quiet retiring man, an old bachelor, who gave very little trouble, being regular in his habits, which were simple. he occupied the breakfast-room, in front of the house, downstairs, and a bedroom, also in front, at the top of the house. there was a good-sized room in the front of the house, above the breakfast-room, originally meant for a drawing-room, and a bedroom behind it. mrs. denham had occupied the latter herself, hitherto, and made a nursery of the larger apartment. these she now proposed to let; she and all the children doubling up at night in two very moderate-sized bedrooms at the top of the house, and only retaining one parlour, the large dining-room on the groundfloor. to make the new set of apartments sufficiently comfortable to accommodate a lodger, the best furniture from all her own part of the house was collected in them; they were repapered, repainted, and new carpets and curtains bought. captain rogers had made his sister a present of money to assist her in these arrangements, but the greatest economy was necessary to make it cover these unavoidable expenses, and those of ralph's outfit. jack and reggie stained the floors brown; agnes and her mother toiled over the upholstery and little adornments; all looked very nice when finished; but, beneath the surface, things were not comfortable. the family was too much cramped for room. a lodger was quickly found, but the work of the house was greatly increased; and the tempers of both jack and lisa were difficult, and caused much unpleasantness. mrs. denham was glad that it was a lady who took the rooms, for she would not have liked either of her pretty daughters to help in waiting upon a gentleman except mr. benson, whom they knew so well; and, as her profits would not allow the keeping of a second servant, it was indispensable that they should do so. she superintended the cooking herself, as the maid-of-all-work was but a cheap willing drudge, unequal to the preparation of any but the simplest dishes. mr. benson only dined at home on sundays, but supper was wanted for him, or chops with a late tea. the new inmate, miss mason, an elderly single lady, took all her meals in the house, dined in the middle of the day, and liked her food daintily served. it made heavy work, though comfort in the family household was sacrificed. agnes had a situation as daily governess. she went to her pupils after breakfast, dined with them, walked with them, and did not return till nearly five o'clock, except on saturdays, when she came back earlier. lisa was at school. she was clever and ambitious, eager to pass examinations so as to rise in the world. she was fourteen, and her studies took up all her time. jack came next to her in age; but there was a gap in the family, where one had died between him and reggie; and a wider one, where two had died between reggie and little cicely, who was but three years old. the baby was nearly two, a very delicate child, a great anxiety to his mother. agnes came in one evening in october. it had been a pouring wet day, and was already growing dark, for she had a long walk to and from her pupils' residence. "my dear," said her mother, who sat by a mere handful of fire, with the baby whining on her lap,--"my dear, how wet you are! you will take cold." "it is only outside wet, mother," said she brightly; "i will change my shoes and stockings, and soon be dry." "i am so sorry to ask it, dear," continued mrs. denham, "but mr. benson has sent up an office boy to say that he is bringing a gentleman home with him, and could he have dinner at seven instead of tea. i had a dish of rissoles for him, which will not be enough, but there is nothing else in the house. would you mind stepping as far as the shops, and bringing in something which we could get ready in time?" "oh no, i can run along very quickly, mamma. what shall i bring? a fowl to roast? that could be cooked best, i suppose; and a few sausages. any vegetables?" "yes, please dear, and some coffee; he will like a cup of coffee after dinner. and some tinned soup; there is no time to make any, and monday is such a bad day on which to get fish. will you mind bringing it all back with you, for maria is trying to finish the washing, and the shop-people are so tiresome about sending to this distance?" "no, mamma, i'll bring it all home." "and a little something for dessert, agnes." "could you not open some of that ginger which uncle brought home? i'll bring some nice biscuits." "a good thought, dear." agnes stepped along as quickly as she could, but these errands took her a long time. the nearest poulterer had no fowls left, and the next one lived quite a mile off. the omnibuses did not help her, because only a short part of her way lay along the main road; and her gown, which she thought safely pinned up beneath her cloak, came loose, hung down behind in a festoon, which held the rain and beat around her ankles at every step which she took. contending with a heavy umbrella through blustering wind and driving rain, laden with a cumbersome basket, it was of no use to pick her way, or try to keep herself dry, so she splashed through all the mud and puddles, and returned home, drenched, cold and wretched. hurrying up to put herself into dry clothes, she found lisa in their bedroom, with books and papers all round her. "oh, agnes, don't put your wet gloves down there! that is my german paper, just written. how wet you are! where have you been? i have wanted you so badly, just to hear me say these syntax rules. and do tell me what is the passive form of"-- "don't keep me now, lisa, i am in such a hurry. mamma wants me. could you not take baby for an hour? mr. benson has somebody coming to dinner, and nothing is ready. there is miss mason's tea to be got too, and maria not dressed, and baby poorly. mamma is driven every way at once." "i can't take baby, i have heaps of lessons to do. i should lose my place if they are not done. how can you ask me, agnes?" "well, i must run down, don't hinder me." "you might just stop one minute to hear me these rules." "i really can't, lisa." "ill-natured thing," began lisa fretfully, but agnes could not stay to hear her. downstairs was chaos. the washtubs and wet clothes were everywhere; the two boys clamouring for their evening meal, and stumping about in their dirty boots; miss mason was ringing for coals; mrs. denham had sent maria up to dress, and was trying to prepare the fowl with the baby in her lap. "jack," cried agnes, "you might just take up some coals to miss mason, to help us." "i'm not a footboy," said jack ill-naturedly. "where's maria?" "we are particularly busy; do help," pleaded agnes. "help yourself," said jack rudely. "i am helping all i can," replied agnes. "jack," said mrs. denham, "do what your sister asks." jack did not exactly disobey his mother, but flounced off to fetch the coal-scuttle as sulkily as he could, and filled it with a tremendous clatter. "here, reggie, you lazy beggar, you can carry it up; you are doing nothing." reggie took up the scuttle, which, being too heavy for him, upset upon the stairs, all the coals falling down with an appalling noise and dreadful mess. "i'm so sorry," said he, looking frightened. "butter fingers!" cried jack contemptuously. agnes set herself to sweep the stairs and hall clean, drove the boys into the parlour and shut the door on them; then hurried to set miss mason's tea-tray, and send it up by maria, who now appeared in her tidy apron and cap. then she laid the cloth in mr. benson's room, and ran down to help her mother. "my dear," exclaimed mrs. denham in dismay, "i forgot all about a pudding, and i don't know what we can do!" "i brought some tarts in, mamma; and i thought we could toss up a sweet omelette while they are having their soup and meat." "but eggs?" said mrs. denham in despair. "i bought six pennyworth." "what should i do without you, love?" sighed her mother. by dint of great exertion the little dinner was cooked, and served to mr. benson's satisfaction. he, manlike, had not the slightest idea of the difficulties which had beset his obliging landlady; or that, though the hunger of lisa and the boys had been assuaged with thick bread and butter in the intervals of work, mrs. denham and agnes had not been able to spare time for food, and were sinking for want of it at nine o'clock. "you must have a nice cup of coffee now, mamma," said agnes. "i made enough when i sent it up to the gentlemen. and here is a bit of fowl which i slipped into the oven to keep hot." "you must take some too, agnes." "i'll have mine when i come down. cicely has never been put to bed, she is asleep on the parlour floor." she set her mother down by the kitchen fire to take her supper, and carried off the baby, now asleep, as well as the little girl. coming down from putting them to bed, she remembered that miss mason's tea-tray had never been removed, and stepped in to take it down. "i am so sorry," said she, "that you should have been neglected, miss mason. mr. benson has company, and gave us very short notice of what he wanted, so we have been rather busy." "my dear," said the kind-hearted miss mason, "you look fit to drop." "i'm rather tired," said agnes; "but i am going to have some supper now." but before she sat down to it a telegram from the office was brought in. "something's wrong, miss," said maria, seeking agnes. "mr. benson, he guv' a sort of a screech when he read it,--nasty thing,--and he says, says he, 'send miss denham to me,' says he. i can't think why folks ever go sending them ugly yellow telegrams about, frightening people." agnes did not listen to this tirade, she never imagined that a telegram for mr. benson could affect her. strangely enough she did not think of ralph, she was so tired, and her evening had been so full of pressing trivialities. but upon her entering mr. benson's room, that gentleman came towards her, telegram in hand, looking so full of sorrowful compassion that a cold thrill ran through her at once. "what is it, sir?" she faltered. "my dear young lady, there is some very sad news come. i want you to help me in breaking it to your poor mother. i am deeply grieved to tell you that the _pelican of the north_ has been burnt at sea." "oh, mr. benson! and ralph?" her white lips could hardly utter the words. "the crew and passengers left her safely, but the boat in which ralph was is missing." agnes swayed, turned deathly sick, felt as if she were going blind, caught hold of the nearest support, missed it, and sank upon the floor insensible. neither mr. benson nor his friend had ever seen a girl faint before, and were terribly frightened. they tore the bell down in their agitation; they called for help in tones which brought everyone around them in consternation; nobody had their wits at command except miss mason. "go downstairs, lisa," she commanded. "take away the boys. maria, go downstairs; miss denham has only fainted, her mother and i are enough to help her." she assisted mrs. denham to lay the poor girl flat, to loosen her dress and sprinkle her face with water, as she spoke. she fetched salts; and when consciousness returned, she directed the gentlemen to carry her up to her own bed. none of them, for the moment, thought of asking what had caused the swoon. mrs. denham naturally considered it the result of over-exertion, and the wetting which agnes had undergone; she was much concerned, but not alarmed. miss mason, not knowing of these predisposing causes, and seeing the telegram in mr. benson's hand, guessed more. she was also much struck with the lack of comfort in the scantily-furnished bedroom, crowded with two beds, and littered with lisa's books in every direction. leaving her mother to undress agnes, she went downstairs with the gentlemen, and, entering mr. benson's parlour, she closed the door and asked-- "what caused this sudden faintness, mr. benson? had that telegram anything to do with it?" "indeed, i am sorry to say that it had, ma'am," and mr. benson handed it to the old lady. "humph!" said she. "if you had any sense you would have sent for me, not that poor girl." "i'm awfully sorry," stammered out mr. benson, while his friend could hardly repress a smile at witnessing the autocrat of "herford brothers," before whom twenty clerks trembled when he frowned, being scolded and scorned by a neat little woman in a shabby silk gown and white curls. there was wine on the table. "before you half kill the mother, as well as the daughter, you had better bring her down here and give her a glass of that sherry if it is decent wine," proceeded miss mason. "it is, ma'am,--it is very fair sherry," said the crestfallen mr. benson. "you don't think that she will faint too, do you?" miss mason's only answer was, "i will fetch her myself," and she walked off. mrs. denham did not faint, but it was a most distressing scene, and miss mason took command of the whole family. chapter vii moulmein ralph was sitting, languid and feeble, in a long chair in front of the hospital, where he had lain ill for some weeks. the hospital was a mile or two inland from moulmein; a comfortable place, but ralph was weary of it. everything had a parched, burnt-up appearance; the little pagodas, to be seen on the surrounding hills, were all alike; the punkah was working, yet there seemed to be no air to breathe; nothing suggested freshness, or gave him a start towards recovery. a grove of palm trees rose majestically on one hand, interspersed with tamarinds, and trees of strange form covered with brilliant flowers. along the road came a girl in native dress, carrying a huge basket of roses, on her way to sell them in the bazaar. she had the flowers of a white, purple-striped orchid nestled coquettishly in the coils of her hair; and was smoking a huge green cheroot. then a long procession of yellow-robed "phoongyees," or monks, came by; each clasping his lacquered begging-bowl, and staring before him into vacancy, with rapt concentration of thought. an open carriage appeared. "come along, denham," cried mr. gilchrist from it, "the doctor orders a drive for you, and we will go out to the battery point, to see whether there is not a breath of air to be met with there." "it will be very nice if there is," said ralph; "this place is like a furnace. is it always as hot as this here, mr. gilchrist?" "not always. the rains are at hand; after that it will be cooler." they drove out to the point, watching the native boats, light, square-sailed, fitted with thatched houses, rowed with great difficulty against the stream, by men standing, instead of sitting, to row. they looked out over washing head island, with its pagoda mounting guard over the holy well, whence, it is said, is drawn the water in which the king once a year cleanses his sacred head. it was a pleasant evening, and ralph felt its refreshment. "i am very anxious," he said presently,--"i am very anxious to get quite well; for, unless i can get something to do, it will be 'up a tree' for me. i don't know how i am to pay all the expenses i am costing now, or to get a new outfit, or earn my living at all. i lie and fret dreadfully about this." "you have not been yet in a fit state to bear much talking," replied mr. gilchrist, "or i would have relieved your mind. your uncle wrote to me before he sailed for home, desiring me to let you want for nothing. herford brothers are disposed to be very liberal; and the captain's possessions, at least, were insured. compensation will, i believe, be made to you; and there is little doubt but what this will take the form of a clerkship in the rangoon house--a much better thing than the place you have lost. your luck will be great if you get a berth in that house, for it is quite the first in the trade. but, ralph, this must await letters from england. i also must await the replies from home, for all my scientific apparatus must be replaced there, and sent out to me; in the meantime the rangoon house makes itself responsible for our expenses." "it is very liberal of the messrs. herford," said ralph. "i have no claim whatever on them." "that i dispute," replied his friend. "you did your share of work for your passage, and did it so well and willingly that it quite entitled you to a claim upon them, for they made the agreement to let you go on those terms. you have suffered nobly; never a complaint whatever the hardships, for which you never bargained. you have lost everything you possess in their ship; and, besides all this, what can we not say of your attention to me, nursing me day and night, as you have done so kindly, and which was certainly not in the letter of your agreement. i am not ungrateful, my boy." "you have been so kind to me, sir, teaching me, and all that. one would have been a brute to do less." "well, that is your way of putting it; mine is not exactly the same. but, ralph, i am feeling better than i have done for years. this climate suits me, and will, i hope, suit you now that you have taken the turn. i will tell you what my plan is for you. i want you to go with me upon my orchid-hunting expedition. it will give your brain a rest, and set you up after this illness. the best time for the plants will come on when the rains are over, and the season be at its coolest. i mean to get what appliances i can here, and make a short expedition into the jungle around this place; then sending what i can collect to rangoon to be shipped home. and by that time, having received better appliances from england, also having learnt to speak the language a little better,--we must study _that_, ralph,--i shall make my way to rangoon around the head of the bay; searching the various likely habitations for rare plants, at different elevations and in different kinds of soil. the weather will then be growing very hot, but we shall be seasoned to it. i hope thus to obtain an extremely valuable collection,--perhaps of insects as well as of flowers,--for we shall be collecting in every variety of weather and locality. mr. augustus herford will not grudge money to this end; he gave me, virtually, _carte blanche_ to make what arrangements i found desirable when i got here; and if we do well, _there_ is your claim upon him." "i should like it of all things," cried ralph, with sparkling eyes. "well, you must be my assistant; and, as we shall need hands as well as heads, i have spoken to the rest of our poor raft's crew, and we have determined to keep together, hoping that our bad luck there will follow us no further. we feel that we all showed pluck enough over that affair to be able to trust each other in the future." "i am sure, sir, that i would trust you anywhere, and should look upon it as a very jolly thing to go with you. i like the men, too; we should be ever such a comfortable party of us. but, mr. gilchrist, i don't see that we had _all_ bad luck with that raft. i am sure it was very good luck that it never upset. those sharks swimming about us, like silent death waiting for us, have bothered me dreadfully since i was ill. and it was very good luck to be picked up when we were. has anything been heard of the boat, sir?" "not yet, but the very absence of news is some hope. no wreck of it has been seen, no vestige at all. ralph, when i think that we were cut adrift on purpose, from malice, i think sometimes it may be as well if that boat's crew never turns up." "oh, don't say so, don't say so! it was the doing of one only, and he might have been half mad at the time. perhaps--most probably--he has been very sorry since." "you are a good fellow, denham, but it would never do to put more lives at the mercy of a person who could have doomed six unoffending people to all but certain death to gratify his own wicked spite. what the commissioner may do were he to appear here, i cannot say. if they do turn up, i wish it might be anywhere else than here. i do not want to appear against him, yet it would be my duty to do so. the commissioner is aware of the fact, and the severed line is in his keeping. if i had not spoken of it, old wills and osborn would have done so. they are very faithful to 'miss amy's chield,' ralph. but see, there is the steamer from the andamans in the offing." a long slender line of grey smoke was plainly visible upon the horizon, becoming more distinct each minute; and all the european officers and gentlemen in the place were congregating, in their white garments, upon the quay to see the vessel come in. amusement was not too plentiful for such people in moulmein in those days; an arrival of any sort was interesting. mr. gilchrist left the carriage to take ralph home, and sauntered down to join the groups that were forming. ralph was glad to be alone for a time, he was fatigued by the conversation, and much excited by the thought of making this expedition with his friends. the prospect was delightful to him, and on reaching home he resumed his former seat, thinking of all he might see, until thought became dreamy, and dreaminess sleep. he was aroused by a familiar cheery voice. "hurrah! there he is! he has only left half of himself in the bay!" it was kershaw. ralph sprang up to seize him by both hands in eager welcome. "oh, kershaw! how glad i am, how very, very glad to see you again! how were you saved?" "the steamer for the andamans, with passengers from rangoon, picked us up, and carried us straight on there. it had some sort of big bug on board who could not be hindered on his way for such a trifle as the announcement of our safety, and we have been brought back here as fast as our own news could have flown. so, like the clown in the circus, 'here we are again.' but, denham, i'll go back to the andamans, if they expect us _all_ to practise banting here. what have you done to yourself? you are as thin as a whipping-post, and your face is all eyes." "oh, i've been ill! but i shall pick up fast enough now. people are so kind to us. it is a very good world, after all, that we live in, kershaw, in spite of what some folks say." "'it is a very good world that we live in, to lend, or to spend, or to give in; but to beg or to borrow, or get a man's own, 'tis the very worst world that ever was known,'" sang kershaw. "oh, most wise and sapient third mate," cried ralph, "you are easily hoisted with your own petard! if folks lend, spend, and give, do not other folks receive?" "let me be among the other folks then. i have lost all the locks of hair of all the young ladies,--the dear creatures who adored me. there's a loss, denham! black, brown, golden, grey,--they have all gone to disagree with the sharks." "ugh! don't talk of sharks, they haunt me in my dreams yet." "they use them for policemen in the andamans. fact!--the blue ones, because of the colour like the uniform, you know. they loaf about, round and round, just like bobbies on their beat; and if any poor devil of a prisoner tries to escape, and swim to the mainland,--hey, presto! they nip him up, and have him in a tight place in no time!" "your experience of life has been enlarged since i saw you, evidently." "yes, sir; nothing like foreign travel for enlarging the mind and perfecting the manners. perfecting even the most charming natural manners, sir," said the mate, drawing himself up, and saluting with one finger. it was good for ralph to have this atmosphere of boyish nonsense restored to him. between its bright influence, and the relief of finding his friends alive and well, he improved wonderfully fast. all the officers and men of the _pelican_ came to see him, and all appeared to be drawn more closely together from remembrance of the hardships through which they had struggled. there was but one exception, that of kirke, and why he did not form one of that friendly group must be explained later. the friends went to walk in the bazaar, amused to see the shops, or booths, so simply arranged by throwing upwards the side of the house, and propping it up with a pole; and the odd conglomeration of articles exposed for sale beneath this primitive awning. here, in a hole simply dug in the ground before the houses, were burmese women cooking rice in the joints of the bamboo. there were others selling "pickled tea," and other abominations, by means of weights fashioned after the semblance of the sacred duck. silver trinkets, lacquer ware, earthen jars and pots of native manufacture, were oddly mixed up with the commonest glass and earthenware from staffordshire and st. helens; stuffs of oriental make and pattern lay beside manchester coloured handkerchiefs and madras muslin jackets; images of guadama wore a suspiciously brummagem air, and might be seen--though never sold--side by side with lamps of native pottery with distinctly classical shape, in the establishment of some chinaman, over whose booth the picture of his patron saint presided. mats, baskets, cylinders of gold, ornamented more or less, and worn by the ladies as earrings poked through the universal hole in the ear, were on every side,--together with peak and frean's biscuits and bryant and may's matches,--looking oddly out of place. the people who bought and sold were as mixed a lot, and as queer to the unsophisticated boy's eyes, as the goods in which they trafficked. burmese men and lads, whose close-fitting blue-patterned garments turned out to be their own skins tattooed; women, their abundant tresses dressed with exquisite roses or orchids, but displaying one leg bare to the knee beneath their gracefully-draped "tameins"; children, even babies in arms, smoking cheroots; bullock-carts, saffron-robed priests, officials; half-naked children everywhere, under everybody's feet; gongs sounding, bells tinkling, laughter echoing, strange calls and cries and speech on all sides,--formed a never-ending entertainment for ralph, who had not previously seen more of the world than the rather dull and prosaic streets of mercantile liverpool. all was new to him, all amusing, nothing more so than the idleness and merry temper of the natives, coming so suddenly upon him after so stern an early struggle with the grave realities of civilised life. the rains were now over, and the pious burmese, with great tenderness for the little fishes left behind in many pools, collected them in jars, and carried them in procession down to the river, that they might be thus carefully restored to their native element. the fish would doubtless have proved to be as grateful for this humanity as the fish was to the queen in the old fairy story, did it not happen that they were nearly all dead before they reached the water. their would-be saviours then ate them, and all ends were secured. piety and hunger were equally satisfied, and both "nats" and men pleased. chapter viii kirke escapes kirke's jealousy of ralph denham had dated from the earliest commencement of their ill-fated voyage; and ralph had not been as way-wise as an older person might have wished him to be in avoiding occasions for arousing it. his own dislike to kirke's character; his scarcely concealed contempt of him for throwing away the chances in life which he himself longed so ardently to possess; the notice taken of him by mr. gilchrist, and of which he was so proud,--all tended to inflame kirke's ill-will towards him. ralph had tried, unavailingly but persistently, to draw little jackson from his influence, and jackson's services were useful to kirke. the two old cornish seamen kept aloof from the elder apprentice, and did many little things for their countryman, as they regarded denham; and kershaw, just a trifle older and higher in the service than kirke, took to denham, laughed and joked with him, sought his society, and made of him a companion. kirke felt his seclusion, and resented it upon denham. such feelings feed upon themselves, and grow apace. little jackson's sudden death was a shock; and, somewhat softened at heart, though too proud to confess to the fact, kirke would have been glad of comfort and sympathy ralph had no idea of this, but, repulsed on his first evidence of kindly feeling, made no further attempt at consolation; and kirke, in his loneliness, raged the more bitterly in secret because denham had not found out that he wanted him. so one thing acted and reacted upon another, and culminated upon the unhappy night in the boats. envying ralph's pluck and heroism, admiring him for it; emulous of their comrades' appreciation of his gallant daring, he yet could not bring himself to imitate it, for he felt so afraid to die,--he dreaded so terribly what came after death, which he considered certain upon that raft. he knew that he was not fit to die,--his whole ill-spent life rose up, in one instant, with awful clearness before his mental vision, and he dared not face its consequences. he believed in spite of himself, and his faith brought him nothing but fear. he hung back, and then resented the plainly-expressed scorn of kershaw and the sailors. mellish, with the authority of captain delegated to him, stopped their taunts with a high hand, but was powerless to alter the expression of contempt upon their faces. accustomed through all his early life to the surface respect paid to him as a gentleman's son, he could not bear the lack of deference now displayed by the men whom he regarded as his inferiors; and, when the watch was changed, and kershaw yielded to him the tiller, saying, "here, take the ropes, i suppose you aren't afraid of _them_," the climax was reached. half-frenzied with pride, anger, jealousy and fear, he drew out his knife, severed the rope without thought of anyone but his rival, saw in one flash that he had practically murdered six helpless and inoffensive fellow-creatures, and remorse seized him for a prey instantaneously. no one in the boat suspected him, it was supposed that the rope was weak or rotten, and gave of itself from the strain upon it. a shark might have bitten it; no one knew what had happened exactly. kirke, in horror at his own deed, called upon the others in the boat to turn her head, to row back, to search for the raft. his agitation, the frantic energy with which he worked, redeemed him somewhat in his shipmates' eyes, but may have caused him to steer unequally, injudiciously, wide of his mark. however it happened, they could find no trace of the raft, and, though they did for a time hear the voices of the castaways raised on the breeze, the direction of the wind made their whereabouts uncertain, and the sound gradually ceased altogether. did that mean that they were gone? drowned? fled before god's judgment-seat, to be for ever witnesses against him? god knew that he did not mean this! but would he pardon?--could he pardon? still did the unhappy wretch maintain a sullen silence as to his deed. he could not confess, and those around him were kinder to him than usual, perceiving his sorrow, but ignorant as to its source. next day they were picked up by the steamer, and carried on to the andamans. everyone at port blair was kind to them, but the word "murder" seemed to be on the air. "what! are you a convict?" someone would ask of butler, washerwoman, syce, coxswain or coolie. "what are you in for?" "murder, thakin" (englishman, sir), would be the calm reply, with a polite gesture and fascinating smile. the convicts seemed to think no more of such a crime than of crushing heaps of cockroaches. oh, that he could be equally dense! they were detained at port blair but a very short time, when they once more embarked for moulmein. upon nearing the port, the first figure which he descried among the groups on shore was that of mr. gilchrist. he stared as if he had seen a ghost,--but it was an avenging spectre. within the first five minutes of their landing, mr. gilchrist accused him of the crime of cutting the raft adrift; all shrank from him with detestation, no one stood forth to say "i do not believe the charge." wills and osborn confirmed mr. gilchrist's accusation; the two ordinary seamen, price and simpson, gave testimony against him; even ralph, upon whose forgiving nature he fastened hope, said, "oh, kirke, how could you have done such a thing!" he was put into the police guardroom, and a watch set over him. what could be done to him he had no idea, and imagination played strange pranks with his fears. should he be sent back to england, in irons, to be tried there, where his father would be broken-hearted, his sisters disgraced; where all would appear in the papers; and, whatever the event, he could never hold up his head again? would they send him back to the andamans, to herd with those half-savage convicts, mutineers from delhi, the scum of rangoon? would they shoot him, or hang him, or flog him? image after image of terror succeeded each other, while the guard gossipped, laughed, and dozed. these men were careless of their charge. where should a european go if he did escape? they paid little heed to him, and he began to perceive that escape was possible. where he should go troubled him not; how he should live, how travel, without knowledge or help, in an unknown country where his european face would make him a marked man. he had some vague misty idea of ruby mines; and, in his ignorance, supposed these to be scattered about all over the country. that rubies were to be picked up by anyone, as nuggets had been streamed out of the sand in ballarat by the earliest adventurers, was a fixed notion of his. he would make his way to such a place, lose his identity among the rough miners, find some splendid jewels, make his way to some other port a rich man, and return to england to lead a better life. opportunity presented itself at last. it was the feast of the "tawadehutha," the most joyous of all the burmese festivals. feasting and merriment lasted for three days, and holiday was observed everywhere. even the commissioner was forced to keep business in abeyance, and leave kirke in his easy durance; perhaps the more willingly as, his offence being so unusual a one, and his family known to be so respectable in england, that gentleman himself was in perplexity as to what course he ought to pursue. so in the guardroom the offender remained, under the care of the burmese guard, who cared nothing for his crime, though they were afraid of displeasing the commissioner. it was hard upon them that they should not be allowed to take part in the jollity which they would have enjoyed so greatly, and their black scowls and grumbling tones were comprehended by kirke, although their actual words were not understood. the festival was a religious one, and the _raison d'être_ was that of presenting gifts to the various pagodas, of which there are so many in all parts of burma. it is regarded as a highly meritorious thing to build a pagoda, although the erection is practically of no use. it is not a church, or temple, in which religious services of prayer or praise are held, or any charitable work carried on. their very structure forbids that, for they are solid blocks of masonry, upon which graceful cupolas and spires are erected, painted, gilt, and decorated with many bells. these bells are gifts, and are sometimes very costly, formed from pure gold or silver, and set with jewels. it is good for the soul to present these gifts; but any repairs done to the building as it suffers from age or weather, counts to the merit of the original constructor alone. therefore, when any rich burmese wishes to make his salvation secure, he builds a new pagoda, large or small, all by himself,--he does not care for another person's eternal welfare. let every man look out for himself in the kingdom of the "nats." but gifts are another matter, _they_ are offered to the priests, and make plenty of show both in this world and the next; so the pagoda festival is a particularly brilliant affair, and a very picturesque one. long processions streamed through the street, attended by boys and girls dancing, and bearing in their midst long bamboo poles decorated with spires covered with tinsel paper, gilt balls, and all manner of toys, which gave them the air of gigantic christmas trees. some bore aloft pasteboard images of "nats," or beatified spirits, who bring good luck to men, acting as guardian angels. some carried huge, frightful representations of "beloos," or demons, who must be alternately conciliated and treated with every indignity to frighten them away. kirke's guard rushed out to exclaim at each fresh group that trooped past the guardhouse. many an "ameh!" was ejaculated, and this one was admired, that one despised;--now great delight was manifested, then contempt expressed in voluble jabber, and with no reference to their prisoner. he cared for none of these exhibitions, so childish in his eyes--which were fatigued by the glare and noise. white umbrellas, decorated with frills of paper lace; gold umbrellas; long bamboos, gilt or silvered; the constant stream of gay moving figures; the flash of tinsel in the sun; the beating of drums, carried in carts whose wheels creaked and groaned in unison; the clashing of bells great and small; the songs and cries of the thousands of people,--all wearied and oppressed his brain almost beyond endurance. the screams of delight which the guard constantly uttered, ran through his ears with great distress; and then the climax arrived, in the sight of a huge "silver tree," attended by prancing hobby-horses, and from the trembling boughs of which hundreds of rupees hung quivering, each wrapped in coloured tinsel paper, and followed by the inhabitants of the whole country village which had furnished it, and who danced like mad around it to the music (?) of their own voices. kirke could bear no more; hoping to be left alone for a little while, he produced such silver as he had in his pocket, and presented it to the guard, who seized it with delighted gratitude, and rushed out in vast excitement to expend it in pickled tea, leh-pet, cheroots, and sweetmeats of strange fashion. they offered some on their return to their benefactor, all their sour looks changed into smiles, but he shook his head and motioned to them to leave him alone. surprised and compassionate, they seated themselves on their haunches outside the door in the verandah, and gabbled and feasted happily while watching the constantly passing crowds. a pasteboard cow is drawn by oxen in the midst of richly and gaudily dressed people; a cart bearing a huge gilded pot in which the milk sacred to guadama is to be cooked; a gorgeously-attired maiden, laden with jewels, represents the milkmaid; still more and more crowds yet; more drums, more bells, more songs, more cries, more colour and noise and flashing lights, more beloos, more nats, more hobby-horses. night fell, and the revel was still maintained. torches and fires cast a strange and lurid light over the motley scene. what is this terrible figure advancing? a huge snow-white serpent, a hundred feet long, fierce fiery red eyes glaring from out the voluminous coils of its luminous body, as it writhes on its slow onward course in pursuance of a great rolling ball of light. the burmese excitement could stand no more. springing from their heels, they rushed down from the verandah to greet the apparition with dance and shout like the rest. they ran, shrieking with admiration, along with the multitude, and kirke was left alone. it was an opportunity not to be missed. all moulmein and the country side about it were in the streets, his figure would be unnoticed among the rest; he arose hastily, and ran out from the guardhouse into the town, where the brilliancy of lights in some parts made the obscurity deeper than ever in others. no one observed him, no one spoke to him; he hastened along at his greatest speed, at first mixing with the people, then choosing the quieter places, fearing lest any english should see him and recognise him. everyone was, however, attracted by the gay sights around; the english residents were chiefly in their own bungalows, watching the processions from their own verandahs, and distributing gifts as the various groups paused before each house to display themselves. no one thought of him, and he stole along in the darkness out into the vast misty unknown country beyond the town, unperceived. when the processions had all reached the great pagoda; when the mystery play was over; when the old legend of guadama being nourished by the sacred milk was acted out; when all were tired, the lights out, the crowds dispersed, the fun over,--the guards bethought them of their trust, and returned to take it up again. in dismay unutterable they found their bird was flown, nor could he be found anywhere. in great alarm they made up the best story they could for the commissioner's ears; and, to their wonder, found him strangely lenient to their misdemeanour. in truth, the great man was thus relieved from a dilemma; he pretended as much wrath as the carelessness of the guard deserved, but was almost grateful to them in his heart. a search was instituted for the prisoner; but not very vigorously prosecuted, and soon abandoned when no signs of him could be discovered. chapter ix news from ralph "oh, that i had never allowed him to go!" wailed mrs. denham, the morning after the alarming telegram arrived, rocking herself to and fro in her misery, tears streaming down her face. "my dear, dear boy! he went to help me, and this is the end of it. the best, the dearest, the most unselfish boy in the world! how can i bear it! how can i bear it!" but agnes, when she recovered, showed much sense and strength of mind. "mother," said she, "it only says that the boat is missing, it does not say it is lost. those seas are full of vessels, please god some ship has picked them up, and dear ralph is safe yet. do not despair, god is good." "you are my only comfort, agnes," sobbed mrs. denham; "but, oh, if i had only refused to let him go!" "agnes is right," said the sensible miss mason. "your son did his duty in taking the chance offered to him, and god is merciful. you must trust to him, mrs. denham. agnes, my dear, you are not fit to go to your pupils to-day. i have written a note, and jack can take it before he goes to school." "no, thank you, ma'am," said agnes. "mrs. dallas is particular. i am quite well enough this morning; the walk will do me good. i mean to be brave, and keep up heart." she smiled, but it was a wan smile. "perhaps you are right," replied the little old lady, with secret admiration of the girl's resolution. "duty and work are a real help in trouble." miss mason became a firm friend to agnes from that time. she was a lonely woman. death had lately robbed her of all who were near and dear to her; it had lessened her means, and taken her home from her; but she had an affectionate heart, into which she took her young acquaintance from that time, and found an unexpected source of happiness in so doing. many were the little ways of relieving the strain upon agnes which she found. she allowed lisa to bring her school-work into her parlour for preparation; and the quiet harbour of refuge proved to be an immense boon, and lessened the constant irritation of the girl's temper. she often took cicely to walk with her; she taught her to read, and quite took her off her mother's hands. in another week, a second telegram assured the family of ralph's safe arrival at moulmein; but all particulars had to be sent by post, and before they arrived all the children were down with measles. lisa and the baby were excessively ill. lisa's lungs were much affected, she had been growing very fast, and the time of year was against her; while the complaint seemed to bring out latent mischief in the baby's constitution: spinal disease asserted itself, and the medical man pronounced that, if he lived, he must be a hopeless cripple. agnes, who had taken the measles in the first instance from her pupils, was left with a cough which every east wind aggravated, and she became thin and pale. the assurance of ralph's safety was a great cordial, but the letters which arrived by post, in due course of time, brought with them renewed anxiety. they related only the bare facts of the escape from the ship, and that of ralph's severe illness. captain rogers had sailed from rangoon so quickly as to have missed mr. gilchrist's account of particulars, addressed to him there and reposted to him in liverpool. thus, though he himself arrived very soon after his own letter to the firm, he knew little or nothing further. the messrs. herford wished him to go out again as soon as possible. they had every confidence in him, attributing no blame whatever to him for the loss of his ship; but an official inquiry into the circumstances was inevitable, and all the appliances for gilchrist's orchid hunting had to be renewed, besides the usual business of loading his new ship. he ran down to cornwall to see his wife, and was obliged to be in london about the business, so could scarcely spare time to see his sister. as soon, however, as mr. gilchrist's letter arrived, a copy of it was sent to mrs. denham; and the same post brought one to her saying that her son was out of danger, and relating details of his recovery. these letters did more than relieve the terrible suspense of mrs. denham and her family, they aroused the deepest interest in the minds of all in the office of messrs. herford brothers. mr. augustus herford, talking over the matter with the captain, complimented him highly upon the conduct of his nephew. "he must be a lad worth helping," said he; "and the mother, for whose sake he has plunged into so much danger, shall not be forgotten. what other family has she, rogers?" "two more sons, sir, younger, and whose education is difficult to accomplish,--a crippled infant, who must always be a burden,--and three daughters." "six young children!" exclaimed mr. herford. "poor soul, poor soul!" he was a rich and liberal man, and acted upon his impulse. a situation was offered to ralph in the house at rangoon, where he might rise more rapidly than in england. reginald was put into christ's hospital; and jack should be apprenticed to his uncle as soon as he was fourteen. this would not be for nearly a year; but reginald went soon, which relieved the crowd in the house,--and ralph's heroism, the illness at home, and the dreadful suspense as to his brothers fate, had exerted a very favourable influence over the boy's character. he saw how ralph was respected and admired; he witnessed how much he was beloved and missed at home, and determined to win the same regard if possible. at anyrate, he would not disgrace his brother. the hope of soon entering upon a manly career added to his improvement; his last few months at home should be useful in leaving a good impression behind him, and little annoyances which would so soon be over were more easily borne. ralph would have been more surprised than anyone had he realised how widespread the consequences of his own simple adherence to duty had become, or how his own dear ones benefited through it. time passed on, the invalids improved in health; spring advanced, and a letter arrived from ralph himself, saying little of his troubles, but full of the kindness he had received, and the pleasure with which he was anticipating his journey with mr. gilchrist. "kershaw, my friend, is on his way home," he wrote in conclusion. "he has promised to call and see you, dear mother. i have sent a few trifles for you from the bazaar here, and he will tell you much which i am hardly strong enough yet to write about." it was not long after receipt of this letter before a tall, good-looking, sunburnt, and extremely grave young man called one evening. he proved to be ralph's friend, the mate kershaw, and he was received with effusion. tea was just ready, and he was at once invited to remain to partake of it. miss mason was fetched down, and questions about the dear absent one poured out upon him. he replied to everyone with the most demure politeness, but it was not long before agnes, as well as some of the others, observed a twinkle in the bright eyes, not exactly in accordance with the gravity of his manner. also some of his calm observations were, to say the least of them, startling. there was home-made saffron-cake on the table, and mrs. denham offered him the plate. "ah!" said he, "no wonder that denham is a little dissatisfied with burmese cookery, when he gets such cake as this at home." "i am glad that you like it, for it is a kind of cake which we cornish people particularly affect. do you happen to have cornish connections, mr. kershaw?" "no, madam, i am of irish extraction." "irish!" cried lisa. "i should so like to visit ireland. i want to see fingal's cave and the giant's causeway." "i suppose you know, miss lisa, that the causeway is supposed not to be a freak of nature but of man's manufacture." "no, i never heard that," said lisa. "what ground is there for supposing such a thing?" "there are so many sham rocks in ireland," said he sadly. "stuff!" said lisa rudely. the others laughed. "i suppose you heard that ralph is to go up into the jungle, orchid hunting, with mr. gilchrist?" said mrs. denham. "yes; it will be a most interesting expedition. i could have wished to have joined it, only it was necessary to come home and pass my examination for master. without my master's certificate i cannot take a berth as first mate, you know. otherwise i should have liked to have gone with them, natural history is my great forte,--particularly burmese natural history. i should have liked to have seen the kain-no-ree, which inhabit lonely parts of the jungle." "what sort of creature is that?" asked jack. "it is the missing link between birds and men, which mr. darwin failed to discover. it has the body of a bird, and the face of a man, and can talk away like anything." "what a strange creature! i never heard of such a thing before. are they pretty?" "no, rather queer old birds, but conscientious. they have tongues which never told a lie. then the links between the monkeys and the orchids are as much a question of degree, only upon one side, as those between monkeys and natives on the other." "i believe," said miss mason quietly, "that we occasionally see the latter peculiarity at home. i have observed it in sailors." mr. kershaw looked up at her. "present company always excepted, of course," said he. "oh, certainly so! particularly when the company present is of irish extraction," she replied. "miss denham," appealed the young man, in injured innocence, "this lady is very severe upon me. will you not take my part?" "but, mr. kershaw, you did take even me in for a minute. how can i believe you again?" "even you? was it so? i cry, _peccavi_. _even_ you." "and now you are laughing at me." "i? i would not laugh for the world, not even at you." "i wish i could be even with you, mr. kershaw." "and i wish that i could be evened to you, miss denham." all laughed there; then mr. kershaw's accounts of burma began again, in a curious medley of truth and fiction difficult to separate. "the burmese are a very strictly religious sort of folks. they kick off their shoes to pray, and sit upon their heels. they must not take life, not even kill their fleas or their black-beetles; yet they are the most determined murderers on the face of the earth. there is no country in which human life is less considered where offence has been offered." "but does the english government allow this?" asked mrs. denham. "well, madam, the murderers make such good and cheap servants, you see. of course they must not kill the english." "i do not know how to believe you, mr. kershaw." "other ladies have the same difficulty at times, ma'am, but i may assure you that it is a fact. english people are perfectly safe from them. other customs are peculiar. whenever they wish for a wet day, they send a white elephant out to take his walks abroad, and the rain is sure to come." "now, mr. kershaw!" "it is quite true, madam. it would be done more frequently were there more white elephants, but there are very few, and it does not answer to whitewash them. unfortunately it is one of those cases where the converse of a fact does not work in an opposite manner. there would not be six months of rain at a stretch if sending out a black elephant would stop it." "i daresay not," remarked miss mason drily. "will you take some honey, mr. kershaw?" "no, i thank you, ma'am. burma has cured me from a boyish taste for honey. they embalm their dead with honey there; and, after a time, tap the mummies, in a spirit of true economy, and sell the honey in the bazaars to englishmen unsuspecting of guile. such honey is said to be peculiarly nourishing,--to eat it from the tomb of your fathers is to taste all the sweetness of friendship with your venerated ancestors. it is a poetical idea." "mr. kershaw! how can you talk so? have you no pleasanter or really beautiful things about which to tell us?" "the most beautiful idea of which i have heard there, is the notion that people's souls are like butterflies, and that when you dream of an absent friend, it is really because your butterfly and his have escaped, for a time, from their prison-houses, and meet in dreamland for a chat." "oh," sighed agnes, "i wish that my brother's butterfly would escape this very night, and tell me what he is doing at this moment!" "don't wish that, agnes dear," said miss mason. "should he be in pain or difficulty, and you could not help him, it would be better for you not to know of it." "how can you say so!" cried agnes. "i should always know when he is happy, and if troubles came i could give him my sympathy." "suppose you give it to me, miss denham, to keep for him. i would take great care of it." [illustration: they were examining his clothes with grins of delight (_p. _).] "i fear that you would put it away so carefully that you would not know where to find it at need," said agnes. so they chatted on, now in joke, now in earnest, and an atmosphere of youthful brightness came into the house with the sailor and dispersed much of its gloom. he often called to spend a few hours with them, for he had few friends in liverpool, and liked all the family. to jack he became very useful; and mrs. denham grew to regard him almost in the light of another son. chapter x the leopard it was a great relief to ralph, as well as to some others, when he learned that kirke had escaped; but the men were very wrathful, and mr. gilchrist both dissatisfied that he should have avoided punishment, and more than anxious as to his safety. what, he thought, could such a young man do in the jungle, or among the half-civilised burmese natives, without being able to speak their language at all, or help himself in any way. all the weeks which he himself had spent in moulmein, and during which he had worked hard to master the language, only resulted in enabling him to make himself imperfectly understood. ralph, indeed, succeeded better, though by ear rather than from book lore. with the happy effrontery of boyhood, he made the most astounding shots at burmese; and, though the burman lads laughed at his mistakes till they were fain to roll upon the ground from merriment, they, somehow, appeared to comprehend his meaning. but nothing availed to make the two old cornishmen speak anything but their own tongue. kirke had received no lessons, gained no experience, what could he do? "my good sir," said the chief commissioner, to whom mr. gilchrist imparted his doubts--"my good sir, the lad is certain to be discovered, and brought back here. he is a marked man among the burmese, and they will not feed him for nothing. a reward will cause him to be brought in before long." "drat him!" said wills. "good-for-nothing never comes to harm. i hope they there black fellows will read him a good lesson." none of them were aware that the apprentice had with him a considerable sum of money in english sovereigns, and time passed on, during which nothing was heard about him. meanwhile, the mates and seamen proceeded to join their captain in rangoon; price and simpson, the two sailors who had also been upon the raft, electing to go with their shipmates when they had once more met with them. wills and osborn adhered to their agreement to join mr. gilchrist's party; and that gentleman willingly parted with the others, considering that indian coolies, tamil or telegu natives, would be of more use to him. it was time to start upon the expedition now, and preparations were soon made. the rangoon branch of herford brothers' house of business franked all expenses; and a bullock-gharrie, or native cart, was purchased, furnished with an awning to protect the travellers from sun and rain, and drawn by a couple of stout buffaloes. light baskets and other means for packing orchids were prepared; and stores of various kinds were added, as coffee, tinned meats and biscuits; but they hoped to obtain some provisions as they went through burmese villages. the gharrie was packed, the buffaloes harnessed, and the travellers were taking their seats, when suddenly a distant roar was heard. "hark!" cried the coolie in charge of the animals, holding up his finger. the sound distinctly approached, and shouting some unintelligible words, the fellow goaded the buffaloes into as rapid movement as possible, hurrying the whole concern back into its original shelter in the compound. the reason was quickly made apparent, for black clouds drove up from the weather-quarter, and sheets of rain descended upon the hot baked earth, which, unable to absorb anything like the deluge, allowed it to run off, in every direction, in plentiful streams. it did not last long. before two hours were over the ground showed but slight traces of damp, the gharrie was brought out again, and the party set off down the mapoon road, following the course of the stream upon the way to amherst. "what did the fellow tie that bunch of plantains up to the front of the gharrie for?" asked ralph. "we don't want fruit all covered with dust and flies." "that is not fruit for us," replied mr. gilchrist, laughing. "that is an offering for any spirit whom we may chance to meet wandering about. it might be unfortunate if we should offend such gentry." "is it to warn them of our approach that they let our wheels make such a creaking? cannot we oil them, or something, to stop it? and must we be deafened by those ugly square bells tied to the buffaloes' throats?" "i believe that it will be best to try and put up with the customs of the country in which we find ourselves, ralph; at least until we are quite certain that altering them to please ourselves may not be giving the natives unnecessary offence. we shall soon become used to such trifles as that. see, we are approaching the great timber works." huge trunks of teak, and other valuable trees suitable for ship building, were floated down as rafts from the dense forests up the river, and here cut into suitable form and size for being transported to england. it was wonderful to observe the skill and judgment displayed by the elephants employed in moving these immense hulks from the river-banks up to the spot where machinery awaited them. they were no less skilful in perceiving the best way for pushing, lifting, or driving the timber, than wary in avoiding the machinery if obliged to pass near it. ralph was immensely diverted to observe how each animal, in making his way by the place where a circular saw was at work, invariably moved his own tail to the farther side, so as to preserve his cherished appendage scathless from injury. he was told that at one time many elephants had their tails cut off by accident here, until they learnt caution to this extent. so much interested and amused were the travellers by all which they saw in this place, that they proceeded no farther that day, it having been late when they started; but the next morning saw them early on their route; and that day, leaving the high roads, they plunged into forest paths, and began to make their way through the jungle in earnest. they proposed driving to a small karen village to which a native had offered to guide them, and which was situated in a locality where many orchids were reported to grow. the native hired to show them the way promised that they should arrive there in "the boiling of two pots of rice." this was understood to be in about half an hour, but the little journey really occupied thrice that length of time, for rain again poured down in a perfect sheet, and the bullocks could hardly make their way through it. all were glad when they arrived, and were able to procure shelter. the houses were raised upon high posts, comfortably built of wood, and thatched. whether this elevation was intended to preserve the family from the damp, or from wild animals, they could not discover. mr. gilchrist thought the form of erection partook of each reason. the lower part had a verandah around it, and was floored a little above the ground with bamboos. the gharrie was accommodated in a portion of this lower place, and arranged for the travellers' accommodation at night. the women of the house prepared them some rice while this was being done, and served it, with fish upon a separate platter. the rain was over for the time when they were rested and refreshed, so they started for an expedition into the jungle, with which the village was closely surrounded. they soon found plenty of orchids, and became so much interested in the selection of the rarest specimens, that the light failed them, and they could scarcely "distinguish the veins in a man's hand," which their burmese guide seemed to consider a felicitous method of describing the hour. they remounted the gharrie, and were proceeding on their way with the slow deliberation which formed the bullocks' greatest speed, when ralph perceived a huge, dark mass of something lying right across their path, with two points of living fire gleaming sullenly from it. it was an enormous leopard, taking its rest, but with watchful eyes. the bullocks, perceiving the danger in the same moment as the men, made a sudden lurch to one side, nearly upsetting the gharrie, and causing the wheels on one side to sink into a mud-hole, half filled with water from the recent rain. they stuck fast in this, and the terrified beasts could not drag them out. they plunged, snorted, and laboured desperately; while the beautiful sleek brute rose, stretched himself, and prepared to spring. ralph thought his last hour had arrived, but firearms were at hand. mr. gilchrist snatched up a loaded gun, fired, but with too uncertain an aim, for he could not control the trembling of his nerves at this first and sudden sight of so terrible an animal in his native jungle. the driver of the gharrie, with a howl, abandoned his seat in front, and crept into the recesses within to hide. the leopard made his spring, and fastened upon the nearest bullock. ralph uttered a cry as desperate as that of the native, and discharged a pistol full at the creature. so close upon them as he was, it was impossible to miss hitting it somewhere; the bullet entered its shoulder, and a trickle of blood bore witness to the fact. the pistol was a revolver, and ralph shot again and again, for all the chambers were loaded; but his hand shook, and several bullets went wide of the mark, though he hit the leopard in the ear and in the side. the creature abandoned its work of mangling the poor bullock, when it suffered the first shot, raised its proud head and looked the boy full in the face; crouched again, and, lashing its tail with fury, was on the point of leaping straight into the waggon, when, his arm steadied by the emergency, mr. gilchrist discharged his second barrel in its face, and shot it straight through the head. osborn at the same moment, having withheld his shot until it was certain to take effect, hit it in the neck, and the animal rolled over in its dying agonies. the burmese bullock-driver now emerged from his retirement, very glorious over the defeat of the enemy; he danced round it with joy, and lauded "_our_ courage," "_our_ success," "_our_ bravery," until old wills was obliged literally to spit out his contempt. "shut up!" he growled. "hold your ridiculous jaw! much good you were, you coward! next time we will throw you out for the cat to set his talons in those absurd blue breeches of yourn. better you than our poor buffalo. here, hand me that knife, and let me put the poor wretch out of its sufferings." for the buffalo was not dead, though paralysed by the leopard's teeth and claws in its spine, at the back of its throat. it turned a pathetic eye upon its friends, as it asking for help, but there was nothing to be done but to put it out of its misery. ralph shuddered, and felt very sick; mr. gilchrist also was faint when the pressure of excitement passed away, and wills made both of them take some cordial to steady their nerves. osborn meantime lit their lamps, and set some flaring torches into the ground, preparatory to skinning the leopard, which was a splendid beast. ralph collected wood, and built up a fire with some difficulty, as the rain was coming down again almost like a waterspout. however, it stopped after a while, the boy was lavish with his kerosene oil, poured over the damp branches, and a bonfire rewarded his exertions, drying their garments, illuminating the wild scene, and enabling him to boil some coffee, of which they all gladly partook, with biscuits and other comestibles from their tinned stores. it was late before the leopard was safely and carefully skinned. the buffalo was not worth the trouble, being too much mangled, but the men cut off its head, as the skull and horns were worth preserving. it would soon be reduced to bare bones if left to the mercy of the white ants. to preserve the fine hide of the leopard from them was a greater difficulty. the party camped down in their gharrie, with fires set around them, for the short night, when all was done; and proceeded in the cool of the morning to the karen village. here they were received with great delight when the driver announced the event of the night. the villagers immediately started to bring in the carcase of the leopard upon hurdles. part of its flesh was dried and pounded, to be used as medicine; but they feasted upon the remains of the bullock; and tried hard, both by fair means and foul, to induce mr. gilchrist to part with the leopard's claws, to be used as charms, but he refused all overtures of this kind. in spite of this, the poor people were very kind to our friends, and they made up their minds to remain there for a few days until they could find a suitable buffalo wherewith to replace their loss, which did not seem to be easy in this place, the people being very poor. chapter xi what befell kirke after his escape kirke had hurried away from moulmein as fast as he could walk. he knew that he must make his way northward but there all his knowledge ceased. he had plenty of english gold with him, for he carried his money in a belt round his waist, and thus had saved it when he lost all else in his haste to leave the burning ship. but though he had gold, he had nothing else, nor could he speak a word of the language. so great was his desperation, however, that he cared nothing for this. he walked on and on, till he arrived at a small village, where, though it was in the middle of the night, the people were all out and about still. some girls were squatting behind a lamp blazing in an earthen vessel raised upon three pieces of bamboo. they were smoking--like everyone else--and selling sweetmeats and rice. kirke made signs that he wished to buy some, and offered a george iv. coin. the girls stared at him and his money, jabbered together, and shook their heads. he did not understand them; but, supposing that they made some mistake as to the value of the coin, not recognising it as gold, produced another piece. he was naturally reckless of money, and now wanted food, and silver change with which to proceed on his way. the girls laughed, nodded, took the second coin, which had the queen's head on it, and gave him indian silver change in profusion for it, besides rice in a red bowl, fruit, and sweetmeats, for which they reserved a small amount; but they would not have the coin with the man's head. kirke could not comprehend their objection to it, which really was their idea that only "woman coins" fructify and increase, but he was satisfied with the result of his shopping, and proceeded on his way. his road seemed to lie between a chain of villages; and, fearful of being overtaken upon it, where he would be so easily recognised and caught, he turned off towards the coast again, soon coming to a stream, across which a man in a canoe took him. the sun was now high, and he tried to find a place where he might lie down and sleep. with some difficulty he made the boatman understand what he wanted, and take him to a hut, where they spread a mat for him with a rug, and he took a long rest. he could purchase nothing except rice and fruit upon awaking, but the owner of the hut offered oil and salt with the former, and some unutterable abomination of putrid fish, which he called "ngapé," and which he seemed surprised to find rejected with disgust. when the heat of the day was over, his host offered milk and more rice, from which kirke made a second meal. he would have liked stronger liquor, but could not make himself understood. he then obtained a seat in a native bullock-cart, neither knowing nor caring where it was going, so that it was still northwards, and not to any english station. so he wandered for some days, aimlessly and drearily, with no object before him, no one to speak to, no settled plan of action. by degrees he became used to this existence; youth restored his energies, he became less afraid of pursuit, learnt a few burmese words, and liked this life so full of new sights and sounds. he came to a large river, the course of which he followed upwards for several days, for the rapids in it caused all the people to shake their heads when he tried to get ferried across. he succeeded at last, and congratulated himself now upon being safe, but here his luck deserted him. he found that there was gold to be got in this place; and from the contemptuous air with which the people turned over his coin, and the few flat flakes which they showed him in return, chiefly worn as amulets, he gathered that their gold was considered much purer than his, but he did not seem able to find any of it for himself. the people also evidently endeavoured to dissuade him from wandering about alone, making him understand that there was danger from wild beasts in so doing. this was a hindrance which had never before occurred to him, but was a very sufficient obstacle. the weather was extremely sultry now, and there had been several violent thunderstorms. the place was mountainous, and the valleys between the hills grew very wet. to his surprise the ground never seemed to dry up; though after a tremendous storm, when the sun blazed out again, it positively steamed, as a pot of water might steam over a fire. the storms became more frequent, the deluges of rain heavier and more constant, the valleys fuller and fuller of water. all wandering was at an end perforce, except in canoes. the people expressed no surprise, they appeared to be prepared for such a state of things. they all had boats of some kind or other; old and young, men and women, were evidently familiar with their management. the huts were raised upon piles, in some places twelve feet high; even their bullocks and other live stock were stabled aloft, and the stench from their close accommodation was all but insufferable. the children fished through holes in the floors of the huts; every foul refuse was simply upset through them; all objects were damp and ill-smelling. the poor people were very hospitable and kind. they gave kirke of their best, charging him incredibly small sums for his keep. there was no getting away until the floods abated, but life under such unhealthy conditions was what none but a native could withstand; and in spite of incessantly smoking, as they did, kirke had not been two months in the village where the rains had surprised him, before he was down in a raging fever. there he lay, in that secluded burmese village, struggling between life and death for a long time. his constitution had been severely tried by his early excesses, and had he not passed some months upon enforced abstinence from alcohol on board the poor _pelican of the north_, so that he had, in some measure, been restored to a more healthy state of body, it is doubtful whether it would have been possible for him to have fought through the terrible fever, which had been induced by hardship and exposure to malaria. his chief chance of life lay in the continuance of the impossibility of obtaining stimulants where he was. the burmese are a water drinking race; and although they do distil a pernicious fiery liquor from rice, it is not much used, or easily procured, in such out-of-the-way places as those into which he had wandered. medical science is very imperfectly understood among this people; and when his host fetched a native doctor for the sick stranger, he brought with him such strange-looking compounds in gaily-painted joints of bamboo canes, that kirke could not bring himself to trust them any more than the charms, in which the village galen evidently possessed more faith himself. perhaps this was well for him, but he was brought to the verge of the grave before the constantly recurring attacks of ague and fever gradually subsided. and oh, how lonely he felt as he lay on his bed of sickness now! god seemed to have forsaken him; left him to his own stubborn, hard heart, and allowed him to take his own way. but not in reality. lonely, suffering, weak, with no one to speak to, none to care for him, none to help him, his hour had come at last. broken in spirit, he repented his evil courses, he sought his god in prayer, and his father did not despise his humble and contrite heart. exhausted by the struggle through the morning's rigor which attended his complaint, he lay prone one day, in what was half sleep, half unconsciousness, on his mat. a pleasant breeze had sprung up, which rustled the branches of the trees, and wafted towards him the scent of flowers, overpowering that of rotting vegetation which always seemed to pervade everything. it brought with it also the gentle tinkle of bells from a pagoda upon a rising ground in this valley. in his half awake state, he fancied he smelt the gloire de dijon roses that grew round the drawing-room bay window in his father's rectory, and heard the church bells ringing afar off, calling the villagers to the sabbath service. he remembered how, as a little child, he had been led by his gentle mother's hand through the pleasant garden and shrubbery, to the gate which opened thence into the churchyard heaped with grassy mounds. among them was a little white marble cross, over the grave of his baby sister who had died. his mother stayed her feet at this place, and laid before it the pure white rosebud which she had plucked as they went over the lawn. a tear ran down her cheek as she did so. "jamie," said she, "little leonora would have been five years old to-day if god had spared her to us. oh, my dear little girl, my dear little lost one!" his father had come up to them. "not lost, wifey," said he,--"not lost, but gone before." why did he recall all this now, when he had never thought about the scene for so long. his mother had gone before too, ten years ago. he had despised his father's simple piety because he was not intellectual. he had scoffed at his attempts to teach him, scorned his affectionate nature, neglected him for pleasures and friends which had brought him to this. what had he done with his stronger mind, his superior talents? his father was beloved, respected, a welcome visitor beside many a dying sinner's bed. he himself was a fugitive, an outcast, alone in the world. pondering these thoughts, he fell asleep, for he was very weak. his slumber was not lengthy, nor did he seem to have dreamed through it; but he started up from it suddenly, as at the call of a trumpet voice, shouting with triumph-- "not lost, but found!" bewildered, confused, this voice seemed to him real. what did it mean? all at once the barriers of pride gave way; there was no one to see him, and he turned his face to the wall, weeping bitterly. a softer, better mood succeeded, and a stronger feeling of peace than he had felt for long. he determined to remain in this place until he was quite well; and did so, his health gradually returning to him. kirke's illness, and long residence among them, had been to these people as good as a wreck to the cornish seaside population of old,--it had brought unusual prosperity to them. small as their charges had appeared to him, they were really four times as high as the true value of the goods supplied to him had been to them. the simple villager was no simpleton when matters of trade and finance were in question; and, if they prayed at all, their petitions to guadama, for years afterwards, would have been that the lord of the white elephant would be pleased to send them another sick stranger. he had paid royally for the medicines in those red and yellow bamboo bottles, which the doctor had carried away again as full as he brought them. he had paid handsomely for the rice, the ngapé, the pickled tea which he could not eat, and over which his entertainers had enjoyed a high old time while their guest's butterfly soul was wandering about the world, at sport with other butterfly spirits, leaving its lawful owner unconscious upon his mat. they were now reaping an abundant harvest, doubtless a part of the luck which their hospitality to the stranger had brought to them, and they were rich. they did not want to be rid of their invalid,--not they. no hospitality was more genuine than theirs. if they could only conceal their riches from the knowledge of the dacoit chief,--who commanded his band of scoundrels from a neighbouring village among the hills at a little distance,--they might, should their treasure of a sick man recover,--and after all his money was spent, not before,--conduct him to the nearest english military station, and be paid all over again by the innocent white-faced thakins there for their kindness to their countryman. so the virtuous burman sang and laughed over his work, in his simple _gaité du coeur_; and gathered the jungle flowers and fruit which cost him nothing at all, but which the thakin would doubtless be so grateful to them for bringing to him. and kirke lay pondering as to what course he must pursue when he should recover. in the first instance he must write to his father, confess his sense of the sins which he had committed, and ask pardon for his conduct. but, after that, what? would it be necessary to give himself up to english justice, and to permit the law to take its way with him for his attempt to lose the raft? that would be a very bitter pill to him,--must it be swallowed? at anyrate, moving was impossible at present, though he was recovering fast; that question must wait, but he could write to his father and keep the letter by him, waiting for some chance of sending it. he would be more at peace with himself were the confession made on paper, even were no one ever to read it. he would feel more in earnest as to his repentance. many days were spent over that letter, and it was a very pathetic one when finished, for it was simple and manly in its tone. in it he confessed his sorrow for his past life, and his hope that he might be spared to redeem it, in some measure, by his future career. "if i can," he wrote, "i would wish to get something to do here, rather than return home. i would like to prove to you that i can and will work hard at some honest employment before asking you to receive me into your presence again. i am recovering from a severe attack of jungle fever, and i cannot say where i shall go, or what i must do when i can move; but if you forgive me, please write to the herfords' house in rangoon, from whence i will endeavour to obtain letters as soon as may be. i hope that god will give me a fresh chance; but if i die, will you try to believe that i am truly sorry for the past." he wrote and rewrote this letter, now fearing that it did not express enough humility and contrition, then dreading lest it should seem servile; but he completed it at last, and laid it carefully aside. chapter xii the karen village whilst detained in the karen village, mr. gilchrist and ralph were invited to the christening feast given by the principal man in the place. they were surprised one morning by a visit from five young ladies, dressed in their best silk "tameins" of rich pattern, with white muslin jackets drawn on above them, and very gay silk handkerchiefs thrown loosely over their shoulders. they were bedizened with a quantity of jewels, roses nestled in their splendid black hair, cheroots were in their mouths, and each carried a handsome lacquered tray, heaped with little parcels done up in gilt paper. they advanced to the verandah, where the gentlemen were sitting--very much to their own comfort--in free and easy costume suitable to the intense heat. ralph coloured scarlet, conscious of his shirt sleeves, bare feet thrust into slippers, and generally loosened attire; but, the girls having come upon them suddenly, nothing could be done except a frantic effort to button his shirt at the throat, which resulted in dropping the stud, and seeing it maliciously roll out of reach. "never heed them, maister," whispered wills, who was in attendance. "they'm used to wuss, you may take your davy. ef 'ee don't take no notice, they maids won't nother." an overpowering desire to laugh took possession of the boy at this, the more impossible to control as all the girls advanced giggling and smiling at each other. mr. gilchrist was vexed. "behave yourself, ralph," said he sternly, very anxious to maintain his dignity. he rose, took off his hat with a flourish, and bowed low. ralph tried to imitate him; and one of the girls became spokeswoman for the rest. "my little sister's head is washed to-morrow, at sky shutting-in time," said she. "will the royal selfs lords be good enough to join the feast?" "we shall be pleased to do so, mah----?" replied mr. gilchrist interrogatively. "mah ngway khine" (miss silver spring), said she, understanding perfectly that he meant to ask her name. the other girls all laughed, and each gave her own name, pointing each to her own face to indicate that this meant herself. miss pretty, miss naughty, miss loveable, miss beyond compare. mr. gilchrist bowed to each; then, pointing to ralph, introduced themselves. "moung ralph denham,--moung alexander bruce gilchrist." the girls thought this an excellent joke, and laughed heartily, trying to pronounce the names as hopelessly as ever wills himself had failed in mastering burmese. mr. gilchrist then handed to each girl a cigar from the box lying beside him, which seemed to give great pleasure. "i am going," said miss silver spring, after that. "be pleased to eat this pickled tea," and she handed to each one of the little packets upon her tray. the party then went gaily off to give their invitations further. "ralph," said mr. gilchrist, "we must see what we can find for presents to our hosts to-morrow. we had better visit the bazaar." "lord, zur," quoth osborn, "they du knaw the cost of all the old trade there better nor we. they can get all that whenever they want. give 'em sommut what they doan't zee every day." "but what have we to give of that sort, osborn?" "english money, zur,--more particularly ef 'ee will stand goold. english things at after. 'ee've got tin canisters painted up smart, haven't 'ee, with coffee and thiccee like in 'em; and pots, with picturs a-top of the lids, with potted meat?" mr. gilchrist thought this good advice, he purchased some gay silk handkerchiefs of native make in the bazaar, a silver betel-box or two; looked out the newest sovereign in his possession for the infant, polished it up till it glittered finely; and then searched his stores. there was not much of the ornamental among them; nor was he willing to part with a great deal of his potted meat; for he could buy so little animal food of other descriptions in these country parts, where the people objected even to selling them live poultry for their own eating, or even eggs for them to cook. the burmese will devour raw the eggs of any creature, fowls, turtles, crocodiles, or iguanas,--but they will cook none. a little fish was to be got at times, but in such small quantities as to be very unsatisfying; nor was milk to be procured, as the people neither kept cows nor used milk themselves. our friends were growing very tired of vegetable diet, and were obliged to trust to their own stores for everything else. however, a tin canister of coffee, decorated with gay paper, was selected; and a pair of earthenware pots full of potted meat, on one of which was a representation, in bright colours, of jack sprat and his wife, sitting on either side of a table, with the joint of roast beef on the platter between them; while the other displayed the time-honoured portraits of uncle toby and the widow. happy in the hope that pleasure was to be the meed of these gifts, mr. gilchrist and ralph dressed themselves in clean white suits, and set off for the entertainment at the hour specified. the baby was a very small one, only about a fortnight old. ralph thought it looked like a little goblin changeling, with its dark skin, lean body, and twinkling black eyes; but it was displayed with great pride. "a very--very--nice little girl," pronounced the bachelor scotsman, with sudden inspiration succeeding his utter ignorance as to what he ought to say. "very like his father, ma'am," said ralph with great solemnity. "has it any teeth yet?" wills, marching behind his masters, with the presents arranged among flowers upon a tray, burst into a great guffaw at this moment, and tried to cover his misdemeanour by a most unnatural cough. mr. gilchrist looked daggers at him over his shoulder. "'ee should have stopped at half-way, maister ralph," whispered osborn, on the broad grin. "don't burmese babies get teeth?" inquired ralph innocently. "i am sure that i have heard dozens of old women ask my mother that question when they used to come and see our babies at home. i thought i was all right there." "this little maid be too young, zur," said the sailor, who had his own quiver full at home. "oh! that's it, is it?" cried ralph. perhaps he had not been understood, for none of the burmans appeared to be surprised; but they were all much taken up with the pride of the company of these distinguished foreigners at their feast. the father related to them that the child was born on a thursday, so she would prove to be of a mild, gentle disposition; also that thursday was the day represented by the elephant without tusks; and he pointed to some red and yellow waxen effigies of this animal, prepared for offerings to be presented on his daughter's behalf upon the steps of the nearest pagoda. the astrologer, an old phoongyee, had cast the infant's horoscope, which was a most favourable one. mr. gilchrist listened to all this with gravity, and then presented their offerings, laying the bright sovereign upon the baby's breast. this evidently gave great delight; as did the packet of choice cigars to the father, the silken kerchiefs to the elder daughters, the betel-boxes and sweetmeats to the sons and younger children; but something was noticeably wrong about the jars of potted meat brought for the mother, nor could the englishmen understand what was the matter. that offence was taken was evident; and mr. gilchrist, seeing one of the pots hurried out of sight, begged, in much distress, to be told what he had done wrong, assuring the head of the house that no offence was intended; he had hoped that the english jars might, when empty, be useful to the lady for holding betel nut. after some difficulty, it appeared that uncle toby's attitude, with regard to the fair widow, was not considered proper. "no burmese gentleman would smell his wife's cheek in public," explained the phoongyee, scandalised; but willing to overlook the ignorance of foreigners who made such handsome presents. to "smell a lady's cheek" is burmese for kissing her; and mr. gilchrist, a most punctilious man in his deference to all the fair sex, coloured highly, as he explained that the gentleman in the picture was only removing from the lady's eye a bit of some extraneous matter which had blown into it. this being perfectly understood, harmony was once more established. miss silver spring and her sisters handed round cheroots; all seated themselves, and began to discuss a suitable name for the child; while the nurse washed the little one's head in a decoction of the pods and bark of the soap acacia tree; which was afterwards carried to each guest in turn, with an invitation to lave his hands in the same lather. many were the names suggested for the child; some being discarded as not beginning with the same letter of the alphabet as that of the day of the week upon which it had been born. others met with disfavour from different reasons. but at last, with an evident desire to honour mr. gilchrist, and make up for the misunderstanding which had taken place, he was entreated to propose a name--an english name. "madam," said he, "i think there is no name ever borne by an english lady so sweet as that of lily." he took a beautiful lily from among the flowers heaped on every side, and laid it in the tiny hand, which closed upon it. all regarded this as a favourable omen,--the child's butterfly spirit had accepted the flower, and lily must be her name. more cheroots--more betel for chewing--more fruit--more sweetmeats--then a grand feast--after that a pwé, or theatrical play. money was given to the nurse, to the phoongyee, and all went merry as a wedding bell. ralph soon made friends with the boys of this village, a set of merry fellows, who taught him to play at ball in their way, and were much impressed by his accounts of the games played in england. he showed them how to play at hockey, and delighted in their skittles, played with the great flat seeds of a jungle creeper. wills instructed the blacksmith in the art of making quoits, to the throwing of which both men and boys took very kindly, and many a merry hour was thus passed among them. osborn whistled melodiously, and considered himself a dab at singing "the death of nelson," "the bay of biscay," and other sea-songs, with which he often favoured his new friends; and mr. gilchrist, who was musical, gave them songs of a different type. ralph knew one air, and one only, which he sang for ever, and which the burmese boys soon caught up from him, so that it became quite popular. it was-- "i'll hang my harp on a willow tree, i'll off to the wars again," etc. on the sunday evenings, mr. gilchrist gathered his own party around him, and conducted the evening service, which amazed the villagers greatly. they would gather around the worshippers in a ring, listening, and trying to join in when they sang the evening hymn, or "abide with me," but never interrupted the prayers. mr. gilchrist was particular in giving alms to the begging monks every morning, and the phoongyee became fond of talking to him, and asking about his religion, relating to him pious sentences and precepts which often contained great beauty. he, on his side, liked to hear the englishman repeat the beatitudes, the lord's prayer, and various texts, which he could understand, but evidently linked on to the sayings of the lord guadama in some strange fashion. mr. gilchrist often wished that he possessed more teaching power; but he was a wise man, and thought it best to offer a little, chiefly of simple bible words and broad principles, which might sink in if repeated frequently, rather than attempt what he did not feel qualified to explain thoroughly. he likened himself to apollos watering the good seed extracted from the christian's safe storehouse--the word of god. he would give the increase in his own time and way. so they lived for several weeks among these poor simple people, in great harmony; collecting many rare and valuable plants, some insects, and much experience in the language. when the people learnt what was wanted, they would go themselves into places of which they knew, sometimes at great distances, and bring them plants; for which liberal payment was always offered, but in many cases the flowers were insisted upon as gifts,--expressions of goodwill. after waiting for some time, and despairing at last of finding a suitable buffalo with which to pursue their journey farther, mr. gilchrist made up his mind to return to moulmein by the route he had come. his store of provisions was much lessened, he had very little left, and his gharrie was pretty well laden with jungle spoils. teak shingles, with orchids nailed upon them, were fastened all round the head of the vehicle--or what the sailors insisted upon terming "the prow." the bamboos which supported the awning were festooned with slight baskets, in which were planted other specimens. it was hopeless to think of preserving their skins, feathers, or insects from the ants and beetles without better appliances than they had at command there, for all which they had brought of carbolic soap, keating's powder, and camphor, was used up. so they made presents of all the tins and jars which remained, bid their friends farewell, and set off upon their return journey, accompanied for the first stage by many men and boys upon forest ponies, and followed by lamentations from a crowd of women and girls who went no farther than the village boundary. chapter xiii the man-eater during the orchid hunter's stay in this village, the whole party had improved their skill as marksmen. the difficulty of procuring any animal food except by their own exertions, and the excellence of the wild pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and deer, made ralph, in particular, very keen after them; and, with the delight of a boy who had never before had the command of firearms, he missed no chance of familiarising himself with their use. mr. gilchrist could give him no instruction in the art, but old wills knew more, and was persuaded that it was necessary for some among the party to be fair shots, as otherwise their lives might be in terrible danger one day upon these wild adventurous journeys. he therefore encouraged ralph to seek sport upon every occasion, and the lad was fast becoming practised in the art, which pleased him much. although the village people would not kill for their own food, they entertained no objection whatever to profit by the peril into which, in their estimation, these strangers brought their own salvation; and fresh meat was much nicer than the half-rotten flesh, and that of animals which had died of disease, upon which they would greedily feed, and which entail upon them leprosy and other dreadful disorders. they gratefully accepted all the englishmen's benefactions therefore, and denham went out shooting nearly every day. the fame of the liberal-handed englishmen, and their absurd fancy for out-of-the-way plants from the jungle, had spread during their stay in this village, and on the day before mr. gilchrist had determined to start upon his return to moulmein, a man arrived from a remote hamlet, bringing with him an orchid of such beauty and rarity as to throw him into a state of the greatest excitement. "denham," he said, "we must secure a good supply of this at any cost; it is a perfectly new one. to send this home will be to secure my fame, and be the ground-work of my fortunes. it is worth all that we have got before put together, but the fellow has mangled it terribly in bringing it as he has done. i must find the place where it grows, and take the specimens properly myself, or they would never reach england alive." "all right, sir," said ralph; "i'm game." they made their preparations with all possible speed, retaining the karen who had brought the plant for the purpose of conducting them to the spot where it grew. this man declared that it would be impossible to take the bullock-gharrie with them under any circumstances; the jungle tracks were too much overgrown and tangled to admit of so large a vehicle making its way through them. ponies were therefore hired for the purpose, little vicious creatures, which were used to scrambling and to the hilly country for which they were bound. one of these carried such equipments as mr. gilchrist considered necessary. "i wish," said he sighing, as he added a couple of guns to the other preparations,--"i wish that i could have foreseen, in my youth, that i should ever be likely to find myself wandering about in places so wild as these in which we are now. i would have made myself a good shot in time. as it is, i fear, denham, that we must trust providence not to let our lives depend upon the accuracy of our aim at any time." "we are improving, sir," said denham. "we cannot call ourselves crack sportsmen, i suppose, but i don't feel as much at sea as i used to do, and we have managed to bring in a good deal of game lately." "you and wills have, not i," replied mr. gilchrist. "we've got it, at anyrate," said the boy. osborn was to remain behind with the driver of the bullock-gharrie. he did not mind being left alone among the natives now, for he felt as if he knew them all, and was among friends. the others were soon ready to start, and pursued their way among giant trees and matted underwood, through marshy spots, ankle deep in water, and over stony ground where little rivulets of water streamed among broken rocks. the damp hollows steamed with moisture, heavy clouds hung low over the jagged hilltops. now they had to cleave their way through walls of climbing plants that cast out great tendrils, or branches; taking root in crevices and crannies, to start afresh into luxuriant life. then they emerged upon some long defile where exquisite trees were budding out into every shade of green among dark cliffs and boulders; or upon some forest glade where flowers of gorgeous hue clung to the trunks of palm and peepul tree, clothing them in purple majesty, or hanging curtains of crimson, orange, golden yellow or snowy white, across the misty vista. birds of radiant hues flitted from bough to bough, chattering and screaming; occasionally a deer might be seen, or a small sambhur, standing to gaze at the intruders, then bounding away into shady solitudes where he felt secure. once a creature of the wild cat species was observed slinking along among the undergrowth; and many lizards were feeding upon white ants and other insects in the coarse grass. they were approaching the hamlet, when, in some soft ground near to a pool of water, their guide uttered a horrified exclamation as he stooped to examine the pug of some animal very freshly made in the mud. "what beast's footmarks are those?" asked ralph. "big tiger, paya," replied the man. "he has been here last night." "do you consider that there is any danger of our meeting it in the jungle?" "well, paya, they wander very far sometimes in the night, but these marks are fresh. it is not long since he was here." "i suppose," said denham, "that if we do not disturb him, either in eating or sleeping, he would take no notice of us? if we 'nothing say to him, he'll nothing say to me,' eh?" "perhaps not, paya," said the man, "but there is no knowing. he may be hungry, we must be very careful." "pleasant," murmured mr. gilchrist. "all in the day's work, sir," said ralph cheerfully. "hi, there!--orchids, orchids!" "and the very ones we want!" cried mr. gilchrist, so delighted that he forgot the tiger forthwith. it was not a particularly good specimen of the orchid, but the native said that there was plenty of it, as well as of other varieties, in the jungle around; they would not have to go far for them. "there is a lot of what they call tiger-grass here, zur," said wills; "will it be safe when we know that there is one of those gentry near at hand?" "it may be miles away now," replied mr. gilchrist. "we may have passed near to him, or to another, as we have come through the jungle already. don't let us die several deaths in fearing one." "just as you please, zur," said the old man. "are the guns loaded?" "ay, zur, all right." "keep a wary lookout then; but if we were to come across the creature, ten to one it would rather slink away than attack us." "it won't do that," said the karen; "this is a man-eater." "what do you mean?" asked mr. gilchrist quickly, turning upon the native. "man-eater tiger, paya,--tiger that roams about alone, and eats nothing but human flesh. there was one about the village a little while ago, but we thought it had gone, for we have not seen it lately. it has eaten five or six men that i know of. it is an old beast, very large, very fierce, and very cunning. nobody can kill it." this description fired denham's ambition at once--he longed to kill that tiger. what a feather in his cap could he but contrive to do so! he was just about to exclaim in his eagerness, when mr. gilchrist expressed an opposite desire, so he thought it best to hold his tongue. "i hope we shall not come across it," said the more pacific elder man. "do your best to keep us out of its way. how shall you know whether it is the man-eater if we should be so unlucky as to fall across it?" "man-eater dark coloured, paya. mangy about its head, fur worn off in patches,--man flesh bad for him, not agree, you know." "i have heard something about that before," said mr. gilchrist. "i believe that it is a question as to whether the creature is diseased from improper food, or whether it be too old to chase its natural prey as nimbly as would be necessary to secure enough, so is driven to entrap men, who are more unwary. but, see, there is a very choice clump of the orchids, let us set to work." they were busily engaged in selecting orchids, when a rare and beautiful butterfly came sailing along on widespread painted wings, and denham, who collected these insects with ardour, gave chase. he followed it somewhat deeper into the jungle, unheeding of the distance from his party to which it was leading him; but wills cast an uneasy eye in the direction which he had taken, and presently moved to follow him. just as he had done so, he saw the boy's light figure come tearing back at headlong speed. "the tiger! the tiger!" he cried. "it is there, it was asleep, but lifted its head and looked towards where i was, as i stepped among some branches. it could not see me, for there was a big tree between us; i saw part of its back and tail first, then hid myself and peeped. give me a gun, wills, quick! come along." "massa paya will be breakfast for tiger if he go along like that," said the karen. "he must climb a tree, and watch till it pass him. keep quiet, no get excited, keep steady hand." the man knew what he was about, it was not the first time that he had assisted upon a similar occasion. he selected a tree, up which mr. gilchrist climbed; then posted ralph in another at a short distance, commanding a somewhat open glade, into which a track from the jungle led, and passed out of it again towards a large pool of water. wills joined the karen and the coolies, who proposed, in two parties, to move from opposite directions round by a detour, and try to drive the animal down this path, where each gentleman might have a chance of shooting it from the safe elevation of his tree. they had pistols, and moved off to right and left as quietly as possible at first, but as soon as they had attained to suitable positions, they began to fire into the jungle, to utter loud cries, to throw stones among the bushes, and do all in their power to disturb the animal, and to perplex him as to whence the assault proceeded. they did not succeed in catching any glimpse of the beast, however; and but for ralph's certainty that he had seen it, would have doubted whether there had not been some mistake. the karen climbed a tree, which gave him a sort of bird's-eye view of the surrounding jungle, but if the tiger were there it was well concealed. he descended the tree, and recommenced beating round the circle agreed upon. hardly had he done so, when one of the two coolies with him suddenly caught hold of him, and pointed with his long skinny arm in silent excitement. a crackling of twigs might be heard, a long line of tawny yellow colour seen gliding among the scrub, and, as an open place intervened, a magnificent creature appeared, half concealed as it slunk along, its head depressed till it was in one line with its body, and its tail drooping at the other end. it walked a little lame, and presently lay down and licked one of its paws, which seemed to be sore. the beaters held their breath, and it did not seem to be aware of their vicinity; the air, such as there was of it, leading their scent away from them; but the other party was drawing nearer, and the tiger evidently was more alive to danger approaching from that side, for it lifted its head, pricked up its ears, and listened. then it resumed its trot in the direction of the pool; and the beaters, allowing it to gain a little way ahead, recommenced to drive it forwards by every means in their power. the other party was drawing near to them, also acting on the offensive, and the tiger increased its pace, though evidently inconvenienced by the injury to its paw. both parties now coalesced; and, forming a wedge-shaped cohort, followed upon the animal's track, driving it forward by all sorts of annoyance. the distance was not great, it soon reached the tree in which ralph was perched, eagerly looking out for it, with his gun commanding the path upon which it was heard crashing heavily along. the fierce, striped face, and angry eyes, emerged from the jungle; one cruel, strong paw protruded, the beast looked warily round, then emerged wholly, and proceeded on its way. ralph waited till he considered his aim secure,--he covered the creature's head, nerved his arm--fired!--and nearly fell out of the tree from the terror induced by the awe-inspiring, wrathful howl of pain which resounded through the air. he had hit the tiger, certainly wounded it, but by no means had he administered its death-blow. it paused, staggered, and bounded forwards. mr. gilchrist fired hastily and injudiciously, missed his aim, and the tiger abandoned its former intention of making for the water, and, hurriedly turning to the right, was lost sight of once more among the scrub. ralph and mr. gilchrist set themselves to reload their guns with all speed; and as they did so, the beaters came up. "this is unlucky," said the karen. "it has gone off to the bed of a stream among the rocks, in a defile there. it will have a den or lair among the caves there, from which we should find it almost impossible to dislodge it; but it is wounded certainly, and was lame before; it may stop to drink at the stream before seeking its hiding-place. see, here is blood, it is hard hit, let us make haste." only pausing to complete the reloading of their weapons, the whole party proceeded _en masse_ upon the trail. the path was difficult, for a stream carried off the rains from a height at a short distance, and brought stones of a considerable size with it after a heavy downpour, emptying itself into the large pool or lake before mentioned. there was not much water in the bed of the stream yet, but sufficient to make the stones slippery, and fill many hollows between them with half-liquid mud. it was not easy to proceed with caution, yet never had caution been more desirable. silently, slipping, scrambling, holding their guns aloft, reaching a helping hand from one to another, they proceeded for a couple of hundred yards; then caught sight of the magnificent brute, extended at full length upon its stomach beside a basin-shaped pool, lapping eagerly, yet crimsoning the limpid water with its blood the while. ralph sprang upon a rock which commanded his prey, fired again, hit the tiger in the neck, behind the ear, and it rolled over, faintly kicking for a minute, then becoming still in death. they could hardly believe, at first, that the danger was over,--ralph himself least of all. mr. gilchrist fired again at the animal as it lay, to make its death quite certain; and, after all, approached it cautiously. it then appeared that ralph's first shot had taken effect in its shoulder, the bone of which was splintered, and from the wound a quantity of blood had flowed. but the poor creature had previously injured its foot, in the cushion beneath which a large thorn had become embedded, and caused a gathering, or abscess, to form. this was the reason why it had been lame, for it must have been very painful to tread upon it. without this accident it might not have been so easy a prey, for it was a huge fellow, measuring nine feet from tip to tail. wills set himself to skin it immediately, and they camped out for the night, as it was far too late to return to the village then, but the ovation with which they were greeted next morning was very great. the villagers had become superstitious with regard to this tiger, and could not sufficiently praise their deliverers. chapter xiv tattooing the spoils from this expedition now amounted to such a quantity that it was desirable that the explorers should return to moulmein, and ship them off to england. they had the skins of many deer, sambhurs, wild cats, and various smaller animals, as well as those of the leopard and tiger. there were many orchids, some beautiful butterflies, and the skins of rare birds; curios had been picked up in the native villages, and specimens of the ornamental woods which grew in the forests. ralph had a famous supply of gay feathers, and other articles, for his mother and sister; and sundry small things which he knew would give pleasure to them and the younger children, though he had no money wherewith to purchase articles of much use or value. their load was more cumbersome than heavy, but it filled up the bullock-gharrie so completely that they determined to stop nowhere on the road. they would return as fast as possible to moulmein. they jogged along therefore very cheerily, talking over their adventures, and planning what they would do upon their longer journey. "how odd it seems," said ralph, "to think that this time last year i was only going about the town in liverpool, backwards and forwards to school, and never thinking about all the strange sights i was to see so soon. and now, it seems as if i had always known these places. things i never knew of then, surprise me now no longer. this tattooing, for instance. how queer i thought it at first, and now i never think about it." he pointed, as he spoke, to a burman who passed them, gorgeously tattooed. "tattooing is not uncommon among seamen in england," said mr. gilchrist. "is it, wills?" "no, no, zur, it b'ain't. 'tis a very useful thing too, to hev' a mark set upon a chield so as he can be telled, dead or alive, at any time." "ah! it be so," said osborn. "i mind when i wor a boy hearing tell about a young gentleman as were a midshipman in the navy, danby his name was. he was in a frigate, cruising about in the south seas; and going in command of a boat's crew one day to get water and fruit from one of those cannibal islands, the beggars set upon them, and murdered them all, as 'twas said. the frigate sailed away, after revenging the murders by a broadside poured in on the island, and reported the whole boat's crew dead. "twenty year passed away, and the affair was nigh about forgotten, when an english merchantman was sailing near the same island again, and a man leaped into the water, off a rock, and struck out, swimming for dear life towards the ship. "they lowered a boat, and took him on board. "'who be you?' asked the captain. "'charles danby,' said he, speaking good english, for all that he was tattooed all over his face like a native. "'how did 'ee get theer?' asked the skipper. "'i wor a midshipman on board his majesty's frigate _achilles_,' saith he. 'i wor sent in command of a boat's crew to get water, and they set upon us, and killed all but me. one of the women took a fancy to me, and hid me. she would have me marry her, but i didn't seem to care about it, and stuck out so long as i could.'" "poor soul," said mr. gilchrist. ralph laughed. "i'd like to see the dusky bride who would wed _me_ against my will," cried he. "she'd soon find that she had caught a tartar." "it worn't no laughing matter for _he_," said osborn. "they there savages, they showed him his comrades, brought up one by one, and forced him to look on while they murdered them, roasted them, and _eat_ them. they'd ha' served him the same but for the woman protecting him, and she threatened him that if he wouldn't have her she'd hand him over to the cannibals, who were always coming to look at him, and saying what a nice tender morsel he'd be, for he was so young and fair and rosy." "i've heard of a _man_," said the incorrigible ralph, still laughing, "who said, when he was first married, that he was so fond of his wife that he could have eaten her; and, afterwards, that he often wished he had." "you go along, maister ralph," quoth old wills. "what should a babe, the likes of you, know about such things." ralph made a face at his old friend, and begged osborn to tell him the end of the midshipman. "well, 'ee doan't deserve as i should," said osborn; "but, howsomever, the boy gave in. he wor but a babe hisself,--only fourteen,--and life was sweet to him even at that cost; so he took the woman, and tried to do his best with her, though it was sorry work. they tattooed him all over, face and all, to make him look as like themselves as they could; and he wore no clothes, but lived just like them. he got to do so exactly like them that he could pick up a fishhook from the ground with his toes, just like they could; and he had some children, and was looked upon in time just like the rest. "he lived twenty years like this, and never saw a british ship, nor a white face, nor a sign of home all that time, for the island was an out-of-the-way one. then, one day, all to once he saw that there merchantman in the offing. he wor a-fishing by himself, and he watched the vessel sailing nearer and nearer, old half-forgotten thoughts of home, and friends, and old england, cropping up clearer and clearer every minute; and with them a yearning for them, tearing at his heart like, till he could bear it no longer. he just jumped into the sea, and swam off to the ship. "the poor fellow was so afraid of being caught and claimed again by his family in the island, that the skipper changed his tack, and sailed away from it, so he was brought home in safety. "then came the difficulty of proving himself to be charles danby, for nobody could recognise him. he'd left home a rosy-faced, curly-haired lad of thirteen; he came back looking like a south-sea islander of thirty-four. "his father was dead, but his mother was still living, and she did not know him all to once, nor none of his friends. "but it wor no such tale as tichborne's. he remembered all sorts of things that none but he could know,--people's names, old jokes, old stories, people in the village dead and gone, things that had happened at school. "it was for ever, 'where is the old cabinet that did stand here?' 'what has become of the gamekeeper's boy, jack?' and so on. "he soon satisfied his mother, his old nurse, and such like; but there was some money to come to him, and it was necessary to prove to the law that he was the right man to have it, and that was a harder matter. "'had he no mark upon him?' asked the lawyer of his mother. "'ay,' said she, 'he had a small mole on his cheek.' "but that was either gone, or covered up with the tattooing, and could not be seen, nor could they think of anything else. "'i was tattooed c. d. on my right arm,' saith he, 'first time i went to sea. c. d. it were, and the union jack, but it wore out. the natives didn't tattoo my arm there, because it wor done already, but it has not lasted like their marks have done. see, here is the bare spot.' "sure enough, there was a bare round place among the marks on his arm, but no flag nor letters wor to be seen. he hunted up the very shipmate as had done it, and who swore to having done it, and showed the fellow-mark on his own arm, only with the letters different, for each had taken the initials of his own name, though the pattern they said was the same in both. "'ay!' saith mr. danby, 'i mind what an arm i gave you, and how you swore at me for going so deep. you mocked at me for holloing out while you did me, and i vowed i'd make you holloa too.' "'so 'ee did,' said the other officer. 'what did 'ee do it with?' "'with three big darning-needles out from a red-leather huswife that my poor dear sister mary gave me for a keep-sake when i went away. it had a looking-glass in it, and little blue flowers worked inside. she told me to mend my stockings when i was at sea, but it's not many stockings as i've worn.' "'i have the huswife now,' said his mother; 'it came back among his things. many a time did poor mary cry over it before she died. she used to say, "he minded what i told him about his stockings, mother, for the darning needles are gone."' "'we lashed them together, threaded through the eyes with a bit of wire,' said mr. danby. "'so we did,' said his friend. "well, this was all very good, but the marks wor gone, you see, so no proof in law. just then the doctor came in, and 'what are you saying?' asked he. so they told him. "'show me your arm,' said he; and danby put it out. "the doctor took and rubbed it hard, till it wor red as a lobster. "'hold hard, doctor! you'll rub down to the bone.' "but the doctor knew what he was doing, and when the place was well scrubbed, 'what do 'ee call _that_?' saith he, pointing for the lawyer to see. "there was, quite plain, the jack and c. d., inside a circle of little dots, all in white marks upon the reddened skin. it was exactly like the blue marks upon the other man's arm, except for the initials being different, but hadn't been done so deep, so the gunpowder had worn out by degrees. "they gave him his money, but he didn't live long to enjoy it. he was quite unfitted to live like a christian after so many years of savage life, and civilisation killed him." "poor fellow," sighed mr. gilchrist; "it is a strange story." wills then began to relate some of his reminiscences. he never liked to be out-done by osborn. "two or three voyages ago," said he, "we had a black cook on board; and when we were at the office, being shipped, some talk went on about tattooing. one of the young gentlemen was entering our names in the ship's register, and a sailor was showing his arms and chest the while. he was beautifully tattooed with red and blue both. he had the royal arms on his chest, and a girl, skipping, with a wreath of flowers round her; and his arms were all over letters and anchors and crosses, and what not. "'is any other of you so grand as this?' asked the young gentleman. "two or three had marks, but none so good, and he turned to the nigger. "'you don't need mark of mouth, sambo, i suppose?' said he. "'me marked though, massa,' said the darkie, grinning from ear to ear,--'me marked. me fall in fire when boy, and the mark of burn never gone. scored, massa, me was,--branded by hot bar. golly! it were bad.' "and he rolled up his sleeve, and showed the scars of a terrible burn. "well, we sailed in bad weather, and met with an awful storm two days after. the ship was pooped, the name-board washed away, and much damage done. we managed to put it to rights though, and went on our way; but others were less lucky. it was off the coast of wicklow, and in that same storm, another ship went down with all hands; and some of the drowned men were washed up among the wreckage, _and our name-board_, with '_osprey_, liverpool' painted on it quite plain. "of course the word reached 'herfords' that it was we that was lost, but the rig of some of the spars washed up, and the colour of the paint, did not agree. one of the dead seamen was a negro, but another of them was reported to have had two fingers of his left hand gone at some former time; and though there was a negro among us, and both were reported fine, tall, big fellows, we had none among our jack-tars maimed in the hand. "so the young gentleman that shipped the crew was sent over, with lloyd's agent, to the wicklow coast, to see if he could identify the corpses. some two or three days had passed, while letters had been written backwards and forwards, and as the poor fellows had been sadly knocked about among the wreckage, there was no chance of recognising them, and they'd all been buried before the young clerk came. "'tis a pity as it's so,' said he, talking to lloyd's man. 'if he were not underground, i'd have known the negro, because he had the big scar from an old burn on the inside of his left arm, reaching nearly from his elbow to his wrist.' "'say you so,' said lloyd's agent, 'then we'll have him dug up again.' "the young gentleman did not half like that, but it was done, and he had to be there, with result that the dead negro had no mark at all on his arm, so could not be the same man. "captain rogers was chief mate on that voyage; and your ma, zur, was prettily relieved when she heard this, for it was a long time before we was able to report ourselves. news did not fly so soon in thiccee times as now." "well," said ralph, "the outcome of all this is that i had better get tattooed as soon as i can. will you do it for me, wills?" "better wait till 'ee du get to rangoon, maister, for 'twill make your arm very sore for some days." "no, no, denham; don't be foolish," said mr. gilchrist. ralph laughed, and the party stopped for their mid-day meal, which changed the conversation. chapter xv the old men's faith the journey back to moulmein offered no further adventures worthy of mention; and, when arrived there, mr. gilchrist remained in that place quietly until after the new year. the floods had then subsided, and the articles for which he had sent to england arrived. he sent off to mr. herford all that he had collected during his first expedition; and received advices from rangoon, with money, and full credentials for making every possible preparation whilst he was waiting. ralph and the two cornish seamen were regularly engaged, at liberal salaries; and captain rogers wrote to his nephew of the situation reserved for him in the rangoon house of business,--a situation which, if he were assiduous and steady, would assure his fortune for life, and enable him to forward the interests of his younger brothers. ralph also received letters from home, and from kershaw, relating how kindly he had been received by mrs. denham. he mentioned his determination to pass for his master's certificate before again going to sea; and assured his friend that he would often call upon his mother and sister, to tell them all particulars about ralph himself, which he might omit when writing. "i daresay he will," thought ralph; "and a pretty farrago of rubbish they will hear from him, too." letters arriving faster than the heavy goods that were sent round the cape, one from mrs. denham, giving the account of the mate's second visit, reached ralph before he again left moulmein. "your good-looking young friend, mr. kershaw, called again last night," she wrote, "and was most amusing. i do not think i have laughed for many years more than i did to hear him relating your imaginary love-affair with a burmese belle. with the gravest face, and pretended sympathy for us, he went on piling up the agony, while agnes believed every word, and her big blue eyes dilated with horror. 'she is a very charming thing in natives, from a shan district,' he said, with a sly glance at her; 'she is dressed chiefly with a tablecloth and a rose; she carries a green cheroot in her ear, and she and denham smoke it by turns. she sells burmese cats in the bazaar, and has a fascinating way of sitting upon her heels, which leaves nothing to be desired as to grace. she will be able to teach you much in the way of cooking, miss denham; this cake, which i understand is made by yourself from a cornish receipt, is delicious to _me_, but denham has quite taken to burmese ways now. you should see him devouring rotten fish. he is very partial to it, with rice; and finishes his light and wholesome meal with chinese patties made of sugar and fat pork.' "'mr. kershaw!' she cried. she could really say no more, her horror was so great. "he turned to her with the kindest air. 'it is sad, miss denham, is it not? your dear brother seemed made for better things; but, after all, an early attachment is often the saving of a man. i think that i could draw a sketch of the lady if you would favour me with a pencil.' then he drew the most awful-looking picture which you could imagine; and agnes watched every line with her whole soul in her face, and heaved the deepest sigh when it was finished. 'it is a pretty face, is it not?' asked he politely. 'perhaps i have favoured her a little, she may not be quite so sweet-looking in reality, but she really is a charming girl.' "he has just walked in again, and brought agnes the present of what he calls a burmese cat, and declares that your _fiancée_ sold it to him for twopence three farthings, and a dish of fried maggots. it is a thing upon wires, or joints of some kind, like a perfect demon, sprawling and jerking about, and has already frightened baby nearly into a fit." "i would like to punch his head for him," soliloquised ralph. "what an idiot he is!" but this is somewhat out of place. mr. gilchrist was not desirous of remaining long in moulmein after his stores had arrived from england. the sooner he started, the cooler would be the weather, and the more time there would be for his journey before the rains set in. their friends, however, would not part with them until they had passed christmas in company; and ralph was a little disappointed to find that the merry water-festival was not to take place upon the english new year's day, but on that sacred to burma. he found that this day fell about the beginning of april, so he must wait to see the images washed, and to share in the sport of throwing water at everyone, until that time, when he would probably have arrived in rangoon. mr. gilchrist knew that many orchids could not be found in bloom before february; but, as the jungles around moulmein had been pretty well investigated, he wished to reach fresh fields and pastures new by that time; and travelling was slow work in burma, where the people resolutely refuse to proceed on their way if they consider the day unlucky,--if a snake cross their path at the outset of their journey,--or if the white witch of any district, who is always consulted _en passant_, pronounce that the nats are adverse. upon the whole, the chances for this new expedition were considered to be favourable, as a very fortunate day was selected in the first instance, and the scouts of the party lighted upon a magnificent bed of mushrooms before the sun was well up. with great delight they collected a goodly supply of this delicacy; mr. gilchrist produced a tin of gravy soup in which to stew them, and they feasted upon them for breakfast. even the englishmen were cheered by the satisfaction apparent on the faces of their attendants at this favorable omen. "well," said wills, "ef it be an omen, 'tis no manner of use to set oneself up against 'un. 'tis well az it be a good 'un, for there be a pesky lot more of whisht 'uns than of 'tother zooart." "ah! there be," said osborn; "and of spreets too." "did you ever see a spirit, osborn?" asked ralph. "i did, my son," said osborn. "tell us all about it," pleaded the boy. "well, it wor when i was a young shaver, nineteen or twenty, or theerabout, to age; and i'd gone down st. minver way to stay with my old granfer, who lived in thiccee parish. there wor an awful storm came, fust week in december, and the breakers were mountain high against the cliffs. word went az how a big three-masted ship of foreign rig had been zeen trying to make for padstow harbour when night came, but never a stick of it wor zeen again. 'twor supposed az it ran on the doom bar theer, at mouth of the harbour. i must needs go down to hell bay, az they do call 'un, next day, to zee the waves, az was foaming out for miles; and a fine sight it wor, though the tide had turned, and wor roaring out then. i walked along the head of the cliff so az to get out amongst 'em; and az i went, i zeed an old man, with a long grizzled beard and moustache, like a forriner, a-leaning hisself against a stile. "'good-marnin', zur,' saith i; but he only turned his great sorrowful eyes upon me, with dark fire blazing out of 'em, and never spoke a word. "'you'm an unmannerly chield,' thought i to myself, but i made to pass him without no more to zay. but he stood in my road, and lifted his hand, and beckoned, like a chield az was used to be obeyed. "then i did zee as how his hair was wet, dripping with watter down over his cloathes, and zayweed and little crabs stuck to it, and his hands and face wor all battered and bruised and torn, and he wor soaked through and through with watter. he moved on, making signs for me to follow of 'un, and the watter squelched in his shoes az he went, and i didn't dare to hang back. "he led me out right to point of the cliff, and down over the rocks to a little cove behind, where a great broken mass reared up in front of a cavern, and theer, a-lyin' on the strip of sand, beside the great pool of watter, lay a lady, and she had a little child held tight in her arms, with its face cuddled down on her neck, as ef 'twor asleep. when he pointed to thiccee, he gave a dreadful great wailing cry, and wor gone. "i thought the lady was alive at first; for the wind lifted up her long black hair, az ef 'twor playing with it; and for all that her white gown were torn, and a great rag of lace fluttered from it, it wor decently folded round her, but she wor dead and cold enough when i come to touch her. "i got help, and she wor carried round, and buried up in the churchyard, with her little 'un in the same coffin, but neither i nor any living chield ever saw the forriner more." "osborn!" cried ralph. "do you really mean to tell me that you saw that yourself?" "i did, maister ralph." "that hell bay be a quare place, zur," said wills. "i du knaw she well. ef there du be sech things az spreets, thiccee be the spot for 'un. many and many a good ship have gone to pieces there; never a winter passes but three or four du go. i mind me of one awful gale when a big ship were seen there, throwing up lights and firing guns for help, but no help could drae near to 'un. next day one little baby's shoe wor washed up,--a purty little blue kid shoe, with a silver button to it, but never a sign more of who or what the volks might be that had all gone in the dead hours of the night." "ay," began osborn, once more resuming his reminiscences. "that wor the gale--i mind it well--when a brig rode safely into padstow harbour, and wor saved, with never a living soul aboard of her. the crew had been scared, and took to their boats, when ef they'd stuck to the brig they'd have been saved. never a one wor zeed, but the clock were ticking away when the brig was boarded, a-telling the time for the dead men; and the fried bacon and tetties wor a-keeping hot over the galley fire for them az would never eat a meal more." "don't you think of these things when a storm comes while you are at sea?" asked ralph. "do they not make you nervous?" "no, maister, i dunna knaw az it du. men must die sometime, and the lord's will must be followed. he du be so near to uz on zea az on land." ralph was silent, but he thought much. the old men's simple trust in their god struck him forcibly in all its truth and beauty. it was not ignorance of the risks which they ran, it was not heedlessness, it was not fatalism,--it was faith. were he called upon to face death--instantaneous death--while life was still strong and lusty within him, could he meet it in the same steady spirit? he feared not. then he remembered a passage in the bible, where men persecuted were counselled not to perplex themselves by wondering what they should say in hypothetical circumstances, for it should be given to them, in that same hour, what they should say. perhaps it would also be given to others what they should do. he prayed inwardly that it might be so. life was teaching this lad many lessons, though unconsciously to himself. also the simple straightforwardness with which he was performing his duty, under such untoward claims upon it, was influencing those whom he loved, at home, in a manner of which he little thought. he had gone out to burma, because he wished to relieve his mother of his keep, and this was the only manner in which he saw the possibility of so doing at once. he had thus been the means of introducing into his mother's household a lady who proved to be a most valued and valuable friend to the whole family. by his conduct during the voyage, he had secured the attachment of several important friends for himself; opened for himself excellent prospects for prosperity in life; and earned the advantages of seeing a new country in a manner which few succeed in doing even after long residence in it. this, in after years, proved to be of material service to his career. the accounts of his heroism in the fire at sea, and the esteem for his character which that aroused, called out all that was best in his brother's heart; and made the favourable turning-point in his life at a critical and dangerous age. finally, this same heroism induced mr. herford to take great notice of his mother and the whole family. he befriended them in many ways,--assisting in the children's education, securing for them many cheerful pleasures, and making them valuable presents from time to time. none of these advantages would have accrued to himself, or to those he loved, had ralph been idle, selfish, or neglectful of his duty; but now he was destined to go through a yet greater trial of endurance than any before. little did he think, when he set out so gaily upon his second expedition, of all the dangers which were about to beset his path while pursuing it. chapter xvi big game when the new year had come, all preparations being satisfactorily completed, our friends set forth upon their second journey; feeling themselves so much better equipped, and so much more experienced in both travelling, and speaking the necessary languages, that they started in the highest spirits. mr. gilchrist enforced various strict regulations, with regard to the safety of his party. none were to wander alone, far from the rest; none to start off upon independent explorations; all were to carry upon their persons, at all times, suitable firearms, always ready for use; ample supply of charges for them; hunting-knives in good order; and a small supply of food, in case of accident. native villages were plentifully scattered upon their road,--english stations not unfrequent. the weather was agreeable, and all promised well. the party was successful in finding many rare orchids; so that, though their progress was slow, they were content. they did not cross the river salween, preferring to proceed along its banks northwards, and to search the rocky country upon its eastern side for some distance first, as the plants seemed to be of a different character there from those which they had already collected; and the cessation of traffic upon the river, in consequence of the frequent rapids in it, rendered a passage across it difficult. mr. gilchrist perceived that, from the solitary character of this district, it was one in which they might possibly meet with danger from wild beasts; but he thought it unlikely that any such creatures would attack so large a number of people, or could not easily be beaten off if they did. at first the whole party was wary; but, seeing no big game, they became less apprehensive of danger. many peacocks and other birds were met with, and ralph became quite an adept in shooting them. their flesh made a welcome variety in the commissariat department. one day his gun was heard popping at a short distance; and wills began to prepare a peeled wand, to serve as spit upon which to roast the expected treat, when the lad burst through the bushes in great excitement, his blue eyes blazing from his sunburnt, flushed face, beneath his dark waves of hair. "come quickly!" he shouted. "come at once! here is a whole herd of elephants crossing the river! such a sight!" all hurried after him. it was a fine sight. there must have been twenty or thirty elephants, with their trunks uplifted in air, swimming across where the water was tolerably quiet and still. one old female had a baby elephant with her, and encouraged the little one as she went with sounds that the young one might consider words of advice or caution. "oh, see, see!" cried ralph. "there are more young ones, but bigger. how carefully the old ones guard them. i wonder why they are going across! i am glad they are not coming this way." "they go over to feed on big tree, paya," said one of the burmese. "elephant like juicy branches of trees like those." in effect, the whole herd began to feed at once upon reaching the farther shore. they could reach the tender boughs at the tops of the largest trees by stretching their trunks. they tore them down, and ate them with vast relish. none of the englishmen had ever before seen wild elephants in a natural state, and were deeply interested in watching them. suddenly a terrible noise was heard approaching them from behind; an angry, surly "hunf, hunf," which struck terror into their hearts, even before they saw a huge infuriated elephant coming, crashing and tearing its sullen way through the undergrowth. "fly! fly!" cried mr. gilchrist. "ameh! ameh!" shrieked the burmans. "lord defend us!" exclaimed osborn. "maister ralph, maister ralph! thee'rt just in his road!" vociferated wills. the old man rushed forward and fired at the monstrous creature. the elephant turned and charged down upon his assailant. "run, run; i'm all right!" he cried. "run, my son, run!" ralph fled. he was standing a little apart from the rest, and escaped up a gulley or defile among the rocks, in a different direction from that taken by the others. they made for a group of rocks a little separated from the range among which they were orchid hunting; a few trees grew in a clump hard by. wills alone was left at the mercy of the raging creature. the trees formed his only chance of shelter, and he doubled, flying back towards them. panting, labouring for breath, he just reached the tiny grove, and concealed himself behind a mighty bole. hidden from immediate view there, he slipped backwards, and doubled again behind another, just as the elephant, with a tramp that shook the earth beneath him, ran full tilt at the first tree, set his shoulder against it, and levelled it to the ground. at the same moment, above the crashing and rending of timber, the splitting of branches, and the trumpeting of the mad brute, came the clear ping! ping! of two rifles, as mr. gilchrist and osborn both took aim, and hit the creature in the shoulder. wills fired, at the same moment, from behind his shelter upon the other side, and a trickle of red blood upon the elephant's flapping ear bore witness to the justness of his aim. in the next moment, gilchrist's and osborn's second barrels rang out; and a volley of small shot from the rest of the party peppered the great mass, which, at such near quarters, it would have been difficult to miss. it seemed to be too hot a place for the intruder. with an awful cry of anger and pain it shambled heavily to the river's bank, plunged into the stream, and swam down it. the distant echo of a gun was heard at the same moment, up the defile, but no one attended to it, for the form of old wills was seen to sway, to totter, and to sink upon the ground. had he been injured? had he trod upon a snake? had some other poisonous reptile or insect attacked him? his friends, in the greatest anxiety, hurried up to him, raised his prostrate figure, and found him in a deep swoon. osborn ran for water; mr. gilchrist supported him in his arms, and called to the chief coolie to fetch his brandy flask. the burman implored the master not to arouse the insensible man until his "butterfly spirit" returned to its mortal prison-house, but no heed was paid to him; and presently wills opened his eyes, with a bewildered expression, and looked around. "where is the boy?" he asked. "is the boy safe?" no one could answer him, for denham was not there. what had become of him? it was no time for seeking him then, however; none of the men supposed that he was very far off, or in further danger now that the solitary elephant had gone down the river. "he is all right," said mr. gilchrist soothingly. "he'll be here in a minute. let us take you back to the bullock-gharrie, you must lie down in the shade." wills offered no resistance, but he could not stand; he was trembling from head to foot. the men constructed a hasty litter with their rifles, some branches, and grass; they laid wills upon it, and carried him back to the spot where their gharrie was in waiting for them. though certainly clear-headed, and quite himself for a few minutes after he first came out of his swoon, a confusion seemed to overpower his mind again, and his speech was not distinct. mr. gilchrist felt very uneasy, as he feared that the sudden shock had induced some form of a stroke; and he knew himself wholly unfit to deal with a matter so serious. he called up the burman, and asked him where the nearest doctor was likely to live. "at english station, paya," replied the man; "one only half-day's journey, or a little more, from here. the royal self's lord may reach it by sky shutting-in time, if make haste." "is there an english doctor there?" "good doctor, paya; half-caste,--wise man." there seemed nothing to do but to take wills on to this station without loss of time, and mr. gilchrist gave orders to prepare. the day was now far advanced, no more time ought to be lost; but it suddenly occurred to them all that ralph was not with them. what had become of the boy? he had been seen flying from the elephant up the defile, as wills had turned the charge of the mad creature upon himself. some of them remembered now that the discharge of a gun had been heard afterwards up this defile; but why had the boy not returned? mr. gilchrist sent the chief burman and some coolies to search for him. osborn would not leave his friend, over whom either sleep or stupor seemed to be creeping. gilchrist himself went, with the rest of the men in another direction, ascending a hill which promised to afford a view up that defile; but nothing could be seen from the thickness of the jungle below. they shouted, called, fired off blank cartridge,--but no response came. slowly, and much perplexed, they returned to the gharrie, to find wills growing rapidly worse. the search party came back with no news. not a trace of the lad could they discover; but they brought in two young tiger cubs, that they had found lying asleep, to all appearance alone. it was not to be supposed that two such very young cubs could have been there, and their mother be far away; but though there was evidently a lair there, no vestige of the parent animal was to be seen. the certainty of such creatures being in the neighbourhood, however, hastened the men's return. they had killed the cubs with their hunting-knives, lest the sound of guns should have brought down the female tiger upon them, and then they had hurried back, as fast as possible, from desire to secure their own safety. had ralph fallen a victim to these creatures? was the absence of the mother from her cubs due to the destruction of the poor young fellow? mr. gilchrist shuddered, as he recognised the probability of this explanation. but one shot had been heard, and no further sound,--no cry for help, no call, no other report of firearms. what could this mean except one thing? and what must he do now? was it of any use to wait, to search further for ralph? to save wills they must push on to the english station. it would be best to do so, and return to search for the boy. there could be little doubt but what he had fallen a victim to the tigress; but at least some evidence to this effect might be found,--his gun, some portion of his clothing, at least, might be there. if he had escaped, he could have come back. he had ammunition with him, though it might not be much, for he had shot a good supply of birds that day. he had some biscuits with him. finally, mr. gilchrist ordered a little tent to be pitched for him, a large fire to be built up, which would serve to mark the place from a distance, and would identify it to himself when he returned to it. he wrote a few lines upon a piece of paper, affixing it to the tent-pole, to desire ralph to wait there until he came back to join him, which should be done as soon as possible. he would have left some of the men there, but the near neighbourhood of tigers had terrified them out of all discipline, and every one of them utterly refused to remain unless the royal lord stayed himself to protect them. there was no help for it, therefore; and the party set forth with sad and anxious hearts; the day being so far spent as to place themselves in some peril from the possible attack of wild beasts, coming down from their rocky fastnesses to drink at the river. they had to keep near the banks of the stream, too; for the road was more open there, and they could not take the bullock-gharrie through narrow or tangled paths. as it was, poor wills was terribly jolted very often, but remained in a state of semi-consciousness, wandering in his mind when aroused. mr. gilchrist walked, to leave more room for osborn to tend his friend; but he kept near the head of the gharrie, where he could hear and see all that went on in it. the attendants surrounded or followed, bearing flaring torches after the darkness fell, and the anxious hours passed on. chapter xvii the jungle fire mr. gilchrist supposed that they might be drawing near the english settlement, which he found, upon conversation with the chief burman, to be a police-station; when on the farther side of a small tributary to the river, which it would be necessary to ford, a bright glare of light flashed upon them suddenly as they rounded a spur of rock. "what is that?" asked he anxiously. "paya, it is the jungle on fire," said the man. "it is the first jungle fire i have heard of this year, but it happens frequently in the heat every season." "good god!" exclaimed the gentleman, "what a sight! are we safe here?" "from the fire? yes, certainly," said the burman. "see, my royal lord, there is a strip of clear ground on the farther bank of the stream, and the water would quench anything that is likely to reach it. but form up closely, for wild beasts may burst through here, being accustomed to drink at this place, and cross the ford where it is shallow." "load the guns," cried mr. gilchrist "close round the gharrie; take out the bullocks, and fasten them to the wheels,--we can surround them better so. set your backs to the cart, and keep your weapons ready." he would have had osborn remain in the gharrie, beneath shelter, with wills, but the old man was out at the first hint of danger. he laid his friend's head upon a cushion, renewed the wet rags that lay upon his fevered brow, gave him some cool drink, and was ready to help his master in five minutes. he was needed. gilchrist looked round, his numbers were short. had the uncertain light deceived him? surely there should have been enough men to surround the gharrie and bullocks; also the two tats, or ponies, and the larger horse, that were now brought into such close space, and fastened to the cart. he counted heads. three burmans were missing. a very short search discovered them,--they were crouched upon the ground, beneath the gharrie, hiding, in an agony of fear. "come out, you cowardly rascals!" thundered he. "come out, or i will shoot you all as you lie there! come out this instant!" the men crept out, shaking with fright, and imploring the royal lord's self to pardon them. they did not know whether to be most afraid of him, or the fire, or the possible wild beasts. they were not likely to be of much use whichever danger arose first. mr. gilchrist posted them between the coolies, osborn, and himself, with orders that the first one who abandoned his post should be shot without mercy. meantime, animals were flying by, now by one or two at a time, then in herds. sambhurs, with terrified eyes, bounded along at headlong speed; peacocks flew past, screaming; water-fowl rose in air. monkeys jabbered and leapt by, wild cats scurried across. then a great roar was heard, and a pair of leopards sprang out of their covers, and stood glaring at the little band, every hair upon their beautiful spotted skins seeming to bristle with wrath. out rang mr. gilchrist's rifle; out rang osborn's,--the female fell; the male, hardly braver than the burmans, though more ferocious, turned tail and fled. the leopard was not dead, her leg was broken by one shot, her side entered by the other; but the contents of the second barrels despatched her. hardly had she been dead ten minutes, when, with a heavy flapping of dark wings, many vultures were seen sweeping past and settling upon the nearest trees. the branches were weighed down with the black mass of these ill-omened birds. meantime the fire wound along among the jungle-grass in brilliantly sinuous lines; and ever as it ran hither and thither, a screaming, fluttering, shrieking rush of animal life followed it, though not always taking the direction of our friends. after the first, though clouds of birds and bats flew over their heads, deer, and larger beasts, hurrying to places of safety, turned aside upon perceiving them, and scampered farther down the stream. rats and small fry ran in the shallow water along its banks; and monkeys swung themselves, hand over hand, among the trees. by degrees the fire burnt itself out upon their road, and swept farther away; but it was broad daylight before the travellers dared to relax their vigilance, or breathe freely once more. mr. gilchrist served out a modicum of brandy to each man, and some biscuits. the refreshment was much needed, and gave them heart. in the cool early morning, wills was better; his temperature went down, his mind appeared clearer, and his speech less confused. then, too, rising above the blackened jungle, perched high upon a hillside, appeared the police-station; and a group of horsemen might be seen, in fresh linen garments, riding down in their direction. a lady was one of the party as well; she cantered along in her easy grey habit, with long curls blowing back beneath a shady black hat, a pleasant sight to all. she proved to be a girl of nineteen, just come out from home, the bride of the young police officer; a bonnie, slender thing, with smiling lips, frank blue eyes, english roses still upon her cheeks, burmese roses fastened into the bosom of her jacket. so short a time had elapsed since her marriage, that she still gave a little involuntary start of remembrance when anyone called her mrs. brudenel, the name which she had been accustomed to hear only as that of her husband's mother, while at his "wifey," a flush of colour would suddenly mantle upon her fair young face. mr. gilchrist had his own private hopes, which caused him to watch these little signs with secret interest, though he betrayed no outward symptom of his pleasure in them, and maintained a formal show of deep respect towards her. she was kindness itself to poor wills, and treated him with a skill which showed her familiarity with illness. no sooner did she receive him into her house, than she directed her ayah to prepare her one spare room for him,--a cool pleasant apartment; she bathed his brow with a fragrant lotion, applied mustard poultices to the back of his head behind his ears; she supplied all other things desirable, and devised means for throwing out a profuse perspiration upon his body. wills gradually recovered his full senses under this treatment, but was very weak. the doctor soon arrived, and so played his skilful part, that, upon bringing to him a basin of such soup as he had seldom enjoyed, wills looked up anxiously in mrs. brudenel's face. "the boy?" he asked. "is he safe?" "we hope so," replied she gently. "only _hope_, miss?" "only hope at present, but my husband has taken his men to bring him in. we shall soon have good news for you, please god." "ay, please god," said the old man. "the cheild has come to be like the apple of my eye,--the best fruit from a fine old stock, lady. please god, please god." "would you like me to pray with you for his safety?" asked the lady. "ay, ef 'ee will," replied he. mrs. brudenel knelt by the old seaman's bed, took his horny hand in her soft white one, and poured out a supplication to the god and father of them both, that he would keep this boy safely beneath the shadow of his everlasting wings, and restore him to his friends without injury. as she rose from her knees, the old man's lips moved again. "amen, amen," he muttered. "please god, please god." he fell into a sleep, still murmuring these words, and holding the lady's hand. she did not try to release it, but sat patiently by the bedside until his fingers relaxed of their own accord, as his sleep deepened; then leaving the ayah to fan him, and be ready to give him more nourishment when he should awake, she stole away in search of her husband. mr. brudenel, having helped his other guests to refresh themselves after their night's strain of anxiety, having placed baths and refreshment before them, had now gathered his own men together, and, with mr. gilchrist and osborn, was proceeding to search for ralph. "how is your patient, wifey?" asked he, as he observed his wife's approach. "better," said she in a cheerful voice. "he was quite clear in mind for a short time, and is now asleep. i hope you will find your young friend safe and well," she added, turning to mr. gilchrist. "thank you, madam," replied he. "if not, i shall feel guilty of his loss to my dying day, for i took him from comparative safety, chiefly for my own pleasure in the company of his bright boyhood." "pooh, pooh!" cried mr. brudenel. "we will have him all right in a couple of hours. lads like he take a deal of killing. i have been in queer places dozens of times myself, but always turned up again like a bad shilling. forward, my friends!" they rode down the hillside; a turn in the path hid them from sight; then they reappeared upon the plain through which the stream flowed, and picked their careful way across the ford, the horses throwing up the sparkling water at each step as they splashed through. then they slowly mounted the rocky track on the farther side, and disappeared from sight. mrs. brudenel watched the cavalcade to this spot, and then returned to the invalid. "we will go to the tent first," said mr. gilchrist. they did so. the fire which they had built up was burned down to a handful of smouldering ashes; the little white note was still there upon the tree, plainly in sight; the tent was deserted, no sign was there of any person having visited it. the silence and solitude was significant and oppressive. with a gloomy brow, gilchrist turned his horse's head towards the defile up which ralph had fled. this led away from the direction of the river, back into the jungle through which they had come, but farther east. no word was spoken among the searchers as they rode up the pass. it was very narrow, probably but the bed of a mountain stream when the rains had fallen plentifully, and now dry. the jungle closed in thickly upon it, and became more and more dense as they mounted the hill. the natives who accompanied the party pointed out the spot where the two tiger cubs had lain, and been killed. it was marked by the bleached and scattered bones of various deer, some sambhurs' horns, and remains of other creatures, which had formed the prey of the parent animals. with a sick heart, gilchrist nerved himself to examine this débris. he turned over leg bones, skulls, and all which he could find, not leaving one unnoticed, but none were human remains. not the slightest sign appeared to show that ralph had been there, nor that the full-grown beasts had revisited the spot. they pursued their way with difficulty, so thick was the tangle of the underwood. huge ferns reared gigantic fronds among shrubs of a hundred different kinds; orchids hung pendant from lofty trees; creepers of many sorts, with blossoms of every colour, drooped from heights, clung to branches, wound their devious way from trunk to trunk, cast curtains of foliage and flower around monarchs of the forest and humble scrub, touched the fertile virgin earth, took fresh root, and started upon new complications in other directions. but what was this? dark vultures concealed a massive form stretched upon the ground in a little glade, comparatively open. what were they devouring? at the approach of the searchers they rose, heavily flapping their ill-omened pinions, among hoarse cries, and awaited the completion of their meal from short distances. mr. gilchrist turned very faint, he could not proceed, he leant against the trunk of a tree while the rest cut their way through the intervening vines, and a jackal sneaked away at their approach. a cry of surprise and relief broke from mr. brudenel's lips. "it is a female tiger's remains, nothing worse!" shouted he. "she has been killed by a magnificent shot, here in the neck! a single bullet did for her! your man has been this way, without doubt; and does he not know how to handle his rifle! _he_ is no bungler, that's certain." mr. gilchrist took fresh heart, and approached the spot. the tiger's bones were picked nearly clean already; the foul birds of prey had wasted no time. little but the skeleton remained of what had, only twenty-four hours earlier, been so fearsome and so splendid a brute; and which had been done to death by one little piece of lead buried in its spine. the eyes which had glared with yellow fire were picked clean from the head, the jaws which had uttered many a dreadful cry were lying wide open in ghastly mockery of rage, and the tongue was torn from behind them. "we will keep this skull," exclaimed brudenel with triumph. "there is little else worth carrying off, but this will be a trophy worth keeping. your friend has got safely away from _this_ peril, at anyrate, gilchrist; we will find him yet, you will see. he's no fool to have shot like this!" gilchrist smiled. a faint ray of hope pierced into his heart at the cheery words. it certainly must have been denham who had killed that tiger,--that must have been the shot which had been heard. but why had he not returned? where was he now? chapter xviii the dacoit's head the search now proceeded with fresh spirit. taking the spot where lay the tiger's carcase as a centre, the party closely examined every exit from it, but quite fruitlessly. it was tolerably easy to perceive from which side the shot had been fired,--where denham must have been standing at that moment,--they proceeded first in that direction. a little breakage among some succulent plants betrayed a slight farther progress there; then this trace ceased wholly. a wall of thick foliage interposed,--a purple flower bedecking it with rare beauty, but it turned them back. a long stalk of _amherstia_ lay on the ground at a short distance, as if it might have been broken off short in an attempt to mount a tree by its aid, but this clue also failed them. the glade narrowed at one side to a tiny track, possible to penetrate. they advanced along it in single file, now climbing over fallen tree-trunks all smothered in ferns, then stooping beneath loops and trails of _dendrobiums_, and a variety of plants, matted together with convolvuli, and tendrils of many kinds. it opened out upon a blackened vista over which the jungle fire had swept, burning away every trace of animal life; a desolate track of waste and ruin, among such super-abundant life, as was strange to see. stranger still to observe a glorious butterfly--a fragile, delicate creature, just emerged from its chrysalis tomb--spreading its painted wings, yet damp from its new birth, in the warmth of the sun as it streamed down upon the scorched grass. it was a living allegory of life after death which could not fail to strike every soul. "it is your friend's 'leyp bya,'" said one of the burmans. "it must have been out upon a ramble when the fire overtook him in his sleep, and it cannot now find its home again in him." the charred scrub no longer presented further difficulties in the way of search. it was comparatively easy to penetrate in almost any direction; and the party separated, scattering themselves over the cleared space, and closely examining every rood of ground. not a sign of man was to be found. would any such exist after so fierce a flame had swept over it? could it have been expected? mr. brudenel laid his hand upon gilchrist's shoulder. "it is useless, my friend," said he. "the boy has gone, and left no trace. you must bear it like a man. if he yet should have escaped both fire and wild beast, he will be heard of in time. he can find us, but we cannot find him." "oh, do not say that i must abandon hope!" cried gilchrist in agonised tones. "there must be something yet to be done." "offer a reward to any burman who may bring in the smallest trace," suggested osborn. "those fellows have their network of connections all over the land. make it worth their while to bring in anything that they may find. the stock of his rifle might be burnt, but the barrel must be there in some form. so must his hunting-knife, and many little things, as buttons, buckles, and such like, on his clothes. no wild beast could eat up thiccee neither." "i will give any reward which mr. brudenel thinks likely to succeed," cried gilchrist eagerly. "not too fast," remonstrated the police officer. "offer too liberal a sum, and, should he live, some of our worthy neighbours will murder him for sake of it. leave that to me, i will manage that." he had really no hope whatever that denham lived, but was too kindly at heart to say so in plain words. "stay with me awhile, till we feel that we have turned every stone to find the lad," he suggested. "you will have every facility for search with us, and a rest will do yourself no harm after all you have gone through. your old man will not be fit to move yet, either. let my wife coddle him up into good health again first, and i can give you some sport the while." mr. gilchrist readily accepted the invitation, for he could not bear the idea of relinquishing all hope of ralph. they returned sadly and silently to the station, where every comfort awaited them, but which they could not enjoy from a haunting dread of what ralph might be suffering in some lonely spot,--perhaps burned and bruised, yet living, and beyond help. the nice dinner choked mr. gilchrist, he could not swallow the dainties which mrs. brudenel, in the pride of her young housekeeping, had laid before them; sleep forsook his pillow; he had no apparent answer to his prayers; gloom took possession of his soul. with gentle wile did mrs. brudenel try to cheer her visitor, and distract his thoughts from constant brooding over the inevitable. she succeeded with him better than her husband did, though he was as kind as he knew how to be; but he was accustomed to rougher experiences, and used to losing his comrades by death under many phases. his wife walked in the verandah with her afflicted guest; she told him of wills' state, which steadily improved. she consulted him as to the garden, which she was anxious to make very beautiful, and how to grow the plants which she admired most, and which were all new to her experience. gilchrist tried, for sake of her kindness, to take interest in her pleasures, despite his heavy heart. "i fear," said he to her, "that we give you much trouble, and are sadly in your way." "oh no, no! far from that!" cried she eagerly. "you are such pleasant company for my husband, to whom it is such a treat to have english faces about him; and you tell me so nicely how to manage the orchids, of which i am anxious to have a good collection. yours is just the help i wanted; and if you want any drawings of specimens, i may be of some assistance to you, for i am fond of drawing." "fetch some of your pictures, wifey," said mr. brudenel. "see, gilchrist, is not that thing nice, it looks just as if it were growing there. i have ordered a carved frame for it, from a fellow here who does that sort of thing admirably." "it is indeed an excellent drawing of the specimen," said gilchrist; "but, excuse me, madam, you have copied the blossom from one plant and the foliage from another." "i did," said mrs. brudenel, surprised. "i only had the flower, which was brought to me cut from its stem, so i put in the leaves from that one which grows in the verandah." "and that one, which is not yet in bloom, will bear a blossom of white and lemon colour, whereas this is purple streaked." "oh, mr. gilchrist!" cried she, in pretty dismay, "what can be done? can i alter it and put it right?" "it would be best to do so, certainly," said he, unpacking a tin case of his own sketches; which, though less finished than the lady's drawings, were far more accurate as botanical specimens. but among them were some of ralph's hasty schoolboy productions; one done in a merry mood, when he had contrived to introduce the semblance of a grotesque human face among the convolutions of the plant. mr. gilchrist came upon this unexpectedly, in his search for the one which he wanted, and broke down completely over it, as it brought so forcibly before him the boy's laughing eyes and bright expression as he had held it up for inspection, with some harmless nonsense. oh, ralph! was that smiling face cold and set in death already? were those pleasant eyes closed for ever, those jocund lips pale and grim? was that dear brave boy lying scorched and blackened by the jungle flame, or torn limb from limb by the tiger? had he gone through so much by sea and land, for his fate to remain an unsolved mystery for evermore; a secret--a dreadful haunting secret--only to be divulged on the last day? mrs. brudenel put her kind hand upon gilchrist's shoulder. "do not despair, my friend," said she gently; "do not abandon yourself to despair. god is very good,--very merciful. perhaps ralph is safe yet. no sign of him has been found, and had the tiger killed him there surely would have been some. let us seek for faith." "i do not know how to have faith, dear lady," groaned mr. gilchrist. "there seems no ground for faith." "ah, my dear sir," was her innocent reply, "faith would not be faith were there ground for it. it is simple trust in our father's goodness." gilchrist could not reply. he knew that she was right; he knew that she was nearer to god than he; he felt rebuked, though she was far from having intended to administer rebuke,--it did not occur to her that she had done so. there was silence for a few minutes, then she began again. "tell me about ralph, he must be about the age of my brother sydney." "not seventeen," replied mr. gilchrist. "and what a hero he is! how much bravery he has shown! sydney would be so envious of him. he is very high-spirited and daring too. he is going to be a soldier,--papa is a soldier, you know." "yes, madam?" "i have heard papa say that the hardest thing soldiers have to do is to _wait_ until they are wanted. when they are charging down upon an enemy, and fighting, they are carried on by the excitement, and forget everything but the work in hand. when they are standing still, doing nothing but keeping steady, and seeing the battle carried on by others on every hand, it is a very hard thing for them to hold themselves in." "waiting is always hard," said mr. gilchrist, sighing. "yes. papa had to do it the very first time when he was in an engagement. it was in some indian skirmish with native troops, and papa's company was one held in reserve to pour in fresh when the rebels were tired, and meantime to hold a pass and prevent them from moving round to the rear of the english. i believe," continued she, with a smile, "that i am expressing myself badly, like an ignorant girl, but perhaps you understand what i mean?" "yes, madam, your meaning is perfectly clear to me." "well, papa found it so hard to stand still, with nothing to do, that he took up a bit of stick and whittled it to keep himself steady. when the call to charge was sounded, he put the half-peeled stick and the handful of chips into his pocket; he never knew why, or even that he had done so, until mamma found them there long afterwards, and asked him why he kept such things. then the sight of them called up the whole scene to him more plainly than anything else, he said: the dark-faced rebels, with evil looks and angry eyes; the glare and flashing guns and smother of smoke; and the poor creatures shot down before his face, and lying howling and bleeding on the ground, among plunging horses and shouting men; and some lying still who had been so raging just before, and the set determined look upon the englishmen. "mamma has those chips now, put away among her treasures, and shows them to us sometimes on a sunday evening, when we have been reading the bible to her, and talking about being resolute, and such things." "your story reminds me of the poet's words, 'those also serve, who only stand and wait,'" said mr. gilchrist. "yes, does it not," cried she, her sweet face kindling. "i do so like those lines." mr. brudenel here returned from his morning duties, and invited gilchrist to take a turn in the verandah with him. "no news yet, i am sorry to say," said he. mr. gilchrist turned to mrs. brudenel, "i will try to 'stand and wait,' patiently," said he. some excitement was here observed among the natives and servants. a man had arrived, carrying something large and round, tied up in a gaily-coloured handkerchief, which he swung carelessly in his hand as he approached. the little crowd pressed closely about him, all eagerly talking at once. some words attracted mr. brudenel's ear, that of "dacoit" prominent among them. he rose hastily, and marched down to the excited group. "oh," cried mrs. brudenel, "perhaps the man has brought news of your friend! let us hasten to hear what he says. what can he have in that handkerchief?" she rose, and almost ran through the compound; in her eagerness quite outstripping mr. gilchrist, who longed, yet dreaded, to hear the news which he felt had come at last. mr. brudenel lifted his hand in warning to his wife, but she did not perceive his caution; nor, in the babble of burmese tongues, catch his desire that she should not be present. "what have you there?" asked she in her excitement, airing one of the few phrases of the language which had been so recently taught to her. quite proud to be addressed by the english lady, and pleased with himself, his burden, and the news which he had to impart, the burman untied his bundle with an amiable grin of delight, and out rolled, to the horrified girl's feet, the ghastly, gory, head of a dacoit chief, with its fierce expression set in death upon the parted blackened lips, and in the deep lines around the sunken eyes. with blanched face, she recoiled in terror; and her husband, hurrying forward, passed his stalwart arm around her for protection, while she hid her face on his breast. the burman, meantime, was pouring out a flood of explanations, and the history of his having watched the robber, seen him possessed of english things, followed, tracked him from place to place, and, finally, set upon him in a lonely spot, killed him, searched him, and found upon him--this!--holding up a silver watch. it was ralph denham's watch, mr. gilchrist knew it well. moreover, it had r. d. engraved upon it on the back. it had been a present to him from his mother before he sailed, he valued it extremely, and had it upon him when the _pelican_ was abandoned, being almost the only thing of value which he had saved. indeed, it was nearly the only trinket which he had ever possessed. how it had fallen into the robber's hands could not now be ever known, for the man was dead. had poor denham escaped the tiger, been spared from the fire, to fall a prey at last to a fellow-man? had he been the victim of other perils, and had the dacoit only found the watch in the jungle and appropriated it? was the fellow even venturing to bring it in for the reward, and could he have told more of the gallant lad's fate? who could say now? mr. brudenel questioned the burman closely, seeking confirmation of the story in its every detail of place and time. the man knew nothing of denham, nor as to how the watch had fallen into the hands of the dacoit, who was one of a band of robbers that was harrying the mountain villages at a little distance. the watch was useless to him evidently. it had run down, and was silent. either he had not possessed the key, or did not understand how to use it; and he had worn it round his neck as an ornament in a conspicuous manner, which had attracted the burman's notice. mr. gilchrist paid the offered reward in silence, carried the watch into the house, and, laying it down, broke into a passion of grief which, for a time, admitted of no consolation. chapter xix lost in the jungle ralph, upon flying from the infuriated elephant, had followed the defile before described, rushing up its tortuous windings with little heed beyond that of his own safety. if he thought at all, he believed that the others were following him at no great distance; attracted, as he had been, by the rough stones lying in the bed of the stream; where, after the rains, it tumbled headlong down the pass, a mountain torrent of double its present width. the loose boulders, and jagged fragments of rock, would, he considered, cut the pads in the elephant's feet and deter the animal's pursuit. in this he was mistaken, but the idea guided his flight at the time. he did not pause for reflection; it was instinct more than deliberation which impelled his flight. on he ran; his active, well-trained young limbs covering the ground rapidly; leaping from rock to boulder, springing over pool and marshy hollow, and instinctively taking advantage of every soft grassy slope. all at once his heedless progress was arrested by summary disaster. he stepped upon something soft, which turned beneath his foot instead of proving to be a rounded hard stone. a fearful screech was heard, curdling the very marrow in his bones, and bringing his heart to his mouth as he fell, measuring his length prone upon the sward. an unearthly spitting and growling assailed him, which, as he quickly came to himself after the shock of his fall, he first thought emanated from an enraged cat; but the next moment, was, he perceived, the token of something far worse. he had tumbled over two young tiger cubs, and their dam was hurrying up to their rescue, from the pool where she had been drinking. he saw the rich colour of her soft fur; he marked the beautiful dark waving lines crossing the yellow body; the graceful power of her strong limbs was impressed upon his mind in the moment's view which he had of her, lifting her head from the water at the cry of her offspring, and bounding back to their lair. then she crouched for her spring upon him, the sun lighting up her splendid eyes, contracted as they were from the intentness with which they glared at him, her tail lashing itself to and fro, as she warily crept two steps nearer, with fell purpose apparent in her every curve. that pause for her spring saved him. how he took his aim he never knew; he could not have done it had he stayed to consider, it was an accuracy born of desperation. he seized his gun, as he rose to his feet, pointed it, fired, and saw her drop. the shot had entered the creature's neck, near the shoulders, and pierced directly to its heart. she rolled over with a faint struggle, and was still for evermore. oblivious of the death of their dam, the two cubs, replete with food, were already curling themselves around to resume their disturbed sleep. ralph could not believe in his own deliverance. he dropped his arms, and stood for a moment dumbfounded, expecting to see that agile sinuous mass of beautiful peril move again. he gazed at it in silent, fixed horror, till, gradually realising that he was saved from it as by a miracle, he drew a long breath. at the very same moment he became aware of two brilliant points of topaz-hued light fixed upon him from the jungle. they were the eyes of the male tiger, stealthily advancing upon him from another side. it was too much for the boy. terror seized upon him, and he fled precipitately in the reverse direction; tearing his way through creeper and jungle-grass, breaking through bush and bramble, panting, gasping and sick with fear, till, perceiving a gnarled tree easy to climb, he flung down his gun and swung himself upwards, from branch to branch, till he could seat himself upon a point of safety. the tiger leapt, and leapt short of his prey. with a roar of baffled rage it bounded up to the tree where the boy sat with blanched cheeks and horror-distended eyes, and, rearing itself upon its hind legs, stretched a strong paw upwards in endeavour to reach its enemy and pull him from his refuge. up went ralph's legs with an instinctive spasm. he crouched closer to the branch where he sat, and clung faster to the boughs and cord-like creepers around him. the tiger, with ferocious growls, snuffed at the gun, prowled round the tree, and cast baleful glances upwards to the place where the boy was plainly visible; but it made no attempt to climb the trunk, which ralph feared it would do. he did not know enough about the habits or power of these creatures to be sure what it would attempt; and was alternately divided between this dread and that of being no longer able to maintain his hold, but of falling headlong from his perch into the grasp of those cruel fangs and terrible paws. but though every minute seemed to be an hour, the time was not really very long before the creature gave up its pursuit, and made off with head drooping and a long stealthy stride of its supple limbs. ralph could not at first believe himself to be safe. he thought that the tiger might return; he thought that it was watching him from some secret lair; he was not certain that his shot had proved fatal to the female tiger; and the more he thought about it, the less probable did he consider it that she was dead. he glanced this way and that, expecting to see a gleam of golden colour creeping among the undergrowth of deep green scrub; he strained his ears to hear soft footsteps crash among the brushwood, or low-muttered growls uttered beneath him. he was cramped and stiff from his attitude and the rigidity of his hold; he grew very cold as the sun went down; he was hungry and very, very thirsty; his lips were parched, his mouth fevered,--yet he dared not descend the tree. after a long time, he ventured to change his position to one of greater ease. he shifted his place to a mighty branch, upon which he might recline at full length, or sit with his back against the bole. then he began to wonder what had become of his companions. he could see none of them, nor hear a sound which could proceed from human lips. where were they? what were they doing? why did they not come to seek him? had any of them been trampled under foot by that mad elephant, or devoured by the tigers? surely some dreadful thing must have befallen them, or they would have come to his assistance. mr. gilchrist--wills--osborn--why did none of them come? by degrees his thoughts concentrated themselves upon his gun. it must not be there in the long grass, dark and wet with heavy dew. he must go down and take it up, but dreaded the descent. still, his gun must not become rusted and useless, or what would become of him. slowly, silently, he crept down, swinging himself from bough to bough, pausing and listening every moment for the tiger's low growl. now he thought that he heard it; then he believed that it was but his imagination. under one idea, he hung poised in air; under the other, he ventured a little farther. all at once a treacherous branch, to which he had trusted his weight, gave way beneath him; and, with a sudden jerk, he fell crashing down to the ground. his fall was broken by the thick tangle of the undergrowth, so that he fractured no bones, but he was terribly shaken, cut and scratched, and one foot sprained. for a few moments he lay stunned; then pulled himself together, reached out for the gun, and having possessed himself of it, tried to mount the tree again. but he could not succeed. his arms felt as if they had been all but pulled out of their sockets; blood trickled into his eyes from a deep scratch on his brow, and blinded him. but he dared not remain upon the ground, so he moved on a little to seek a tree which might be easier to climb. the moon had risen in radiant beauty, and there was plenty of light, but no tree suitable to his purpose grew about that spot, and he moved deeper into the jungle, as he thought that now here, now there, he had found one. he did discover one at last, made his painful ascent of it, and, when he thought that he had mounted sufficiently high, he found a tolerably easy seat, and determined to await the dawn there. he was extremely tired, but was afraid to sleep lest some snake or noxious insect should coil around him or sting him. he had enough to do to ward off the attacks of myriads of creatures as it was. mosquitoes hummed gaily over their feast upon him; huge beetles flopped in his face, smaller ones ran up his trousers and sleeves, and tried to penetrate down his back. ants got into his boots, and slimy things crawled over his hands and endeavoured to fix themselves on his face or neck, or cling to his hair. would the tardy day never begin to break? what was that red glow upon the sky to the eastward? it was not like the dawn, it was not in the right place,--but what could it be? it was like the reflection, upon the sky, of a mighty fire,--but where was the fire? he could see none. ralph was not aware how far he had run up the defile, or noticed the direction which he had taken in escaping from the tiger. in reality he had skirted round the farther base of the hill upon which the police-station was situated, and was wandering in the jungle at its base. the tardy sun rose at last; much of the terror of the night was swept away under its beneficent influence. ralph pulled himself together, determined to walk off his stiffness and soreness; shouldered his gun, and set off--down quite a new gulley, under the idea that he was returning down the same through which he had come on the previous afternoon; and limped resolutely forward, away from his friends, away from the station, away from all help and succour. he walked for a long time before he found that he was not going rightly, for the defile came to an end. its close was completed by a wide shallow pool, fringed with bamboo canes, and upon which many water-fowl were disporting themselves, while more were preening their plumage upon its banks. the sight made him feel how hungry he was, and he argued to himself that the sound of his gun would betray his whereabouts to his friends, who would answer the signal by another to let him know in which direction to turn. he fired, therefore, upon the covey nearest to him, and two plump birds fell. forgetting his fatigue and his lame foot in the excitement, he splashed through the muddy shallows and pools, picked up his game, and brought it back to _terra firma_. "well," said he to himself, "there is nothing to be gained by rambling farther away. i may as well stay here and cook my breakfast, for i don't know which way to go, and it is as likely that i should go wrongly as in the right way. if they don't hear my gun, they will perhaps see the smoke of a fire, which will guide them." he therefore gathered some dry fuel in a heap, and, having the good fortune to discover some cutchwood trees, collected the withered branches lying scattered around, and soon had a splendid fire. the flames emitted from the cutchwood were, however, too fierce for his cookery, so he piled on some greener wood, and sat down to pluck his birds, while the blaze was dying down to a nice glowing bed of red ashes. we say "pluck his birds," but ralph was no gourmand; nor was he cook to a first-class gentleman's club. plucking was too lengthy an operation for him; he cut the skin of his game down the back, and pulled it off, inside out, like a stocking from a foot, having first chopped off the heads and legs. this operation was completed before his fire was ready; so he took a plunge into a clear pool, reclothed himself, and then broiled his breakfast, having split his birds open like spatch-cocks. "they are not bad," thought he, as he devoured them, tearing their limbs apart by help of fingers and knife, like a young ogre. "they are not bad, though they would have been more savoury if i had had some pepper and salt, with a dab of butter. how agnes would have jeered at me as man-cook. i wonder what the dear old girl is doing now. she little thinks where i am. lost in a burmese jungle! what a pretty kettle of fish it is. i know no more than the man in the moon which way to go, or what to do. well, no predicament is so bad that it can't be mended. if i walk straight on, i must come somewhere, sooner or later. those fellows don't mean to join me here, that's plain. so ralph denham, esq., marching orders are yours. forward!" he knew that he must regain the main stream of the salween river, up the eastern bank of which his party had come; but where was the salween? he must climb one of these mountain-spurs,--one sufficiently lofty to command a bird's-eye view of the country, so that he could take its bearings. he therefore set himself to the ascent of the most lofty hill which he could perceive. the ascent was, however, no joke. his foot was very painful. he had dipped his handkerchief in water, and bound it tightly round the ankle, but the heat rapidly dried it, nor could he constantly find means of rewetting it to keep it cool. the jungle grew thicker and thicker, more and more impenetrable, with every step. he had to cut his way with his knife through the tangle of creepers, linked and bound together in impenetrable masses, and his knife soon became wholly inadequate to the task. to proceed straight forward was utterly impossible, for the thickness of the interlacing stems quite baffled his strength. he found an easier place to the right, and essayed that; but after a few steps he was pulled up again. he discovered a slighter barrier to the left, again to be baffled wholly. after hours of work, he had advanced but a dozen yards, and made up his mind that to penetrate such a jungle as this, with no better appliances than he possessed, and with no help, was a completely hopeless task. he sat down to rest, and consider what would be his next best plan. chapter xx jungle thieves it was easy to sit down, and easy to ponder the question, but any decision at all was another matter. all the thinking in the world would not tell him either where he was or which way he ought to go; and the more he deliberated, the more puzzled he became. to mount the hills was impossible, from the impenetrability of the jungle; to follow a stream was to expose himself to the attacks of wild beasts coming to the water to drink. how then could he proceed? but to remain still was quite as unsafe, for he had but a small quantity of powder and shot; and when this was expended, would be wholly at the mercy of savage animals. to follow the windings of a stream must lead him, in process of time, to some large river; and the danger of this course was no greater than that of any other. he determined to adopt this plan, and prepared for a start; first recommending his safety, by prayer, to divine mercy, and imploring for help and guidance from on high. forlorn enough did he feel as he resumed his gun and other accoutrements, preparatory for so hopeless a task, but he tried to be brave, and once more set himself, as a preliminary, to "hang his harp on a willow tree." it would not do, his voice sounded thin and poor, there was no volume in it; the silence around him seemed yet more awful in contrast to it; the words struck him as most intensely foolish in face of the majesty of nature which surrounded him. he gave it up, and tried the old hundredth psalm. this brought up, to his mental vision, the picture of his home, and the dreary old hand-organ man who droned out that psalm tune in the street regularly every friday morning. he could see agnes in the shabby little parlour, and his mother's sweet, sad face, in her widow's cap, with the crippled baby in her arms. a great lump rose in his throat, and he dashed his hand across his eyes. but it would never do to become sentimental, as he termed it, so he set himself vigorously to finding a suitable stream to follow. now, the difficulty became that of finding any at all. the jungle surrounded him on every side, he could not free himself from it. every now and then he found what he thought a free glade or opening pathway, which he would pursue for a short distance, only to be again brought up in front of a tangle of creepers, glorious in colour, rich in purple or yellow festoons of exquisite flowers; snowed over with pure white blossoms, long wreaths of beauty pendant from the branches of the trees, and wholly preventing any progress. exquisite as the orchids and other plants were, he became weary of them and their sameness. their perfume sickened him, their glory palled upon his sight. they were the same kinds--now common to him--over and over again. oh, for a clump of english primroses nestled among moss and last year's brown leaves! oh, for a bush of pink wild-roses, with golden hearts and delicate faint fragrance wafted upon a light breeze! here everything was heavy and oppressive; too brilliant, too much, too unfamiliar, too unlike home. insect and reptile life troubled him greatly. the weather was growing very hot, and the density of the trees impeded every current of cool air. this was doubtless the cause of the difficulty in finding water, it was drying up so fast everywhere. leeches got upon his legs, fixing themselves upon him with far too affectionate a tenacity; ants ran up his trousers, got into his boots; a thousand and one flying and crawling plagues assailed him. snakes and serpents wound their tails round trees, dropped coils in his path, and lifted flat heads from their meditations, to gaze on him with malevolent eyes. he did not know which were harmless and which were deadly, so suffered the same qualms alike from all. he had a vague idea that a dark-coloured snake was more perilous than a yellow or green one, and never suffered more terror than when, sitting down to rest, and having fallen asleep, he perceived, upon waking, a long black thing reared on end, with pendant head bent over him. for one moment he felt sick with horror, then perceived that it was the stem of a flower which he had never seen before, and which he had either overlooked from his fatigue when he sat down, or which had shot up its bloom with the most marvellous celerity while he was unconscious. he had, indeed, slept for hours, having been quite worn out; and a special providence must have guarded him during this long somnolence, or some noxious insect would certainly have attacked him the while. it was late in the day, the dews were falling thickly after the heat of the noontide; and a quantity of hares were hopping about, feeding upon the grass around him. they did not seem to be afraid of him, and he shot one without difficulty, and looked forward to making a good supper upon him, for he was hungry. he laid it at the foot of the tree beneath which he had reposed, and began to collect wood with which to make a fire. whilst doing this, he lost sight of the hare for a few minutes; and, on returning to the spot where he had laid it, he found a couple of huge crows tugging away at it to make it their own; and the burying beetles already digging a grave beneath it. an army of ants was swarming over it, and so persistent in their attentions that they would not leave it even when ralph tore the skin off its back, and set it down to cook by his fire, wrapped thickly up in leaves. however, he was too hungry to be very particular, although nothing had ever yet brought him to eat fried caterpillars or maggots, as a burman will. he scraped off the ants to the best of his ability, and sought, while his meal was preparing, for some fruits, of which to make an agreeable conclusion to it. he had the good fortune to discover some, of which he immediately partook, being parched and feverish. they refreshed him; and it was perhaps partly from this cause, and partly from his long sleep, that, his senses being perfectly alert, he chanced to notice a small orchid blooming upon a tree which he was convinced was one quite new to mr. gilchrist's collection. it differed in several material points from all which he had yet seen, but was certainly an orchid. he carefully cut away the piece of bark upon which it grew, and looked about for more of it. he found another very small plant, which he secured, but the evening was becoming too dark for him to seek farther. he therefore returned to his fire, and made himself as comfortable beside it as circumstances permitted. he did not sleep much that night, but dozed and woke again many times,--piling green wood upon the embers every time, so that the smoke thus engendered should keep off the mosquitoes from him. at a little distance, beneath the trees, the fireflies swarmed, flashing about hither and thither, and making light in shady places. this light was caught and returned by the shining backs of a thousand beetles,--green, blue, crimson, and copper-hued. flying foxes flitted by in search of guavas and other fruits; and bats of every size and description swarmed around, hawking on the wing for their suppers. ralph watched all these creatures dreamily, seeing, but too drowsy to think about them actively. the heavy scent of night-perfumed flowers overpowered his faculties, and confused his powers of mind, almost as much as if he had partaken of a narcotic. was it only a dream, or a dream-like fancy then, or did he really hear the faint ripple of flowing water? his senses became all at once preternaturally acute. he sprang up from his reclining position, and listened intently. no, it was not a mistake,--it was not a trick of the imagination; a little rill of water was running over stones hard by. in the comparative silence of the night the gentle sound made itself plainly audible. he did not dare to leave the friendly protection of his fire in the dark, the jungle was too full of danger for that, but he laid a long branch, torn from a bush, in the direction from which the sound proceeded, and anxiously awaited the dawn. it came at last,--dank and chilly even in that tropical climate; he rose, and perceived not far from him a slender thread of water slipping gaily along beneath ferns and grass and reeds; now breaking into a laugh over a few scattered stones and branches, then spreading into a tiny pool looking deep from brown shadows cast by overhanging growth. ralph laved his brow in it, cast its refreshing coolness over head and neck, drank of it, bathed his orchids in it, and knelt down to thank god for having at last found the clue by which he might possibly escape from the horrors of death in this lonely jungle. if die he must, he might now, at anyrate, die in the open country, with the sun of heaven above him. not even arethusa herself, "shepherding her bright fountains," slipping down the rocks "with her golden locks, streaming among the streams," in the land of poesy, on the other side of the world, could have been so lovely in his eyes as this little unheard of, unnamed, unknown streamlet, in the heart of a burmese forest. the wild cat lapped it, and slunk away; a magnificent, many-hued dragon-fly, just burst from the sheath of its chrysalis upon the stem of a reed, was drying its gauzy wings in the level beams of the rising sun, as they shot through the trees just above the flower-enamelled grass, that sparkled with dew as if besprinkled with gems of every colour. a thousand little birds, awakened by the recurring daylight, chirped and sang and preened their feathers in the freshness of those early hours. ralph's spirits also arose from the depression which had overcome them, and he sang once more as he arranged his dress, and reloaded himself with his accoutrements. he now found more of the new orchid; and, still further impressed by a conviction of its rarity, he possessed himself of all that he could carry safely. this did not overburden him, for it was not plentiful; and, having packed it up, carefully swathed in damp grass, bound over that with liana stems, and protected by bark, he set himself to follow the course of the stream. the water bubbled along in a very tortuous course, marking its way everywhere by a line of brighter, more tender emerald; and doubtless fed by hidden springs, for it grew wider in process of time, spreading out into a large pool whereon water-lilies reposed. the blossoms had mostly gone to seed, which stood up from the stems like acorns, but a few late ones still floated on the bosom of the lake,--blue, pink, and white. the edges of the water were fringed with flowering reeds; passion-flowers tossed clinging tendrils from tree to tree on its margin, and long wreaths of bud and blossom hung pendant from them. myriads of new-born butterflies flitted sportively among them, and bright birds skimmed over the quiet water. it was a most lovely sight,--one which ralph never afterwards forgot. he rested upon the shore of this lake through the hottest part of the day; breakfasting upon some plantains which he had found, and upon the lily seeds and sprouts. when a little air sprang up towards evening, he resumed his course. the jungle closed around him again; but he now held the thread of the maze, and lost heart no more. he passed the night in a tree, and his evening orisons were heartfelt. day by day he plodded on. the stream grew wider, but wound so much that his progress through the country was very slow. when it grew sufficiently broad to admit of the navigation of any kind of craft, ralph made up his mind to try whether he could not proceed faster upon a raft; and pondered much upon the means of constructing one which, though rudely fashioned, might serve his purpose. his thoughts reverted at first to the coracles of ancient britain, which he had heard were of basket-work covered with skins. canes for basket-work abounded, but he did not see how to procure skins of a sufficiently large size, or how to cut them into shape or join them together. he then thought of the north-american indian's birch-bark canoe. but he had no means of felling a suitable tree, or of peeling the bark off in large sheets. his mind reverted again to the wicker-work. he could cut down bamboos, and they grew plentifully everywhere. could he tie them together by means of the cord-like lianas which bound the jungle so closely together into impenetrable masses? if not, he might weave them together with split cane or supple reeds. another consideration puzzled him. the stream was narrow; his raft must be no wider than necessary,--but what ought its length to be? it would not be manageable if very long; but how much surface should there be to support his weight on the water. he had no data upon which to go that could enable him to decide this point; experiment alone could do so. he would try making it as long as his own height; and, if that did not suffice, he could then enlarge it. he cleared a space upon the borders of the stream, laid down upon it, and marked out his own proportions. then he narrowed each end to a point beyond these limits, so that he might work the raft either way; drove short stakes into the ground all around the enclosure, laid stout bamboos athwart the centre of it, and bound them to the stakes. he tied together a bundle of long bamboos at each end, laid them lengthways upon those firmly affixed to the points, and spreading them out in the middle, began to weave all together with split canes, which had been steeping in water, to make them pliant, while everything else was being prepared. when this was made as firm as lay in his power, he perceived that, though it might float and bear his weight, that burden would sink it a little below the surface of the water, so that he would always be wet. the stakes with which he had begun his contrivance were about two feet long--perhaps nearer three feet; and though not very regular in height, were all driven into the ground about equally far. it was above the ground that they were uneven. he therefore began again, weaving a second floor about six inches above the first one. this had also the effect of making all steadier; and upon noticing this, he once more set to work, and wove a narrow bulwark above what he called his upper deck. he cut a couple of bundles of long bamboos, which he tied along the bulwarks, to use in case of need; fashioned rude rowlocks in the centre; cut a quantity of grass, which he spread as a carpet for his feet; bound up a sheaf of the same to serve for a pillow at night; provided a store of liana twigs and split cane for repairs, if necessary; made his packet of orchids secure to stakes; and, finally, began to lay in a small store of fruit for food. the stream was drying up so fast upon its shallow borders that fish were left flapping about in holes, or on the mud, every day; and, not sharing in the burman's superstition as to taking life, he had made many a meal upon them,--for the construction of his raft had occupied several days. so few charges of powder and shot had he left, that he would not use his gun, thinking that he might want it for self-preservation before he could reach civilised regions. when fish was not to be got, he had eaten fruit when he could find it; he had knocked down a bird or two by throwing sticks at them, for they were very tame at first, but were now becoming more afraid of him; and once he had been fortunate enough to come across some jungle-fowl's eggs. such a piece of luck had not befallen him again, however; and he had cleared his immediate neighbourhood of plantains, so he must go farther afield for stores. the weather was very hot, and he had worked about his boat building, all these days, in his shirt and linen drawers. his other garments, with his gun and other small possessions, were neatly laid together on the low-growing branch of a shrub, in a place where he could easily see them; and now, taking up his knife, which he carried with a lanyard about his neck, and with a coil of grass-rope in his hand, he pulled on his boots, and set off into the jungle. he was tolerably successful in his quest, but had to roam about for some time first. as the sun was preparing to set, he returned to the place that had begun to feel almost like a home to him,--that natural clearance among the trees; the clump of bushes on the little promontory jutting out into the stream; the huge _amherstia_ crowning the many-tinted scrub, with the white _dendrobium formosum_ hanging down from it in such rich masses. what were those parti-coloured figures at the foot of the tree where his garments hung? men? burmese? _not dacoits?_ but what else could they be? the ragged gaudy "putsoes," the white fillets around the heads, the gaunt frames, the fierce yet sly faces, all told their own tale. ralph had heard of these robbers, and slipt stealthily back into the jungle, where, himself concealed, he could watch their proceedings. they were examining his clothes with grins of delight. one had his beloved watch hung round his neck, and dangling about with every movement. one was cutting buttons off with great glee; and one was investigating the gun. now this gun was not a very good one; it had been purchased in the bazaar of moulmein, in preparation for ralph's first expedition with mr. gilchrist, when money was short with them both, while awaiting their better equipments from home. but it was lighter than the fine new ones sent out from england, and was a favourite one with its young owner, though wills often told him that he would meet with some accident with it one of these days, the weapon being so worn. the burman who held it was ramming in powder and shot most liberally; driving in more and more with the greatest delight, laughing and joking the while with more merriment than discretion. suddenly, in the middle of the fun, the old thing exploded--burst!--with a mighty report, and all the burmese thieves were prostrate immediately. ralph thought at first that they were all killed, and was on the point of rushing forward to see the extent of the injuries received, when one raised himself, and then another. with the most rueful faces they wagged their heads to each other, each looking solemnly at his neighbour for a moment. the third was hurt and bleeding, but whether seriously injured ralph could not tell. his companions rose, seized him by the feet, and drew him, on his back, by that means to some distance from the scene of the disaster; and, passing near enough to ralph's hiding-place, he heard them jabbering together about the "beloo" which had thus revenged itself upon them. they seemed shy of approaching the place where the shattered gun lay, and denham thought that it would do them good to hear a little more of the "beloo." accordingly, he began to moan, upon which the fellows gave a great start, and gazed around with terrified faces. seeing this, and being himself concealed behind a large tree, the boy increased his moan to a howl,--a yell,--the most unearthly screeches which he could raise. it was too much for the dacoits, they sprang to their feet and ran off as fast as their legs could take them, becoming quickly lost in the shadows of night. rightly judging that their dwellings could not be very far off, and that they might return by daylight, ralph hastened to loose his raft, and push it off from its moorings down the stream, determining to pursue his way as far as possible before morning. the raft floated well, to his joyful surprise; he punted it along successfully, and was far away before the day star rose. chapter xxi the rapids had ralph known it, he was now not so very far from his friends. the stream, down which he was floating, was a tributary of that on the banks of which he had become separated from them, flowing down the next valley between the hills, and becoming merged in the larger one some five or six miles below the police-station. the range of hills between them was higher and more abrupt than that upon which the police-station was situated, concealing it from view; but the density of the forest and jungle made its inhabitants widely dispersed. they were wholly composed of small scattered remnants of wild karens, constantly fighting with each other, split up into small numbers, of which half a dozen families would suffice to stock a village, and incessantly changing their abode. they would come to a jungle-covered hill, and set it on fire. when a sufficient space for their wants was burnt out, they planted rice upon the ground manured by the ashes, ran up a few hovels with bamboos and palm leaves, and awaited their harvest. this gathered, the same land would not bear a second crop; and, space being unlimited, the remedy was simple. they only moved to another hillside, and repeated the fire and farming manoeuvres. when their own rice failed them, they helped themselves to that belonging to other villages or tribes, provided these were weaker than themselves. sometimes they made a mistake on this point, and became wiped off the face of the land. if this did not happen, they generally wiped out the others; for, if anyone escaped, he was bound to slay as many of his enemies as he had lost of friends. this species of vendetta was a religion to them all, and a curious comment upon the idea that, to take life of any description, was to shut the gates of the highest heaven upon the slayer. the burman will not destroy the principle of life even in noxious animals, but murder is his commonest crime, and his murders are often accompanied with great atrocity. the dacoits who plundered ralph fell into the power of an enemy's tribe, and the chief's head was carried to the police-station for sake of the reward paid for all such tribute; and while mr. gilchrist was sadly mourning over what he considered the certain proof of his young friend's death, in the discovery of his watch, denham had passed the junction of the two rivulets, and was prosperously pursuing his voyage towards the salween river. we say "prosperously," though, in good sooth, the voyage was carried on with many vicissitudes. the stream narrowed day by day, as the extreme heat dried up its margins. now the frail barque stuck helplessly in the mud, which was yet too soft to bear walking upon. ralph would sink up to his knees as he pulled and hauled his little craft out of the shallows, and set it once more afloat. then he would become entangled in débris of the forest,--sticks, rotten stumps, masses of leaves, etc., all stuck together in one jumble, and caught by a little promontory, wafted into some tiny bay, or even detained by the drooping boughs of some tree or shrub dipping into the water, to coagulate and solidify into a floating island. poor ralph's garments were of the slightest description, for he had left all which he had possessed at first--little enough at the best--when he fled from the dacoits. it was well for him that he had retained his knife; but at least his clothes, such as they were, dried easily in the sun, which was a good thing, as they were wetted through and through every day. "i wish i were an israelite in the desert," thought he, as his only button came off, and he cut a hole in his waistband and tied a loop of twisted grass into it. "how i am ever to get into a suit of broadcloth again passes me to imagine. but it is well for me that folks are not very particular hereabouts." on the fifth day of his voyage he saw the vista open before him, and a wide expanse of water appeared to his sight. this must be, he thought, the salween river; and he hoped that his troubles were now approaching their end. "i shall soon come to an english settlement, or a missionary station, or at least to some burmese village," he thought; "and some good christian will help me on my way. what a pretty place this is!" the river upon which he had now emerged wound very much, and almost took the appearance of a succession of lakes. hills clothed with jungle shut it in, and stretches of rocky land jutted out from either side at irregular distances. protected from the force of the deeper current by one of these little promontories, the rapidity of the stream down which he had come shot him well out into the wider river with a velocity which surprised him; though, in his ignorance of what it meant, he considered it "very jolly" at first to be cleared of all the impedimenta which had hitherto encumbered him so sadly. but this was only a momentary joy, as his frail barque was caught in a power beyond his control, and whirled about in a manner which even he saw meant mischief. he had but one thing to save--his orchids. he had prepared for a catastrophe of some sort previously, and had them merely slung by a long cord to a cane. he caught this off, throwing the loop around his neck, and in five minutes more was battling with rapids for his life, his raft beaten into a thousand pieces. he had clutched, with the energy of despair, the stout bamboo which he had used to punt his raft; and, clinging instinctively to this, was tossed down some two or three feet; plunged overhead in a pool, floated up again; washed violently against rough stones; felt his feet, lost them again, was rolled over; dashed down another little cascade; and brought up, finally, breathless, bruised, battered and bleeding, upon a tiny ait in the centre of the stream, where his bamboo had become entangled between some small bushes. he had but strength enough to catch at a firmer support, and draw himself up upon the islet, where he lay, utterly spent, for a long time. everything darkened before his eyes, the earth seemed to reel beneath him, all the heavens to be unsteady above him, and he became unconscious. he must have remained so for long; as, when he slowly came to himself again, the stars were jewelling the purple vault above him, and the full moon casting a long silvery highway over the rippling water around. where was he? what had happened to him? he tried to sit up, and felt very sick, stiff, and sore, utterly confused and helpless. he did not seem to care for his condition, or even to wonder at it. existence alone was enough for him. enough?--too much, for hysteria overcame him; he hid his face and cried like a child. baffled on every side, everything lost but life--even that imperilled in the most desperate manner; surely god must be against him, it was of no use to fight longer against the pricks; better to lie there and die, rather than struggle any more. despair made of him its puppet at last. was it any good to pray?--did god hear him? would god answer his supplications? was there a god of love and mercy at all, when he was beaten back at every point like this, however bravely he tried to bear up against misfortune? he was ashamed of weeping, even though there was no one to observe him; and it did but exhaust him further, yet it was a relief too. his tears were soon spent, and he sat, forlorn and dejected, gazing in a purposeless way before him, taking no heed to what he saw. but gradually the extreme beauty of the scene forced itself upon his mental vision. the hills, covered with rich masses of woods, were black against the clear opal sky, where the moon reigned in her pure loveliness. the shadows of these hills lay deep on the translucent waters, except where the broken rocks stood picturesquely above them, and changed their duskiness to pearly foam. the stars were reflected on the bosom of the river wherever it was sufficiently still; and a herd of hog-deer issued from a clearing of the jungle, and stooped their graceful heads to drink just where the moonlight fell on them. the clear whistle of some night-bird was heard and answered from a neighbouring thicket, "did you do it? did you do it?" they cried in turn, and the rippling water made a gentle accompaniment to their song. "i will lift up mine eyes to the hills, whence cometh my help," was borne in upon ralph's heart, and his longdrawn sobs ceased. up sprang the sun, and touched the tops of the hills with golden glory. colour and warmth flashed over the landscape, and brought comfort to his chilled frame. what was that something glittering brightly between the trees? it was no natural object--the outline was too regular, too hard; it was the work of man's hand, for it was gilt,--it was, yes, it was a pagoda! man had erected that building,--his fellow-men must be near at hand. thank god! thank god! he rose, and sought to unstiffen his cramped limbs with exercise, and the sun warmed him. on the narrow strip of shingle where he had been cast up, a human waif and stray, lay a small bundle. ralph looked at it, stooped over it, and lifted it from the wet stones. it was his little package of orchids, safely bound up as he had arranged it; which, slight thing as it was, had safely stood the wreck of all else, and lay stranded at his feet none the worse for its immersion. ralph almost laughed to see it. "you foolish things," thought he, "could nothing of greater value to me have been spared for me. can _you_ feed me, clothe me, save me, take me to my friends, do _anything_ for me?" he spurned them with his foot in irritation. even his knife, his one precious possession, was gone; his garments hung in shreds upon him; there was nothing to eat upon the islet; and this ridiculous bundle of plants, good for nothing but to gratify the whimsical taste of a rich man, was intact. then his mood changed, and he took it up in his hands again. between the crevices of the bark and moss he saw one tiny delicate floweret pushing its fragile head out, and seeming to smile at him. "good lord," he said, "just to think of this! come, then, if god so made the grass of the field, shall he not much more care for you, oh ye of little faith?" he readjusted the loop of string, and passed it again round his neck. then he tried to think how he might reach the mainland, where that pagoda glimmered like a hand beckoning to him, but he could not devise any plan. he was too weary and spent to attempt swimming in that powerful current; he had no means of making a second raft, or helping himself in any way; there were neither bamboos nor lianas on this scrap of land. he sat down close to the edge of the water, and rested his chin in his hands, gazing straight before him. he must sit there till he died; what else remained for him to do? he thought of his mother, of agnes, of his brothers and little sisters. how grieved they all would be when the news went home to them. but would it ever go home? no, not one of his friends would know how he had struggled, how he had failed, where he had died. no one would visit his grave, or weep over his remains. the crows and the vultures would fight over his carcase, and leave his bones to blanch there, unburied. for him no funeral service, no hallowed ground, no holy hymn. "oh, my god!" he cried aloud, "have i deserved this? if this is the end of my short life, am i fit to go before thee on thy judgment throne, and confidently crave for mercy? what have i done so wicked as to merit this? tell me, oh my father, and let me repent." so he sat, until, his eyes gazing mournfully straight before him, he became aware of some objects moving through the jungle on the mainland. they came in single file, carrying some large burden. then one ran from the rear, past the others, and gave directions, waving a long lean arm and gesticulating. no animals would conduct themselves so, they must be men! gracious providence grant that they be men! they moved steadily forward among the thinning trees to the very margin of the river, and were plainly to be perceived. native burmese! fishermen, bearing a large net, which they were preparing to cast into the water, and draw up stream. ralph's voice failed him from revulse of feeling, he thought that he should choke. he sprang to his feet, tore off the last rags upon him, twisted them round a stick, and waved them in the air. they were not perceived,--no notice was taken. he stooped to the water, drank from the hollow of his hand, his tongue was unloosed, he cast water precipitately over head and face, stood erect once more, clear from the undergrowth, in the plashy shallows, waved his flag with the energy of despair, and shouted with all his might--"ahoy! ahoy! ahoy!" chapter xxii kirke and denham meet ralph forgot every language but his native english in the desperate excitement of the moment. "halloa! ahoy!" he vociferated, without knowing what he called; but, to his great astonishment, the reply was no burmese "ameh!" (mother) the universal exclamation among the natives of that country upon every occasion. no, one figure started violently, turned sharply round, lifted a hand to shade its eyes, with a gesture strangely familiar, and an english voice, equally strange and equally familiar, responded, "halloa! ahoy!" to his cry. a great bustle was apparent, immediately, among the little party of fishermen. some ran off by the path which had brought them there, evidently under direction from the leader of the party; some busied themselves in launching a little canoe, which ralph had not previously discerned, being hid by overhanging bushes; and two men, putting off in it, prepared to ferry it across to the island. well was it that ralph had not attempted to swim across that stream. these were lusty fellows, but all their strength was needed to row against it. the man who had answered denham's call in english words, was one of the two; and ralph stared hard at him as the canoe drew near. there was something familiar in the attitude and movements, but the head was covered with a mass of curly black hair, while a forest of dark whisker, beard, and moustache concealed the lower part of the face, and flowed over the hairy breast. the dress was made of the same material as that of the natives,--a dark blue cloth, patterned with wavy black lines; but it differed in shape, consisting of a pair of loose trousers gathered into a waistband, and confined there with a coloured handkerchief, just such as young men in england tie over their cricketing flannels. a loose cotton jacket, open at the chest, and leaving the arms bare, was worn above this,--an outlandish costume, yet manly, and not unbecoming. it was also of european fashion, clearly betraying that its wearer was no native of that country. "i never saw that fellow before," thought ralph, "yet somehow i seem to know him." the canoe drew nearer, the rower looked back over his shoulder, uttered a loud cry, and, flinging down his oar, sprang to his feet with the exclamation-- "good god! denham! is it possible?" recognition came in the same instant. "kirke!" cried ralph. nearly a year had elapsed since the two had met, but ralph, being two or three years younger than kirke, and of fairer complexion, had not altered so much, neither had he been living so long in the wilds out of reach of barber and other civilised influences. overjoyed on each side to meet with an englishman, an accustomed face, they clasped each other's hands with eager greeting at the first impulse, forgetful of all ill-will, but kirke drew back the next minute and hung his head. "it is good of you to take my hand, denham," said he. "can you forgive me all i did and tried to do to you." "i do not properly know what that was," said ralph joyously. "i have never understood why you did not like me, nor believed half the others wanted to make out; but i am ever so glad to see you now." "and you can forgive me?" "anything, everything, if you will only help me to get out of this place." "are you alone?" "yes, quite alone. i missed my party, and am lost. i have been wandering in the jungle for many days, and was starving." "and in _that_ state? a literal baresarker costume." "even so." "come along, i can do something to remedy _that_, at anyrate." he hurried ralph into the canoe, spoke a few words to his companion, and began to pull back to the mainland with great energy. arrived upon the shore, he despatched one of the burmans for assistance, and the man scuttled off, grinning with immense goodwill; while the rest jabbered around the two strangers as they proceeded towards the village, where half the inhabitants were bustling about in eager hospitality. rice and fish were brought, plantains, pickled tea, cocoanuts and green ginger. kirke mounted into his dwelling, and produced a garb similar to his own; and offered cheroots, which however ralph did not accept. he devoured the food with the appetite of a growing boy who had not tasted food for twenty-four hours; and kirke piled up the bowl from which he ate whenever its contents shrank beneath the rim. "hold hard!" cried ralph at last, "even i am gorged and can eat no more." "then tell me how you came here, and all that you have done since i saw you," said kirke. "as to all that i have been doing, that would be a long tale to tell," replied ralph; "but, shortly put, i have been going about the country with mr. gilchrist, getting plants for mr. herford--orchids chiefly. we have not only got the things bodily to send home, but made drawings, whenever we could, of anything rare or special. about a fortnight ago we fell in with some wild elephants in a lonely place, and, in escaping from an old bull that had been turned out of the herd, as we fancied, i got separated from the rest of them, and met with a family party of tigers--papa, mamma, and offspring. i had to cut my lucky again; and, somehow, between the two adventures, lost my way, and could not find any of the fellows i was with. after roaming about, up hill and down dale, till i found that i was really befogged in the wilderness, it seemed the best thing i could do was to follow down the first water-course i could find, in hopes of coming somewhere in time. so i managed to knock up a gimcrack sort of a kind of raft, that served my turn as well as a better, till the rapids here broke it all to smithereens, and landed me yonder; where i must have died if you had not picked me off." "i should think you had about enough of rafts by this time," said kirke sadly. "i have not had enough of friends in need," replied ralph. "you are a real good fellow, denham," said the other, reaching out his hand to him. "i have wanted this long time to tell you how sorry i am for all that took place in the poor old _pelican_, and to ask your forgiveness for my conduct to you. i was a bad messmate, a bad man in every way; but i see things differently now, and would do anything i knew of to redeem the past, if only i could see how. i did cut that rope, in a fit of mad jealousy, and repented of it as soon as it was done. i have suffered much from remorse since." "that you repented as soon as you had done it, showed that you were not wholly bad at heart," said ralph. "don't say any more to me about it, kirke. if you have made your peace with god, there is no need for me to preach, you know. let us be friends in the future." the two young men shook hands heartily, and kirke felt happier than he had hoped ever to be again. he took denham into the hut where he lived, and found him a mat to lie upon, the most luxurious bed upon which ralph had stretched himself for many days. he was soon wrapped in the sweetest of slumbers thereon. sleep lasted till far into the next day, for he was quite worn out, and his quarters were fairly comfortable. when he awoke, he found kirke watching him with grave earnest eyes, which brightened into a smile in response to ralph's joyous greeting. a good wash was denham's first demand that morning; and when he had thus refreshed himself, he was indued into a suit of light garments such as kirke wore, of european fashion, though constructed from native cloth; and then attacked the cold breakfast awaiting him. "it is ever so good of you to provide me like this, kirke," said he. "a fellow must have been reduced as low as i was to appreciate properly the comfort of being 'clothed and in one's right mind.' but how you come to be living here like this, is a mystery to me." "you need have no scruples," replied kirke. "my people at home are well-to-do folks, and i always had plenty of money. i had it in a belt that i always wore, and this helped me to get off from moulmein, for it was chiefly in gold, and the burmese understand english gold. i have some shots in the locker yet, for living is cheap in these wilds, and i have been ill, so have not wanted a great deal. i made up my mind to stay here till the rice harvest is gathered, for it might then be possible to get a passage to rangoon, when they take it to market there. once in rangoon, i can always get supplies from home again; and, indeed, have a couple of english banknotes that will take me along for a time. don't have any scruples as to having a little from me. you are safe to fall in with your people again in rangoon, or the herford's branch there would advance to you, even if you do not believe that i owe to you a debt that money will never replace." "you are very generous," said ralph, "and i am thankful to meet with anyone who both can and will help me. i know that i should be able to repay you in rangoon, if we ever reach that place; so, meantime, thank you kindly. how long do you reckon it will be before the harvest will be ready?" "well, the rice is growing ripe. look there, they have stuck up those beautiful erections all about lately." in effect, there were three or four stages, fixed about fifteen feet above the ground, in different places. each of these erections was of a size to accommodate a squatting burman, smoking happily, with a bowl of rice and a jar of water by his side. every now and then he gave a tug at a string, which communicated with a machinery of simple nature, consisting of bamboos, feathers and twine in endless ramifications, all set fluttering by the pull. this, and an unearthly screech uttered at the same moment, aroused a cloud of little green parrots that were feeding upon the rice. they fluttered and squalled in unison with the fluttering and squalling of the native, and all creation was lively. then the burman sank again into meditation upon the life of guadama, or into slumber, or whatever he pleased to call it; the parrots went back to their feast, and all proceeded quietly until the watchman's sense of duty once more impelled him to exertion. "we shall cut all that the birds condescend to leave us soon now," said kirke. "in the meantime the fishery is going on, and the preparation of 'ngapé'! can't you smell the stinking stuff on the breeze? faugh!" "i hope we may get a passage in a boat which carries rice alone," said ralph, with a face of disgust. "how can the burmese eat that disgusting stuff!" the preparation of this favourite dainty in the burmese commissariat, which is manufactured chiefly from rotten fish pounded up into a paste with various condiments, poisoned the air. prawns are the favourite fish used, but there were none in this place. such secluded valleys as that into which kirke had strayed, are great homes of this industry, for the fish come up into them in huge swarms to spawn, and are left behind, in the lakes and pools, when the hot season dries up much of the super-abundant water. to catch them is then easy, and the trade a profitable one. "oh," cried kirke, "we won't go in one of those boats! trust jamie kirke for that. sooner than be stunk out of life like that, we will imitate the welsh young lady's forefathers in the flood, and have a boat of our own. we could sell it again in rangoon. i don't know whether, now that you are here to help me, it would not be as well to cross these plains, and get a boat for ourselves on the sittoung river. we could navigate it easily between us if we were careful about the bore." "that would be very jolly," said ralph. "i and my cargo," pointing to his precious bundle of orchids. "my cargo will not overburden you, i should be loath to part with it now, having brought it through so much peril that i almost have a superstitious feeling that it consists of my 'luck.' we should be more help than hindrance to you." "you talk of superstitious feelings, denham, but there is only a slight boundary between faith and superstition. i should not call it _superstition_ on my own part to believe that you had been sent by providence to me, in answer to prayer for forgiveness and help." "i know what you mean," replied ralph gravely. "god does lead us in mysterious ways, and it is among these wonderful places that one learns to believe in what he can perform. we have seen strange things, both of us, since we left the humdrum liverpool streets." "perhaps he was as plainly to be met with there, if we had but opened our eyes to note his footprints. here we are shaken out of our own common jogtrot ways,--waked up,--have had our everyday husks peeled off, and are brought face to face with nature in its marvellous sublimity and simplicity." the two young men sat silently after this, watching the movements of a couple of girls, whose occupation had suggested kirke's simile. they crouched upon their heels, one on either side of a handmill, in which they were husking "paddy," or rice in the original state, for the next family meal. the handmill consisted of two hollow wooden receptacles, the upper one furnished with two handles, by which the girls worked it half round to the right and back to the left. this threw the grain through the grooved sides into the lower vessel, grinding the chaff off on its way. from the lower bowl it escaped to the floor through a hole in the bottom. from the heap thus accumulated, a child emptied the rice into baskets, pouring it from one into another until the husk was fairly well winnowed from it; and then threw it into a mortar, sunk into the ground, and in which a heavy pestle worked by means of a long lever affixed to it, upon the end of which a graceful maiden was balancing herself, thus working it up and down to the time of a monotonous song which she chanted to herself-- "oh! rice ka la! come! oh! rice ka la! come! mee meht calls you, come, come!" the rice grain gleamed white as pearls from among the dusky chaff as she worked; and ever and anon, with some joke from one or the other, the girlish voices bubbled over into a merry laugh. "they seem happy," said ralph. "ay, they do," kirke replied, "but they are like animals,--_they_ do not 'look before and after.'" chapter xxiii fight with dacoits neither a boat in which to descend the river, nor a bullock-cart in which to reach its banks, were to be hired until the harvest was ready, so there was nothing for it but patience. neither kirke nor ralph felt themselves quite strong enough to be inclined for excessive haste. kirke's illness, and denham's sufferings in the jungle, made a little further rest still desirable before running the risk of more danger and new fatigues. they therefore remained quietly in the village contentedly enough, learning to know each other and like each other better every day. they had long conversations, discussions of every subject which occurred to them. each had undergone a training so different from the other that they never saw any matter in exactly the same light, and their opposite experiences were mutually valuable. kirke's deep and dark knowledge of life was a warning to denham; his own boyish lightness and gaiety were encouraging to his friend. meantime the rice ripened, was cut, and put up in stooks, ready for the threshing floor, in true scriptural fashion; for the manner of husking it by hand, as before described, was too slow and costly to be practised upon large quantities; neither was the paddy grained at all for mercantile purposes, as machinery was so much more convenient for the purpose. much rice, indeed, is brought to england in the form of paddy; and cleaned there by steam mills, of which there are many in liverpool and elsewhere. in the valley where ralph and kirke found themselves, it was a prosperous year. the people had been able to buy a sufficiency of excellent young plants, the weather had been favourable to their growth, the yield was good--the strangers had brought them luck. but was it good or bad luck that the report of their riches should have gone forth over the land, and created envy in the hearts of some among their neighbours--idler, poorer, less fortunate than they? but so it was. down from the wild hillside came a party of four or five men from a neighbouring outlying village, armed with guns and pistols. they crept along, hidden by boulder and rock; crawling through gulley, and channels of dried-up streamlets, to reconnoitre; to judge of the wealth in the village, and the exact moment when it could be seized upon to the greatest advantage. dacoity, as it is called, is the great curse of the hill and jungle parts of burma. the burman hates hard work--it is so much easier to help himself to his neighbour's rice than to grow it for himself. if his crop fails, why should another man have more than he wants? down he comes in the night, sets the village on fire, kills the men, carries off the maidens, and appropriates the property. the english law is severe upon the dacoit, but, at the time when ralph denham was wandering about in these wild regions, british burma consisted only of a long strip of seaboard, backed by a mountain-range which divided it from siam, and of the rice-growing lands in pegu, formed by the widespread delta of the irriwaddy river. it was very easy for ill-doers to escape over the borders of the british possessions either to the east or north, and english law could not reach them. law and order elsewhere was conspicuous by its absence, therefore the dacoit flourished. the english authorities set a price upon these robbers' heads, so it was short shrift for them if caught. to avoid this unpleasantness, they killed their enemies whenever they found that this procedure suited their convenience; and, in order to deter pursuit, they endeavoured to strike terror into the hearts of those who might seek to apprehend them, by a peculiar refinement of cruelty in the manner of killing them. thus they were not nice people to meet with--far from it. the two young men were sitting together, in the cool of the evening, upon the raised platform which ran round their hut, and formed a verandah, roofed with thekkee,--a kind of dried grass,--but open on every side to the air. there had been a magnificent sunset, whose gorgeousness had yet hardly faded from the western sky. they had been talking, but the soothing influence of the hour was upon them and they were silent now. soft curls of smoke wafted away from kirke's cheroot; and ralph sat on a mat, leaning against the bamboo support of the verandah, gazing dreamily over the landscape before him. ralph's vision was very keen, and he now became aware of three or four men, dimly perceptible among the gathering shadows, creeping along the river-bank, stooping low to be thus better concealed by the reeds which grew upon it. their movements were suspicious, and he quietly called kirke's attention to them. kirke could not see them, and thought that ralph had imagined their presence. "no," said denham, "it is not imagination; they move a short way, and then keep quite still for a full minute or more. it is that which makes me think that they are up to mischief. fix your eye upon that clump of reeds the farthest to the left of four. now, there, don't you see something come out from behind it?" "ah! i do," exclaimed kirke. "one, two, three, four, five things. they are men's heads, as sure as a gun! ralph, it strikes me that this means dacoity." "i believe it does," replied ralph. "there is a large sledge there laden with paddy. the beggars are after that to a certainty." "have at them!" cried kirke. "don't let us allow their knavish tricks to succeed." "halt," replied ralph. "those fellows have guns, and long swords or daggers. there are other things stuck into their waistbelts, which are either pistols or knives, perhaps both. have we weapons at hand? there are five of them, we two could do little against them alone; we had better call up old shway poh, and some of the villagers, to help." "moung shway poh won't be of much use. he will talk resignedly of those scamps being the 'five enemies,' or the 'five duties,' or the 'five great acts of sacrifice.' that rice is not his, he will be perfectly resigned to the thieves annexing it." "we must use a little gentle force then, to persuade him that one of the ten precepts is to preserve your neighbour's goods when you accept authority over him. shway poh did not get this village to eat just to keep his own rice safe, or his own skin either. but, kirke, it is not only that lot of rice which the beggars want. they may be short of food, and mean to have that, but what they are _really_ after is the village wealth, the ornaments which the women wear, the money in the monastery, the valuables generally. the important thing is to beat them off there, before they creep into the village to find out what the people have." "perhaps you are right. some of those girls wear really magnificent jewellery at their festivals; and it seems to me that they sport more and more of late. even that little sunshine child came out the other day in a pair of ruby earrings that might make a duchess' mouth water. so here goes. i bought these guns only last week for our journey. they are not first-rate ones, but serviceable. and here is a good bowie-knife for you, and one for me. now for mr. golden grandfather." they found the head man of the village, who rejoiced in that lovely name, squatted with his family around a huge tray of rice and chillies, flavoured with oil and salt. he was shovelling his supper into his mouth with vast relish, and was extremely averse to exertion, having already gobbled up so much as to make movement inconvenient. "the englishman mistakes," he said. "dacoits never come here. they know well that i am a friday's child, fierce and passionate as the tusked elephant which protects my soul. they dare not incur my wrath. the village is safe as long as i am its chief." "_you_ fierce and passionate?" cried his wife contemptuously. "so you may be, but your fierceness is like the flame of a chaff fire, it flares up easily and is out again in one minute. did we slave and labour for our beautiful jewels simply to give them to the thief? no indeed. show me, golden[ ] youth, where the dacoits are to be seen. will they be content with one sledge full if they are down upon us, poh pyin?[ ] answer me that." she went out into the verandah, but the house was situated behind a grove of trees which hid the rice-sledge from her sight. "we must go in the boats," said she. "then go armed," implored ralph, "for the robbers are armed to the teeth." "you are sure?" asked she. "quite sure," said ralph. she called up some of the men; and the village chief having now plucked up a little energy, a boat was prepared, and put off across the stream. so much time was lost, however, that the robbers had already linked two sledges together, and were punting them away with all speed. upon seeing the villagers' boat, which was impelled by six men, gaining rapidly upon them, and followed by two more, they pointed their guns at the foremost. "stand back!" they cried, "or we fire." "we had better return," whispered the fat old shway poh. "coward!" hissed out kirke, thirsting for the fray. "what! they are but five." "they are desperate men," whined shway poh. "if we lose our rice, there is nothing but dacoity before us, ourselves, next winter," said one of the men. the boat shot ahead, and tried to run athwart the first sledge. the dacoits fired. had five guns really been able to kill six men? there were five rowers, and shway poh steering. ralph had the sixth oar, and kirke's gun rang out in response to the attack, but only he and denham remained steady at their posts. all the burmans were bowled over. strange that the dacoits' shots should have hit them all, and missed kirke's broad figure standing erect in the bows. did he bear a charmed life? there was another explanation of the mystery. he who fights and runs away, may always live to fight another day. the six burmans were all prostrate at the bottom of the boat, and the shots had passed harmlessly above them. neither had they been taken with very true aim, for all had gone wide of the mark. a kick from kirke aroused the man nearest to him. "get up, you scoundrel!" thundered the young man. "what are you funking there for? seize them before they can reload!" he threw himself out of the boat, which had now crossed the stream, and tore the pole from the hands of one dacoit. ralph followed, and seized another by the throat, but the fellow's body was thickly besmeared with cocoanut oil, rendering him so slippery that he actually slid through his hands, and denham's foot slipped, throwing him down. up he sprang in an instant, and tried to grasp the fellow's garments; but, with a wriggle and a twist, he was out of the coiled cloth in one moment, leaving it in ralph's hands, while he stood for the space of a second, free of all impedimenta, then bounded into the jungle. ralph gave chase, but had no chance against the lithe limbs of the burman, well used to such encounters, and almost as supple as a snake. after a short pursuit, he turned back to assist his friends, seeing the undesirability of separating their party into single units. he found himself needed. upon the report of firearms, the natives in the other two boats held aloof, and were now returning to the village, towing, however, the rice sledges with them; and the valorous mr. golden grandfather was in the act of stepping into their own, with evident purpose of following in their wake. kirke had knocked down one of the dacoits, who was either killed or lay senseless on the ground. using his long pole as a quarter-staff, and whirling it round his head in true old english style, he was making play against another, who, wholly unused to this style of thing, was defenceless in his hands. but the fourth was in the act of coming up behind kirke with a knife in his muscular hands,--a long curved knife of deadly power--and actually had it raised in air, ready to plunge into the young man's back, beneath the shoulderblade. ralph caught his own dagger from his cummerbund, and dashed upon the enemy's rear, with a cry of "'ware, kirke!" kirke turned, saw his danger, and faced it. ralph plunged his dagger at the dacoit, who raised his arm to protect his head, and received the blow in the fleshy part of it. the fifth robber crawled up through the long grass, and wounded ralph in the leg, bringing him to the ground; but ralph caught his first opponent by the ankle as he lay, holding him there with a grasp of iron, and brought him down over him. kirke's guns had been left in the boat, unfortunately; but the two english lads had given the dacoits no time to reload theirs, so that the fight was pretty equal. now, however, mr. grandfather, regarding himself as tolerably safe, began to blaze away from the boat to the assistance of his guests, and the tide of battle turned. the dacoits evidently thought this too long odds, and fled, leaving one of their number behind. kirke turned him over with his foot, as the others disappeared, and found him quite dead,--an ugly sight, with his dark, evil, scowling face set in the ashy hue of death. "pah!" cried kirke. "what carrion!" "poor wretch," said the gentler denham, "i am very sorry for him." "dacoit will revenge this upon some of us," said mr. golden grandfather. "this is a bad job for us." "nonsense, old fellow," said kirke lightly. "the dacoits have had enough of us for one while, and we will be prepared for them before they come again. the rice is safe at anyrate, that is one good thing. you must get it down to the creek with all speed. it would be the best way to set off to-morrow with morning light." "yes, paya, you speak truth; but this bad job," reiterated moung shway poh. the party returned silently to the village, there was no exultation over their victory, all were exhausted now the excitement was over, several had been more or less knocked about, and ralph had lost a good deal of blood from a flesh wound in his leg. one of the women dressed it with some healing leaves, binding it up, and they all retired to rest, but the women as well as the men were inclined to look darkly upon the transactions of the evening, under the belief that though their treasures were the original inducement for the dacoits' arrival, those scoundrels would now never rest until they had avenged blood by blood. chapter xxiv the dacoits burn the village moung shway poh retired to his virtuous sleeping-mat, and sought peaceful oblivion among his family. the other villagers also separated, each to his place, and the two english lads went to their hut. "do you think there is anything in what the grandfather says, kirke?" asked ralph anxiously. "i have no doubt but what the dear old sinner's experience of his kind is exhaustive, and the ladies seem to echo his idea," replied kirke. "but i should think that the beggars had got enough for to-night. they will want to pull themselves a little together before they make a fresh attack. we may sleep the sleep of the just for a few hours, my boy." "it would be just as well to load the guns, and see that our other things are all to hand, though," said ralph. "careful and provident youth! perhaps you are right," quoth kirke. accordingly they examined their weapons, prepared and laid them to hand, ate their suppers, and stretched themselves on their mats. kirke was asleep in five minutes, but ralph's wound began to throb and ache, and the distress from it kept him awake. he was feverish too, and twisted and turned on his bed, unable to find ease in any posture. now he thought he heard stealthy movements around him; then he lost consciousness for a few moments, and awoke with a start, fancying that a snake was crawling over him, or that he was once again confronted by a leopard's glaring eyes. he told himself over and over again that the sounds were but the soft rustling of bats' wings, the scramble of rats along the rafters of the hut, or the whirr of mosquitoes in the damp night air. it was of no use, sleep forsook his eyes, although he was so tired that he longed for its balminess. instead of finding its refreshment, he was haunted by all the stories of dacoits which he had heard at moulmein and elsewhere. he thought of one young lady who was said to have been gently lifted from her bed, the mattress removed from beneath her and appropriated, while she was replaced upon the framework without being awakened. he remembered how a gentleman, fancying he heard sounds in the house, got up, and entangled his feet in garments belonging to his wife lying about on the floor. "what is that untidy ayah of yours about, to leave your things scattered on the ground like this?" scolded he. "she did not throw them down," said the lady; "i saw her lay that habit on the chest of drawers, ready for me to put on in the morning." her husband by this time had struck a light, and found the whole chest of drawers gone. the servants were called up, a search instituted, and the piece of furniture discovered in the compound, rifled of all its contents. he laughed to himself, for the fiftieth time, over the remembrance of the doctor's wife, who awoke in the night to see a dusky figure stooping over a nice, carefully-locked mahogany box, in the act of lifting it to carry it away. being a brave woman, she sprang up into a sitting posture, clapping her hands with a sudden sharp sound. the robber dropped his booty, leapt over the verandah, swarmed down one of the posts which supported it, and vanished in a moment. by this act of presence of mind, she saved her husband's stomach-pump. other more gruesome anecdotes recurred to his memory in wearisome procession, and murdered sleep as effectually as macbeth had ever done. hour passed after hour in this manner, but yet surely it could not be daylight already? the sun was given to springing rapidly up in these regions, but not with so sudden a glow as this, nor with so brilliantly red a colour. what was it? conviction flashed upon him at once, there was fire somewhere. "kirke! kirke!" he cried. "up, man, the dacoits are firing the village!" up sprang kirke, and the two rushed out of their hut, to see half a dozen of the pretty slight houses around them blazing like torches, while demon figures leapt and howled around, flinging burning brands upon the inflammable roofs of palmy thekkee leaves, and in at the open doorways of the slender bamboo and matted walls. the wretched villagers, caught like rats in so many traps, must either be burnt with their houses, or be chopped down by the dahs carried by the merciless robbers. man, woman, and child,--all alike murdered in cold blood by their unsparing hands. the assassins were but a gang of four, therefore, probably, was the same band as that which the villagers had beaten off in the evening, with the loss of one; for the dacoit generally works in parties of five. it might well be supposed that a whole village, consisting perhaps of fifty men, with women and young people, could easily have repelled an attack from so small a party as that; but it must be understood that, to preserve the people from the floods in the wet season, and the fear of wild animals at all times, the houses were raised upon high piles; each, therefore, being isolated completely from its neighbour. when the floods were out, one lady would take her boat even to borrow a cheroot from her nearest friend; the population lived in boats almost wholly; their houses were little more than shelters in which to eat and sleep. they contained no effects to induce a love for "home," in the englishman's understanding of the word,--few appliances for occupation or pleasure. a chest or box for containing the best clothes and ornaments; a sufficiency of mats and rugs for beds; a "byat," or wooden dish, lacquered, from which they eat their rice; a few little bowls to hold small quantities of more tasty articles for flavouring the tasteless staple of their food; and half a dozen earthen pots or jars,--these form the sum total of a burman's lares and penates; and there is nothing among them to create "house-pride" among the ladies, or a love for home-keeping in the gentlemen. all their amusements and pleasures are taken out of doors, in public. but the family retires, at "sky shutting-in time," for sleep; and the dacoit who means mischief can take them practically one by one, burning the edifice, and destroying, or watching, the means of descent from the little platform upon which it is erected. as kirke and ralph rushed out from their hut, they saw the ground at the foot of the next one strewn with the bleeding corpses of the father and three sons who dwelt there, while the aged grandmother crouched shuddering among the blazing rafters, and pretty little miss sunshine, the gay, merry child who had played a hundred tricks upon them, and laughed with them so often, clung to the kingpost, shrieking with terror, while the dacoits chopped and mangled the bodies of her nearest and dearest friends, and leapt up howling to reach her, and sweep her into the same holocaust. "oh, paya, paya, save me!" she implored, stretching her little hands towards them, the tears coursing down her painted cheeks. "my god!" cried kirke; "the bloodthirsty scoundrels!" he caught up his gun and fired, but the dacoits were never still; they danced from place to place; they seemed to be ubiquitous, there was no taking aim at any one of them. well was it for the english lads that ralph had loaded the guns, and laid their pistols to hand. the steady fire maintained by kirke kept the dacoits at bay, they retired to a little distance; and ralph descended from their verandah on the dark side, and put up a rough ladder for the girl and old woman to come down. sunshine sprang quickly to it, but the old woman was paralysed by fear and could not move. "escape, my pretty, into the jungle," whispered the boy hurriedly to his little playmate, who needed no second bidding to disappear into the darkness; while he ascended the ladder, protected by kirke's gun, took the aged crone on his back, and essayed to return by the same means. the charred bamboos crashed down as he seized the woman; the burning thekkee on the roof set her clothes on fire; she was a burden too heavy for his strength, he could not carry her. the dacoits came running and howling up once more,--once more did kirke's gun roar out its protecting voice, and a robber fell. his companions rushed forward, and drew him back,--he was hit in the thigh, and could not stand; the others raged at a safe distance. all this took but a few minutes of time, and some of the villagers now hurried up, and formed a circle around the supports of kirke's house; while one, another son of the old woman, rushed up the ladder, and helped ralph to bring his mother down and seat her on the damp ground beneath the verandah. several other women were brought in there also, the ring of men encircling the place, prepared to fire or strike at the dacoits if they ventured within reach. the long dahs,--sharp-edged swords,--worn by the dacoits down their backs, and drawn by both hands over the right shoulders, proved to be deadly weapons, and the battle raged long, with horrid outcry, and many a gaping wound; but the enemy was beaten off at last, bleeding, baffled and exhausted, scorched, maimed, and yet howling with rage and pain. a second man of their party had been killed. ralph had forgotten his wounded leg in the recent excitement; it was but a flesh wound, though a deep one. with care and rest it would have been quite healed in a few days, but the exertion which he had taken inflamed it much. it might be that the weapon with which he received the hurt had rust, or some deleterious matter upon its blade; but, however that might be, the place assumed a very ugly appearance, and suppurated. kirke washed it well with warm water, applied fresh leaves and bandages--what else to do he did not know, but felt very uneasy, for in spite of the large quantity of blood which his friend had lost, he grew so feverish at night. the villagers who had been burnt out were dispersed among the huts left standing. kirke set a watch, and went round from time to time to see that the watchmen did not sleep at their posts. he had taken the command of the hamlet, all appearing willing to submit to the leader who had shown so much daring and courage; but his own heart was heavy within him. except denham, he had no trust in any one of his followers. the burmese can be fierce by spasmodic fits, but their natural temper is easy, pleasure-loving, inert. there is in them none of the elements which constitute a good soldier. they would rather fly than fight at any time. if denham were going to be seriously ill, he had no reliance upon anyone, no friend to back him up. he believed that the dacoits would certainly return for vengeance, if not for the treasures. what would be the end of it all? he went his rounds, having to awaken one or two of his watchers every time; he returned, to bathe ralph's brow, change the healing leaves, give him drink, and observe him anxiously; then he went his rounds again. what a weary, weary day it was, he could not keep up the strain long; and, oh horror! suppose that denham had been wounded by a _poisoned_ sword. it was dark again; every hour full of danger. how could he meet it? how overcome it? however, about dawn ralph's fever lessened, his skin became cool and moist, and he fell asleep. that fear was off his mind for the time, but the peril in which they stood had by no means lessened. chapter xxv desperation no, the peril was none the less to any of the villagers, and greatly increased to the englishmen, for the natives began to look darkly at them. kirke had made them all leave their inflammable houses, perched like dovecots high upon poles, and had encamped in a little clearance at the edge of the jungle. this he insisted upon enlarging to the best of their ability, cutting down all cover beneath which the dacoits could steal upon them unperceived. so dense was the scrub that this was hard work, and the burman hates hard work. kirke, with british energy, set the example himself, hacking, hewing, and felling, with promptitude which was far from being seconded. he caused the débris to be built up around a circle, within which he entrenched the women and children, with all the household effects that could be gathered together, and would fain have thrown up earthworks to the best of his ability, but the burmans would not dig them out. he insisted upon the houses which remained being cut down from their elevations, lest the dacoits should succeed in mounting to them, and firing down upon the camp; and this annoyed the short-sighted owners more than anything else. "why should we destroy our houses?" they said. "the dacoits are gone now. we have given them the fire to eat, and they have had enough of it. we wear the charm against fire and sword, the blessed nats will protect us, ours are stronger than theirs; and the houses must be put up again before the next flood-time comes." "true," argued kirke, "but meantime you may be all killed. the dacoits are certain to return, perhaps in much greater force. they will come determined to avenge the deaths of their friends, and they also wear charms. you must take measures for your own safety. cannot you get help from any neighbours strong enough to protect you? is there no english station within reach? could no scout be sent to any british police-station, to tell them of our need and beg assistance? there must be some such place. cannot we send word to rangoon?" the burmans looked at each other. they knew well enough that there was a police-station within twenty miles of them, but they had concealed the fact from kirke because they wanted his money. he had brought prosperity to them, and they did not want to lose him. he had proved to be a perfect godsend to them hitherto; but it was plain to them that the reputation of this very prosperity had partly caused the dacoits to assail them. would it be best for them now to keep the englishmen with them longer, and fight the robbers themselves, or to make capital out of helping them to return to their friends, who, out of gratitude, would come and kill the dacoits for them? the question was hotly debated in the village conclave. moung shway poh was jealous of kirke's ascendency. he felt his authority tottering on its throne. kirke spoke to him in a dictatorial tone, and ordered him about just as if he had been the veriest child, still untattooed; and the old man hated him. "we have the strangers with us," said he, "just as much as if we sent to the station and had the officers, who would bring good guns, big guns, kill the thieves, and save our houses. they would give us rewards for helping their countrymen; pay for the dacoits' heads--be a revenue to us for all next year. we should have plenty of rice, plenty of smoke, plenty of everything from them. this man has spent all he has now, he cannot have much left; and the boy has nothing at all, though he must eat and be clothed." but the other side was represented by the sons of the man who was cut down and mutilated by the cruel dahs of the dacoits,--by the children of the poor woman who, with her infant, had shared in her husband's fate, and whose grandmother and little sister had been saved by ralph. other victims had also fallen, and their relations thirsted to avenge blood by blood. they were eager to kill the dacoits themselves. to them, in that case, would belong the glory; to them would the butterfly spirits of the victims be grateful; to them would the price of the dacoits' heads be paid, which would be lost to them if the police shot them instead. kirke, having superintended all the defences which he could prevail upon the burmans to make, sat by the side of ralph, who was sleeping profoundly on his mat, and watched the council--debating at a little distance--with great anxiety. he knew well what issues were under discussion; he had gauged the characters of these men accurately during his residence with them, and was convinced that they would treat him like an orange which had been sucked dry, and of which the rind was only flung away. he could have escaped by himself, and his resources, though nearly exhausted, were not yet quite at an end. he had enough left to hire or purchase a tat,[ ] or pay for a passage in the big rice boat, and so make his way to an english settlement, where he could take his chance of punishment for his conduct on board the _pelican_, and await remittances from home. since meeting with denham, his apprehensions of the consequences of his crime had dwindled down. no lives had been lost, much time had elapsed, and he had been of material service to ralph. he was assured by ralph that mr. gilchrist wished him no harm, and would prove placable. but it would be better for him to give himself up, rather than to be taken prisoner by english police; he would much prefer making his own way to rangoon to being sent there as a captive. yet he could not abandon ralph, who was in no state for a hurried journey taken under the difficulties which must attend an escape. even now the boy was muttering and rambling in his sleep, the fever was rising higher with the approach of nightfall, and the wound in his leg was terribly inflamed. kirke changed the dressing, bathed it and ralph's head and face with cool water, and changed his hot pillow. ralph looked gratefully up at him as he woke up completely. "you are very good to me, old fellow," said he. "i am sorry to be such a nuisance; but, somehow, i feel very stiff and queer, and my head rages." "all right," said kirke, a lump rising in his throat as he gazed upon his friend, so dear to him now. "all right, we will win through this worry soon. you are better." "yes, i'm better," said ralph, with a mighty effort at cheerfulness. "drink this," said kirke, offering some water to him; "go to sleep again, there is nothing else to be done, and i'm watching." ralph drank the water, and soon fell into a calmer, more refreshing, slumber. kirke went to examine his store of ammunition, and became graver than ever, for he found that it was running extremely short. there was no method by which he might replenish his powder; but the dacoits, with the whole country behind them, could get practically inexhaustible supplies. kirke heaved a sigh, and sat down once more by the sleeping boy. it was growing dark, but the council still argued and disputed at a little distance from the circle entrenched, and words were running high among its members. all at once a shot was heard, and a bullet tore its way from the gloom of the trees, crashed through kirke's stockade, and buried itself in the ground. "ameh!" shrieked the women, springing to the farthest corners. the men leapt from their haunches, upon which they were crouching, and jumped over into the circle, glad enough now of the protection afforded them by kirke's foresight, and once more willing to accept his gallant leadership. whiz!--ping!--went a second shot; followed by a third--a fourth. kirke caught up his gun, and blazed back a return fire, aimed in the direction from which the assault came. "but," thought he, "this is of little avail, for we cannot take aim at the wretches, whereas the blaze of our lamps makes us so many marks to them." but the firm resistance offered had an effect; the dacoits' shots lessened, then ceased. what did this mean? they must have some new scheme on foot. the besieged stood in line, facing the jungle, with the women and children behind. suddenly, wild shrieks from them announced danger. two of the dacoits had crept around, under cover of the long grass, crawling like snakes close to the ground, and were prepared to leap into the fence, dahs in hand. with one bound, kirke sprang to that side with clubbed gun, and struck one man down from a swinging blow on the head. ralph was at his side in the same instant, with a native spear in his hand, the first weapon which he could catch up. one of the women, who was engaged in cooking the supper, flung the pot of boiling rice at the intruders in the same moment of time. it hit another fellow right in his face, and the scalding contents ran down all his naked body, at which he uttered a demoniacal howl of pain. "bravo, miss pretty!" called out kirke. "have at them! there's a plucky girl." were it not for the women, who came gallantly to the aid of the men, the fight would have been a short and hopeless one, for the dacoits evidently had been reinforced in numbers. they assailed the little camp on all sides,--there was no spot from which a terrible face did not gleam and disappear. they tore at the defences with their hands,--they tugged at the stakes with feet and teeth,--they hurled darts, they fired shots,--now from this side, now from that. the villagers fought like wild animals,--both they and the dacoits uttering fierce yells and shrieks; only the two young englishmen set their teeth, and silently struggled, side by side, with their doom. one--two dacoits more fell dead, but the rest were fiercer than ever. the ammunition was exhausted, their strength failing them, it was but desperation which enabled them to maintain the combat, but they fought on and on. daylight broke at last; the short night was over, and the assailants retreated once more beneath the cover of the jungle. kirke reckoned up his men. two of them were wounded seriously, one by a cut on the head from a dah, the other by a gun-shot in the chest. one of the girls was thrust through the shoulder by a spear, and a child had been killed. all the powder was gone, but there were spears, dahs, and clubs in sufficient quantity,--also food,--and there were a good many musket balls still left. moung shway poh had found a shelter beneath the thickest part of the stockade, where he was found, squatted on his heels, under the shade of the strongest umbrella that had been saved. "you old coward!" cried kirke. "i missed you in the night, and wasted compassion upon you, fearing you were wounded or killed. have you been hiding there all this time, while we others have been fighting for you?" "don't be rude, englishman," said the old sinner, with all the dignity which he could assume; "what would have become of my people if their grandfather were hurt. it was for their sake that i took care of myself; the royal self's lord should think what would become of all without the experience of my years to guide them." "bosh!" cried the irreverent kirke. but perhaps the ancient burman did not understand english vernacular language. there was one missing whose disappearance caused both the young men much concern. little miss sunshine, the pretty little village belle, the merry child of whom both had made such a pet, was nowhere to be found. they searched up and down, they called, they questioned everyone, but all fruitlessly. no one had seen her since ralph had helped her to escape from the blazing hut. so imminent had been the peril, so hot the fighting, so much had there been to do in the intervals, so anxious was kirke about ralph, that it was not until he put the people into a sort of review, and counted them over, that the little girl was missed. it was ralph who thought of her then. "where is miss sunshine?" asked he. no one knew, no one had seen her, no one had thought about her. that she had fallen a victim to the dacoits in their ambush among the jungle was the most likely fate to have befallen her. she was gone, and had left no sign. with heavy hearts kirke and ralph set themselves to prepare for the inevitable renewal of the enemy's attack when darkness once more covered their approach. kirke sharpened the spears and knives, and ralph caused the women to tie up musket balls at either end of long pieces of cloth, such as they wore girded around their loins for clothing. these made excellent weapons, and the burmese quickly mastered the knack of using them. rice was prepared, water-pots refilled, fuel brought in, stones piled in heaps,--some of the people slept while others watched. all was put into the best order possible. a sorrowful event occurred in the course of the day, which fired the english breasts with indignation. one of the children in the village owned a pretty cat, which was the beloved of her heart, and responded to the petting which it received with all the love a cat can feel and show. the house in which this child lived was one of those destroyed by fire, and, though the inhabitants had escaped the intended massacre, no one had thought of the household pet. little golden-leaf had sobbed herself to sleep, fretting for its loss the night before; and her mother consoled her by saying that pussie had gone mousing into the jungle, and would come home when she had caught enough. about the middle of the day, a prolonged feline wail was heard, and the little one called out, "my puss, my puss, i hear her crying for me!" in another moment the poor cat was seen limping painfully along, leaving a track of blood along its path. each of her four paws was cut off, and the wretched creature was trying to crawl back to its friends upon its stumps of legs, with the fillet from a dacoit's head tied to its neck, to which a sharp stone was attached. it made its tortured way through a tiny gap in the stockade, and tried to rub itself against its little mistress's legs in the old affectionate manner, in joy at having found her again. little golden-leaf burst into pitiful grief. "your father will put it out of its pain," said her mother. "no, no, no!" sobbed the child, "he shall not put his soul in danger for me or my puss. the good englishman will cure my puss, and its little paws shall grow again. won't they?" cried she, turning to ralph. "no, my pretty; it would be kinder to kill poor pussie at once," said he. "no, no!" reiterated the tender-hearted little girl,--"no, no! i cannot bear it. make pussie well, good kind man." ralph had not the heart to distress her further. he felt very sick as he looked at the maimed animal, and thought what the message with which it had been sent might mean. what had been the fate of pretty little miss sunshine, when the wretches could have exercised such cruelty upon a helpless dumb animal! he tied up the mangled legs of the poor cat, and it tried to purr as it lay in its little friend's arms while the operation went on. the child then carried it to the fire, and sat down to nurse and cuddle it, while kirke built up a sort of rampart over and around her, to serve as a shelter as well as possible. "they meant that as a hint of what they will do to any of us if they catch us alive," said he to ralph. "they _must_ catch none of us alive," replied denham. "may god help us all," sighed kirke. "in him do i put my trust," replied ralph firmly. "if anything goes wrong with me," resumed kirke, after a few moments, "you will send word to my father, won't you, denham? and tell him i wish i had been a better son to him, and a better man, which i would have tried to be had i been spared." "i will," said ralph, "if i am spared myself, but there is little chance for either of us." "i fear not," said kirke; and neither of them spoke more for a long time. chapter xxvi sunshine's heroism kirke insisted upon ralph's wound being redressed at intervals all through that dreadful day, whatever else was being done. "what's the use?" said ralph, with a quaint smile. "i don't mean to leave a stone unturned," replied kirke. "somehow, i feel as if _you_ had a future before you whatever comes to the rest of us. you have nine lives, like that poor cat, which really seems content in the little one's lap after all its suffering." ralph gave a short laugh, with a ring of bitterness in it. "while there is life there is hope, you think," said he. "just so," replied kirke. again the day wore on, and the sun sank in the west. "it must soon be decided now," said kirke. "shake hands, old fellow, i am glad we met here, whatever befalls." "god for the right!" exclaimed ralph, as their hands met. they then separated, for they had agreed each to command at one edge of the circle, and it was time to assume their places. none too soon, either, for, directly that the dusk made all things obscure, the attack once more began. it was probable that the dacoits themselves had run short of powder on the previous evening, and had utilised the day by going to their homes to fetch more, for again they commenced by blazing away at long range. but kirke made the people crouch low, and had, through the day, considerably strengthened his defences, so that the firing caused few casualties for a long time. the besieged could only have returned the attack by stone throwing, which would have been of little use as long as the enemy remained under cover, and at a distance, while it would have betrayed the exhaustion of their ammunition. he therefore counselled a passive endurance of the firing, hoping by this means to lure the dacoits out of their cover into closer quarters; and this subterfuge took effect. the dusky figures crept out from behind the trees, and advanced stealthily. kirke waited until they were within a couple of yards of the stockade, then sprang suddenly to his feet, and shouted-- "now, my friends!" a pelting shower of stones seconded his cry; the enemy's advance was checked, the line wavered, broke, and began to retreat, when a shot rang out from the jungle,--a fatal, too well-directed shot, aimed at kirke's tall commanding figure, and he fell. with a cry of dismay, ralph sprang to the side of his friend, but the dacoits took fresh courage, and dashed at the defences in a body, like a dark wave pouring over a rocky shore. the flimsy barriers rocked and gave way before them, and all were inextricably mixed up at once in a deadly hand-to-hand warfare. ralph, standing astride the body of his friend, fought like a madman. the ground beneath his feet grew slippery with blood; one--two dacoits fell beneath the desperate blows of his clubbed gun, over which he found that his hands took a better purchase than over the shaft of a spear; but his strength was deserting him, his adherents were falling around him, his head reeled, his sight began to fail him, and the sickness of a fainting fit nearly overpowered him. he believed his last moment was come, when--what sound met his ear? he must be delirious, mad--it could not be an english cheer! it could never be the gallop of horses' feet--many horses, tearing madly along the forest path? but again it came, nearer and nearer. "hallo! hallo! hurrah! there they are!" and a party of horsemen in white uniform dashed upon the scene. the tide of battle was turned, the dacoits tried to fly; the english police officers rode them down, shot them down, struck them down;--no mercy was shown. the robbers fought like demons, desperate in their turn, but all were killed or taken prisoners in half an hour, bound, cowed, conquered, and the fray was over. the english officer came up to shake his rescued countrymen by the hand, with frank, hearty greeting on his lip, but ralph had thrown himself down on the ground, his face buried on the breast of his dead friend, choking with sobs. mr. brudenel, for it was he, felt a moisture arise to his own eyes at the sight. he turned aside, and brushed his hand across them, then knelt by ralph's side, and laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder. "i am very sorry," said he; "would to god that i had been here but one hour sooner." "but one hour, but one little hour," moaned the boy. "oh, my friend! my dear, true friend!" "it was the fortune of war, sir," said the officer. "it was the will of god. be a man, sir; your friend did not suffer." "no," said ralph, rising, "it was all in one minute. oh, kirke, kirke! i cannot yet believe it that you are gone." he sank down again, for he could really not stand. the excitement which had given him fictitious strength was over, and all his powers were exhausted. brudenel signed to his men to lift and carry him to a short distance, where they laid him down upon a mat, cast water on his face, and poured some drops of stimulant into his mouth. some of the burmese women drew round and fanned him, others brought all they had which they fancied might be of service. leaving him to the best among these, mr. brudenel turned to his other duties. the wounded must be attended to, the dead buried, the surviving dacoits marched off to prison. moung shway poh, who seemed to bear a charmed life, for he had come out of the affray unharmed, was clamouring a farrago of boastful explanations, servile gratitude, and accounts of his own great bravery in defending the countrymen of his royal lord's self. fatigued by the clamour, of which he believed nothing, mr. brudenel swore at him for a noisy nuisance, and mr. grandfather turned to bestow his eloquence upon one of the native policemen, whose politeness was greater. all was done at last, some sort of order restored, the dead were buried, and brudenel engaged to send assistance to the villagers in rebuilding their houses. two or three of his men were left as a guard, with plenty of powder and shot, and the little encampment made as comfortable as circumstances permitted for the present. a hasty litter was prepared for ralph, and carried by four of the villagers, hired for the purpose; and the horsemen mounted for their return journey. "by the bye," said mr. brudenel, turning back in the saddle as he prepared to start,--"by the bye, my wife has taken good care of that brave child, and she shall return in the bullock-bandy which will bring you the things i have promised to send you, along with your friends here who are carrying this gentleman." "child,--brave child? who do you mean, paya?" "why, the brave little maid who came alone through the jungle to send us to your assistance. you must make much of her, for it was the deed of a heroine. you would not find many, much older than she, who would have done so brave a thing." ralph raised himself upon his elbow. "oh!" cried he, "was it sunshine, the little maid whom we missed?" "i did not ask her name," replied brudenel. "she said that the white boy had saved her life, and that of her grandmother; and she had walked twenty miles, over mountains and through jungle paths, to fetch us. she was quite exhausted on her arrival, and mrs. brudenel kept her to rest and recruit. you all owe your lives to her." "god bless her!" murmured ralph. yes, it was little miss sunshine to whom they had all owed their rescue. she knew of what the dacoits were capable; she was very fond of both kirke and ralph, who had petted her, taught her many things, given her many little treasures, ingeniously contrived after english fashion. they had played with her, and been always courteous to her--as gentlemen should ever be. no sooner had ralph fetched her down from the blazing hut, than she hid herself in the jungle to watch the course of events. she saw the repulse of the dacoits, and tracked them to their lair in the jungle afterwards. there, understanding their speech so thoroughly, she discovered that the leader was the terrible moung nay nya, the tiger, the terrible robber who was tattooed by the "bandee-tha," and carried a ghastly "beloo" upon his chest, inoculated with a preparation compounded of dead men's flesh, which he had also chewed during the whole time that the operation had lasted. the "beloo" nature had thus entered into him, and given him the strength and ferocity of a wild beast itself. sunshine had often heard of him, and shuddered, from the place of her concealment, to observe the marks which she had so often heard described. there was the horrible demon face on the man's broad muscular chest, with tail wound in voluminous folds around it, and claws extended beneath. there were the square-shaped charmed indentations which prevented bullet or sword-thrust from injuring the tiger-man, tattooed in both red and blue; there was a row of charmed stones let in beneath the skin of his neck, each of which endowed him with some wizard power or ensured him safety in combats. she noticed the long lean arms, the powerful hands, the muscular body, the sunken cheeks and cruel determined mouth, and trembled in every limb to think of his seizing her. she softly slipped farther and farther back under the shadow of the trees, and thought. did this terrible tiger-man succeed in capturing her dear english boy, what tortures might he not inflict upon him were the ransom which he would certainly demand not paid! she could not bear to think of it. the tales which she had been told might have been exaggerated, but many of them were too true, nor did the appearance of the man belie them. sunshine believed them all. while she hesitated, uncertain what to do, little golden-leaf's pet cat came crying up to her, telling, in its own fashion, its story of fright and trouble, and glad to meet with a well-known friend. but, fearful lest the little creature should betray her whereabouts to the dacoits, she turned and fled, followed for a little way by the cat, but soon beyond the boundaries familiar to it, and it turned back to meet with the cruelty which the girl escaped. she ran and ran till she was tired, then sat down to rest, and cry. all at once, a resolution entered her mind. she would make her way to the police-station, where she would be safe, and whence aid for her friends would certainly be sent to them. she wished that she had thought of it before. the day was bright now, she knew in which direction the station lay, but she did not know how far off it was. bravely did she set out, walking on, on, on; climbing steep hills, wading through marshy places, cutting her bare feet with stones,--hungry, tired, and disheartened, but persistent. she had to rest many times, and the day wore away and night fell. she struggled on to a pagoda which she saw on the side of a hill, and where she thought that she would pass the dark hours safely. she did not expect to find shelter there, for she knew that these erections were solid blocks of bricks, not buildings with chambers and apartments in which people lived. this one was deserted and ruinous. it had been a pious work to build it, but, the original founder having long been dead, it was not the business of anyone else to repair it as it became dilapidated under the influence of wind and weather. the piety which might have induced such a proceeding would not be counted to the score of the man who repaired, but to that of the first builder, in the other world. "let everyone take care of himself," the burman says, and leaves his father's good deeds to fall into decay, while he ensures his own salvation by putting up another showy building. sunshine made her way to this place, holy in her simple eyes; and there, climbing up a pile of fallen bricks, found a fairly comfortable and sheltered seat, where she crouched all night long. at first she clasped her arms around her knees, and looked out upon the dim landscape, the winding stream shining in the valley beneath her, the brilliant stars in the deep blue sky above,--seeing nothing of the beauty of nature, but deeply impressed by its mystery, gazing straight before her with wide-open eyes of awe and distrust. but gradually fatigue overpowered her, and, leaning her head back against the stones, she fell asleep. her sleep lasted long, and she woke when the sun was already high; arising stiff, hungry, and thirsty, to another toiling journey. first she would go down to the stream and drink. as she stooped, she saw a troop of horsemen cantering along the farther bank, taking their morning exercise. she knew the british dress--these were the people whom she was seeking; she stumbled through the stream, limped up to mr. brudenel, and implored him to ride fast to the rescue of her friends. "oh, paya! paya!" she cried, "the dacoits burn our village, they murder all,--ride quickly and save my father. there are englishmen there, they will murder them too,--ride fast, fast to save them!" mr. brudenel put quick questions to her; eliminated the chief features of the case; ordered one of the men to take the poor weary girl up to the station, and ask mrs. brudenel to look after her; galloped back for arms and reinforcements; and, on fresh horses, headed his troop for the rapid ride to the scene of action; arriving, as we have seen, when the besieged had come to their last gasp, and not in time to save all. chapter xxvii conclusion mr. brudenel, as has been said, met sunshine while on his morning ride, and returned in desperate haste to gather up his men, and the ammunition, etc., necessary for the skirmish which he knew was in store for them. he met his wife, who, perceiving that some unusual event had happened, came anxiously to meet him. "what is it, my dear?" asked she. "don't delay me, wifey," said he in violent hurry. "a girl has brought in an account of a daring outbreak of dacoity. from her story i hope to catch the fellow i have been looking out for this long time. don't be frightened if i don't come home to-night, the place is some way off, and there will be a scrimmage; but all will go well, i hope." "a scrimmage!" exclaimed mrs. brudenel in terror. "oh, harry!" "don't be a little goose, my dear; such things must come sometimes. there, kiss me,--don't worry yourself, good-bye. take care of the girl till i come back," shouted he at the last moment, mounting his pony, and calling back over his shoulder, preparing to follow his men out of the compound. he was gone, and his wife's eyes were so full of tears that she could not see him to the very last. the clatter of the ponies' feet faded away, and she re-entered the house. mr. gilchrist, who had been taking an early ramble, met her. "what is all the excitement about?" asked he. "i hardly know," replied she; "some burmese girl has brought news of dacoits, and harry has gone to see about it. he expects to fight, and i am so frightened." the tears gathered again, and rolled down her white cheeks. "don't alarm yourself, my dear young lady," said mr. gilchrist kindly. "your husband has gone through such things a dozen times before safely, and we will hope that all will be right again. where is the girl? shall i talk to her and find out all about it?" "oh, i would be _so_ much obliged if you would! i cannot understand half that the people say yet." sunshine was in the cook's house, being fed and comforted by the servants. mr. gilchrist began to talk to her, and had not exchanged many sentences before his interest deepened into great excitement. "osborn!--wills!" he cried, "come here and listen. this girl says that there are young englishmen in the village, is it possible that one could be our dear ralph? what did you say they are called, my dear?" but the soft nature of the burmese language utterly refused to accommodate itself to the harsh sounds of our friends' names. "ralph" had always been pronounced "yabé," and "kirke" had been quite unmanageable, so he had proposed being called "jamie," which was rendered "yamie." "yabé" and "yamie" puzzled mr. gilchrist, who did not know that kirke was christened james. "what are the englishmen like, girl?" "yamie is big, oh, so big!" said she. "he is good, but his eyes do not laugh like those of yabé. they have dark fire in them, and he has hair all round," passing her hand about the lower part of her face. "it is like the jungle bushes." "what colour?" asked wills. "like yours," said she. wills was black-haired and grizzled. his face fell. "he is old, then?" asked he. "no, young," replied sunshine. "young as a father." "it cannot be ralph," said he. "that is what he calls the other," said sunshine; "yabé, that is what he calls him. moung yabé, moung shway yabé, i say, for he is good, oh, so good! he came for me when the _thok'kee_ blazed, and all was on fire; he saved me, and took me poh on his back, and saved her from those beloos of thieves, and from the hot fire. oh, moung yabé is strong and good, as gold--fine gold. my dear moung shway paya yabé." "is he like me, too?" asked old wills. sunshine laughed out all over her face, her eyes danced with merriment. "oh, no, no, no!" she cried. "moung yabé young, moung yabé beautiful! he laugh like sunshine; he gay, he play with little sunshine, throw roses at her, run after her--dance, sing. all the girls love moung yabé, my moung shway yabé! oh," she resumed, breaking down all at once into sorrow, "if the good soldiers are only in time to save my moung yabé from those beloos!" the men looked at each other. "can it be ralph?" they asked, hope dawning upon each in turn. "is _his_ hair like the jungle bushes?" inquired gilchrist. "no, no!" said sunshine, cheering up again. "moung yabé is shway yabé, golden boy, white as the lady, no hair here," again passing her hand over her face. sudden inspiration seized upon osborn, "does he sing like this?" asked he, beginning ralph's well-known "i'll bang my harp on a willow tree." sunshine laughed outright. "that is my moung yabé's music," said she; and, making it into a literal song without words, she finished the air with great glee. "my god!--my god is merciful!" ejaculated mr. gilchrist. "osborn, my pony; quick, quick!" "oh! are you going to help mr. brudenel?" asked his wife. "how good of you! you will keep him safe, won't you, and bring him back unhurt?" "tell her, wills!" shouted mr. gilchrist, forgetting his manners utterly as he rushed out to the stable. osborn was as excited as he; they snatched down their saddles, had them upon their ponies in three minutes, and were tearing out of the compound before mrs. brudenel comprehended anything of the matter. wills, indeed, forgot her interest, and the danger to her husband, in his wistful longing to accompany them. "i wish, i do wish i could ha' gone too," sighed he; but there was not a beast left in the stable now, all had gone, and only the servants of the house remained. by degrees the lady's questions recalled him to the present, and he told her all. there was much mystery about sunshine's story even now. who the englishman was who had so much gold, and who had arrived in the village alone, and been so ill there, was a great puzzle. sunshine said that he knew moung yabé, they were brothers,--"dohs,"--whether "thway-thouks" or blood-drinkers she did not know. she here alluded to a peculiar custom among the burmans, of two friends swearing to be brothers to each other, and in some cases cementing the alliance by drinking water mixed with drops of blood taken from each others' arms. yabé, sunshine said, had come across the river, naked, and had nothing with him but a little packet of plants which must have been charmed, and protected him from wild beasts in the jungle. he could not have come naked through the wild jungle unless the "nats" had taken care of him. where he came from sunshine did not know. yamie had paid her mother for making clothes for him such as he wore himself; made from native cloth, but not "putsoes." the plants seemed to point yet more directly to the stranger being identical with denham, but who could "yamie" be? and how did denham arrive there, and in such a condition? but mrs. brudenel was sure that it must be ralph. she set herself to make every possible preparation, and the occupation helped her to pass that anxious day. sunshine, as soon as she had told all she knew, being well fed and made comfortable, fell sound asleep on a mat in the verandah, and rested from her fatigues. hour passed after hour, and none of the men returned. mrs. brudenel became sick with apprehension, nor was old wills much better. neither of them retired to rest that night, for they hoped that some of the party would return every moment. they sat together, each trying to keep up a brave face before the other, but neither of them much deceived. mrs. brudenel went to her room, ever and anon, and sank on her knees to pray for the beloved of her heart. then she brought her bible, and read aloud to the old seaman soothing words of promise. it helped them both more than anything else could have done. with the earliest dawn breakfast was prepared, but no one came to partake of it. the butler cleared it away, and laid tiffin, but no one could touch it. mrs. brudenel's ayah, who was much attached to her kind young mistress, brought a glass of claret and a biscuit to her, and begged her to take it so earnestly that she would not refuse, and she persuaded wills to have the same. then the long waiting recommenced, and then a restless pacing of the verandah, the walks in the compound, the house itself. they could settle to nothing. at last a servant ran up to the drawing-room window, when mrs. brudenel's eyes were bent down upon her bible, and, for the twentieth time, she was trying to calm her beating pulses with the words, "let not your heart be troubled." "they come, lady! they come, missie! master is come!" she sprang to her feet. yes, there was mr. brudenel at the head of his men, crossing the ford in the valley beneath her feet. there was mr. gilchrist, waving his hat frantically. there was osborn, hand to mouth, evidently yelling out "hooray!" at the top of his voice, though still too far off to be heard. and who else? behind mr. gilchrist appeared a slim, fair-haired lad, in a loose dress of dark native cloth and a wide palm-leaf hat. he lifted his head at osborn's wild gestures, and waved his hat to wills. "oh, my god, i thank thee, i humbly thank thee!" ejaculated the old man fervently. the servants almost tumbled over each other in their excited haste to see, to prepare, to welcome. mrs. brudenel and old wills shook hands, with streaming eyes, under the relief from the intense strain upon their spirits through so many hours. the troop entered the compound, and was surrounded by the eager household. "we have him, wills," was heard in mr. gilchrist's glad voice. "my yabé! my moung shway boy!" cried sunshine. "oh, harry! harry!" sobbed mrs. brudenel, clinging to him. "my boy, my boy! my dear young master!" exclaimed old wills. "where are the dacoits' heads?" asked the men-servants. "was anyone hurt?" asked the ayah, mother to one of the men. all spoke at once, no one answered anybody else. ralph nearly wrung wills' hands off; osborn thumped him on the back, and slapped his own thighs with triumphant joy; while mr. gilchrist's face, as he presented ralph to mrs. brudenel, with his hand upon the lad's shoulder, was good to see. there were fervent thanksgivings in that house before the inmates retired, but there was little explanation of all which had occurred until, after a quiet night's rest, they all reassembled in the early morning. then ralph, in a simple, straightforward manner, recounted his adventures,--told of kirke's repentance, his goodness to himself, his bravery, and his gallant defence of the village. "oh, how well he redeemed the past!" mourned he. "what a fine fellow he was after all, and he has gone without anyone knowing of what he did! i loved him,--he earned the love of all, and the respect too." the dacoits had been sent to rangoon for trial, and were all hanged eventually, many crimes being traced to their score. ralph's adventures were now at an end; mr. gilchrist gave up his wanderings, and went down to rangoon with him, under the escort of mr. brudenel, when that gentleman went to give evidence against the tiger dacoit. he went the more willingly inasmuch as ralph's little orchids proved to be of a hitherto unknown species, and very valuable. sunshine, plentifully rewarded, was restored safely to her friends, and all the houses were rebuilt better and stronger than before. great treasures of english manufacture reached the place from time to time; for ralph never forgot the children with whom he had played, the women who had tended him, the men who had fought by his side, or the grave of him who had been his worst enemy and his greatest friend. to that man's father he wrote, making light of his failings, but detailing his gallantry at every point. in course of time he received an answer, which ran as follows:-- "sir,--i thank you for the comfort which you have given me regarding my dear son. your letter, with his confession, and attempt to redeem his past, are an old man's greatest treasures, and shall lie on his breast when life shall be no more." ralph rose to wealth and repute in rangoon, and was always a comfort to his mother, the joy of her heart. mr. gilchrist became a great scientific botanist, and published many a volume upon the jungles of burma. jules verne the romantic old french town of nantes, near the estuary of the loire, and only thirty-five miles away from the sea, has the honour of having been the birthplace of jules verne, the author of bewitching stories that have now fascinated three generations of girls and boys. jules verne was many years before he found where his strength lay. he was educated at nantes, and then he went to paris to study law. next he began to write plays and comedies, some of which reached the stage; and it was not until the year , when he was thirty-five years of age, that he went to a publisher in paris, with a story entitled, _five weeks in a balloon_, and so began that very long list of books by which he has become famous. jules verne delighted to live in _le saint michel_, a small yacht of eight or ten tons, in which was a large chest that contained the boat's library. on board this yacht jules verne thought out some of his wonderful romances. usually his trips were from crotoy to harve; but at times he took in more provisions and fared forth to the coasts of normandy, brittany, and even of england. each reader will decide for himself which of jules verne's captivating stories he likes best; but the critics mention _dropped from the clouds_ and _around the world in eighty days_ as the books which stand apart from the others. some of our most attractive stories are about islands: _robinson crusoe_ and robert louis stevenson's _treasure island_, and verne's _the mysterious island_ is fit to rank with these. under this one title we have a group of three separate volumes. first comes _dropped from the clouds_, then _abandoned_, and the whole narrative is completed by _the secret of the island_. the boy who embarks upon the reading of these three books has a long period of excitement and delight stretching in front of him. the very numerous pictures, too, in these three memorable volumes are very arresting. jules verne died on march , , at amiens when he was seventy-seven years of age, and he left a long list of books. footnotes: [ ] golden is a term of approval or endearment. [ ] pyin=lazy [ ] native pony. among the burmans [illustration: a typical shan] [illustration: (titlepage)] among the burmans a record of fifteen years of work and its fruitage by henry park cochrane illustrated new york chicago toronto fleming h. revell company london and edinburgh copyright, , by fleming h. revell company new york: fifth avenue chicago: washington street toronto: richmond street, w london: paternoster square edinburgh: st. mary street preface the aim of this book is to give a true picture of life and conditions in burma. heathen religions, superstitions, and native customs are described as seen in the daily life of the people. concrete illustrations are freely used to make the picture more vivid. truth is stronger than fiction. in matters of personal experience and observation i have used the "perpendicular pronoun" as more direct and graphic. in matters of history i have read nearly everything available, and drawn my own conclusions, as others have done before me. if interest in "the land of judson" is stimulated by reading this little volume, its object will have been accomplished. h. p. c. contents i. first experiences ii. living like the natives iii. customs of the burmese iv. chief races of burma v. buddhism as it is vi. burma's outcasts vii. a nation in transition viii. "by all means--save some" ix. "with persecutions" x. heroes and heroines xi. peculiar experiences xii. obstacles xiii. what hath god wrought list of illustrations facing page a typical shan title raw material (kachins) kachins sacrificing to demons pounding rice dancing girls tattooing buddhist shrines burmese woman weaving worshipers a karen family buddhist idol the last king of burma government house, rangoon how we travel by cart and boat transplanting rice dorian sellers pineapples and jackfruit elephants at work baptist church, rangoon among the burmans i first experiences the _chanda_ was slowly making her way with the tide up the rangoon river. two young missionaries, myself and wife, were leaning on the rail, deeply interested in the scene before us. the rising sun, sending its rays over the land, seemed to us a pledge of the master's presence in the work to which we had consecrated our lives. on every hand were strange sights and sounds, strange scenery, strange craft, strange people; everything far and near so unlike the old life that we had left behind. but it was something more than new sights and sounds that stirred in us the deep emotion expressed in moistened eye and trembling lip. thoughts were going back to the time when we heard the call, "whom shall i send, and who will go for us?" and now that we were about to enter upon the realization of that to which we had so long looked forward, hearts too full for utterance, were stirred with gratitude and praise. but not long were we permitted to indulge in either retrospect or prospect. as the steamer drew near the dock all was turmoil and excitement,--officers shouting their orders; sailors dragging the great ropes into place; passengers getting their luggage ready for quick removal; friends on ship and shore eagerly seeking to recognize a familiar face; waving of handkerchiefs; sudden exclamations when an acquaintance or loved one was recognized. at last the gangplank is in place, and on they come,--officials, coolies, business men, hotel-runners, representatives of many races, and conditions, energy for once superseding rank; missionaries well to the front to extend a welcome to the newcomers. what a power there is in the hearty hand-shake and cordial greeting! to the newcomer, who has everything to learn and much to unlearn,--this warm reception by the veterans is a link to reconnect him with the world from which he seemed to have been separated during the long voyage; a bridge to span the gulf of his own inexperience; a magic-rite of adoption into the great missionary family; a pledge of fellowship and cooperation for all the years to come. it was sunday morning,--though few in that motley crowd either knew or cared. mohammedan, hindu, parsee, buddhist, and "christian" jostled one another, each intent on his own affairs, and all combining to make this the farthest possible extreme from a "day of holy rest." little wonder that this first oriental sunday was a distinct shock to the new missionaries. they had yet to learn that on many such sundays they would long for the "sabbath- and sanctuary-privileges" of the home-land. but soon it became evident that the missionaries at least, were about the "father's business," each hurrying away to be in time for the morning service in his own department of mission-work among many races. to the eye of one who has just landed in rangoon each individual in the throng of natives on the street seems to have arrayed himself as fantastically as possible, or to have gone to the other extreme and failed to array himself at all. but at these christian services one sees the natives classified according to race, and learns to distinguish certain racial characteristics,--of feature, costume, and custom. a congregation of burmese is a beautiful sight, their showy skirts, turbans, and scarfs presenting the appearance of a flower garden in full bloom, but especially beautiful as a company of precious souls turned from their idols to the "true and living god." among our first experiences was a warm appreciation of the kind attempts on the part of the missionaries to initiate us, by means of good advice, into life in the tropics. "now _do_ be careful about exposing yourself to this tropical sun. remember, you are not in america now." "that solar tope of yours is not thick enough for one who is not used to this climate." "flannel next to the skin is absolutely necessary, as a safeguard against malaria, dysentery, and other complaints so common here." "now dear brother and sister, you must look out and not let your zeal run away with your judgment. yankee hustle won't do in burma." dear souls, we thought, you mean well, but we are not subject to these troubles of which you speak. their warnings sink about as deep as the remark of one of our party who ran down the gangplank just ahead of us: "when you have been in the country as long as i have, etc.,"--an old expression, now under the ban. a few months later we began to take their advice. experiences leading to such action will be described further on. two days afterwards we reached our mission station, just as the sun was going down. while picking out our "luggage" (it was baggage when it left america) we received our first impressions as to the british indian system of checking, or "booking," as it is called. a luggage receipt given at the starting point, called for so many pieces. then we found that to each article was glued a patch of paper on which its destination was marked, and also a number corresponding to the number on the receipt. all well so far. the luggage clerk seemed neither to know nor care, but left each passenger to claim his own. we noticed too that everything imaginable was allowed to be booked, a certain number of _viss_ in weight being allowed free on each ticket. to our observing eyes, each passenger's luggage indicated about how long he had been in the country, or how much he had travelled. some evil spirit seems to possess the luggage clerk's assistant to glue the label in a new place each time, cancelling other bookings by tearing off loose corners of old labels. this custom is specially trying to spirituality when applied to bicycles, the railroad glue having such affinity for enamel that they stay or come off together. another thing that impressed us was the suddenness with which the darkness of night came on, as if "darkness rather than light" reigned over this heathen land, and could hardly wait for the usurping sun to disappear behind the horizon. first impressions of our new home we gained late that night, by the dim light of a lantern. home, did i say? as we peered through the shadows it did not strike us as being a place that could ever, by any stretch of imagination, seem like home. bare, unpainted walls dingy with age; huge round posts, some of them running up through the rooms; no furniture except a teak bedstead, and a large round table so rickety that it actually bowed to us when we stepped into the room; lizards crawling on walls and ceiling,--interesting and harmless things, as we afterwards found, but not specially attractive to a newcomer. oh, no,--it was not homesickness, only just lack of power to appreciate a good thing after the weary experiences of our long journey. in the night i was roused from sleep by hearing some one calling. half awake, i was getting out from under the mosquito net, when my wife remarked, "better get back into bed. it is only that _taukteh_, that mrs. ---- told us about." the taukteh is the "crowing," or "trout-spotted lizard." the english call it the tuctoo, from the sound it makes. the burmans call it taukteh, for the same reason. some declare that it says "doctor, doctor," as plain as day. alarming stories are told of this terrible creature; how it loses its hold on the ceiling to alight in a lady's hair, and that nothing short of removing scalp and all will dislodge it. the worst thing we have known it to do was to wake the baby in the dead of the night, when we had got fairly settled to sleep after hours of sweltering. i have shot several for this unpardonable offense. the taukteh's sudden call in the night causes some children to suffer much from fright, though no harm is intended. our house was situated on a narrow strip of land with streets on three sides, and school dormitory in the rear. just across one street was a native police guard, but we did not know what it was until next morning. we had come into our possessions after dark, so knew nothing of our environment. these were dacoit times. disturbances were frequent. of course our ears had been filled with exciting stories of dacoit atrocities. the incessant and unintelligible jabbering of the paunjabby policemen, sometimes sounding as though they were on the verge of a fight, and the sharp call of the sentry as he challenged passers-by were anything but conducive to sleep through that first night in our mission bungalow. the new missionary has many trying experiences while becoming accustomed to the changed conditions of life in the tropics. judging from our own experience and observation, covering many years, it seems utterly impossible for the returned missionary to transmit to the new missionary, while yet in the home-land, anything like true conceptions of the life upon which he is about to enter, and how to prepare for it. either the new missionary has theories of his own which he fondly imagines never have been tried, or he considers himself so unlike other mortals that rules of living, developed by long experience, do not apply to one of his own peculiar physical make-up. but whatever his attitude of mind towards the new life and work, the fact remains that he has dropped down in the midst of conditions so unlike anything in his past experience that he must learn to adapt himself to life as he finds it. the first place to apply his gift of adaptation is in the household. first experiences with native servants are decidedly interesting, to say the least. our cook "naraswamy," "sammy" for short,--came to us highly recommended, and neatly clothed. we had not yet learned that the poorer the cook, the better his recommendations (often borrowed from some other cook), and the neater his clothing,--also borrowed for the purpose of securing a place, but never seen after the first day or two. one day when "missis" was giving directions about the dinner she called sammy and said, "sammy, how many eggs have you?" "two egg, missis." "very well, you make a pudding the best you can, with the two eggs." at dinner no pudding appeared. "sammy, where is the pudding?" putting on a sorrowful look sammy replied, "i done break egg" (spreading out his hands to indicate the two eggs), "one got child, one got child." when sammy felt fairly sure of keeping his place, his two little boys began to spend much of their time in and around the cook house. one of our first rules was that no child should be allowed to go naked on the mission compound. these two dusky youngsters had not a thread of clothing. sammy was called up and instructed that if his children were coming to the mission premises, they must be properly clothed, at the same time presenting him with a suit for one child. the next day they came again, with smiles of satisfaction, one wearing the trousers, the other the jacket. many of these madrassi cooks are professing christians, merely to secure a place in a missionary family. a small minority are christians in fact. but whether a heathen cook sneaks off with a stuffed turban, or a professed christian appropriates our food quietly humming "i love to steal,----" the resulting loss to commissariat and spirituality is the same. madrassi cooks, almost without exception, are dishonest. they will jealously guard "master's" property against the depredations of all comers, but help themselves to a liberal commission from the daily bazar money,--and catch them if you can. this has been their custom for many generations, and is their right, from their point of view. when engaging a cook it may as well be kept in mind that his pay is so much a month, and ----. he will fill out the blank to suit himself. take his bazar-account every day, and make him show the articles charged for, but do not congratulate yourself that he has made nothing by the transaction. and yet his prices may be quite as low as his employer could get. find fault with the quality of the meat, and he will bring a better article, but short weight. a stranger might conjecture that the meat was selected for its wearing qualities, as one would buy leather; or that they had heard of the mummified beef found with one of the pharaohs, and decided that only such was kingly food. the cook is supposed to board himself. he does, and all his family connections. just how he does it may never be known, but "master" pays the bill, in "cash or kind." bengalee cooks are much more desirable, but hard to get. mrs. judson's testimony to the faithfulness of her bengalee cook may well be repeated here. "i just reached aungpenla when my strength seemed entirely exhausted. the good native cook came out to help me into the house; but so altered and emaciated was my appearance that the poor fellow burst into tears at the first sight. i crawled on to the mat in the little room, to which i was confined for more than two months, and never perfectly recovered until i came to the english camp. at this period, when i was unable to take care of myself, or look after mr. judson, we must both have died had it not been for the faithful and affectionate care of our bengalee cook. a common bengalee cook will do nothing but the simple business of cooking; but he seemed to forget caste, and almost all his own wants in his efforts to serve us, ... i have frequently known him not to taste food until near night, in consequence of having to go so far for wood and water, and in order to have mr. judson's dinner ready at the usual hour. he never complained, never asked for his wages, and never for a moment hesitated to go anywhere, or perform any act that we required." the dhoby (washerman) is always a source of much distraction. he takes away the soiled linen on monday, _promising_ to bring it back on saturday; carries it to the riverside, stands in the water facing the shore, pounds it out on a flat stone with swinging blows, and,--brings back what is left. garments worn perhaps but once, are found on spreading out, to be spoiled by long rents or mildew. socks that have been filled with sand in order to strike a harder blow, still retain enough sand to cause much discomfort. one or two pieces are missing altogether. he promises to bring them the next time. in the meantime he has probably hired them out to some person of mixed blood and principles, or native aping european habits. the sweeper, waterman, and other native helpers slight their work, or perchance, with the poorest excuse, and that not made known until afterwards,--absent themselves altogether. "but why"--some will ask "is it necessary to employ these native cooks, washermen, etc.? "many of these women who go to the foreign field as missionaries' wives were accustomed to do much of their own work here at home,--why not do the same over there, and so avoid the expense,--as many of us who support them have to do?" in the first place, many of the missionaries have only one servant who is paid for full time, that is the cook. all others do a little work night and morning, their wages being made up by serving several different families. again, it would be a physical impossibility for the missionary's wife to do the cooking and washing, adding the heat and smoke of an open fire to the tropical heat of the atmosphere. some have tried it, only to give it up as utterly impracticable. others have persisted in it, only to be laid away in a cemetery in a foreign land, or to return hopelessly broken in health, to the home-land. _it cannot be done._ moreover, it would be the height of folly for the wife to spend her time and strength over cooking utensils, dish-pans and wash-tubs. the wife, as truly as the husband, has consecrated her life to the master's service. there is work for her to do, among the women and children, that he cannot touch. the missionary's wife whether touring with him among jungle-villages; visiting from house to house in the town; working in the school; making her influence felt in the church; or even when prevented by family cares or failing health--from engaging in active service,--she furnishes the object lesson of a well-ordered christian home, her life is of just as much worth to the cause of christ as is that of the missionary whose helpmate she is. i can do no better than quote dr. herrick's beautiful tribute to her worth: "i never yet saw a missionary's wife whose companionship did not double her husband's usefulness. i have known more than one whose face, as the years of life increase took on that charm, that wondrous beauty that youthful features never wear, the beauty of character, disciplined by suffering, of a life unselfishly devoted to the highest ends. one of the choicest things of missionary work is the unwritten heroism of missionary homes. it is the missionary's wife who, by years of endurance and acquired experience in the foreign field, has made it possible, in these later years, for unmarried women to go abroad and live and work among the people of eastern lands." when a young man or woman has once settled the burning question: is it my duty and privilege to go as a missionary? and has become fully pledged to that service, there is an intense desire to get to the scene of action as soon as possible; to enter upon the grand work of proclaiming christ where he has not been named. we had not long been in our new home before burmans, both christian and heathen, began to call to see the new teachers. they evidently wanted to welcome us as their missionaries; and we, in turn, wanted them to know that love for them, for whom christ died, had brought us among them. but how helpless we felt! an exchange of smiles, a hand-shake, a few words that neither party could understand,--that was all. we found ourselves utterly powerless to communicate to them one word of all that was burning,--had been burning for years, in our hearts. then it was that the fact fully dawned upon us that before we could hope to do effectively the work to which we had consecrated our lives, a difficult foreign language must be mastered; that we must keep our consecration warm, from the a b c of a strange tongue until the time when, through the medium of that tongue we could tell "the story of jesus and his love." first in order then, is to get right down to hard boning on the language of the people among whom the missionary is to labour. he who fails to gain a strong hold on the language during the first year, will labour under a disadvantage through all the years of missionary service. burdens are thrust upon him more than enough to consume all his time and strength. hundreds of villages in his large district furnish a strong appeal to postpone study. the climate soon begins to effect him so that he seems to lose the power to study. inheriting a large organized work he is forced at once into service as a full-fledged missionary, before a pin-feather of experience has had time to start. interruptions are frequent and unavoidable. how to find time for language study is indeed a serious problem,--_but he must find it_, if his life is to tell for christ, at its best. moreover, the missionary must master practically two languages before he is fully equipped for service,--the language of the book, and the language of the people. the formal style of classical burmese would be as out of place in the jungle as the colloquial burmese would be in the pulpit. in the one case it would not be understood, in the other it would give offense,--for one may not "talk down" to even a native audience. hence, to be effective the missionary must at the same time be faithful to study, and to real contact with the people. it is no easy matter, after one has struggled through all the years of training in the home-land, thumbing latin, greek, and hebrew lexicons until he fondly thinks that his training has been completed,--to get right down again to the a b c of a new language. here he meets something, that will test the soundness of his consecration and of his _staying_ qualities. from first to last our great missionaries have been men who have thoroughly mastered the language of their people. but it is perfectly wonderful how the natives will listen respectfully to the most laborious attempts to speak to them in their own tongue. not a smile at the most ridiculous mistakes, not a word or sign to indicate that they are not really understanding what you are driving at. this excessive respect sometimes leads to serious consequences. the missionary, thinking that he has made himself understood, is disappointed and hindered because things do not come to pass. the native is not wanting a sense of humour, and if he feels sure that you will enjoy the joke, he will point out the mistake, and join in the laugh over it. unlike other languages of burma, the construction of a burmese sentence is the reverse of the english order. many sentences may be translated backward, word for word, certain connective particles becoming relative pronouns, with a perfect idiomatic english sentence as the result. the eye can soon be trained to take in a printed sentence as a whole, and grasp its meaning, without stopping to render it into english in the reversed order. but to keep this order in mind, in conversation, with the word expressing action left for the last, like the snapper to a whip, is not so easy. in acquiring the language by ear a difficulty arises from the universal habit of _kun_-chewing. never careful about enunciating his words, a wad of _kun_ in a burman's cheek adds to the confusion of sounds. with mouth half full of saliva, chin protruding to keep it from slopping over,--a mumbled jargon is what the ear must be trained to interpret as human speech. by this time the newcomer has seen enough of the climate, and of the side of society in which he will move, to convince him that his prince albert coat, in which he has been accustomed to array himself "every day in the week, and twice on sunday" must be folded away in his trunk until such a time as he takes a furlough in the home-land. a fellow-missionary consoles him with the remark that he once wore back to america the same coat that he wore to burma eight years before. missionaries usually arrive in november, the beginning of the "cold season." after that comes the "hot season,"--but it is difficult to tell just where the one leaves off and the other begins. in any event, the newcomer soon "warms to his work." first the waistcoat is discarded, then the long thick coat gives place to a short thin one. for underwear, gauze flannel and singlets are in demand. starched shirts and linen collars are reserved for special occasions. high-top shoes are relegated to the corner-closet. even his watch hangs as an uncomfortable weight in his light clothing. in the old life he hardly perspired once in the year. now there is hardly once in the year when he is not perspiring. the drinking-water is so warm that it seems to have lost much of its wetness. what would he not give to feel cool again. but he has not long to wait for his wish to be more than realized. some night, after fanning himself into a restless sleep, he will wake up in a chill, to find himself in the throes of the burma fever, to which he was "not subject." then he will recall the lightly-regarded advice, repeatedly violated in every particular, and now---- as this is the first attack he will get his wife to treat him the first day with the homeopathic remedies in his morocco medicine case,--his last misguided purchase before sailing. there is nothing better to perpetuate a fever. on the second day, having recalled some more advice, his head will be buzzing with quinine, the only thing that will really help him,--as every man in the tropics knows. ii living like the natives much has been said and written about "living like the natives." many have maintained that the missionaries should abandon their former mode of living, and adopt the customs and costume of the people among whom they labour. it is said that old maids know the most about the proper way to bring up children. it is interesting to note that advocates of this theory of missionary methods are men who never have been out of their native land, and have spent but little of their time in informing themselves as to the habits of uncivilized peoples. prospective missionaries will do well to provide themselves with the customary outfit,--to meet their needs while finding an answer to the many-sided question,--how _do_ the natives live? for the present we will confine our investigations to burma. let us visit one of the native houses, and see for ourselves. running the gauntlet of several snarling pariah dogs, we pass through the muddy door-yard, littered with banana leaves, munched sugar-cane, and waste from various sources. the house is set up on posts, several feet from the ground, affording a shady place below, to be shared by the family and the domestic animals. the floor overhead is of split bamboo or thin boards, with wide cracks through which all sweepings fall, and _kun_-chewers lazily spit without troubling themselves to get up. at the back part of the house a corner is partitioned off for the cook-room, the stove being a very shallow box filled with earth. the cooking is done in earthen chatties over the smoky open fires. near the cook-room is an open space where household utensils are washed and the babies bathed, the water falling through the open floor to the ground below. month after month and year after year this filthy habit goes on, forming a cesspool from which a foul stench arises, offensive to nostrils and dangerous to health. this foul pool is a paradise for their ducks, its slime being tracked all over the place. the house is small, its thatched roof coming down so low as hardly to leave room for a full-sized door. many of these homes have no out-buildings whatever, trusting to the pariah dogs and the crows,--the village scavengers,--to keep the premises in a sanitary condition. some of the well-to-do burmans live in larger better houses; showing that not only is it impracticable for europeans to live like the natives, but that natives when able, find it wise to live like europeans. this is a tropical climate, with the temperature at ° in the shade on the day these words were written. it would be almost suicidal for europeans to attempt to live in such houses, even under the best sanitary conditions possible. missionaries have lived for a time in such houses, from force of circumstances, but always to the detriment of health, sometimes with very serious consequences. to a stranger, european "bungalows" in the tropics seem needlessly large. "globe-trotters" in general, and sometimes representatives of missionary societies, it is to be feared, visiting the tropics in the coolest season,--carry away this impression with them. in new england there is a saying "you must summer him and winter him" to find out the real worth of a man or beast. could all who visit the tropics, or presume to write of conditions in the tropics,--spend a whole year in such a climate critics would be few, and funds for seemingly expensive, though necessary buildings less grudgingly given. they who urge that europeans should _clothe_ like the natives would surely allow exceptions to the rule, on closer study of native habits. among some of the tribes of burma the question of wardrobe and latest style would be easily solved. clothing like such natives would greatly reduce the expense for "outfit." two strips of cotton cloth, one for the head, the other for the loins, would meet all requirements even on state occasions. but apart from all questions of common decency, it is to be seriously doubted whether the european would enjoy "sailing under bare poles" in a tropical sun. the railway trains are provided with first, second, and third-class compartments. officials and wealthy business men travel first-class. less fortunate europeans, and people of mixed race but with european habits travel second-class. natives, as a rule, go third-class,--but the rule has many exceptions. not to speak of well-to-do burmans and chinese, who, though unobjectionable in dress,--are inveterate smokers, the "chetties," or money-lenders invariably travel second-class. they are the wealthiest men in the county, but with the exception of coolies,--they wear the least clothing and are the most offensive in their habits. the missionaries, whether on private or mission business, being unable to bear the expense of the higher class, and striving to save for the society which they represent, travel second-class. now that many very objectionable natives have taken to riding second-class, it is no longer respectable for europeans, except on rare occasions when the train is not crowded. for my own part, i seriously doubt whether this habit, on the part of american missionaries, of taking an inferior place among so-called "europeans," is a wise policy. [illustration: raw material (kachins)] [illustration: kachins sacrificing to demons] but whether wise or otherwise, lack of funds has made it necessary. far from adopting the impossible costume of chins, kachins, salongs and other benighted races, the missionaries are earnestly striving to develop in the natives sufficient moral sense that they may come to regard the matter of being clothed at all, as something more than a minor consideration. it is true that burmans, shans, and christian karens dress more respectably. in fact, their costume, at its best, seems to be very well adapted to the climate and their manner of life. but even this somewhat generous concession must be modified. the customary skirt for burmese women in upper burma, and more or less throughout the country, is a piece of coloured cloth about a yard square, fastened around the waist to open in front. this style of skirt is said to have been adopted by a decree of the burman king. multitudes of burmese women seem to have no disposition to abandon it for something more modest, even after eighteen years of british rule. elderly women, as well as men of all ages, wear nothing above the waist while about their work, even passing through the streets in that condition with no self-consciousness. the burmese skirt made after the most approved pattern is only one thickness of cloth, tightly fitting the body, not such a dress as european ladies would care to wear. mrs. judson, ministering to her imprisoned husband, felt compelled to adopt the native costume, to make her position more secure. but supposing the missionaries adopt the costume of the corresponding class,--the priests and nuns,--they must go with bare feet and shaven heads; all very well for the natives, but nothing short of ridiculous, as well as extremely dangerous under a tropical sun, if practiced by white people. in the interior of china the costume of the people has been found very suitable for the missionaries, and a help to winning their way. but wherever the people have become familiar with european customs, respect is forfeited, rather than gained by exchanging european customs for those of the natives. a missionary and his wife recently returned from africa were invited to speak in a certain church dressed in the native costume. they appeared, but in their usual attire. in the course of his remarks the missionary referred to the request that they appear in native costume, and drawing a piece of cotton cloth from his pocket remarked "_that_ is the costume,--you will excuse us?" eating like the natives,--here comes the tug-of-war. the "backward tribes,"--chins, kachins, salongs, many tribes of karens, and others, eat everything,--from the white ant to the white-eyed monkey. worms, beetles, maggots, lizards, snakes, and many other such delicious morsels would form a part of one's daily diet,--a necessary part, unless the missionary has supplied himself with tinned provisions,--in which case he would not be living like the natives. but we will suppose that the missionary's lot has "fallen in pleasant places"--among the more civilized burmans of the plains. rice will be the centre and substance of the two daily meals. rice, well-cooked,--the natives can do that to perfection,--is an excellent food, and finds a conspicuous place on the bill of fare at every european table. but rice is made palatable by the savoury "curry" served with it. in jungle-villages, and among poor people in the town this curry will be made of vegetables (not such vegetables as we have known in the home-land), and tender sprouts and leaves, seasoned with chillies. devout buddhists will not take animal life, hence meat-curries, if far from the market, may not be thought of. if the missionary has undertaken to live among the natives and like the natives, he must learn to do without meat. they will not kill a fowl for him. if he kills one for himself, he has broken his contract. but, perchance, an animal may die of itself, then its carcass will be parcelled out to all the villagers, and the missionary will have his share. in the town he may fare better, without breaking his rule. meat slaughtered by non-buddhists is on sale in the bazar every day. buddhists as well as others may buy and eat, for the sin is only in the killing, in which they had no part. it is nothing to them that the demand occasions the supply. so what time the missionary spends in town he may have his meat. in spite of the commandment, "thou shalt not take the life of any living thing," undoubtedly the most important thou shalt not--in the buddhist creed, with the penalty of the lowest hell for its violation,--there is no lack of fishermen. theoretically, they are the lowest of the low. but if all fishermen were to die to-day--their places would be filled to-morrow, and the market still be supplied. the natives want fish seven days in the week, if they can get it. but not even a fresh-meat or fresh fish-curry is satisfactory to the native palate until flavoured with dried fish, or with "nga-pee." in the bazar may be found smoked and dried fish in great variety, very tempting to the native, but betraying the fact that too many hours under a tropical sun were allowed before curing. this fish is often eaten raw, in blissful ignorance of the microbe theory,--indifference would be the better word, for their "microbes" frequently are visible to the naked eye. if these organisms have not actually eaten part of the fish, they are considered so much clear gain to the consumer. such food is largely responsible for the great demand for a strong vermifuge in the treatment of sickness. now we come to "nga-pee" proper, regarded by the burmans and several other races, as essential to a well-flavoured meal. "the smell of nga-pee is certainly not charming to an uneducated nose,"--said a writer on burmese customs,--a statement that has passed unchallenged. there are many varieties of nga-pee, but to all the remark quoted may be applied. the most common is called fish-paste or "burmese butter," made from the smaller fish which are caught in large quantities, as smelts are in the home-land. the fish are spread on mats under a tropical sun, just as they come from the water, and left there until in a condition which an "uneducated nose" would not care to investigate. they are then mashed to a paste,--a very easy matter,--salt is worked into the mass, and then it is packed away to drain. the oily juice is carefully saved in earthern jars, a highly prized liquid flavouring. when well drained the nga-pee is taken to market in sacks or in bulk, the indescribable odour always going a mile in advance, when the wind is right. passengers by river-steamers sometimes find themselves sandwiched in between two cargo-boats loaded with nga-pee, fairly sizzling under a broiling sun. passenger trains halting at stations sometimes stand over against a few carloads of nga-pee on the side-track, filling the passenger-compartments with an odour rank and unbearable. and yet this vile stuff is eagerly devoured by all races, and must be allowed a place in the missionary's meal, if he is to "live like the natives." nga-pee furnishes only one, though a very self-assertive one of the many offensive smells of an oriental bazar. many fastidious people never go to the bazar, for fear of contracting some kind of disease. there is much in the condition of these places to furnish ground for such fears. and yet i never have heard of disease being so taken. it would seem that one odour counteracts another, completely foiling all evil intentions of the spirit of sickness. iii customs of the burmese the burman is the proudest mortal on earth. indeed, he is not of earth, according to his own belief, but has descended from fallen angels. many ages ago certain brahmas came down from the celestial regions to dwell on the earth. by adapting themselves to the habits of ordinary human beings, they themselves gradually became human. from these brahmas or fallen angels, the whole burman nation descended. the burman recognizes no superior. the superior advantages of a training in the western world counts for nothing, because the burman cannot appreciate such advantages. at one time when in conversation with a burman official recognized as one of the ablest burmans in the country, i dilated upon the extent, power, wealth, and resources of the united states, in answer to his many questions about my country. wishing to impress him, i made the figures as large as conscience would allow. at last he summed it all up in the self-satisfied expression--"about as big as burma, isn't it?" a difference of about , , in population was not comprehended. he could conceive of nothing bigger or more important than burma. the burman kings posed as the head of religion. the king was more than human. his subjects were his slaves, with no legal right to anything which he might crave for himself. he could compel them to perform any labour he saw fit to impose. his titles indicate his high estimate of himself: "his glorious and excellent majesty, lord of elephants, lord of gold, silver, rubies, amber, and the noble serpentine, sovereign of the empires of thunapurtanta and jambudipa, and other great empires and countries, and of all the umbrella-bearing chiefs, the supporter of religion, descendant of the sun, arbiter of life, king of righteousness, king of kings, and possessor of boundless dominion and supreme wisdom." that is all. it was well to be somewhat modest, as an example to the people. the king was "lord of the white elephant," for short. that in itself ought to have satisfied a man of ordinary ambition, inasmuch as the white elephant was a sacred animal, and had the "power of making its possessor invincible." "the white umbrella was the emblem of sovereignty in burma, and its use was limited to the king and the images of gautama." the buddhist priest must be content with a more modest title than "pongyi," the name by which they are now known,--for pongyi means "great glory," and could be applied only to the king. but when the king fell into the hands of the english the title "great glory" went broadcast--to minister to the vanity of the thousands of priests and to be retained by them as a monopoly. burman officials to this day are equally proud of their titles, from the highest in the land down to the ywa-thugyi, the village headman. to address any official by name instead of his title, would be a gross breach of etiquette. in the king's time official etiquette was scrupulously observed, even towards prisoners of the official class. royal blood must never be shed, even in executions. a blow from a bludgeon on the back of the neck of the stooping victim,--or in the case of females, a blow on the front of the neck settled the account. nor might royal victims be buried. the body, enshrouded in a red velvet sack, was taken in a boat to the middle of the river, and thrown in. it is said that this was sometimes done without the formality of an execution, a few stones in the sack answering the same purpose. crucifixion was also common. it is claimed that in many instances the victim was first put to death and then the mutilated body bound to the bamboo cross and exhibited as a fearful warning to evil-doers. dread of being crucified led thousands to migrate to british territory after the annexation of pegu. the ugly terms "imprisonment," and "execution" were never used at the court of the king. there was a "keeping by" and a "clearing away," to suit the caprice of the king, scores and hundreds being massacred at once, on the merest suspicion of conspiracy. "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," was true of burman kings, and they had a way of making all others of royal blood equally uneasy. [illustration: pounding rice] one of the causes leading to the last burmese-english war, was the famous "shoe question." according to the burmese custom, sandals must be removed outside the entrance, whether of private residence or royal palace. when a subject of however exalted rank was admitted to the presence of the king, he must come in his bare feet, and approach in a crouching position so that his skirt would prevent his feet being seen by the fastidious eyes of the king. heads have been lost for violation of less important rules of etiquette. representatives of the british government were compelled to follow this humiliating custom,--though they were graciously allowed to keep their stockings on,--and to sit on the floor at a respectful distance from his majesty, lord of the white elephant, etc., etc. the briton thought this inconsistent with proper respect for the government he represented, to say nothing of his own personal feelings. diplomatic negotiations were delayed, for the haughty king would allow no deviation from this humiliating custom. although the war was not declared on this issue, english officials who had been required to remove their shoes, found great satisfaction in requiring the king to remove his crown. the custom of taking off one's sandals when entering any house still prevails. entering with sandals on could only be interpreted as a deliberate insult. when a european enters a monastery he is expected to take off his shoes, though the priest does not insist upon it--when informed that it is not european custom. if twenty men come to see the missionary, the last man must step over nineteen pairs of sandals at the foot of the stairs. but when it comes to head-gear, the custom is reversed. while europeans would take off their hats, the burmans do not remove their _gaung-baungs_, or turbans. the _gaung-baung_ is usually of gaudy silk, and worn at all times, even at worship, by both buddhist and christian. when saul had been informally proclaimed king of israel, the people "despised him, and brought him no present." this would not have happened in burma, as the attitude of men from whom presents would naturally be expected,--unless perchance they had ceased to value that portion of their bodies above the shoulders. whether king, subordinate official, or private citizen, a present suited to the weight of the matter in hand was an essential preliminary to a hearing. under british rule, burman officials do not openly perpetuate this custom. they now content themselves with bribes quietly presented, usually through a third party, in place of the present once openly offered. but in social life the custom of making presents is a recognized matter of etiquette, even when visiting non-official superiors. it commonly takes the form of a tray of the choicest fruit procurable. but in the majority of instances it finally appears that some favour or other is being sought. poor people sometimes come with a bunch of plantains or a few oranges which they beg us graciously to accept as a token of their great esteem, and then hang around the place waiting for a return present of ten times the value of their own. the european soon becomes suspicious of presents as likely to prove more expensive than the regular bazar rate. a missionary to the indians in british columbia relates a story which, so far as motive is concerned, might have been matched in burma. one day an indian gave them two fat ducks. "what shall i pay for them?" "oh, nothing, they are a present for the missionary." the indian hung around, remained to dinner, ate one of the ducks, remained through the afternoon, ate the equivalent of the other duck, remained until bedtime, when the missionary hinted that perhaps he had better go home to see if his wigwam was where he left it. "i'm only waiting." "waiting for what?" "waiting for the present you are to give me for the present i gave you." a peculiar custom that always impresses the newcomer, is that of doing obeisance, called "shikkoing." when the devout worshipper counts the beads on his rosary he repeats the formula with each bead "lord, law, priest--the three precious things" or objects of his worship. as a counterpart of this formula he goes through three prostrations, with palms together, bowing his face to the ground in honour of the three precious things of his creed. these prostrations are also gone through at confessional before the priest,--one of the "precious things" before mentioned. he does not enumerate his sins, but lumps them, declaring that for all the sins he has committed he prostrates himself three times, in honour of the three precious things, and hopes thereby to be freed from all punishments and calamities. in respect to both spirit and method this custom reminds one of a certain man who used to hang his clumsily written prayer to the bedpost, saying as he crawled into bed, "lord, them's my sentiments." after his lump-sum confession he receives the priest's benediction, which is practically the same as absolution, and goes away, the self-complacent pharisee that he is. what astonishes and shocks the missionary is to find a heathen burman at his feet going through this seeming act of worship. he feels as horrified as did paul and barnabas at lystra. but he afterwards learns when he comes to understand the burman better,--that these prostrations before superiors are not intended as acts of real worship. he is merely showing his humble respect, as a preliminary to some appeal for favour. english officials require from non-christian natives the same tokens of respect that were in vogue prior to the annexation. native christians are exempt from all customs which savour of buddhism. the idol and the priest alike represent gautama, the only god the buddhist knows. the attitude of the burman mind may be illustrated by what a burman christian boy told me of his experience when he visited his native village. in response to an invitation he went to see the old priest, who had known him as a child. the priest was held in honour both by virtue of office, and his advanced age. the young christian went through the customary prostrations respectfully, and then said, "i do not shikko you as god, but because i do not know of any other way to show my respect." the heathen burman is in the same difficulty when he appears in the presence of a foreigner whom he wishes to honour. this oriental mode of showing reverence, not necessarily worship, throws light on the word "worship," so often used by matthew. the burman is a religious animal, both terms emphasized. he has many religious festivals, and every festival is a feast. the casual observer would see but little difference between the street processions of weddings and funerals. there are the same tom-toms, the same grotesque dancing, the same stuffing of insatiable stomachs. among chins and kachins such occasions are scenes of drunkenness and disorder. not so among the burmans. many have contracted the drink habit by contact with europeans, but the use of intoxicants has not yet become a national vice. the burman attends all feasts and festivals because it is unchangeable custom to do so; because everybody else will be there, and he enjoys being in a crowd; because it gives him an excuse for abstaining from work, which he does not enjoy; because he can array himself in his best silk skirt and gaung-baung, and will find all the ladies there similarly arrayed; and most of all because whatever the occasion, it will be a feast. during the rainy season, which coincides with "buddhist lent" no feasts or festivals are held. funerals cannot always be postponed, especially as there is much sickness in the rainy season, but weddings are prohibited. courting may be indulged in on the sly, to shorten the process when lent is over. at the beginning of lent there is a great festival, entered into with enthusiasm because it will be the last for several months. at the end of lent there is another great festival, hilariously enjoyed because the dull rainy lenton period with its round of duty-days without the craved accompaniments is over at last. even the priests enjoy it, for presents to the monasteries, which had fallen off during lent, will now be renewed. the young are again free to pair. the whole town is illuminated. fire-balloons are sent up, with reckless disregard to safety of their houses. all are bent on having a good time. it is a religious festival, to be sure, each separate observance being in honour of some _nat_ or divinity--but there will be time enough to meditate on all that afterwards. for the present it is a round of picnic enjoyment. the burman era began in a. d. the new year begins in april. the month is reckoned from midway between two full moons. any burman can readily give you the date, according to the burman system, but very few have mastered the european calendar. the date is given as so many days before or after the full of the moon. the new year is always celebrated by the "water-feast." offerings of pots of water are taken to the monasteries, the images of gautama given their annual washing down, and then the show begins. boisterous young men arm themselves with buckets or chatties of water, frolicsome damsels with cups, and the boys with bamboo squirt-guns, each and all bent on douching everybody else. by some means or other everybody gets his share. he would feel slighted if he did not receive a due share of liquid attention. the use of water at the beginning of the year has a religious significance,--but let the priest and the pious attend to that. the young folks are in for a jolly good time, and they get it. at the beginning of november there is another feast in honour of the time when gautama buddha made a visit to the celestial regions to preach to his mother. then on the full moon of november another feast in honour of the time when gautama became a buddha under the bawdee-tree. lesser feasts occur at intervals until lent begins again. what with all the religious feasts, the weddings, ear-borings, funerals, etc., etc., the burman suffers no lack of enjoyment. he manages to get some fun out of everything, the funeral being no exception. he will dance and sing on the way to the cemetery, and race bullock-carts on the way home. the funeral of a priest often resolves itself into a tug of war. two stout ropes are attached to each end of the four-wheeled cart on which the casket has been placed. the crowd divides itself into two parties, the ropes are seized, and the struggle begins. up the street the cart is dragged with a great hurrah, until reinforcements strengthen the opposing party, then the cart takes a lurch in the other direction, its lofty spire swaying in a threatening manner. back and forth goes the cart, the exciting contest sometimes lasting for hours. merit is gained by drawing the pongyis' remains to the funeral pyre. of course the pyre-ward side must ultimately win, or there would be no cremation. [illustration: dancing girls] the rope-pull is sometimes resorted to in much the same manner to break a prolonged drought. whether successful or not, as rain-makers, they have the sport. is the burman lazy? he certainly has that reputation, and i never heard it disputed by employers of burman labour. his services would be better appreciated were he as punctual at the beginning of the day as he is at its close, and as diligent in the use of his tools as he is in keeping his cheroot lighted. he must have some credit for hard work to leave so many things undone. at "turning off work" he has no superior. he invariably turns off all the work he can,--and does the rest. and yet when one reflects that outside of the delta nearly all of the hard work of cultivation in the plains is done by burmans one feels compelled to reconsider his verdict as to the burman's capacity for work. no man can tell by a burman's clothing whether he is rich or poor. all that a man hath will he give for a silk skirt. in "the good old times" when the king's will was law subordinate officials made demands for money wherever appearances indicated that money existed, to make up the amount of revenue called for. it was then good policy to dress below one's ability rather than above it, or one might find himself in an embarrassing situation. moreover, certain material, style of cut, etc., was reserved for royal blood. but when the king fell, and the burman found that the conqueror's method of raising revenue was by equitable taxation, royal customs went to the winds. young men and maidens, and even the middle-aged blossomed out in gaudy array on festive occasions, though there might not be a pice of loose change to back it. of all the races of burma the burmese are the cleanliest and dressiest. the costume of nearly all races, at its best, is fairly respectable and suited to their manner of life,--if they would only keep it clean and keep it on. when one is about to die the friends say, "think not of friends or of property,--think only of god." this sounds hopeful, but it is well known that these spiritual advisers have in mind only the brazen image of gautama, found in every village, the only god they know. when a death occurs the pongyis are invited to the house, not to console the living, but to perform certain rites on behalf of the dead. first a priest repeats a formula something like this, "he worships god; he worships the law; he worships the clergy," friends assuming the attitude of worship as substitutes for the deceased. the priest continues--"he kills not, steals not, commits no offense against his neighbour's wife; lies not; drinks not. he has all his life been careful about these things." the formula ended, one of the friends drops water from a gurglet or cocoanut shell into a glass, to accompany another formula by the priest, "may the deceased enjoy the food of the _nats_. may the nat of the earth bear witness." the person who pours out the water drawls in a loud voice, "ah-mya-myo"--in great abundance and variety, the people responding, "thah-doo, thah-doo"--it is well, it is well. at the grave, or in a _zayat_ nearly the same ceremonies are repeated. the priests have already been feasted at the house, and now presents are given on behalf of the dead, that he may enjoy the same blessings in the abode of the nats. the priests do not usually accompany the procession, but go in advance to the zayats near the cemetery. at death a small coin is placed in the dead man's mouth to pay his ferry fare across the mystic river of death. without the coin for the ferry he could not cross, but would have to return to this world to suffer--nobody knows what. the use of the coin is said to be dying out. the coffin is swung endwise over the grave seven times (sometimes docked to three) as a good-bye, and to give the deceased a good start towards the great myin-mo mount, the abode of the nats. human nature is much the same the world over. courtship and marriage are universal customs. methods differ, but motives are the same. the majority of marriages are for love, or for something that has been mistaken for that sentiment. when a burmese young man and maiden fancy each other well enough to indulge in playful flirtations at pagoda feasts and other public occasions it is pretty sure to develop into something more serious. the young lady is not likely to let a good chance slip by. old-maidhood is dreaded by all, except the comparatively few who become nuns, and many of them are said to have become nuns because disappointed in love. lover-like attentions may not be given openly. clandestine meetings would scandalize the whole community. at about nine o'clock in the evening the young man, accompanied by his friends approaches the house of the maiden whose charms cause his heart to thump against his ribs. he finds her awaiting his coming. but they are not to enjoy a fond tête-à-tête by themselves. several young lady friends are sitting on the open veranda with her,--and the old lady peeking through a chink in the bamboo wall. it is courtship under difficulties, but it means business just the same. the rules of propriety have been observed, the parents are satisfied. as for the rest, trust the young folks to find ways and means to enjoy themselves as lovers do the world over. accepting presents of jewelry from a young man is generally recognized as an engagement. many a maiden has allowed her fondness for jewelry to lead to complications from which she has difficulty in extricating herself. according to old burmese law the sole right to select or reject suitors was vested in the parents. the daughter, until twenty years of age, was entirely under their control. the dhammathat says: "amongst men there are only three ways of becoming man and wife, which are as follows: first, a man and woman given in marriage by their parents, who live and eat together. second, a man and wife brought together by the intervention of a go-between, who live and eat together. third, a man and woman who came together by mutual consent, who live and eat together." in question of property rights the most importance is attached to the first method. a marriage without the consent of the parents, if the girl is under twenty, may be cancelled by the parents, if action is promptly taken. the girl may reject the man to whom she has been betrothed by her parents, but her decision is recognized only after she has run away from him and been forcibly restored three times. in like manner a girl who has been taken in marriage without the consent of her parents must be restored to them three times. if she then returns again to her husband the parents' claim upon her is forfeited, because the "owner of the daughter could not control her." widows and divorced women are subject to no control. while all this is buddhist law, the girl, as a matter of fact, does about as she pleases in the matter of accepting or rejecting, just as they do in other lands, whether she is under twenty or not. neither buddhist law nor established custom renders any kind of a marriage ceremony essential, nor is registration of the marriage necessary. "living and eating together," constitute all desired evidence of marriage. the first eating together is something done in the presence of witnesses and so becomes in itself a simple wedding ceremony. this happy-go-lucky custom makes it exceedingly difficult to settle any questions in law growing out of such a marriage. a couple may prove that they are, or are not husband and wife, as best suits their ends. in christian lands the wife is sometimes taken home to live with her mother-in-law. in burma the situation is reversed, the young husband going to live with his wife's parents. by a generally accepted division of labour the wife is the burden-bearer, while the husband gets the glory for what is accomplished. husband and wife are going into town to exchange a basket of rice for a supply of putrid fish and other necessaries of life. the wife carries the basket, weighing seventy-five or one hundred pounds, on her head, the husband with only his _kun_-bag slung over his shoulder walking ahead at a gait which she finds it difficult to follow. the load may now and then be rested on a convenient stump, or the considerate husband helps to lower it to the ground and raise it to her head again. so accustomed have they become to this arrangement that it never occurs to either party that the man might carry the load part of the time. familiar as is this custom, it never fails to stir in my soul an indignant protest. but the "worm may turn," if pressed too hard. a poor woman was going to the station to take a train. on her head was a heavy load, and on her hip a child. tears were trickling down her cheeks. the husband, carrying nothing but his umbrella, was persistently tormenting her. at last she deposited load and child on the ground none too gently, and pitched into him with great fury, cuffing, scratching and screaming all at once, until he gave her a wide berth. it was one of the most refreshing sights ever witnessed, in this land. according to buddhism the male is far superior to the female. no woman can cherish the slightest hope of attaining to naik-ban. her highest hope and prayer is that in the next, or some future existence she may be born as man, and so take a fresh start. but in this life the burmese woman holds a higher place than is enjoyed by her sisters in any other oriental land. if divorced from her husband she can take away whatever property she brought when married, together with all she may have gained by her own exertions. she is by no means a silent partner in business affairs. usually she has greater business acuteness than her husband, and does not hesitate to have a voice in all negotiations. the bazar is almost wholly run by the women, each having her own stall and keeping her own accounts in her head, for she cannot read nor write. at this point women seem to be inferior, but it is because they were excluded from the monastic school, and never had a chance. vastly better than her indolent husband or brother she knows how to make money and keep what she makes. while mohammedan and hindu women are shut up in harems and zenanas, the burmese women walk the streets with head erect, puffing their huge cheroots without the slightest thought of being the "weaker vessel." the energy of the burmese women saves the race from going to the wall. [illustration: tattooing] from courtship and marriage we pass by a natural transition to child-life in burma. the crop of babies never fails. parents would as soon think of failure of the rice harvest as of a failure to add annually to the population of the village, and the disappointment would be about the same. if nature did not defeat the barbarous methods of native midwives there would be no child-life to describe. but in spite of methods that would soon depopulate more civilized lands, every town and village is just romping full of children. boys run naked until six or eight years of age, and girls until one or two. many a time have i seen parents, wrapped in blankets, huddled around a fire in the cool season while their infants and small children had not the slightest protection. there is no intentional neglect, for the parents love their children, but it is "custom." this custom supplements the ignorance of the midwives, and adds to the number of shallow little graves in the adjacent jungle for the parish dogs to fight over. but baby has its cradle for its frequent naps. this is made of wood or wickerwork, and suspended from a bamboo in the floor or roof above. sometimes this swinging cradle is a wide strip of cloth tied together at the ends, with the baby deposited in the loop. baby has not long been in the world before it has a name. the name depends on the day of the week in which it was born. certain letters of the alphabet are assigned to each day. the baby's name must begin with one of the letters assigned to its birthday. there is no family name, nothing to indicate to what particular family a child belongs. each day of the week represents some planet, from which it takes its name. the planet assigned to a particular day will influence the life of a person born on that day, and determine his temperament. the naming is done when the baby is one month old. on the previous day invitations are sent around to the elders of the village, who by eating a pinch of pickled tea from a cup sent by the messenger,--accepts the invitation to be present at the ceremony, the parents make ready a supply of food, a feast being an essential part of every ceremony. invited guests bring presents of money, precious stones, or jewels, which they cast into a large jar of water set there for the purpose. some of the more valuable presents are merely lent for the occasion, but they help to make a show. when the guests have enjoyed their pickled tea, betel-nut, and cheroot, several of the elders proceed to bathe the baby in the vessel containing the presents. another repeats a benediction calling for the continuous welfare of the child, but limits it to one hundred and twenty years. from the centre of a circle of coins on a dish of rice a cord of cotton thread is taken and bound around the child's wrist. one of the elders now announces the child's name,--previously decided on by the parents,--as if it were the happy result of his own meditations. this ceremony is to the burman and shan what a christening is to many in other lands, in its relation to a child's future. an interesting naming ceremony was held by two couples of native christians, in my mission. the missionaries and native christians were invited to a prayer-meeting. after the meeting a number of old testament names, written on slips of paper, were put in a hat borrowed from the missionary. the first fond father to put his hand into the hat drew for his offspring the name daniel,--which he would pronounce dan-ya-lah. the other father got moses as a name for his son. dan-ya-lah and maw-shay they are to this day. it is interesting to watch little children at their play. with sun-dried marbles, large seeds, or peculiarly-shaped sticks, plays have been improvised, which, in the course of years, have become national games for the youngsters. boys and girls enjoy the sport together. before the english annexed the country the monasteries were the only schools. this is still the case in the majority of villages. but every buddhist boy, whether he has the advantage of the english schools or not, must spend a few months in the monastery. until he enters the monastery as a probationer he is not considered a human being in such a sense that it would count in future transmigrations. he now receives a new name, to be used so long as he remains in the monastery. if he finally becomes a priest he retains the religious name for life. the novitiate-ceremony usually takes place when the boy is between ten and twelve years of age. if not already familiar with life in the monastery, he is taught how to address the priests, and conduct himself generally. as this is the most important event in a burman boy's life, the ceremony is made on as grand a scale as the circumstances and credit of the boy's parents and friends will permit. decked in gayest costume and covered with jewelry he is placed on a pony, or, in the towns, in the best vehicle obtainable, protected from the sun by a long-handled umbrella, and conducted to the homes of his relatives, to bid them farewell. flashily dressed men and women, boys and girls make up the procession, some of the young men dancing and singing as they go. all this pomp and show, to celebrate renunciation of the world. the farewells being said, the candidate is reconducted to his own home, where the feast has been prepared, and an elaborate bamboo tabernacle erected, extending from the house to the opposite side of the street. here, in the presence of the priests, friends, and a host of gaudily-dressed spectators the actual ceremony is performed. the candidate's finery gives way to a strip of white cloth fastened around his loins, forming a very brief skirt. then the barber is called in to deprive him of his long hair and shave his head. after a bath he dresses and presents himself before the priests, goes through the prescribed prostrations, repeats the memorized formula pledging himself as a novitiate, is duly clothed in the yellow robe of the order, the _thabeit_ or begging-bowl is given him, and then he joins the other novitiates in their return to the monastery in which he is to live. how sad it seems to see a small boy thus shut out from the gay world, at just the time when he is fullest of fun and frolic,--but not half so sad as it seems. devout buddhists may compel their sons to remain in the monastery three months, but to become a priest is not compulsory. in many places a week is the limit. not infrequently a boy who has made the round of pathetic farewells, and gone through the whole ceremony of pledging himself to the assembly, is back home again before night, having met all actual demands, and exchanged his fine head of hair for an interesting experience. and right glad he is to be back, for the feast is still on, and he comes in for a share of the dainties. comparatively few give their lives to the priesthood. some enter the priesthood later in life. the longer the term--the greater the merit. the number of young men to remain in the monastery is steadily decreasing. the same is true of the number of men who thoroughly understand buddhism. the festivities have not slackened, but with less and less religious significance in the minds of participants. having been in the monastery the boy has become a human being. but whether before or after this ceremony he must receive the signs of manhood by being tattooed from his waist to his knees. if this is not done the boys and girls will poke fun at him and call him a woman. this tattooing may be done piece by piece, at intervals, to allow time for healing of the surface covered. the sessamum-oil lampblack used for ink, pricked into the skin on a large surface causes a great deal of swelling, and sometimes fever. the professional tattooer has his figure-patterns from which the boy or his parents may select. the figures are usually animals, set off with an ornamental edging. few boys have the nerve to endure the pricking very long. this is overcome by a dose of opium, deadening the sense of feeling, and dazing the mind, though not to such an extent as to keep him from puffing his cheroot while the operation is going on. besides this tattooing of imitation breeches, there are many kinds of charms, done in vermilion on the upper parts of the body and arms, as desired by the superstitious. schoolboys have charms to protect them against the pain of whipping, young men have charms to make them successful in their wooing. soldiers and dacoits have charms to protect them from bullets and _dah_-thrusts, and everybody has charms to render harmless all snake and insect bites. besides the tattooed charms, certain objects are inserted under the skin, or carried about, according to the superstition of the individual, and representing about as high a type of intelligence as does the horseshoe over many a door in civilized lands. the custom of tattooing is said to have originated many centuries ago, when the burmans were subject to the shan kings in upper burma. the shans, who were themselves tattooed,--branded with tattoo-marks captives taken in war, as evidence of their servility. instead of regarding this as humiliating, the burmans were proud of their tattooing, as marks of the king. moreover, the despised chins, wild tribes in the north-western hills, did not tattoo. a non-tattooed burman might be mistaken for a chin, which would be humiliating indeed. tattooing became popular, the custom spread rapidly, and now a full-grown burman who is not the proud possessor of a pair of tattooed breeches that will last him a lifetime, is seldom found. in the jungle-villages nearly every boy is tattooed. in the towns the custom is rapidly dying out. not five per cent. of burman boys in the towns have submitted to this custom. town boys are much more afraid of being taken for countrymen than of being made fun of for departing from the time-honoured custom. in fact, the town boy is as anxious to have it known that he is not tattooed as the unbreeched village boy would be to conceal it. the fact that at the last census nine hundred and eighty six persons were returned as professional tattooers indicates that their business is still thriving, notwithstanding the disaffection of the town dudes. the desire to ape english customs may have something to do with this backsliding. this is also noticeable in the habit, now popular among town boys, especially in the schools, of cutting the hair short. only a few years ago a cropped head would have stamped one as a convict. girls are not tattooed except possibly an invisible love-charm,--but they furnish a companion-ceremony, when ear-boring time comes round. it answers to the time when a girl in the home-land begins to think of getting out of short dresses, to be a child no longer. when an ear-boring ceremony is announced everything else must take second place. the day and hour are fixed by the soothsayer, but he manages to make his divinations harmonize with the plans of the parents who engaged his services. in spite of the frightened girl's screams and struggles her ears are pierced with the gold or silver needle of the professional ear-borer, the tom-toms and horns of the band outside doing their best to drown her cries. the holes are kept open until they heal, and then they are gradually enlarged by wearing glass or metal tubes of increasing size, until finally a tube half an inch in diameter can be inserted. in the olden time the lobe of the ear was stretched much more than is now the fashion. i have seen old women with holes in their ears through which two fingers could be passed. such ear-lobes furnished handy holders for their big cheroots. this stretching and elongating of the lobes of their ears formerly had a religious significance that is now being forgotten. all images of gautama represent him with ear-lobes touching the shoulders, as a symbol of perfection. devout women,--and some of the men,--did their best to imitate his example. ear jewelry may be inexpensive colored glass, or of gold elaborately designed and set with precious stones. once her ears are bored the girl puts an end to all street play with small-boy acquaintances, and poses as a young lady. changes are observed in the style of dressing her hair; in her costume; in the use of cosmetics,--for every burmese girl, though naturally brown, desires to be white; in her bearing as she walks the street; in every pose of her graceful body. she may not have so much freedom of action as she enjoyed before, but she knows it will not be long until some choice young man will want her, to adorn his household. the one universal custom, common to all, both men and women, boys and girls alike, is the filthy habit of _kun_-chewing and smoking. the _kun_-chew is made up of part of a betel (areca) nut, chopped fine, and an astringent green leaf of a certain vine. a little lime-paste, usually coloured red, is spread on the leaf, then it is wadded up and jammed into the side of the mouth, with the betel nut. saliva soon accumulates. to expectorate would be to lose some of the small pieces of the nut before the good had been extracted. attempts at conversation are ridiculous and nauseating in the extreme. when the mouth can retain its load no longer its contents are discharged through a crack in the floor. the white pony of a lady-missionary was once tethered under a native house for the night. what was the lady's disgust the next morning to find her beautiful pony all stained and bedaubed with vile red _kun_-juice. smoking is begun before teething is finished. i myself have seen a mother take a lighted cheroot from her own mouth, and put it in the mouth of a wee child in her arms. burmese ladies consider a cigar the finishing touch to their preparations for a dress-parade. but the burman cigar contains but a small proportion of real tobacco leaf, otherwise the smoke-habit would soon kill off the race. they cannot both chew and smoke at the same time, but the twin habits keep them so busy that they accomplish little else. it is said that the burman "smokes between chews, and chews between smokes." it is simply marvellous how far a burman can smell a rupee, and what methods he will employ to get it. has the mission work to be done by carpenters, cartmen, etc., heathen burmans are not wanting who will regularly attend chapel services, and pose as devout inquirers so long as the job lasts. i have known fortune-tellers, teachers, court-clerks, and common rice-cultivators to become pretended disciples with no other motive than to become preachers. they know that the native evangelists have regular salaries, and that the missionary takes a fatherly interest in their welfare, giving medicine when they are ill, advising when they are in difficulty. though the salary is not large, it secures a fairly comfortable living, which is more than many a heathen is sure of the year round. so the wily heathen comes to our people, pretending to be deeply interested in christianity, applies himself to learn all he can, attends worship, and finally asks for baptism, with every appearance of sincerity. one year we drew a prize, "saya tike" he was called. "saya" because he had charge of a small private school. he was past middle age, of uncommon intelligence, and fine bearing. a more earnest and devout inquirer, to all appearances, we never met. after some months of waiting he was baptized and received into the church. then began his tale of woe. in consequence of his becoming a christian his school had been broken up. persecutors had broken into his house and stolen his clothing. friendless, penniless, and out of a situation, he appealed to the missionary for something to do. being fairly handy as a carpenter he was given such work on the mission buildings. after about two weeks he suddenly disappeared. some weeks passed before we could get any clue to his whereabouts. then one day one of our preachers met him in a jungle-village wearing the yellow robe of a buddhist priest. when asked why he had left the mission he complained that instead of being employed as a teacher he had only carpenter work to do. he preferred being a "pongyi," and have his food given him. some months later he again turned up at the mission, professing repentance for his backsliding, and asking to be received back again. our faith in him had been badly shaken, but we tried not to show it. if we would only give him citizen's clothing in place of his yellow robe he would gladly go to work again. giving him the benefit of a doubt i arranged with my right-hand man to give him a _longyi_, such as the other men were wearing. no, he did not like a longyi, but must have the more stylish _puhso_. his taste not being gratified, back he went again to his heathenism. we soon learned that all his pathetic stories of persecution had been trumped up for the occasion, to excite our sympathy, and secure a position. one day a strange burman came to the mission. he said that he was a christian from a mission fifty miles away. on the train he had been robbed of his clothing and the little money he had. all he wanted was to be kept over night, and money enough to pay his way home. the case was referred to me. i placed the required sum in the hands of my man "friday" with instructions to give it to the applicant should he prove worthy. the next morning my man came to report, and to give back the money. i said to him, "well, ko ngi, how did you find out that he was a humbug?" replying in broken english, he said "last night we have meeting (evening prayers). i think, you proper christian, i make you pray. he no know anything. he can't pray proper. then i say--your saya (missionary) how many chillen? he say 'four little boy, so much big.' i know he saya done got _five_ chillen,--one _so much girl_," indicating with hand a full grown young lady. so he had sent the man away without the hand of fellowship, and returned the money. among non-christian burmans sin, of whatever sort, is sin only when discovered. "how could it be sin when nobody knew anything about it?" deceit is practiced without a pang of conscience so long as the game can be worked. the missionary is kind-hearted, supposed to have plenty of money, like other "europeans," and is considered legitimate prey. iv chief races of burma reliable history of burma dates back only to the early part of the eighteenth century. burmese chronicles claim to cover a period from seven to eight hundred years before the christian era. the burmese language certainly was not reduced to writing earlier than the fifth century of the christian era. early history is founded upon legend. doubtless many of the events recorded actually happened, but their dates are hopelessly mixed, and events themselves distorted by exaggeration. measured by their records of the burmese-english wars of the nineteenth century, in which every reverse was written down as a great victory,--all of the history prior to the eighteenth century is utterly untrustworthy. much may be learned from other sources, but the information is at best fragmentary and conflicting. in , the time of the first "embassy to ava," historical facts dating back to the early part of the century were gathered and verified. from that time the history of burma, compiled by europeans, is fairly continuous and accurate. in giving a brief sketch of the chief races of burma, the main facts of history will appear. the chief races, in order of numbers, are the burmans, shans, karens, talaings, chins, and kachins. taken in the order of priority, the talaings, according to the theory which seems to me to have most in its favour,--come first in order. this theory is that they were the first of all the many races of burma to migrate southward from tibet, or neighbouring parts of asia. they seem to have been of the same race as the burmans. they still retain the same general characteristics and customs, and cannot be distinguished from the burmans where the two races mingle. the time of this migration is not known, but it may safely be placed many centuries before the christian era. it is probable that they gradually drifted southward until they reached burma. the burmans, coming from the same general source long afterwards, failed to recognize the talaings as having any kinship to themselves. the fact that the talaing language is utterly unlike the burmese, both in root words, and in construction of sentences indicates that the two races, or two sections of the same race, as the case may be,--were kept quite distinct prior to the migration of the talaings. the burmans, who held the talaings in contempt, finally became indebted to them in a threefold manner,--by the adoption of the talaing system of writing, the buddhist religion, and the sacred books in which it was recorded. the sacred books were brought to thatone from ceylon, by buddhist missionaries not earlier than a. d. these books were written in pali, which is still the religious language of buddhism. the talaings soon reduced their own language to writing, not adopting the pali characters, but drawing chiefly from the tamil, with a change from the square to the round shaped letters. it is well known that there was a colony of tamils near thatone at that early date. the old theory that the talaings descended from the telugus, and that their original home was in talingana, is now generally discredited. little is known of them prior to the christian era, scant mention of them being found in burmese chronicles, and having none of their own, covering their early history. whatever chronicles they may have had were destroyed by the burmese conquerors. the talaings seem to have been in control in the first century, a. d., from the gulf of martaban to the upper irawadi. they founded pegu in the sixth century, but lost it, as well as thatone to the burmans in the eleventh century. the present city of pegu was founded by the talaings in the sixteenth century, and they have since been known as peguans. the term _talaing_ is said to have been applied to them by the burmese as a term of reproach, the word meaning "the down-trodden." they call themselves _mons_,--but "talaings" they will be, so long as they maintain a distinct existence. in they were again in power at pegu, and two years later at martaban. in they had extended their sway to arracan, which they held until . the talaings of pegu and martaban were conquered by the burmans in . but in we find them again to the front. taking advantage of the recklessness of the burman king the talaings, in alliance with a colony of shans living near pegu, seized that town, and soon afterwards were in possession of prome and toungoo. in , aided, it is said, by renegade dutch and portuguese, and with firearms procured from european traders, they invaded the upper country, capturing and burning ava, the capital of the burman kingdom. three years later alaungpra recaptured ava, driving the talaings southward, and in followed with his army to rangoon, destroying the talaing power. the burmans having regained possession of the whole country, retained control until they had to yield to the greater power of the english. descendants of the talaings who remained in the pegu district, have practically lost their identity, readily and willingly passing as burmans. the main body retired to the country east of the gulf of martaban. in consequence of an exodus, probably more than one,--of talaings into siam after unsuccessful wars with the burmans, joining the many already in that country, there are now more talaings in siam than in burma. it is even claimed that siam got her code of laws from the talaings. the census of gives the number of talaings in burma as , . the number will increase year by year, as many are returning to burma from siam. thousands of talaings scattered through the country doubtless returned themselves as burmans, without so much as recalling that their ancestors were talaings. many prophesy that the talaing language will in time, die out. this may be true, for the burmanizing process is slowly, steadily, irresistibly going on. nearly half of the talaings in burma speak burmese, many of them speaking burmese only. but this still leaves a large body beyond the reach of burmanizing influences, waiting for the gospel in their own tongue. if the talaings--as a race, are to be evangelized in this generation or the next, the gospel must be given to them in their own language. the burmese the original home of all so-called indigenous races is still in doubt. the bulk of evidence seems to be in favour of the borders of tibet as the original home of the race known as burmese. to one who knows the characteristics of these people it is difficult to conceive of such a migration, except under compulsion. in the census report of we find them described as follows: "the burman as we know him, is essentially a non-migrating, unbusinesslike, irresponsible creature, perfectly incapable of sustained effort, content with what can be gained by a minimum of toil." that the race ever voluntarily left its original home, whatever the attraction, seems incredible. the burman himself solves the mystery by claiming celestial origin. brahmas dwelling in the celestial regions came down to dwell on earth. at first they existed as semi-supernatural beings, living above the ordinary appetites and passions of men. by extending their diet to kinds of food not allowed to such beings they gradually lost their supernatural attributes, and finally became like ordinary mortals. the burmans proudly claim lineal descent from these brahmas. their argument, quite conclusive to themselves, is based on the similarity between brahma and bam-ma, as they call themselves. philologists, with cruel disregard for the feelings of these people, have utterly spoiled their pretty theory. brahma is a hindoo term, introduced long after the burmese migration. so now there is nothing left to substantiate their cherished belief,--except the national habit of wanting to eat everything they see. in both history and religion legend is inextricably mixed with facts and fancies imported with buddhism. burman tradition, backed by ancient ruins on the upper irrawadi, assert that sakya tribes from central northern india, migrating by way of manipur, settled in upper burma a few centuries before the christian era. it is difficult to account for such ruins as are to be seen at tagaung, on any other theory. these ruins can hardly be the remains of work accomplished by any of the indigenous races of burma, in their barbarous condition. the claim that the first burmese monarchy received its stimulus from these indian princes can neither be proved nor disproved. in any event whatever remained of the foreign tribes was assimilated by the mongoloid peoples who were first in the land. an incursion of shans before the opening of the christian era, themselves forced out of western china, seems to have caused the downfall of the kingdom of the indian tribes, if they really had one. shans, rather than burmans, then became supreme in the upper irrawadi valley. not until as late as the eleventh century did the burmans regain their supremacy, and even then the shans continued to hold the country north of bhamo. in the burman war of conquest in the south at this time, the main object was to secure the buddhist scriptures, known to be in possession of the talaings at thatone. these sacred books, obtainable in no other way, were essential to the king's purpose to reform the imperfect buddhism of the north. there is some evidence that buddhism was introduced into upper burma from india, by way of manipur, several centuries before it was brought to lower burma from ceylon. it is evident that upper burma did not have the buddhist sacred books prior to the eleventh century. northern buddhism was only super-added to the existing rites of _naga_, and spirit worship. in the south the sacred books had already been translated from pali into talaing, but not into burmese. with the importation of the sacred books into upper burma, and their translation from talaing into burmese, the real history of buddhism among the burmese began. it is not known when this translation was begun, nor when the burmans, by adopting the talaing system, reduced their language to writing. some of the later translations of pali writings into burmese direct, were made about the beginning of the nineteenth century. the burmese "pagan monarchy," weakened by bad government and luxurious living, came to an untimely end in the thirteenth century, through an invasion of the chinese. the shans in the north held the balance of power, and may have agreed to the subordination of burma to china, as the chinese have always claimed. [illustration: buddhist shrines] in the fourteenth century a new king, nominally burmese, but connected with the shans,--came into full power, and founded ava. but early in the fifteenth century ( ) the burmans lost their capital and all the territory north of toungoo and prome, to the shans. the new city of toungoo, built about this time, was the seat of an independent prince. pegu had been ruled by kings of shan race since . in - the toungoo burman prince, tabin shwe' htee, conquered pegu, in the following year martaban, and after being proclaimed king in pegu, extended his sway in , as far north as pagan. two years later, with an allied army of burmans, shans and talaings, he invaded and conquered arracan, but not chittagong. but his success as king at pegu was short-lived. expensive but fruitless wars, and excessive dissipation turned the people against him. he soon became the victim of a conspiracy and was treacherously murdered. in the burmans were again victorious at pegu, pursuing and destroying the talaing king. three years later they regained ava from the shans, but retained the capital at pegu. pressing his successes, the burman king, in , conquered the shans in the extreme north of burma, and a little later at thibaw, mone and "zimme"; northern siam becoming tributary to burma. steps were taken to make the then non-buddhist shans (many were doubtless already buddhists), conform to the buddhist customs of the burmese. the burman ruler, nawartha, was now what his ambition craved,--the "king of kings." but before the end of the century pegu and all the territory south to tavoy had been lost. between and a portuguese adventurer named philip de brito reigned as king of pegu, with residence at his own fortified city of syriam. by the marriage of his son with the daughter of the king of martaban, the cooperation of that section was secured. in de brito and the king of martaban marched against the prince of toungoo, who had broken faith with de brito by forming an alliance with ava. "they plundered the city, burned the palace and retired." this high-handed aggression soon reacted on his own head. the burman king advanced from ava with an immense army, laid seige to syriam, and starved the garrison to surrender. de brito, who had been guilty of many sacrilegious acts, destroying pagodas and other sacred objects in search of plunder, could hope for no mercy at the hands of his captors. the leading portuguese were slaughtered. the remainder, including the women, were carried away captive to ava as slaves. their descendants may now be found throughout burma, many of them being roman catholic priests. in ava was made the permanent capital. an immense pagoda was built, and a costly image of gautama cast to add to the sacredness of the place, and to the merit of the king. but burman fortunes were uncertain. ava the great was taken and burned by the talaings in . not long were the talaings allowed to hold the burman capital. a burman who took the name of alaungpra, with wonderful vigour and ability rallied his people. little more than a year had passed when alaungpra recaptured ava. in he took his armies southward, conquering as he went, not content until he reached dagon. there he founded a new city, which he designed should be the chief port of burma, and named it rangon (or yangon), the word meaning the war ended. a legend says that dagon village was founded and the shwe dagon pagoda built in b. c., which is probably within a few centuries of the true date. the village was rebuilt by the talaing king of pegu about a. d. the great pagoda, upon which an expensive _htee_ or umbrella had been placed in , was still further improved, "to rival the one at pegu." (the present _htee_ was placed on the shwe dagon pagoda in , by mindon min.) but the talaing capital of lower burma, pegu, had not yet been taken. we have seen that in syriam was destroyed by the burmans because of de brito's aggressions. now, in , both british and french traders were established there. during the struggles between the burmans and talaings, the europeans hardly knew which should have their favour and help. everything depended on being on the side which should prove victorious. alaungpra, after securing rangoon, returned to ava. this was interpreted as a sign of weakness, and thereafter the europeans openly showed their sympathy with the talaings. when the talaings attacked the burmese, they were assisted by the ships of both british and french. but alas, alaungpra returned early in the following year. after a blockade of several months syriam was taken and destroyed, including the european factories. the principal europeans, after being held a short time as prisoners, were put to death. the downfall of pegu soon followed, marking the end of talaing supremacy. six years later, , sagaing became the capital of the burmese empire. passing over the wars with siam, manipur, and china, we find the capital changed, in , to amarapura, a new city built for the purpose. the following year arracan was invaded and conquered. the most valued booty was an immense brass image of gautama, cast in the second century, said to possess miraculous powers. this image, taken over the mountains, a wonderful feat, was placed in a building erected for the purpose, on the north side of amarapura, the new capital, where it may now be seen by visitors to the "arracan pagoda." in the first envoy to the king of burma was sent by the government of india. the envoy was not well received, and secured no permanent advantage. the following year another was deputed to be resident at rangoon, instead of ava. he met with the same discourteous treatment, and accomplished nothing. up to five successive attempts were made to arrive at an understanding with the burman king, with reference to political and commercial relations, but without success. envoys were either ignored or made the bearers of insolent replies. at this time war between england and the united states was about to begin. adoniram judson was getting ready to sail as a foreign missionary. in the capital was restored to ava. a great fire at amarapura destroying some of the royal buildings, together with certain "bad signs," induced the king to abandon the city which had been in existence only forty years. during the previous year the burmans had overrun manipur and parts of assam, and claimed the territory as a part of the burman empire. the first battle ever fought between the burmese and english was at cachar--in january, . the burmans were defeated. in - the british and native troops succeeded in driving the burmans back into their own country. the bulk of the burmese army had already been recalled to repel the british who were advancing from the south, war having been formerly declared in march, . in the meantime the american missionaries, judson and price, together with all europeans at ava were imprisoned as suspected spies, or in league with the enemy. after eleven months they were transferred to aungbinle, with the intention to put them to death. the first burmese war lasted two years. arracan, and all the country east of the gulf of martaban was ceded to the british. rangoon reverted to the burmese. but the most interesting result to american readers, was the release of the missionaries, judson and price, who were utilized as messengers to negotiate the terms of surrender. after the second installment of indemnity had been paid, and the british troops withdrawn to territory ceded by the humiliated king the following record of the affair was added to the royal chronicles. "in the years , (burmese) the white strangers of the west fastened a quarrel upon the lord of the golden palace. "they landed at rangoon, took that place and prome, and were permitted to advance as far as yandabu, for the king, from motives of piety and regard to life, made no preparation whatever to oppose them. the strangers had spent vast sums of money in their enterprise, so that by the time they reached yandabu their resources were exhausted, and they were in great distress. they then petitioned the king, who, in his clemency and generosity, sent them large sums of money to pay their expenses back, and ordered them out of the country." the record modestly omitted to mention the fact that the strangers had permission to take with them the arracan, ye, tavoy, mergui, and tenasserim provinces! the whole period from to the second burmese-english war, in , was marked by heartless cruelties inflicted by successive burman kings upon all real or suspected offenders; by persistent repudiation of the terms agreed upon at the close of the first war; and by gross insults to british representatives. the second burmese-english war lasted a year and a half, and resulted in the annexation of the province of pegu, which included rangoon and extended to a point about thirty miles north of toungoo. in about the capital was again transferred to amarapura, where it remained until mandalay was founded, in , by mindon min. a new king, mindon min, was soon proclaimed at amarapura. throughout his reign, from to , relations between the british and burmese were greatly improved. mindon min was the best king burma ever had. moreover, the loss of arracan, tenasserim, and pegu had inspired some degree of respect for representatives of the british indian government. with the death of mindon, and the ascension of thibaw, trouble began. the great massacre, in which about seventy of royal blood, including women and children, were ruthlessly butchered, called forth a vigorous remonstrance from the british government. an insolent reply was returned, rejecting outside interference. in august the resident at mandalay was withdrawn. massacres soon followed, rivalling the horrors of the past. at this time many thousands of burmese migrated to lower burma to escape oppression. thibaw then began a flirtation with france. the bombay burma trading company was accused of defrauding the king in the matter of royalty on teak logs. an enormous fine was inflicted. arbitration was rejected. the french were conspiring with the king to gain commercial advantages, giving them practically full control of upper burma, including the only route to western china. in june, , the government of india obtained conclusive evidence as to the nature of these negotiations. a demand was made that a british resident be received at mandalay, and that thibaw reveal his foreign policy. this ultimatum was refused. the british immediately advanced on the capital. on the th of november, , mandalay was taken, and king thibaw made a prisoner. the great, self-sufficient burman kingdom had fallen to rise no more. french diplomatists had outreached themselves, and precipitated the annexation of upper burma. on the first of january, , the following proclamation was issued: "by command of the queen-empress it is hereby notified that the territories formerly governed by king thibaw will no longer be under his rule, but have become a part of her majesty's dominions, and will during her majesty's pleasure, be administered by such officers as the viceroy and government of india may from time to time appoint." it will be seen that the burmese throughout their history have been a warlike people. the adoption of buddhism, as the national religion, with its strict rules concerning the taking of life, does not seem to have wrought any change in this respect. the grossest cruelties were practiced, suspected conspirators slaughtered by hundreds, generals who had failed in battle, as well as others of high rank or noble blood were executed, sewed up in red sacks, and sunk in the irrawadi river. sometimes the preliminary execution was dispensed with. victorious kings built great pagodas, at the expense of the people, to expiate their sins of bloodshed,--and then renewed the carnage. the cruelties inflicted upon judson and his companions at ava and aungbinle; the history of burman dacoity since the english occupation; together with many other evidences,--stamp the burman as far from being the tolerant, peace-loving, life-reverencing character that many of his admirers, on the interest of buddhism, or theosophy, have pictured. it is said that a professor in a certain theological seminary, seeking to cast discredit on the historical authenticity of the book of daniel, called the attention of his class to the unlikelihood that any oriental monarch would have issued such decrees as are attributed to nebuchadnezzar, in the third chapter. to say nothing of mohammedan fanaticism, familiarity with oriental character as exhibited by burman kings would have dispelled the professor's doubts. when naungdawgyi had completed the great shwe dagon pagoda, in comparison with which nebuchadnezzar's image was liliputian, he made a decree that all peoples must fall down and worship it, on penalty of death. the majority of the people being spirit-worshippers, the decree could not be enforced. to let himself down easily, the king commanded that a _nat-sin_, or spirit-house be erected near the pagoda. the people coming to make offerings to the _nats_--would also be coming to the pagoda, and so the decree would be obeyed, and, in time, its purpose effected. the character of the burman king bodaw-para, who was on the throne when judson came to burma, is thus described by father san-germano, who lived in burma twenty years during this king's reign. "his very countenance is the index of a mind ferocious and inhuman in the highest degree,--and it would not be an exaggeration to assert that during his reign more victims have fallen by the hand of the executioner than by the sword of the common enemy.... "the good fortune that has attended him ... has inspired him with the idea that he is something more than mortal, and that this privilege has been granted him on account of his numerous good works.... "a few years since he thought to make himself a god." he did in fact, proclaim himself as the fulfillment of the national expectation of a fifth buddha. priests who refused to recognize his claims, were punished. who can doubt that the late king thibaw would have been quite capable of repeating nebuchadnezzar's decree, had he thought of it, and seen any advantage in it, to himself. the census of gives the total population of the province as , , . of this total the burmese number , , , while the number returning the burmese language as their ordinary tongue was , , . the total number of buddhists, including the shans and talaings, is , , . the area of the province is , square miles. to the casual visitor the country seems to be peopled almost exclusively by burmese, and buddhism the only form of worship, the other races inhabiting isolated parts of the country, far removed from the main lines of travel. the population of rangoon is about , . buddhists and hindus number about the same, with more than half as many musalmans as of either. fifty per cent. of the population are immigrants. rangoon is no longer a burman city. in mandalay, their last capital, and second city of burma, the situation is quite different. in a total of , over , are buddhists. this city has been in existence only sixty-three years. its outward appearance is much the same as it was when taken by the british in . the same brick wall, twenty-six feet high, with its crenelated top, a mile and a quarter on each side of the square, forming an impregnable (!) barrier against all comers,--still surrounds what was the royal town. on each side are three gates, reached by bridges across the wide moat, which is kept filled with water by a connection with a natural lake a few miles to the northeast. [illustration: burmese woman weaving] inside of the walled town comparatively little now remains as it was when captured. the natives occupying thatched houses, were compelled to move outside the wall, taking their shanties with them. for this they were amply compensated by the british indian government. a large city, regularly laid out with straight wide streets, was already flourishing outside of the walled section. within the walls the palace and monasteries still remain, the former now being restored by the provincial government, at great expense. services of the church of england are held in one of the large halls. in one of the buildings near the palace the mandalay club is comfortably established. several old cannon, used by the burmese in their wars, more for the noise they could make than for any death-dealing powers they possessed, now adorn the grounds. the king's monastery, and the queen's monastery, are objects of interest. near the former is the site of the "incomparable" temple, destroyed by fire in . this immense structure, with its gilded columns and lofty ceiling, was the grandest building in the city. near by is a huge pagoda within a high rectangular wall. the space enclosed is subdivided into three compartments by low walls extending around the pagoda, to represent the threefold division of the buddhist scriptures. these spaces contain seven hundred and twenty shrines about fifteen feet high, their tops supported by four columns. in the centre of each shrine, set like a gravestone in the cement floor, is a stone tablet about three feet wide by five and a half feet high, covered on both sides with portions of the sacred writings. the floor around each tablet is polished by the bare feet of many devotees,--for the "law" is one of the "three precious things" of buddhism--commanding their worship. for all this immense outlay of time and money devoted to sacred objects mindon min is supposed to have secured the royal merit, freeing him from the countless existences through which the ordinary mortal must pass. the prevailing impression that as a result of the monastic school system all of the burmese males can read and write, is not corroborated by the recent census. a little less than half ( in each , ) are able to both read and write. doubtless a large majority spent enough of their childhood in the monastery to acquire these accomplishments, but, to many, they have become lost arts, through disuse. only fifty-five in each thousand of burmese women can read and write. girls are not admitted to monastic schools. this small gain is chiefly due to mission schools. the demand for female education is rapidly increasing. all burmans, except the relatively small number of converts to christianity, are buddhists. nearly all are worshippers of idols. a sect called paramats was founded at the beginning of last century. the paramats will have nothing to do with pagodas and idols. they respect the ordinary buddhist priests, as representatives of gautama, who was the incarnation of eternal wisdom. they do not hold that eternal wisdom is reincarnated in the priests, and therefore do not worship them as orthodox buddhists do. this eternal wisdom, which existed before the world was made, and will exist throughout eternity, fills all space, but exercises no influence over this world. eternal wisdom is not, except in a very vague sense, personified--as an equivalent of the christian conception of an eternal god. but the paramats have the germ of a true belief, and, as a rule, are thinking men, which is more than can be said of the ordinary buddhist. numerous in the district midway between mandalay, and rangoon, they furnish a hopeful field for missionary effort. the shans _the shans_ rank second in point of numbers. max muller held that the shans were the first to leave their original home in western china. contact with the chinese has left its mark upon them, sufficient, apart from other evidence, to prove their origin. having been forced out of western china they drifted southward, and founded some of the large towns in the territory now known as "shan-land" as early as , or b. c.--if their own chronicles can be believed. but at this point different conclusions have been reached from the same sources of information, some accepting these dates as approximately correct, others rejecting them as too remote by several centuries. indeed, it is difficult to determine whether the first migration was southward, or to the southwest, or whether there were two migrations simultaneously. as we have seen in our study of the burmese, the shans were supreme on the upper irrawadi early in the christian era, having expelled the burmese and taken possession of that part of the country. it may have been as early as or b. c., when they overthrew the tagaung monarchy. my own view is that the shans first migrated to the southwest across the namkham valley, founding the "maw kingdom," which finally extended to the irrawadi and chindwin rivers in northern burma. and that not until several centuries later did they extend their sway to the southeast, founding thibaw, mone, and other towns. that there is a discrepancy of ten centuries or more between this view and the shan chronicles, in which the most striking feature is exaggeration, need not disturb any one. in fact, a sound "principle of interpretation" of legendary history, whether burmese or shan, is to cut down its figures by about one half. near the end of the tenth century the shans occupied arracan about eighteen years. the shan kingdom continued until overcome by the burmese, in the middle of the eleventh century. they still remained in power in the far north. in shans from siam joining with shans of martaban, conquered martaban, then with assistance of shans from the north they captured pegu from the burmans. at the beginning of the fourteenth century the shans were again in the ascendant in upper burma, the burmans having been weakened by chinese invasions. the shans now ruled the country from the upper reaches of the irrawadi as far south as prome, but not including toungoo. all burma was threatened with shan supremacy. this might have been realized but for the shan emperor's own recklessness and tyranny, working his own downfall. kings of shan race controlled pegu from until conquered by the toungoo burman prince, tabin shwe' htee, in . the shan power in the north having become weakened, the burmese in , captured ava, and in conquered the shans throughout the upper irrawadi region. thibaw, mone, and "zimme" in northern siam, fell to the burmans a year later. the shans seem to have remained subject to the burman kings until the annexation of upper burma; and sometimes assisted the burmans in their wars with the talaings and siamese. the census of gives a total of , shan-speaking people. besides the northern and southern shan states, a large number of shans are still found in upper burma, and many shan villages throughout lower burma. it is not definitely known when the shans adopted buddhism. there are evidences that the shans, who were supreme on the upper irrawadi at the opening of the christian era, and for several centuries after, were influenced by buddhism introduced from india by way of manipur, and that many accepted it. after the introduction of buddhism from the south it spread rapidly among the burmese, and through them to the shans, becoming the national religion of both races. it is said that many shan buddhist priests sought reordination according to the rules of the southern type of buddhism. the shans established monasteries throughout their country. under the later burman kings, burman priests were sent to propagate buddhism in the shan country. in some places the sacred books were destroyed, and other books written in the burmese language substituted, burmese becoming the language of the monastic schools for shan boys. burman kings adopted the same tactics in dealing with the talaings. the customs of the shans and the burmese are much the same, but their costume is more like that of the chinese. the same is true of the karen costume. though differing from the costume of the shan, both seem to have been derived from their contact with the chinese before their migration to burma. the broad lopped-rim shan hat and flowing trousers with the seat between the knees differentiate the shan from other races. they have a written language, adopted from the burmese,--some four or five hundred years ago,--as the burmese had adopted theirs from the talaing. the karens _the karens_ found their way in burma from western china; forced southward by the chinese. then when the shans were in like manner driven into burma, the karens were pushed on still further south, like driftwood before the tide. their original home is uncertain. it seems evident that at a much earlier period they had migrated into western china from some place still further north. one of their own traditions is that their ancestors, in their wanderings, crossed a "river of sand." the desert of gobi best answers to their tradition. other traditions point to western china as their early home. it is not unlikely that the tradition of the "river of sand" is much the older, and these traditions taken together mark the progress of the karens in at least two widely separated migrations southward. the karens strongly resemble certain hill-tribes now living in western china; in fact some of the karens have identically the same customs, as these china hill-tribes, who are also said to have the tradition of a "river of sand." there are three main divisions of the karens, known as pwo, sgaw, and karennee or "red karens." this threefold division antedates their migration to burma. the pwos, sometimes called "the mother race," are supposed to have been the first arrivals, working their way south by the way of the valleys of the salwen and mekong rivers; followed by the sgaws, and finally by the karennees, though it is doubtful whether there was any interval between these main divisions in the general migration. but in some way they have--to this day--maintained the distinction. it is probable that for a time the karens held the territory now known as the eastern shan states, and all the upper salwen region. the coming of the shans, whether from the north or west, drove them southward, each of these tribal divisions advancing under compulsion in the same order in which they first entered the country. the pwos are now found in the delta and still farther south in the maulmain district; the karennees farther north, bordering on the shan country, and east to the siam border; the sgaws keeping to the central territory, in the toungoo district and diagonally across to bassein, sharing parts of the delta with the pwos. a large body of sgaw karens, as well as many pwos, are found in the tavoy district, farthest south of all. the tavoy karens drifted in from siam, not extending to the seacoast until early in the last century. there is now a continuous chain of karens from tavoy far into the north of siam. in general, the karens live in the highlands, the burmans occupying the plains. formerly this was partly from choice, but unavoidable whether from choice or not, on account of the cruel oppression suffered at the hands of the more powerful burmans. but under british rule many karens have come down to the plains, and forming villages of their own, have engaged in cultivation. they still like to be within easy reach of the mountains, to which they resort for game and other food. in the shady ravines they have profitable gardens of betel (areca) palms, the nut being essential to any native's happiness, and commanding a ready sale. some writers have advanced the theory that the religious traditions of the karens were derived from their supposed contact with nestorian jews in western china. this can hardly be true--as it places the migration of the karens to burma at much too late a date. the nestorians did not begin their work in western china until a. d., closing it in , when they were expelled by the mongols. it seems certain that the karens were already in burma long before the nestorian missionaries went to china. (marco polo's roman catholic mission-work in western china did not begin until .) if it is true that the large towns in shan-land were founded by the shans four or five hundred years before the christian era, the migration of the karens must be placed at an even earlier period,--but that early date is doubtful. the non-christian karens are, and always have been spirit-worshippers. this so-called worship is limited to propitiatory sacrifice. in this respect they are at one with all the races of burma, not excepting the burman buddhists, though the latter have abandoned bloody sacrifice. before the adoption of buddhism the burmans, shans and talaings were spirit-worshippers pure and simple. spirit-worshippers they still are, with the forms of buddhism for a veneering. but the karens have many religious traditions, so closely following the bible accounts of the creation, fall, flood, and other events as to furnish strong evidence that in bygone ages their ancestors somewhere were in touch with the people of god. in spite of their spirit-worship they have retained a belief in a supreme being, and long looked forward to the time when god's word, which they had lost, should be restored to them. god was believed to be a benevolent being, but so far away that he had nothing to do with men. all spirits were believed to be evil, vengeful and near at hand. therefore the supreme being was left out of their worship, and sacrifices offered to propitiate evil spirits who might work harm to them, by causing sickness, destruction of crops, and many other possible misfortunes. the karens contend that in making offerings to the evil spirits they were not showing disloyalty to the supreme being. they illustrate their position by the following story: "some children left in a place of supposed safety by their parents, were so frightened by the approach of a tiger that they threw down the cliff some pigs that had taken refuge with them. their eyes, however, were not fixed on the tiger, but on the path by which they expected their father to come. their hands fed the tiger _from fear_, but their ears were eagerly listening for the twang of their father's bowstring, which should send the arrow quivering into the tiger's heart." "and so, although we have to make sacrifices to demons, our hearts are still true to god. we must throw sops to the demons who afflict us, but our hearts were looking for god." the history of the karens in burma has been a sad one. for centuries they had been grievously oppressed by the burmans, who robbed them, carried away captives into slavery, and kept the karens pent up in the most inaccessible parts of the mountain ranges. under british rule the karens are safe from serious molestation, but the old feeling still remains, and they hold aloof from the burman as much as possible. the coming of the christian missionary, restoring to them the knowledge of the true god so vaguely known through their traditions, was the great event to which the whole karen nation had so long looked forward. multitudes readily accepted christianity. by its power they were emancipated from the domination of evil spirits; the swords and spears of tribal feuds were forged into pruning hooks; and the whole christian world rejoiced in the glorious spectacle of "a nation in a day." the census of gives a total of nearly , karens, of all tribes. many more are found in siam. it has been asserted that "more languages are spoken in assam than in any other country in the world." the same may be said of burma. the recent census recognized fifty-seven indigenous races or tribes, and as many more non-indigenous. in the toungoo district the missionaries meet with several karen dialects not mentioned in the census enumeration, but so distinct that one tribe does not understand the dialect of another. in some localities one meets with a new dialect in each village through which he passes in a day's journey. ye shades of shinar! confusion of tongues,--twice confounded. it seems incredible that so many families of one race, occupying the same territory, and with practically the same habits, customs, and superstitions,--should each perpetuate for centuries its own peculiar dialect and clannish exclusiveness. the missionary or official, to do effective work among such a people, needs a small army of interpreters at his heels. the kachins _the kachins_ inhabit the extreme northern part of burma, extending as far south as the bhamo and namkham districts, and east into china. the kachins are own cousins to the nagas of the adjacent hill tract of assam, who call themselves "singpho." "kachin" is a name applied to these people by the burmans. the kachins of burma call themselves "chingpaw." this quite suits their kinsmen of assam, who look down upon the chingpaws as unworthy the grand name of singpho. both terms seem to mean "men,"--but _men_ in distinction from the inferior races around them. the census of gives a total of , kachins in burma alone. the early missionaries held that the kachins and karens were of the same origin; that the kachins were really karens, from whom the southern karens had become separated. this view seemed substantiated by the people themselves; by some of their customs,--such as the manner in which their houses are constructed and partitioned off; by a certain similarity of language--many common nouns said to be common to both languages, and by their spirit-worship. it is now generally admitted that the kachins and karens are not of the same origin. in bygone ages they may have been neighbours, if not more closely related,--in the borders of tartary,--but at a very remote period. certainly they did not migrate to burma at the same time, nor by the same route. the kachins have traditions that they migrated to burma by way of the headwaters of the irrawadi,--that their primal ancestor lived at "majoi shingra pum." in his "handbook of the kachin language," h. f. hertz says: "i have succeeded in obtaining the views of several old men, _tumsas_ and _faiwas_, who might be described as kachin priests. it would seem from these that 'majoi shingra pum' is a high table-land with very few trees, frequently covered with snow, and very cold. "now, the name 'majoi shingra pum,' literally translated is a naturally flat mountain, or in other words, a plateau, and it does not need any stretch of the imagination to identify it with some part of eastern tibet. colonel hannay, writing in , describes tribes residing in the inaccessible regions bordering on tartary as closely allied to the kachins." this identifies the kachins more closely with the burmans and chins than with the karens. moreover it is said that the kachin language has more points in common with the burmese than with the karen. this is especially true of the marus,--a tribe to the eastward, allied to the kachins of burma. it is not difficult to believe that all these races, in the very remote past, were neighbours in the borders of tibet, and that while the kachins and burmese migrated south direct, the karens migrating by way of western china,--the meeting of these races on burmese soil reveals a few of the many things they once had in common. after the burmans and chins had migrated to burma, the shans, pressing westward by way of the namkham valley, blocked the way of further migrations from the north. the shans are known to have been supreme in northern burma at the beginning of the christian era. it is probable that they peopled the upper irrawadi several centuries earlier. in the thirteenth century the shans overran assam. not until the middle of the sixteenth century were they finally overcome by the burmans. nothing is known of the kachins in burma earlier than the sixteenth century. they seem to be comparatively recent arrivals, working their way into burma after the shans had been weakened by their struggles with the burmans. the singphos of assam are said to have drifted into that country but a little more than a century ago. the kachins have gradually forced the palaungs and shans before them, or isolating some of their villages from the main body. their sudden development of power is remarkable. political changes consequent on the annexation of upper burma checked kachin aggressions. they are still spreading, but by fairly peaceable means. the namkham district, supposedly shan, is found to contain fully as many kachins as shans. slowly but surely the shans will be pressed southward. before passing under control of the british the various tribes of kachins were ever at war among themselves. captives were sold into slavery. retaliatory raids were constantly expected. feuds are still kept up, though they do not have the free hand to execute vengeance enjoyed in former years. the kachin, from habit, is watchful and suspicious of strangers,--until his confidence is gained. their villages are usually high up in the hills, as secluded and inaccessible as possible. but the isolated situation of the village probably is due to the fear of _nats_, spirits,--quite as much as from fear of human enemies. one writer describes an avenue leading to the village, with bamboo posts at regular intervals, with rattan ropes, à la clothes-line, from which various emblems are suspended. near the village "wooden knives, axes, spears, and swords are fastened to the tree-trunks. all this display is for the benefit of the nats. like the chinese, they do not give their demons credit for much acuteness. for one thing they believe that they can only move in a straight line. therefore the _nats_ avoid going about in the jungle, and keep to the open paths. a few judicious turns are made in the avenue, so as to turn the prowling devils off, if possible, but if he should happen to be cannoned off the tree stems in the right direction, there are the emblems to show him where the thing he is in search of may be found. if he is hungry there is the bullock's skull nailed to a tree, to indicate where food may be found; if he is thirsty a joint of bamboo points out where a libation of rice spirit has been made." these spirit-worshippers are more easily gained than the buddhist burmans and shans, but they have not the traditions of the karens to prejudice them in favour of christianity. morally, they rank very low,--and yet their morality must be viewed in the light of kachin, rather than english custom. as with the non-christian karens, there are certain unwritten tribal laws governing family life. should a kachin presume to poach on his neighbour's preserves, there would be one less kachin the next day. courtship, when once the parties have come to an understanding, is conducted as a "probationary marriage." they may separate before the marriage ceremony takes place, if they weary of each other. but if they have already started a colony, marriage _must_ follow, or the man "has to kill a bullock and pigs--to appease the _nats_ of the damsel's house. in addition he has to pay a fine to the parents, of a spear, a gong, a _da_, and some pieces of cloth, and sometimes a bullock or buffalo." the old man is more exacting than the _nats_. such separations do not effect the social standing of either party. it is claimed that separations or disloyalty after marriage "are practically unknown." it certainly would not be healthy to have it known. the kachins have their own distinctive costume, varying according to tribe and locality. but kachin men in touch with chinese, shans, or burmans, usually adopt the costume of their neighbours. the women hold to their own costume. the religion of the kachins, though gross spirit-worship, contains an element of truth not found in the buddhism of the more civilized burmans. rev. mr. geis, missionary at myitkyina says--"above and beyond all _nats_ to whom kachins offer sacrifices at one time or another, they recognize the existence of one great spirit called karai kasang. altars in his honour are not found in kachin villages or houses. no priest has been able to divine what offerings are to be made to it, but in time of great danger _nats_ and their offerings are forgotten, and their cry goes out to karai kasang for help and succour." the chins _the chins_, who number about , , are thought to be of the same origin as the burmese,--from the neighbourhood of tibet. it is evident that they became separated from kindred tribes at a very remote period. the lushais of assam, and bengal, and the kukis of manipur have the same race-characteristics, and probably formed part of the original migration southward. at present the chins, occupying the hill country in the northwest corner of burma, are slowly pressing northward, affecting manipur. the chins of the hill-country are quite isolated from other races. for this reason buddhism has never reached them. like their kinsmen, the kachins, they are spirit-worshippers, as were their other kinsmen, the burmese, before the introduction of buddhism. the chins are divided into several tribes. the northern chins call themselves "yo," the tashons call themselves "kaka"; the middle tribes give their names as "lai"; the southern chins call themselves "shu." since the annexation of upper burma, securing immunity from oppression by the burmans many chins have drifted down from their own hill-country and formed agricultural villages in the plains. the chin country is about miles long by from to miles wide. it is wholly mountainous, the highest peaks being from , to , feet. liklang peak, the highest of all, is nearly , feet. like all spirit-worshippers, the chins dread the power of demons, and offer to them the same left-handed sort of worship. but their worst enemy is of their own manufacture, made by fermenting rice, millet, or corn, and called "zu." the great and wide-spread vice among the chins is drunkenness. men, women, children, even babes in arms--all drink and glory in intoxication as an accomplishment of which to be proud. no act is considered a crime if committed when drunk. many people i have seen in european and american cities must have been chins. no function is complete without liquor. hospitality is gauged by the number of cups of spirit dealt out, and appreciation of it--by the number of cups consumed. again, how like many of their white cousins. "a man should drink, fight, and hunt, and the portion for women and slaves is _work_"--is both creed and practice. they have a peculiar custom, now dying out, of tattooing the faces of the women, until the whole face, from chin to hair--is dyed a purplish black. the reason for this custom is in dispute. some have asserted that it was to make them unattractive to their enemies, especially the burmans, who frequently raided their villages in the foot-hills. others claim that the tattooing was in order to increase their attractiveness to the young men of their own kind. fortunate indeed were they if this queer custom served the double purpose of repelling enemies and attracting friends. to unaccustomed eyes the tattooed face is hideous in the extreme. the first attempt by the british to control any part of the chin hills was made in , but was neither continuous nor effective. in an expedition was sent into the hills to recover captives, and punish offenders. the chins remained quiet for ten years, then broke out again in repeated raids, from to . the english were obliged to undertake a systematic subjugation of the whole chin country. this was effected in - . the expedition met with stubborn resistance, by guerilla methods. many villages were burned by the english, as the only means of subduing the wily enemy. many villages were burned by the chins themselves. near one village "a dog had been killed and disemboweled, and tied by its four legs and thus stretched on a rope suspended between two sticks across the path to the village, its entrails being likewise suspended between two other sticks, thus barring the road. asking the chins what this might mean, they said it was an offering to the war _nat_ to protect their village, and to ward off our bullets from injuring them." the work of subjugation had to be continued for some years, before the chins were made to realize that the english government must be respected. the hakas and others were disarmed in . the chin hills are administered by a political officer at falam, with a european assistant at other important points, as tiddim and haka. the morals of these benighted chins, still further degraded by their drink habit, are what might be expected. marriages are governed by the working-value of the bride, parents expecting compensation for the loss of her services, according to her capacity for work, and "expectation of life." this seems to have been the custom among all races of burma. it is said that when a chin wife is asked "where is your husband?" she will give the required information in case he is living,--but if dead she will reply, "he is not here," and expects the subject to be dropped at that. this reminds me of a shan girl's answer when i asked her the whereabouts of a former resident--"i don't know,--he is dead." the chins of the foot-hills and plains present an encouraging field for missionary work, but missionary work must be pushed with all possible vigour--to forestall the influences of buddhism. to win them from spirit-worship is hard enough, to win them from buddhism will be very much harder. the dialect of the southern chins has been reduced to writing, and is found to be strikingly similar to the burmese, perhaps half of the words being more or less allied to the burmese. as the southern chins have great difficulty in understanding the speech of the wild tribes in the northern hills, it is quite probable that their own dialect has been corrupted by contact with the burmans since their migration to burma. the chin dialect of the south is also said to contain many words of shan origin. this must have come about in the same way, either by contact with shans on the upper chindwin at a very early period, or when the shans occupied arracan about eighteen years, towards the end of the tenth century. this later contact seems much too short to have left a permanent mark on the southern chin dialect. the total number of animists--demon-worshippers--in burma, chin, kachin, karen, and other, is about four hundred thousand. but as we have seen, the buddhist burmans, shans and talaings, are at core, demon-worshippers, all races having in common practically the same superstitions. v buddhism as it is much has been written on buddhism, besides the translation of the buddhist's sacred books. little, however, can be learned from books of buddhism as one finds it expressed in the life of the people. riding one day with a missionary who had a wide acquaintance with the burmans and their language, i asked him certain questions as to their real belief. his reply was, "no man can tell, until he finds a way to get into the burman mind." the first business of the missionary seemed to be then to make every effort to get into the burman mind; to study him; study his religious habits; ascertain if possible, his point of view; learn to see things from his point of view; to know what there is in him that must be eradicated and supplanted by the gospel of jesus christ. we see the country fairly alive;--no, _dead_ with idols. we see the people kneeling before these idols, and, to every appearance praying. are they praying? how can they be praying, inasmuch as buddhism knows no god,--does not claim to have a god? gautama himself whom all these images represent, never claimed to have any power to save others, or even to save himself. these worshippers know that he was only a man, that at the age of eighty years he died, that his death was due to an attack of indigestion (from eating too much fresh pork), as any other man might die. it is supposed that he was born near benares, about six hundred years before christ; that his father was a chief of an aryan tribe called the sakyas. from the sacred books they learn that gautama's early life was spent in dissolute pleasure and luxury common to oriental princes; that after a time becoming dissatisfied with his own manner of life and the corrupt conditions around him, he yielded to another his princely prospects, abandoned his wife and child and gave himself up to a life of meditation and study under religious teachers; that failing in this to gain the longed-for peace of soul he for several years led a life of the most severe privation and affliction of the flesh, until by long continued meditation and self-concentration the light broke in upon him, and he became "the enlightened one,"--a buddha. did he not by this enlightenment become something more than man? not at all. he had learned nothing of god, not even that such a being existed. he entertained no thought that he himself had acquired any supernatural character or power. and so he died. even the common people of the jungle villages know all this, and yet they prostrate themselves before these images of brass, wood, or stone. are they praying? perchance their hopes are based on what gautama became, after death. according to buddhism, gautama had now passed through all the necessary conditions and changes, and entered at once upon the final state, the highest goal of buddhism, nirvana, ("neikban," in burmese). had he now become a god? not at all. no buddhist entertains such a thought. what then is neikban? "it means," they say, "the going out, like the flame of a candle." by a long-continued process of self-concentration gautama is supposed to have become absolutely oblivious to the world around him, and ultimately to have become unconscious even of self. his death is believed to have been utter extinction of both physical and spiritual existence. some deny that neikban is equivalent to annihilation. the best that can be claimed for it is an impossible existence in which there is neither sensation nor conscious life. fittingly they describe it as "a flame which has been blown out." according to buddhist teachings and current belief gautama has disappeared, body and soul. brahmins may talk of being absorbed in the "one supreme soul," and theosophists glibly repeat the form of words, but buddhists claim nothing of the sort. there is no supreme soul to absorb them, and no human souls to be absorbed. it is not soul, or life that is perpetuated, but _desire_ merely. neikban, they declare, is the cessation of everything, a condition of unconsciousness, lifeless ease, they do not like to say annihilation. then what are these worshippers doing here on their knees before images which represent no existing being? surely not praying, for they have "no hope, without god in the world"; no being higher than themselves to whom prayer could be addressed; no expectation of blessing of any sort from any supernatural source; absolutely nothing in their religious conceptions or experience corresponding to the communion between the christian and his god. there is no such thing as real prayer in the whole buddhist system. what, then, are they doing? here comes in the system of "merit" on which buddhism is built. an instinctive sense of guilt and impending penalty is universal. having no saviour--man must save himself. from what? not from sin, as violation of the laws of a holy being, but from their train of evil consequences to himself. [illustration: worshipers] the chief tenets of buddhism are: ( ) misery is the inevitable consequence of existence. ( ) misery has its source in desire. ( ) misery can be escaped only by the extinction of desire. ( ) desire can be extinguished only by becoming wholly unconscious of the world and of self. ( ) he who attains to such unconsciousness attains to neikban. ( ) evil actions constitute demerit. good actions constitute merit. in this deeply grounded belief as to merit and demerit lies the secret of much that we see in the life of the people. _now_ we know what these people are doing,--they are seeking to _accumulate merit_ by repeating over and over again a certain formula, or portions of their "law" with their faces towards the,--to them,--sacred pagoda or idol. but no buddhist expects to attain to neikban at the end of this existence. he realizes that it is utterly hopeless for him to think of fulfilling the conditions. but he cherishes the groundless hope that in some future existence under more favourable conditions he may be able to accumulate sufficient merit, though he cannot now. this belief presupposes the doctrine of transmigration, or metempsychosis. the buddhist believes that he has passed through countless existences in the past,--whether as man, animal, or insect, or all many times over, he knows not; finally, birth into this world as man. he dies only to be reborn into this or another world,--whether as man, animal, or insect he knows not; then death again, and so through countless ages. even gautama himself is said to have passed through five hundred and fifty different phases of existence, including long ages in hell, before he finally entered this world as man, and became a buddha. although buddhism has no god, and no heaven, it has a very vivid conception of hell, yes,--eight of them, surrounded by over forty thousand lesser hells,--their terrors limited only by the limitations of the imagination. but no man can escape--the doctrine of karma settles that. a man's own words and deeds pursue him relentlessly, and there is no city of refuge to which he may flee. "not in the heavens, not in the midst of the sea, not if thou hidest thyself in the clefts of the mountains, will thou find a place where thou mayest escape the force of thy own evil actions." so say their scriptures, and so every buddhist believes. hell is the inevitable penalty of many deeds or accidents, such as the killing of the smallest insect under foot. between the buddhist and his hopeless hope of neikban yawns this awful gulf of existences and sufferings. "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap," gives the gist of buddhism. he is now reaping from past existences; he will reap in the next from his deeds in this. in the past each succeeding existence depended upon the last previous existence. in like manner, what the next existence shall be depends wholly upon the deeds of this life. so the countless series of transmigrations may be, theoretically, in the ascending or descending scale. but when the awful penalties assigned to innumerable and unavoidable violations of the buddhist law are taken into consideration all hope of future existences in the ascending scale vanishes. the poor fisherman, beginning at the very bottom of the lowest of the four chief hells must spend countless ages in each, before he can hope to be reborn as man. the man who unwittingly puts his foot on the smallest insect and crushes out its life must atone for the deed by spending a long period in torment. taking the life of any living thing, even to the killing of poisonous snakes, is held to be the worst of all sins. the priests, to avoid the possibility of destroying insect life, use a brass strainer finely perforated, to cleanse their drinking water, in blissful ignorance of the microbe theory. a native preacher once asked me to get him a microscope so that he might prove to the priests that notwithstanding their precautions they were drinking to themselves perdition. his motive may have been in part, to convince them as to the futility of their hope, and in part to get even with them for their harsh criticisms of "animal-killing christians." a story told by one of our native preachers vividly illustrates this dread of future punishment. "i had been preaching for about two hours to a large company in a jungle-village. during all this time an old woman was sitting on a log near by, counting off her beads, and devoutly murmuring to herself the customary formula, '_ah-nas-sa, dok-ka, ah-nat-ta; paya, taya, thinga,--radana thón-ba_'--'transitoriness, misery, illusions; lord, law, priest,--the three jewels.' when i had finished i approached her saying: 'why do you worship so devoutly?' 'to escape the penalty of hell,' she sadly replied. 'so you fear the future,--what is your notion of hell?' 'oh, it is a terrible place. they say it is shaped like a great cauldron, and full of burning oil in which people suffer endlessly and are not consumed. and when they try to escape, the evil beings of the place thrust them back with sharp forks and spears. oh, it is a terrible place!' she repeated, fairly trembling as she described its horrors. 'yes,' i said. 'you seem to understand it very well. now what are you doing to escape such an awful fate?' 'oh, many, many years i have worshipped before the pagodas and idols; every day i count my beads over and over, repeating the formula, as gautama directed. do you think that after all i have done i must still go to hell?' 'yes,' i said. 'if that is all you have done, you surely must.' 'oh, then, tell me,' she said in great distress, 'what _can_ i do to escape, for i greatly fear the terrors of that place.' then sitting there on the log, with this poor old woman on the ground before me, i told the blessed gospel story over again, as jesus christ did with the woman of samaria. and then i said: 'you must repent of your sins, and confess them to the eternal god. you must believe and trust the lord jesus christ, who died to save you. if you do this he will forgive your sins, and save you.' her wrinkled face brightened with hope as she exclaimed, 'if i do as you have said, and believe on jesus christ, _will_ he save me?' 'yes, he surely will, for he has said, "him that cometh unto me i will not cast out."' on her face was an almost heavenly light--as she replied: 'then _i do_ believe, and i want to go with you that you may tell me about him until i die.' her friends ridiculed her saying, 'oho! grandma wants to go off with the preacher. she is becoming foolish in her old age.' 'oh, no,' she said. 'but the preacher has told me how i may escape the penalty of hell, and _i am so glad_.'" it has often been asserted that buddhism has a moral code rivaling, if not superior to that of christianity. we had not been at our mission station a week before we heard the remark, "buddhism is a beautiful religion,--why do the missionaries try to disturb them in their belief?" that there are noble precepts and commandments all must admit. but he who expects to see their "beauty" reflected in the lives of the people will be doomed to disappointment. take the commandment already noticed--"thou shalt not take the life of any living thing." this commandment admits of no exceptions whatever, under any possible circumstances, not even in self-defense; and puts the taking of a human life and that of the smallest insect in the same category. but the burmans, among whom buddhism is found in its purest form, have been a more or less warlike race from their earliest history, often practicing the greatest cruelties. how do they reconcile this with the teachings of their law? we will suppose that one man has taken the life of another. according to his own belief and the law of the land, he is a murderer. to free himself from just and inevitable penalty he resorts to his doctrine of "merit," by which he may absolve himself from the demerit of his evil act. the building of a small pagoda of sun-dried brick, or the forming of an idol from a portion of his fire-wood log will balance the scales, square the account, restore him to his former prospects, and to future prospects as bright as though he had kept the whole law. by this convenient belief he may take his absolution into his own hands, and work it out to suit himself. but if he be a poor man, unable to perform an adequate work of merit, he must suffer to the full the consequences of his act. a missionary found a man digging for huge beetles. when one was found it was impaled on a sharp stick along with the others, all to go into the curry for the morning meal. then the following conversation took place: "are you not afraid of punishment in hell for killing these creatures?" "i shall go there if i do not kill them." "then you do this because there is no hope for you, whether you take animal life or not?" "it is all the same." sins beyond his power to counterbalance by merit had already been committed, until hope had given way to despair. one may shoot pigeons in the vicinity of a buddhist monastery, and then divide with the priest, who anticipates a savoury meal without any compunctions of conscience on account of "aiding and abetting." young burmans are eager to follow the man with the gun, showing him the likeliest place to find game, and when the animal is wounded, will rush in and dispatch it with their dahs. the fisheries of burma furnish a livelihood to hundreds of burmans. large sums are paid to government annually for the privilege of controlling certain specified sections of rivers or streams. the fisherman makes the taking of animal-life his business and daily occupation. theoretically he is ranked among the very lowest classes. in real life we find him enjoying the same social position that others of equal wealth enjoy. but i do not hesitate to say that this general belief that fearful penalties must be endured in future existences for taking animal-life in this, has a deeper hold on the buddhist than any other commandment. take the commandment: "thou shalt speak no false word,"--strikingly like the christian's commandment, "thou shalt not bear false witness," "lie not one to another." one would naturally expect to find among the devotees of a system containing such a commandment some value placed upon one's word of honour. but if truthfulness has ever been discovered among non-christian burmans, the discovery has never been reported. but we have not far to search to find the secret of this general lack of any regard for truthfulness. the same "sacred book" that sets forth the commandment, "thou thalt speak no false word," gives this definition of falsehood: a statement constitutes a _lie_ when discovered by the person to whom it is told, to be untrue! see what latitude such a definition gives. deceit is at a premium. children grow up with no higher standard of honour than a belief that the sin of falsehood and fraud lies entirely in its discovery. is it any wonder that these people have become expert in the art. it is the common practice among themselves,--in business, in family life, in match-making, and most of all, in their dealings with foreigners. no european (after the first year) places the slightest reliance upon the most emphatic promise of a heathen burman. in fact, the more emphatic the promise, the greater seems to be the temptation to do just the other thing. it may have been this inbred trait that led the schoolboy to translate "judge not, that ye be not judged," by "do no justice, lest justice be done to you." when it is remembered that deceit and fraud are national vices, bred in the bone for centuries, it is not to be marvelled at that native christians, only a step from heathenism, are sometimes found deficient in their sense of honour. here is an illustration in point. a young burman wanted to become a christian. he became a regular attendant at chapel services, and finally asked for baptism. this greatly enraged his heathen wife, who proceeded to make his life most miserable. she tore around, screamed, pulled her own hair, and made things interesting generally. she got possession of his box containing his best clothing and other valuables, and would neither give it back to him nor live any longer with him unless he would promise to break with the christians, and cease attending their worship. the young man appealed to his uncle. the uncle's advice was: "you go and tell your wife that you will have nothing more to do with the christians. you cannot recover your property in any other way. when you have regained possession of your box, come back to us, and then we will baptize you." so far as he then knew, the end justified the means. take the commandment: "thou shalt commit no immoral act,"--an ideal precept in itself, but standing for little more than a joke when inscribed on the banner of any non-christian people. the burman is perhaps superior, morally, to some other races of this country, yet his moral sense is very low. among middle-aged people marriage seems to be an actual institution, and family life well guarded. separations are comparatively few. conditions of life in the tropics are such that the young are subject to temptations sad to contemplate. heathen parents freely discuss subjects in the presence of their children that never would be mentioned before them in a christian home. missionaries' children often startle their parents by repeating what never should have come to their ears. it seems a wonder that moral character exists at all among the young. that many do set a high value upon virtue no unprejudiced observer of native life can doubt. jealousy plays a large part in early separations, and with sufficient cause. both may find other partners of their joys on the day following. among all races there are certain laws and social customs that in large measure restrain evil practices. even among the heathen a certain value is placed upon one's social standing in the community,--which has greater weight than the commandment against immorality, in his "law." an educated burman once said to me--"burmans do not take much account of sin, but they do not like to lose their respectability." other commandments, such as those directed against "love of the world," and "love of money," seem to be honoured more in the breach than in the observance. the burmans are notoriously the proudest, gayest people on the face of the earth. they enjoy a good time and will have it, whatever the occasion. there is little of real religious significance in their so-called religious gatherings. a display of fine clothes, a few presents for the priests; some of the more devout, especially the elderly women, worshipping before the shrine. but a large majority will be found sitting in the "zayats" talking familiarly among themselves, painting the ground below red with _kun_-juice by spitting through cracks in the floor, and never going near the pagodas or idols at all. the buddhists are proud of their "law," and lay great stress upon it for purposes of argument. but as we have seen, either from their low moral sense, or their dependence on works of merit, the "law" has little effect on the lives of the people. we visited that most famous worship-place of the buddhists, the shwe dagon pagoda, and for the first time saw heathenism as it is. we had read "the light of asia"; and heard theosophists talk glibly of "mahatmas" whose wisdom is more ancient and profound than anything in the religious literature of the west. but here we saw the yellow-robed, "light of asia" (more fittingly called the "blight of asia") and the graven image, both representing their annihilated buddha, seemingly equal in intelligence, and sharing together the superstitious worship of the common people. up the long ascent to the pagoda is a covered way, its brick or flagged steps hollowed out by the tramp, tramp of thousands on thousands of barefooted worshippers, extending over many, many years. [illustration: a karen family] [illustration: buddhist idol] guarding the approach are two horrible griffins, the first suggestion of the superstitious mind of these benighted people. on either side of the stairway are sellers of artificial flowers, paper streamers, candles, and other things used as offerings, each worshipper stopping to invest in whatever he thinks will gain for him the greatest amount of merit at the least possible cost. this great pagoda itself , feet in circumference, tapering in graceful curves to a height of feet, is entirely covered with gold leaf. it is said that the pagoda has been regilded several times, at fabulous cost. but this does not seem so wonderful when one recalls that the parliament of religions witnessed the regilding of the entire buddhist system. this lofty spire is surmounted by a _htee_ or umbrella ornamented with gems and gold said to be valued at about $ , . the htee has been renewed several times, by different kings, each striving to outdo all others. the present htee was placed there in , by mindon min. the space around the base of the pagoda, protected by a parapet, and flagged with stone or cement, accommodates a large throng of worshippers. hither pilgrimages are made every year from all parts of burma. besides the four large idols built into the base of the pagoda far out of sight, as in all pagodas, there are many auxiliary shrines deeply recessed into the base, dimly lighted by tiny candles, and containing gilded or alabaster images of gautama. still other shrines have been erected at the outer circumference of the floor space. huge bells are suspended between posts, near the floor. the largest, cast in , is fourteen feet high, seven and a half in diameter, with sides fifteen inches in thickness, weighs , pounds. it is said that when this bell was cast, quantities of gold, silver and copper were thrown in as offerings. after the second burmese war, the english undertook to carry this bell away as a curio, but by some accident it fell into the river. the burmans afterwards recovered it and put it again in its place,--a marvellous feat, considering their rude appliances. intensely interesting is all this when seen for the first time; but inexpressibly saddening when one stops to reflect what it all stands for. one is forcibly reminded of its terrible significance by groups of worshippers kneeling before these shrines, mumbling hurriedly through their so-called prayers, prostrating themselves repeatedly to the ground. after going through his prayers and prostrations the worshipper goes to the bell and strikes it with the end of a heavy piece of wood, kept there for the purpose. the attention of gods and men must be called to the fact that he has performed a certain amount of merit-earning worship. "thou shalt have no other gods before me. thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image nor any likeness of anything that is in heaven above or that is in the earth beneath; thou shalt not bow down to them nor serve them." what new meaning that commandment had for us, as we saw it violated before our eyes! idolatry seemed even darker than it had been painted. pagodas may be seen all over burma, single or in groups; of all sizes from the less pretentious structure in the jungle-village, to the great shwe dagon in rangoon, with its umbrella-top feet in the air. these pagodas, modelled after the dagobas of ceylon, are all of the same general shape, resembling the bottom half of a child's top, inverted. they occupy the most conspicuous places, on nearly every hilltop, on points jutting out into the rivers, and near the chief highways. the more important were built over some supposed relic of gautama, such as a tooth or a hair. these pagodas are considered much more sacred than those that were built for merit only. the shwe dagon pagoda, most famous of all buddhist shrines, is said to have been built over relics of four buddhas, including eight hairs of gautama. the shwe hmaw daw pagoda at pegu, erected by the talaings, claims a tooth of gautama. the shwe san daw pagoda at toungoo has a different history. a burman prince, tabin shwe' htee, when born had one long red hair standing out from the top of his head. this was a sure indication of an embryonic buddha. in his honour the great pagoda was erected, and called the "golden hair pagoda." the maha myat moonee pagoda at mandalay, commonly known as the "arracan pagoda" is second only to the shwe dagon, in the esteem of upper burmans. in a. d., , the king of arracan cast a great brass image of gautama, which became famous for its supposed miraculous powers. in a. d., , the king of burma, having conquered other parts of the country, and secured about everything he wanted, turned longing eyes towards arracan and the far-famed image. this great image, twelve feet high, though cast in a sitting posture,--was brought over the mountains and deposited at the arracan pagoda in a large building specially prepared for it, north of amarapura. not a smile disturbs the settled calm on its face as the visitor reads the inscription setting forth that the image was drawn here by the "charm of the king's piety." but from other sources we learn that his piety found expression in a war of conquest, of which this image was one of the coveted fruits. its importation over the mountains was a wonderful feat. little wonder that burmans think it was accomplished by supernatural help. a few miles north of mandalay is the great mingon pagoda, begun in , and never finished. it is four hundred feet square at the base, and was to have been carried up to a height of five hundred feet, but work was suspended when it had reached about one third of its intended height, the country already having become seriously impoverished. in an earthquake split it from top to bottom. no one mourned the seeming disaster, for no king could gain the "royal merit" by completing the work of another. as it is, this mingon pagoda is said to be the largest pile of brick and mortar in the world. the largest bell in burma, weighing between eighty and ninety tons, and second in size to the great bell at moscow, cast to match the immense pagoda, is still to be seen near the ruins. this bell is eighteen feet high, seventeen in diameter, and a foot and a half in thickness. it now rests on the ground, having long ago proved too heavy for its supports. pagodas are not temples. there is no open interior for a worship place. the worshipping is done in the open space around the pagoda, or in the idol-houses, the real temples. the first pagoda was probably built at the close of the fourth century or even later; though buddhists refer it to a much earlier date. the sacred books of buddhism were brought to burma about a. d., according to the best authorities. before the introduction of buddhism the burmans and talaings, like all other races around them, were spirit-worshippers. they knew no gods but _nats_, spirits with supernatural powers. the reigning king became a convert to the new religion, built a pagoda, and issued a royal decree that all his subjects should worship it, death being the penalty of refusal. the king's edict failing to accomplish its purpose, he cunningly commanded that a _nat-sin_ or spirit-house be built near the pagoda. the transition from the worship of invisible nats to the worship of the more tangible pagoda was natural and inevitable. "it was by a strange irony of fate," says sir monier williams, "that the man who denied any god or any being higher than himself, and told his followers to look to themselves for salvation, should have been not only deified and worshipped, but represented by more images than any other being ever idolized in any part of the world." dharmapala, who represented buddhism at the parliament of religions, said: "a system in which our whole being, past, and present, and to come, depends on ourselves, theoretically, leaves little room for the interference or even existence of a personal god." it really leaves no room at all, and its founder plainly said so. buddhism is a worship of ancestors, of which gautama holds a monopoly. as we have seen, at the advent of buddhism the worship of evil spirits, by propitiatory sacrifice, prevailed throughout burma, among all races. it is not to be supposed that the adoption of buddhism dispelled these superstitions. spirit-worship is still the religion, if it can be called a religion,--of the non-christian karens, chins, kachins, and other non-buddhist races. when buddhism was adopted by the talaings, burmans, and shans, bloody sacrifice involving the taking of animal-life, had to be abandoned. but to this day propitiatory offerings of rice, fruit, or flowers, are made to the spirits as before. "animism supplies the solid constituents," says a recent writer, "that hold the faith together, buddhism the superficial polish. the burman has added to his animism just so much of buddhism as suits him, and with infantile inconsequence draws solace from each in turn." spirit-worship is his every-day religion, buddhism for special occasions. two illustrations will suffice to show how strong a hold superstition still has upon the people. a harmless lunatic had wandered through the streets for years. no one seemed to know the cause, but his reason, what little he ever possessed, had been dethroned, leaving him to wander about homeless and friendless. for his living he had to compete with the pariah dogs in the common effort to exist on what the people chanced to cast into the street after finishing their meals. one of the priests, thinking to gain notoriety as well as more substantial favours, declared that this man was a case of demoniacal possession. this was nothing new, for it is the common belief that _nats_ are responsible for disordered minds, sickness, and other calamities. but the priest further suggested that the nat that had taken up his abode in this man be exorcised by drowning him out. a company of burmans assembled, secured the demoniac, and headed by the priest and tom-toms, proceeded to the river. the poor demoniac, filthy, naked and with matted hair,--a picture of abject helplessness,--was led by a rope to,--he knew not what. several of the men took the poor creature in a boat to the middle of the river, and threw him overboard. when he tried to regain the boat they thrust him off with their bamboo poles. when he became exhausted and water-logged they would rescue him, only to throw him in again after a brief breathing spell. this was repeated for several days in the presence of the would-be wonder-worker, to the deafening sound of the tom-toms. it is needless to add that he continued to roam the streets, in the same condition as before. at one time when out on a tour among jungle-villages a native christian called my attention to a large banyan-tree by the roadside. up on one of the higher branches was a large gnarl, which, by a long stretch of the imagination slightly resembled a human face. the tree was standing there before the oldest inhabitant was born. the gnarl was a peculiar growth of many years. one day a passer-by noticed a fancied resemblance to a human face, and spread the story that the tree was haunted,--that it was the abode of a _nat_. of course the superstitious and gullible people believed it. a _zayat_ was quickly built under the tree; many brought offerings of rice, fruit, and flowers, and all who passed by that tree bowed down to worship that big knot on the limb. the dread of evil spirits is the bane of existence. there is constant fear lest some real or fancied lack of respect paid to the nats will bring some kind of disaster. _nagas_ are the most feared of all. there are several different kinds of _nagas_. some live under water, others on land. they are dragon-like reptiles, "fearsome" and terribly dreaded by old and young. when a man is drowning it is because a naga is drawing him down. does a man sink and not reappear, a naga has got him sure. on-lookers fear to go to the rescue. but there is one great naga, most dreaded of all, so long that it encircles the earth, which to the native mind, is as flat as a pancake. this monster is constantly moving forward, so that the position of its head is ever changing. but fortunately the astrologers have discovered that its progress in its orbit is regular, and the location of its head may be known, according to season of the year, a full year being required for the circuit. every burman knows in what direction is the awful naga's head at a given season. no love nor money will tempt them to travel through the jungle in that direction, in unfamiliar territory. naga-worship once prevailed in northern india. whether imported into burma, or also existing in burma before the introduction of indian influences in the north, is not known. but up to the eleventh century naga-worship was the most conspicuous feature in the observances of both spirit-worshippers and nominal buddhists. even now it is not uncommon to hear a burman, suffering from some calamity or disease, lamenting that he has in some way brought disaster to himself by unwillingly offending the great naga. once it was my good fortune to profit by their superstitious notions. having rented a native house as temporary quarters, i learned soon after moving in, that it had the reputation of being haunted. spirits of certain "dacoits" who came to a sudden death in a jail that formerly stood near by, were supposed to frequent the place. from that time on i could sleep in perfect security against all thought of prowling thieves. no fear that any native would come near that house after dark. buddhism a "beautiful religion"? that it has many noble precepts no one will deny. the same is true of every system of philosophy ever formulated. but at its best it furnishes no incentive to righteous living, beyond one's own self-interest. it offers no help or hope whatever, beyond one's own unaided efforts. if man cannot save himself he must stay where he is, or be sinking lower, ever lower. buddhism, as seen in the life of the people, is _rotten to the core_. we have seen how its adherents craftily seek to evade the precepts and commandments of their "law," so far as possible; and then to balance their evil doings by works of merit. the priests prey upon the superstitions of their people, and grow fat. if offerings to the monastery do not come in so freely as desired the wily priest conveniently has a remarkable dream, in which a nat reveals to him that terrible calamities will befall the people if they do not increase their zeal. this invariably has the desired effect. there is a general hustling throughout the jurisdiction of the monastery; and soon the greedy priests are fairly swamped with presents of plantains, rice, cocoanuts, etc. at kyankse there is a very steep hill, with several pagodas at the top. a missionary relates that he there "met an aged man who, to gain merit, climbs to the summit every day carrying two pots of water (about seventy pounds) for the use of the people who may come to worship there. he had a writing from the buddhist priest, assuring him that a buddha was about to appear, and if he continued in this meritorious work for seven years he would see the buddha, and be rewarded." the priest, in order to secure a regular supply of water, had deliberately duped this simple old man. and yet, as a work of merit, his daily task had a certain value, according to buddhist teaching. the utter powerlessness of buddhism to meet the needs of the human heart forced itself upon me when first i witnessed one of their funerals. a rich burman jeweller, living near our chapel, died of old age. one of his sons occupied a high official position. of course the funeral must be a grand affair. we reached the place just as the procession was forming. first, there were four men bearing a bamboo frame on which was an artificial tree, four feet high, its branches wound with bright coloured paper. from the ends of the branches silver coins wrapped in paper, were suspended. this money was to buy offerings for the pagodas. fifty-six men in squads of four, carried bamboo frames on which were piled gifts for the priests, consisting of mats, rugs, chinaware, lacquered-ware, lamps, etc. there were fourteen of these frames, being one each for fourteen priests. four coolies, each carrying on his shoulder a bamboo pole from which were suspended jackets and skirts to be given to the poor. a double line of men with slender strips of bamboo covered with showy paper, held upright like so many spears. then came the procession proper, headed by one of the rich relations carrying a lacquer vessel filled with copper coin. four coolies carrying two burmese drums, suspended from bamboo poles. two little boys fantastically dressed, danced before the drums, turning around in a solemn, but graceful manner, and at each turn striking the drums with their fists. then the mourners and friends, two daughters being dressed in white, with handkerchiefs tied round their heads as hair-bands. the coffin, covered with gold leaf, tinsel, and mirror glass, was elevated on a framework, about ten feet above the four-wheeled cart on which the framework rested. above the coffin were several roof-like projections, one above another forming a pyramid, surmounted by a spire twenty feet high. framework and spire were covered with showy paper and tinsel in artistic designs, and adorned with flags. the cart was drawn and pushed along by as many men as could get around it, long streamers of white cloth or ropes extending forward to the friends in front. next to the bier was an ox-cart with the burman band, or tom-toms. one man was blowing on an instrument resembling a large-mouthed flageolet, from which issued a tuneless succession of weird sounds,--music to their ears, no doubt,--but most melancholy to ours. another was sitting inside of a low circular frame with small drums arranged in a semicircle, each producing a different sound. behind the cart was a man with the cymbals, which he manipulated with marvellous skill, though the vibratory sounds and clangour were excruciating in the extreme to sensitive nerves. on another cart, under a canopy of red and white cloth was another coffin more elaborately decorated, but empty, merely for pomp and show, or to fool the evil spirits. if in the extra coffin the consequences of a man's evil deeds, together with _desire_, which constitutes the germ of the next existence, could also be buried, it would be the _ne plus ultra_ of hope to the buddhist. then followed several "gharries" with well-to-do acquaintances of the family. as the procession moved slowly along the man with the pot of copper coin now and then threw a handful forward into the crowd of poor children, and oh what a scramble! the priests had already gathered at the "zayat" in the cemetery to receive the expected offerings. had they been present at the bedside to minister some hope to the dying man who was about to pass out into the awful dark? not at all, for the priest is supposed to be passing through the process of crushing out all natural feeling. he must not show that he is influenced in the least by death-bed scenes. did they minister consolation to the sorrowing ones? not at all, for the priest is not supposed to feel the least sympathy with sorrow and distress. to "rejoice with them that rejoice, and weep with them that weep" is not in all his thoughts. he came not to minister, but to be ministered unto,--a complete reversal of the christian principle. so at the funeral he offers no consolation, but expects to be himself consoled, very substantially. at the cemetery he sits in the zayat on his elevated platform, chewing and spitting _kun_--the picture of indolence and indifference. after the burial the afflicted ones, sorrowing without hope, with hearts bleeding as even heathen hearts can bleed, come and prostrate themselves before the priests, worshipping them in their very despair. but the priests seem neither to see nor to hear. their minds from which "love of the world" has been well-nigh extinguished (!) are intent upon the rich presents with which their monastery is being filled. doubtless there are priests, especially the aged, who are sincerely striving to keep the "law" in spirit as well as in letter. but the very spirit of the law is selfishness. the buddhist sacred books were a gradual but abnormal growth. they contain comparatively little of the actual teachings of gautama, but a vast deal that gautama would not have sanctioned. marvellous stories have grown up around the memory of gautama, whom the people of his time regarded as a "religious hero, rather than a god." the most absurdly extravagant statements as to time, dimensions, space, and numbers, are found in these stories. imagination has run riot in fabricating accounts of impossible miracles performed by gautama. modern geography, if seriously taken into account by buddhists, would stampede the whole buddhist system. and yet these millions, given over to "believe a lie," accept it all without a question. the buddhist scriptures are divided into three main divisions. the first is addressed to the priests, and contains rules governing their life, duties and habits. the second is addressed to the laity; the third to the _dewas_ and brahmas in the worlds of _nats_. it is claimed that the first council to settle the sacred canon was held in the year b. c., in india; that the law was rehearsed from memory, but not committed to writing; that the second council was held in b. c., when the law was again rehearsed, but not committed to writing; that the third and last council, held in b. c., and continuing nine months, settled many questions in dispute; and furnished the stimulus of a great buddhist missionary enterprise. authorities differ as to the dates of these councils. dr. judson held that the buddhist scriptures in their present form were not completed until four hundred and fifty-eight years after gautama's death. were it possible for any human being to keep the law outlined in the sacred books of buddhism, and thereby attain to its goal, _neikban_, it might be said: "the gift of gautama is eternal death." how different from the central truth in the christian religion-- "the gift of god is eternal life." to make this known to the nations that sit in darkness, rests as a privilege and responsibility upon the christian church. vi burma's outcasts admirers of buddhism assert its superiority over hinduism in that buddhism has no caste system. in all ages and in all lands there has been, in real life, a sharp social distinction between the rich and the poor. this is inevitable, so long as unsanctified human nature holds sway. burma furnishes no exception to the rule. but while buddhist burma has no caste system, involving contamination to one caste by contact with another; or social degradation by departing from caste-rules,--burma has her outcasts. there are five classes of outcasts, namely:--former pagoda-slaves and their descendants; the grave-diggers; the lepers; the beggars; and the deformed or maimed. apostates from the ancestral religion might be added as a sixth class. slavery existed in burma before the introduction of buddhism. when the pagoda spires of the new religion began to multiply throughout the land somebody must be found to take care of the pagoda-grounds. existing slaves were not available for that purpose, for they had been apportioned to the service of the king, and others in high life. prisoners taken in war; life-convicts; and others who had incurred the displeasure of the king were drawn upon to meet the fresh and ever-increasing demand. princely captives and their followers are said to have been condemned to lifelong drudgery as pagoda slaves, with all of their descendants forever, while the world should last. as pagan was the first great centre of buddhism in upper burma, there it was that this form of slavery originated. buddhism of the southern type was taken to pagan in the eleventh century. the pagodas of thatone were duplicated. one after another was built, until an area eight miles long by two miles wide along the river was literally covered with pagodas, far surpassing any city in the world in the extent of its religious structures. pagan ceased to be a capital in the fourteenth century, and its wonderful pagodas and temples were left to go to ruin. but the king's decree was perpetuated in all other important centres, until the british indian government annexed the country, and put an end to compulsory slavery. besides the descendants of the original pagoda-slaves, others were added by successive kings, whether as punishment for crime, or by arbitrary selection of obnoxious villages or families. once a slave always a slave. posterity was doomed before it was born. not only was there no possible release from this inexorable law, but the common people came to regard the pagoda-slaves as a class under a curse. terrible sins of a former existence must have brought this great calamity upon them. their touch was contaminating. shunned and spurned at every point they became a community of outcasts, living by themselves, and existing on such offerings to the idols as could be rescued from the dogs and crows. under british rule this form of slavery has nominally ceased to exist. but no law of a civilized government could restore the pagoda-slave or his descendants to equal social standing with their neighbours. they are outcasts still, and outcasts they will remain, until buddhism is no more. climb the long covered stairway leading to the shwe dagon pagoda, or other of the more sacred shrines, you will find your path lined with sellers of offerings, paper "prayers," candles, and other things used at pagoda-worship. these sellers, with rare exceptions, are descendants of former pagoda-slaves, free in the eye of the law, but in slavery still to the unchangeable customs of burman buddhists. other burmans will not employ them, even to perform the tasks of the common indian coolie. do they go to some distant place where they are not known, and there attain wealth and social position, the first intimation that they are of the old pagoda-slave stock mercilessly consigns them again to their former condition as shunned outcasts. companions in social degradation are the "thu-bah-yah-zahs" or grave-diggers. every burman burial ground has its little community of thu-bah-yah-zahs, living apart from their fellow-men. each community has its head-man, who makes the bargain when a grave is to be dug. there is usually a fixed price for this work. but when a grave is to be dug for one who has met a violent death the price is gauged by the age of the individual. violent deaths are windfalls to the grave-diggers. the grave is filled in the presence of the friends, who consider it a mark of respect to tarry until the work is done. but it is well-known that the grave-diggers do not hesitate to exhume a body the following night if the clothing in which it was buried, or other objects placed in the coffin makes it worth the trouble. the coin in the mouth of the corpse, for the ferry-fare over the mystic river, is abstracted with callous indifference to the future state of the deceased. as in the case of pagoda-slaves, the grave-diggers were devoted to this degrading service by a decree of the king. some say that descendants of pagoda-slaves have swelled their numbers. beggars and lepers are permitted to live in their villages. misery loves company. birds of a feather flock together. a rich thu-bah-yah-zah in mandalay had an attractive daughter. anxious to emancipate her from the doom of her class he offered three thousand rupees ($ , ) to any respectable man who would marry her, and take her away where she would not be known. ten times the amount of his generous offer would have been no temptation. there is also a distinct beggar-class, of practically the same origin as the pagoda-slave and grave-diggers,--condemned by the king to a life of beggary. forbidden to engage in any self-supporting work, they could be drawn upon at any time to fill a lack in either of the other classes. this was sometimes for suspected disloyalty. few had need to become lifelong beggars because of abject poverty, for a respectable burman, though poor, is able to exist in this fruitful land without leaving his own village. neither the aged nor the orphaned are driven out to beg or starve. these unfortunates did not become beggars because they were outcasts, but became outcasts because they were made beggars, not of choice, but by royal decree. true to his creed, the burman then heaped upon the victim all the blame for his calamity. he is only reaping in this life what he sowed in some former existence. therefore, he and his descendants forever are to be despised, and compelled to remain beggars, whatever their actual condition. some of this beggar class are known to have become wealthy, but wealth secures to them no social standing. outcasts they are, and outcasts they must remain. it has become a deeply-rooted suspicion among these people themselves that unless they go out and beg at least once a year, some disaster will befall them. the children of none of these outcast classes are permitted to enter the monastic or other schools. the admission of one child of outcast parentage, however bright and respectable he may be, would stampede any school. this superstitious contempt of outcasts is so deep-rooted and universal that managers of non-buddhist schools do not find it wise to ignore it. strange to say, the deformed and the maimed are held in abhorrence, and blamed for their misfortune. the disciples asked--"who sinned, this man or his parents, that he should be born blind?" one day while my train was waiting at a station, a poor woman, armless from her birth, came by the open window of my compartment, and stopped for alms. when she had passed out of hearing, i said to a heathen burman standing by, "how pitiful!" without any show of compassion he unknowingly repeated the old-time question--"because of whose sin was she born in that condition?" that she was under a curse he had no doubt. no pity is wasted on a person who is born blind, deformed, or heir to loathsome disease. he is only getting what he deserves, in this life, and nothing can he hope for but ages in one of the lowest hells hereafter. with such a belief, is it any wonder that buddhists never found asylums or hospitals, or attempt any organized system of relief for the unfortunate. it is of no use to fight against fate,--let fate claim her own. it is said that census enumerators in some sections did not consider old men and women worth counting, because they were past work; priests and nuns, because they had renounced the world; lunatics and cripples, because they were below the level of human beings. so great is the dread of becoming a cripple that a burman would sooner die than have a limb amputated. better to die respectably than be a living disgrace to himself and his family. this feeling extends even to post-mortem examinations, as dooming one to some lower condition in the next existence. leprosy, in whatever age or country, seems the most pitiable of all calamities. "and the leper in whom the plague is, his clothing shall be rent, and the hair of his head shall go loose, and he shall cover his upper lip, and shall cry, unclean, unclean. all the days wherein the plague is in him he shall be unclean: he is unclean: he shall dwell alone; without the camp shall his dwelling be" (lev. : , ). such was the brand put upon the leper and his awful affliction, under the mosaic law. the brand never has been removed, nor the awfulness of the disease abated. in europe this scourge, introduced by warlike campaigns, and reintroduced by subsequent crusades, through isolation, segregation of sexes, and improved sanitary methods, has been nearly exterminated. in america its spread is prevented by the same means. in barbarian or semi-civilized countries no attempt is made to control the disease. such was the case in burma, under burman rule, and still is the case throughout the land, outside of a few municipalities under english control. even in the larger towns the rule that lepers shall go to the asylums, or dwell "without the camp" is not rigidly enforced. the leper is an outcast, so treated by his own race even more than by europeans, but this does not prevent him from wandering at will through the crowded streets and bazars. rags that have covered his repulsive sores may be cast away where men traffic and children play. they are permitted to marry among themselves, thereby perpetuating and multiplying the terrible disease. the latest census gives a total of , lepers in burma alone. of this number , are males, , females. this does not include the large number of untainted children of leprous parents, doomed to become lepers later in life. on the streets one may observe leprosy in all stages. one shows no other sign than swollen feet, and may not even know that he has become a leper. another shows unmistakable signs of the disease by white, red, or violet patches on his skin. another is in the last stage of the disease. where once were feet and hands are only stumps. some have what is left of feet and hands bandaged with foul rags. others, whether from lack of wherewith to bandage, or in order to excite sympathy and almsgiving, expose their repulsive sores. passing buddhists may now and then toss a copper into the tin-cup, to get merit for themselves, but of compassion they have little or none. the leper's own fate or ill-luck, the outcome of evil committed in past existences, has overtaken him. there is no help for it. why trouble about it? "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap," is a tenet of buddhism, as well as of christianity, but with no place for repentance or forgiveness. fortunately leprosy is not infectious. there is not the slightest danger from near approach. it is generally believed that it is not even contagious, like smallpox or scarlet fever. no doubt there is danger of contracting the disease by inoculation. some claim that the use of imperfectly cured, or putrid fish as an article of diet, is the cause of leprosy. this seems reasonable, but there is ample evidence that it is not the only cause. both cause and cure still furnish fields for investigation by medical science. of the , lepers in burma only about are in leper homes. this work is conducted by the wesleyan and roman catholic missions in mandalay, the rangoon municipality, and the baptist mission in maulmein. never yet have the buddhists of burma lifted a finger to alleviate the sufferings of their outcasts. whatever desultory and trifling almsgiving as has been indulged in has been prompted not by compassion but by selfishness, to add to the giver's own store of merit. this is buddhism, in both theory and practice. buddhism has been extolled as a religion of love and peace. its love is self-love; its peace self-conceit, and indifference to the sufferings of others. but christian missionaries are teaching a striking object lesson. while proclaiming the love of god in christ, they are exemplifying their teaching by putting forth a mighty effort to relieve these unfortunates who have been cast off by their own people. english officials give this work their sympathy and assistance. the number to share the benefits of the asylums will steadily increase. hundreds of lepers, homeless, friendless, and hopeless, waiting and longing for the end, wander about in all the towns and villages of the land. this wandering habit is the chief obstacle to work among them. so long as subsistence can be gained by begging, many prefer change of scene to the more certain comforts of the leper home. but the time is not far distant when, in the larger towns at least, they will not be allowed to roam at will. work for the lepers appeals to the hearts of all races, in all christian lands. until effective means are devised to check the propagation of this terrible disease, the need will be ever-increasing. vii a nation in transition in nearly all non-christian lands the first impressions of western civilization have come from the aggressions of commerce. the minister of a foreign government has preceded the missionary of the cross. the flag of a foreign nation has gone in advance of the banner of christianity. both political and commercial relations may have been forced upon the people of the weaker nation. all this may have been in the best interests of the world at large; probably in the best interests of the people themselves, however slow they have been to realize it. were christian nations always worthily represented commercial, diplomatic, and evangelistic efforts might cooperate for the uplifting of backward races. in the initial attempts to bring about the remolding of a nation, the restraining influence upon the natives, as exercised by the missionaries, is of inestimable importance. missionaries in turn, need protection from fanatical and ignorant natives, so easily influenced by irresponsible characters, to desperate deeds. new colonies invariably become a dumping ground for adventurers. government officials, "transferred for cause," drift farther and farther towards the frontier. because of a scarcity of trained men certain positions have been filled by persons morally unfit to represent a civilized people. so it transpires that civil law sometimes becomes civil lawlessness, which men in higher positions are powerless wholly to restrain. but sweeping charges that officials of whatever nation, in outlying colonies, are "profligate and tyrannical" do gross injustice to many noble men who are doing their utmost for the advancement of morality and justice. burma has suffered as other colonies have suffered. but there is steady progress for the better. the various departments of government are becoming more thoroughly organized; competent and trustworthy men are in the ascendant. but throughout the period since the annexation of burma by the british indian government--impressions far from complimentary to a christian nation have become indelibly fixed in the native mind. [illustration: the last king of burma] vice is always more conspicuous than virtue. unscrupulous men have brought reproach upon a christian nation; and created strong prejudice against christianity itself, that many years of good government and evangelistic effort combined cannot efface. the innocent must suffer suspicion with the guilty. it is also true that natives are naturally suspicious of all foreigners, and apt to regard even necessary measures as oppressive. the old question "is it lawful to give tribute to cæsar?" crops out wherever tribute is exacted. every son of adam, the world over, holds the tax collector in contempt, and will evade payment if possible. "publicans and sinners" are inseparably wedded, in the popular mind. this deeply-grounded prejudice, whether with or without cause, constitutes a serious hindrance to the progress of evangelistic work. often the missionary must spend a whole day in a jungle village striving to win the confidence of the people, who are slow to discriminate between the missionary and the official. suspicion as to his character and errand is a greater hindrance than their prejudice against christianity as such. at the same time there is reason for believing that could the burmans throw off the british yoke, and reestablish a kingdom of their own, missionaries would not be permitted to propagate christianity at all. in february, , adoniram judson and dr. price, having been released from their long imprisonment at ava and aungbinle, were finally permitted to go down to the british camp, mrs. judson accompanying them. the release of these american missionaries, and the recovery of their property, of which the burman officials had heartlessly robbed them, were due entirely to special efforts in their behalf on the part of the general commanding the british troops. mrs. judson thus recounted their experiences: "we now, for the first time, for more than a year and a half, felt that we were free, and no longer subject to the oppressive yoke of the burmans. and with what sensation of delight, on the next morning, did i behold the masts of the steamboat, the sure presage of being within the bounds of civilized life. as soon as our boat reached the shore, brigadier a---- and another officer came on board, congratulated us on our arrival, and invited us on board the steamboat where i passed the remainder of the day; while mr. judson went on to meet the general, who, with a detachment of the army, had encamped at yandaboo, a few miles further down the river. mr. judson returned in the evening with an invitation from sir archibald to come immediately to his quarters, where i was the next morning introduced, and received with the greatest kindness by the general, who had a tent pitched for us near his own, took us to his own table, and treated us with the kindness of a father, rather than as strangers of another country. we feel that our obligations to general campbell can never be cancelled. our final release from ava, and our recovering all the property that had there been taken, was owing entirely to his efforts. "his subsequent hospitality, and kind attention to the accommodation for our passage to rangoon, have left an impression on our minds, which can never be effaced. we daily received the congratulations of the british officers, whose conduct towards us formed a striking contrast to that of the burmese. i presume to say that no persons on earth were ever happier than we were during the fortnight we passed at the english camp. for several days this single idea wholly occupied my mind,--that we were out of the power of the burmese government, and once more under the protection of the english" (memoir of rev. dr. judson, by wayland). such testimony as this is enough to arouse a sense of everlasting gratitude in the heart of every missionary whose privilege it is to conduct mission work under the protection of the british flag. happily there has never been another occasion in the history of burma missions to extend such kindnesses as mr. and mrs. judson enjoyed at the hands of these english officers. but missionaries of all societies represented in burma have always been able to number among their best friends noble men in some department of government service, civil or military. transitions are more readily effected in government than in religion. the "powers that be," though recently come into their possessions, speak authoritatively. "might makes right," and compels changes. a foreign religion speaks persuasively, having no authority, and desiring none, to compel its acceptance. when a foreign religion enters ground already preempted by twenty-five centuries of such a strongly organized religion as buddhism, transitions may also be reckoned by centuries. the world may witness the evangelization of burma "in this generation," but it cannot recall the three generations of burmans that have gone out in the dark since judson began his work in this land. "their idols are silver and gold, the work of men's hands."--"they that make them are like unto them: so every one that trusteth in them." the image of gautama buddha bears on its face an expression, or rather lack of expression intended to represent that, to him, change was forever past. the idol as truly represents buddhism as it does the founder of buddhism. there is no word in the burman language of wider application than the word for "custom." on that word the buddhist falls back for justification of every act, as sufficient reason for non-action, as a clincher to every argument. he attaches greater weight to ancestral custom than to the teachings of his "law" or to the dictates of his own judgment. when defeated at every point, in religious controversy he has been known to say, "if what you say is true, then my ancestors have gone to hell. i want to go wherever they have gone. if they have gone to hell, i want to go there too." aged buddhists have said: "our children may become christians, but we are too old to change. we will die in buddhism, as we have lived." they are "like unto" their idols in that they seem to have no power to change. having "changed the glory of the incorruptible god for the likeness of corruptible man"; "exchanged the truth of god for a lie, and worshipped and served the creature (gautama) rather than the creator," and "refused to have god in their knowledge," they seem to have been given up to a "reprobate mind." they now declare that there is no god. if there is no god there can be no sin against god. sins are against _self_ only, in that they involve penalty. but penalty may be counter-balanced by meritorious works. therefore all responsibility to god or man is repudiated. each man must be his own saviour. his meritorious works are solely for his own advantage. self-centred, and self-sufficient,--the christian doctrines of an eternal god, atonement, pardon, regeneration and heaven are rejected as idle tales concerning things which they consider neither necessary nor desirable. the apostles, or missionaries (sent-forth-ones) of the early church found that the gentiles received the gospel much more readily than the jews. the latter were steeped in bigotry, and imagined themselves a superior and specially favoured people. they were priest-ridden, and led astray by the "traditions of the elders." any suggestion of change was deeply resented, especially by the religious teachers. history repeats itself in burma. non-buddhist tribes receive the gospel far more readily than the buddhist. buddhists manifest the same jewish spirit of haughty pride and arrogant bigotry. they are priest-ridden, and bound down by teachings and customs never dreamed of by the founder of their religious system. pharisees decreed that if any man should confess jesus to be the christ, he should be put out of the synagogue. where there were no pharisees to agitate against the christian missionaries the common people heard them gladly. while the karens, as a nation, have already passed the transitional stage, the burmans are still held back by their pharisaical priests, who never lack willing instruments for the execution of their malice against converts to christianity. but in communities where there are no priests to hold the people in awe, native evangelists have little difficulty in securing a good hearing. this indicates the real spirit of the people when untrammelled by intimidating influences. human nature is much the same the world over. environment and inherited custom make men to differ. results already achieved (to be discussed in another chapter) show that burma is in a state of transition religiously as well as politically, though less conspicuously. [illustration: government house, rangoon] the sure promise of god that christ shall have the nations for his inheritance; the uttermost parts of the earth for his possessions, has here substantial beginnings of fulfillment. uhlhorn said of the roman empire in transition: "the most mighty of forces cannot change in a day the customs and institutions of an empire more than a thousand years old." in burma these forces are arrayed against customs and institutions that have developed during a period of twenty-five hundred years. change of government effects outward changes in the life of a people; but more than mere change of government is required to work changes for the better in the soul of a people. aping european customs may give an air of increased respectability, but the aping of european vices, always first in order, makes the man "tenfold more a child of hell" than before. much is expected from the government system of education. education will furnish a supply of petty officials; raise the people to some extent, from their gross ignorance; and possibly do something towards undermining buddhism,--though to undermine buddhism is far from being the purpose or desire of the british indian government. but something more than education is required to prepare a nation to be an inheritance of the king of kings. the gospel, and only the gospel is the power of god unto the salvation of any nation. in industry, skill, statesmanship, and all the qualities that go to make up a strong people, the burmans are sadly lacking. to come to the front rank of progress, as the japanese have done, is not in them, and never will be. but as a dependent nation, restrained by their conquerors from the almost continual warfare which marks their history; and transformed by the leavening influences of christianity, they may yet take the front rank among asiatic races as a christian people. viii "by all means--save some" in face of the fact that whole nations lie in the darkness of heathenism; bound down by ancestral customs; priest-ridden; wedded to their idols;--what seeming folly for a handful of missionaries to attempt the world's evangelization. how futile the task of breaking down the strongholds of heathen religions that have stood for centuries. so they sneered at carey the cobbler. so they tried to discourage judson. a ship's captain once asked an out-going missionary to china: "do you think you can make any impression on the four hundred millions of china?" "no," said the missionary. "but god can." a coloured preacher discoursing on faith, and warming to his subject said, "if god tole me to jump froo dat wall, i'd _jump_. de jumpin' _froo_ belongs to god. de jumpin' _at it_ belongs to me." god certainly has commanded his people to "jump" through the wall of heathenism. the command is clear, emphatic, and large with divine intensity, and promise of power and triumph. nothing was said as to methods to be employed in making disciples. there are many ways of proclaiming the gospel. it may fairly be inferred that any or all effective methods may be employed; and that methods may vary according to varying circumstances, in order "by all means to save some." there is danger of too narrow an interpretation of instructions. as an illustration, take the case of paul, who "determined to know nothing" among the corinthian christians "save jesus christ and him crucified." but in elaborating his theme he found occasion to discuss social purity, matrimony, divorce, celibacy, apparel for the sexes, the place of woman in public gatherings, as well as church discipline and collections. whatever instruction was needed for the moral and spiritual development of the individual had a direct bearing upon his central theme. such instruction could not be omitted without dwarfing the benefits of christ's sacrifice. in god's plan for the evangelization of the world "the foolishness of the preaching" is to "save them that believe"; "christ crucified" furnishing both the theme and the power. all other plans have failed. but this theme may be proclaimed in many ways;--by the evangelist, as he goes from village to village; by the pastor from the pulpit; by the teacher in the daily bible-study of the school; by the medical missionary, whose ministrations of mercy are sermons in themselves; by the holy life of missionary and disciple; even by the christian chapel, standing in a heathen community as a silent yet significant witness for christ. all of these forces, and others are being used of god in the redemption of burma. "direct evangelization," or the proclamation of the gospel-message from village to village, throughout the large district to which a missionary has been assigned, is the predominating method. our first experience in this line came when we had been but a few months in burma. a messenger from a village twenty-three miles away came to inform us that two young men wanted to be baptized. having already made plans to visit that village we prepared at once to respond to the summons. when a burman wishes to be baptized in the presence of the heathen people of his own village, it is taken as evidence that the holy spirit is working in his heart. such opportunities must not be neglected. first we must summon our forces. u po hlaing must go, because this is the village in which he used to live, and these converts are fruits of his labours. ko thaleh must go, because he has had much experience in examining candidates, and his judgment can be trusted. maung ka must go, because he is young, full of fire, and will not cease to preach the gospel, whatever the circumstances. but it is not easy to secure an audience in the heathen village, unless there is some special attraction. "music hath charms" to draw the people from their homes, and hold them until the preachers have done their work. "mama" is going, with the portable organ, and some of the christian girls to sing, insuring success though other methods fail. after going seventeen miles by rail we still had six miles to make by ox-cart. the delight of an ox-cart ride over rough jungle roads beggars description. the driver sits on the projecting front, guiding the animals, or pretending to, by means of a rope passed through their noses. just as we are about to sit down the oxen start. we save ourselves by clutching at somebody else. a desire to say something emphatic to the driver is overcome by inability to speak his language, and a feeling of thankfulness that we are still on deck. the road is conspicuous by its absence,--but that does not matter. all the driver wants is to get his bearings, then off he goes across sun-baked rice-fields, and through the jungle. by instinct he knows that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, and he keeps to that line without regard to obstructions or our feelings. at last we reach the river, and see on the opposite bank the thatch-roofed houses of the village. the preachers shout to the villagers, and soon two boats are poled across to take us over. our boat is a long narrow dug-out, our boatman a chubby burmese girl. we are in momentary expectation of being dumped into the river; but happily our expectations are not realized. chubby enjoys it immensely, and seems proud when she has landed us safely. landing means that the dug-out has stuck in the mud, twenty feet from shore. the natives could wade, and so could we, but we did not like to, through all that mud. a brawny bare-backed burman soon solved the problem by taking "mama" in his arms and carrying her to the shore, returning to take the "sayah" on pick-a-pack. we were piloted to a house at the farther end of the village. ascending by a short ladder to the open veranda we were glad to stretch out on the split-bamboo floor for a little rest. after we had eaten supper, and the men and women had returned from their work in the rice-fields, the portable organ was placed in position. in response to its tones, sounds never heard before in that village, men, women, and children came from all directions. some sat around on the ground, others climbed the ladder and filled all available space. the preachers did their best to make known the "glad tidings." whenever the audience showed signs of thinning out, the organ would send forth another appeal, restoring numbers and interest. sankey's songs, translated into burmese, were sung with vigour by the schoolgirls. the "old, old story" seemed to take new meaning when sung to the heathen by some of their own people who had learned to love it and live by it. during the following day, while the people were busy at their work, our attention was given to the children. a dozen or so, drawn by curiosity, had collected about the house. some were half clad, others with no protection whatever, save a string around the neck, with one large bead attached. all were very dirty, and as shy as rabbits. after winning their confidence a picture card was given to each, with instructions to go and bring other children. [illustration: how we travel by cart and boat] it was interesting to see them scatter through the village to do their first missionary work. few in the home-land realize how helpful to the missionary are the bright coloured advertising cards. wild children in jungle villages are won by these pictures. attendance at sunday-school in town may be doubled by their use. but these native children want something more than bright colours. strange to say that although fond of flowers for personal adornment, they will give only a passing glance at the showiest picture of flowers; while a picture of a _person_,--man, woman, or child, of any race,--if in bright attire, is eagerly seized. a darky boy riding a spool of coat's thread is more effective than a dull sunday-school card for evangelizing purposes. bushels of such cards might be utilized. late that afternoon the council came together to examine the candidates for baptism. sitting around on the floor in all sorts of positions they formed a strange looking group, yet as sincere and earnest as a similar council in the home-land. the examination was declared satisfactory, so after prayer we all started for the river, followed by nearly the whole village, curious to witness a christian baptism,--the strange magic rite of initiation into the foreign religion. this is always a grand opportunity to preach christ. rather than lose the baptism they will remain and listen as they would not at other times. so long as the missionary remains in their village they will not show, by word or sign, that they are not in sympathy with these proceedings. the new converts, who have had the courage of their convictions, will be made to realize to their sorrow the real mind of the people. on the way to this village we met a squad of burmans, accompanied by a native policeman. one of the men was carrying a parcel wrapped in plantain leaves. interested to know what was in the parcel, that it should require a police escort, what was our surprise to learn that it contained a dacoit's head! bands of dacoits had been giving a great deal of trouble. several of their leaders were still at large. more regular methods having failed to secure their capture, the british indian government offered tempting rewards for their heads. two men living in the village to which we were going, surprised one of these dacoit leaders in a jungle path, and thinking that his head would be worth more to them than it ever would be to him, they struck it off with their _dahs_. the head was taken to the court, where it was identified, and the reward recovered. continuing our tour, we halted one morning at about ten o'clock for breakfast. our preachers had told us what a wicked village this was, how the people had driven them out every time they had attempted to preach or distribute tracts; and that only a little while before our visit they had beaten the wife of one of the preachers because she spoke of christ while resting by the way. but this time there was no danger of violence, for the presence of one white man is sufficient security against serious molestation. so each preacher armed himself with a handful of tracts, and started out to work the village, and advertise our coming. then "mama" opened the portable organ there in the open air, and played a few tunes. soon quite a number of women and children were attracted by the sound. after throwing out this bait, we paused for breakfast, for we were hungry, hot, and tired, having been travelling since the first signs of morning light. the people were told to come again about noon, and bring others with them. the news that the white teachers had come, that one was a white _woman_, and played on a wonderful music-box, such as they never had seen before, went like wild-fire through the village. the building in which we hoped to have our meeting was set up on posts several feet from the ground, according to the custom. the door was reached by means of a ladder. how to get the people up into the house was the question that we must solve. we placed the organ well to the back side of the one large room, and posted the native helpers as to our purposes. at the appointed time the people began to come,--men, stripped to the waist as they came from their work; women smoking huge cheroots, with babies astride their hips; children of all sizes, some clothed, some naked. the missionary's wife took her place at the organ and played away, tune after tune, everything she could think of, from "old hundred" to "gloria in excelsis," and repeated the most of them. everything depended upon the drawing power of the music. the preachers and christian girls,--some up in the house, others down in the yard,--coaxed and urged the people up the ladder until we had filled the house. up to this time i had kept well in the background on account of the more timid. my object accomplished, i now climbed up the ladder and seated myself in the door,--the only door there was. with back against one door-jamb, and knees against the other, i was the gladdest man on earth. we had trapped nearly the whole village! fully seventy-five people who had persistently refused to listen to the gospel were penned in with the preachers. to crowd out over a white man, even had they dared to attempt it, would have been too great a breach of burman etiquette. at a given signal the music stopped, and one of the preachers addressed the people. he was the very man whose wife had recently been beaten. he began by telling them how he had wanted for a long time to tell them about this new religion, but never had been permitted to do so. he reminded them of their action in beating his wife. "but," said he, "i have no hard feelings against you. this new religion is a religion of love. its sacred book tells us that 'god is love,' and that he 'so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life.'" then for about ten minutes, with wonderful tact and earnestness, he proclaimed christ as the world's saviour. after a tune on the organ, to keep the people interested and expectant, another preacher gave his message. another tune, and then the third preacher emphasized what the others had spoken. for three-quarters of an hour these people, entrapped by strategy, listened to the gospel at short range, and were interested in spite of themselves. but two men who were specially bitter against the name of christ, climbed out through a window and dropped to the ground. in the outskirts of that village we found an aged couple who professed to be followers of christ. they had heard the gospel elsewhere, and with what light they had, believed. the villages had utterly cut them off, refusing to sell to them, buy from them, or even allow them to draw water from the village well. but these old people had found the "water of life." in their hearts shone all the light there was in that terribly benighted village. both of them died in the faith a few years later. many of the karens have come down from the mountains and started villages of their own in the plains. until the english had thoroughly subdued the country this was not possible, as the karens were terribly oppressed by the burmans. on one of our jungle tours we came across one of these karen villages. nearly all the men understood colloquial burmese. they received the missionary party with great kindness, and eagerly listened to the gospel, which they had not heard before. the fifteen houses comprising the village were built at regular intervals around the outer edge of the small clearing they made in the forest. in the open space the karens were seated in a semicircle on the ground, with the missionary and native preachers in front. we were about to sow precious seed in virgin soil. not a soul had ever heard of christ before. the story must begin at the beginning,--the eternal god; the creation; the fall; the revelation of god in jesus christ--the saviour of the world. as he went on to tell of christ's majesty and holiness, of his wonderful words and works i was deeply stirred. suddenly the face of the head-man lighted up, and with a twinkle in his eye he interrupted the preacher. pointing to me he said: "is this your christ?" for a moment his question seemed merely ridiculous. but as the preacher continued his good work, my mind was busy with this heathen karen's mistake. when it dawned upon me that he had actually mistaken me for christ, i never was so overwhelmed in all my life. and yet, i thought, is it such a mistake? true, the god-man was infinitely superior to any human being. but the missionary represents, for the time, all that these people can know of christ. they must see exemplified in me the principles of christianity, and the spirit of its founder. they must see his holiness reproduced in my daily life. as he, when tried at all points, was without sin; when reviled, reviled not again; emerging calm and triumphant from every distracting storm, so i must manifest the master's spirit, and by his help preserve self-control under the most trying circumstances. they must see christ truly represented in my life until they can look beyond, to him who is the "author and perfecter of our faith." that was a high standard set for me by that poor heathen karen, but it has proved more helpful to me than anything in all my christian experience. it stimulated me to strive the harder to be able to say to my people "be ye imitators of me, as i also am of christ." the burman race has the reputation of being thriftless and lazy. many have prophesied that the "burman must go to the wall" before the encroachments of natives of india, chinese, and karens. as seen in the chief towns the burman has fairly earned such a reputation. if he has government employment, even a petty clerkship, he is good for nothing else. many are "birds of the night"--gamblers--and loafers by day. the average citizen spends the most of his time in indolence, supported by his more enterprising wife. but in the jungle villages we find a very different state of affairs. few men are found in the village in the daytime. to prepare their land, plant, harvest, thresh, and market the crop of rice, requires diligent work almost the whole year round. i have almost regretted their diligence sometimes, when compelled to spend a day in almost idleness waiting for the men to return from their fields at sunset. then an hour or so passes while they are getting their evening meal. by this time it is pitch dark, if there is no moon. there is not a lamp in the whole village. ordinary methods will not attract tired men from their homes. there is no time for house-to-house preaching. but the gospel _must be preached_. if we cannot reach them by day we must reach them by night. in the home-land a magic-lantern service is resorted to now and then, as a special attraction. we have come prepared to do the same in the jungle villages. early in the day we clean up a spot in the centre of the village, and stretch our large white curtain between two trees, or support it by bamboo poles. a clean white sheet in a conspicuous place, is a novelty in itself sufficient to advertise the presence of outsiders. while tracts are being distributed from house to house the evening service is announced. if there is no musical instrument to call the people together the head-man is asked to sound his gong at the appointed time. [illustration: transplanting rice] [illustration: dorian sellers] the magic lantern never fails to draw a crowd. but as the first picture is thrown upon the screen we notice that many are hanging back where they cannot see and hear to the best advantage. then we discover that this has been mistaken for a traveling show, and that they are keeping out of reach of the collection plate. they can hardly believe our repeated assertion that all this is for them, "without money and without price." at last the crowd is gathered in as close as possible, the children sitting on the ground in front. at first we show a few pictures illustrating their own life and customs. how pleased they are when a burmese damsel arrayed in gaudy skirt and flowers, appears on the screen. then we pass to pictures illustrating mission work among their own people, taking care to emphasize the fact that christianity has already made substantial progress in burma,--has come to stay. by this time our dusky audience has become accustomed to the novelty of the situation, and is ready to settle down to look and listen. now we pass to our real purpose,--the setting forth of jesus christ as the world's saviour. often the preacher has been met with the demand, "show us your god." that "god is a spirit, and they that worship him must worship in spirit and truth" is beyond the comprehension of the heathen mind. he has no conception of an eternal, invisible god. he can point to his god in that idol-house on the hilltop, but where is the christian's god? great care is taken at the outset to make them understand that these pictures of christ on the screen are in no sense idols; that we do not worship the pictures. then each picture is made a text for a brief but earnest sermon, as we strive to convey to them, through eye and ear, some conception of the majesty, power, holiness, and love of god as revealed in christ. there is a crisis when we reach the picture of the crucifixion. christ is the christian's god, and _his god is dead_. that thought is expressed in various exclamations. up to this point we seemed to be carrying our audience with us, but now they slip from our grasp. for the moment the case seems lost, the message rejected. how earnestly we pray that the holy spirit will make "the attraction of the cross" realized by these heathen men and women. have we made a mistake in displaying the cross in the first proclamation of the gospel in these villages? surely "christ and him crucified" was the central theme of paul's preaching, wherever he was. he himself said, "and i, if i be lifted up, will draw all men unto me." this theme and this picture shall have their place,--we will leave the result with god. without waiting for too much of a reaction we pass to the picture of the resurrection. at once the preacher gathers fresh courage. with earnestness and triumph in his voice he sets forth the glorious fact of the resurrection. "yes, christ died for our sins, but he laid down his life that he might take it again." after citing proofs of the resurrection we close with the ascension. christ enthroned, with "all power in heaven and on earth," "ever liveth to make intercession for us." the people fully understand that there has been nothing supernatural in the appearing of the pictures on the screen, and yet they are more deeply impressed than when appealed to through the ear alone. as one man expressed it, "how can we disbelieve, when we have seen with our own eyes." for day-work we sometimes use large coloured pictures illustrating the life of christ. a bamboo pole is fastened up horizontally about five feet from the ground. the picture-roll is suspended under the pole so that each picture, when done with, can be thrown back over the pole. this method is very effective with the children, and can be used when the older people are at their work. both old and young enjoy the pictures, for all have child-minds. on one occasion we were preaching by this method in a karen village. a middle aged karen, a typical specimen of "the great unwashed," planted himself directly in front of the picture, intensely interested in what he saw and heard. as the young preacher graphically described some of christ's miracles, or told of the sad events of the passion week, the man's face was a study. its expression changed with the varying sentiment of the message,--now wreathed in a smile that showed all of his blackened teeth; now drawn down with a look of sadness that would have been comical but for the sacredness of the theme. the narration of christ's heavenly words and works would be responded to by an "ugh, ugh" of approval; the story of his rejection, by the same grunts in a different tone, expressive of disapproval. this man, at least, was ripe for a personal application of the message. now and then we find a village in which is more than the usual amount of prejudice against europeans. the people have suffered some real or imagined oppression. not being able to discriminate between the missionary and the official, they naturally resent his coming. sometimes a whole day must be spent in disarming their fear. we learn that a man is sick with fever,--the medicine-box is opened and the sick man treated. children come peeping around the corners, and we win them with picture-cards. a young mother goes by with her little one astride her hip, and we praise the baby. so by degrees we work our way into their confidence and prepare the way for our message. not always can the missionary accompany his native evangelist in their jungle tours. it may be that other forms of mission-work compel him to remain at headquarters. it may be that his health has become so affected by the climate that he can no longer endure the unavoidable hardship and exposure. it may be that funds are wanting to cover the expense of further touring. missionary experience has demonstrated the wisdom of adopting the master's method, and he sends out his native helpers "two by two." one man alone confronting the forces of heathenism, may become disheartened. poorly trained, he may find himself led into argument only to be worsted. he may get sick, and have no one to take care of him, or carry a message to his friends. but "two by two," one encourages the other. when preaching, one supplements the other. the one who follows warms to his work even more earnestly than the one who led off. what one does not think of the other one does. we have often marvelled at their faithfulness, knowing that nearly every attempt to preach christ to the heathen is met by a rebuff from some one. they may have made repeated attempts without any sign of fruitage. should they "shake off the dust" of their feet as a testimony against every village in which their message is not well received, they would soon cover the ground, and go out of business. often after a day of ox-cart riding, followed by preaching extending well into the evening, we have retired to our curtained corner in a native house, so weary that a bamboo floor seemed smooth and soft. retired, but not to sleep,--for no sooner are we out of sight than the preaching begins again. among the many who have heard the gospel, one, two, or half a dozen want to know more about this new teaching. they climb up into the house, and with the preachers form a circle around the smoking tin lamp. to ten, twelve, or one o'clock in the night the preaching goes on. we forget our weariness, for we know that the very best work of all is now being done. the preachers are face to face with the few who are willing or anxious to hear, unhindered by scoffers or fear of neighbours. native evangelists are not encouraged to attend heathen festivals by themselves, although these large gatherings furnish good opportunities for preaching and tract distribution. their presence at a heathen festival might be misunderstood, besides furnishing an excuse to weaker christians who might be attracted by the pomp and show. the one exception is the heathen funeral. as has already been pointed out, the funeral is also a festival, but animated to some extent by a different spirit. there are genuine mourners in the house, besides the wailers who make such ado by turns. there are truly sympathetic friends, besides the many who attend because it is customary, or to share in the feast. there is one solemn subject, death, that will not down, besides the idle chatter of the throng. here is the place for the preacher. now and then, it is true, he is summarily dismissed the moment he attempts to preach. but as a rule he finds many who are in a sober, thinking frame of mind, ready to listen to the christian teacher's view of death and the great beyond. that the deceased will some time reappear, as man or animal, they believe, but not as the same individual. the christian doctrine of the immortality of the soul, is utterly foreign to all their thinking. they have no conception of a final state of bliss or misery. nothing is final except neikban,--annihilation,--and few there be who find it. in the christian doctrine they see a ray of hope. some from real interest, others from curiosity will listen to the message. sometimes it happens that the deceased was the heathen wife of a christian husband, or the heathen husband of a christian wife, for they do not always separate where one is converted to christianity. such a case happened near our home. ever since his baptism ko poo had led a terrible life with his heathen wife, who cherished the most intense hatred of everything christian. after a lingering illness ko poo realized that his time had come. far from dreading death he hailed it as bringing sweet release from an unhappy life. before his death he made his will, bound his little ten year old boy to the mission, and secured the missionary's promise that in spite of all opposition, he should have christian burial. his people were given their choice whether to have the remains taken to the christian chapel or to have a christian service in the house, in which his wife would still be living. they chose the latter course. but an unforeseen event occurred, complicating matters. the wife was taken suddenly ill, and died at half-past seven in the morning, two hours before the death of her husband. some said that her ill-timed demise was a final manifestation of her spirit of interference with all christian doings. be that as it may, it was now inevitable that there would also be a heathen funeral at the house, at the same time. here was an occasion calling for diplomacy, but not for yielding. they knew the missionary too well to expect him and his native preachers to quit the field. according to native custom a body is kept from three to five days,--a dangerous custom, to say the least, in a tropical country, with no facilities for embalming. the remains of the wife might be kept longer if they so desired, but according to christian custom the funeral of the husband must be held on the second day. "oh, no, that would not be good. they had lived together so long, now let them be buried at the same time." so they yielded that point. next, where should they be buried? the christians had their cemetery, and the buddhists had theirs. the missionary could plead his promise to the dying man that he should have christian burial, a promise badly kept if the interment should be in the buddhist cemetery. of course they were not willing that the wife should be buried in the christian cemetery,--so that point was peaceably gained. then, how should the two coffins be conveyed to their last resting place? "as they had lived together so long, let the two coffins be carried side by side,"--but that would not do, for they were not bound for the same destination,--another point quietly gained. the next problem was, should the usual expensive spire-topped bier be constructed, on which to place the wife's coffin. the christians were not providing anything of that kind, so the heathen friends were easily persuaded to forego their custom for once, and save the money, for the benefit of the orphaned children. when the time came for the christians' service the missionary repaired to the house, whither the native preachers had already gone. in fact, one or more of them had remained there the entire time from the death of ko poo. at the appearance of the missionary and the christian company the tom-toms ceased their din, and the room was made for all to enter. when a movement was made to bring from the upper part of the house the coffin containing the remains of the husband, one of the heathen relatives suggested that both coffins be brought down, at the same time, and be placed on the trestle side by side. when this had been done, the missionary made a sign to the native pastor that all was ready for the service to begin. then the situation, of their own creating, dawned upon them. a christian service was about to be held over the wife as well as the husband! a man jumped up in anger to protest, but was quietly though emphatically told to sit down and not disturb the service. christian hymns were sung, appropriate scripture read, prayer offered, and brief but earnest talks made by three of the christian workers, including the missionary. a crowd had gathered filling all available space in the large room, and open space out to the street. there was not the slightest disturbance or evidence of dissatisfaction throughout the service. scores heard for the first time of christ--"the resurrection and the life." many others heard anew, under more impressive conditions. then the procession formed, the christian section in advance, and all moved slowly up the street, to the sound of the tom-toms in the rear. at the buddhist cemetery, the heathen section swung off, the christians going a short distance beyond to their cemetery. the husband's relatives followed with the christians. after a brief service at the grave, all returned to their homes. so closed a unique experience, and a rare opportunity to proclaim christ as saviour. often the christians have opportunity to minister to a mourning mother--"weeping for her children; and she would not be comforted, because they were not." in a twofold sense "they are not." according to buddhist belief, for infants there is no hope. little boys are hardly considered human beings until they have spent at least one day in a monastery. the status of little girls is still more uncertain. the mourning mother has not even david's comfort, "i shall go to him, but he will not return to me." she sorrows without hope. her little one is dead, it was too young to have a soul, it is simply to be taken away into the jungle and buried. how her face brightens with hope, in spite of her belief, when we tell her that her little one is safe in heaven. she is ready to listen to the sweet story of jesus blessing little children; and saying to his disciples, "suffer the little children to come unto me; and forbid them not; for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven." her mind may be so dark that she fails to take in its wealth of meaning, but it is a message of comfort, at least. even some native christians who had lost little ones before their own conversion, have carried with them the old heathen ideas concerning their lost ones until assured by the teacher that they will see their little ones again. this truth comes to them as a blessed revelation, giving joy and hope in place of sadness. human nature is much the same, the world over; the same susceptibility to joy and sorrow. christ in the heart makes all the difference. a sad occasion, furnishing a grand opportunity, was the burial of a little child of mixed parentage. the father had returned to england, leaving his native concubine and two little children. the younger, only about nine months old, sickened and died. heathen friends and relatives of the mother came to the mission with a request that the child be buried according to christian custom. a large company gathered at the grave, all buddhists except the missionary and the native pastor. the heathen friends were allowed to set a circle of lighted candles around the grave according to their custom. then a short passage of scripture was read, containing the saviour's words "suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for to such belongeth the kingdom of heaven"; and "he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands upon them." men and women listened intently while the precious truth, so new and strange to them, was set forth that these little ones, far from being soulless creatures,--as buddhism teaches,--are choicest material for the paradise of god. and that except a man become as a little child, in simple trust and purity of heart, he cannot enter the kingdom of god. returning to their homes these people must pass the missionary's house. twenty of them stopped to get tracts that they might learn more about the glad tidings. another method of preaching christ is through "medical missions," or the incidental medical work, which every missionary must perform. as a philanthropic work medical missions would be justified from a purely medical or humanitarian point of view. the woman who had "suffered much from many physicians" was a victim of men probably much more advanced in the knowledge of medicine than the average burman doctor. both the diagnosis and the treatment are based on superstition. the so-called doctor enters that profession because he has a taste for it and thinks he can do well (for himself) at it. he requires no training, and no drugs other than he can pick up in the jungle as he goes along,--herbs, barks, and roots of a peculiar smell, shells, stones, etc. carefully gathered at the right time of the moon. some of the articles in his stock possess a real medicinal value, and now and then are put to their proper use, as is the case in country districts the world over. any one of the ninety-six diseases which, according to the burman notion, the flesh is heir to, may have come from one of about as many different causes. the sick man may have been bewitched, one of their many demons may be having a turn at him, or perhaps he has offended the great nagah, or dragon. if it is due to the balance of kan, fate being against him, the case is hopeless. that the sickness was caused by eating unripe fruit, drinking from a polluted well, or eating dried and putrid fish seldom occurs to the man of science who has come on to the scene to lessen the chances of recovery. such is the fear of cholera that cathartics, in many cases the only remedy needed, are rarely given. some of the burmese, averse to taking medicine of any kind, prefer to call a dietist. no matter what the ailment may be, the patient's birthday determines the treatment. every burman knows the day of the week on which he was born, though he may not know the month or the year. his own name would recall the day, should he forget it. certain letters are assigned to each day of the week, according to the planet from which the day took its name. the person's name must begin with one of the several letters belonging to his birthday. now in like manner all kinds of food beginning with one of those letters the patient must carefully _shaung_,--avoid. rice would be tabooed on saturday, but as no burman can eat at all without rice, an exception is made, to save the doctor's popularity. burying an effigy of the sick person is sometimes resorted to, in order to fool the demon who is hanging around the house. thinking his victim has died, he will depart. massage sometimes is very helpful. half a dozen people in a village are noted for their knowledge of the muscles of the human body, and for special skill in the shampooing process, but nearly every man and woman attempts it now and then. this may be done with the hands, or by treading slowly back and forth on the prone body of the sufferer. practiced with discrimination it has more value than all the nostrums of doctors or dietists. but unfortunately the burmese practice it for everything, from a lame toe to confinement cases. a prominent burman in rangoon recently declared as his belief that burma's immunity from the plague is due to the reverence of the people for the "three precious things" of buddhism, "the buddha, the law, and the priest." against the occult power of karma on the right side of the scale, accumulated by such faithful observance of the noble precept, the baccilli of the plague can make no headway. by the same reasoning the presence of the plague in india is attributed to the fact that hinduism with its revolting customs and bloody sacrifices has supplanted buddhism in that country. putting these two together he confidently asserts that the only effectual remedy for the plague in india is the restoration of buddhism as the national religion. mortality among infants is very high. this is remarkable when one considers the faithfulness of the mother in attending to its wants, starting it on honey and water in place of its natural food; and afterwards supplementing its natural food by stuffing little wads of boiled rice into its mouth while it is yet but a few weeks old. moreover, special precautions are taken against the departure of the little one's "butterfly-spirit." that which the christian calls the soul, the burman calls the sense of _knowing_, and is personified as the "butterfly-spirit." when the body dies the butterfly-spirit also dies. when a mother dies leaving an infant behind, immediate precautions must be taken to prevent the child's butterfly-spirit from going off with the mother's. incantations are resorted to, and they distractedly appeal to the dead mother not to take away the butterfly-spirit of the babe. then a ceremony is performed with a tuft of fluffy cotton to imitate the return of the spirit to the body of the child, who is blinking in blissful unconsciousness of the awful crisis through which it is passing. during one's sleep the butterfly-spirit may go wandering about by itself, hence the peculiar experiences in dreams. the temporary absence of the butterfly-spirit does no harm, unless perchance it gets lost in the jungle, or badly frightened, it rushes back so tumultuous as to cause a shock to its owner. another danger is that the person may be roused from sleep while the butterfly-spirit is off on a picnic, in which case he would at least be sick until the spirit returns. a sleeping man must not be disturbed, however imperative the summons. i was once the victim of over solicitude on my behalf. travelling to rangoon by night-train, with a burman as a companion i fell asleep. the burman knew that i was very anxious to reach my destination on time. he also knew that while i was asleep our train was delayed, and that an opportunity offered for a transfer to the mail-train which had the right-of-way. but that fellow, educated and christian that he was, had not outgrown the feeling that a sleeper must not be roused, and so let the chance slip by. an important business engagement was missed, to say nothing of subsisting on one ear of boiled corn until twelve o'clock the next day. much more might be said to show that there is a large field, and an urgent demand for medical missions. i am fully persuaded that, given a medical missionary with an "evangelistic temperament," which means a "passion for souls," no other missionary agency can be compared with medical missions. especially is this true of work among burman and shan buddhists. the value of the work depends largely on the man himself. if he cannot or does not win the people to himself he never will win them to christ. the spiritual work will suffer in proportion as he allows himself to become absorbed in the purely medical or scientific side of his work, leaving the evangelistic work to the native helpers. the doctor has rare opportunities for personal influence in his dispensary and in heathen homes. it is to be greatly regretted that at the present time there is not one medical missionary in the whole country assigned to burman buddhists, who comprise about four-fifths of the population. all of the shan mission stations have medical missionaries, and the success of their work testifies to the soundness of the policy, though this policy was due primarily to the need of such protection for the missionary family in these frontier stations. the medical missionary has a double hold on the people. the dispensary brings them to him, and his outside practice takes him to their homes, and that by invitation. in both respects he has an advantage over the clerical missionary. moreover, as medical treatment is the ostensible object in their case, anti-christian opposition is not prematurely excited. frequent visits of the clerical missionary to a heathen home, brands that home as leaning towards christianity. the one, by relieving suffering, removes prejudice, although he may at the same time proclaim christ as faithfully as the other who, by making that his sole errand, unavoidably excites prejudice. if as the result of a man's ministrations the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and fevers are banished, he is forgiven for being a christian, and others are forgiven for consorting with him. all governments and religions recognize the fact that to elevate a people the beginning must be made with the children. it is too late now to "begin with the child's grandfather." missionaries do not confound education with evangelization, but they do recognize its great value in the evangelizing process. ideally, evangelization should come first, and education afterwards to meet the consequent demand. this is usually the method followed, to the extent of the evangelizing force available. the missionary to burmans is shut up to a choice between losing the children of christian parents to the government, roman catholic and s. p. g. schools; and establishing an anglo-vernacular school of his own, in connecting with the education department of government. it has come to pass that every school for the burmese in the towns, _must_ have government registration, and must teach english. every boy, whether from a christian or heathen home, is bound to have the certificates which only registered schools can give, and is bound to have an english education. if the missionary does not provide the opportunity the male children of his christian community will go where they can get it. the education department holds annual promotion-examinations. certificates are given to all who complete the course. these certificates are the condition of securing employment in government clerkships, mercantile houses, and in all schools connected with the education department. the boy who picks up his education in a vernacular school, or a non-registered school, however proficient he may become, stands no chance in the race. so much for the point of view from the native side. it is also a generally recognized fact that non-christian races never will be evangelized by the missionary alone. the great work of the missionary is to train up a native evangelizing agency through which he can multiply himself, perpetuate himself, and establish a self-sustaining work, that will go on when he shall have been compelled to lay it down. time was when a middle-aged convert from a jungle village, with no education beyond the ability to stumble through a chapter in his bible could do fairly effective service. such men are still helpful outside of the towns, if helped by the missionary to a better understanding of their message. evangelists of such limited training are far from ideal, even for jungle tours. in the towns their influence is very slight. how shall a stronger force be provided? only through the mission schools,--there is no other way. it may be said that the missionary is not called upon to educate clerks for government. it is also true that he is not called upon, by his master, to decide beforehand what boys in his mission shall be educated for the ministry. much of a boy's training must be given before he himself is sufficiently mature to comprehend a divine "call" to the ministry. if no place is given for such a call, the native ministry will be filled with men who would do better service in the rice-fields. rice would be their main object in the ministry. moreover, the preliminary training cannot even be deferred until the boy is converted. the vocation of the preacher is not hereditary, like that of the various castes in india. the son of a dacoit may be converted during his school life, and become a preacher. the son of a preacher may become a dacoit, or at least never feel called to the christian ministry. the mission school cannot even be limited to children of christian families. opening the doors to all classes willing to pay for the advantages of the school greatly reduces its cost to the mission. increase of numbers does not involve increase in the number of classes or teachers. much of the expense is thereby placed where it belongs,--upon the people themselves. opening the doors to all classes furnishes the grandest field for evangelistic work within the missionary's sphere of influence. every day in the week christian influences are brought to bear upon the same individuals; christian truths are inculcated; the creeds of false religions forestalled in youthful minds; prejudice against christianity dispelled, and either during school life, or when the pupils are free to break from the control of heathen parents many converts are gained. from these converts, as well as from children of christian parents, come accessions to the mission force of teachers and evangelists. paul was "laid hold on by christ jesus" for special service while he was yet as intense a hater of christianity as can be found in buddhist burma. from among the unconverted children now in mission schools some, already chosen in the foreknowledge of god, will be "laid hold on" to be gospel preachers to the rising generation. from the early days of buddhism in burma, even before the language was reduced to writing there were monastic schools for the purpose of teaching boys the doctrines of the new religion. when the language was reduced to writing, all boys were compelled to attend the monastic school to learn to read and write, in addition to the memorizing of portions of the sacred books. this is still the custom, where no english schools are provided. with the advent of the english school compulsory attendance at the monastery is continued for religious purposes only, and may be limited to the brief period required by the novitiate ceremony, through which every boy must pass. this may extend to three months, or be cut short at the end of a week, according to the zeal of the parents, or the anxiety to get the boy back into the english school so that he may not lose his promotion examination. let a boy spend a year in the monastery, and you have a full-fledged buddhist to deal with. take the same boy into the mission school at the age of five or six, even earlier where there is a kindergarten department, and you have a child who is no more a buddhist than your own little ones. buddhism is not hereditary, it is the result of training and environment. forestall that training by taking the children into the christian school, and there train them in the blessed doctrines of christianity. for the poisonous environment of the heathen home and community, substitute the christian influences of life in the mission school. for this purpose the boarding-school, in which the pupils are required to live, and be under christian influences and safeguards day and night is worth vastly more than the day-school, which holds the pupils only during school hours, allowing them to return at night to their heathen homes. but the existence of the mission day-school, with its staff of native christian teachers, and its daily bible-study is amply justified by results. the pupils thus kept away from the monastic school are not being indoctrinated in buddhism; they are being indoctrinated in christianity. few children in christian lands receive a like amount of bible teaching. i venture to say that there are day-schools in burma, made up largely of children from heathen homes, that could successfully compete with the average sunday-school in america in answering questions on the bible. heathen parents of pupils in the day-school have complained that their children have already renounced buddhist worship and customs, and openly preach christ to their own parents. whether these pupils are gathered into the christian fold or not, a few years hence they will be rearing families of their own. the next generation, born of pupils now in mission schools, will not be taught to hate everything in any way connected with the "jesus christ religion," as these pupils have been. even the day-school is one of the stepping-stones heavenward for these benighted people. [illustration: pineapples and jackfruit] the karen village school-teacher, besides his regular work in the school, brings his influence to bear on the parents as well, with the result that in many instances the entire village is won to christianity. some of these teachers are marvels of consecration. poorly fed, poorly clothed, often with no other pay than their meagre fare, far from home and friends,--they are worthy a place among the heroes of our time. scores of these schools are now in operation. their value as an evangelizing agency can hardly be estimated. many of these teachers are young men, just out of the training-school in town. following the example of the missionaries under whom they have been trained, and catching something of their spirit, these young men have themselves become missionaries. if in christian villages without settled pastors, not only the children in the school, but men and women of all ages become their pupils, recognizing the young teachers' superior training, and willingly sitting at their feet, both in their homes and at the regular worship in the village chapel. if in non-christian villages the teacher, by his school and such other influences as he can bring to bear, excites an interest in christianity, of which as yet they know nothing. they wanted a school because they had noticed, or had it impressed upon them by the missionary, that other villages were benefited by having schools. the missionary seizing the opportunity, inserts this entering wedge, with its christian influences which they would not accept from the regular evangelist. the net is cast, and it gathers of every kind. soon "the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence" and the whole village would take it by force, only checked by the requirements that they utterly abandon their spirit-worship, and turn unto the lord with all their hearts. this requirement not only differentiates the christian villages from the heathen, but from the roman catholic villages as well, for the latter are allowed to retain all their old customs and vices, adding thereto the vices of their foreign teachers. martin b. anderson once wrote to a friend--"the work of our eastern missions is vastly more comprehensive than ordinary christians suppose. it is nothing else than the creation, among a heathen, semi-barbarous, and ignorant population, of the most advanced type of christian civilization. this at least ought to be the ideal which we should have before our minds, and for whose realization we should constantly labour. the cultivation of the moral and religious nature of man should be carried on simultaneously with the highest practical development of the intellectual powers. can such an education as our eastern converts require be communicated to them through their vernacular languages? my own impression is that it cannot. it (the english language) comes to them freighted with all the intellectual accumulations of the past. it brings to them the terminology of spiritual religion, of the science of the mind, and the science of god. their preachers and teachers, and moral and political leaders must be trained in english, or their education will be inadequate and narrow." the foregoing pages describe some of the many methods employed by our missionaries, who would "by all means ... save some." ix "with persecutions" amarapura had been the capital of burma forty years when, in , a great fire destroyed some of the royal buildings. having decided that amarapura was an unlucky place the capital was restored to ava. judson's first visit to the capital occurred at this time. the king had requested him to open a mission at ava, and offered land for the purpose. then a war cloud on the western coast arose to darken his prospects. the british at chittagong refused to deliver up certain burmans who had taken refuge there. in the burman king declared war. several englishmen who were then at ava, were seized and thrust into prison. judson and his associate, dr. price, suspected of being in league with the english, were also imprisoned. the son of bodawp'ra, known in history as badawgyi, was then king. the burman kingdom, with the exception of chittagong, was yet intact. the haughty king imagined himself to be the most powerful monarch on earth; and that his cities were impregnable, his armies invincible. unable to discriminate between americans and englishmen, the king caused all white men to be thrown into prison together. eleven months at ava and six months at aungbinle judson and dr. price suffered indescribable misery. bound with chains, crowded in with scores of natives, famishing from lack of suitable food, the whole place reeking in filth. mental distress was almost equal to the physical, for judson's beloved wife and child, whom he longed to see, were also suffering. in the providence of god their lives were spared, but they would feel the effects of such sufferings to the end of their days. a school history of burma contains this touching reference to the released missionaries and europeans: "a sadder spectacle has seldom been presented to living human beings than that which was offered to the english camp by those liberated captives. they were covered with filthy rags, they were worn to skin and bones, and their haggard countenances, sunken, wandering eyes, told but too plainly the frightful story of their long suffering, their incessant alarms, and their apprehension of a doom worse than death." such was the experience of the first missionary to burma. the oft-repeated remark, "the days of missionary heroism are past," has done much to deaden interest in foreign missions. it is not my purpose to give a prominent place to the subject of missionary sacrifices. a few illustrations, which might be multiplied, will serve to show to what extent the spirit of burman buddhists has changed since the time when they inflicted upon judson such terrible tortures. in , a few years after judson triumphantly held aloft the last leaf of the bible translated into the burman language, the first martyr laid down his life "for christ's sake and the gospel's." his name was klo mai,--a converted karen. a company of burmans broke into his house, abused him cruelly, threatening his life if he would not recant. his son shwe nyo, also a christian, leaped to the ground and hid himself in the jungle, but not until he had been severely stabbed. klo mai was dragged from his house and crucified by his heartless tormentors. bound to a hastily constructed bamboo cross, in the form of a letter x, he was left to die, and did die, rather than deny his master. his son shwe nyo, became an effective preacher of the gospel, stimulated to the greater earnestness by his father's faithful example. surely he "bore in his body the brand-marks of the lord jesus," for he carried with him until his death in , the scar of that stab received in his youth. buddhism has been said to be the most tolerant of all non-christian religions; and the burmese the most tolerant of all buddhist peoples. this may be true, up to a certain point. judson gave as the reason why portuguese roman catholics were left unmolested in burma, that "very few burmans entered that church, proselytism being the only thing in foreign religions to which buddhists object." but to gain a convert from buddhism he declared to be "like pulling the tooth of a tiger." with the establishing of an elaborate police-system, by the british government, and the certainty that crime would be punished, missionaries and native converts no longer had reason to fear the more violent forms of persecution. but the burman still found ways to persecute, without laying himself liable to the law of the land, when one of his people had the temerity to forsake the ancestral religion. a case of this kind was very soon brought to our notice. our personal teacher was a young convert. in his native village he had heard the gospel from a travelling evangelist; learned more from tracts that were given him; believed what he heard and read, and openly declared his belief to his people. this excited such anger and opposition that he was obliged to run away from home. his people followed him to the mission, threatening to kill him if he did not renounce christianity, and return to his village. the young man again escaped from his persecutors, and remained in hiding until they returned to their homes. the missionary gave him the training he so earnestly desired, and he became an effective preacher. a few years later, in company with the missionary and others, he returned to his village and openly proclaimed christ before them all. at our mission station a middle-aged man was led to christ by this young man. the new convert's wife and others bitterly opposed his companying with the christians, and attending their worship. when it became known that he was to be baptized, his mother followed him to the river and earnestly besought him to give up his crazy purpose. failing in this she returned home and told his wife that her husband had actually _been baptized before her eyes_. this so enraged her that she snatched his clothing from its place, and would have cut it to bits had not the mother prevented her. for several days and nights the husband and father had to remain away from his family, waiting for the atmosphere to clear. at last the wife consented to live with him, but her continued opposition was a source of great unhappiness until, a few years later, he was called to "come up higher." at another mission station an old man became a convert, and felt it his duty to be baptized. at first he shrank from it, knowing what the consequences would be, but he felt that he should "obey god rather than man." his decision raised a terrible storm of opposition. his own grown-up children joined with the rest in calling him crazy. they tore around like fiends, slapped and pushed the poor old man, and twice knocked him to the ground, before the missionary could rescue him. it was a terrible test, but god was with him. encouraged by the missionary, he walked out of the village to the waterside, and without one of his relations to witness his "obedience of faith" he followed his lord in baptism. radiant with joy he returned to the village, though he knew that henceforth his foes would be "they of his own household." another missionary has given the following account of the conversion and baptism of a pupil in one of the mission schools. "it gives me great joy to record the baptism of another of our pupils, the first burman to be converted in our school, or in this town, so far as i know. he has come out amidst bitter opposition and persecution from all his friends. "more than a year ago he asked his parents' consent to his baptism, but received nothing but curses from his mother, and tearful entreaties to postpone his baptism, from his father. after waiting a year he told them firmly that he had decided to obey god rather than man, and that if they still withheld their consent he must be baptized without it. so during a visit from mr. ---- last month he presented himself as a candidate for baptism. his sister came to the preliminary meeting, and attempted to prevent his being received. failing in this she left in anger, threatening him with a beating when he returned home. he had scarcely left the riverside, when his mother appeared, and after much loud and abusive language ordered him home, renewing the sister's threat of a beating. he went obediently, saying as he left, 'this is a very hard day for me, but i can bear it with joy for jesus' sake.' "they did not use personal violence, but employed every other means to hurt and humiliate him. when he remained steadfast they called in all their relations and friends, a large and respectable company, for they are a family in good standing, and spent the evening in trying, some by gentle persuasion, some by threats and ridicule to make him renounce his christian faith. but he only answered that he knew he had found the right way, and should never forsake it. he even dared to preach to them of the true god, until his father commanded him to stop. "the following sunday they took away his jacket, and threatened to come and curse us if he came to worship. since they have given up the hope of winning him back to buddhism, they simply ignore his presence in the house, and have informed him that he is at liberty to eat at home but will never receive another _pice_ from them while he remains a christian. his former friends have forsaken him, some even refuse to speak to him. yet he has not wavered for a moment, and often says with a radiant face, 'this religion is a very happy religion.'" in a distant village lived a young christian burman, with his heathen wife. he was the only christian in the place, and for miles around. unflinchingly he confessed christ as his saviour, in the face of much prejudice and opposition. one night men burst into his house and demanded his money and other valuables. not securing so much as they expected, they began beating him with their clubs. he shouted with all his might, but not a soul stirred in the surrounding houses. with each blow they reviled him saying, "can jesus save you? can jesus christ save you?" having satisfied their brutal instincts, and being unable to secure more plunder they descended to the ground, dragging the young man with them. as they passed through the village they shouted threateningly, "let no one follow us." there was little danger that any one would follow. there was not a light in the village, and not a head showed itself. doubtless some of the villagers were in league with these villains, others were intimidated, supposing they were dacoits. the young man, bruised and suffering, was forced to accompany his persecutors about a mile, where they released him. he worked his way back to the village, and on the following day persuaded two men to take him to the nearest railway station, six miles away. jungle roads were impassable, but he made the journey astride a buffalo. reaching the mission station he was examined by the medical missionary, who found that he had sustained a green fracture of two ribs, besides a serious scalp wound and many bruises. acting on information furnished by the missionary, the police traced and captured the whole band. they were sentenced to terms in the penitentiary, ranging from four to seven years. here is an extract from a missionary's account of a tour made in to a town in upper burma where now is a christian church and school: "before going north maung ---- was warned not to use the same boldness of speech that he was accustomed to use in british burma, lest they should kill him. but as far as i observed he was bolder than ever, denouncing idolatry in every form, and pleading the merits of jesus christ. "a german who had declared that there was not a true conversion among the burmans, was compelled to acknowledge that he had been mistaken, for no man (said he) could face what this one did who was not a christian." as has been said, there is little reason, at the present time, to fear for one's life. but such instances of persecution as here given are being repeated at every station where mission work among buddhists is being carried on. here we have enacted before our eyes a living commentary on these words of christ: "think not that i came to send peace on the earth. i came not to send peace, but a sword. for i came to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man's foes shall be they of his own household. he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me." the doctrine that "there is no other name whereby we must be saved" inevitably would produce this very result, as every missionary witnesses. it is my profound conviction that missionaries and native converts owe the safety of their lives, under god, to the strong arm of the british indian government. doubtless the majority of burman buddhists, if left to themselves, would tolerate any foreign religion in their midst. but they are not left to themselves. the priest is the pharisee of buddhism; each idol-maker a modern demetrius. the one says: "only by our hold upon the superstitious reverence of the people we have sustenance." the other says: "only by this business have we our wealth." both hate the christian evangelist with a bitter hatred. take away the strong arm of the law which, by many severe lessons, they have learned to respect, these emissaries of satan would make the advent of a christian evangelist an occasion of rioting rivalling that of ephesus. judson's experiences would be repeated in the experience of many a missionary. as it is there are scores of buddhists who secretly admit that christianity is right, but dare not openly break away from the toils of this buddhist hierarchy. the reign of badawgyi, the king that imprisoned dr. judson, extended to . during the last years his authority was but nominal. the humiliation of his defeat by the english; loss of territory; and from , the degradation of being compelled to have a british resident in the royal city finally drove him insane. in that condition he remained until his death, in . so ended the career of this cruel king under whom dr. judson suffered. at about this time the capital was again transferred to amarapura, which remained the capital until the founding of mandalay, in . ava was left to fall to ruin. from the founding of ava until it was finally abandoned, thirty kings had reigned there, for periods from a few months up to thirty-eight years, including temporary changes of the capital. i visited the site of ava in august, , crossing the irrawadi river, from sagaing. the old city wall, from which much of the brickwork has been removed, still stretches along the bank of the river for two miles. the main entrance, through which judson must have passed and repassed, is still intact, though the great gates have disappeared. the city was built in the angle formed by the junction of the irrawadi and myitngi rivers, and extended back along the myitngi one and a half miles. a smaller inner wall enclosed the palace and other royal buildings. only one building of the entire city is still standing. this building is of brick, plastered on the outside with cement, and represents the best workmanship of which their imported indian architects and masons were capable. it is about twenty-five feet square and seventy-five feet high, and is without doors or windows. there was a brick and plaster stairway on the outside, winding around the tower. from some unknown cause the tower long ago settled on one side, so that it leans fully six feet out of perpendicular. this settling threw down the massive brick stairway, which now lies in chaotic ruin. this lofty building, standing within the royal quarters, was the watch-tower. from its top long views up and down the great river, and out over the open plains, could be obtained. sentinels paced its top to give timely warning of the approach of an enemy. on a great gong they struck the hours by day and night. the sound, easily reaching far beyond the limits of the royal grounds, would be welcomed by judson and his fellow sufferers to break the awful monotony of life in the miserable prison, which stood outside the inner wall. the prison was demolished many years ago, but within the memory of burmans now living near by. around a large tree, that must have been large enough in judson's time to furnish partial shade from the fierce rays of the tropical sun, a circular platform of old brickwork still remains. broken brick and roofing-tile cover the ground. much of the site of the old city is covered with tangled jungle-growth, through which chetahs and other animals sometimes prowl. a score of burmans are slowly digging up the ground to the depth of about three feet over the entire area once covered by the royal buildings. now and then their labours are rewarded by finds of jewelry or silver. the finer earth below the layer of _débris_ is washed for gold dust, from the many gold-decorated buildings that have marked the spot through the reign of many kings. the sight of the ava prison having been identified beyond a doubt, the baptists of america would do well to place there a suitable monument to mark the spot where their first missionary suffered so much "for christ's sake and the gospel's." after suffering for eleven long months at ava the prisoners were transferred to aungbinle, a day's journey to the northeast. in company with the missionary at mandalay i rode to the place, two days before my visit to ava. aungbinle is about five miles east of mandalay, towards the hills. among the public works of bodawp'ra, who reigned from to , was an artificial lake, formed by a raised embankment of earth enclosing about fifteen square miles of the nearly level plain. this was filled by means of a canal connecting with a natural lake two or three miles farther north, fed by mountain streams. in these two reservoirs abundance of water for irrigation could be stored for use through the many rainless months. this artificial lake was called "aung-binle"--the conquered or shut-in sea. at its southwest bend aungbinle village still stands, though its thatch-and-bamboo houses have been renewed ten times over since judson was brought there to be thrown into the death-prison. the site of this prison also has been identified beyond a reasonable doubt. an aged burman there pointed out the spot to missionaries who were investigating the matter several years ago. a burman official who had been there many years, and was familiar with land-titles, confirmed the old man's story. more recently an old brick pathway was discovered when ditching the road that passes the prison-site. this further corroborated the statement of the two burmans that the police quarters were on the north side of this road, and the prison on the south. there is little room for doubt that the brick pathway connected the two. the prison itself was only a bamboo structure, of which nothing would now be left. a buddhist monastery erected later near the prison-site, was destroyed by fire a few years ago. there are two pagodas within a stone's throw, one of which may have stood there in judson's time. except a few slender palms, the region must have been treeless, the heat indescribable. the location of mrs. judson's house is uncertain. judging from the situation of the village, and the character of the land near by it must have been quite near the prison. [illustration: elephants at work] the baptist mission has secured about two acres of land, including the prison-site. by the generous gift of two american baptists who recently visited aungbinle, a neat and substantial brick chapel has been erected on the prison-site, as nearly as can be determined. a little farther back, and to one side, is the burman preacher's house, also included in the gift. the missionary, who frequently visits the village, has provided a miniature cottage of thatch-and-bamboo, in which to rest and find protection from the mid-day heat. as one attempts to realize the situation as it was,--judson suffering untold agonies, aggravated by his heartless tormentors,--in the miserable prison; mrs. judson, in her isolation and friendlessness, suffering from privation, intolerable heat, disease, and the yet greater mental suffering on account of her husband who might at any moment be led to execution before her eyes,--the picture becomes more and more terrible. then as we turn again to the chapel and preacher's house our thoughts rise in praise to him who has wrought these changed conditions. on the very spot where the innocent and the guilty were together imprisoned and tortured, an earnest man of god, of the same race as the king by whose order these men suffered,--now proclaims jesus christ as the world's saviour. as i turned away from this spot, and again as i passed out through the old gateway at ava, it was with an earnest prayer that a double portion of judson's spirit might rest upon his successors in this heathen land. x heroes and heroines if heroes and heroines are men and women who have shown startling qualities in time of stress and strife, many such may be found among converts from heathenism. the examples here given are from my own fellow workers. u po hline, pastor of the church at pyinmana, is well known in the burman mission. a conspicuous figure at conventions and associations, his massive form, intelligent face, and dignified bearing mark him a "saul among his brethren." but u po hline's interesting history is not so well known. his early life was spent in the yellow robes of the buddhist priesthood. there he learned the real inwardness and emptiness of the ancestral religion. in it he could not find that which could satisfy his spiritual sense; nor was he satisfied to lead the indolent, selfish life of the buddhist priest. but familiarity with their arguments and contents of their sacred books, gained during the years of monastic life, was yet to be turned to good account. casting off the yellow robes he became a tiller of the soil. by industry and good management not common to his race, he possessed himself of rice-fields, bullocks, and buffaloes, and money interests among the villagers where he lived. loyalty to the british indian government never has been, and is not to-day true of the mass of burmans. u po hline's broader intelligence led him not only to accept the inevitable, but also to see what benefits would accrue to his race from english rule. he used his influence to restrain his people from acts of violence, and in various ways lent his aid to the progress of law and order. in those troublous times he had an adventure, of which he never speaks unless questioned on the subject. returning from rangoon where he had marketed his harvest of _tsan_,--unhulled rice,--he and his boatmen were attacked by dacoits. the boatmen, terrified by the fiendish yells of these desperate dacoits, threw down their paddles and would have tried to escape by taking to the water. not so u po hline. neither his life nor his rupees were to be taken so easily. crawling under the _paung_, he seized his rifle, and,--to use his own words--"two of the dacoits sank in the water, and did not reappear." the tables were turned. the dacoits, now as badly frightened as the boatmen, lost no time in taking to the brush. u po hline still remembers the adventure with the sad feeling that although acting in self-defense, he sent two souls into eternity unprepared. his conversion is especially interesting. a copy of the new testament, given him by a native evangelist, was the means of shaking his faith in buddhism; and of awakening a desire to know more about the "jesus christ religion." relating the circumstances of his conversion he said: "i kept my new testament in my jacket pocket wherever i went. when resting from my work i would take out my testament and read a little, slowly going on through matthew, mark, and luke,--but i understood nothing of what i read. i read about the birth of jesus christ, his teaching, his wonderful miracles,--but who christ was i did not know. then i came to john. in the first chapter i read: 'in the beginning was the word, and the word was with god and the word was god.' then a little farther down i read: 'that word everything created; and without a divine creating was not so much as one thing.' is that so, i said. did that word make _me_? and not only me, but everybody and everything in all this great world? and then i read that he was the light, and the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness would not receive it. why, i said, that is just the way it is here. these people are in the dark, and will not believe what the preachers of the jesus christ religion say to them. "then still farther down i read: 'the word took the state of man, and lived among us.' and as i read on, i found that the word that was with god, and was god; and created all things; and became flesh and lived on earth was the same jesus christ that i had been reading about in matthew, mark and luke! i went home and told my wife that i had become a christian; and that as the preacher said that all who enter the jesus christ religion must receive the dipping ceremony i am going to get baptism." "were you not afraid your heathen neighbours would make trouble?" i asked him. "what trouble could they make, teacher? nearly all of them were in debt to me. but when i told my heathen wife, she was very angry, and said, 'very well. if you want to be baptized,--_be_ baptized,--but i _will not be a jesus christ wife_. i never, never will live with you.' finding that she would not relent i said: 'do not go away. "'all this trouble is not because of your changing, but because of my changing. if anybody is to suffer, i must be the one to suffer. there are the eleven buffaloes, and the six rice-fields, and the house, and the banana garden,--take everything,--only let me have the thirty rupees in the box, and i will go away. i will go to toungoo. if they will not baptize me there, i will go to henzada. if they will not baptize me there, i will go to bassein. if they will not baptize me there, i will go to maulmein.' i had taken the jesus christ religion with my whole mind, and i was determined to be baptized." this was no idle boast. he meant just what he said, and, like paul, was ready to suffer the loss of everything, that he "might gain christ, and be found in him." his example, so unlike his former self, soon softened his wife's heart, and she now said: "never mind, do as you like,--we will live together." not long afterwards she too became a christian. wherever u po hline went he fearlessly preached christ. but it was in his own village that his influence was specially felt. his faithfulness and success seemed sufficient evidence of a call to the ministry. greatly needing such helpers, i soon arranged for him to give his whole time to evangelistic work. his ordination, at the pegu association held in toungoo in ,--will long be remembered by the missionaries present. a missionary at a frontier station sent a request that an ordained preacher be furnished to baptize several converts already gained, and to accompany his young preachers on a tour among the villages. the matter was laid before u po hline, and left for him to decide whether he wished to go, or could stand the long hard journey over the mountain ranges. accepting it as a call from god, and trusting to him for strength, he got ready and started at once. after spending a month in that distant field, he prepared to return to his home. it was a long tramp of sixteen days. the missionary gave him money to hire a coolie to help carry his load. besides his roll of bedding, cooking utensils and food, one of the young preachers had given him three lacquer-ware vessels, as presents for his former teachers. the coolie must be paid in advance, according to the custom of the country. after going a few miles the coolie found an excuse to get out of u po hline's sight, and ran away, taking the money with him. at the next village another coolie was engaged, who must also be paid in advance. they had gone but a short distance when he too ran away. u po hline was now without money to pay for help, so he trudged on alone, carrying the load of two. he got along very well so long as his path lay along the mountains. but when he descended into the plains his strength gave out, and he found himself burning with fever. there was no other way than to plod on, as he was now far from any village. finding himself unable to carry all of his double load, he first threw away some of the cooking utensils. growing weaker, he threw away the bottle of oil and part of the rice. he would not part with the presents that had been entrusted to his care for the teachers, whom he loved. to give the rest of the story in his own words:--"i would plod on until my legs would sustain me no longer. then on my knees i would pray: 'o father, i have been away doing thy work, i did the best i could, now give me strength to reach my home.' "then i would get up and go on again until, from weakness, i fell down in the path. then i would pray again: 'o father, i have been away to do thy work. i did the very best i could. now do give me strength to reach my home.' so i went on, falling, praying, struggling on again, until at last i reached the cart-road, and joined some cartmen. i had carefully saved my last rupee to pay my fare when i should come to the railroad. i thought,--if i must, i can sell my silk turban. but the cartmen were kind, and gave me food, while i preached to them." as he finished his story he untied the bundle, and laid the lacquer-ware presents at our feet, utterly unconscious of the fact that by his devotion to his teachers, and to what seemed to be his duty he had shown a spirit of true heroism, worthy to be "told as a memorial" of him. a short time before i left burma u po hline came to me and said, "saya, i have been thinking like this:--the apostle paul said to the corinthian christians, 'paul planted, apollos watered; but god gave the increase.' when saya came to pyinmana thirteen years ago there was not a christian in this town nor in all this great jungle. no nor ever had been. it was all wild, the dwelling place of dacoits, tigers, bears, and snakes. saya has been planting all these years. there has been some reaping, to be sure,--but much more is ready for reaping. when i first came to pyinmana, wherever i showed myself, in bazar or street, the people would call to one another: 'come and see jesus christ, come and see jesus christ.' 'yes,' i would say, 'i am here to represent jesus christ.' sometimes they would listen to my preaching, but often they would jeer so that i could not preach, they were so ignorant and wild. "but now, besides our little company of christians, there are many in these villages who listen attentively, and some are truly 'considering.' "now saya must return to america, and another saya will come. don't go away discouraged, saya. we shall _soon be reaping_ here. you will hear about it, and be glad. if it is god's will that you return to burma, you will 'come rejoicing.' when i first came to pyinmana,"--he continued; "i had a dream. in my dream i saw great fields of rice on three sides of this town. these fields were turning yellow, promising an early and large harvest. how like the bible, is my dream, i thought. this dream strengthened my faith and made me glad. god's time is not yet full, but i believe it will be full soon. this pyinmana mission is corinth. saya is paul. saya has planted, the coming missionary will be apollos, to water the planting. god will give the increase." may this noble christian hero live many years, to cheer and help the missionaries, in their common effort to dispel the heathen darkness. this faithful native pastor is but one of many who hold not their lives dear to themselves that they may accomplish their course and the ministry which they have received from the lord jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of god. nan paw was born in ya-bok-kon village, in the year ,--so she thinks, but is not certain as to the village or the date. when we first saw her she was an orphan, as to her father; worse than orphaned as to her heathen mother. both nan paw and her elder sister had already been several years in the mission school. the sister, mai lone, came first. now and then she returned to her village home with such wonderful stories of tidy white jackets, pretty _longyis_ (skirts), clean beds, and nice new books, that little nan paw wanted to come too. she wanted to see the big "white mamma," and enjoy the life that her sister was leading. mai lone had learned to read,--a wonderful thing for a girl to do. not a girl in the whole village could read, no, not even her own mother! and mai lone could sing, too! little nan paw sighed for these privileges and accomplishments, and was a heathen no longer. never again could she know contentment among the dogs and filth and degradation of her own village. but in vain she entreated her mother to let her go with mai lone to live at the mission school. finding that her pleadings were of no avail, she took the matter into her own hands, and _ran away_. the mother finding her little girl settled down in the mission dormitory to stay, finally gave her consent. when we came to take charge of the school nan paw had already overtaken the older girls in her studies. the smallest in the class, she was head and shoulders above them all in brightness and winsomeness. to see her was to love her. it would not do to make a pet of her, for petting spoils native children as quickly as kittens. quick to see what needed to be done, and how to do it, she soon became very useful about the house. a little later a christian endeavour society was organized. nan paw may have learned to love jesus before this; but now, with several others she gave herself to him fully and openly, and to the great joy of all, was baptized. the years rolled by,--and nan paw, having passed through all the grades of the mission school, became a teacher. during a vacation she made a visit to some of her heathen relations in a distant village. when the school reopened she did not return to her duties. several weeks had passed when we learned that she had returned to her mother's village. we sent word to her two or three times, urging her to return to the school, though we could not compel her to do so. at last one of the christians went to her home to ascertain, if possible, why she had become unfaithful to her duties as a christian teacher. he brought back word that something was the matter with nan paw. when he tried to talk with her she would keep her hands covered, and try to conceal her face behind her scarf. with a sad face he said, "i think our nan paw _is a leper_." measures were taken at once to ascertain the facts. alas it was too true. in some way or other,--whether by heredity or contagion we could not learn,--our dear nan paw had become a victim to that terrible disease. how our hearts ached for her. now we knew why she had not returned to the school. while we were fearing that she was yielding to heathen influences; and that she was making a poor return for all the affection we had bestowed upon her, the dear girl's heart was nearly breaking. she knew that she must bid farewell to her pleasant life in the mission, and to her beloved associates. all aspirations to support herself, to rise in her chosen work, to be respected, to marry well--were utterly crushed. henceforth she must be an outcast, despised by her own people. nothing before her but a living death, the disease steadily growing upon her, until fingers and toes would waste away, her whole body become covered with repulsive sores,--and no power on earth could help her. after a time arrangements were made to send her to the leper asylum at mandalay, over two hundred miles away. there, under the direction of the missionary in charge nan paw became a teacher of others--afflicted like herself. it would not have been strange had she utterly given up to despair,--and sought release by death. but with wonderful submission she gave herself to christian work,--the only woman in the asylum who could read and teach the word of god. here is a translation of one of nan paw's letters to her sister: "sister, to you a letter do i send. by the kindness of god i am come to the home for lepers, in mandalay. here am i to teach his law, and in teaching it i am glad. for this purpose, i am persuaded, has he brought me here. whether i am to remain all my life, or for a little while i know not. my prayer is that god may quickly take me to himself. "why he has brought this affliction upon me i do not know. "when i consider (my condition) my heart is exceeding sorrowful. "the teacher has been very kind, and spent much money upon me. the physician is good. now in all things, my sister, i place myself in the hand of god. in so far as i am able i will strive to do his will. that i may be happy in proclaiming his law, will you ever pray. "your affectionate sister, "nan paw." but after a year in the asylum nan paw longed to return to her native village. this she was permitted to do. the disease grew worse and worse. her people, backed by the village priest, then made a determined effort to break down this poor girl's faith in christ, and turn her again to buddhism. they knew how to cure the disease, they claimed, and would cure it if she would worship the priest. pressed beyond endurance she at last in sheer despair prostrated herself before the priest in the attitude of worship. they then gave her medicine several months, the disease all the time growing upon her. not only the terrible leprosy of the body, but her soul was troubled with the thought that by dishonouring her lord she had become leprous with sin. one day when they wanted her to join them in their heathen worship she broke out in great indignation: "no i _never_ will worship like that again. by your false and useless promises you made me deny my lord. but from this time i do it no more. i turn again to my own god, who can at least save my soul." again nan paw sent word that she wished to go back to the asylum. she was an outcast in her own village, and in her own mother's home. no one dared to see her. she cared to see no one. at the asylum she could be no unhappier. there all would be alike unfortunate,--birds of a feather flock together. i immediately arranged for her return. the native christians contributed generously to make up the required sum. as nan paw would be a teacher, the superintendent kindly offered to provide special quarters for her, apart from the other lepers. i sent word to nan paw that i wished to see her before she went away, for i was soon to return to america, and might never see her again; that i loved her as a daughter, just the same as before her misfortune. but she sent back the pathetic reply: "to dear teacher this brief letter i write. that god may pour a blessing upon teacher and all the church members i am praying. "but i am not fit to be seen. to show my face i am ashamed. i do not even meet my friends in the village. therefore please excuse me. by the half-past eight train i am going to mandalay. there is with me a very great sorrow. in no place is there any gladness. only sorrow's tears are ever falling. now because teacher, by the favour of god, is trying to help me, it is a great kindness. and teacher has written favourably to mandalay in order that i may go. that i may be set free from my great sorrow, and that god may speedily gather to himself my soul, ever pray." but when circumstances made it necessary for her to come to my house she overcame her fears, and in the dim light let me talk with her, face to face. again i assured her that "sayah and mama" loved her the same as before; that her saviour's love was just the same; that by and by we would be together in heaven, and all be alike, with all these earthly distresses left behind. in the asylum nan paw is the only christian woman among about seventy-five of her own sex and race. every day she conducts religious exercises; and every sunday she stands by the pulpit in the chapel to set forth christ as saviour. after she had been there a few weeks she sent back this letter: "dearly beloved teacher. i reverently greet you, and pray that god may pour his spirit upon you and all the christians, to do his work. especially, according to teacher's efforts, in order to do the divine work in this place,--by god's guidance i have come. "there have now been three sundays, and i have preached. the first sunday i explained matt. : - . the second sunday i explained john : - . the third sunday i explained acts : - ,--about the ruler's faith and god's power. god planned that i should be brought to this place. nevertheless, teacher,--though i seek ease of mind in this world, i find only distress. therefore pray that god may speedily take my spirit. because teacher,--according to the will of god, has helped me, i praise god's mercy. "your daughter, "ma nan paw." in this child of the jungle, brought to christ through the agency of the mission school, stricken with a loathsome disease in the prime of life; submissively bowing to the will of god, and striving to show others how to escape from the leprosy of sin, we see the true martyr-spirit. one day the master will come and touch her with his finger, saying "be thou clean," and receive her into his paradise above. xi peculiar experiences it is well for the weary worker in a strange land that with the austere and sublime, there is now and then a spicing of the ridiculous. happy the man who is so constituted as to appreciate the ridiculous when it happens. a few such instances will serve to illustrate the many-sidedness of missionary life. the first was when the writer was a new missionary; otherwise it might not have happened. the boarding-school occupied the ground floor of the mission bungalow, the missionaries living above it. one day a great commotion was heard in the schoolyard. looking out of the window, the school children could be seen scattering in all directions. the old saying "every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost," was being enacted in a very realistic manner. hard after the "hindmost" was a demoniac, a crazy karen woman. evidently the children had been teasing her, but oh how they did repent, as they ran! this terrible creature had seized a short bamboo, and was rushing after them in insane fury. poising it like a spear, she hurled it endwise. happily it missed its mark, or there would have been a name or two to strike off the school roll. advancing at double-quick i got between the children and the enemy before she could make another charge. whether by faith or by force i must now cast out a demon. pointing to the gate, i said "_go_." she went not. "_go_," i repeated, and suiting the action to the word, started for the gate with my incumbrance. started,--only that and nothing more. there seemed to be two opinions as to ways and means. i recalled a remark--"the natives are coming to think for themselves." it must be true. this particular native suddenly collapsed, sinking to the ground, in a disgusting heap of obstinacy. filthy beyond description, hair matted and tangled, her whole person so covered with vermin that she was scarcely responsible for her movements,--what to do with her i was at a loss to know. it was a larger contract than had been bargained for. something must be done, or the missionary would lose prestige with the school, and be subjected to repeated annoyances by this crazy woman. picking her up by main strength, we started again. there was a short struggle at the corner of the house, where she grasped a post with both arms, and held on with the tenacity of an octopus. disengaging her from the post, i thought to get up sufficient momentum to carry her safely through the gate, but failed. again there was a tug of war. again might made right, and our unsavoury guest gave up the struggle. casting back a wild but vanquished look, she departed, never to come back. we will pass to the "hot season" of our second year. the missionaries of the station were spending a few weeks of it on a mountain twenty miles from town. one mission building was in process of construction,--work that demanded frequent inspection. to look after this work i must make the round trip of forty miles once a week, _while resting_. at one time, passing through a karen village, the pastor lent me his pony for the journey. on reaching town i threw the lines to a schoolboy, who unsaddled the pony and turned it loose in the compound. when ready to return to the mountains it was found that the pony had walked out through an open gate, and was missing. search was made, but the pony was nowhere to be seen. while waiting for the day to cool, the pony returned of his own accord, and came trotting into the compound. this was luck indeed. the schoolboy quickly saddled and bridled the pony, and away i went, anxious to make up the time i had lost. arriving at the karen village i hitched the pony under the owner's house. a grown-up daughter sitting on the stairs, modestly inquired "where is _our_ pony?" "what's the matter with _this_ pony?" i asked. "_our_ pony is a _male_," she said. the missionary took off his hat. he scratched his head. it was dawning upon him that he was in a pretty mess. if this is not the pony i borrowed, then where is he? and whose pony have i stolen? and where shall i find the money to pay for the other pony, if not recovered,--which is an even chance? how shall i explain being in possession of this one, if called to account? it did not take long for these questions to go through my mind. the case called for prompt action, but my empty stomach was calling for food. mounting the stolen pony i proceeded up the mountain. before reaching camp, the karen pastor's son came hurrying up the path, riding on the lost pony. the pony had returned to his own village, fifteen miles, afoot and alone. one problem was solved, and my mind relieved to that extent. but in the eye of the law, should the law find it out,--i was a criminal, for my explanation might or might not be accepted. as the sun was going down, one of the larger schoolboys who was at the camp,--started back to town with the other pony. i gave him a letter addressed to the police, taking upon myself the responsibility. the boy was not to trouble the police if the police did not trouble him. going by the most unfrequented roads, he arrived in town before midnight. turning the pony loose where first seen, he hurried back to the mountain as fast as his legs would carry him, reaching camp before sunrise. the missionary never knew whose pony he had taken. it is doubtful whether the owner ever missed it. at one time i was passing through an unfamiliar jungle accompanied by a coolie, who also acted as guide. darkness was coming on and good time must be made, or we must spend the night in the jungle. coming to a place where two roads met, i chose the right hand road but the guide insisted that the left hand road was the one to take. the missionary reluctantly yielded to the coolie's better knowledge of the jungle paths. we went on and on, but instead of coming out into open country, the jungle grew more and more dense. we were lost. it was now pitch dark, so that even the wrong road could no longer be followed. there was nothing left but to spend the night where we were. just as we had made up our minds to this, i caught sight of a light, through the trees. groping our way ahead we discovered that we were near a small karen village. in response to our shouts two men came to meet us, with guns and torches. they were christian karens, and glad to find that the belated guest was a missionary, rather than a dacoit. i soon made myself at home with the family and until a late hour friendly conversation was kept up, through the medium of burmese. the children were brought to be inspected and _praised_. the baby, several months old, had not been named. wouldn't the teacher please give the baby a name? it is quite customary for the karens to ask their missionaries to name the babies. to this particular missionary, whose work was wholly among burmans, it was a unique experience. he had a dear relative in the home-land, named julia. she should be honoured with a namesake. "please write it out, because we might forget it," they said. but there was not a scrap of paper in the house. taking the cover from one of my lunch cans the name was carefully scratched on the inside with a pocket knife, and handed over to be laid up in the family archives. at last the baby had a name, and the mother was happy. now it was time, and long past time, to get a little sleep. the best mat was unrolled and spread in the open front, for the teacher. in the coolie's baskets was a change of clothing, greatly needed after the dust and perspiration of this long day,--but how could clothing be changed?--nor husband nor wife nor daughter would retire until they should see how the teacher did it. the natives themselves usually sleep in the same clothes they have worn all day. is a change desired they have only to put on an extra _longyi_--skirt, and let the inner skirt fall to the floor. they have no idea how the white people are dressed, until they see them undress. such an event is too rare to be missed. husband, wife, and grown-up daughters will stand by, with all the interest of a medical class in a dissecting room, while he takes himself apart, picking up each piece as he lays it off, with comments such as only the untutored child of the jungle would ever think of. there was no help for it,--so, kicking off my shoes, i stretched out as i was, with my saddle for a pillow. the family then retired, but evidently feeling that they had not seen their money's worth. wishing to enjoy the luxury of a bath in a stream, one is sometimes obliged to wander off in the opposite direction, to throw the villagers off the scent. were his purpose known, he would have so many of the native maidens at his heels, as to render the situation somewhat embarrassing. at break of day we were conducted through the jungle by a short cut to the path we should have followed. having no opportunity to revisit that village, i never knew what became of little "u-lee." another experience was certainly interesting at the time, and might have been the last, with no one to describe it. returning alone from a jungle tour, i reached a river at nine o'clock at night. there was no moon, but the stars were shining. the opposite bank, high and steep, could be dimly seen against the sky. during the floods of the rainy season the bank had caved off, so that neither man nor beast could ascend it. the natives had dug out a narrow path diagonally up the bank. in the darkness this path could not be seen from the other side. two burmans, who were fishing by torchlight, pointed out the direction in which the path would be found. taking a star to steer by, i forced the pony into the river. soon the water became too deep for fording, and i felt the rather uncomfortable sensation of riding in the saddle on a swimming pony. by daylight it would not have been so serious, though the current was strong. in the darkness and alone, it was not so pleasant to be in deep water, in mid-river. the pony struggled bravely on until he reached the bank, and scrambled up on a ledge of joint-clay. there was no path to be seen. the pony had landed in a little cove where the perpendicular bank rose from the water's edge. back into the river he must go. this he refused to do. getting between the pony and the wall i pushed him off the ledge, springing into the saddle as he went down. the pony was then headed up stream, first swimming around a tree that had fallen into the river. no path to be found in that direction. returning down-stream, now wading, now swimming--the path was found at last. a thankful missionary sat down on the bank under the twinkling stars, and wrung the water out of his clothes as best he could, before continuing his journey. the missionary candidate dreams of the time when he will break the bread of life to the heathen. his dream will be realized, in time,--but he will do a great many other things, of which he never dreamed. he may not know a plane from a plummet, yet there are houses to build, and he must be both architect and superintendent. he must understand, or learn to understand everything that pertains to the upkeep and conduct of a large mission, with its many-sided work. he may not know the use of the simplest remedies, but must be doctor for scores, and perhaps hundreds of people. the writer had this to go through, and some of his earlier patients still live to tell how much quicker they might have recovered if the teacher had not treated them. on one occasion a boy came for medicine. he looked very thin and weak. he wanted medicine for fever and diarrhoea. the usual questions were asked as to frequency of attacks, etc. when the medicine had been prepared the missionary said: "you take one dose now, and another when you retire----" when the boy spoke up, "oh, no,--it is not for _me_, it's for _mother_." a pupil in the school had frequent fits. the buddhist priest said that an evil spirit had taken up his abode in the boy. his people came to me, saying that the priest had tried to cast out the evil spirit, but had failed. "bring him to me," i said, "i will cast the spirit out." he came, swallowed a strong vermifuge, and a dose of castor oil, putting an end to his demoniacal antics. one of the saddest times in the missionary's life is when he must lay down his work, and take an imperatively needed change in the home-land. that it will be no small loss to himself,--in the inevitable sacrifice of household effects,--is the least of his anxieties. but even in this experience he will find a silver lining to his cloud, as he turns it over. a fellow-worker once unwittingly helped us to a hearty laugh,--just when we were most needing such a reaction. boxes had been packed, and were being duly labelled for the home voyage. one piece, to be stowed in the hold of the steamer, had just been marked with black paint. our friend sat down on this box during his brief call, none of us thinking of the fresh label. as he turned to go we saw plainly stamped in reverse order across his white duck pants--"not wanted." xii obstacles to many minds there is great fascination in the thought of self-sacrifice. separation from native land and loved ones, to spend one's life in a strange land, among uncivilized people savours of renunciation more than human. the high plane of spirituality, already attained, would be easily perpetuated. cut off from everything that had stood ready to prey upon one's weaknesses, those weaknesses would no longer have to be guarded against. in a life devoted to ministering spiritual things to people who have as yet no spiritual conceptions there would be reflex blessings furnishing all the spiritual help one would need. in short, the missionary is looked upon as belonging to a peculiar order of beings, almost supernatural, dwelling in a sort of seventh heaven of immunity from difficulties against which the ordinary soul must contend. in calling attention to certain hindrances, it is to guard against romantic notions. the depressing influence of life among a heathen people hangs over one like a cloud. the natives are so sodden in vice, so wedded to their idols, so prejudiced against all foreign religions, so dull of head and slow of heart to understand and believe. at times it may seem to be all sowing and no reaping,--enough to dishearten the most faithful worker. to "sit in the shade of a palm-tree, and break the bread of life to hands eagerly outstretched to receive it"--is not an every-day experience. sunday by sunday the native christians assemble in the chapel for worship. the new missionary joins them. here he will not be distressed by the degradation of the heathen without. his heart will be glad as he sees these people, rescued from idolatry, worshipping the true god. he cannot understand what is said, but he can join in silent prayer. it is intensely interesting, for a few sundays. but after a time these services, in which he is utterly unable to take other than a silent part, will be found inadequate to meet his spiritual need. it will be two years or more, before the missionary can join in all parts of their worship. during this time he will often remember with deep longing the privilege of his own church in the far away home-land. in fact, worship with people of another race and tongue never quite meets one's spiritual requirements. constant outflow, without corresponding inflow will run any pool dry. then he will find himself so overwhelmed with work, perplexed by financial cares, hindered by innumerable interruptions that it will seem almost impossible to find time to put forth special effort by reading, meditation, and prayer, for the maintenance and upbuilding of his own spiritual life. one's very zeal for the kingdom of christ may dwarf one's fellowship with christ. no matter how sound in theory, loyal in spirit, or vigorous in action, there will come periods of reaction, though not of discouragement. "tired in, not of the work." the discouraged missionary is yet to be found. "_he_ shall not fail, nor be discouraged--till he has set judgment in the earth." often enough to keep him keyed up to his work he will be blessed with the privilege of witnessing that which never loses its fascinating interest,--the wonderful transformation of human souls, by the power of the holy spirit. other matters however interesting, are but side-lights; other experiences, however trying, are soon forgotten in the joy of seeing, and in a measure being instrumental in the advancement of christ's kingdom. with a heart warm with love for christ; warm with love for souls; full of zeal for soul winning; the missionary is safe. but all these passions he _must bring with him_, rather than depending upon their being developed in and by service in a foreign land. dr. judson, after nineteen years in burma, writing to a foreign missionary association of young men said: "beware of the greater reaction which will take place after you have acquired the language, and become fatigued and worn out with preaching the gospel to a disobedient and gainsaying people. you will sometimes long for a quiet retreat, where you can find a respite from the tug of toiling at native work,--the incessant, intolerable friction of the missionary grindstone. and satan will sympathize with you in this matter, and he will present some chapel of ease, in which to officiate in your native tongue, some government situation, some professorship or editorship, some literary or scientific pursuit, some supernumerary translation, or, at some system of schools; anything, in a word, that will help you, without much surrender of character, to slip out of real missionary work. "such a temptation will form the crisis of your disease. if your spiritual constitution can sustain it, you recover; if not, you die." missionary views have undergone some change since judson's time,--for instance,--"some system of schools" has come to be regarded as a necessary and fruitful part of missionary work. moreover, instead of furnishing sweet release from the "friction of the missionary grindstone," in the school its rubs are hardest. the great temptation now is to abandon school work, to engage in "direct evangelistic work" exclusively. but the principal remains the same. talk about the hardships of pioneering; pioneering is a picnic as compared with the year-in-and-year-out routine of school work. in boarding-schools there is added to the all-day work the all-night anxiety concerning the moral welfare of the pupils. sick or well, strong or weak and weary, the work is there, and must be accomplished. the dormitories are full of boys and girls, and constant care is the price of discipline. nearly every day some are on the sick list, and must be visited, and remedies administered under the missionary's own eye. in serious cases the missionary becomes the watcher. i have in mind an instance when the cholera broke out in a neighbouring mission school. the lady in charge of the school took several girls into her own house, nursed them day and night, in addition to her regular work, and brought them safely through the crisis. but at what a cost. a few days later a company of sorrow-stricken missionaries were gathered around her grave, with difficulty restraining their emotion to conduct the burial service. a beloved sister had fallen, as truly a martyr as ever gave a life to the master's service. the climate of burma is peculiarly trying. arriving in november, as most all newcomers do, everything is seen at its best. the rainy season has passed, leaving a placid smile on the face of nature. the nights are cool. friends will see that the newcomer keeps in the shade from eleven o'clock in the morning until five in the afternoon,--for a tropical sun can be depended on to do his duty at that time of day, the year round. as the season advances the nights become cooler, and towards morning a chilling fog sets in. the preceding afternoon having been hot, one retires in a perspiration, every pore open, finally dropping off to sleep--without any covering, save his pajamas. with the coming of the fog there is a sudden drop in temperature, and one is fortunate if he does not wake up in a chill, and have the doctor for his first morning caller. persons with weak lungs find this the most trying season of the year. but this is the "cold season," and the time when missionary work out in the district must be vigorously pressed. away through the karen, shan, chin, and kachin hills, missionaries push their way. in the plains other missionaries are doing their best to reach as many villages as possible before the "hot season" sets in. work which ought to close early in march, if the missionary's health is considered, is often continued until april. but this is done at the expense of health, and shortens one's term of service. at least one month of the hot season must be spent at some mountain resort to escape the heat, secure needed rest, or for neglected literary work, if strength permits. it is not in the power of flesh to work on twelve months in the year, in the heated plains, without sacrificing strength that might be more wisely conserved. after a serious illness, i spent a few weeks alone in a mountain camp, during my last hot season in burma. several great vultures kept me company by roosting in a tree close by, every night for a week. my rapid improvement did not furnish an encouraging prospect, and they left. the fact that they had occupied the tree before i came to occupy the camp, did not make their presence much less suggestive. by the middle of may the "southwest monsoon" sets in. then for five months it is rain, rain, rain. but though enough rain falls to inundate a country less amply provided with natural drainage, the awful heat continues. clouds shut out the sun much of the time, but the steamy heat is exceedingly enervating. clothing and bedding are clammy from the excessive dampness. shoes taken off at night are mouldy in the morning. the unavoidable ruin of shelves of fresh new books from the home-land is enough to break one's heart, unless he has grace to take joyfully the spoiling of his goods. but as a merciful provision against allowing the mind to dwell on such misfortunes, the "prickly heat" (_lichen tropicus_) with which one's body is covered, will demand frequent attention. the rainfall varies in different parts of the country. in maulmain and sandoway the annual rainfall is about two hundred and fifty inches. in rangoon the precipitation is about two thirds of that amount. mandalay is in the dry belt where the rainfall is very light, and irrigation is resorted to for cultivation. but still farther north, at bhamo, the rainfall is heavy. the every-day display of wild beasts, reptiles, and insect life is rather disappointing to the newcomer. in the year only seventy-three people were reported as killed by wild beasts, and , by snakes and poisonous insects. but we find that , cattle were killed by tigers; , were killed by leopards; six by bears, twenty-eight by wolves, and , by snakes. more cattle were killed by snakes in burma than in all the rest of india. doubtless many such deaths in remote places, are not reported at all. under a certain christian chapel when the ground was covered by a flood, an average of six centipedes were counted on each post. other localities are equally favoured, but they are scattered about, in piles of lumber, under old boxes, and wherever they can secrete themselves, now and then one appearing in a corner closet or crawling on the floor. on one occasion when about to take my family out for a walk two scorpions must first be dispatched. they were found on the inside of our little boy's jacket, taken from a nail on the wall. cobras and vipers sometimes find their way into houses,--but this happens more frequently in india than in burma. these reptiles, though not often seen, are known to be about, so that some degree of caution is in order at all times. the general practice of elevating the house-floor several feet from the ground greatly lessens the number of these unwelcome visitors. not even the newcomer complains of a scarcity of the far-famed white ants. should he fail to appreciate their numbers and powers, an experience similar to that recorded in "the bishop's conversion" will make him wish he had heeded the warnings of older residents. each queen is said to deposit about three million eggs a year. as they do their housekeeping and rear their antlets underground, a tropical sun making the hive a first-class incubator, the success of each colony is well assured. during the day myriads of other kinds of ants may be seen, but not a white ant shows his head. leave an old box on the ground over night, and in the morning thousands of these destructive insects will be found underneath, eating the bottom out of it. some of the houses built by the early missionaries, who had not learned the likes and dislikes of the white ant, were destroyed in a few years. but a house made wholly of ant-proof timber does not insure one against their ravages. under cover of the darkness they send out their spies. the house is searched from foundation to garret. they make careful note of the location of deal-boxes, book-shelves and other tempting articles, smack their lips, and return to give their report. the floor of nearly all residences is ten feet or more above the ground, the lower part being left unoccupied. the ants, directed by their engineers, select a post, and rapidly build a covered way, about the size of half a split lead-pencil, up its side. sand, made sticky by glue from their mouths, is the material used. reaching the floor the path is continued along a crack in the floor, finally coming out under or behind the article selected for destruction. unless something wanted leads to their discovery, their work will go on until chest and contents are utterly ruined. returning from a three weeks' absence, i found several of my choicest books riddled by these pests. in place of valuable marginal notes that could not be restored was a paste of sand. such an experience is not, at first flush, conducive to spirituality. rather it makes one sigh for a more expressive vocabulary, adapted to his profession. while superintending the work of demolishing an old mission house five heavy timbers fell all at once, on as many sides of me. these timbers appeared to be securely fastened, but white ants had eaten away the wood so that nails and bolts had no hold. the building had been condemned as unsafe over and over, but for want of other shelter had been occupied by a missionary family until the day before. it was little less than a miracle that the heavy roof had not crushed down over their heads. the most dreaded diseases are cholera and fever. in the first burmese war seventy-two per cent. of the british troops died, only five per cent. being killed in action. after the annexation, railroad and steamship companies revolutionized transportation, substantial barracks and bungalows have taken the place of bamboo-and-thatch shanties, for the accommodations of europeans. improved sanitary arrangements in the towns have greatly decreased the mortality among natives. compulsory vaccination is stamping out smallpox. each large town has its hospital and civil surgeon. in six or eight different places medical missionaries are stationed. many improvements have been made since the time of judson,--but the climate has not changed. as organized mission-work develops, the strain on the missionary increases. to the "care of all the churches" the mission schools have been added. work enough for four falls upon one. breakdowns are inevitable. careful inquiry has established the fact that the average term of missionary service is considerably longer than that of europeans in civil, military or mercantile pursuits, though the missionary lives by far the more strenuous life. if it is desirable that the missionary should render a long life of service, this extension of each term beyond the limit of his strength is very poor economy in the society which he represents. but in the majority of cases the mistake is made by the missionary himself. body and soul he is wedded to his work. there never comes a time when he is not making some special effort, that he shrinks from entrusting to another,--for the advancement of the kingdom. if another is not available to take up the work he will almost die at his post rather than leave his people "as sheep having no shepherd." the remedy is in the hands of god's people in the home-land. had he not learned to possess his soul in patience the missionary might feel disturbed by unfriendly criticisms directed against missionaries and their methods by that worldly-wise individual known as the "globe-trotter." entertained at the missionary's home, and in much better style than the missionary can afford or indulges except on such occasions, he sits in the best room, and by the light of the only table lamp in the house dashes off an article on "missionary luxury." he travels three thousand miles, and visits fifty stations in three weeks, then goes home to pose as an authority on missionary methods, life in the tropics, etc. it is simply incredible what a variety of misconceptions one can pick up in three weeks in a strange land. representatives from churches and societies in the home-land are gladly welcomed, if they purpose to remain long enough to form correct views of the situation. it takes the missionaries themselves at least two years to form such views. not long ago a noted christian worker visited burma. he was very earnest in his desire to see much in a little time, and yet get at the real heart of things. to further his desires two missionaries arranged a jungle trip, that the visitor might see the people in their native haunts. the last stage of the journey must be made by ox-cart. as they were loading up for the start he turned and said, "now brethren, you know,--i want _impressions_." then again, more emphatically as he stepped in front of the wheel to put a bundle on the cart--"you understand now,--i _want impressions_." the off-ox seemed to sympathize with him, for he gave him an impression then and there,--on the right knee-cap. then another on the left knee-cap. in great pain the young enthusiast staggered to a log and sat down. helped into the cart, he rode the rest of the journey. the lameness lasted him several days. doubtless the memory of these first impressions will last much longer. the visitor will learn more in three days of burma fever than in an entire cool season. true, he will have sincere sympathy, and the best attention possible. but everybody knows that if true conceptions are to be gained, to be disseminated in the home-land, it is a good investment. visitors, like new missionaries, will not be guided by the advice of the more experienced. that disasters are not more frequent is largely due to the fact that burma is visited when the climate is at its best. an exception to the rule was the visit of a lady who had for many years been actively interested in foreign missions. warnings as to the deadly effects of a tropical sun, and the danger of contracting fever from undue exposure had no influence. repeated cautions that the head must be protected with the customary "sola tope" in place of the black straw hat were disregarded. quinine, the universal and only effective remedy in first symptoms of malaria, was rejected. she was "not subject" to these things. in short, the missionaries were unnecessarily cautious in matters of health. malaria changed to settled fever, and went beyond the power of the best medical skill and nursing to control. this noble worker, who had served long and well here below, and might perhaps have served yet longer, went to a happier service above. notwithstanding the many disasters, experience still remains the only teacher whose voice commands attention. to meet every obstacle and trying experience the consecrated worker girds up his loins, strong in the consciousness of the fact that he is an "ambassador for christ" the highest office in the gift of the king of kings. his very obstacles may become stepping-stones to higher attainments. xiii what hath god wrought adequately to answer the question, at any given time, what hath god wrought?--is beyond the power of short-sighted human comprehension. as one studies the history of christian missions in this land, comparing the present with the past, the question becomes an exclamation; yea, what hath god wrought! in , after six years of seemingly fruitless labour, judson baptized the first burman convert from buddhism. in boardman baptized the first karen convert from spirit-worship. now about forty-five thousand baptized christians, in baptist missions alone, chiefly karen, but with the burman and several other races strongly represented assemble in christian chapels, without fear, or hindrance. including adherents, this number may be multiplied threefold. including the mission work of the roman catholics, church of england, and other societies and their adherents; european officials, traders, and troops; eurasions, and immigrants,--the census of gives a total of , returned as christians. calculated on the same basis as the roman catholics and church of england three-fourths of this grand total should be assigned to the baptists. and as a result of actual mission work among indigenous races, a much larger proportion must be credited to these american baptist missions. in casting up results as represented by present numbers, we should not lose sight of the thousands who have died in the faith during the ninety years of christian missions in burma. and i fain would believe that a good number who never "witnessed the good confession" have died believing "unto the saving of the soul." i will give one such instance among the many, as related to me by one of my preachers, himself a buddhist, at the time. "they told me that an old man in the village where i was staying, was dying. i went to see him. sure enough, he was near the end. his people were giving him very little attention, being angry because he declared that he would die as a christian, not as a buddhist. a christian preacher had been through the village a long time before, and left a tract with this old man. he read it, pondered on it, and believed it. as i sat beside the mat on which he was lying he said to me: 'i am not a buddhist,--i have cast that all away. i believe in the eternal god this tract tells me about. i am going to him. when i am dead, don't let them bury me according to the buddhist custom. just roll me in my mat, and cover me in the ground.' then he looked upward, his face brightened, he raised his feeble hands and exclaimed, 'i can see celestial beings up there,--they are calling me.' he did not say angels,--he never had heard anything about angels. and i did not know what he was talking about. i was not a christian then. his relations said his mind had gone bad, but he paid no attention to what they said,--only kept on talking about his vision of celestial beings beckoning him from the sky. in that way he died. they buried him according to the buddhist custom, but i think he was a true disciple." the wife of one of our jungle christians rejected all attempts to win her to christ. it seemed to be a case of ignorance and indifference rather than the bitter prejudice shown by the majority of burmese women. during the last two years of her life she was an invalid. when the end came her husband was the only christian in the village. suddenly turning her eyes towards the mountains, as if hearing something--she said to her husband, "there is a great company of disciples there on the mountainside. sayah gyi and mama (the missionaries) are with them,--and they are calling me." with a smile on her face she passed away. in life she had not "confessed," but in death, as her spirit hung between two worlds her vision was not of the spirits of her lifelong superstitions,--but of the missionaries and disciples saved by the blood of christ. you have the story,--interpret it as you like. in all the old mission stations the native evangelists report a good number who secretly declare their conviction that christianity is right, the ancestral religion wholly wrong. some go so far as to assert that they no longer worship idols, but do, secretly, worship christ. but no amount of urging or encouraging will induce them to break utterly with buddhism, and openly confess christ. they will not even risk the consequences of attending services in the mission chapel. that some are in a measure, sincere, there is no doubt. imagine, if you can, what would be the social standing of a hitherto orthodox christian in america, should he renounce christianity and go over to gross idolatry. from ostracism he would suffer no more, from persecution far less than the poor native who renounces buddhism, for christianity. whether any of them are numbered among the saved, is not for me to say. [illustration: baptist church, rangoon] there is another thought which throws a bright ray of light on the great dark wall of paganism. it is not one of the results of christian missions, but it is a result of the work of the christ of missions. i refer to thousands and millions of infants and little children who die in pagan lands. if little children in christian lands are immortal, why are not little children in pagan lands also immortal? if little children are included in the saving work of christ, are they not so included the world over? it is hardly conceivable that christ would have said,--with children of non-christians around him: "suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven," had he not considered them choicest material for his kingdom. otherwise the words "except a man become as a little child"--would have been incongruous. now when we consider that probably one-third of the children born in heathen lands die before they come to the period of moral responsibility, a new factor enters into our conception of heaven. now for a case in point. a little child died in my mission. the father was a christian, the mother a heathen. one insisted that the child should be buried according to christian custom, the other insisted that the burial should be according to buddhist custom. the father, backed by the burman pastor, prevailed. on the way to the cemetery i had to stop the procession to drive a snake out of the road. just as the service at the grave began, another snake passed between the native preacher and myself as we stood side by side. it seemed as if satan himself was siding with the heathen mother and would snatch away the soul of this innocent child. while the little grave was being filled, i tried to cheer the father, by telling him that jesus had, in love, taken the child to himself. he knew that the mother would do her worst to bring up her child in heathenism, so he had graciously transplanted it to his paradise above. accepting this view of the case, the father was comforted. there are many such encouraging factors which form no part of mission reports. before proceeding to the more palpable triumphs of christian missions, i would point out that much has recently been said and written of a "revival of buddhism." i do not share in the impression that buddhism is becoming stronger than in former years. the presence of a european clad in yellow robes, parading through the chief towns of burma, making great pretensions, and reviling the christian missionaries, created a sensation for a time. but his claim to be the head of buddhism was not quite to the taste of the many native priests who, locally, or for the province, aspired to that position. hardly more to their taste was his departure, taking with him a generous sum of money collected during his tours. every now and then one hears of new societies for propagating buddhism. but much of this is mere pomp and show. a few of the more popular pagodas are periodically treated to a coat of gold-leaf. the bulk of this great expense is borne by men who have amassed fortunes under british rule, and is more to add to their renown than from real religious zeal. but where one pagoda is now regilded, scores were built and gilded, under burman rule. wealth and education have raised many burmans to prominent positions. each one of these gaily attired lords would like to have it said, "he loveth our nation, and has gilded our pagoda." in this they are encouraged by the friendly attitude of the provincial government towards the religion of the land. in june, , the trustees of the shwe dagon pagoda issued to prominent europeans and others the following invitation: "the trustees of the shwe dagon pagoda will have the pleasure of ----, on sunday, the th june, , on the platform of the pagoda, to witness the most sacred ceremony of unveiling the covering of the upper portion of the pagoda as the plating of the same with beaten gold sheets has now been completed. "sir h. thirkell white, chief judge of the chief court of lower burma has kindly consented to perform the duty of unveiling. "u shwe waing, "managing trustee. "shwe dagon pagoda." the rangoon _gazette_ thus described the event: "he arrived at nine o'clock, and was received by the trustees of the pagoda, who conducted him to a platform where a small pagoda about two feet high and studded with rubies, diamonds and sapphires, was resting on a massive silver burmese carved stand. this pagoda was hollow and on being opened was disclosed another pure gold miniature pagoda resting on a beautifully cased gold vase. this miniature pagoda also came to pieces and contained a nugget of pure gold, part of the gold plates used in regilding shwe dagon. two of the trustees, maung po aung and maung po tha, then each read an address and the signal was given to the man on the top of the pagoda, and sir h. thirkell white pulled a handle which was connected by wire with the cloth frame on the hti, and the frame thus fell apart and disclosed to view the massive pinnacle of gold. the people broke out in cheers, and the band of the king's regiment played the national anthem, and this closed the proceedings. it has taken over viss of gold-leaf for the regilding, the cost being between seven and eight lacs of rupees," over $ , . this event, in which the most conspicuous figure was a prominent english official, though in unofficial capacity; and closing with the strains of "god save the king," is heralded far and wide as another indication of a revival of buddhism. were buddhism wiped out of existence the pagoda would still be preserved, as at once the most ancient and most conspicuous object in the city,--the first seen as one approaches the shores of burma. buddhism never has lost its strong-hold on the races of burma that many centuries ago adopted it. these spasmodic outbreaks of seeming zeal, interpreted by many as indications of increasing life, i interpret as signs of increasing weakness. as in india, these people are becoming alarmed by the headway that christianity is slowly, steadily gaining in their land. it is a struggle against the irresistible tide of christian missions. something more than flaming pagoda tops, and societies with high sounding titles will be required to stay the tide, and buddhism has nothing else to offer. one hundred and fifty protestant missionaries, with hundreds of native evangelists and teachers constitute a force, which under god, is undermining false systems and establishing the kingdom of christ. the unveiling of the gilded pagoda top was a great event, such as happens once in a decade. the place was crowded with burmans, and many sightseers of other races. but on that sunday, and every sunday, nearly if not quite an equal number assembled in the many christian churches in that city. judson, forbidden by the king to preach the "jesus christ religion," had faith that the future of missions in burma was as bright as the promises of god. if in the year he is permitted to look down upon the land of his toil and suffering, he can see american missions firmly established in thirty different stations, and more than one hundred missionaries in actual service, all under the protection of the flag of a christian nation. buddhism is reviving, as the serpent revives to strike the rod from which it is receiving its death-blow. among the far-reaching results of mission work stands judson's translation of the bible into the burmese language. from the time when he triumphantly held aloft the last leaf of this translation, until the present time, judson's bible has been used by all protestant societies doing mission work among the burmans. it has been revised by later missionaries; but so scholarly, and so loyal to the greek text was it, that comparatively few changes have been found necessary. some have criticised it as containing interpretation, at certain points, in place of literal translation. but in so far as this is true it seems unavoidable, it being impossible to reproduce the meaning word for word. failure to reproduce the meaning would not be, in the highest sense, a translation. but the severest criticism passed upon it is because literal translation was adopted where the critics would have a transliteration. of scarcely less importance than judson's burmese bible are the translations, by later missionaries, of the bible into shan, sgaw karen, and pwo karen. the american baptist mission press, at rangoon, is turning out vast quantities of christian literature. bibles, tracts, hymn books, and a great variety of other useful material for evangelistic work find their way to the remotest corners of the land. karens and talaings in southern burma, even into siam; shans and kachins on the chinese border, to the east and north; chins in the northwest; burmans and karens throughout the land may have this christian literature in their own tongue. it can almost be said that the mission press is _evangelizing burma by machinery_. at each of the thirty stations of the american baptist mission a school has been established. where work for different races is carried on at the same station there is a school for each race. there are scores of out-station schools, but the station school is the centre of influence. here it is that the young lady missionary finds her grandest opportunity for usefulness. it is hard work,--this steady day-in-and-day-out routine, nothing harder in the whole round of missionary endeavour. but there is also fascination in it. with a large body of christian pupils, as in the karen schools, there is stimulus in it. here are scores of young men who are soon to go out as preachers and teachers, in their native villages, or as missionaries to unevangelized tribes. young women, too, going out as teachers, bible-women, or perhaps as wives of some of these christian young men. the missionaries report so many churches, so many sunday-schools, so many evangelists sent out,--but it is largely due to the faithful work of our young ladies from the home-land that these evangelists were first won to christ, while pupils in the station schools. to take these boys and girls when they came as children from distant villages, untidy offspring of the "great unwashed," and under god, mould them for christian service, is as grand a work as ever fell to a consecrated missionary's lot. thus the christian school is letting in the light, arousing dormant faculties, furnishing scores of mission helpers, and paving the way for more glorious triumphs of the gospel in years to come. at the close of the grand total of , pupils were under instruction in schools of the american baptist mission in burma. of this number were in the theological seminary at insein. all are under christian influence, and engaging in daily bible study. but what of the character of native converts? have the backward tribes sufficient intelligence and stamina to make trustworthy christians? this question is often asked. a missionary thus describes the first karen she ever saw,--"suspended from a yoke from the forehead, hanging down the back of this karen was a large pig suspended in bamboo strips to keep him quiet, and this pig had been brought by the man from the mountains. the man himself was very untidy, his single garment was after the shape of a pillow case; his hair, if ever it had been combed, had not been for many a day, and i said to dr. c---- 'it hardly seems possible there is more soul in the burden-bearer than in the burden.' he looked at me in astonishment, and said, 'why, that is the dearest old deacon in the mountains.' and i said, 'if that is the dearest old deacon in the mountains, then there is hope for everybody.'" in a letter to the rangoon _times_ an english traveller wrote as follows: "close to police barracks at myitta (near siam) is a native baptist church. there are no missionaries in the neighbourhood, but christianity has widely spread among the karens from the american baptist missions in the karen district proper. the karen christians observe the sabbath with scotch precision; no doubt its observance falls in with their happy indolent disposition which would embrace eagerly a creed that offered them seven days of rest in the week. it is a little disconcerting for a keen sportsman, who has lost all count of the calendar in this remote corner of the world, to be told, when ready equipped for a day's shooting, that it is impossible to obtain beaters, because it is sunday." at a point not so remote from civilization an official whipped a christian karen for refusing to work on sunday. the missionary's request for an explanation being ignored, the matter was referred to the lieutenant-governor. the official was reprimanded, and an order issued that no christian should be compelled to work on sunday. in his book "the loyal karens," mr. smeaton, late chief commissioner of burma, says, "it is not often given to witness such a remarkable development of national character as has taken place among the karens under the influence of christianity and good government. "forty, aye, thirty years ago, they were a despised, grovelling, timid people, held in contempt by the burmese. at the sound of the gospel message they sprang to their feet, as a sleeping army springs to the bugle-call. the dream of hundreds of years was fulfilled; the god who had cast them off for their unfaithfulness had come back to them, they felt themselves a nation once more. their progress since has been by leaps and bounds, all from an impetus within themselves, and with no direct help from their rulers; and they bid fair soon to outstrip their burmese conquerors in all the arts of peace." by their fruits ye shall know them. where only a few years ago were tribal wars, child-stealing, house-burning and savagery, now are quiet, orderly villages, each with its preacher and teacher, chapel and school. rubbish and filth that they never saw while in paganism, have been cleared away. faces are brighter, bodies better clothed, rice-bins better filled. many of the boys and girls are away in the town school for better training than the village school can provide. here and there, on the elevated bamboo verandas may be seen young wives who have had this better training, evidenced by their absence of fear that a clean skirt will bring upon them the eyes of the entire village. these are a few of the many changes forecast in the promise--"i will say unto them that were not my people, thou art my people; and they shall say, thou art my god." about eight hundred protestant churches, with as many pastors and evangelists, are among the more tangible results. a christian college for all races, theological seminaries for karens and burmans, the latter open to burmese speaking candidates from other races; and a bible training school for the young women are preparing pastors, evangelists, teachers and bible women, to meet the ever increasing demand. already native missionaries have gone out to work among the shans, chins and kachins. and still the finger of god is pointing onward,--to western china, and the region around tibet, sources from which the races of burma came, and where kindred races still exist. without dealing in uninteresting statistics, i have tried to indicate some of the conditions amid which missionary work in burma has been, and still is being conducted, and some of the results of the work. in spite of separations, privations, distractions, effects of climate, and other trying experiences, missionary life has its compensations. chief among them is the satisfaction of seeing the image of god reappearing in human faces, hearts, and lives, and the privilege of helping to win a nation to christ. this it is that keeps the missionary at his post, or hurries him back to his field from a half-rest in the home-land; while first, last, and all the time there is ringing in his ears the master's parting message--"go, preach the gospel to the whole creation,"--every word of which, as dr. ellis once said, "is a heart-beat of the holy ghost." in the great commission, and the great need he finds ample justification and obligation for vigorous and unceasing missionary effort. after the battle of lookout mountain a dying soldier, roused by a sound of shouting, said to a comrade who was supporting him--"what was that?" "why--that's our boys! they have carried the heights, and planted the flag upon them!" with a smile the dying soldier said, "i helped put it there." all along the mission-front the great struggle with paganism is still going on. but by and by the battles will have been fought, the victory won, and you and i will be standing with that great company which john saw at patmos,--for it is yet future. burmans and karens, and people of india and china, and africa will be there, just as it reads: "out of every nation, and of all tribes and peoples and tongues." and as we stand there in the presence of our saviour,--the lord of the harvest,--it will be a happy day for you and me,--if we can say like the dying soldier--"i helped put them there." * * * * * transcriber's notes minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected. illustrations have been relocated to paragraph breaks. page : "seige" may be a typo for "siege." (orig: immense army, laid seige to syriam,) page : changed "guatama" to "gautama." (orig: pagoda was built, and a costly image of guatama cast) page : changed "issed" to "issued." (orig: oriental monarch would have issed such decrees) page : changed "guaged" to "gauged." (orig: hospitality is guaged by the number of cups) page : "thalt" may be a typo for "shalt." (orig: commandment, "thou thalt speak no false word," gives this) page : changed "guatama" to "gautama." (orig: relics of four buddhas, including eight hairs of guatama.) page : changed "it" to "its." (orig: each community has it head-man, who makes the bargain) page : changed "beople" to "people." (orig: stepping-stones heavenward for these benighted beople.) page : ya-bok-kon has macrons over the "a" and second "o" in the original book. internet archive (https://archive.org) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/pacificationofbu crosrich the pacification of burma [illustration: _picket on the chin hills._ london: edward arnold.] the pacification of burma by sir charles crosthwaite, k.c.s.i. chief commissioner of burma, - member of the council of india, etc., etc. with illustrations and maps london edward arnold (all rights reserved) preface upper burma was invaded and annexed in the year . the work hardly occupied a month. in the following year the subjugation of the people by the destruction of all formidable armed resistance was effected; lastly, the pacification of the country, including the establishment of an orderly government with peace and security, occupied four years. as head of the civil administration, i was mainly concerned with this last phase. it would be a difficult task to give a continuous history of the military operations by which the country was subjugated. the resistance opposed to our troops was desultory, spasmodic, and without definite plan or purpose. the measures taken to overcome it necessarily were affected by these characteristics, although they were framed on definite principles. a history of them would resolve itself into a number of more or less unconnected narratives. a similar difficulty, but less in degree, meets the attempt to record the measures which i have included in the term "pacification." certain definite objects were always before us. the policy to be followed for their attainment was fixed, and the measures and instruments by which it was to be carried out were selected and prepared. but i have found it best not to attempt to follow any order, either chronological or other, in writing this narrative. my purpose in writing has been to give an intelligible narrative of the work done in burma in the years following the annexation. it was certainly arduous work done under great difficulties of all kinds, and, from the nature of the case, with less chance of recognition or distinction than of disease or death. the work was, i believe, well done, and has proved itself to be good. my narrative may not attract many who have no connection with burma. but for those who served in burma during the period covered by it, whether soldiers or civilians, it may have an interest, and especially for those still in the burma commission and their successors. i hope that field-marshal sir george white, v.c., to whom, and to all the officers and men of the burma field force, i owe so much, may find my pages not without interest. i have endeavoured to show how the conduct of the soldiers of the queen, british and indian, helped the civil administration to establish peace. i believe, as i have said, that our work has been successful. the credit, let us remember, is due quite as much to india as to britain. how long would it have taken to subjugate and pacify burma if we had not been able to get the help of the fighting-men from india, and what would have been the cost in men and money? for the burmans themselves i, in common with all who have been associated with them, have a sincere affection. many of them assisted us from the first, and from the upper burmans many loyal and capable gentlemen are now helping to govern their country justly and efficiently. it has been brought home to me in making this rough record how many of those who took part in this campaign against disorder have laid down their lives. i hope i may have helped to do honour to their memories. i have to thank all the kind friends who have sent me photographs to illustrate this book, and especially sir harvey adamson, the present lieutenant-governor, for his kindness in making my wants known. c. h. c. _february, ._ contents chapter page i. the administration of burma ii. the chief commissionership of burma iii. upper burma iv. mandalay v. dealing with dacoits vi. civil and military works vii. a visit to bhamo viii. disarmament ix. trouble with the wuntho sawbwa x. military replaced by police xi. burma becomes a frontier province xii. dacoity in the minbu and myingyan districts xiii. trouble in the magwÈ district xiv. gradual creation of an efficient police force xv. the shan states xvi. the shan states (_continued_) xvii. the karennis, or red karens, and sawlapaw xviii. the trans-salween states xix. bhamo and mogaung xx. bhamo, the southern townships, and mÖng mit xxi. the chins xxii. the chin-lushai campaign xxiii. internal administration of burma index list of illustrations picket on the chin hills _frontispiece_ facing page the palace, mandalay--"centre of the universe" thayetmyo--mail steamer leaving a ponghi's funeral procession mandalay shwÈtakyat promontory opposite sagaing "the moat," mandalay, and north wall of fort dufferin outer bamboo stockade of burmese frontier village consultation of village headmen with chief commissioner burmese dacoits before trial-worst characters and native police guard saw mÖng, sawbwa of yawnghwÈ, and his consort padaung ladies--shan states a jungle camp in the shan states pagodas at mang kao-shan states group of red karens sawlawi--sawbwa gantarawadi. (red karens) the easternmost point of the british-indian empire--reach of the me khong, where our boundary marches with french indo-china kachin women and children yawgin with cross-bow (mountains north of myit kyina) kachin women (northern irrawaddy) bhamo battalion drawn up for inspection getting a dhoolie up an awkward bit climbing up the steep chin hills (chin campaign) bargaining with haka chins marching into the klang klang country (chin-lushai campaign) haka slave-woman smoking a pipe haka braves on the chin hills--arranging plan of attack (chin-lushai campaign) haka chins a chin "zu" drink in the second defile of the irrawaddy below bhamo burmese ladies making a call maps map of shan states map of trans-salween map of bhamo mongmit map of chin hills, etc. map of kachin hills, bhamo, katha the pacification of burma chapter i the administration of burma on the th of december, , lord dalhousie issued a proclamation annexing the province of pegu to the british dominions. "the governor-general in council," he said, "having exacted the reparation he deems sufficient, desires no further conquest in burma and is willing that hostilities should cease. "but if the king of ava shall fail to renew his former relations with the british government, and if he shall recklessly seek to dispute its quiet possession of the province it has now declared to be its own, the governor-general in council will again put forth the power he holds and will visit with full retribution aggressions, which, if they be persisted in, must of necessity lead to the total subversion of the burman state and to the ruin and exile of the king and his race." in the fulfilment of this menace--prophecy it might be called--was brought about by the contumacy of the government of ava. the burman state was "totally subverted." its territories were added to the british empire. the king and his race were "ruined and exiled." at the end of november, , the british commander was in full possession of mandalay, the capital. our forces had made a procession up the great river, which is the main artery of the country, almost unopposed. such opposition as there had been was childish in its feebleness and want of skill and purpose. fortunately for us the king and his ministers prided themselves on their voluntary army system. king thebaw was not going to compel his subjects to defend their country. they were told to go about their daily tasks without fear or carefulness. they might sleep in their beds. he would see to it that the foreign barbarians were driven into the sea whence they had come. unfortunately the soldiers to whom he trusted were insufficiently trained, badly armed and equipped. he had intended, perhaps, to remedy all this and to train his troops for six months before the fighting began. his enemy, however, was unreasonably hasty and had an abundance of fast steamers for transporting the invading force. before the training could begin or the arms be provided or the officers instructed, the invaders were before ava, where the bulk of the defending army had been collected, and a few miles from the capital. the king's government was as helpless as it had been arrogant and pretentious. ministers of state were sent down in hot haste with messages of submission and surrender. the army, however, took a different view of the case. they refused to obey the order to surrender which had come from mandalay. before general prendergast could land his men they dispersed over the country in every direction with their arms, and as the british force had no cavalry to pursue them, they got away to a man. at first under various leaders, few of whom showed any military talent, they waged a guerilla warfare against the invaders; and afterwards, when their larger divisions had been defeated and broken up, they succeeded in creating a state of anarchy and brigandage ruinous to the peasantry and infinitely harassing to the british. on the th of november mandalay was occupied and the king a prisoner on his way down the river to rangoon. the waterway from mandalay to the sea was under our control. a few of the principal places on the banks of the river had been held by small garrisons as the expedition came up, and the ultimate subjugation of the burman people was assured. the trouble, however, was to come. to a loosely organized nation like the burmese, the occupation of the capital and the removal of the king meant nothing. they were still free to resist and fight. it was to be five years before the last of the large gangs was dispersed, the leaders captured, and peace and security established. burma will be, in all likelihood, the last important province to be added to the indian empire. eastward that empire has been extended as far as our arms can well reach. its boundaries march with siam, with the french dominion of tongking, and on the east and north for a vast distance with china. our convention with france for the preservation of the territory which remains to siam and our long friendship with the latter country bars any extension of our borders in that direction. it is improbable that we shall be driven to encroach on chinese territory; and so far as the french possessions are concerned, a line has been drawn by agreement which neither side will wish to cross. in all likelihood, therefore, the experience gained in burma will not be repeated in asia. nevertheless it may be worth while to put on record a connected account of the methods by which a country of wide extent, destitute of roads and covered with dense jungle and forest, in which the only rule had become the misrule of brigands and the only order systematic disorder, was transformed in a few years into a quiet and prosperous state. i cannot hope that the story will be of interest to many, but it may be of some interest and perhaps of use to those who worked with me and to their successors. from to king mindôn ruled upper burma fairly well. he had seized the throne from the hands of his brother pagan min, whose life he spared with more humanity than was usual on such occasions. he was, to quote from the upper burma administration report of , "an enlightened prince who, while professing no love for the british, recognized the power of the british government, was always careful to keep on friendly terms with them, and was anxious to introduce into his kingdom, as far as was compatible with the maintenance of his own autocratic power, western ideas and western civilization." he was tolerant in religious matters even for a burmese buddhist. he protected and even encouraged the christian missions in upper burma, and for dr. marks, the representative of the society for the propagation of the gospel in mandalay he built a handsome teak church and a good clergy-house, giving a tinge of contempt to his generosity by putting them down by the burmese burial-ground. the contempt was not for the religion but for the foreign barbarians who professed it. his measures for encouraging trade and increasing and ordering the revenues were good, and the country prospered under him. in burma there are no hereditary leaders of the people. there is no hereditary aristocracy outside the royal family, and their descendants rapidly merge into the people. there was no law or binding custom determining the descent of the crown within the family. every one with royal blood, however little, in his veins was a potential pretender. whenever the crown demised the succession was settled by intrigue or violence, and possible aspirants were removed by the prince who had obtained the prize. there was no other way of securing its peaceful enjoyment. under the king was the hlutdaw, or great council of state, composed of the chief ministers, who were appointed by the king from the courtiers who had the good fortune to be known to him or had helped him to the throne. to each of these was assigned a province of the empire, which he governed through a deputy. the immediate power was vested in the deputy, who resided in the province and remitted to the minister as much as he could collect over and above the amount due to the crown and, it need hardly be said, necessary for his own needs. the provinces were divided into townships, which were ruled by officials appointed by the governors, no doubt with regard to local influence and claims, and with a general inclination to keep the office in a family. the really stable part of the administration on which everything rested was the village, the headship of which was by custom hereditary, but not necessarily in the direct line. as there was little central control, it may be supposed that under a system of this kind the people were pillaged, and doubtless they were to some extent. but the deputy-governor on the spot had no organized police or militia to support him. if he wanted to use force he had to pay for it, and if he drove his province to the point of rebellion he was unlikely to profit by it. the amount of revenue was fixed at mandalay with reference to a rough estimate of what the province could pay, and that was divided amongst the townships and again amongst the villages. the headman of each village, assisted by a committee or punchayet, as it would be called in india, settled the sum due from each householder, and this was as a rule honestly and fairly done. it was not a bad system on the whole, and it was in its incidence probably as just as local taxation in great britain, which i admit is somewhat faint praise. as to the administration of justice between man and man and the security of life and property, there was no doubt little refinement of law and not always impartiality in the judges. the majority of civil cases in a society like burma, where there are few rich men and no great landowners, must be trivial, and in burma disputes were settled by arbitration or by the village headmen, who could rarely set at nought the opinion of their fellow-villagers. in a country which is under-populated and contains vast areas of land fit for cultivation unoccupied and free to all, migration is a great check on oppression. life is simple in burma. the climate for the most of the year makes a roof unnecessary; flitting is easy. every man is his own carpenter. he has put together his house of bamboo and planks cut by his own hands. he knows how to take it down. he has not to send for contractors or furniture vans. there are the carts and the plough cattle in his sheds. he has talked things over with his wife, who is a capable and sensible woman. one morning they get up, and instead of going to his fields or his fishing or whatever it may be, he takes his tools, and before sunset, his wife helping, the house is down and, with the simple household goods, is in the cart. the children find a place in it, or if they are old enough they run along with the mother. if the local magistrate is so blind to his own interests as to oppress his people, there is another wiser man a few score leagues away who is ready to welcome them. for what is the good of land without men to live on it? is not the king's revenue assessed at so much to the house? but suppose the worst comes to the worst and the man in power is a fiend, and neither property nor life nor honour is safe from him, even then there is the great forest, in which life, though hard, is a real pleasure to a man; and, given a good leader, the oppressed may soon change places with his oppressor. we are too ready to imagine that life under such a king as mindôn or even as thebaw must be unbearable. we fancy them armed with all the organization of the inland revenue department and supported by a force like our constabulary. fortunately they were not. no system of extortion yet devised by the most ruthless and greedy tyrant is at all comparable in its efficacy to the scientific methods of a modern revenue officer. the world will see to what a perfection of completeness the arts of oppression and squeezing can be carried when the power of modern european organization is in the hands of a socialist government. it need not be supposed, therefore, that under king mindôn life in upper burma was bad, and it must be remembered that since escape to british burma, although forbidden, was not impossible. under thebaw things were different. mindôn was on the whole well-intentioned, and had kept the power in his own hands. thebaw was weak and incompetent, and the ministers who had most influence with him were the worst men. with his barbarities, old-fashioned rather than unexampled, and perhaps not much worse than the measures of precaution usually taken in burma after the succession of a new king, or with the causes of the war which led to his deposition, the present narrative is not concerned. it is desired to give as clear an idea as possible of the state of upper burma when we were called upon to administer the country. the rapacity and greed of the court, where the queen supayalat was the ruling spirit, set the example to the whole hierarchy of officials. the result was a state of extreme disorder throughout the whole kingdom. the demands made on the people for money became excessive and intolerable. men left their villages and took to the jungle. bands of armed brigands, some of considerable strength under active leaders, sprang up everywhere. formed in the first instance as a protest and defence against extortion, they soon began to live on the country and to terrorize the peasantry. after a time, brigands and ministers, finding themselves working for a common object, formed an unholy alliance for loot. the leaders of the bands came to an understanding with the more powerful officials, who in turn leant upon them for support. [illustration: the palace, mandalay--"centre of the universe."] under such conditions it was not wonderful that the sudden seizure of the capital and the summary removal of the king should have completed the dissolution of society, already far advanced. the british government, if it had decided to annex upper burma, might by a more leisurely occupation, not only with a larger military force, but with a complete staff of civil administrators, have saved the people from some years of anarchy and great suffering. but that is not our way, and under modern political conditions in england is impossible. the country was taken and its government destroyed before we had decided what we should do with it, or considered the effect on the people. the king's rule ended on the th of november, . on the st of january, , the viceroy's proclamation included upper burma in her majesty's dominions. the administration of the country was temporarily provided for by allowing the hlutdaw, or great council of state, to continue in power, discharging all its functions as usual, but under the guidance of colonel (afterwards sir e. b.) sladen, who was attached as political officer to general prendergast's staff. all civil officers, british and burmese, were placed under the hlutdaw's orders, and the king's burmese officials throughout the country were instructed to go on with the regular performance of their duties as if nothing had occurred. some arrangement had to be made, and probably this was the best possible. the best was bad. on the th of december the chief commissioner, sir charles bernard, arrived at mandalay from rangoon. on his way up the river he had visited minhla, pagan and myingyan, where civil officers, supported by small garrisons, had been placed by general prendergast. he decided that these three districts should be removed from the jurisdiction of the hlutdaw and controlled directly by himself. mandalay town and district were similarly treated. a british officer was appointed to govern them, under the immediate orders of colonel sladen, who was responsible to the chief commissioner. all this must have confused the minds of the people and prevented those who were ready to submit to the british power from coming forward. fortunately this period of hesitation was short. from the th of february, , upper burma became a province of british india. when the chief commissioner, who had gone down to rangoon with the viceroy, returned to mandalay, the hlutdaw was finally dissolved and sir charles bernard took the government into his own hands. a few of the burmese ministers were retained as advisers. at first they were of some use as knowing the facts and the ways of the king's administration. very soon they became superfluous. it must not be supposed that no steps had been taken towards the construction of an administration during the first two months of the year. anticipating the decision of her majesty's government, sir charles bernard had applied his signal energy to this work, and before the end of february the viceroy had laid his rough proposals before the secretary of state. as soon as upper burma was incorporated with british india the scheme of government already drafted came into force. the country was mapped out into fourteen districts, corresponding as closely as possible to the existing provinces under the king, namely:-- mandalay minbu pagan katha bhamo ningyan, afterwards ava shwèbo called pyinmana chindwin kyauksè ye-w myingyan sagaing yamèthin and after a time three more were added: taungdwingyi, meiktila, and the ruby mines. the boundaries were necessarily left vague at first until more accurate knowledge of the country enabled them to be defined. at first there were no maps whatever. the greater part of the country had not been occupied nor even visited by us. to each district was appointed an officer of the burma commission under the style of deputy commissioner, with a british police officer to assist him and such armed force of police as could be assigned to him. his first duty was to get in touch with the local officials and to induce those capable and willing to serve us to retain or take office under our government. having firmly established his authority at headquarters, he was to work outwards in a widening circle, placing police posts and introducing settled administration as opportunity offered. he was, however, to consider it his primary object to attack and destroy the robber bands and to protect the loyal villages from their violence. there were few districts in which the guerilla leaders were not active. their vengeance on every burman who attempted to assist the british was swift and unmerciful. as it was impossible at first and for some time to afford adequate protection, villages which aided and sheltered the enemy were treated with consideration. the despatch of flying columns moving through a part of the country and returning quickly to headquarters was discouraged. there was a tendency in the beginning of the business to follow this practice, which was mischievous. if the people were friendly and helped the troops, they were certain to suffer when the column retired. if they were hostile, a hasty visit had little effect on them. they looked on the retirement as a retreat and became more bitter than before. upper burma was incorporated with british india on the th of february. thereupon the elaborate statute law of india, including the civil and criminal codes, came into force, a body of law which implies the existence of a hierarchy of educated and trained officials, with police and gaols and all the machinery of organized administration. but there were none of these things in upper burma, which was, in fact, an enemy's country, still frankly hostile to us. this difficulty had been foreseen, and the proper remedy suggested in lord dufferin's minute (dated at mandalay on the th of february, ) in which he proposed to annex the country. the acts for the government of india give to the secretary of state the power of constituting any province or part of a province an excepted or scheduled district, and thereupon the governor of the province may draw up regulations for the peace and good government of the district, which, when approved by the governor-general in council, have the full force of law.[ ] this machinery is put in force by a resolution of the secretary of state in council, and at the viceroy's instance a resolution for this purpose was made, with effect from and after the st of march, . it applied to all upper burma except the shan states. sir charles bernard was ready to take advantage of the powers given to him. early in march he published an admirable rough code of instructions, sufficiently elastic to meet the varying conditions, and at the same time sufficiently definite to prevent anything like injustice or oppression. the summary given in section of the upper burma administration report for shows their nature. "by these instructions each district was placed in charge of a civil officer, who was invested with the full powers of a deputy commissioner, and in criminal matters with power to try as a magistrate any case and to pass any sentence. the deputy commissioner was also invested with full power to revise the proceedings of any subordinate magistrate or official and to pass any order except an order enhancing a sentence. in criminal matters the courts were to be guided as far as possible by the provisions of the code of criminal procedure, the penal code, and the evidence act (_i.e._, the indian codes). but dacoity or robbery was made punishable with death, though magistrates were instructed to pass capital sentences only in very heinous cases. in order to provide a safeguard against undue severity in the infliction of punishments, it was ordered that no capital sentence should be carried out except after confirmation by the chief commissioner. no regular appeals were allowed from any decision; but it was open for any one who felt aggrieved by the decision of a subordinate officer to move the deputy commissioner to revise the order, and for any one who demurred to an order passed by a deputy commissioner to bring the matter to the notice of the chief commissioner. "in revenue matters the customs of the country were as far as possible to be observed, save that no monopolies (except that of precious stones) were allowed and no customs or transport duties were levied. as regards excise administration, in accordance with the custom of the country the sale of opium and of intoxicating liquors to burmans was prohibited. but a limited number of licences were issued for the sale of liquors to persons not of burmese race, and the chinese were specially exempted from the restrictions imposed on the traffic in opium." thus in four months after annexation the country had been parcelled into seventeen districts, each under the charge of a deputy commissioner, who was guided by the provisional instructions and worked at first directly under the chief commissioner. it was thought (_vide_ lord dufferin's minute of february , ) that the province could be worked, in the beginning, without any authority such as divisional commissioners or sessions judges interposed between the chief commissioner and the district officers. "i would adopt, as i have already said," wrote lord dufferin, "the simplest and cheapest system of administration open to us. there will be in each district or circle one british civil officer and one police officer. the civil officer will work through the indigenous agency of the country, myo-ôks (governors of towns), thugyis (headmen of villages) and others, confining his efforts in the first instance to the restoration of order, the protection of life and property, and the assessment and collection of the ordinary revenue.... but most of the unimportant criminal work and nearly all the civil suits must be disposed of by the native officials, subject to the check and control of the district officer." the area of the province, excluding the shan states, which were left to the care of their own chiefs, was nearly one hundred thousand square miles. it was divided into seventeen districts. there were no roads in the interior, much of which was difficult country. the irrawaddy, it is true, formed a splendid line of communication from north to south. but the river was not connected with the districts east or west of it by anything better than an ordinary village cart-track, with numerous streams and rivers, most of them unbridged. the eastern districts between the sittang and the irrawaddy were especially inaccessible. under such circumstances it was impossible for any man to discharge the duties imposed on the chief commissioner, even if all his subordinates had been endowed with ripe wisdom and experience. only a man of the heroic energy and devotion of sir charles bernard could have conceived it possible. moreover, the chief commissioner was to be responsible for all death sentences, and was to be the final court of revision for the province; while the lower province also remained in his charge, and although he was relieved of the routine work of lower burma, the responsibility still rested on him, and was by no means nominal. it was not business. the difficulty soon began to be felt. in june a commissioner was appointed for the eastern division, mr. st. g. tucker, from the punjab. in august and september three more commissionerships were constituted, to one of which, the northern, was appointed mr. burgess (the late mr. g. d. burgess), of the burma commission; to the central division, mr. f. w. fryer (now sir frederick fryer), from the punjab; and mr. j. d. la touche (now sir james la touche) from the north-western provinces to the southern division. the chief commissioner delegated to them, in their respective divisions, the general control of the district officers and the revision of their judicial proceedings, including the duty of confirming sentences of death. the administrative divisions of the province, excluding the shan states, then stood as follows:-- . the northern division bhamo katha shwèbo ruby mines mandalay . the central division sagaing kyauksè yeu chindwin ava . the eastern division meiktila yamèthin ningyan (afterwards called pyinmana) . the southern division myingyan pagan minbu taungdwingyi this organization enabled the chief commissioner to attend to his own work and brought the task of governing the whole of burma within the powers of an energetic man. it enabled him to give sufficient time to the organization of the revenue and of the police and to the exercise of that control without which there could be no united action. the attempt to govern without an authority intervening between the executive officers in the districts and the head of the province was due to a desire for economy, and to the belief that in this way there would be closer connection and easier communication between the chief commissioner and the executive officers. in fact, the contrary was the result, and in all such cases must be. the framework of a civil administration had now been formed. it remained to give the district officers such armed support as would enable them to govern their charges. in the autumn of the country generally was far from being under our control. it had been supposed that our coming was welcome to the people and that "the prospects of the substitution of a strong and orderly government for the incompetent and cruel tyranny of their former ruler" was by the people generally regarded with pleasure. (see lord dufferin's minute of february , .) but by july it had become evident that a considerable minority of the population, to say the least, did not want us, and that until we proved our strength it was idle to expect active help even from our friends. the total military force hitherto employed in upper burma had been about fourteen thousand men. there was not anywhere in the whole country a well-armed or organized body of the enemy. a few hundred british troops could have marched from north to south or from east to west without meeting with very serious opposition or suffering much loss. small flying columns could be moved through the country and might find no enemy, and might even gather from the demeanour of the people that they were welcome. when the soldiers passed on, the power of the british government went with them, and the villagers fell back under the rule of the guerilla leaders and their gangs. at first there may have been some faint tinge of patriotism in the motives which drove the leaders and members of these bands to take the field. very soon they became mere brigands, living on the villagers and taking whatever they wanted, including their women. "these bands are freebooters," wrote sir george white[ ] (to the quartermaster-general in india, july , ), "pillaging wherever they go, but usually reserving the refinement of their cruelty for those who have taken office under us or part with us. flying columns arrive too late to save the village. the villagers, having cause to recognize that we are too far off to protect them, lose confidence in our power and throw in their lot with the insurgents. they make terms with the leaders and baffle pursuit of those leaders by roundabout guidance or systematic silence. in a country itself one vast military obstacle, the seizure of the leaders of the rebellion, though of paramount importance, thus becomes a source of greatest difficulty." the experience of the first half of had brought home to the government of india as well as to the military officers in the field that the resistance was more widespread and more obstinate than any one had foreseen. sir george white considered that "the most effective plan of establishing our rule, and at the same time protecting and gaining touch of the villages, is a close occupation of the disturbed districts by military posts" (_ibid._). under the circumstances, this was the best course to adopt, provided that the posts were strong enough to patrol the country and to crush every attempt at rising. the people might be held down in this way, but not governed. something more was necessary. the difficulties were to be overcome rather by the vigorous administration of civil government than by the employment of military detachments scattered over the country. a sufficient force of armed police at the disposal of the civil officers was therefore a necessity. it had been foreseen from the first by sir charles bernard and the government of india, although the strength of the force necessary to achieve success was much under-estimated. in february, , two military police levies, each of five hundred and sixty-one men, were raised from the indian army. of these one was sent to the chindwin district and one to mandalay. at the same time the recruitment of two thousand two hundred men in northern india for a military police force was ordered. these men were untrained and came over in batches as they were raised. they were trained and disciplined at mandalay and other convenient places, and were distributed to the districts when they were sufficiently formed. thus besides the soldiers the chief commissioner had about , men at his disposal. as the year went on and the magnitude of the undertaking began to be understood, the need of a much larger force was admitted. two more levies were sanctioned. one from northern india was raised without difficulty, and was posted to the railway line from toungoo to mandalay, which had been tardily sanctioned by the secretary of state in november, , and was at once put in hand. the other, a gurkha battalion for use in the northern frontier subdivision of mogaung, was more difficult to recruit. at the end of the year two companies had arrived, and after being trained at mandalay had gone on to bhamo. by this time forty-six posts were held by the military police. the hunger for men, however, so far from being satisfied, continued to grow. after reviewing the position in november ( ) sir charles bernard decided to ask the government of india for sixteen thousand men, including those already sanctioned, nine thousand to be recruited in india and seven thousand in burma. it was proposed that ultimately half of this force should be indians and half local men. they were all to be engaged for three years, and were to be drilled and disciplined, and divided into battalions, one for each district. each battalion was to contain fixed proportions of indians and local men, "under the command of a military officer for the purpose of training and discipline and under the orders of the local police officers for ordinary police work." at this time it was believed that burmans, shans, karens and kachins could by training and discipline become a valuable element in a military police force, and the experiment was made at mandalay. this was the beginning of the burma military police force, which contributed so pre-eminently to the subjugation and pacification of the province. the attempt to raise any part of it locally was, however, very quickly abandoned, and it was recruited, with the exception of a few companies of karens, entirely from indians. but to return to the middle of . sir george white, in writing to army headquarters, urged the necessity of reinforcements. the fighting had, it is true, been trivial and deaths in action or by wounds had amounted to six officers and fifty-six men only. disease, however, had been busy. exposure and fatigue in a semi-tropical climate, the want of fresh food in a country which gave little but rice and salt fish, was gradually reducing the strength and numbers of the force. one officer and two hundred and sixty-nine men had died of disease and thirty-nine officers and nine hundred and twenty men had been invalided between november, , and july, . there were few large bodies of the enemy in the field--few at any rate who would wait to meet an attack. it was only by a close occupation of the disturbed districts by military posts that progress could be made. the major-general commanding did not shrink from this measure, although it used up his army. fourteen thousand men looks on paper a formidable force, but more men, more mounted infantry, and especially more cavalry were necessary. it had been a tradition at army headquarters, handed down probably from the first and second burmese wars, that cavalry was useless in burma. the experience of - proved it to be the most effective arm. it was essential to catch the "bos," or captains of the guerilla bands, who gave life and spirit to the whole movement. short compact men, nearly always well mounted, with a modern jockey seat, they were the first as a rule to run away. the mounted infantry man, british or indian, a stone or two heavier, and weighted with rifle, ammunition, and accoutrements, on an underbred twelve-hand pony, had no chance of riding down a "bo." but the trooper inspired the enemy with terror. "in a land where only ponies are bred the cavalry horses seem monsters to the people, and the long reach and short shrift of the lance paralyse them with fear," wrote sir george white, and asked that as soon as the rains had ceased "three more regiments of cavalry, complete in establishments," should be added to the upper burma field force. the proposal was accepted by the commander-in-chief in india, sir frederick roberts, and approved by the government of india. it may be said here once for all that the government of india throughout the whole of this business were ready to give the local authorities, civil and military, everything that was found necessary for the speedy completion of the work in hand, the difficulties of which they appreciated, as far as any one not on the spot could. "it is proposed," they wrote to lord cross (august , ), "to reinforce the upper burma field force by three regiments of native cavalry and to relieve all or nearly all the corps and batteries which were despatched to burma in october last. the troops to be relieved will be kept four or five months longer, so that, including those sent in relief, the force will be very considerable and should suffice to complete rapidly and finally the pacification and settlement of the whole country." in consequence of the increased strength of the field force the government of india directed lieutenant-general sir herbert macpherson, commander-in-chief of the madras army, to transfer his headquarters to burma and remain there until the conclusion of the operations. unfortunately, sir herbert died shortly after reaching burma. the commander-in-chief in india, sir frederick roberts, then took charge of the business and landed in rangoon in november. it was evident that sir george white had not exaggerated the difficulties of the work. after taking stock of the position, roberts asked for five more regiments to be sent from india. during the cold or, as it should be called in burma, the dry season following, much was done to gain control of the country, under the personal supervision of the commander-in-chief. especially in the eastern division, where large bands of men under various pretenders had been most troublesome, the stern energy of general lockhart produced a rapid and wholesome change. when sir frederick returned to india in february, , the subjugation of upper burma had been accomplished and the way was cleared for the civil administration. but four years of constant patient work were needed before the country was pacified and the peasant who wished to live a life of honest industry could accomplish his desire. footnotes: [ ] "the government of india," by sir courtenay ilbert, chap. i. p. . second edition. [ ] major-general, commanding the burma field force, now field-marshal sir george white, v.c., g.c.b., &c. chapter ii the chief commissionership of burma my first acquaintance with burma was made in the early part of . i was then a member of the legislative council of india. mr. charles bernard, who was chief commissioner of british burma, had asked for a year's leave, and lord ripon selected me to take his place. during that year, - , i went over lower burma--british burma as it was then called--and learnt the methods of the administration and became acquainted with the officers in the commission and the nature of the country and its people. there was at that time very little communication between the court of ava and the chief commissioner, who represented the governor-general in council. the embassy which the king had sent to simla with the ostensible purpose of making a new treaty had been suddenly recalled, notwithstanding, and perhaps in some degree because of, the very honourable and hospitable manner in which lord ripon had received it. the king was already negotiating a treaty with france, and in , before the mission despatched for this purpose to europe had left mandalay, it was believed to have been drafted. but when i surrendered the office to sir charles bernard on his return from leave in february, , there was no thought of war in the near future. from rangoon i was transferred to nagpur, to the post of chief commissioner of the central provinces. towards the end of , fever drove me to england on sick leave just as the relations with the king of burma were broken off and war had become unavoidable. returning from leave in november, , i found awaiting me at suez orders posting me to the public service commission, of which the late sir charles aitchison was president. at bombay i found instructions to proceed at once to hyderabad in the deccan, as the viceroy (lord dufferin) desired to see me. at hyderabad i waited on lord dufferin. he told me that bernard might have to leave, and he wished to know if i would accept the appointment of chief commissioner of burma if he decided to offer it to me. he added that it was in his opinion the post in all india most to be coveted, and that if he was not viceroy he would choose burma: an unnecessary stimulus, as ever since leaving that province in my ambition had been to succeed bernard. i told the viceroy that i would go to burma if it were offered to me. i was with the public service commission at lahore, allahabad, and jubulpore, and back to bombay, before i heard anything more about burma. at the end of january, , we were leaving the parel station, bombay, for madras, where the next sitting of the commission was to be, when the train was stopped just as it began to move, and the station-master ran up with a clear-the-line message for me from the viceroy, desiring me to wait further orders at bombay. i left the train gladly, as i knew that it meant that i was to go to burma, and i was delighted to be relieved from the work of the commission, which was distasteful to me, especially as it appeared from the character of the evidence brought forward, a matter left entirely to the local government in each province, not likely to lead to beneficial results. on the rd of february a telegram dated the nd came from the viceroy, offering me the chief commissionership as bernard's health had broken down, and desiring me to come to calcutta to consult with the government. as soon as i could arrange my affairs i went to calcutta. the viceroy received me on the th of february. he took me out to the lawn at the side where the great house throws a pleasant shade in the afternoon. there we sat, and lord dufferin explained to me how matters stood in burma, and gave me his instructions on many points and on the general principles which he wished to guide the administration. the organization of the military police and the material of which the force was to be constituted was one of the chief matters he spoke about. he attached much importance to the enlistment of burmans, shans, and karens, so that the unhealthy posts might be held by acclimatized natives. british officers would have to be posted to command them, and they must be relieved at short intervals. he showed me letters which had passed between him and bernard about the military police force, to which, as an instrument in the pacification of the province, he attached the first importance. he spoke of the strength of the commission, and told me to consider it carefully and ask for more men if i thought them necessary. generally he considered that true economy dictated the expenditure of as much money as was necessary to fit out the new province with offices, roads, buildings, and river steamers, and it was folly, he said, not to give it. barracks and shelter for troops and police should be vigorously pushed on. the questions of the shan states and our relations with china were discussed. as to the shan states, i represented the manner in which our relations with the feudatory chiefs in the central provinces were managed and the saving in cost and responsibility to be gained by leaving them quasi-independent. lord dufferin approved of this policy and preferred it to annexation, even in the case of the wuntho sawbwa, who had shown an inclination to refuse submission to our government. the viceroy spoke at length and with emphasis regarding our relations with china, which he looked upon as most important. we were face to face, he said, with a very powerful neighbour, who might greatly harass us if she or even her subordinate officials chose to worry us. two officers of the chinese consular service had been sent to upper burma to be at my disposal in dealing with the chinese in burma and in conducting relations with the chinese government. in the matter of the frontiers of upper burma, where they touched china, great care should be exercised. "feel your way," he said, putting out his hand, "and when you come against anything hard, draw back," advice that was most sound in dealing with the ill-defined boundaries of a conquered province. we wished to hold what our predecessors had held or had been entitled to hold, and we did not desire to leave unoccupied space for others to come in. he told me to think carefully whether there was anything i wanted done and to let him know before i left. i was to see him again. in a country where one man is as good as another, where there are no landlords, no hereditary aristocracy and no tribal chiefs, the government, especially a foreign government, is at a great disadvantage. it is impossible to deal with each individual. the first question is, who is the great man of this village: who has influence, who knows the villagers, their characters and so on? having found the man, it becomes possible to enter into relations with the village and to treat with them as a whole. in upper burma there was a recognized headman in each village who had duties, and powers corresponding to his duties; and in many administrative matters, especially in taxation, the village was dealt with as a whole. the difficulty in lower burma was the absence of such a local authority or unit. the villagers were not held together by any obligation to each other or by subordination to any one on the spot. each man had his own bit of land which he held directly from the government. he lived where he pleased, and if he put his house in the same place with other cultivators, it was for the sake of convenience and protection. the villages were grouped for revenue purposes by the british administration under officials who collected the taxes and received a percentage on the amount. each of these _taik thugyis_ (headmen of circles), as they were designated, had many villages under him and could not be expected to have local knowledge or personal influence in all of them. he had no powers outside his revenue work. it was open to any one to put up his hut in any village, wherever he could find room. there was no one to say him nay, even if he was a gambler, an opium-eater, or a notorious evildoer living by theft and robbery. there were, it is true, village policemen appointed by law, who were intended to supply the wants of a local authority. but no power was given to them: they were subordinated to the regular civil police and had no status as revenue officials. consequently they tended to become mere village drudges, although by no means useless and frequently showing both courage and sagacity in police matters. when i was in burma in - gang-robbery was prevalent, even in the neighbourhood of rangoon; so much so as to demand close attention from the head of the province. i had observed that in nearly every case where a large gang of dacoits, to use the indian term, was dominating a district or part of a district they were assisted by sympathisers, who sent them food, supplied them with information, and made it possible for them to live undetected. the codes of indian criminal procedure do not enable a magistrate to touch cases of this sort. if the people are against the government--and in they were certainly not minded to help it--the difficulty of detecting and convicting such secret abettors is almost insuperable. at any rate, it was a slow process, and meanwhile violence and disorder flourished and the peasantry became more and more enthralled to the brigands. it occurred to me that nothing would give the civil magistrate more assistance than the power of summarily removing persons who, while they themselves appeared to be living harmless lives without reproach, were enabling the insurgent or brigand gangs to keep the field. i explained my views on these matters to the viceroy. he promised me his support and desired me to embody my ideas in a draft regulation before i left calcutta. with the assistance of the legislative department the draft was quickly completed, and on my arrival in burma it was circulated to district officers for their opinions. it was delayed by various formalities and inquiries, and was not finally made law until october, . founded so far as might be on the system indigenous to the country and in accord with the mind of the people, this law was a great aid to the administration. writing in october, , i said: "i think that most officers will now admit that the policy of dealing with the people by villages and not by individuals has been a very powerful instrument for suppressing disorder and establishing our authority. it would not have been possible to use this instrument if the village system had no vitality. if we are to rule the country cheaply and efficiently and to keep the people from being robbed and oppressed by the criminal classes, the village system must be maintained in vigour. it cannot thrive or live unless the post of headman is sought after, or at least willingly accepted, by respectable persons." i believe the provisions of the village regulation are still a living force and are brought into action when occasion arises. but the life of the system is the headman, his dignity and his position. this is what the author of "the soul of a people" wrote in :-- "so each village managed its own affairs untroubled by squire or priest, very little troubled by the state. that within their little means they did it well no one can doubt. they taxed themselves without friction, they built their own monastery schools by voluntary effort, they maintained a very high, a very simple, code of morals entirely of their own initiative. "all this has passed or is passing. the king has gone to a banishment far across the sea, the ministers are either banished or powerless for good or evil. it will never rise again, this government of the king which was so bad in all it did and only good in what it left alone. it will never rise again. the people are now part of the british empire, subjects of the queen. what may be in store for them in the far future no one can tell; only we may be sure that the past can return no more. and the local government is passing away too. it cannot exist with a strong government such as ours. for good or for evil, in a few years, it too, will be gone."[ ] this is a prophecy which i believe has not yet been fulfilled, and i hope never will. but to return to the order of events. i was detained in calcutta until the th of february. time by no means wasted. i had frequent opportunities of seeing the members of council and learning what was going on in each department. lord dufferin allowed me to discuss matters with him more than once. on the th i attended his excellency in council and explained my views, especially regarding the village system. leaving calcutta in the british india steamship _rangoon_ on the th, i landed at rangoon on sunday the th of march. next day i relieved sir charles bernard and took charge of the province of burma. in order to enable the chief commissioner to give more time to the affairs of upper burma, a special commissioner, mr. hodgkinson, had been appointed to take immediate charge of the older province. i found that the special commissioner was in fact ruler of the lower province, and was so regarded by the public. nothing which was not of a very extraordinary nature was referred to the chief commissioner, whose responsibility, however, remained unimpaired. for example, two or three days after my arrival the viceroy telegraphed in cipher to the chief commissioner about some matters in lower burma which had given rise to questions in parliament, and of which the responsible chief commissioner had no cognizance. no more competent and trustworthy man than mr. hodgkinson could have been found for the work. nevertheless the arrangement did not seem to me quite satisfactory. there were urgent matters requiring to be settled with mr. hodgkinson, more especially the budget of the province and the organization of the police in lower burma, which needed thorough reform. they had earned the reputation of being the worst and the most costly in the world, and during the last eighteen months they had not belied it. it was necessary to form a body of military police for lower burma of suitable indians, trained and disciplined. during the few days i was in rangoon this and other urgent matters--for example, the arrangements with the bombay burma company about the upper burma forests, the ruby mines, the condition of some of the lower burma districts, the postings of officers, the distribution of reinforcements of military police just disembarking from the transports, consultations with the general commanding in lower burma as to the measures necessary along and beyond the line of the old frontier within the limits of his command, all these things and much more would have given me plenty of work for many days. i could only dispose of those matters which required my personal orders and leave the rest to mr. hodgkinson. i could not remain in rangoon. sir charles bernard had a powerful memory. the upper burma secretariat was, as has been said, in mandalay; when sir charles bernard was in rangoon, he relied to a great extent on his memory. letters and telegrams received from mandalay were dealt with and returned with his orders, no copies for reference being kept. as the rangoon secretariat was ignorant of upper burma affairs, i found myself completely in the air. i decided therefore to start as soon as possible for mandalay. i left rangoon by rail for prome on the th of march. at prome a government steamer, the _sir william peel_, was waiting for me, and i reached mandalay on the th. to a man sailing up the river there were few signs of trouble. the people appeared to be going about their business as usual, and no doubt along the river bank and in the neighbourhood of our posts there was little disorder. but this appearance was deceptive. just beyond the old frontier the country from the right bank of the irrawaddy up to the arakan yoma was in the hands of insurgents. on the right bank of the river, forty miles above thayetmyo, is the burman fort and town of minhla, where the first opposition was offered to the british expedition. i found here a small detachment of indian troops, and in the town, about half a mile off, a police post. i learnt from the british officer commanding the detachment and from the burman magistrate that for some fifty miles inland, up to the chin hills on the west, the villages were deserted and the headmen had absconded. this is an unhealthy tract, with much jungle, and broken up into small valleys by the spurs from the arakan mountains. the noted leader bo swè made his lair here and had still to be reckoned with. his story illustrates the difficulties which had to be overcome. in november, , after taking minhla, a district was formed by sir harry prendergast consisting of a large tract of country above the british burma frontier on both sides of the river to salin, north of minbu, on the right bank, and including magwè and yenangyoung on the left. this district was known at first as minhla, but afterwards as minbu, to which the headquarters were moved. mr. robert phayre, of the indian civil service and of the british burma commission, was left in charge, supported by a small force. [illustration: thayetmyo--mail steamer leaving.] mr. phayre, a relative of that distinguished man, colonel sir arthur phayre, the first chief commissioner of british burma, was the right man for the work. he began by getting into touch with the native officials, and by the th of december all those on the right bank of the river had accepted service under the new government. outposts were established, and flying columns dispersed any gatherings of malcontents that were reported. a small body of troops from thayetmyo, moving about in the west under the arakan hills, acted in support of minhla. revenue began to come in, and at yenangyoung, the seat of the earth-oil industry, work was being resumed. everything promised well. there were two men, however, who had not been or would not be propitiated, maung swè and Ôktama. maung swè was hereditary headman or thugyi of mindat, a village near the old frontier. he had for years been a trouble to the thayetmyo district of british burma, harbouring criminals and assisting dacoit gangs to attack our villages, if he did not lead them himself. he had been ordered up to mandalay by the burmese government owing to the strong remonstrances of the chief commissioner. on the outbreak of war bo[ ] swè was at once sent back to do his utmost against the invaders. so long as there was a force moving about in the west of the district he was unable to do much. when the troops were withdrawn (the deadly climate under the hills compelled their recall), he began active operations. the second man was named Ôktama, one of the most determined opponents of the british. he had inspired his followers with some of his spirit, whether fanatical or patriotic, and harassed the north of the district about and beyond minbu. his gang was more than once attacked and dispersed, but came together again. he and maung swè worked together and between them dominated the country. in may, , maung swè was attacked and driven back towards the hills. he retired on ngapè, a strong position thirty miles west of minbu and commanding the principal pass through the mountains into arakan. early in june, , mr. phayre, with fifty sepoys of a bengal infantry regiment and as many military police (indians), started from minbu to attack maung swè, who was at a place called padein. the enemy were reinforced during the night by two or three hundred men from ngapè. the attack was delivered on the th of june, and phayre, who was leading, was shot dead. his men fell back, leaving his body, which was carried off by the burmans, but was afterwards recovered and buried at minbu. three days after this two parties of Ôktama's gang who had taken up positions near salin were attacked by captain dunsford. his force consisted of twenty rifles of the liverpool regiment and twenty rifles of the nd bengal infantry. the burmans were driven from their ground, but captain dunsford was killed and a few of our men wounded. reinforcements were sent across the river from pagan: and major gordon, of the nd bengal infantry, with ninety-five rifles of his own regiment, fifty rifles of the liverpool regiment, and two guns - r.a., attacked maung swè in a position near ngapè. the burmans fought well, but were forced to retire. unfortunately the want of mounted men prevented a pursuit. the enemy carried off their killed and wounded. our loss was eight men killed and twenty-six wounded, including one officer. we then occupied ngapè in strength, but in july the deadly climate obliged us to withdraw. maung swè returned at once to his lair. by the end of august the whole of the western part of the district was in the hands of the insurgents, rebels, or patriots, according to the side from which they are seen. meanwhile salin had been besieged by Ôktama. he was driven off after three days by captain atkinson, who brought up reinforcements to aid the garrison of the post. captain atkinson was killed in the action. thus in a few weeks these two leaders had cost us the lives of three officers. in the course of the operations undertaken under sir frederick roberts's command in the open season of - , this country was well searched by parties of troops with mounted infantry. bo swè's power was broken, and in march, , he was near the end of his exploits. in the north of the district, the exertions of the troops had made little impression on Ôktama's influence. the peasantry, whether through sympathy or fear, were on his side. i have troubled the reader with this story because it will help to the understanding of the problem we had before us in every part of upper burma. it will explain how districts reported at an early date to be "quite peaceful" or "comparatively settled" were often altogether in the hands of hostile bands. they were reported quiet because we could hear no noise. we were outsiders, as indeed we are, more or less, not only in burma but in every part of the indian empire--less perhaps in burma than elsewhere. on the way up the river i had the advantage of meeting mr. (now sir james) la touche, the commissioner of the southern division, sir robert low,[ ] commanding at myingyan, brigadier-general anderson, captain eyre, the deputy commissioner of pagan district (which then included pakokku and the yaw country), and others. at mandalay i was able to consult with general sir george white, commanding the field force, with his excellency sir charles arbuthnot, the commander-in-chief of the madras army, and with the civil officers, namely, the commissioner of the northern division, mr. burgess,[ ] and mr. (now sir frederick) fryer, the commissioner of the central or sagaing division, and their subordinates. no more capable or helpful men could have been found. the commissioner of the eastern division was out of reach for the time. the only way of getting to that country was by road from mandalay, which would have taken many days. i had to wait until i returned to rangoon and could go by rail to toungoo before i made acquaintance with mr. henry st. george tucker, of the indian civil service, a punjab officer. footnotes: [ ] "the soul of a people," pp. - . [ ] _bo_ means "captain"; _maung_ is the ordinary way of addressing a burman, the equivalent of "mister." [ ] the late general sir robert cunliffe low, g.c.b. [ ] the late mr. g. d. burgess, c.s.i., judicial commissioner, upper burma. chapter iii upper burma i will now give as brief a sketch as may be of the state of upper burma when i arrived in mandalay in march, . upper burma, inclusive of the shan states, contains in round numbers one hundred and sixty thousand square miles, of which the shan states cover sixty thousand miles and the chin hills ten thousand. it may be divided, for the present purpose, into four parts. the first is the great valley of the irrawaddy, from the mountain ranges north of mogaung to the northern boundary of the thayetmyo district; the second is the valley of the chindwin; the third is the valley of the sittang, in which lies the eastern division, down to the boundary of the toungoo district; and the fourth is the shan states. in the british administration had not yet touched the chin hills or the kachins in the mountains which divide burma from china. beginning with the irrawaddy valley, mogaung, the most northerly post of importance, was held by a burman myoôk, or township officer, nominally for us. he collected the revenue and spent it--much, no doubt, on his establishment, for which no regular provision had been made. south of mogaung as far as bhamo the country was quiet, and no organized gangs were in the field. the katha district, which comes next below bhamo, was disturbed on the wuntho border, and was not much under control. the wuntho sawbwa, a shan chief exercising independent jurisdiction within his country, had refused our invitation to come in. a strong force under brigadier-general cox, with mr. burgess, the commissioner of the northern division, had gone to try the methods of peaceful persuasion. the districts south of katha, namely shwèbo and ye-u, were controlled by dacoit gangs under active leaders. on the left bank of the river the shan states of mohlaing and möngmit were disturbed by the raids of hkam leng (_vide_ chapter xx.). the ruby mines district, with its capital, mogok, was held in force and had remained submissive since its occupation. south of the ruby mines lies the district of mandalay, shut in on the north and east by the shan hills. there was a british force of some thousand men of all arms in mandalay itself, with several outlying detachments and a strong party in the hills at pyinulwin,[ ] forty miles on the road to hsipaw. in spite of this force the district was dominated by three or four leaders, who had large followings and acted in concert. they had divided the country between them into definite jurisdictions, which they mutually respected. they collected revenue from the villagers. disobedience or any attempt to help the british government met with swift and severe punishment. they professed to be acting under the authority of the myingun prince, who was at the time a refugee in pondicherry, and they were encouraged and helped to combine by a relative of the prince, known as the bayingan or viceroy, who went from one to the other and supplied them with information. the district of ava, south of mandalay, was in a similar state. the valleys of the samôn and panlaung gave good shelter to the dacoits. unfortunately several district boundaries and divisions of military commands met in this country, and on that account action was not so prompt as it ought to have been. following the river below ava, the myingyan and pagan districts extended to both sides of the river, an inconvenient arrangement inherited from the burmese government. the headquarters of these districts, both on the left bank, were held by garrisons of some size, and within striking range the country was controlled. about forty miles from pagan town, and as many from the river, is the isolated hill or mountain of popa. it rises to a height of four thousand five hundred feet, a gigantic cone throwing out numerous spurs. it is wooded thickly almost to the top, and extending for a long distance round it is a tangle of scrub jungle and ravines, an ideal hunting-ground for robbers and the home of cattle-thieves. south of this was the taungdwingyi district, extending down to the old border. it was in the hands of a leader named min yaung, who was well provided with ponies, and even elephants. the northern spurs of the pegu yoma divide this district from the sittang valley, and are densely wooded, offering a harbour of refuge to criminals. to this, among other causes, it was due that this district gave more trouble than any other in upper burma. it was at that time separated from the river by the magwè township, which belonged to the minbu district, and enjoyed comparative peace, owing mainly to the influence of the burman governor, who had taken service under us and for a time was loyal. these parts of the myingyan and pagan districts, which were on the right bank of the irrawaddy, were not really under our control or administered by us. the wild tract on the yaw (_vide_ chapter xxi., p. ), which was much left to itself in burmese times, had not been visited, and was overrun by dacoits. southward, still on the right bank, came the minbu district, where Ôktama and bo swè were still powerful, the former in full force. the difficulties of country and climate which our men had to face in this district were very great. the west of the minbu district lies up against the range of mountains known as the arakan yoma, which run parallel to the sea and shut off the irrawaddy valley from the bay of bengal. the country below the yoma is what is known in india as terai, a waterlogged region reeking with malaria, deadly to those not acclimatized. many a good soldier, british and indian, found his grave in the posts occupied in this district, taingda, myothit, ngapè, and sidoktaya. the dacoit leaders knew the advantage of being able to live where our men could not. soldiers like captain golightly (colonel r. e. golightly, d.s.o., late of the th rifles) and his mounted infantry would have made short work of them under less adverse conditions. passing to the chindwin, which joins the irrawaddy at pakokku, twenty-five miles above myingyan, the upper chindwin[ ] was fairly quiet. the two local potentates, the sawbwa of hsawnghsup and the sawbwa of kalè, were not of much importance. the former had made his submission; the latter was holding aloof, but had shown his goodwill by arresting and delivering to the deputy commissioner a pretender who had attacked a british post and was gathering to his banner various leaders. lower down, the country round mingin, where mr. gleeson, assistant commissioner, was murdered in , was much disturbed. in the lower chindwin there was trouble in pagyi and pakangyi. the former country, which is covered with forests and very unhealthy, had been placed under the management of burmans of local influence--a plan which answered for a time. the kani township, which adjoins mingin, had been governed from the first by the burmese wun well and loyally. he was murdered on that account by a dacoit leader. his younger brother was appointed in his room and followed in his steps. on the left bank the country was not openly disturbed. the river trade was busy, but boats were obliged to take a guard or to be convoyed by a steam-launch. at this time the cause of order seemed nearer victory in the eastern division than elsewhere. the sittang valley includes the kyauksè district, which at first was placed under the commissioner of the central division, but was allied in dacoit politics to meiktila. myat hmon, maung gyi, and maung lat, names well known to soldiers in - , hunted this country, making the hmawwaing jungles their rallying-ground. when hard-pressed they took refuge in the hills of baw and lawksawk, coming back when the troops retired. in the three districts of meiktila, yamèthin, and pyinmana, which then formed the eastern division under mr. h. st. george tucker, general sir william lockhart had given them no rest day or night. nevertheless, in march, , large bands were still active. the shan states were in a very troubled state, but a good beginning had been made, and mr. hildebrand had nearly succeeded in breaking up the limbin confederacy (_vide_ chapter xv.). but throughout the plateau dacoities were rife and petty wars were raging. wide tracts were laid waste, and the peasantry, deserting their fields, had joined in the fights or gone across the salween. great scarcity, perhaps in some cases actual famine, resulted, not from failure of rain, but from strife and anarchy. and this reacted on burma proper, for some of the shan states on the border gave the dacoits encouragement and shelter. the whole of upper burma at this time was in military occupation. there were one hundred and forty-one posts held by troops, and yet in wide stretches of country, in the greater part of the chindwin valley, in the mogaung country and elsewhere, there was not a soldier. the tide, however, was on the turn. the officers in command of parties and posts were beginning to know the country and the game, while the dacoits and their leaders were losing heart. the soldiers had in fact completed their task, and they had done it well. what remained to be done was work for the civil administrator. the first and essential step was to enable the civil officers to get a firm grip of their districts. for this purpose a civil police force, recruited from the natives of the country, was necessary. without it, detection and intelligence were impossible. commissioners and generals were alike unanimous on this point. the next thing was to provide an armed force at the disposal of the district officer, so that he should be able to get an escort immediately--for there was no district where an englishman could yet travel safely without an armed escort--and should be able also to quell risings and disperse ordinary bands of insurgents or brigands without having to ask assistance from the army. the military police had been designed and raised for these purposes, and the men were being distributed as fast as they arrived from india. the relations of the district officers to the commandants of military police and of the latter to the civil police officers, and the duties and spheres of each, had to be defined. i had drafted regulations for these purposes, and was waiting for the appointment of an inspector-general to carry them out. it had been decided before i left calcutta that a soldier should be selected for this post. the military police force was in fact an army of occupation sixteen thousand strong. many of them were old soldiers who had volunteered from the indian regiments, the rest were recruited mainly from the fighting races of northern india. and they were commanded by young officers, some of whom had come with somewhat exalted ideas of their independence. it was imperative, therefore, to get an able soldier who could look at matters from all points of view, and who could manage men as well as command them. for it required a delicate touch to avoid friction between the military and civil members of the district staff. some of the civil officers were young, some were quite without experience, and some were inferior to the military commandants in force and ability. in april, , colonel e. stedman, commanding the rd gurkhas, who had accompanied mr. hildebrand to the shan states, was appointed to be inspector-general of police in upper burma, with the military rank of brigadier-general. among the many able officers of the indian army it would have been hard to find another man equally adapted to the work. i had reason to be grateful to general stedman (now sir edward stedman, g.c.b., k.c.i.e.) and to the commander-in-chief, lord roberts (then sir frederick), who selected him. on the st of march, , i wrote to lord dufferin regarding the relations of the district and police officers as follows: "the relations between deputy commissioners, district superintendents (civil police) and commandants (military police) are ill-defined and work badly, unless all are really good fellows. i have decided to keep the commandant to his military work, and the district superintendent of police to the real civil police duty--intelligence, detection, and investigation. the deputy commissioner has by law supreme control and must exercise it.... the deputy commissioners have no hold on their districts, and through the absence of a civil police they get no intelligence and no touch with the people. hence our military parties sometimes go wandering about blindly, unable to get any information. there must be a completely separate trained body of burman civil police, trained not to arms but to their police duties.... i have got orders under issue about the location of posts and everything connected with them and the constitution of the police in them. we must have some burmans and some civil police burmans in every police post, and i think in every military post also." the details of these matters could not be settled until general stedman came to take up the work. meanwhile i must return to affairs at mandalay. footnotes: [ ] now the hill station for upper burma, named maymyo from colonel may, who commanded the bengal regiment, which garrisoned the place in . [ ] the district was not formally divided into upper and lower until . chapter iv mandalay soon after my arrival in mandalay i made the thathanabaing's acquaintance. he is the head of the buddhist monks, the religious order which in bishop bigandet's words is "the greatest in its extent and diffusion, the most extraordinary and perfect in its fabric and constituent parts, and the wisest in its rules and prescriptions that has ever existed either in ancient or modern times outside the pale of christianity."[ ] the thathanabaing is the head of this order for purposes of discipline and for settling doctrinal disputes. his title means that he has power over all religious matters. it is misleading to speak of him as an archbishop or to apply any of the titles of the christian church to the buddhist monks, who are not priests in any sense, but "are the strict followers of buddha, who, like him, have renounced the world to devote themselves to the twofold object of mastering their passions and acquiring the true wisdom which alone can lead to the deliverance."[ ] "the regulations they are subject to and the object they have in view in entering the religious profession debar them from concerning themselves in affairs that are foreign to their calling."[ ] the great mass of the pongyis, or monks, in upper burma, who may have numbered in twenty or thirty thousand persons, obeyed the rules of their order and took no part in the troubles that followed the annexation. in the king's time the thathanabaing neither personally nor as representative of the order interfered in affairs of state. he might have, as a work of mercy, pleaded for the remission of a sentence, but it is doubtful whether he went beyond that, or whether he had any political influence in our sense of the word. as a "religious" he would have, and was bound to have, no concern with mundane affairs. could he bring any influence to bear on the people at large to induce them to submit peacefully to our rule? "when we speak," writes bishop bigandet,[ ] "of the great influence possessed by the religious order of buddhist monks we do not intend to speak of political influence. it does not appear that in burma they have ever aimed at any share in the management or direction of the affairs of the country. since the accession of the house of alomphra to the throne, that is to say, during a period of above a hundred years, the history of burma has been tolerably well known. we do not recollect having ever met with one instance when the pongyis, as a body, have interfered in the affairs of state. but in a religious point of view," continues bishop bigandet, "their influence is a mighty one." and undoubtedly if they were an energetic, ambitious, and intellectual body, instead of a thoroughly lazy and densely ignorant set of men, they might easily direct this influence to worldly purposes, and they might have excited the people to resist the british. one of my first acts at mandalay was to issue orders for the repair of monasteries occupied by our men and for making compensation in some form to the monks, and at least twice afterwards i reiterated and enlarged these orders. no doubt this matter of the monasteries was a grievance. but, as often happens, it was made more of by busybodies and correspondents interested in defaming the administration than by the sufferers. it was an unfortunate necessity of war. the only remedy was to build barracks and reduce the garrison, both of which were done with all the speed possible. it is worth noting that the thathanabaing did not make any complaint to me on this head. in his conversations with me he dwelt mainly on the sufferings caused to the monks by the removal of the inhabitants from the walled city, which was being converted into a cantonment. the monks living in the cluster of great _kyaungs_ (monasteries), of which the incomparable was the centre, depended on the faithful in the city for their food. i reminded him of the removal of the people by their own monarchs, first from ava to amarapura and then from amarapura to mandalay. he replied that the king removed the _kyaungs_ with the people, and put them up on the new sites at the public cost, and also compelled his ministers to build new monasteries. he was amused by my suggesting that the commissioner and the secretary who accompanied me should be ordered to erect some monasteries on the sites to which the people were being moved. he saw the humour of it. [illustration: a ponghi's funeral procession.] [blank page] i found the thathanabaing in my intercourse with him always courteous and good-humoured; and in his bearing there was neither arrogance nor ill-will. of the pongyis generally in upper burma i saw something, as in riding about the districts (there were no motors or tents for chief commissioners in those days) we had generally to ask the pongyis to give us shelter; and their manner was courteous and hospitable. not a few, i thought, felt and deplored the misery which the disturbances caused, and would have been glad to work for peace. it must be remembered that from the experience of our rule in lower burma they knew the attitude of the british government towards their religion. they had no reason to fear oppression or persecution. they knew at the same time that in losing a buddhist king their position and influence must be lowered. they could hardly be asked to rejoice with us. in common with others who know burma better, i doubt if the religious orders as a body had much influence on the course of events, or took an active part in the resistance to us. when a monk became a noted leader, it was a patriot who had been a monk and not a monk who had become a patriot. at the same time some of the most serious and deepest-laid plots were hatched in monasteries or initiated by pongyis. i may give some instances of the conduct and feelings of pongyis. in august, , a pretender calling himself the pakan prince joined a conspiracy to get up a rebellion in mandalay. the police detected the movement and the prince was arrested. the prince told all that he knew. the originator of the scheme was a sadaw or abbot living in one of the thathanabaing's monasteries. he made his escape. i sent for the thathanabaing and he consented readily at my request to cite the sadaw to appear before him and to proclaim him as a man with whom pongyis should not associate. whether he was sincere or not, i cannot say. but he issued the injunction and i took care it was widely published. another case shows how the people as well as the pongyis were coming to regard us. the town of tabayin in the ye-u (now shwèbo) district was burnt by insurgents soon after our occupation of mandalay. it was rebuilt in owing to the exertions of certain pongyis formerly attached to the place. in order to ensure protection for the new town the pongyis induced the people to build a barrack at their own expense for the police. similarly, in july, , when i was at ngathaingyaung in the bassein district of lower burma the people were glad to have a detachment of bengal infantry ( th regiment) in one of the monasteries. they welcomed them. one of the monks had learned hindustani from the men; and the abbot, or head pongyi, told me he would gladly give up his own monastery if it was wanted for the soldiers. another matter which occupied my attention in mandalay at this time was our position towards the chinese in upper burma. they are most numerous in the northern division and congregate in bhamo and mandalay. they numbered according to the census of about ten thousand, and may have been less in . owing to their energy in trade and their wealth they formed a not insignificant body, and like most bodies they had their grievances. it was arranged to hold a meeting in order to let them state their complaints. all the prominent chinese in mandalay attended the meeting, and mr. warry was present to interpret for me. they had minor grievances about the collection of the jade duties and the farm of the india-rubber tax in the mogaung subdivisions. these things were easily arranged. the chief subject of complaint, however, was the difficulty in procuring and trading in opium, a matter not to be easily settled. the regulations issued by the chief commissioner in march, , practically stopped the traffic. the words were these:-- "no shops whatever will be licensed for the sale of opium, inasmuch as all respectable classes of burmans are against legalizing the consumption of opium in the new province. any one found selling opium to persons other than chinese, or transporting opium in quantities above three tolahs, or keeping a saloon for consuming opium, will be liable on conviction to a fine not exceeding rs. or to three months' imprisonment, or to both. as traffic in opium was absolutely prohibited under the burmese government, there will be no hardship in thus proscribing opium dealings." the chinese, however, considered it the greatest hardship. the small quantity, little more than one ounce troy weight, which might be lawfully transported, practically stopped dealings in the drug. this provision may not seem to go beyond the regulations of the burmese government. but there was all the difference between a rule meant to be enforced and one that could be easily evaded or was not intended to be made effective. no doubt the prohibition by the king of the use of opium by burmans was real, and was backed by religious precept and influence; but the restrictions on the chinese were laxly administered and were not too inconvenient to them. if the burmese alone had been concerned, opium might have been prohibited altogether, and the prohibition might have been made effectual, for it would have been backed by a very strong religious sanction. but the chinamen had to be considered. it was contrary to our interests and wishes, especially at that time, in upper burma to make things unpleasant for them. they are at all times a useful and enterprising element in the population, although the ingenuity of the least reputable amongst them in exploiting the burmans and leading them to gamble and to smoke opium requires to be firmly checked. a second objection to prohibition, and even greater than the hardship and annoyance it would cause to the chinese, was the great difficulty--almost impossibility, it may be said--of enforcing it. opium is perhaps as easy, and in burma as profitable, to smuggle as any article in the world. the chinese are born smugglers. the poppy is largely cultivated in yunnan and in the hilly country on the salween. to prevent smuggling of opium overland into burma would require a very large expenditure and a numerous establishment. the thousand miles of coast would be equally difficult to watch. if the growth of the poppy is prevented in china and india it may perhaps become practicable to stop opium from entering burma. it was futile at that time and under those circumstances to attempt absolute prohibition. the indian excise and opium acts were extended to upper burma in the latter half of . the restrictions on the sale to burmans of opium and intoxicants were maintained--and neither excise licence nor opium-shop was allowed in any place where the non-burman population was not considerable. yunnan opium, which had hitherto come in free, was subjected to a duty. the result was a great increase in the price of opium in upper burma and at the same time energetic smuggling; while it was believed, that so far as the restrictions against the sale of liquor or opium to burmans were effectual, their efficacy was due, as in the king's time, more to the strength of the buddhist religion than to the power of the british government and the honesty of its magistrates. no further change was introduced while i was in burma. an excitement, however, arose in england, and the societies who, belonging to one of the most intemperate races in the world, make it their vocation to preach temperance to the most abstemious and sober of nations, drove the government of india to experiment on burma. since one device after another has been tried to prevent burmans from getting opium. the results appear to have been that contraband opium has been driven to some extent from the market; that the consumption of government opium which has paid duty has doubled; that hundreds of people are punished yearly, not a few on false charges, for offences against the opium act, many of them by imprisonment; that the use of cocaine and other drugs worse than opium has been substituted for it, and in spite of the police is growing. the following passage from a very excellent and accurate handbook of burma by sir j. george scott, k.c.i.e. (alexander moring, ltd., ) is worth quoting as the opinion of a man who knows the country well:-- "in kokang and the wa states the out-turn (of opium) runs to tons. west of the salween, loimaw is the only place where opium is systematically grown for profit. the cultivators are all chinamen, and the amount produced in the season reaches about four thousand pounds. the price ranges from twelve to fifteen rupees for three and a half pounds. no doubt a very great deal is smuggled into burma by opium-roads--tracks only passable by coolies, and not known to many. it is to be noted that there are no victims to opium in the opium-producing districts, any more than there are in ssu-ch'uan, where the people are the wealthiest in china and half the crops are poppy. it is only in places where opium is prohibitive in price that there are victims to opium. if a man is accustomed to take opium, he must have it to soothe his nerves under excessive fatigue; if he lives in a malarious district, it is necessary to kill the bacteria. when such a man is poor and comes to a place where opium duty is high, he has to starve himself to get the anodyne for his muscles, quivering under the weight of loads which no white man could carry, or to soothe the racking fever in his bones. he dies of want and opium is denounced. where opium is cheap, the people are healthy and stalwart and the women are fruitful. east of the salween the universal opinion of opium is that of the turk, who stamps on his opium lozenges _mash alla'h_, 'the gift of god.' some of the wa eat as well as smoke opium; but, so far as is known, regular opium-eating is rare, and none of the races drink it in the form of an emulsion, like the _kusumba_ of the rajputs. west of the salween, the european cant about opium has penetrated. a shan either tells deliberate lies or says he only smokes when he has fever. the rumai is pious and hypocritical, and says his opium is intended for his ponies or for cases of malarial fever. there are, of course, cases of excess, but the opium victim is never the hideous spectacle of the man sodden with alcohol or the repulsive bestiality that the man becomes who takes food to excess" (pp. - ). the only laws that will preserve the burmans from the evils of opium and alcohol and other drugs are the teachings of buddha. so long as they preserve their vigour and command the burmans' belief, there is not much fear. the danger is that buddhism will be undermined by western education and contact with europe, before it can be replaced by a better and stronger faith. the number of young burmans coming to england is increasing. will they return as abstemious and as temperate as they came? they will not: the danger to the burman is probably more from alcohol than from opium, and more from contact with the west than with china.[ ] this question, however, had no influence whatever on the work we were engaged in. i was able to reassure the chinese and to make them feel that the government desired to treat them with fairness and consideration. the chinese in burma behaved throughout these stormy years as loyal citizens. there were at first numerous reports of hostile gatherings on or near the chinese frontier, especially in the north of hsenwi and at hpunkan, near bhamo. they had little foundation in fact. the only case in which it is certain that an armed body of chinese entered burma was in january, . a strong body of chinamen, chiefly deserters from the chinese army and outlaws, gathered on the molè stream north-east of bhamo. they were promptly attacked by the police and so severely handled that they were not heard of again. still less influence on the restoration of order had the ruby mines affair, which excited the british public and enabled parliamentary busybodies to create an absurd fuss. the whole question of these mines and their administration might well have waited until we had pacified the country. even as a source of revenue they were of no great moment, and if we had left the native miners alone we should have saved the heavy expense of maintaining a strong force up in the hills and making a long and costly cart-road from the river. mogok, the headquarters of the mines, lies nearly six thousand feet above the sea-level, and is distant sixty miles by road from the river port of thabeikkyin, most of it lying through thick jungle, poisoned with malaria and, in , infested with dacoits. the mines were then worked by the shans, who live on the spot and have hereditary rights. a proposal had been made by sir charles bernard, and supported by the government of india, to give a lease of the mines for three years to messrs. gillanders arbuthnot, of calcutta, at an annual rent of two lakhs of rupees, the equivalent then of about £ , . this firm had been accustomed to trade in rubies with the shans at mogok. the proposal was judicious, and would have enabled the government to learn the value of the mines before committing themselves for a longer term, as the firm's books were to be open to inspection. this proposal, however, did not meet the views of the gentlemen who had marked down the ruby mines as a field of speculation. a parliamentary intrigue was got up. questions were asked--jobs were hinted at. the enormous value of the mines--the richest ruby mines in the world--was talked about, until the british public began to see rubies and to suspect, i verily believe, sir charles bernard and all of us, his official heirs and successors, of desiring to make dishonest fortunes. some of the speculators went to simla to persuade the government of india that gillanders arbuthnot's offer was inconceivably ridiculous. then they came on to rangoon with letters of introduction, not unaccompanied by hints and warnings to be careful, to sniff about the mines and get the ear of the authorities in burma. the secretary of state trembled lest he should be suspected of favouring somebody; and if i had destroyed mandalay or drained the irrawaddy, i doubt if there would have been more disturbance than was caused by the grant to one of the prospectors of a few yards of worthless land at mogok on which to erect a hut, and of an ordinary licence to mine. eventually an expert was sent out to inspect and value the mines. the gentleman deputed to this duty was no doubt a skilled mineralogist, even if he was without previous experience in ruby mines. it is possible that his report was worth the cost. it was, i take it, a means of getting out of a parliamentary difficulty. it served the secretary of state for india as an excuse for delay, and gave the appearance at least of a searching and impartial investigation. late in a concession for seven years was granted to five lucky promoters; and then the course usual in such cases was followed. a company was floated in london under the auspices of a big financier. the success for the concessionaires was unexampled. the public, especially the small investors, in an enthusiasm of greed, tumbled over each other to secure shares. in november, , the company began to work. its history since has not been one of remarkable prosperity either for the government or the shareholders. the terms have been revised several times. the receipts of the government from the company in - were rs. , , , or £ , . the history of this matter is interesting only as an example of the futility of interfering with the government of india in local matters. to the administration of burma it meant more writing, more labour, more anxiety, when attention was needed elsewhere. when a man's house is on fire he does not want to spend time in polishing the handle of his door. i was compelled to keep at mogok better men and a stronger force than the district needed. for some years there was much disturbance in the neighbouring country. but it was unconnected with the mines. it is a defect in parliamentary government that so many members, avoiding the really important matters, fasten greedily on lesser questions, especially those which promise a scandal. as parliament chose to look at this matter as one of imperial interest, the mines acquired an importance out of all proportion to their value. i found the ruby mines was a burning question, and i had to go there without delay. i left mandalay on the th of march in a steamer for kyannyat, which was then the river station for bernard myo and mogok, with mr. herbert white and my private secretary. we rode the forty miles from the river to sagadaung, the halting-place at the foot of the hills, taking as we went an escort of five mounted men (gurkhas) from the military posts on the road, and stopped there for the night. from sagadoung a mule-path (twenty miles) took us to bernard myo, where i halted, and next day rode into mogok. the regulations and conditions under which it was proposed to allow the mines to be worked were explained to the native mineowners and to the persons present on behalf of the applicants for the concession, and the way was cleared for a settlement. a matter of more importance, although not one in which parliament was interested, was the dispute about möngmit and mohlaing (explained in chapter xx.). the sawbwa of möngmit and his ministers, as well as the claimant, hkam leng, had been summoned to attend me. the latter did not appear. he was one of the few irreconcilables upper burma produced. the investigation of the case satisfied me that he had no title to möngmit, and i ordered him to be informed that his claim to that state was inadmissible, but that he would be recognised as chief of mohlaing if he appeared and submitted. after a few days at mogok i returned to the river, marching down by the thabeikkyin road. we were obliged to go slowly, as it was thought necessary to take an escort of twenty-five gurkhas. one paw kwe, the headman of a village on the road, the influential brigand in these parts and one of the most evil-looking rascals i ever met, accompanied the deputy commissioner, mr. carter,[ ] and was in a measure responsible that no mischief should befall us. in the hope of keeping him quiet i gave him a subsidy for carrying the mails. but he preferred unemployment and took again to the jungle after a time, and, i believe, became an irreconcilable. the leisurely march down gave time to take up some matters of importance that were waiting for me. in the forefront of pressing questions was the provision of a sufficient fleet of steam-launches. the delta of the irrawaddy, where the population is most dense and most wealthy, is a country of rivers and creeks, where most of the transport is by boats. in the rice-harvest season the waterways are much used by the burman craft carrying rice to the mills at rangoon or bassein, or making their way homeward with the money for which it has been sold. the waterways needed to be patrolled. the disorders following the annexation extended to the creeks and rivers, and river pirates had become more daring and the necessity of a well-formed service of river police more urgent. lower burma was not well provided in this matter; and being unable to obtain funds, the administration was driven to apply local funds intended for roads to the purchase of launches. in the upper province the want of suitable boats was even greater. there were some six hundred miles of waterway to be served. the rivers were the main lines of communication, and on the banks were placed in most cases the headquarters of districts, the military stations and outposts, and most of the larger villages and busier markets. at first, until i had time to revise administrative boundaries, several districts included land on both banks. insurgents and dacoits had no difficulty in obtaining boats for the purposes of attacking river craft or waterside villages, or of escaping from pursuit. once or twice we were compelled to put an embargo on the boats to hinder the enemy from getting across, but it was impossible to interfere thus with the river life of the province, except under great necessity and for a very short time. to meet the demands of the soldiers, the police, and the district officers, and, before the telegraph service was complete, to keep up communication between stations and outposts, many boats were required. it was also necessary to have the means of moving small bodies of troops up and down or across the river without delay as the need might arise. [illustration: mandalay.] i had little difficulty in showing the need for a better fleet. but the government of india were startled at my demands. the director of indian marine, captain john hext, r.n. (now rear-admiral sir john hext, k.c.i.e.), was sent down to persuade me to reduce the size and cost of my navy. he was successful, and might perhaps succeed in persuading the emperor of germany to limit his naval armaments. he had designed an excellent type of river boat, a very light-draught paddle-wheeler, with simple machinery and fair speed, with accommodation for half a company of rifles and a couple of officers. they were built under his instructions in the government dockyard at kidderpore. being his own creation, he named them the x type. in burma they were called after every type of robber known to the country. it was agreed that i was to have nine of these boats and four smaller craft. i had asked for twenty-three boats, and looking back, i am surprised at my moderation. at the present time, after twenty years of peace and freedom from organized crime, i believe the burma government has a fleet four times as large as that with which i had to be content. but then i was, as it were, a pioneer. i was back in mandalay on the th of april. there were some gleams of light between the clouds. baw or maw, a small shan state on the kyauksè border, had been brought to reason by general east without fighting: the kalè sawbwa on the chindwin had completed the payment of his tribute: hla u, the most noted leader in the sagaing district, had been killed by his own men, who were sick of the life. on the other side of the account, sinbyugyun, a post north of salin in the minbu district, held by a military garrison of fifty men, had been attacked twice and partially burnt. the news from the northern shan states was somewhat disquieting. a desultory warfare was going on in hsenwi between the hereditary chief of the state, who had allied himself with the pretender, saw yan naing, and san ton hon, the usurper in possession of northern hsenwi, supported by the sawbwa of hsipaw. it was reported that san ton hon was being driven back, and it was feared that the hsipaw chief, who was our only assured friend in the shan states, might suffer a repulse. it seemed at one time that it might become necessary to send an officer to hsipaw with a small force. i was unwilling to take this step. i wished to leave the northern shan states alone until the next open season, and then to deal with the settlement of the states as a whole. the rains, moreover, were now near at hand, and sir george white disliked moving troops into the hills if it could be avoided. i held a party of military police ready, and had obtained the viceroy's consent to act, if it should be necessary. meanwhile arms and ammunition were sent up to hsipaw, and the sawbwa, who was not more incapable or half-hearted than his opponents, contrived to hold his own until the next open season. the military police were arriving now, and were being distributed and sent to their various destinations. i could do little more by remaining in mandalay. the most urgent matters in connection with the police were the definition of their duties and of their relations with the civil officers, their housing, rationing, and medical treatment. until, as i stated before, these matters had been discussed and settled with the new inspector-general of police, little progress could be made in relieving the soldiers from occupying the small posts. general stedman was expected to arrive in rangoon about the middle of may, and it was convenient that he should meet me there. another matter which called me to rangoon was the condition of lower burma. shortly before i took charge the government of india had called the chief commissioner's attention to the state of the province, "the constant occurrence of petty dacoities (gang robberies), the apparent want of concerted and energetic action in dealing with them which," they wrote, "have attracted the serious notice of the governor-general in council. his excellency trusts that the subject may receive your immediate and active intervention." the condition of the province was bad from a police point of view. the people had enjoyed excellent harvests and good prices. yet there was a constant recurrence of crime, and the police quite failed to cope with it. the excitement of the last year or two had been too much for the younger burmans. they could not settle down again, and the spirit of loot and adventure rather than any real patriotism led to numerous gang robberies, and sometimes to foolish outbreaks, of which men from upper burma were sometimes the instigators. even within a short distance of rangoon an upper burman, related, it was said, to the minbu leader, Ôktama, raised the golden umbrella and called for followers. some hundreds obeyed the call, but at the first sight of the police they began to disperse. a party of karens, led by a british police officer, came up with some of them, killed and wounded several, captured others, and made an end of the rising. the karens in lower burma were loyal and generally staunch, especially the christian karens. the american baptist missionaries have done an inestimable service to the karen race. they understand thoroughly how to educate--in the true sense of the word--a tribe that has been despised and trodden down for some generations. the missionary has made himself not only the pastor but also the chief of his people, and in those troubled times he organized them under their catechists, taught them discipline and obedience, and made them useful and orderly members of society, industrious, self-respecting, and independent. the government of burma owes a debt to the american baptist mission which should not be forgotten. on receipt of this letter from the government of india, reports from commissioners and from the head of the police had been called for. their answers were now before me. the inspector-general of police in lower burma was the late mr. jameson, an officer of ability and long experience. he frankly admitted that the police administration had failed in suppressing organized brigandage. "so far," he wrote, "from the crime of dacoity having been eradicated by british administration, each year more dacoities are committed than in the one preceding." he attributed this failure to defects in the judicial courts, especially the court of revision and appeal, which resulted in making punishment very uncertain and sentences capricious; to the absence of any law establishing a village organization and responsibility; and to the number of arms in the hands of the peasantry, who received them for their self-defence against dacoits, but gave them or lost them to the robbers. the result was, mr. jameson asserted, that after thirty-five years of british rule the country "was in a more disturbed state than after the second war." there is no doubt that the judicial administration in lower burma was defective. the judicial commissioner who presided over the chief appellate and revising court for the interior of the province was selected by the government of india from the members of the indian civil service of one of the indian provinces, and seldom stayed long in burma. it is no libel on the distinguished men who have held this position to say that as a rule they had no knowledge of the language or customs of the people or of the conditions of burma. they came from some quiet province of india, and were unable at first to appreciate those conditions. one of them might think the sentences awarded by the magistrates too severe; his successor might pronounce them to be too lenient. there was a tendency to forget that an act--for example, shooting a thief or burglar at sight--which in a quiet and settled country may be a crime, may be excusable in a state of society where plunder and murder by armed robbers are everyday occurrences. much mischief may be and was done by well-intentioned but inept judicial action; neither the police nor the people knew how far they might go in defending themselves or in effecting the capture of criminals, and circulars were issued explaining the law which would have puzzled the chief justice. a burman peasant before he fired his gun had to consider whether all the conditions justified him; and a frontier guard had to pause with his finger on the trigger while he recalled the words of the last circular on the use of firearms. the result was that the police and the people were nervous and demoralized. it was better to let the dacoit pass or to run away than to run the risk of a trial for murder. this may seem exaggeration. on one occasion when the prisoners in a central gaol mutinied, the armed guard stood idle, until at last, when the convicts were breaking out, one of the guards took his courage in both hands and fired. the riot was checked. i wished to reward the man, but the superintendent of the gaol reported that he could not discover who had fired the shot. the warders said they did not doubt the chief commissioner's power to reward them, but they knew the judicial commissioner would hang the man who fired the gun. the freedom with which licences to possess firearms had been granted in lower burma was no doubt responsible for the facility with which the bad characters could arm themselves. every day's experience proved that to arm the villagers was to arm the dacoits. burmans are incredibly careless. even the burman constables, who were to some extent trained and disciplined, constantly allowed their guns to be taken. a half-hearted measure had been in force in lower burma, which required that a village must have at least five guns, as it was thought that with that number they could defend themselves. like most half-measures, it was of no use. the absence of a village organization and of the means of enforcing village responsibility was no doubt a very great obstacle in the way of the police, even if the police had been good. but when everything had been said it came to this, that the police were bad and police administration in a hopeless muddle. the burmans have, from the first day that british officers have tried to discipline them, shown a great want of responsibility and incurable slackness and little sense of duty. they cannot be trusted to keep watch and ward, to guard or escort prisoners or treasure, or even to remain on duty if they are posted as sentries. the discipline of frederick the great might have improved them. but he would have shot most of his men before he had made trustworthy soldiers of the few that remained. hence it came to pass that indians were enlisted to perform the duties which the burmans seemed unable to fulfil. a few indians were posted to every station for these purposes, and the burmans were employed mainly on detection and investigation and reporting. this system led to still further deterioration of the burman constable, who ceased to rely on his own courage or resources. the indians, again, were recruited locally. the police officers who recruited them had no experience of the indian races and did not know one caste from another. the most unfit men were taken. they were not much looked after, and their officers did not know the indian languages or understand their customs. when the risings took place in shwègyin and elsewhere after the annexation, the burma police showed themselves to be absolutely untrustworthy. more indians were enrolled and the mischief increased. the burman knew he had behaved badly and was not trusted, and became more untrustworthy, while the indians were not under proper discipline, scattered about as they were in small parties, and were in any case quite useless for detective or ordinary police purposes. the only exception to this condemnation of the indigenous police that could be made was, i think, the armed frontier guard in the thayetmyo district, who were stationed and housed with their families on the frontier of british burma. it was clear that the working of the police force in lower burma required thorough investigation, and that its constitution would have to be recast. as necessary subsidiary measures, the country would have to be thoroughly disarmed, and above all a village organization must be created and the joint responsibility of the village for certain crimes enforced. a committee was appointed to consider the best method of reforming the civil police force of lower burma. i took in hand the question of thoroughly disarming the whole province, and a bill dealing with lower burma villages on the lines of the upper burma village regulation was framed. these matters would take some time. the indian police, however, could be improved at once. it was decided to remove all indians from the civil police, and to enroll them in a regiment under a military commandant, similar to one of the upper burma military police battalions in formation and discipline. their headquarters were to be at rangoon, and the men needed for other districts were to be sent from rangoon and treated as detachments of the regiment. they were to be enrolled for three years under a military police act, which was passed in . pending the report of the committee and the measures that might be taken on their advice, it was necessary to act at once in the most disordered parts of the province. especially in portions of the shwègyin district in tharawaddy, and in the northern townships of thayetmyo the dacoit gangs were strong and active. the ordinary district staff seemed helpless and unable to make head against the brigands, to whose exactions the peasants had become accustomed. they found it easier to make terms with the criminals than to help a government that was unable to protect them. i adopted the plan of selecting a young officer known for his activity and character, and placing him in charge of the disturbed tract, giving him a sufficient police force and magisterial powers, and making him independent of the deputy commissioner of the district, who continued to conduct the ordinary administration. this special officer had no other duty than to hunt down and punish the gangs of outlaws. he was to be always out and always on their tracks, using every means in his power to make friends with the villagers and induce them to give him information and help against the common enemy. this policy succeeded, and the disturbed districts were brought into line. the late mr. henry todd naylor,[ ] of the indian civil service, distinguished himself especially in this work, and won a well-merited decoration from the viceroy. i had made up my mind to dispense with the services of the special commissioner for lower burma as soon as possible. the appointment was undoubtedly necessary at first, when communications were bad, but as the province settled down the need was less and the saving of labour to me very little. the responsibility remained with me. i was bound to know everything that went on, and in such matters as the condition of the province the government of india expected me to intervene personally. the work and exposure since the annexation were beginning to tell on the members of the commission, especially on those who had sustained the heaviest burdens of responsibility and had been most exposed to the climate, and i was hard pressed for men to fill the places of those who wanted leave.[ ] an accident happening to the commissioner of tennasserim, i decided to send mr. hodgkinson there and to take the lower burma work into my own hands. an increase to the secretariat had been sanctioned in april, . this enabled me to save a man by appointing mr. smeaton (the late donald mackenzie smeaton,[ ] c.s.i., m.p.), to the newly created post of chief secretary. he had served for some years in burma, with distinction, under sir charles aitchison and sir charles bernard. in a short time the secretariats were united in rangoon and the work distributed into the ordinary departments of indian administration without reference to territorial division. on the arrival of general stedman in the middle of may ( ), the upper burma military police questions were brought under discussion. the men, as i have said before, were coming in fast. the sanctioned strength at this time was fifteen thousand five hundred men. it was necessary to determine the constitution of the force, its relation to the deputy commissioners of districts, and the methods by which it was to be rationed and kept supplied with necessaries. these matters had been thought out before general stedman's arrival. they were now discussed with him in detail, and the general lines to be followed were laid down. briefly, the following constitution was adopted:-- the keynote of indian administration was, and i believe still is, that the district magistrate or deputy commissioner, or by whatever name he may be called, is the executive representative of the government, and is responsible for all matters in his district subject to the control of the commissioner of the division. he is especially responsible for the peace of his district, and therefore the allocation of the police force rests primarily with him. it was laid down for the guidance of deputy commissioners that the most important and central posts should be occupied by fairly strong bodies of military police, to which should be attached a few burman constables, some of whom were to be mounted, who were to collect information, receive reports, and investigate cases. between the military police posts, and helping to link them up, were to be civil police stations manned by burmans exclusively, who were to be locally recruited. a constant and systematic patrol was to be maintained between the military police posts. the posts were to be fortified and capable of defence by the garrison remaining after the despatch of a patrol. it was laid down as a fixed law that the reserve at headquarters must be sufficient to provide a reasonably strong movable column ready to reinforce any part of the district that might need it. the police force was divided into battalions, one to each district, of a strength varying with the size and wants of the district. to each battalion was appointed a commandant, to all except a few very small battalions a second-in-command, and to some more than one. these officers were all selected from the indian army, and, with very rare exceptions, were capable men. the interior economy, the training, and the discipline of the men were left to the commandants under the inspector-general's orders. with these matters the civil officials could not in any way interfere. it was found necessary from the first to restrain firmly the tendency of the local officials to fritter away the strength of the force in small posts. the moment anything occurred they wanted to clap down a post on the disturbed spot; and if this had been allowed to go on unchecked there would not have been a man left to form a movable column or even to send out a patrol of sufficient strength. the number of men to be kept at headquarters, the minimum strength of a post, and the minimum number of a patrol had to be absolutely laid down by the chief commissioner's order. at first the strength prescribed was too small. after some experience, the lowest post garrison was fixed at forty rifles, the minimum strength of a patrol at ten rifles; and these orders were stringently enforced. it was resolved to mount a certain number of the force, and as soon as the ponies could be obtained--which was not an easy matter, as the mounted infantry and the army transport took up very many--about per cent. of the men were mounted. many of the military police who arrived in burma in were newly raised and insufficiently trained levies, and until the men had been drilled and taught to use their weapons it was impossible to do much towards relieving the soldiers from the outposts. the rainy season was occupied in the work of instruction. the task was performed under very difficult conditions, for the men were often called away to occupy posts and take part in active operations, and the officers were few. the duty was well done, and by the end of the autumn of we were in possession of an army, which proved itself to be a most serviceable instrument for reducing the country to order. the men, whether in the field or in their lines, behaved exceedingly well. hardly less important than the constitution of the force was its maintenance in a state of contentment and efficiency. at the beginning of the number of military police landed in burma was between five and six thousand, and as the year advanced the force was fast increasing. as the men arrived they were rapidly distributed to the districts of upper burma, and when trained were destined to relieve the troops in distant outposts. it was necessary to make immediate arrangements for their rations and for renewing their clothing, equipment, and ammunition; and also for the medical treatment of the men. the principal medical officer of the field force kindly undertook to organize the medical service, and captain davis was engaged in working out the details. captain s. c. f. peile, who, in , had accompanied the bengal brigade of the field force as executive commissariat officer, had been selected to organize the supply business of the police force. he was ready to commence work early in april. the rains in burma begin in may. large numbers of the police were stationed in the eastern division, where cart traffic would soon become impossible, and also in the ruby mines and other districts, which would soon be cut off altogether. i had found at several places that the military police at outposts were not properly rationed and depended on the military commissariat, which might at any time be moved away. the question arose as to the best method of supplying our men. one of the conditions under which they had taken service was that they should, as in the army, get money compensation for dearness of provisions at a rate varying with the price of flour. the men of the indian army, when not on active service, ration themselves, and are paid on this principle. but this system presupposes that the necessary provisions are procurable in the local markets. the burman markets afford everything that a burman needs--burman caviare, a dainty that one has to be brought up to; tinned milk, biscuits, sardines, and other delicacies; but wheat flour, _ghi_ (clarified butter), and various pulses are not to be had. it is on such things that the fighting man from northern india lives. after discussing the question carefully with captain peile, it was determined, with the consent of the men, to give no compensation and to serve out rations to all at a fixed monthly charge. the central direction undertook to deliver sufficient supplies at the headquarters of each battalion. the distribution to the outposts was to be managed by the battalion officers with the battalion transport. i was able to say at the end of the year that the supply department had worked well, and that without its aid the organization of the military police could not have been effected. the system has stood the trial of more than twenty years, and it is doubtful whether any cheaper or better system could have been devised for the supply of a large force in similar circumstances. the same establishment under captain peile provided for the supply and renewal of clothing, arms, and ammunition. these matters and the work connected with the many parts of the administrative machine of the province gave me ample occupation in rangoon for some weeks. footnotes: [ ] "legend of gaudama," vol. ii., p. . (trübner, .) [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] _ibid._, p. . [ ] "legend of gaudama," vol. ii., p. . [ ] a summary of the measures taken in burma is given in the report of "the committee appointed by the philippine commission to investigate the use of opium and the traffic therein," which deals with the evidence in a sane and judicial manner. (see "the province of burma," by alleyne ireland, f.r.g.s., vol. ii., p. _et seq._) [ ] mr. g. m. s. carter had served in the police department in british burma for eleven years and had made a reputation for ability and knowledge of the people. in june, , he was appointed to be an assistant commissioner and posted to upper burma. mr. carter was one of the best executive officers in the commission, and his death in was a severe loss to the government and a sorrow to all of us, his comrades and friends. [ ] mr. todd taylor, c.s.i., c.i.e., died last year, after acting as financial commissioner of burma. [ ] amongst others, mr. burgess, mr. fryer, mr. symes, and mr. carter were asking for leave. of these only mr. fryer (sir frederic fryer, k.c.s.i.) is alive. the others are dead many years. [ ] mr. smeaton was at this time serving in the north-western (now united) provinces of india. chapter v dealing with dacoits it was about this time (may, ) that the news of the surrender of the limbin prince to mr. hildebrand, and the submission of the influential sawbwa of möngnai came to remove some of our anxieties. lord dufferin telegraphed his congratulations to me: "these circumstances," he said, "greatly clear the air." they proved in effect that we need not apprehend any very serious opposition in the shan states, and that there was no risk in holding that country with a small force during the rains, on which point there were apprehensions in some quarters. good news came also from upper burma. a noted gang, led by men of more force than the ordinary leaders of dacoits possessed, had surrendered to major ilderton, who commanded a post at wundwin, in the meiktila district. the gang was known by the name of the place, hmawwaing, where it made its retreat, and it had sustained several severe attacks before the leaders gave in, of whom two had been village headmen and the third had been a government servant under the king. the three had long worked together; and before the annexation they had dominated the northern part of meiktila. they were pardoned, and provision made for their support. two of them absconded. they soon found, however, that their influence was gone. the country was weary of them. one (maung kala) died of fever; a second (myat hmon) gave himself up again. the third (maung ohn), the most educated and best bred of them, had remained quiet. it was now necessary for me to return to upper burma, but i had not yet met mr. tucker, the commissioner of the eastern division. as the rains were beginning, and the extension of the railway beyond toungoo had not been opened, i asked mr. tucker to meet me at toungoo. i could not spare time to march up to his headquarters. the chief engineer of the mandalay railway, mr. buyers, was pushing on the line as fast as he could. he had many difficulties to contend with. the burmans, although coming readily to the work, were new to it. the working parties had to be protected; the heavy forest in some divisions of the line had to be cleared. i had seen mr. buyers and satisfied myself that work was going on well. i met mr. tucker, and received from him a fairly satisfactory account of his division. meiktila and yamèthin were almost quiet. pyinmana was a difficult tract to reduce to order. it is described in the _burma gazetteer_ as "one large forest with the exception of the immediate surroundings of pyinmana town and small patches of cultivation near the villages and streams." the station had been for some months almost besieged by dacoits, who took cover close to our lines. so much so that the postmaster, who came from a peaceful district, put up a notice closing the post-office as "urgent private affairs" compelled him to leave. it needed a good deal of peaceful persuasion to induce him to remain at his work. in april, may, and june the troops of sir william lockhart's command, aided to some extent by the police, were very active. the forests and all the hiding-places were thoroughly explored and for the time at least cleared of dacoits. meanwhile the civil officers, under the energetic direction of mr. h. st. g. tucker, vigorously disarmed the district, making full use of the men of local influence. by the middle of june, when mr. tucker met me, only small bands were left, who were forced to conceal themselves, and there was little trouble afterwards in this district. but the difficult country of the pegu yoma between pyinmana and the magwè district of the southern division continued to harbour dacoits until . i returned to rangoon from toungoo and left for upper burma on the th of june. going by the river, i stopped at all the towns on the way up, seeing the officers, inspecting every part of the administration, and discussing affairs. in lower burma the towns and villages showed their wonted comfort and prosperity, the boats were as numerous as ever, and the rice and other produce was waiting in abundance at the landing-places for the steamers. the disturbances had had little effect on trade. the country inland to the west of the river was still harassed by predatory gangs in the wilder parts, and the police did not appear able to suppress them. there was no need, however, for the aid of the soldiers. i was able to reduce the number of outposts occupied by troops, and i would have reduced them still more, but that the general commanding in lower burma was unable to provide barrack-room for the men occupying them. it was clearly time to take up the question of reducing the garrison of lower burma. it was not a good thing to accustom the civil officers, the police, or the people to depend on detachments of troops scattered over the country, and it certainly was not good for the discipline and efficiency of the men. the conduct of the soldiers, however, was excellent, and the people welcomed them. i found a general unwillingness to lose the sense of security which their presence gave; and possibly also the profits of dealings with them. the indian soldiers and the burmans were on excellent terms. even where the men were quartered in the monasteries the pongyis did not want them to leave.[ ] at thayetmyo the region of dacoit gangs and disturbances was reached. the main trouble appeared to be in what may be termed bo swè's country, which lay on the right bank of the river, reaching from the old british burma boundary to a line going westward with a slight southerly curve from minhla to the arakan mountains. part of the trouble i thought arose from the fact that the jurisdiction of the lower burma command had been extended so as to cover this country, while the civil jurisdiction belonged to the minbu district of upper burma. this impeded free communication between the civil and military authorities. i transferred the tract to thayetmyo, made it a subdivision of that district, and put a young and energetic officer in charge. the tract across the river was similarly treated. i was now in upper burma again. minbu on both sides of the river (it extended to both banks at this time) was very disturbed. Ôktama's power was not broken. villages were attacked and burnt, and friendly headmen were murdered. pagan, the next district, was not much better; and divided as it was by the river, and containing the troublesome yaw tract, the civil authorities were somewhat handicapped. from pagan i crossed over to pakokku, even then a fine trading town and the centre, as it still is, of the boat-building industry. the town in had a population of about , , which had increased in to , . it was well laid out with handsome avenues of tamarind-trees. standing on good sandy soil and well drained, it was a fine site for the headquarters of a district. the town and its neighbourhood had been skilfully governed by a lady, the widow of the old governor, who had died thirty years before. her son, a very fat and apparently stupid youth, was titular town-mayor (_myo-thugyi_); but because he was suspected of playing false, through fear of the insurgents, he had been superseded, and a stranger from lower burma appointed as magistrate. the wisdom of importing men from lower burma was always, to my mind, doubtful, and in this case was peculiarly open to objection, as it was a slight to the widow, who was undoubtedly an able woman, and had joined the british cause from the first. it was said that in she was ordered by the king's government to block the channel by sinking boats, of which there were always plenty at pakokku; she let all the upper burma craft go--for a consideration, of course--and sunk some boats which belonged to british burma. she was alleged to have made a thousand pounds by this transaction, which is very characteristic of the east. i called on this old lady and had some conversation with her, and i would gladly have seen more of her, as she appeared to be a woman of some power. it was arranged to remove the lower burman magistrate and to send an english assistant commissioner, who would work through the hereditary governor and his mother. at myingyan, the next station, i found the best of my officers was captain hastings,[ ] the commandant of the military police, who was fast making his men into a very fine battalion, with which before long he did excellent service. i waited at myingyan to see general sir robert low, who had been at mandalay. he was satisfied about the progress in his district, except in the country about salin, Ôktama's country, and in taundwingyi, which he said was full of dacoits, and would probably be their last abiding-place. it was a true prophecy, as i learnt to my sorrow. partly owing to the very difficult country on its east border, and partly, perhaps even more, to the incompetence and weakness of the local officers, this district became my shame and despair. but at this time i had not been over the taundwingyi country. my next halt was at myinmu, the headquarters of a subdivision of the sagaing district, on the right bank, about thirty miles below sagaing. mr. macnabb, a young soldier who had lately joined the commission, was there as subdivisional officer. his report was not very satisfactory. myinmu, for some reason or other, was especially obnoxious to the insurgents and was repeatedly attacked. even quite recently there has been some trouble at myinmu, although it is now a station on the railway which goes from sagaing to the chindwin. ava, which is a little further up on the opposite side of the river, was at that time a separate district. but except that it was the old capital of burma, and was a favourite ground for dacoits, there was no reason for keeping a deputy commissioner there, and little ordinary work for him. it was soon to be added to the sagaing district, to which it still belongs. there were no troops at this time at ava; the indian military police were good. i found the experiment of training burmans as military police still going on in ava. it will be remembered that the first idea was to recruit half the force from the burmans and other local races. the commandant called my attention to the gross waste of money that was involved in this experiment. the burman officers were hopelessly unfit. one had been imported from lower burma; the other was a half-caste, a poor specimen of his kind in every way. they were disbanded as soon as possible. [illustration: shwÈtakyat promontory opposite sagaing.] the dacoits hung about the country under the ava deputy commissioner for a long time. his jurisdiction did not extend over more than three hundred and fifty square miles, but it was harried by three noted guerilla leaders--shwè yan, who occupied the country on the borders of the kyauksè and ava districts; bo tok, who frequented the borders of ava and myingyan; and the third, shwè yan the second, who ravaged the south-west part of the district. the two last were killed by british troops. the first and the most formidable of the three was reported to have disappeared. it may be mentioned here, as illustrating the persistence of the insurgents and the apparently endless nature of the task, which demanded all our patience and perseverance, that in the spring of ava was as bad as ever. there were nineteen well-known leaders--"named varieties," as a gardener might call them--who, in the words of the official report, "held the countryside in terror." early in may, shwè yan, whose disappearance had been reported, was again on foot with a strong body of followers. a force of troops and police which encountered him lost two british officers. from ava i went over to sagaing and inspected the station and the police, and crossed to mandalay the same day. sir george white met me on landing, and i rode up with him to my quarters on the wall. this journey had occupied me eighteen days. i left rangoon on the th of june, and reached mandalay on the th. but the time had been well spent in gaining information and in making or renewing acquaintance with the district officers. i had inspected all stations on the way, and had been able to dispose of many questions on the spot. when i was not on shore, the office work and correspondence kept me busy. my secretary and i had to write on the skylight of the boat, as there was no accommodation of any kind except a few dressing-rooms below, which in that climate and at that season were suffocating. footnotes: [ ] the same is true of the british soldier, of whom in war or peace his countrymen cannot be proud enough. when, after the barracks were built at mandalay, a regiment (the royal munster fusiliers) was ordered to leave a great group of monasteries, the abbots and chief pongyis came to me with a petition to let the soldiers remain where they were. [ ] now major-general edward spence hastings, c.b., d.s.o., commanding the mandalay brigade. the myingyan battalion was in formed into the th burma battalion under its old commandant. chapter vi civil and military works nothing has been said as yet about roads and communications, the most powerful of all aids in pacifying a disturbed country. the plains of india in most provinces lend themselves to military operations, and for the greater part of the year an army can move about at will. in burma the long and heavy rains, the numerous streams, and the extensive and dense forests and jungles, make campaigning very difficult. the country, in sir george white's words, quoted before, "is one huge military obstacle." sir charles bernard had not lost sight of this part of his work. with the aid of mr. richard, of the public works department, a most able superintending engineer, as much as possible had been done. no time had been lost. in mandalay itself, in , fifteen miles of road had been re-formed, the bridges renewed and metal consolidated, and in the country generally more than two hundred miles of roads had been taken in hand and partially finished. tracks one hundred feet in width had been cleared of forest and jungle between many of the military posts, a work in which the military officers took a large part. as our occupation of the country became closer, more roads and more tracks were called for. these forest tracks can hardly be called engineering works, but they were of first importance for the free movement of troops. the time during which road-making can be carried on is short in burma, owing to the great rainfall. the dry zone in the centre of the province, where the climate is no impediment, is precisely the country where roads are least necessary. eastern governments as a rule trouble themselves very little about roads and public buildings of a useful kind. in burma there were pagodas and monasteries innumerable. but roads and prosaic buildings, such as court-houses and jails, received little attention. such a thing as a trunk road did not exist. controlling the engineering establishment in lower burma there was a chief engineer, who was also public works secretary. his hands were full. to ask him to supervise the work in the new province as well was to lay on him an impossible task and to ensure the waste of much money. a chief engineer for upper burma was appointed at my request, and major gracey, r.e., who was selected for the post, had arrived in burma. i have met with few men who had more power of work and of getting their subordinates to work, or who took greater care of the public money, than major gracey. on his arrival, in consultation with colonel cumming, the expenditure was examined and the whole situation discussed in rangoon, and afterwards both officers met me in mandalay. there was much difficulty in obtaining a sufficient number of engineers and a competent engineering establishment. the indian public works service in the higher grades is recruited in england, and the subordinates are appointed in india. service in burma was for many reasons unpopular with men trained in india. the other provinces were not anxious to part with their best men. hence the men who came to burma were frequently unwilling and sometimes not very efficient. the difficulty was to apportion the existing establishment as fairly as possible between the two provinces, so as to give major gracey a fair number of men with burman experience. with major gracey's help everything went on well, and as fast as possible. a list of the work done in would fill a page. the grant for military works in that year was £ , . permanent barracks at mandalay and bhamo, and a great number of temporary buildings to accommodate troops, were erected all over burma in the first year of major gracey's tenure. many of the temporary buildings were put up by military and civil officers; but after a time, all military buildings were carried out by the public works department. the civil works grant was nearly £ , . the provinces had no court-houses, no jails, no places of detention at the police stations, and no barracks or accommodation for the military police. two larger jails, one at mandalay for eight hundred prisoners and one at myingyan for one thousand, although not yet completed, were already occupied. of three smaller prisons at monywa, pagan, and minbu, one was finished and two partially, but enough to be of use. at ten stations small lock-ups were being built for persons arrested by the police. the jails and lock-ups were pressed on, because the existing arrangements for confining prisoners inherited from the burmese government were insufferable, and in some cases inhuman. provision had to be made for housing some thousands of military police. at the headquarters of eighteen districts accommodation had to be provided for about half a battalion, with hospitals, guard-rooms, magazines, and cook-houses. these buildings, especially the hospitals with accommodation for per cent. of the strength, were constructed of good permanent material. the barracks, officers' quarters, stables, and the like were built in the cheapest way consistent with comfort and health. the condition of the country in a year or two would permit, it was expected, of a reduction of the military police force, or at least of a change in its disposition; the barrack accommodation would not be permanently wanted, but the hospitals could be used for the civil population. added to all this building work, roads to the extent of five hundred miles, of which one hundred and fifty were hill roads, were laid out and made passable, raised and bridged in most cases, and in some places metalled. these works were scattered over the province from bhamo to the old frontier of british burma. in designing the roads it was remembered that the great trunk lines of communication were the great rivers in the centre and west of the province, and the railway in the east. all the main roads were designed to be feeders to the rivers or the rails. in addition to the larger roads, many hundreds of miles of tracks and rough district roads were cut through the forest and jungles, and a survey was begun, to open up the difficult yaw country, through which we had afterwards to push troops. (_vide_ chapter xxi.). i think it may be claimed that our engineers did their duty. the middle of upper burma, the dry zone, as it is called, differs in climatic conditions from the country to the south and north of it. the rainfall is deficient, and droughts, sometimes severe, are not unknown. the burmese rulers were capable of large conceptions, but they lacked skill; and their great irrigation schemes, attempted without sufficient science, were foredoomed to failure. the largest works of this class existing, when we took the country, were the mandalay and shwèbo canals, which were of little use, as even where the construction was not faulty they had been allowed to go to ruin. in kyauksè salin (minbu district) and elsewhere there were extensive canals of a less ambitious nature, which although neglected were still of much service. even in the turmoil of and the pressure of what was in fact a state of war, sir charles bernard found time to attend to the irrigation systems; and as soon as a skilled engineer could be obtained from india, and funds allotted, the work of irrigation was tackled in earnest. the first business was to examine the existing systems and see whether they could be made use of. before i left burma in december, , i had the pleasure of knowing that this work was in hand, and that further deterioration from neglect had been stopped, and also that new schemes were under consideration. the expenditure in upper burma at this time was very great. an army of fourteen thousand men cannot be kept in the field for nothing. the military police force was a second army, and there was besides all the cost of the civil administration. the incoming revenue was in comparison insignificant. in - it had been £ , in round numbers, in - it rose to £ , --not enough to cover the public works expenditure alone. it was not wonderful, therefore, that the government of india, whose finances at the time were by no means happy, should be nervous about the expenditure. they were most gentle and considerate in the matter; and although it was evident that our success in burma would be measured in england mainly by the financial results, no pressure was put upon me to get in revenue, and i felt the pinch chiefly in the difficulty of getting an adequate and competent engineering establishment and immediate funds for works, the urgency of which was less apparent to the government of india than to me on the spot. with lord dufferin's backing i obtained what i wanted, and i hope i did not exhibit an indecent importunity. i had considered and reported to the finance department all possible means of raising the revenue. on the whole, my conclusion was that we had to look rather to existing sources than to new taxation, which in a country not yet completely subdued and of which we had imperfect knowledge would have been inexpedient. the excise revenue might have been made profitable, but we were debarred from interfering for the time with the regulations made and sanctioned (somewhat hastily, perhaps) by the government of india, immediately after the annexation. under the circumstance, the best and quickest method of improving the financial conditions was clearly the reduction of the field force. this was already under discussion. the initial step had been taken and one regiment of native infantry had been sent back to india. the military police had begun to relieve the troops in the outposts. the major-general, sir george white (who in addition to his merits as a gallant leader and good strategist, was an able administrator), was careful always of public money, and in perfect accord with the civil administration. he desired his men to be relieved as quickly as possible. it was a matter, however, in which it was unsafe to rush, and in which a heavy responsibility rested on me. events were happening from time to time which warned us that we were not yet out of the wood. on the rd of june, for example, the troops at pyinulwin, forty miles from mandalay, led by colonel may, had attacked a stockade held on behalf of the setkya mintha, a pretender. darrah, assistant commissioner, was killed, an officer named cuppage badly wounded, and several men lost. hkam leng (see chapter xx.) was active in the möngmit country. [illustration: "the moat," mandalay. and north wall of fort dufferin.] the commissioners of the northern and central divisions were urging me to have the large and numerous islands between mandalay and sagaing cleared of the gangs who held them. they represented the necessity of a river patrol. the cry from the southern division was for launches. the commissioner wrote that the only boat in his division fit for service was that assigned to the military authorities; and this was the day after captain hext's arrival on his mission from india, to persuade me to reduce my demand for boats. the deputy commissioner for mandalay reported that there was a dacoit leader stockaded within forty miles of mandalay, and that he was unable to get a force to turn him out of his position. at the same time (july, ) bad news came from the ye-u district. two pretenders had appeared with a considerable following. as a prelude they had burnt villages, crucified one of the village headmen, and committed other brutalities. the civil administration was obliged to ask for help from the soldiers in this case. the weather was fine, and the country which these men had occupied was a good field for cavalry. the hyderabad cavalry were in the field at once, and the inspector-general of police was able to get together a hundred mounted military police and send them to help. a force from the chindwin side co-operated. the gathering was very soon scattered. one of the leaders died of fever and the other escaped for a time, but was afterwards captured in the lower chindwin district, where he was attempting to organize another rising. i was compelled in sagaing also to ask sir george white's assistance. the sagaing police battalion was backward in training and not fit for outpost work in a bad district. the death of hla u had been expected to bring peace. but it now appeared that the district on both sides of the mu was in the hands of three or four dacoit leaders who collected a fixed revenue from each village, which was spared so long as the demand was paid. any headman who failed to pay was murdered remorselessly. in some cases the man's wife and children were killed before his face, to add to the sting of death. the system in the sagaing and other districts much resembled--in its machinery, not altogether in its methods--the organization of the nationalists in ireland. at my request sir george white consented to occupy the district closely, and although the gangs were not caught or brought to justice, some protection was given to the peaceful part of the population until we were ready later on to take the district in hand and destroy the gangs. in sagaing, as in some other cases, the local officers had been ignorant of what was going on around them. it was believed to be quiet because we had no touch with the people, and they told us nothing. the intention in referring to these events is to show why caution was needed in the matter of relieving the troops. it must be remembered that a very large proportion of the military police had received very little training before their arrival. with the exception of some two thousand men, all were recruits entirely untaught in drill or discipline. the employment of such raw men on outpost duty under native officers whom they did not know was not without risk. in many cases the risk had to be faced, and consequently some disasters were inevitable. progress was slow, but under the conditions it was good. "to instil discipline into so large a body of young soldiers," wrote the inspector-general (general stedman), "was a far more difficult task than to teach them the rudiments of drill. by discipline must be understood not only good conduct in quarters and prompt obedience to the orders of superiors, but the necessity of sticking to one another in the field and the habit of working together as a welded body." before i left mandalay again for lower burma, sir george white and i had arrived at an agreement regarding the force which it was necessary to keep up. we were able to propose the abolition of the field force and the reduction of the garrison by one regiment of british infantry, two regiments of indian cavalry, eight regiments of indian infantry, and one british mountain battery. the allocation of the troops and police was reviewed in consultation with the commissioners of divisions and so made that the one force supplemented the other. the reduction was to take effect from the spring of . we were now about to enter on a new development of the british occupation. the civil officers, supported by the military police, were to take the responsibility of keeping order. the soldiers were there ready to help if need be, but they were not to be called out except for operations beyond the power of the police. chapter vii a visit to bhamo i had arranged to hold a durbar at mandalay on the th of august, in order to meet the notables of burma, and such of the shan chiefs as might be able to come, face to face, and to make them understand the position, the intentions, and the power of the british government. i hoped, perhaps not in vain, that the spirit of my words might penetrate to the towns and villages of burma. meanwhile i had not visited bhamo, and i decided to go there. i had sent for mr. hildebrand, whom i wanted to consult about the operations in the shan states which were to be undertaken in the coming cold season. he arrived before i left mandalay for bhamo, and as he evidently needed rest, i asked him to remain at government house until my return. i found bhamo a disappointing place. a very dirty, miserable kind of village, arranged in two streets parallel to the river. at the back lay a marsh or lagoon, which evidently was at one time a channel for the backwater of the river. conservancy there was none, and the stench from the streets, the lagoon, and even the bank of the river was sickening. considering that the place had been the headquarters of a district since our occupation, and a cantonment for british and indian troops, it was not much to be proud of. but the soldiers and the civil officers had been well occupied with more pressing business. the chinese were the most prominent of the population. they were all, it was said, opium smokers, and seldom moved until near midday. they managed notwithstanding to make money, and to retire with fortunes after a few years. i anticipated a large increase of the trade with china, but doubted if the town could grow much on its present site.[ ] as to the trade, it could not make much progress on account of the cost of transport between bhamo and tengyueh, the risk of attack by kachins, and the exactions and oppressions of the chinese customs officials, who at one time had maintained a _likin_ station within the british boundary not far from bhamo. there was another route used by traders, which went by mansi and namkham, a shan state on the shwèli. since the kachins in the country south of bhamo have been subjugated, the chinese caravans have preferred the namkham route; and at present although the kachins have ceased to raid, and much has been done of late to improve the road to tengyueh, the trade has not returned to that channel. a survey for a light railway to tengyueh has been made, but a strange indifference exists to the benefits certain, as i think, to result from making the line. the construction of a railway between northern burma and yunnan has always appeared to me essential to the full development of the province. the opportunity has been lost and france has anticipated us. it would be a difficult and expensive work no doubt, but whether more difficult than the french line may be doubted. even now, after twenty years, it has not been surveyed beyond the kunlon ferry, and the opinion of persons without engineering knowledge has been accepted as sufficient to condemn it. but we may still hope. napoleon crossing the alps might have scoffed at the notion of a railway to italy. there is a vast area of land in upper burma waiting for population to cultivate it, and if communications were made easy, the chinese shans and possibly chinese and panthays from yunnan might be induced to settle in the northern districts. the chinese and burmans are akin, and the offspring of chinese fathers and burman mothers have the good qualities of both races, which cannot be said of other crosses. i returned to mandalay from bhamo before the end of july, having learnt and arranged much, especially in consultation with major adamson, the deputy commissioner, regarding the contemplated occupation of mogaung. the stations on the river were all inspected on the way down. i found mr. hildebrand waiting for me, and discussed with him and with sir george white the plans for an expedition to the shan states. the durbar was held on the th of august, and i think was a useful function. it was held in the great eastern hall of the palace, the place where the king of burma used to give audience to his feudatories and his people. the ex-ministers and some of the shan sawbwas were present, and the great hall was crowded with notables and officials from mandalay and other districts. it must have been to them a striking occasion, and to many of them, perhaps, not altogether pleasant. to such as had any patriotic feeling, and no doubt many of them had, the representative of a foreign government standing in front of the empty throne must have been the abomination of desolation standing where it ought not.[ ] my duty, however, was not to show sympathy with sentiment of this kind, but to impress them with the permanence, the benevolence, and the power of the new government. in an appendix i have given the text of my speech and some comments upon it taken from an article in the _times_ newspaper of the th of september, . two of the high burman officials who had formerly been in the king's service, the kinwun mingyi, one of the ministers of the state, and the myowun, or city governor of mandalay, both of whom had given great assistance to the british government, received decorations. the former was made a companion of the star of india and the latter of the indian empire. i was glad to get the following commendation from lord dufferin. he wrote: "i congratulate you on your durbar and upon the excellent speech you made on the occasion. it was full of go and good sense, and will convince everybody that you really mean business." there were fresh rumours at this time (august, ) of hostile intentions on the part of the chinese, of gatherings of soldiers and bandits on the frontier, of the presence of auxiliaries from yunnan with san ton hon in theinni. there was no foundation in fact for any of these rumours; mr. warry, the chinese adviser, placed no faith in them, and i did not believe in them. but they were repeated in the newspapers, magnified in gossip, and disturbed the public mind. the best way of silencing these rumours was to make our occupation of the northernmost district, mogaung, effectual, and to establish a definite control in the shan states. in concert with the major-general, proposals for effecting both these objects had been prepared and were before the government of india, and i knew that the viceroy approved them. in neither case was serious opposition expected. detailed accounts of both movements will be found in separate chapters of this book. in the case of the shan states, the character of the expedition was essentially peaceful and conciliatory. the escorts given to the two civil officers were strong enough to deter, or if necessary overcome, opposition and support the dignity of our representatives. but unless hostilities broke out, in which case the military commanders would necessarily become supreme, the control was vested in the senior civil officer, mr. hildebrand. it is unnecessary to say more here, except that with sir george white's help everything was done to keep down the cost. not a man more than was absolutely necessary was sent. the shan plateau, at this time nowhere prosperous, was in some parts on the verge of famine; not from drought or other climatic cause, but simply from the cat-and-dog life the people had led for some years. no supplies could be obtained in the country. it was necessary to ration the troops for four or five months, and the cost of transport was heavy. every one felt, however, that cost what it might, the work we had undertaken must be completed. nothing could have justified us in leaving the shan country any longer in a state of anarchy; and i doubt if even the most narrow-minded under secretary in the financial department dared to raise objections to the needful expenditure. it may be permitted to say here that no money was better spent. the shan plateau for lovely scenery, for good climate, and i believe for its natural wealth, is proving itself a most valuable possession. lord dufferin thoroughly approved of the action taken in these cases. it was a relief to deal with these larger matters. they were less harassing than the constant stream of administrative details of every kind which leave a man at the head of a large province barely time to think of his most important problems. the demands from the secretary of state for information, which came through the government of india, wasted a great deal of time. members of parliament who cannot force themselves into notice in other ways, take up a subject like burma, of which no one knows anything, and ask questions which the secretary of state has to answer. frequently there was little foundation for these questions, and when the call came to answer them, it took both time and labour to ascertain what they were all about. correspondents of newspapers, not so much perhaps out of malice--although that is not quite unknown--as from the necessities of their profession are greedy for sensational news. they know that the english public prefer to think that their servants abroad are either fools or scoundrels. if everything is reported to be going well and the officers to be doing their duty, few will credit it, and none will be interested in it. but hint vaguely at dark intrigues or horrible atrocities, ears are cocked at once, and the newspaper boys sweep in the pence. few of the uninitiated would believe how much time has to be given by the head of an indian province to the placing of his men. in a climate like burma, and under the conditions obtaining in , frequent and sudden sickness compels officers to take leave. the civil staff of the province was barely sufficient if no losses occurred. if a man fell out it was often difficult to supply his place, and if a good man went down, as they often did, it was sometimes impossible to find a good man to succeed him. writing to lord dufferin at this time (september, ) of one of the worst districts, i said: "i have not been able to put a good man there yet, but i hope to have a man soon. it all depends on getting hold of the right man." in a settled province the personal factor is not so important; but in a newly annexed country it is everything. even in the oldest province in india, if a fool is put in charge of a district and kept there long enough you will have trouble of some sort. much has been heard of late years of the evils of transfers, and even viceroys have talked as if the carelessness or favouritism of provincial governors were responsible for the mischief. the real cause in my experience is the inadequacy of the staff of officers. if one man falls sick and has to leave his district, two or three transfers may become inevitable. the government of india realize no doubt that the staff, of the smaller provinces especially, is inadequate. if they give a liberal allowance of englishmen the expense is increased and promotion becomes too slow. if they cut down the staff, the head of the province has to tear his hair and worry through somehow. footnotes: [ ] the population was , in , and , in , of which number , were natives of india. these numbers include the garrison. [ ] this was written before the removal of the capital of india from delhi to calcutta. chapter viii disarmament: trouble in pagyi it was in rangoon at this time that i made up my mind to disarm the whole province, upper and lower, rigorously, as soon as possible. i wrote to lord dufferin on september , , as follows: "i am of opinion that the time has come for the complete disarming of the whole province, except perhaps on some exposed frontiers. the firearms in the hands of dacoits are evidently much fewer, but they continually replenish their stock by taking arms from villagers and burman police. i would temper the measure in the lower province by giving arms to selected karens and burmans, who should enrol themselves as special constables. as the burmans hate nothing so much as signing any engagement to serve for a term, few of them would enrol themselves. "i should fix the number of such special police myself, for each district." the baptist missionaries, i feared, would not look upon the scheme with favour. the loyalty of the karens and the benefits of their organization under their missionaries, to whom the government, as i have said on a former page, owes much, were not questioned. but it was not admissible that the government of burma should prefer one race more than another, and i had been warned by one of the missionaries themselves that burman ill-will had been excited by the preference given to karens in raising bodies of police auxiliaries during the disturbances. by laying down conditions, fair and necessary in themselves, which men of the one race were likely to accept, but would be less acceptable to the other, as much discrimination was made between karens and burmans as was needful or decent. in upper burma, sir charles bernard had ordered the withdrawal of firearms from the villagers, soon after the annexation. it was not possible to carry it out effectually at that time. it was not until that i had arranged all the details and could put the orders fully into force. it is admitted generally to have been a beneficial measure, and to have helped very much to pacify the country and to put down dacoity. it is a pity that the disarmament of lower burma had not been enforced many years before. but no accumulation of facts are enough to destroy a prejudice, and for a long time my action was violently, i might say virulently, denounced in the press and in parliament. the wisdom and necessity of this measure has come, i think, to be admitted by most people and was never doubted by my successors, who wisely disarmed the chins at the cost of a serious rising and a hill campaign. the number of firearms taken from the villagers amounted in the years and to many thousands. most of them were very antiquated and fit for a museum of ancient weapons. but they served the purpose of the burman brigand, and not a few good men, british and indian, died by them. the village regulation was passed on october , . it established on a legal basis the ancient and still existing constitution of upper burma. while emphasizing the responsibility of the village headman, it gave him sufficient powers and the support of the law. it also enacted the joint responsibility of the village in the case of certain crimes; the duty of all to resist the attacks of gangs of robbers and to take measures to protect their villages against such attacks. in the case of stolen cattle which were traced to a village, it placed on it the duty of carrying on the tracks or paying for the cattle. it gave the district officer power to remove from a village, and cause to reside elsewhere, persons who were aiding and abetting dacoits and criminals. this enactment, the genesis of which i have given in a former chapter, was framed in accordance with the old customary law and with the feelings of the people. it strengthened our hands more and gave us a tighter grip on the country than anything else could have done. without the military police no law could have done much. without the village regulation, the military police would have been like a ship without a rudder. when the open season of - began, the administration was in a strong position to deal with the disorder still prevailing. it was prepared as it never had been before. there was the law enforcing village responsibility, and enabling the magistrate to deal summarily with the persons who were really the life of dacoity; those who, living an apparently honest life, were the intelligence and commissariat agents of the gangs. all the details of disarmament had not been settled, but every opportunity was taken of withdrawing arms, and in the case of dacoit leaders or their followers, or of rebel villages, the surrender of a certain number of firearms was made a condition of the grant of pardon. lastly, the military police organization was complete, and the physical force needed to enforce the law was thus provided in a ready and convenient form. the rains were over, and i anticipated that the dacoits would again become active. i also thought it probable that the inexperienced police would meet with some disasters. the country now in the thayetmyo district, frequented by bo swè, was quieter. he was a fugitive with a diminished following. early in october we were cheered by the news of his destruction. the viceroy wired his congratulations. it may seem unworthy of the government of a great country to rejoice at the death of a brigand whose influence did not extend over more than a few hundred square miles. it was not the man's death, but all that it meant. a sign of the coming end--slowly coming, it may be, but still the coming end--of a very weary struggle with a system of resistance which was costing us many good men and a lavish expenditure of money. bo swè was ridden down by a party of colonel clements' mounted infantry belonging to the lower burma command. he and his men were surprised in a ravine, and many, including bo swè, killed. there were still left the broken remnants of the leader's following. active officers, with special powers and sufficient police, were placed in charge of the northern subdivisions of the thayetmyo district on both sides of the river, and order was established before the end of . but in upper burma the districts of the southern division remained in a very bad state. Ôktama was still master, especially in the valley of the môn. i had not found the right men for minbu, and the weakness of the civil administration was represented as an evil, not without reason, by the military commanders. the following extract from a letter dated st of october, , from the commissioner of the southern division will give a better idea of the state of things than mere general phrases:-- "on th august, po saung, an informer, was caught and killed by bo cho's gang in pagan. "on th august, yan sin, a dacoit who had submitted, was caught and killed by nga kway in pagan. "on th september, at kôkkozu village in pauk, the dacoits tried to catch the thugyi, but failed, and caught and murdered his wife. "su gaung, a mounted police constable, was shot while carrying letters between myingyan and natogyi on th september. "in lindaung, pagan district, the thugyi was murdered a month ago and thade's gang on th september attempted to capture his son, but failed, and plundered the village. "on th september, nurtama in minbu, which is the headquarters of the kyabin myoôk, was attacked. the myoôk's and seven other houses were burned; no one was killed. the myoôk lived here in fear of his life for some time. he sleeps at night at sinbyugyun, on the other side of the salin creek, and if he sleeps at nurtama he does not sleep in his own house, but in a little post which he has built. he has taken a guard of ten men from sinbyugyun. "on th september at sagyun, in myingyan district, custance's interpreter and the thugyi of welôn were breakfasting in the village; they were attacked, and the interpreter killed, his head being nearly severed from his body. the thugyi escaped with a slight wound." more than one attack was made on yénangyaung, the village near the oil-wells, with the object of killing the burman headman. the raiders did not secure him, but they carried off his wife and daughter and set fire to a number of boats, loaded with oil. the military police (a few raw punjabis without a british officer) were flurried and did nothing. these attacks made them nervous, and shortly afterwards, taking a forest officer, who was going down the river with a white umbrella[ ] over his head, for a leader of rebels, they fired volleys at him until he and his crew had to get out of the boat and cling to the side of it. fortunately the men shot badly and no one was hit. the forest officer complained loudly of the indignity he had suffered, which he thought was not within the letter of his bond. it was believed that the men who had made the attack on yénangyaung had come from the right bank of the irrawaddy river. there was a patrol launch on this part of the river, and it had called several times at yénangyaung before the attack. we had not enough boats to patrol a long stretch of river effectually, and it was easy for the dacoits to watch the steamer as it went up or down and time their crossing. the commissioner, therefore, collected the boats on the right bank and put them under guards until confidence was restored. the towns on the left bank below pagan were reported to live in dread of attack. meanwhile trouble broke out in the chindwin district, on the west of the river. two leaders of revolt had appeared in this region. one was the bayingan, or viceroy, of the myingun prince whose name has already been mentioned. he was known to have left the mandalay district with the object of raising a disturbance in the chindwin. the other was a person called the shwègyobyu prince, who at the time of the annexation had been a vaccinator in the government service in the thayetmyo district. he must have been a man of considerable character and ambition, for when the war began he went up to the chindwin country and established himself at kanlè, in the difficult hills of the pondaung range. he assumed, with what right is not known, the style and title of "prince," and proceeded to enrol men to resist the foreigners. while we were congratulating ourselves on the destruction of bo swè and his gang, news came down that pagyi was up. as yet we had not been able to occupy this region. it was a country of hills and ravines, densely wooded and also very unhealthy. it had been impossible to find civil officers to administer it, or men, either soldiers or police, to occupy it. the people had always more or less managed their own affairs under their own headmen, and as a temporary makeshift we had endeavoured to continue this arrangement. one, maung po. o, had been appointed an honorary head constable, and had hitherto maintained order in the south-west corner of pagyi, and maung tha gyi, an influential headman, held a similar position in the north-west and had done well and had acted with loyalty. the villages under maung tha gyi, a group of small hamlets of twenty to thirty houses each, lay in the thick scrub jungle on the spurs of the pondaung range. a leader named bo sawbwa, who was acting in the interests of the shwègyobyu prince and had fortified himself in the jungles south of pagyi, attacked and carried off po. o. at the same time maung tha gyi suddenly threw off his allegiance to the british, collected men, and fortified a position near one of his villages. he was reported to be ready to join the shwègyobyu prince, who ever since his gang was dispersed in had been harboured by a circle of villages in the west of pagyi. on receipt of this intelligence every precaution was taken. sir george white sent colonel symons to take command of the military operations, and i selected mr. carter as the best man to accompany him as a civil officer with magisterial powers. captain raikes was deputy commissioner of the chindwin district at the time. he was away on leave, and mr. w. t. morison,[ ] of the indian civil service, bombay presidency, was acting for him and was at alôn, the district headquarters on the left bank of the chindwin river. mr. w. t. morison was a young officer of five or six years' service and had been in burma a very short time. he was one of the young men, of whom there were not a few in burma, who took instinctively to the work. on the nd of october he crossed over to the disturbed tract and joined lieutenant plumer, who, with a detachment of the nd hyderabad contingent infantry, was at hlawga, a march west from the river. mr. morison wrote at once to maung tha gyi, ordering him to come in. tha gyi, who was at one of his villages, chaungwa, about sixteen miles from hlawga, sent an evasive reply and began to collect men and arms. mr. morison decided to try to surprise him. on the morning of the th of october, lieutenant plumer and mr. morison, with twenty-one mounted infantry, from the military police battalion, and the hyderabad contingent, left hlawga soon after midnight, and surprised chaungwa at four o'clock in the morning, when it was still dark. the village, when day broke, was found to be on the west bank of a deep ravine, at the bottom of which was the only cart-road. on the steep bank on which the village stood strong fortifications and entrenchments, commanding this cart-road, had been built; trees had been felled and thrown across, and the road covered with bamboo spikes. our men were led by an excellent guide, who took them through the jungle across the ravine and up to one of the enemy's outposts. twenty-one men could not surround the village, but they rushed it, killing one only and capturing six. the leaders, who were found to have been the bayingan and maung tha gyi, escaped. nine ponies tied near the house occupied by the former were taken, and in the house were found twenty royal battle standards, many arms, and much correspondence. after a halt for rest, the main body, fifteen rifles with the prisoners and captured ponies, were sent off. lieutenant plumer and mr. morison, with a jemadar and six mounted military policemen and a burmese interpreter, remained behind, hoping that some of the enemy would return and fall into their hands. the burmans, however, were not so simple. after a short delay the two british officers and their men set out to follow the main body. the moment they reached the ravine a volley was fired from the perpendicular bank opposite the village. maung po min, the interpreter, was shot in the leg, his pony killed, and mr. morison's hand was grazed by a bullet. mr. morison, who was well mounted, took po min up behind him, and they all scrambled up the western bank of the ravine, hoping to be able to see the dacoits and return their fire. a few volleys were fired at random, as the enemy could not be seen; and then, fearing further ambuscades, the small party took a jungle track, hoping it would lead round into the main road lower down. the village of chaungwa is on the spurs of a low range of hills. the jungle is of the densest, and cut up in every direction by deep ravines, and they had no guide. the track was evidently taking them in a wrong direction. they resolved to leave it and make as nearly due east as they could. [illustration: outer bamboo stockade of burmese frontier village.] the rest of the story can best be told in mr. morison's own words, taken from a letter to the commissioner of the central division, dated camp kyadet, the th of october, :-- "after about fifteen minutes the dacoits, who had followed us, opened fire on us from about yards in the front, they being quite concealed. after one volley they would retire, allow us to go forward yards, then go round in front and give us another volley. we had at each volley to dismount and try and return their fire as best we could. but from first to last the dacoits were invisible and under complete cover, and, knowing the jungle, had time to go ahead, lie in wait for us, and take aim. this continued for over an hour. our horses were completely done out with going down and up the precipitous ravines, and the ravines became at last quite impassable for horses. so after a consultation we determined to leave our ponies and make our way east on foot. shortly after leaving the ponies one of the men, amir mahomed, was shot dead in the head from one of the usual ambuscades. that the others of our party escaped appears a miracle to me. however, after about two hours, _i.e._, about a.m., the firing ceased, and we managed, exhausted as we were, to get clear of the jungle by p.m., going yards at a time and then lying down to rest. we arrived at mintainbin at p.m. and hlawga at . our loss was thus one man killed and seven police ponies, with saddles and bridles, left.... the men behaved well throughout the affair." if the ponies had not been left there would have been little chance of the men escaping from the jungle with their lives. unfortunately, the mass of the bayingan's correspondence was in one of the saddle-bags abandoned with the ponies. some of the documents saved were copies of notices to noted leaders in many districts of upper burma and the shan states. the following is a translation of one of them:-- "i, the bayingan prince, brother of the myingun prince, write to the chief bo nyo u and other chiefs in sagaing as follows. i have been to all sawbwas, bo gyôks (chief bos), and other bos of the north, south, and east, and have given orders and administered oaths which they have taken; they have promised to serve loyally, and we intend to drive the british from kani and pagyi and take alôn, shwèbo, dabayen, &c., and go up to mandalay in month of tazaungmôn." careful inquiries showed that maung ba, the bayingan prince, arrived in pagyi in the end of september and came to maung tha gyi. since his arrival he had been corresponding with the shwègyobyu prince and other bos in this part, and had actually sent over to yaw for assistance. he had friends in alôn and elsewhere. a letter from kin le gyi (a maid-of-honour to supayalat, who had since the war taken contracts for public works in monywa and elsewhere, and had been trusted by the british officials) was found in the prince's house, saying that she was going up to alôn to see how the troops were disposed and what all the officers were doing, and that she would write to him on her return. this is very characteristic of the burman woman. on the th of october morison was back at kyadet, in the south of pagyi, where there was a military post, and consulted with major kennedy, commanding the nd hyderabad contingent infantry, who arrived with a reinforcement of seventy rifles. they decided to telegraph for more troops. this request had been anticipated. unfortunately, major kennedy did not wait for the reinforcements. hearing that the bayingan and tha gyi had taken up a position at chinbyit, about twenty miles from kyadet, he left with a few mounted infantry. he was accompanied by captain beville, assistant commissioner, who had been posted to the district to enable mr. morison to return to his headquarters at alôn. the rebels, who were in strength and in a good position, stood, and both major kennedy and captain beville were killed. the rebels lost forty men, killed. the seventy rifles, under lieutenant plumer ( nd hyderabad contingent infantry), came up in time to complete the defeat of the enemy. it was reported at the time that the leaders had escaped. afterwards it was found that maung tha gyi and the bayingan prince had both been killed.[ ] nga pyo, a notorious rebel and dacoit leader, was present, but did not expose himself, and lived until , to be assassinated by a colleague. whether the shwègyobyu prince was there is doubtful. the action at chinbyit cost us much. lord dufferin wrote: "it is too distressing to think that so slight an affair should have cost us the lives of two valuable officers." their lives were not thrown away. the loss inflicted on the enemy was severe, and the death of the bayingan prince put an end to a troublesome organization. footnotes: [ ] the white umbrella is a token of royalty. [ ] wm. thomson morison, c.s.i., member of executive council of the governor of bombay. [ ] mr. carter records in the official diary of his work in pagyi with colonel symons, under date th of november, : "at chinbyit visited scene of late fight. the villagers pointed out the skeleton of the bayengan. the body had been left where it had fallen, a few bushes and stones being placed over it to keep off dogs and vultures." chapter ix trouble with the wuntho sawbwa i left rangoon on the th of november, after arranging the measures necessary for commencing the disarmament of the province at the beginning of the new year. there were two districts in lower burma giving trouble at that time--tharrawaddy in the pegu division and thayetmyo. tharrawaddy has always been a sore spot.[ ] in the early part of it was brought into a more orderly state; but towards the end of the year, owing in a great measure to the action of the local officers in issuing licences for firearms to the villagers, the gangs were able to obtain weapons, and crime increased to such a degree that strenuous measures had to be adopted. i went to thayetmyo, and there met the local officers and heard what account they had to give. they reported the remaining gangs to be small. parties of mounted infantry, with active police and civil officers, were told off to work both sides of the river, and a great improvement was effected in a few months. i marched from thayetmyo to minhla, about seventy miles, having all the neighbouring villagers collected to meet me at each halting-place. they were encouraged to talk freely and tell their grievances. they complained only of the impressment of carts and such-like matters inseparable from the constant movement of troops and the disturbed times. that they had suffered a good deal between the upper and the nether millstone--the government and the dacoits--may be easily believed. but it was in great part their own fault, as they would not give our officers information. [illustration: consultation of village headmen with chief commissioner.] the country through which we marched was mostly dense forest and jungle, with very few villages. it was only necessary to see it to understand the difficulty of beating out of such cover small gangs of active men, unencumbered by anything except their arms, and able to get food from any hamlet. the wonder is that with a mere handful of mounted infantry at their disposal, our officers were able to run the dacoits down and exterminate them in so short a time. sir benjamin simpson, k.c.i.e., surgeon-general, with the government of india, who had been sent over by the government to advise me about the medical establishments of the military police and of the province generally, accompanied me on this march. from minhla i went to minbu and saw the officers there. i then went on to pagan. in order to see the country about popa, i rode from pagan to popa and back by another road. this country is very wild and densely wooded. it would seem to one riding through it to be uncultivated, but this is not the case. all the bottoms of the slopes are cultivated, and there are numerous shallow streams which in the dry weather have no water in them. the villages were few and poor-looking, mere huts with palm-leaf thatch. the cattle, however, were numerous and good, carts stood in all the villages. not a man was to be seen anywhere, only women and children. we had lost our way and wanted a guide, and eventually were fain to ask for two women to show us the way. it is no wonder that popa was the home of dacoits. most of the people seemed at this time to live by stealing cattle from the neighbouring and more populous districts. once they got the cattle into their villages, they kept them in enclosures, hidden away in the jungle, until they could drive them off to a distant market. this country was not brought under control for two years. from pagan i crossed to pakokku and saw the wunkadaw and her son, and mr. browning the assistant commissioner, and then went on to myingyan. i had only time to inspect the station and see the officers and talk to brigadier-general low, when a telegram came from sir george white asking me to come up to mandalay at once, as trouble threatened with the wuntho sawbwa. this man's territory lay in a hilly country lying between the katha district and the chindwin river. he had been from the first year of our occupation a source of trouble; he refused to come in, and at one time objected to pay his tribute. early in ' the commissioner of the northern division, mr. burgess, went to the town of wuntho, which is on the eastern extremity of his country, and is not his real capital although he takes his title from it, to meet him. mr. burgess was accompanied by a military force. the matter was then arranged by the sawbwa paying his tribute, but he refused to see our officers, and continued to give trouble by harbouring dacoits and insurgents who raided our territory. it was the fixed policy of lord dufferin to preserve so far as might be these autonomous states. i have explained elsewhere how it came about that shan states existed in this part of burma, separated as they were by position and in their politics from the body of states on the shan plateau. every endeavour was made therefore to smooth matters and not to quarrel with the wuntho man, whom we believed, and perhaps justly, to be actuated more by fear than by determined hostility. the circumstances which led sir george white to call me to mandalay were these. a regiment of gurkhas was coming across from india to relieve another which had been some time in burma. it was convenient to bring the relieving regiment down by the kabaw valley to the chindwin, where they would meet the other. a road had been selected through the wuntho territory by which both regiments should march. they were to meet on the chindwin and exchange transport trains, thus saving expense and trouble. this was a natural arrangement. the route did not pass through the sawbwa's capital. the military authorities had satisfied themselves that it was practicable for troops. i agreed to the proposal, caused the matter to be carefully explained to the sawbwa, and directed him to collect supplies and to clear the roads. the sawbwa replied, objecting to our troops passing through, and proposing an alternative route to which he had no objection. he based his opposition on the ground of personal fear, and referred to our assurance that wuntho should not be occupied. i considered that we could not allow the sawbwa to close his territory to us, and after consulting the major-general, i told the sawbwa through the deputy commissioner of katha that the regiments must march by the road we had chosen. rumours had been heard for some time that the sawbwa was blocking his roads and preparing to oppose us in force. general white wished me to come up at once as the regiment leaving burma had reached kawlin, which is on the verge of wuntho territory, and it was necessary to decide on the action to be taken in case its march was opposed. i decided to let it wait at kawlin for ten days in order to give the sawbwa time to reply to my order, utilising the delay by making arrangements to support and strengthen the gurkhas in case we should have to fight. soon after this decision had been reached, sir george white sent me a telegram from the colonel commanding the rd, dated from kawlin, to the effect that the route by which he had been ordered to march was impracticable, and that the attempt to march along it would be opposed. general white advised the acceptance of the sawbwa's alternative route, which was reported to have been prepared and supplied with provisions. as my order sent through the deputy commissioner had been couched in very peremptory terms, i felt it inadvisable to withdraw. the sawbwa was reported to be making preparations for opposing us by force, and if we drew back now our action would be certainly attributed to fear. there was telegraphic communication with katha, but letters to wuntho had to go on by messenger. it occurred to me that the deputy commissioner's messenger might still be stopped, and i telegraphed to katha to recall him. fortunately the letter was stopped at kawlin. under these circumstances sir george white and i agreed to send the gurkhas by the road which the sawbwa had prepared. any other course would have laid us open to the charge of having picked a quarrel with the sawbwa. there was every reason at the time for avoiding a step which would have increased our direct responsibilities. the civil staff of the province was weak, not only in numbers but in experience. i was forced to trust men with districts who had no training and did not know burmese. the annexation of upper burma was more difficult in some ways than the annexation of the punjab. in the latter case there was in the army and in the adjacent provinces a supply of officers acquainted if not with the language of the punjab, yet with a kindred speech. the whole _cadre_ of lower burma was only threescore men, and it was impossible to take many men fit for service in upper burma from its ranks without leaving the lower province very much undermanned. for these reasons i did my best as long as i was in burma to avoid a breach with the wuntho sawbwa, and latterly, when he sent in his wife to mandalay to see the commissioner, i was in hopes that we had overcome his suspicions, but i felt certain that sooner or later we should be obliged to get rid of him. i do not regret having waited as long as possible. when he broke out in the whole of the adjacent country was under control, the military police were organized and trained, and his revolt was put down with very little trouble or disturbance. no one can say that he was treated otherwise than with the greatest forbearance. i shall not have to refer to him again. footnote: [ ] "long notorious for the ill-repute of its inhabitants." see burma _gazetteer_, vol. i., p. . chapter x military replaced by police the beginning of saw the civil administration in a position to wage a systematic campaign against all disturbers of the peace. lower burma had been reduced almost to its normal condition. the late mr. todd naylor in the tharrawaddy district had thoroughly extirpated the gangs which had troubled it and brought it to a state of quiet which it had not enjoyed for a very long time. the disarmament of the whole province had been systematically taken in hand; the village regulation had become law, the military police had been organized and now numbered , men. the whole conditions had been changed. at the beginning of the year ( ) the troops had held one hundred and forty-two posts and the police fifty posts. at the end of the year the police held one hundred and seventy-five, and the troops eighty-four. the concentration of the troops in a few principal stations, left the work of destroying the remaining gangs to the military police, who were frequently engaged in action with dacoits. there were a few petty disasters at first. nothing else was or could have been expected of partially trained men scattered about in small posts. there were only three serious cases in . in one case, in distinct contravention of my orders, a small picket of ten men had been put out on the edge of a forest in a small house or shed without even a bamboo stockade. the picket was two miles from a military police post. the burmans set fire to a cooking shed and volleyed the police by the aid of the firelight. seven men fell to the first two volleys and only two were unwounded. these men behaved gallantly and kept the dacoits at bay until aid came from the post. in another case and in another district a patrol of one jemadar and eleven sepoys was ambushed. the jemadar and nine of the men were killed and one man badly wounded and left for dead. the remaining man with the aid of two burmans reached the nearest post. a party was sent out and the wounded man picked up. the third disaster was in the magwè district, where thirty men under an english inspector met a large body of dacoits and were forced to retreat losing seven killed and two wounded. six snider rifles and two ponies were captured by the dacoits. this was an unfortunate affair for which the men were not responsible. it gave the magwè dacoits fresh spirit. to the responsible head of the administration the year was one of much anxiety. the troops were vacating numerous outposts held by them and they were being replaced by police fresh from india, and most of them imperfectly trained. the dacoits had learned to fear the soldiers, and the presence of a large body of men with numerous outlying detachments under military discipline and keeping touch with each other, kept districts which had all the elements of disorder and were perhaps in fact dominated by dacoit leaders in apparent tranquillity. sagaing was a notable instance of this. the district was covered with posts, but the soldiers hardly saw a dacoit, and consequently no progress was made in breaking up what was a strongly organized combination against our rule. the troops, moreover, had learned their work; they were led by trained and zealous officers, who had acquired in many cases a minute knowledge of localities which was lost with them. the military police, on the other hand, were new to the country and the work, and seldom had the advantage of being led by trained british officers. the effect of the change began to be felt towards the end of , and the beginning of --that is to say, in the season of the year when life in the forest is dry and pleasant, the favourite time for the pastime of dacoity. hence there was no doubt a revival of disorder in some places, and the petty disasters which befell the military police were magnified and made much of by some correspondents who found it profitable to misrepresent everything connected with the administration of burma. the transition stage did not last long. the indian police picked up their work with rapidity. no men could have learnt it quicker. they were constantly engaged with dacoits; they frequently followed up and inflicted punishment on them and recovered property without loss to themselves. the few mistakes were seized upon and magnified while the successes vastly greater in number were not noticed. in the first orders regarding the military police the minimum garrison of a post was fixed at twenty-five men. this was found to be too weak and was raised to forty, and the minimum strength of a patrol was fixed at ten. i found it necessary to forbid any new post to be established without my sanction and to lay down the strength of the movable column to be maintained in each district. the local officers seemed unable to refrain from putting out posts until there was not a man left at headquarters. in april, , the viceroy asked me if i saw any sensible signs of the reduction of our troops and the substitution of the police encouraging the dacoits or loosening our hold on the country. after explaining that the districts where the dacoits were most active and organized there had been no reduction of troops, but, on the contrary, constant military activity under keen commanders, i wrote:-- "i have carefully watched events and thought over the matter, and my conclusion is that the dacoits know that the troops have retired and that the police move in small numbers and have taken advantage of the occasion. if this is allowed to go on they will get bolder and will give trouble.... i am inclined to sit tight and wait until the men have learnt their work. the native officers will learn the language and the country.... the commissioners and district officers like to cover their districts with a perfect network of posts at short distances from each other. if they were allowed their own way there would not be a man left to move about. last august ( ) this was foreseen, and the strength of the movable column to be kept for active operations in each district was laid down, and orders have been given and have been enforced forbidding the formation of new posts without my sanction." lord dufferin accepted my views, saying that he would not go into the various considerations which i had placed before him, "except to say that i fully appreciate the calmness and good sense with which you have discussed the matter. a more excitable man might have gone off at a tangent and have been frightened into measures which would certainly have been very expensive and might not have been necessary. i have taken the commander-in-chief into counsel, and after going fully and very carefully into the whole matter we are content to accept your views." there was in point of fact no reason for anxiety. week by week the police improved. the first combined movement attempted with military police was in the difficult popa country where four small columns under captain hastings, commandant of the myingyan battalion, succeeded in running ya nyun's gang hard, but did not capture him. and in various encounters in this district alone the dacoit gangs loss amounted to: killed, ; wounded and captured, ; captured, . eighteen ponies were taken, firearms, and many dahs and spears. the casualties of the military police in upper burma, during , were killed and wounded, whilst the dacoits lost killed (actually counted after action), and captured. the casualties in the army in upper burma between the st of may, , and the st of march, , were: killed or died of wounds , and wounded . (par. of the despatch of major-general sir george white, k.c.b., v.c., late commanding the upper burma force. dated simla, july , .) the police could not have been more active than the soldiers had been. they probably suffered more in proportion to their numbers owing to their inferior training. during the year the military police were in the field constantly in almost every district in the province. it became evident that we had not a sufficient number of british officers; if a man fell sick or was wounded, there was no one to take his place. sixteen additional officers were sanctioned for the police, but they did not arrive until after the close of the year. they added much to the strength and efficiency of the force. on the whole, it became evident before the middle of that the police were getting a hold of the province and that no danger had been incurred by reducing the military garrison and bringing the troops into quarters. we had still to rely on the assistance of the soldiers in work that belonged more properly to the police. hence in sagaing, magwè, the chindwin district, and some other places where the insurgents showed special activity, i was compelled in some cases to ask for aid. if it was sought unwillingly, it was given most readily by the major-general commanding, and was invaluable. the civil administration was not yet able to stand alone. it was not so much the rank and file but the many british officers, keen and experienced, whose withdrawal was felt; for it will be remembered each police battalion had at the most two british officers, while very few districts had an area of less than three thousand square miles. as an example of the invaluable aid rendered by the soldiers, two of the most noted leaders on the ava side, shwè yan and bo tok, who had been the scourge of the country since the annexation, fell to parties of british infantry. bo tok was killed by mounted infantry of the rifle brigade led by major sir bartle frere, and a few months later, lieutenant minogue, with some mounted infantry of the royal munster fusiliers, ran down shwè yan. the deaths of these two men, who kept the borders of ava, myingyan, and kyauksè in a ferment, enabled the civil power to bring this country into order in a short time. the military police, however, took their full share of work. a man who had given endless trouble to the troops since the annexation and made his lair on the east side of the kyauksè district was the setkya leader. he was attacked by the kyauksè military police under captain gastrell, commandant of the mandalay battalion, and his band dispersed. the setkya escaped, but he was caught and delivered up by the shan sawbwa of lawksawk. after his defeats on former occasions he had found a safe refuge in the shan hills. the shan leaders were now our loyal subjects, and the setkya's career came to an end. chapter xi burma becomes a frontier province in another direction there was a still greater change than the substitution of police for troops. from being an isolated administration hardly able to look up from our own affairs, and obliged to work in detail, district by district, to establish a beginning of order, burma was rapidly becoming a frontier province, with daily extending boundaries. i was occupied in this year with framing the administration of the shan states, which had been visited by mr. hildebrand and mr. hugh daly,[ ] with our relations to eastern karenni, with the trans-salween states and the siamese claims on that border. the distant region to the north of bhamo had been occupied for the first time, and it was becoming evident that we should have to reckon with the kachins in the north and north-east; while the eastern frontier of upper burma resting up against the great mass of mountains which stretch down from manipur to the bay of bengal, was beginning to demand attention. there had been hitherto no leisure and no need to give much thought to the tribes of chins and others inhabiting these hills. it had been suggested at an early period that burma should send a party through the chin country to meet another from the bengal side, with the design of opening up communication from east to west and making a through road. i was opposed to this project, and besought the viceroy to disallow it. i looked upon it as a certain way of rousing the chins before we were ready to deal with them. a few days before the end of lord dufferin telegraphed his agreement with my view. in a letter which followed, he wrote: "when the idea was originally proposed, i allowed the matter to be taken in hand with some hesitation, as i felt that it would probably prove a premature endeavour, and i saw no special reason for embarking on luxurious enterprises of the kind while the main work on which we are engaged is still incomplete. for god's sake let us get burma proper quiet before we stir up fresh chances of trouble and collision in outlying districts." of the wisdom of this doctrine there was no doubt. and no one could have been more anxious to avoid new difficulties than i was. the chins, however, forced our hands, and before the rains of it was clear that it would be impossible to ignore them. it was foreseen from the first that the occupation of upper burma must bring us into conflict with half-savage or altogether savage tribes who occupied the mountains on three sides of the province; and no doubt when it was decided to annex the kingdom the responsible authorities had this matter in their minds. from the first occupation of mogaung the isolation of that post and the difficulty of reinforcing it, especially in the rains, was a source of disquiet. i had lost no time in asking that some mountain guns should be attached to the mogaung battalion of military police, and that a survey for an extension of the railway to the north of the province should be undertaken. the guns were readily granted. to give life to the railway project several departments in india had to be persuaded, notably finance and public works. when their consent had been obtained the government of india had to move the secretary of state to sanction the work and to grant the money for it. the survey was started in , and some progress, which may be characterized without injustice as deliberate, had been made before i surrendered burma to my successor in december of that year. the line to myitkyina, three hundred and thirty-one miles, was opened in . these frontier matters have been dealt with in separate chapters of this book. they are referred to here to show the change which had come over the province. the area of administration was extending rapidly--more rapidly than our resources in men. before the end of the interior of the province ceased to give much cause for anxiety, although it cannot be described as altogether restful. daylight had appeared in the districts of the northern and central divisions, where the outlook had been darkest. and in some of the southern districts, minbu and myingyan (in which was now included pagan), and in pakokku, as well as in the whole of the eastern division, the disturbances had ceased or were confined to difficult forest tracks in which the remaining gangs had taken refuge. the magwè district, as it was now called (the township on the left bank of the river, which had before belonged to minbu, had been transferred to the taungdwingyi district, and the headquarters moved to the river town of magwè), was a source of trouble and sorrow. nothing seemed to succeed there. sir robert low's warning that this would be the last stronghold of dacoity or organized resistance was justified by events. the british public were becoming very weary of burma and even of the abuse heaped upon the local government of the province. tormented by the questions in parliament, the secretary of state would order us every now and then to report how we were getting on, like a child that has planted a flower and pulls it up occasionally to make sure that it is alive. nevertheless those on the spot were not disheartened. the work had to be done, and all were determined to do it. personally i had encouragement from every one in the province, civilian or soldier, for whose opinion i cared. lord dufferin's kindness and support were never wanting. he understood well the nature of the task. he was satisfied with the work done, and his confidence in our success was firm. writing to me on april , , he expressed his satisfaction with our work and with what had been done, in terms which are too flattering to be repeated by me. the constant recurrence of small encounters, small successes, and occasionally small disasters, was very wearisome at the time to all of us, and would be as fatiguing to the reader as to me to relate. i will give the history of some cases, which will be enough to explain how the province settled down. it will be remembered that the village regulation became law in october, . it took some time to get the district officers, magistrates as well as police, to make themselves acquainted with it, and still longer to induce some of them to make use of its provisions. in the summer of the country generally had improved much. few of the big bos, or leaders of gangs, were left. but in some districts there was not merely a system of brigandage; it was a system, a long-established system, of government by brigands. the attacks on villages, the murder and torture of headmen and their families, were not so much the symptoms of rebellion against our government as of the efforts made by the brigands to crush the growing revolt against their tyranny. hence it came about that in districts where there was little activity on the part of british officers, and where the chief civil officer failed to get information, very little was heard of the dacoits, simply because the people were paying their tribute to the leaders, who did not need to use coercion. sagaing was one of the worst districts in this respect. it had been under the domination of brigands for years before thebaw was dethroned. it was held by a score of dacoit leaders, who had a thousand men armed with guns at their call. each had his own division, in and on which he and his men lived, leaving the villagers alone so long as they paid their dues, and punishing default or defection with a ruthless and savage cruelty that might have made a north american indian in his worst time weep for human nature. it was brought home to us by hard facts that the question was whether the british government, or what may be called the bo government, were to be masters. the people were, everything considered, wonderfully well off. they found our officers ready to accept their excuses and to remit taxation, or, at the worst, to enforce a mild process of distraint or detention against defaulters. on the other side were the bos, with fire and sword, and worse if their demands were refused or if aid in any form was given to the foreigners. if the people would have given us information, the dacoit system could have been broken up in a very short time. as they would not, the only course open was to make them fear us more than the dacoits. in sagaing no measures hitherto taken had made any visible improvement. persuasion had been tried. the display of a strong military force occupying the country in numerous posts had no effect. the soldiers seldom saw or heard of a dacoit. the experiment was made of allowing influential local burman officials to raise a force of armed burman police on whom they could depend. this succeeded in some cases. but on the whole it failed. the burmans gave up their guns to the first gang that came for them, or allowed them to be stolen. we could not afford to arm the enemy. i came to the conclusion that the deputy commissioner would never get his district into order. colonel symons, working with mr. carter, had done very good service in reducing the troublesome country of pagyi in the lower chindwin into order (see p. ). i asked sir george white to let me have colonel symons's help again. he readily agreed. i sent him, with mr. carter, to put sagaing in order, giving mr. carter full powers under the village regulation and ample magisterial powers, but reserving the ordinary administrative work to the deputy commissioner. at the same time, mr. herbert browning, assistant commissioner, was posted to the ava subdivision to work with captain knox, of the th hyderabad cavalry. the sagaing military police battalion was placed under colonel symons's orders, and thus unity of command was assured. captain raikes was at this time acting as commissioner of the central division, in the absence of mr. fryer, who had taken leave. captain raikes was a man who knew burma well, and was keen and energetic in his work. he came to the conclusion, and colonel symons agreed with him, that the severest pressure must be put on the villagers. a great obstacle in our way was, as has been said, the refusal of the villagers to assist us. but an equal obstacle was their zeal in giving assistance and information to the brigands. the powers of the village regulation had been used elsewhere, under my instructions, to remove persons who gave assistance in any way to the dacoits, and with excellent effect. the proposals now made to me by colonel symons and captain raikes went beyond anything hitherto done. they represented that so long as the relatives and sympathisers of the brigands remained in their villages, no progress was possible. the gangs would be fed and furnished with immediate news of the movements of police or troops, while no assistance would be given to us. the people themselves told our officers that they could not help us. if they did, the dacoits' relatives informed against them and their lives were taken. hardly a day passed without some murder of this kind. it was proposed, therefore, to issue a proclamation to all villages believed to be in league with the dacoits, informing them that unless the men belonging to the village who were out dacoiting surrendered within a fixed time, all their relations and sympathisers would be ordered to leave the village and would be removed to some distant place out of reach of communication. at first the people thought this was a mere threat, and little notice was taken of it. when they found that it was to be enforced, and that the relations and friends were actually being deported, the effect was magical. concurrently with this action the dacoit gangs were hunted incessantly from jungle to jungle and village to village, and severe fines were imposed on villages which harboured the outlaws or withheld information regarding their movements. the results were better than i had dared to hope. many dacoits surrendered in order to save their people from being removed. the villagers came forward with information, and put police and soldiers on to the tracks of the gangs. small parties of dacoits could no longer move about without danger of being attacked and captured by the people they had preyed upon so long. whole bodies of men came in and surrendered with their arms. at the end of few members of the sagaing gangs were at large, and the district was reduced to order. in ava the success was similar; and the districts of yeu shwèbo and the lower chindwin had likewise benefited from colonel symons's labours. the credit of devising this system is due to colonel raikes. i hesitated at first to go as far as he advised. there were obvious reasons against moving people in this manner; but, if it was easy to see objections to it, it was very difficult to devise a milder measure that would be successful. it proved the most effective weapon in our battery for the restoration of peace and order. the people, of course, felt the pressure of these coercive measures. it was intended that they should feel it. one of the most notorious leaders in the sagaing division, min o, after his capture, declared the fining under the village regulation had ruined him, because the villagers, finding themselves unable to meet both the government demands and his, and finding that the government could enforce payment while he no longer could, turned upon him and refused to give him asylum. the moving and grouping of villages made it difficult for the gangs to get food, and compelled them to disband or surrender. the _gazetteer of burma_, in the article on sagaing (vol. ii., p. ), published in , records that "the strict observance of the village regulation ... gradually led to the pacification of the country. by the end of no less than twenty-six dacoit leaders, including shwè yan, had been killed and twenty-six captured, and most of their followers had come in and were disarmed. since that time the district has given no trouble." footnote: [ ] lieut.-colonel sir hugh daly, k.c.i.e., c.s.i., resident in mysore. chapter xii dacoity in the minbu and myingyan districts the disorder in the minbu district was similar to that in sagaing, but i doubt if it had been of such long standing. it differed in other respects from sagaing. in that district the bos formed a confederation. each had his own village or district, from which he drew his supplies, and his exclusive rights which the others recognized. they communicated with each other and were ready to join forces when it was necessary. in minbu the government was more autocratic, and centralized in the hands of Ôktama, who had seven or eight lieutenants under his orders. there was also another point of difference. the leaders in sagaing and generally elsewhere, were local men, and for the most part professional robbers. Ôktama had been a pongyi some years before, in a monastery a few miles north-west of minbu. he professed to have a commission from some obscure prince, but laid no claim to royal blood. he made his first appearance in minbu in february, , and induced the headmen of many villages to join him. the people at this time were like sheep without a shepherd. they had heard of the destruction of the wolf they knew, and to whose ways they had become accustomed. of the new-comers, the _kalas_, or barbarians, they had had no experience, and they had as yet no reason to believe in their power to protect them. naturally, therefore, they looked about for some one to help them to work together in their own defence. Ôktama no doubt had a capacity for organization and command, and the people recognized him as a leader of men; otherwise it is difficult to conceive how in so short a time he secured their allegiance. his attack on sagu, a town on the right bank of the irrawaddy nearly opposite magwè, has been mentioned before. he burnt the town, which was held by a handful of troops, and then laid siege to salin with a force said to have numbered five thousand men. the deaths of the two british officers in action against him increased his prestige, and from that time until a few weeks before his capture on the th of july, , he was at the head of a large confederacy which had more power in minbu than the british. Ôktama assumed the title of commissioner (mingyi), and created a regular system of government. he had five lieutenants under him, to whom defined portions of the country were entrusted. his intelligence department was perfect. if the british troops showed a sign of movement, warning was sent from village to village and reached Ôktama in time for him to shift his camp. the organization was very strong. it could not have lived and grown as it did if my officers in minbu had not been weak, and their rule "placidius quam feroci provincia dignum." they were not of the stuff that can bring a turbulent people to submission. when i was at minbu, in the early part of the year, i wished to march through the district and speak to the people. both the commissioner and the brigadier-general, sir robert low, strongly opposed my wish, as they thought it likely that my party would be fired on, the effect of which would be bad. however, i gave my instructions regarding the measures to be taken. in the june following i rode through the valley of the môn. the country seemed to me prosperous and well cultivated; betel-vine gardens and plantations of bananas were frequent near the villages, and i saw no sign of distress or armed disorder. nevertheless the people were even then under the feet of the dacoits. i changed the district officials as soon as possible. the improvement of the district dated from the appointment as deputy commissioner of mr. h. s. hartnoll, who brought to the work the necessary energy, activity, and judgment. he was assisted by mr. g. g. collins and mr. w. a. hertz, who were as zealous and active as their chief. in may, , being assured that the people were getting weary of the brigands, i issued a proclamation offering a free pardon to all the rank and file on condition that they surrendered and engaged to live peaceably in their villages. the leaders, eight in number, were excepted by name. they were to be pursued until they were captured or killed. as two years and a half had elapsed since the annexation, the fact that burma was part of the british empire must have penetrated to the most remote village. warning, therefore, was given that the full rigour of the law would be enforced against all who were taken fighting against the government, or who aided or abetted the leaders excepted from pardon. the terms of this proclamation were explained to the headmen and villagers assembled at suitable places, and the severe penalties that would follow disobedience were explained to them. a period of one month was allowed for surrenders, and the pursuit of the gangs was pressed unceasingly all through the rains and open season of - . the sequel i will give in mr. hartnoll's words:-- "his [Ôktama's] power had gradually grown less and less from time to time, but the difficulty has always been to get information of him and his leaders. the villagers would give no aid or information. they began to turn at the beginning of this year ( ) when certain fines were imposed on the worst of the villages, yet they did not give us all the help they could. in april, though his power was much broken and many of his lieutenants killed and captured, yet he had a fairly strong gathering; and maung ya baw, maung kan thi, Ôktaya, nga kin, and byaing gyi were still to the fore. "from may st the relations of dacoits were removed from their villages and a fortnightly fine imposed on all harbouring villages. on this the villagers gave him up. he and all his principal men except maung kin are dead or captured. he had at the end only one boy with him.... "our success has been entirely achieved by bringing the villagers to our side by imposing a periodical general fine on them until they helped us, by removing the relations and sympathizers of the dacoits, by holding certain points fairly close together throughout the district till the leader troubling the point held was caught, and by having constant parties of troops and police always on the move." the capture of Ôktama was effected in this wise. maung an taw ni, an upper burman, the township officer of legaing, a little town with a population of about three thousand people, some fifteen miles north-west of minbu, received information that the dacoit chief was near the chaungdawya pagoda, a short way from legaing. maung an taw ni, who had borne a very active part in all the measures taken against the dacoits, started at once with some military police. they came upon Ôktama sitting despairingly by the pagoda with only one follower. it was a tragic picture. when burmans shall paint historical scenes for the galleries at rangoon or mandalay, or write on the events following the fall of their king, "Ôktama at the golden pagoda" will be a favourite theme for ballad or drama (_pyazat_). another example of dacoity in upper burma may be taken from the myingyan district. i will give the case of ya nyun, which gained some notoriety at the time. it is remarkable also for the fact that ya nyun is probably the last great leader who is still alive. and that he owes his life to the extraordinary conduct of some very subordinate officials, who, in the loyal desire, it may be supposed, to secure his apprehension, took upon themselves to induce him by vague words to hope for his life if he surrendered. it is certain that no man in burma ever deserved to be hung more than ya nyun. if the voice of the blood of the murdered cries from the ground, the cries for vengeance must still be echoing through the villages and woods round popa. [illustration: burmese dacoits before trial--worst characters and native police guard.] ya nyun was the myingaung (literally captain of the horse) of the welaung sub-district of myingyan, bound at call to furnish one hundred mounted men to the king's army. he had thirty headmen of villages under him. his father, who had been myingaung before him, was a murderer and a scoundrel. he had been dismissed by king mindon's government and tattooed as a bad character with the burmese words meaning: "beware, cease to do evil," on his forearm.[ ] the son, however, was at court a hanger-on of the yaw mingyi, one of the big ministers. he obtained his father's post. he returned to welaung and kept a large following of thieves and robbers, and lived on the people. his oppression became intolerable, and two years before the war a deputation of the thugyis (village headmen) went up to mandalay to beg protection, but as the taingda mingyi, the most powerful and the worst man about the court, took ya nyun's part, they could get no redress. two years afterwards a second deputation was sent, and ya nyun was summoned to mandalay. the matter was under inquiry when the british advance became known. thereupon ya nyun was decorated with a gold umbrella (equivalent to a k.c.b.) and sent back to welaung to fight against the british. so far his case resembles, to some extent, that of bo swè, who was, however, a gallant gentleman and an honest citizen beside ya nyun. his first step was to gather around him his former followers, and he started with about fifty ruffians as the leaders and stiffening of his gang. they had to live, and his methods were the same as those of other dacoit leaders. money and food and women were demanded from the villages, and those who refused supplies were unmercifully punished, their property seized, their villages burnt, their women dishonoured, and their cattle driven off by hundreds. those who in any way assisted the troops were the objects of special barbarities. if they could not be caught, their fathers or brothers were taken. one of his followers deposed that he was with ya nyun when three men who were related to a man who had assisted the british were ordered to be crucified in front of the camp. he says: "i saw the bodies after they were crucified.[ ] they were crucified alive and then shot, their hearts cut open," &c. in another case "five men were caught. nga kè [one of ya nyun's men] rode over them as they lay bound, and then shot them." an indian washerman, belonging, if i remember right, to the rifle brigade, straggled from a column on the march. this same witness, who acted as a clerk or secretary on ya nyun's staff, kept a diary and wrote letters and orders, goes on: "ya nyun ordered aung bet to cut a piece out of the indian's thigh, morning and evening, and give it to him to eat. the flesh was fried. this was done three days. six pieces were cut out, then ya nyun ordered him to be killed. he was killed. i saw all this with my own eyes." the ill-treatment of women by these gangs was not unknown. sometimes they were taken and ill-treated as a punishment to the village which had set at naught the bo's order. sometimes they were taken as concubines for ya nyun and his comrades. there is one case on record where seven young girls were selected from a village "on account of their youth," and after the dacoits had ill-used them, five were deliberately slaughtered for fear of their giving information. two escaped. this occurred in january, . the remains of the five girls were found in the jungle afterwards by our men. the deputy commissioner, who examined witnesses as to the doings of ya nyun's gang, concluded his inquiry in these words:-- "a perusal of the evidence shows that the organization, which had, perhaps, its first origin in a desire to resist the british government, degenerated rapidly, as might have been expected from the disreputable persons who played the part of leaders, into a band of marauders who subsisted by terrorism, rapine, murder, dacoity, and other outrages. while remaining in open defiance of government, they soon ceased to be political rebels, in any respectable sense, though they occasionally gathered in sufficient numbers to resist the troops or police, even so late as february, . they showed no more mercy to their own countrymen than to foreigners. they can have no claim to the title of patriots, but merely to that of _damya_, dacoit, the title invariably applied to them by their own countrymen." so wrote the deputy commissioner who made the inquiry in . ya nyun has been in the andamans ever since. i have been told that he has shown there a capacity for command, and is in charge of a gang of convicts. then by all means let him stay where he is useful and harmless. i have given the history of ya nyun's rise to power and some indications of the nature of his gang. in to it was frequently encountered by troops and police, and was more than once roughly treated, but the wilderness around popa afforded a shelter from which the small and scattered parties of dacoits could not be driven. in march and april, , a series of combined operations was organized. four columns of military police acted under captain hastings, commandant of the myingyan battalion. several of ya nyun's men[ ] were killed and many captured. in the autumn murders, accompanied in some cases with atrocious cruelties, began again. early in ya nyun, collecting several other leaders, mustered a strong force, and occupied a position near his own village of welaung. a body of military police failed to dislodge him, and although the gang was met soon after by a party of the rifle brigade, and dispersed with heavy loss, the power of the organization was not destroyed. after these events an experienced officer, with powers extending to all the country in which ya nyun and his accomplices acted, was given control of the operations against the brigands. at his suggestion a pardon was offered to ya nyun if he would surrender. i consented with much reluctance, but it seemed better to free the country from misery at any price. the man would not avail himself of it. throughout the rains he and his men were more active than usual, and their raids were marked by more wanton cruelty and bloodshed than before; a symptom, as i have said before, that the people were becoming less submissive to the dacoits, who on their part were striving to retain their hold on them. as little substantial progress was being made, i went to the popa subdivision in january, . i called up an additional police force and saw that the utmost pressure was put, under the village regulation, upon the villages which harboured and assisted the dacoits. some success against the smaller leaders followed, but at the end of april all the greater men, ten in number, for whose capture rewards had been offered, were still at large. in the middle of april the commissioner, mr symes (the late sir e. symes), advised that the time had come for adopting the procedure followed so successfully in sagaing, minbu, and elsewhere. this was done. proclamations were issued much in the same terms as those used in other districts, offering pardon to the rank and file, and warning all concerned that villages assisting the gangs would be severely fined, and that sympathizers and relatives would be deported to a distance. the rewards offered for the capture of the leaders were doubled. the success was extraordinary. the whole dacoit organization fell to pieces. it collapsed as a tiger shot in the head falls in his tracks. on the th of may, , ya nyun surrendered. eleven of his lieutenants or comrades had fallen in action, and forty-two men of note surrendered with him. one very influential leader of the bands in the myingyan district, whose name was well known in the years preceding, was not caught. bo cho had not shown himself since , and was reported to have disappeared. he lay low until , when he managed to get together some men and began his old game. but in the government knew what to do and did it. an officer with sufficient military police was at once appointed and empowered to take action against him, the provisions of the village regulation were put into effect, and in a few days he was a prisoner. he was not given an opportunity for further mischief. footnotes: [ ] this was the burman substitute for finger-prints. i have often seen men who have endeavoured to cut the brand out of the flesh. [ ] the usual practice was to kill the man and then tie the body to a bamboo railing, with the arms and legs stretched out. [ ] ya nyun himself on this occasion had a narrow escape. his dah, or sword, was taken and presented to me by the officers and men of the myingyan battalion. it is a handsome weapon, and was, i believe, presented to ya nyun by village headmen of the yamèthin district. chapter xiii trouble in the magwÈ district i have alluded several times to the magwè district. it was in a very bad state and was a blot on the administration, which gave me much thought. this district was called taungdwingyi at first, and took the name of magwè when the subdivision of that name lying along the left of the river was added to it. it was not until the end of that it began to be very troublesome. the leader of most influence at first was min yaung, who was killed by a party of troops in may, . another leader, tokgyi, rose afterwards and gave much trouble, but he was captured in april, . it seemed that no formidable leaders remained. small raids and dacoities occurred here, as in most parts of the province, at that time. the revenue collections had increased largely, which was a good sign. in august, , however, a pretender with the title of the shwèkinyo prince raised his standard, and was joined by a noted dacoit bo lè and others. they hatched their plots in a place on the border of the magwè township, and began work in november, . unfortunately, everything in this district was unfortunate, at the very commencement the gang under bo lè encountered a party of thirty mounted men of the magwè battalion, under a british inspector of police. the police were badly handled, and lost seven killed and two wounded, while six rifles and three ponies were taken by the dacoits. this gave the gang encouragement, while the police, who had not much cohesion, were for a time somewhat shaken. [see p. .] after this event the gangs separated, probably because the country could not feed them, and took up points at a distance from each other. in january, , some of the leaders joining hands again, surprised a party of the myingyan police, and inflicted some loss on them, but were soon afterwards punished by mounted infantry from magwè. throughout march and april, the pursuit was kept up with varying success. at last in may, the mounted infantry got on to their tracks, killed bo lè, and dispersed the gang. hitherto the brigands had confined themselves to the west and north-west of the district, open dry country with a good deal of waste land offering a good field for the action of mounted troops. after a time the taungdwingyi subdivision also became disturbed, and dacoities became frequent. the conditions on the eastern side of the district were different. the hills known as the pegu yomas run along the eastern boundary dividing magwè from pyinmana for about sixty or seventy miles; from the thayetmyo boundary on the south, to some distance beyond natmauk on the north. from natmauk the hills gradually diminish and slope away to the plains. the slopes of the yomas are densely wooded, and between the magwè boundary and the low country to the east there was much teak forest worked by the bombay burma company. at that time there was also a good growth of the acacia catechu, and many of the burmans employed in extracting cutch lived in the forests, and cultivated small cleared plots here and there. the richest villages and best rice-producing land in the district lay along the low lands at the foot of the yomas, within raiding distance. no dacoit could have wished for better conditions, especially when an inefficient district officer and a poorly commanded police battalion were added. at this period of the campaign i had lost by sickness and death some of the best and most experienced men. the strength of the commission all told was not enough for the necessities of the province in its then state. i was compelled to place districts in charge of men who were unfit owing to inexperience and want of training. it is a fact of which we may all be proud that the average young english gentleman when thrown into conditions which demand from him courage, energy, and judgment, and the power of governing, answers to the call. whether he comes from a good school or university, or from his regiment, from the sea or the ranch, whether he has come through the competitive system or has obtained his appointment by other means, he will in the majority of cases be found capable, and sometimes conspicuously able. it is necessary, however, that he should be taught and trained in his work. the magwè district was in itself not specially hard to manage, not nearly so difficult as many others in upper burma. it was in charge of a junior man of the indian civil service, clever but not very wise. as it was necessary to take special measures against the yoma gangs, an officer, who had been ten years in the police in lower burma and had done excellently in the adjacent district of thayetmyo, was appointed to work on similar lines in taungdwingyi. he was in this matter independent of the deputy commissioner, who, although senior to him in the commission, was much his junior in years and experience. one of the chief duties assigned to him was the removal of villages from which dacoits received their supplies. he removed those lying nearest the hills which harboured the brigands. no doubt the gangs were inconvenienced and exasperated by this measure. in april, , the village of myothit was attacked and the police post burnt. in may a large body of dacoits under the standard of buddha yaza, a pretended prince, who in preceding years had a large following in the eastern division, gathered in the pin township in the north of the district east of yénangyaung. a party of military police led by two indian officers attacked them successfully, but they collected again in a stronger position and a second attack by one hundred rifles (military police), led by the assistant commissioner and the assistant superintendent of police, neither of them trained soldiers, failed; but soon afterwards the gangs were again met and dispersed. on the st of june, , a small body of dacoits was encountered by mr. dyson, assistant commissioner, who had with him a party of police. a fight ensued, in which mr. dyson was killed. the man who led this gang was killed afterwards and his followers surrendered. but this was no compensation for the loss of a promising young officer who could be ill spared.[ ] there was a force of police in the district quite able to hold it, if they had been properly handled, and they were supported by mounted infantry. there was evidently a want of some controlling authority which was not to be found in any of the local officers. just at this time colonel w. penn symons, who had been working in sagaing, succeeded to the command of the myingyan district, and at my earnest invitation he went to magwè and assumed control over the operations for reducing the district to order. all civil and police officers were placed under general symons absolutely so far as the operations were concerned. a proclamation was then issued offering a pardon to all who were out, excepting only those who had committed murder and certain named leaders, on condition that they submitted and returned to a peaceful life. this proclamation had some effect, and more than dacoits surrendered with their arms. most of the men who came in belonged to the pin and yénangyaung townships. in july ( ) i was able to devote a fortnight to this troublesome district and to meet general symons at magwè. with him and some of the local officials i marched round the district, going from magwè to taungdwingyi, and then up the east to the north, ending at yénangyaung on the north-west. i found the country in a better condition than the reports of crime had led me to expect. going north from taungdwingyi a good deal of land was lying untilled. but elsewhere every possible field was ploughed and sown, and cattle were plentiful and in good case. this part of the district was a fine open country divided into big fields with thorn hedges. there were, however, here and there tracts of very difficult scrub jungle broken by ravines from which it would be difficult to drive dacoit gangs. i had the principal men collected to meet me at all the halting-places and had much consultation with them. the people came readily with their petitions and spoke with perfect frankness of their grievances. as a problem in administration the conditions differed much from those hitherto dealt with. in sagaing, minbu, and elsewhere, the lawlessness was universal and chronic. in magwè the gangs were small and consisted mainly of professional criminals, not of peasants who had joined well-known leaders either to save their own lives and property or to resist the establishment of a foreign government. some of the leaders even were well-known outlaws from lower burma, and it was asserted that there were natives of india with the gangs. but only in one case was this substantiated. a native of india, a man of the sweeper caste, had been captured and he was in the magwè jail. a note written a few days after i had left magwè will give the impressions i brought away from my tour. "the two main difficulties are the bad state of the police battalion and the nature of the country on the north and on the east of the district. these were aggravated by the injudicious action on the part of the subdivisional officer, for which i must take my share of the blame as i selected him and trusted him fully in consequence of his great success elsewhere. in his desire to force the dacoits to leave the slopes of the mountains, he moved villages too far from their fields and did not show a proper care and judgment in selecting the temporary sites for them to occupy. it was said that men joined the dacoit gangs in consequence. it may have been so in a few instances. the people spoke to me frankly and freely, and they did not allege this. still, it may be true. i debated much with myself whether i should say, 'go back at once to your old sites.' this would have pleased all.... all the headmen i saw admitted that the villages moved were those which added and fed the dacoits, and they admitted unreservedly that if they returned they must continue to aid and feed them. general symons was of opinion that the removal of these villages would prove of the greatest assistance in capturing the gangs. the mischief for that season had been caused and some of the more distant lands must lie empty. to let the people return now (july) was useless, while it would prolong our work. "their argument was, 'there are fewer dacoits now than there used to be even in the king's time. we prefer dacoits to inconvenience and hardship.'" that was their attitude everywhere, and if peace was to be established we could not accept it. i removed the incompetent officers and sent the best officer i had at my disposal (the late mr. todd naylor) to take charge of the district. at the same time a competent commandant was posted to the military police battalion. general symons undertook to remain in the district for another month. minbu had been cleared of the gangs which had harassed it so long, and i was able to transfer mr. g. g. collins to magwè to help mr. todd naylor. having put matters in train, my duties took me to mandalay and then up the chindwin to arrange matters connected with the coming expedition against the chins. general symons was appointed to command the chin-lushai expedition, and magwè had to be left to the local officers. progress was slow. the dacoits lay up in the forests of the yomas, and until they were driven out and destroyed there would be no peace. for the last three months of the year my health compelled me to take leave to the nilgiri hills. there was no hill station in burma at that time. the climate varying between a stokehole and a fern-house was not invigorating, and labour, physical and mental, such as we were all sustaining was somewhat exhausting. during my absence mr. a. p. macdonnell,[ ] home secretary to the government of india, was appointed to act for me. he took up the magwè business vigorously, and under his direction several columns were organized to operate simultaneously in the unsettled tract from yamèthin, pyinmana, magwè, and thayetmyo. they commenced work in december, . the party from magwè encountered one of the gangs in the yomas, but inflicted no punishment on them. one leader was driven out and captured or killed in the yamèthin district. but there was no marked success. the dacoits were able to get food anywhere in the forests from the cutch boilers, and it was suspected ammunition from the burman foresters in the bombay burma company's service. on my return, from leave in december , i had the great honour of receiving his royal highness prince albert victor of wales, accompanying him to mandalay by rail and returning by river. this duty necessarily delayed the ordinary work of administration. on examining the situation in magwè, i came to the conclusion that the operations in the yomas must be placed under the control of one man. i selected mr. porter, deputy commissioner of pyinmana, and made the whole business over to him with definite instructions as to the powers he was to exercise and the course of action he was to follow. tracks had already been cleared through the yomas. the different parties engaged in the work were well combined and held together by mr. porter. the gangs were dispersed and either captured or forced to surrender, and by the end of may the work was complete. meanwhile in the north of the district mr. todd naylor and mr. collins had succeeded in breaking up the small gang that still held out under two noted leaders, and the district was finally cleared. all the leaders had been killed, captured, or driven out of the district. some sought refuge in lower burma. one lugalégyi, a well-known bo, was arrested in prome before the end of the year. to quote once more from the _gazetteer_ ( ): "since then magwè has been undisturbed" (vol ii., p. , article "magwè"). i will give one more instance of dacoit methods reported to me by the late mr. donald smeaton, then commissioner of the central division, dated august , , from the pagyi country. reading it over after the lapse of more than twenty years, i am glad that i was able to help in ending the anarchy which begat such crimes. mr. smeaton wrote: "early in the forenoon of the th july i was riding back with lieutenant macnabb from kyaw to zeittaung. we were passing the village of jut about four miles from zeittaung, when we were hailed by a villager and a military policeman, who informed us that the village had just been dacoited by saga and a gang of fourteen or fifteen men. we at once went into the village and were conducted by the thugyi to the house which had been saga's principal object of attack. we were there informed that this house had been singled out by saga because its owner, po hkine, one of his late followers, had surrendered with his arms to the special officer, that saga's object had been to kill po hkine. fortunately po hkine and his wife were at zeittaung when the attack was made. not finding po hkine or his wife, saga had dragged down from the house two old women, po hkine's mother and aunt, and tortured them by burning parts of their bodies with lighted torches. the elder of the two women was severely burnt and was lying on the ground: the other was sitting. both were in great pain. we questioned the two women. they said the gang had come straight to their house shouting out 'saga! saga!' and on finding that po hkine was not there had gone up the bamboo steps and dragged them to the ground. they then reproached them with allowing po hkine to surrender and demanded all the money and jewelry in the house. the old women gave up all their money and their ornaments, but nevertheless they were tied up, a bamboo mat with a hole cut to allow the head to pass through was put over them, and two or three of the gang held lighted torches to their backs and between their legs. the villagers were too afraid to yield any assistance. the women fainted, and the dacoits left them lying on the ground. the villagers were doing their best to soothe the two women and alleviate the pain when we came to the house. "i have known of several cases in which women have been regularly trussed and suspended over a fire by dacoits till they gave up their money and ornaments. "i can recall one case in which dacoits pushed wood shavings up between a woman's legs and set them on fire. "in several cases of this kind that have occurred within my own knowledge the unfortunate women have died." but i must have surfeited the reader with robberies and murders and savage cruelties. my purpose has been to draw a true picture of the conditions with which we had to deal. there may be some who think that stern measures of repression are wrong and that under all conditions kindness and forbearance should be the only weapons of a civilized government. it is to be wished that such persons could have an opportunity of testing their theories without danger to any but themselves. it is well, however, to record as a matter of history that, so far as was practicable, the rank and file of those who joined insurgent or brigand gangs were treated leniently. they were freely pardoned, if they had not committed murder, on condition that they surrendered with their arms and engaged to live quietly in their villages. where it was necessary and possible, work was provided for them. when i left burma there were thousands who had so surrendered and were living honest lives. very few, i believe, went back to the wild life. there were a very large number of men, especially in the early years, who were run down and captured and sentenced by the magistrates to long terms of imprisonment. it would have done infinite mischief if these men had been released after a short time and allowed to join their old companions. i opposed the idea of a general jail delivery. when it became possible, the cases were examined under my orders by an experienced officer and the sentences were revised. it was not a task that could be done without labour, care, and knowledge. it was necessary to consider the condition of the district to which each man belonged. if that district was still disturbed, and especially if the gang of which he had been a member was still holding together, it would have been foolish weakness to send him back again. as a dog returns to his vomit, so does a dacoit to his gang, if he can find it. the magistrate is bound to think of the people who may suffer, rather than of the criminal who had preyed upon them. in burma at least we had not outgrown this primitive morality. no one who had had my experience of the difficulty of catching these very interesting gentlemen would have cared to let them loose again. the first durbar in the shan states. about this time i was able to carry out an intention i had formed of visiting fort stedman and meeting all the shan chiefs and notables. the distance from the nearest point in the plains to fort stedman was seventy miles, of which fifty-six were through the hills. the road was under construction, but in that state which made it worse travelling than the bullock-path it was meant to supersede. the journey would take altogether about fourteen days, and it was not easy for me to get away from other business for so long a time. nor was it possible always to summon the chiefs away from their headquarters. the ride up through the hills was very beautiful, and the view from the range commanding the great lake of inle was one of the finest i had seen in burma. fort stedman lies on the further or eastern shore of the lake, and after a long and hot ride we had to wait for a considerable time for the state boat of the yawnghwè sawbwa who was bringing mr. hildebrand across. at the landing-place i found a guard of honour of the shan levy under captain tonnochy, the commandant, and at the village bazaar higher up all the chiefs had assembled to meet me. on the next day i held an informal reception of all the sawbwas and other potentates. a large hall, mostly of bamboo, had been constructed on the parade-ground, and in this, on the th of march, i received the chiefs. all the chiefs, with the exception of a few, were present. many of them met me for the first time, and i learnt that to most of them also it was the first occasion of their meeting with their fellow-chiefs. they were presented to me in turn, and the sawbwas of möngnai and yawnghwè, who it was considered had rendered services of some value to the british government, received the medal and gold chain of honour given by the viceroy for local services in burma. it was a notable assemblage. it was the first occasion on which all these potentates of various degrees, who had for years previously been fighting amongst themselves or rebelling against burmese tyranny, had been brought together in peace and harmony under a strong rule. each of them had made his formal submission to the queen-empress. each had received a patent confirming him in his rights and position as head of his state. each of them knew that the reign of peace had begun and that he was henceforth secure. i reminded them that this was the work of the british power, and that it had been carried out without their assistance by the soldiers of the queen-empress and at the cost of her government of india. i pointed out to them that they, the shan chiefs, had duties and obligations on their side: primarily the good government of their peoples, the impartial administration of justice, the development of their territories by roads, and the improvement of agriculture and trade. "i do not want you," i said, "to imitate or adopt the forms or methods of british government; but i think you can do much by a careful choice of your subordinates, by the judicious curtailment of the right to carry arms, by suppressing the extravagant and public gambling which, experience shows, invariably leads first to ruin and then to crime." lastly, i explained to them that they could not be excused from paying tribute, the amount of which would be adjusted to their ability. the british government was maintaining garrisons for their benefit, and had undertaken costly expeditions for their defence. it was necessary to ask them to remember their obligations. the first assessment of the shan states to tribute was made in - , on the basis of the sums paid to the king of burma, so far as they could be ascertained. the country had, however, suffered very greatly from the prevailing anarchy, and many of the states were depopulated and the land was lying waste. much of the nominal demand had to be remitted. even now (in ) the tribute received by the government (which may be taken to be at most not more than one-third of the revenue collected from the people by their chiefs) hardly covers the expense of administration, including the garrison of fifteen hundred military police who maintain internal order and guard the frontiers. the vast sums expended on the mandalay-lashio railway in the northern states and on the road connecting the southern states with the toungoo-mandalay railway have not been repaid, except by the increased prosperity of the country. the shan population may be taken at about one million two hundred thousand persons. it would be a high estimate of the incidence of the tribute received by the government if it were reckoned at sixpence per head. as a source of revenue, therefore, the shan states are not of much account. the country, however, has improved--slowly, it is true, but without interruption. the railway from mandalay to lashio has done much for the northern states. that now under construction from the toungoo-mandalay line to the headquarters of the southern states will have greater and more rapid effect on that fertile country. i fully anticipate rapid progress in the near future. it is something to be able to say that since my visit to fort stedman in march, , the peace of the shan states has not been broken, except by a few small local risings of the wilder tribes (not shans) in the mountains on the north and on the east. to the student of the science of politics the shan states will prove, perhaps, the most interesting field of observation in the province under the lieutenant-governor of burma. there is nothing quite of the same character in india. when we occupied the country, the condition of the shan chiefs had more resemblance to that of the petty chiefs and rajas in the central provinces of india before sir richard temple dealt with them, than to any other indian example. but temple gave to the larger states the character of feudatory rulers of foreign territory outside of british india, whereas, as i have mentioned below, in the chapter on the shan expedition of - , the shan states one and all were made part of british india by the proclamation annexing burma. there is nothing in india similar to this case; where a great territory of sixty thousand square miles, being by law an integral part of british india, is administered not through the regular officials and courts, but directly by many quasi-independent chiefs, each supreme in his own territory, but guided and controlled by british officers, whose advice they are bound by their engagements to follow. it results from these conflicting conditions that everything has to be done by or under some legal enactment. if the ordinary laws of british india (for example, the codes of criminal law and procedure) do not apply, it is because under the shan states act or some other enactment the local government has suspended their operation and has substituted other rules to which the force of law has been given. in the feudatory states of india, on the other hand, any interference which becomes necessary is exercised not by virtue of an enactment of the legislature, but by the use of the sovereign executive power. that this difference is vital there can be little doubt. at present it is the policy, and no doubt the wise policy, of the government of india to avoid interfering with the native states, as much as may be, even by way of advice. an indian ruler can do as he likes, and it is only in gross cases of misrule which are clearly injurious to the people, and the consequences of which extend, or are likely to extend, beyond the boundaries of the state, that the sovereign government feels compelled to intervene. in the shan case the local government has the power by law of interfering and controlling the chief, and it will feel bound to use it. it will be interesting to watch to which side the tendency will be. as the people advance in condition and education, and as the chiefs become more intelligent and trained to affairs, will the control of the executive increase or diminish? will the tendency be, as in india, for the executive government to withdraw into the background and leave the chief to govern, or will the chief tend to become an official of the state, exercising his powers under the restrictions and forms, and subject to the appellate and revisional powers of the regular courts? up to the present time the control has tended to become more close. footnotes: [ ] mr. dyson had come to us from the public works department. he had been employed in the ava subdivision of sagaing and had shown himself keen and energetic, but he was still very inexperienced in this sort of work. [ ] now lord macdonnell, p.c., g.c.s.i. chapter xiv gradual creation of an efficient police force lord dufferin left india in december, . i went to calcutta to see him before he left, and had the honour of being introduced by him to the new viceroy, the marquis of lansdowne. i had reason to be very grateful to lord dufferin for his confidence and encouragement and unceasing support, and if he could have stayed to see the work finished it would have given me infinite satisfaction. i had no less cause, however, to be thankful to lord lansdowne. during the four years i was in burma, i was in constant communication with the viceroy; and every week, unless i was absent in distant places, i wrote to him confidentially, keeping him fully informed of events and of my wants and wishes. lord dufferin had asked me to write to him in full confidence and regularly, and lord lansdowne allowed me to continue the practice. it was an addition, and often not an insignificant addition, to my work. it repaid me, for it established and maintained confidential relations between the viceroy and his subordinate in burma. it was a great help to the chief commissioner, who had no one on the spot to whom he could open his mind. i have noticed already the change in the province and the diversion of attention from the interior to the frontier districts. this change shows itself very clearly in my correspondence with the viceroy, which reflected the matters giving me most anxiety from week to week. during the first half of the affairs of the frontiers occupied the chief place. i have given their history in separate chapters. it might be thought, from the space i have given to dacoits and their leaders, that the time had hardly yet come for reducing the military police. in truth the struggle with the dacoits was drawing to a close, and the forces of order were winning all along the line. the outbursts in magwè and elsewhere were like the last dying efforts of a fire. the extent to which the military police and the troops had changed places can best be understood from this, that on the st of january, , the troops held one hundred and forty-two posts and the military police fifty-six. on the st of january, , the police held one hundred and ninety-two posts and the troops forty-one. and the state of the province was such as to lead me to consider the possibility of reducing the military police strength. it has been seen how the withdrawal of the troops led for a time to renewed activity on the part of the discontented and criminal classes. with this experience before us it was resolved to move with the greatest caution, and to feel our way step by step. the following procedure was adopted. the state of each district and of its subdivisions was carefully reviewed. the posts which might be altogether withdrawn were first selected, then those of which the garrisons might be reduced in numbers. the changes thus determined were to be made gradually, so as to attract as little attention as might be. the men brought in from the posts were not to leave the district at once, but were to remain at headquarters, where their discipline, drill, and musketry could be worked up. if it should appear from an increase in disorder that reduction had been premature, the mistake could be remedied at once by ordering the men back to their posts. if, on the contrary, no mischief followed, the surplus men were to be drafted, by companies if possible, into a provincial reserve battalion, which would be brought to a high standard of military efficiency, and would be available in case of need for any part of the province. finally, when the reserve battalion became crowded, i proposed to offer the trained companies to the army, if the commander-in-chief would accept them and if the men would take military service, of which there was no doubt. this scheme was carried out, and continued until the strength of the military police force was not greater than the government of burma needed. another change was made in order to reduce the forces, namely, the amalgamation of two or more battalions under one commandant. it was necessary at first to give a separate battalion to each district, in order that each deputy commissioner should have a sufficient force of military police at his hand and under his control. but when the country became peaceful and active service was rarely called for, there was no reason for maintaining an organization that was costly in money and men. thus by doubling up the battalions, aggregating nineteen companies, in the eastern division, into one battalion of fifteen companies, four companies were saved and drafted into the reserve. this process went on until, in the year , seven fine regiments had been given to the army. these were treated at first and for some time as local regiments attached to the province. of late years, however, the policy in the indian army has been to obliterate all local distinctions and to make service general. the strength of the military police in upper burma now is, i understand, fifteen thousand men in round numbers. the strength in was eighteen thousand. the reduction, therefore, has not been so very great. the fact is that no sooner had the interior of the province been reduced to order, than fresh territory began to come under administration. vast tracts of hill country on the east, on the north, and on the west, which were left to themselves in , are now held by the military police. from the frontier of french indo-china on the east to the bengal boundary on the west, and northwards along the chinese boundary wherever it may be, the military police keep the marches of burma. in the mountains inhabited by kachin tribes on the north and east of the myitkyina district, the whole of this troublesome borderland is held by the police. sixteen hundred and twelve rifles, with forty-one native officers and nine british officers, more than a tenth of the whole strength, are stationed in this district, which in was outside the pale. the shan states and the chin country are similarly garrisoned.[ ] i have always felt that our failure to train the burmans to be soldiers is a blot on our escutcheon. i have mentioned an experiment to enlist karens. this succeeded for a time. the men learnt their drill quickly, and as trackers and for forest work they were very useful. it was decided in to raise a karen battalion, with which, and an indian battalion, it was proposed to form a military police force for lower burma. the karens were placed on the same footing as the indians, and british officers were appointed to command them. in drill, endurance in the field, and courage, the karen showed himself a good man. but from some cause he failed in discipline, and in it was found advisable, owing to insubordinate conduct, to disband the battalion and distribute the companies among the indian battalions. there has been more success, i am told, with the kachins, who are showing themselves trustworthy. they are certainly a strong race, probably the strongest we have in burma. another direction in which the change from the sword to the plough and the pen was showing itself was in the prominence given to the administration of the civil police. it is very easy to get up a cry against the police in burma or in india, but they will not be improved by constant abuse, frequent prosecutions, censures, and condemnations by high court judges, or still less competent critics, or by other methods of giving a service a bad name. one of the hardest tasks connected with the administration of a country by foreign rulers is the creation of a good police force. when the people from whom the force has to be recruited have lived for years under a despotic and altogether corrupt government, the task becomes doubly hard. and when the foreigners appointed to officer and train the force have for the most part no knowledge of police work and no acquaintance with the vernacular of the people, the task would have made hercules drown himself in the nearest ditch. it had to be done, however, and it was undertaken. the work had not gone far in , but it was started, and two good and experienced police officers of high standing had been appointed to go round upper burma, district by district, and instruct the english officers. it was not possible at that time to find burmans fit to take charge of the police of a district. i do not know whether such men are yet forthcoming.[ ] we are well advanced in the second century of our rule in india, yet i believe there are few indian gentlemen who are willing to take an appointment in the police and fewer still who are well fitted for it. the question of the civil police in lower burma was taken up systematically in . a committee was appointed by me to diagnose the ailment from which the police were suffering, and to prescribe remedies. on their report in a scheme was drawn up, the main features of which were the division of the lower burma force into military and civil, the former, as in upper burma, to be recruited from india and partly, it was then hoped, from the karen people, the latter to be natives of the country. to the latter was to be entrusted all police work of detection and prevention. they were to be subjected to drill and discipline and accustomed to stand alone, and they were to be schooled and trained to police duties. the military police force was to be organized as one regiment under a military officer. their headquarters were to be in rangoon, and they were to furnish such detachments for outdistricts as might be wanted from time to time. this scheme, with little alteration, was carried out in , and i believe is still in force. [illustration: shan states] footnotes: [ ] this is well brought out by lieut-colonel s. c. f. peile in his "history of the burma military police" (rangoon, ), p. . [ ] i have learnt from sir herbert white that two burman officers hold the rank of district superintendents of police with credit. chapter xv the shan states the country inhabited by the burmans, properly so called, may be described roughly as the valleys of the irrawaddy and chindwin rivers, south of n. latitude. the hills which bound the irrawaddy valley on the east, close in the great river in its northern reaches, and as far south as mandalay. below that point the river turns westward and leaves a widening plain between its left bank, and the spurs of the eastern range, which rise abruptly from the low ground. the passes through this range lead to a hilly plateau, the altitude of which is from two to four thousand feet above sea-level rising occasionally to five and six thousand feet. this plateau is intersected from north to south by the salween river, which, rising somewhere in the mountains to the north-west of yunnan, enters the sea at moulmein. the channel of the salween is in most places deep. to the east the high land continues, but is rougher and more mountainous, and rises until the watershed between the salween and the mekong is crossed. the descent to the mekong is then made through difficult and rugged country much cut up by watercourses. the shan states, which were at the time of the annexation tributary to the burman monarch, are situated, with some insignificant exceptions, on this plateau. the shans are a distinct race from the burmans. the existing burmese people may be traced, it is said, to tribes dwelling in the eastern himalaya and the adjoining region of thibet. the tai or siamese branch of the indo-chinese people, called shan by the burmese, are supposed to have migrated from their original seat in central asia towards the south, and to have settled along the rivers mekong, menam, irrawaddy, and brahmaputra. they are found as a distinct race from the borders of manipur to the heart of yunnan, and from the valley of assam to bangkok and cambodia. major h. r. davies found them occupying most of the low-lying valleys in southern yunnan, and on the tongking border, and in small communities even in northern yunnan and on the upper yangtze. although so widely spread, in some cases even scattered, and, except in siam, subjected to alien races, they have preserved to a great extent a common language and national character.[ ] in religion they are buddhist of the burmese type, but less strict in the observance of religious duties and ceremonies and less regardful of animal life. they are in many ways a civilized people, unwarlike, and given to agriculture and commerce. they are not unfriendly to foreigners. "i must have travelled," writes major davies, "some fifteen hundred miles through shan countries, and i never remember any difference of opinion, or unpleasantness of any kind."[ ] "it may be accepted as historical," says phayre, "that the tai race became supreme in the country of the upper irrawaddy early in the christian era and continued to be so under a consolidated monarchy for several centuries. about the ninth century a.d. it began to break up into separate states which eventually were conquered by the burmans."[ ] in the irrawaddy valley the shans lost their autonomy, and were amalgamated with the burman population; but those on the high plateau to the east continued to be governed by their own chiefs, according to their own customs, subject to the suzerainty of burma. some small states west of the irrawaddy, survived the dissolution of the shan kingdom, and they also enjoyed a similar but less marked independence. up to the time of the annexation at the end of , the king of burma had exercised a real, although spasmodic and irregular control over the shan chiefs. in theory the office of chief, or sawbwa, was hereditary in the family. the sawbwa was supreme in his own territory. he had the power of life and death, and so far as his subjects were concerned, wielded absolute authority unfettered by any rule stronger than custom. the character of the government varied in consequence with the personal character of the chief. the main check on oppression was the facility with which the people could emigrate into some neighbouring state. in practice, however, the burma government did not scruple to interfere with the sawbwa; and this interference was the chief cause of the strife and contention which divided and ruined the country. a burmese bo-hmumintha, or resident, to use the indian term, had his seat of administration at möngnai, and was supported by a force of brigands rather than soldiers. he was assisted by political agents subordinate to him residing in some of the more important states. the interference thus exercised was seldom if ever in the interests of good administration. as a rule it was confined to efforts to raise a revenue. tolls and exactions at various points on the trade routes were numerous and oppressive; enough at times to obstruct commerce, and even to close a trade route altogether for a season. the ease, however, with which another road could be found, and the duty evaded, was some check, and the shans, who are industrious cultivators and born traders, contrived to remain fairly prosperous and not much below their burman neighbours in wealth and comfort. as in burma, while there were some rich men, there was no real poverty. no one but the idle and vicious needed to be in want. the office of sawbwa was, as has been said, hereditary in theory, and it does not seem that the burmese government diverted the succession from mere caprice or favouritism. some pains were taken to secure the loyalty of the chiefs. the king not seldom invited the sons of sawbwas to the court of ava at an early age, for the twofold purpose of rearing them under court influence, and of keeping them as hostages for their fathers' good conduct. notwithstanding this marked subordination to the king of burma, each chief assumed the same insignia and marks of royalty as his suzerain, and in his own view, and to his subjects, probably, was a great and independent monarch. it has been said that the influence of the burmese government was seldom in the interests of good administration. on the contrary, it was frequently used to stir up strife between the sawbwas, in order to prevent them from combining against the king. not unnaturally, therefore, he was not always regarded with feelings of loyalty or affection. rebellions against his government were frequent, but owing to the want of cohesion amongst the shans, and the absence of a leader of capacity to unite them and to organize resistance, even the loose-jointed mandalay administration was able to put down revolt without difficulty. it was done with ruthless severity. there was little inclination on the part of the sawbwas, in spite of this oppression, to seek aid or protection from the siamese, whose rule would not have been a change for the better. the möngnai sawbwa and others, after failing in a rebellion against burma, sought refuge in kengtung, the largest and most powerful of the trans-salween states, which had some traditional connection with china, and owing to its distance from burma, and the rugged nature of the intervening country, enjoyed more than a shadow of independence. nor did those states which lie on the mekong and formerly owned or claimed to own territory on the east bank, invite chinese protection. their feelings towards china were friendly enough. but their position on the very extremity of that empire, where there was little life in the administration, rendered it unsafe to lean on help from that quarter. a letter written to the chief commissioner by the sawbwa of hsipaw (northern shan states) in shows the attitude of the shan chiefs towards burma and china. "during the last war between the english and the burmese," he writes, "the chinese emperor placed , men at maingmawgyi to guard the chinese frontier. the chinese officials wrote to the sawbwas inviting them to a conference at maingmawgyi to draw up a friendly treaty, as the burmese king had been taken away by the english. "but i am under great obligations to the queen-empress, so i made answer thus: 'from time immemorial we shans have not sought protection either from china or burma; of late, however, the burmans, regardless of law and justice, have exacted our submission to them by force of arms. "'since the conquest of burma by the british and the removal of the burmese king, the sawbwas and myozas have been trying their best to restore peace and order. and now we are asked to come to maingmawgyi and draw up a treaty of friendship. we cannot respond to the invitation as yet. we, chiefs of the shan country, must first of all consider which side could confer on us peace and happiness, and then enter into friendly relations with the government of such side.'" the problem before the administration of burma in was, to use the political slang of to-day, "the peaceful penetration" of the shan country. the mantle of the burmese monarch had fallen on the shoulders of the british government. the shan chiefs and their people had to be persuaded to make submission to the queen-empress and to accept her as their overlord. this persuasion had to be effected if possible without the use of force. a show of force, however, was necessary. during the despatch of an expedition to the shan states was impossible. the work on hand in upper burma was more than enough. thus it happened that until the only attempt to make british influence felt in the shan states was the deputation of an officer with a small force to hsumhsai, a small state lying between mandalay and hsipaw. to make the measures taken to solve this problem intelligible, a brief account must be given of events in the shan country immediately preceding and following the deposition of the king of burma. the grouping of the states for administrative purposes into north and south, which was not inherited from the burman government and was not founded on any distinction recognized by the shans, had its origin in these events. the states, the history of which is of most importance in this connection, are hsenwi and hsipaw, to the north of mandalay; yawnghwè and möngnai farther south; and, on the east of the salween, the large state of kengtung. hsipaw lies in the hills on the mandalay-lashio road, about one hundred and thirty miles from the capital of upper burma. the sawbwa, by name hkun saing, was the first of the shan chiefs who came in contact with the british government and the first to submit himself to the suzerainty of the queen-empress after the annexation. the circumstances which led to his contact with the british are these. in hkun saing incurred the displeasure of king thebaw and fled to escape his vengeance. after some wanderings, which extended, it is said, into siam, he came to rangoon, and with a wife and servants settled in the kemmendine suburb. he lived, he said, in fear of assassination by agents of the king, and doubted the fidelity of some of his followers. in his fears, apparently, overcame him, and he shot down two of his men whom he accused, i believe not without reason, of plotting against his life. he was arrested, tried for murder before the recorder of rangoon, and condemned to death. the sentence was commuted by the chief commissioner to transportation, and he was confined in the jail at rangoon. the chief commissioner visited hkun saing a few days after the beginning of his imprisonment, and found him taking his punishment like a man, uttering no complaints and working with a will at the task[ ] imposed on him. the jail authorities were then instructed to treat him as a political prisoner. after a sufficient time had elapsed to make it plain to independent chiefs that if they sought refuge in british territory they must submit themselves to british law, he was released on condition that he left our jurisdiction. he retired to eastern karenni, and lived under the protection of sawlapaw, the chief of that country. on the removal of the king of burma, he obtained some assistance in men and money from sawlapaw, and made his way to his own territory. meanwhile much had been happening there and in the neighbouring states during his absence. to the east and north-east of hsipaw is the state of hsenwi, which is one of the largest divisions of the shan country. the tract known by this name contains nearly twelve thousand square miles. on the north and north-east it is bordered by chinese shan states. the population of the state is said to number about one hundred and fifty thousand and is of mixed races, the pure shans being outnumbered by kachins, palaungs, and chinese. for many years hsenwi had been torn by dissension. frequent struggles between rival claimants to the chiefship, as frequent appeals to burma by the party who for the time was worsted, had distracted and ruined the country. at the time of the annexation of upper burma naw hpa was the titular sawbwa, one of whose daughters had been espoused by king mindon. he was the representative of the ancient ruling family of hsenwi and had been expelled by a usurper named sang hai. the story is worth telling as an illustration of burmese ways. about the middle of last century the siamese made an attack on the trans-salween state of kengtung. the cis-salween states were called upon for contingents to form a force to repel the invasion, and sang hai, who was previously unknown, led the hsenwi men to victory and won much renown. on his return, finding himself at the head of victorious troops, he rebelled against his lawful ruler naw hpa, and turned him out. naw hpa was summoned to mandalay, and condemned to imprisonment for having failed to maintain his authority, while a cadet of the hsenwi house was appointed in his stead. this cadet, u po by name, was driven away ignominiously by sang hai, and was recalled to mandalay and sent to join naw hpa in jail. numerous burmese officials of high rank with imposing titles were sent up one after another, and one after another was expelled by sang hai, and they came back, in the order of their going, to join the company of failures in mandalay prison. at last, about , all the sawbwas from yawnghwè to möng löng were ordered to make a combined attack on sang hai. this was too much for the usurper. he went east of the salween, and naw hpa was sent back to rule a ruined and distracted country. but sang hai before he retired had thrown his mantle over the shoulders of his son-in-law, san ton hon, who was for a shan a good fighting-man. the unlucky naw hpa was driven out once more, and again ordered to mandalay to explain his failure to hold his own. he knew by experience what this meant, and deputed his son, who was known as the naw möng, to represent him at court, or rather in prison, while he himself took refuge with the kachins. when thebaw succeeded his father mindon, he imprisoned his stepmother, the hsenwi queen, naw hpa's daughter, and killed her son. and as naw hpa himself was a refugee and naw möng was in jail san ton hon was left free to establish himself in hsenwi, or rather in the northern and eastern divisions of the state. the southern, known as the taunglet, had already broken away and separated into four petty chiefships. the middle portion, called the alelet, was governed in a fashion by sang aw, commonly know as the pa-ôk-chok, who had his headquarters at möngyai. a burmese official with a small force had been left at lashio, but unable to support himself against san ton hon he withdrew as soon as he heard of the fall of the monarchy. on the british occupation of mandalay the son of naw hpa, naw möng, who had been imprisoned by thebaw, was set free. he made his way into hsenwi, collected followers, and seized the capital, which had been evacuated by the burmans. he was quickly expelled, however, by san ton hon. meanwhile his father, naw hpa, with a following of kachins, came upon the scene, and another element of strife appeared in the myinzaing prince, who had been imprisoned by the king and along with other political prisoners was released on the occupation of mandalay. he made his way to the shan hills and endeavoured to collect followers and oppose the british. his cause appears to have been taken up by naw hpa and naw möng, in the hope of strengthening their own party. a confederacy was formed to raise the standard of the myinzaing prince. the plan of campaign was to seize possession of this part of the shan country. hsipaw was to be assigned to naw möng, while hsenwi was to be restored to naw hpa. the town of hsipaw was attacked and completely wrecked, and a movement was directed against san ton hon. such was the condition of affairs when hkun saing made his way back from the karenni country. after some opposition he made himself master of hsipaw, to find the place in ruins, the only house standing being his own _haw_, or palace, which had been spared in fear, it was said, of the spirit of the palace. under these circumstances it was natural that hkun saing, the lawful sawbwa of hsipaw and san ton hon, the _de facto_ chief of northern hsenwi, should make common cause against the confederacy headed by naw hpa and his son. this was in july, . between the hsipaw state and mandalay on the western border of the shan plateau lies the small state of hsumhsai, known to the burmans as thonze. it was formerly ruled by its own chief, and had been a very prosperous little district. its position within easy reach of mandalay exposed it to the constant and mischievous interference of the burman government. for forty years before the annexation it had been administered by burmese officials, but with some regard to shan customs and sentiment. in , after the british occupation of mandalay, it became a bone of contention between kun meik, acting for his brother the sawbwa of hsipaw, and the myinzaing prince, who had occupied this part of the plateau. there were two men of influence in thonze, maung sa and maung se. maung sa attached himself to kun meik, and maung se to the myinzaing prince. they fought with varying fortune for some time. eventually kun meik was forced back to hsipaw. the myinzaing party remained masters of hsumhsai for some months, pillaging and destroying everything. the trade route was entirely closed throughout the year , and traffic between mandalay and the shan states either ceased or followed a very circuitous route. the chief commissioner and the military commanders had so much on their hands in that the question of the shan country was of necessity postponed. in november, however, it was found imperative to give attention to affairs in hsumhsai. a column under colonel e. stedman,[ ] with mr. h. thirkell white[ ] as civil officer, was sent to reopen the road and restore order. mr. white recorded that at the time of his arrival ( th of november, ) "the country was to a great extent deserted, villages had been abandoned, and many of the inhabitants had fled to the neighbouring states of mönglon, hsipaw, and lawksawk, but chiefly to mönglon. much of the land had been left uncultivated; the road was neglected and overgrown with long grass. these evidences of disorder we saw as we passed through hsumhsai, and i learned from the people that the state of the rest of the country was the same as that of the part which we saw." it may be noted here that when hkun saing, the sawbwa of hsipaw, came to mandalay in to meet sir charles bernard, he laid claim to three small states--hsumhsai, mönglon, and möntung--as formerly belonging to him. inasmuch as hkun saing was the first shan chief to acknowledge the supremacy of the british government, there was a desire to make much of him and to meet his wishes. these three states were made over to him without going into the merits of the case. at the time the intricacies of shan politics were little understood. the people of mönglon especially were averse to being subjected to the sawbwa, who failed to govern justly or efficiently, and the settlement of this part of the country became very difficult. the ultimate result in consolidating the states under one chief has, i believe, been good. another state of which it is useful to give some special account is yawnghwè, called by the burmese nyaungywe. yawnghwè is in the central, or myélat, division of the shan states, and is easily accessible from the plains. it is remarkable for its physical formation. a broad valley running from the north to the south forms the western half of the state, and the centre of this valley is the inle lake, a large expanse of water covering an area of seventy square miles (_upper burma gazetteer_). the eastern side of the state is hilly, and some of the ranges rise to six thousand feet and more. yawnghwè, it is said, in former days ruled the country from the hsipaw border on the north to karenni on the south. it was undoubtedly the most prominent state in the myélat. at the time of the occupation of mandalay by the british, saw möng was sawbwa. he had gone down to mandalay in to see king thebaw. it is said that he brought back with him to yawnghwè the legya queen, one of king mindon's wives, and her son, whose standard he set up, calling on all the chiefs to aid him to fight the british and retake mandalay. a combination of small states was formed against him, and he was wounded in both legs and obliged to retire. being thus incapacitated, he sent for his half-brother, saw Ôn, and handed the conduct of affairs to him while he went to mandalay to recover from his hurt. saw Ôn defeated the hostile party, and having established his authority, took possession of the state and told saw möng he need not return. meanwhile the limbin confederacy had been formed, and saw Ôn was called upon to join it. he refused, and shrewdly proclaimed himself an adherent of the british government and appealed to the chief commissioner for aid. [illustration: saw maung, sawbwa of yawnghwÈ, and his consort.] in order to explain the appearance of the limbin confederacy, we must now go eastward of the salween to the state of kengtung. this chieftainship is one of the largest of the states, and comprises about twelve thousand square miles. it lies between the salween and the mekong, touching both rivers. owing to its distance from mandalay and the very rugged and mountainous nature of the country between the two rivers, kengtung of late years had been left to itself by the burman government. soon after thebaw's accession to the kingdom of ava, many of the shan states revolted against him, and kengtung took a conspicuous part in the rebellion. the sawbwa seized the burmese resident and his escort and put them to death. he attacked the adjacent and smaller state of kengcheng and turned out the chief, installing in his room a man of his own. it so happened that the chinese had occasion about this time to strengthen their forces in southern yunnan, probably as a precaution against french aggression. hearing of the action taken by kengtung against kengcheng, a large part of which lay east of the mekong, the chinese general sent a force to kengtung. it was agreed to submit the dispute between the claimants to the sawbwaship of kengcheng to the chinese commander. he installed one of the claimants, and provided against a revival of the quarrel by decapitating the other. after these events the authority of the burman government ceased to exist in kengtung. in the sawbwa of möngnai and the chiefs of several neighbouring states revolted against thebaw and found a safe refuge in kengtung. möngnai is one of the most important of the states. it contains nearly three thousand square miles. the river salween is the boundary on the east, and divides it from kengtung. it has been already mentioned that a burman bo-hmu, or resident, with an armed force, was stationed in möngnai, which derived dignity from being the centre of burmese power in the shan states, and suffered proportionately. the exactions of the king's government at last became intolerable. the sawbwa, kun kyi, was summoned, with other defaulters, to mandalay, and imprisoned there until the sums demanded were paid. about kun kyi was again summoned to appear. he preferred to revolt. while the burmese subordinate official (the resident had just died) was preparing to seize him, he raised his people, led them against the king's garrison, and destroyed it. on the news reaching mandalay, a large force was dispatched to avenge this outrage, and the sawbwa, with several other chiefs in like straits, took refuge in kengtung. one, twet nga lu, with the assistance of the burmese officials, took possession of möngnai. twet nga lu was an unfrocked monk, a native of kengtawng, a sub-state of möngnai, who signalized his return to a worldly life by making himself unpleasant to his neighbours. he had made an attack on möngnai, but was driven off. a younger brother of the möngnai sawbwa had married a lady named nang u, by whom he had a son. whether this nobleman died, or was dismissed by nang u, is uncertain. however that may be, she espoused twet nga lu, and thereupon her minor son was appointed by the king to be magistrate of kengtawng with the unfrocked monk as guardian. this arrangement had taken place before the retirement of the sawbwa, kun kyi, to kengtung, and was very distasteful to him. it came about thus, that the sawbwa of möngnai, the premier chief in the shan country with lawksawk and several others, all suffering from the king's tyranny, found themselves in kengtung. naturally they took counsel together regarding the measures to be adopted for recovering their territories, and protecting the shans generally against the oppressive rule of burma. it was resolved to form a confederacy under one leader. their decision and the reasons for it are stated in a letter addressed by them to hkun saing, the sawbwa of hsipaw, on the th of march, . referring to a communication which they had received from hkun saing, in which he advised that "it would be beneficial to the shans to have their country welded into a congeries of independent states like germany," they state their own views in the form of resolutions, declaring that there is no hope of establishing peace or putting an end to the endless strife between the states, unless they are united under one suzerain. they consider that the interests of their religion and of the country generally demand the selection of a supreme ruler, who will combine the sawbwas and enable them to withstand any attempt to injure them or their religion. acting on these principles they decided in , before the british government had moved against king thebaw, to invite the limbin prince, one of the royal family who was living in british burma as a refugee on a small pension allotted to him by the british government, to come up to kengtung and to accept the position of suzerain of the shan states, with the object of "wresting the crown from king thebaw." the prince accepted the call, and arrived at kengtung on december , . on his arrival, forces were raised from kengtung and the other confederating states, and advance parties were sent forward under the command of the sawbwas of möngnawng, möngnai, and lawksawk. the states joining in this enterprise under the nominal leadership of the limbin prince--a poor creature quite unable to lead any one--became known as the limbin confederacy. a counter league was formed by all those interested in keeping the exiled sawbwas out of their territories and maintaining the existing state of things. on the other hand, the sawbwas of möngpawn and several other influential sawbwas espoused the cause of the confederacy. twet nga lu was the leading spirit of the counter league, and he directed its forces against the states which were allied to möngnai. he was met and defeated by möngpawn, and early in the year kun kyi, the sawbwa of möngnai, and his companions in exile had expelled the usurpers and recovered their territories. the confederacy then set themselves to induce or compel other states to join them and to acknowledge the suzerainty of the limbin prince. saw Ôn, the _de facto_ ruler of yawnghwè, rejected their invitation. the confederacy determined to move from möngnai against him, as it was important to force yawnghwè, the state adjoining möngnai on the west, and the most powerful in the central, or myélat, division, to give its adherence to the prince. the foregoing outline will perhaps suffice to make the situation at and immediately following the annexation intelligible. the danger-points appeared to the chief commissioner to be the critical situations of the two sawbwas, who had signified their adherence to the british government, namely, hsipaw in the north and yawnghwè in the central portion of the states. hsipaw and his ally, san ton hon, were pressed by the coalition under naw hpa, naw möng, and prince saw yan naing--another scion of royalty who with his brother had raised their standard at chaunggwa, in the ava district, and after being driven out of that had eventually joined naw möng in hsenwi. yawnghwè was threatened by the powerful limbin confederacy, and had no prospect of help from any neighbouring state. both these sawbwas had declared themselves to be friends of the british government, and at the time they were our only adherents. the deputation of mr. herbert white to hsumhsai in has already been mentioned. he succeeded in opening the trade route between hsipaw and mandalay and in strengthening the position of the sawbwa hkun saing. accordingly, when sir charles bernard came to mandalay at the end of , hkun saing was able to hasten down to meet him, and to make in person his submission to the british government. he was received with much ceremony by the chief commissioner. his loyalty to the queen-empress and belief in her power were not open to doubt. on his return journey from mandalay in february, , mr. j. e. bridges, the deputy commissioner, with a small military escort and some officers of the survey and intelligence departments, accompanied the sawbwa to hsipaw. mr. bridges remained there twenty-five days, gathering information regarding shan politics and the country generally, and opening communications with other states. he came to the conclusion that the shan chiefs were little disposed to welcome the advent of british power. hkun saing, the sawbwa of hsipaw, stood out alone as our friend. the party under the flag of the chaunggwa prince, which was striving to eject san ton hon from hsenwi, was equally hostile to hsipaw. much of the country had been ravaged by the myinzaing prince and his adherents. his view was needlessly despondent. before the end of it had been decided to begin by sending an expedition to relieve yawnghwè from the threatened attack by the limbin confederacy. to provide men for another movement to help hsipaw was thought to be impossible. in accordance with a promise made to hkun saing by the chief commissioner at their meeting in mandalay, a supply of arms and ammunition was sent to him, which, it was hoped, would enable him and san ton hon to defeat their enemies. it may be stated here that although some anxiety was felt from time to time regarding events in hsenwi and hsipaw, it did not become necessary to move troops to their assistance. naw hpa and his son naw möng made submission to the superintendent at fort stedman early in august, , and further action in the northern states was deferred until the open season of - . but to return to the end of . although it had been impossible to take more active steps to bring the shan states into line, the administration had not been idle. the policy to be adopted towards them generally was thought out and the main lines were laid down by sir charles bernard. letters explaining the principles which would guide the british government in its relations to them were written to the various chiefs. they were assured that there was no desire to interfere in the internal affairs of the states. british supremacy must be acknowledged, peace must be preserved, the people must not be oppressed. subject to these conditions and to the payment of a moderate tribute, the british government undertook to recognize the sawbwas who were in effective possession, to uphold their rights, and to give freedom and open the way for commerce. preparations were made accordingly to send an expedition to the shan plateau. its immediate duty was to relieve yawnghwè. the ultimate purpose was to establish a political officer with a sufficient military force in a strong position on the shan plateau from which he could, as the representative of british power, control the states. there was no intention of fighting the shans. on the contrary, it was desired to win their friendship and to induce them to trust us. already the duties, imposts and monopolies which strangled trade in the king's time had been swept away. it remained to establish peace and to open the trade routes which the prevailing anarchy had closed. hlaingdet was chosen as the starting-point of the expedition which was to carry out this policy. a force assembled there in december, , under colonel e. stedman of the rd gurkha regiment, consisting of-- guns - e.d.r.a. four companies nd battalion hampshire regiment. four companies rd gurkha regiment. men of the bombay sappers and miners. mounted infantry (who joined at pwehla after the force had started). the objects of the expedition, as has been stated, were peaceful and political. the military commander was responsible for the disposition of the troops, and in the event of active operations becoming necessary was to have entire control. the negotiations with the shans and the conduct of affairs generally, apart from purely military matters, were entrusted to the civil head of the expedition, mr. a. h. hildebrand (at that time deputy commissioner of tharrawaddy). ten years previously mr. hildebrand had served on a mission to the karenni country and had arranged for the protection of that people from the encroachments of the king of burma. subsequently as district officer of the salween hill tracts and later in the arakan hills he had shown his capacity for ruling and influencing half-civilized peoples. mr. j. g. scott, now well known as sir george scott, was appointed to assist him. mr. scott at a former period had been attached to the s. p. g. college in rangoon, and under the _nom de plume_ of shway yoe had made a reputation as a writer on burma and its people. on the annexation of upper burma he had been appointed to the commission. the leaders of the expedition, both civil and military, were well chosen. their instructions were to take every precaution against giving avoidable offence or trouble to the people, to gain the goodwill of chiefs, priests, and villagers, to interfere as little as might be with their prejudices, their religious houses, and their private life. the move from hlaingdet was to have been made at once on the assembling of the force. but the state of the roads and doubt as to the best route caused delay both at the outset and afterwards. the hill passes leading to the shan country had become very difficult owing to disuse during the troublous times of - . in some places also they had been purposely blocked by the burman villagers to protect themselves against shan cattle-raiders, and by shans who wished to obstruct the expedition. it was very hard to get labourers to clear and repair the roads and make them passable by the main body of the force and the transport animals. on the rd of january it was decided to advance, and colonel stedman, with two hundred gurkhas, proceeded to occupy pyinyaung, twenty-two miles from hlaingdet. there were doubts as to the best route. as the reports received from yawnghwè represented the sawbwa to be hard pressed by the limbin confederates, colonel stedman resolved to follow the most direct road, disregarding its difficulty, and pushed on to kyatsakan and across the pyindeik pass. singu was occupied on the th. some show of resistance was made at several places. but it was very faint-hearted, the enemy being only some shans in the service of the lawksawk sawbwa, poorly armed and undisciplined. mr. hildebrand had not yet arrived. his subordinate, mr. scott, who performed his duties temporarily, distributed copies of a proclamation issued by the chief commissioner explaining the motives and objects of the expedition to the chiefs of the myélat states, and wrote letters in his own name to the most prominent men. he made good use of the time also to explore roads and collect labour for improving them. on the st of january mr. hildebrand with the remainder of the force joined colonel stedman at singu. on the th of january the main body advanced to kaukon, where another feeble attempt at resistance was made by some of lawksawk's forces. on the following day numerous elders from the neighbouring villages came in and welcomed the british. the constant fighting between the limbin's men and their opponents led by the yawnghwè sawbwa, had made life a burden to the people. the country was being depopulated. no one dared to sow, not knowing who would reap. on the th of january pwehla was reached. the chief villagers and the pongyis met the column outside the town, and a favourable and peaceable progress was anticipated. hitherto there had been some apprehension lest the sawbwa of yawnghwè, who had represented himself as being hard pressed by the limbin confederacy, should be overpowered before help could reach him. it was now ascertained that this fear was unfounded. as there was no cause for haste, mr. hildebrand decided to take the opportunity of summoning the chiefs of the myélat states to appear and to make their submission. there was an advantage, moreover, in giving the lawksawk sawbwa time to consider his position and to submit peacefully; and with this object every endeavour was made by letter and messenger to explain the situation to him. on the th of february the force reached bawyethat pagoda, about half-way between yawnghwè and kugyo. here it was met by the sawbwa saw Ôn, who came with the full glory of shan pomp to welcome the british representative. it was found that a body of men from lawksawk had occupied kugyo, which is in yawnghwè territory. mr. hildebrand wished to send a letter to the commander to persuade him to retire his men, but no one could be found willing to carry it, for fear of the wild kachins and panthays said to be amongst his followers. there was nothing for it, therefore, but to attack kugyo, which was taken on the th of february, without loss on our side. on the th the column made a formal entry into yawnghwè and was received with much state by the sawbwa. it had been intended to fix the headquarters of the british administration a little way off, but the country was found to be low-lying and unhealthy. a site was chosen on the slope which leads up from the great lake of yawnghwè to the hsahtung range. a fort was built, and named after colonel stedman, the officer commanding the force. here the headquarters of the superintendent of the southern shan states were established. the arrival of the expedition at yawnghwè was followed by an immediate change in the attitude of the neighbouring chiefs. by the middle of february yawnghwè had been relieved and the bands attacking him dispersed. the whole of the myélat had submitted, most of the chiefs appearing in person. to the south, möngpai and others of importance had accepted the british suzerainty, some by letter and some in person. to the north, lawksawk and möngping held aloof, but it was hoped to induce them to come in. laikha, möngkung, and kehsi mansam had declared themselves on the british side. letters were despatched to möngnai and all the adjacent states, urging them to accept the supremacy of the british and to cease fighting amongst themselves. letters were also sent to the chiefs of karenni, offering friendship and suggesting a meeting. after the dispersal of the bands at kugyo, the limbin confederacy had withdrawn their troops and the confederate chiefs had retired to their own territories. the limbin had betaken himself to a place near hopong. nevertheless there was no sign of the eastern states giving in and dissolving the confederacy. letters were again written to them. a special letter was addressed to the limbin, promising him his liberty if he surrendered, with a sufficient pension and a house at moulmein or rangoon. while the results of these overtures were being awaited, it became urgent to attend to the quarrel between möngpai, the most southerly of the shan states, and pobye, the chief of western karenni, which adjoins möngpai on the south. a perennial feud existed between them, and at this time had broken out with fresh energy. both the combatants had written to mr. hildebrand praying him to send a british officer with a force to put a stop to the strife which was ruining the country. in answer to this appeal mr. scott, with a hundred gurkhas under command of captain pulley, was sent southward to payagon, where the burmese garrison used to be stationed, and near which the möngpai sawbwa had now made his residence. they made the journey of seventy miles by boat down the nam pilu river through a fertile and irrigated country, which had evidently suffered much from both the contending factions. the sawbwa received mr. scott with hospitality and welcomed the settlement of the shan states under the british crown. he said he had prayed for this and urged it on his compatriots for thirty years. "now that the british have come," he exclaimed, "there will be peace." he asked for a british garrison at payagon, as a protection against the karennis, who raided the shan country for slaves. the shans were quite unable to withstand them, and men and women were carried off into hopeless slavery (_vide_ chapter xvii.). it had been intended that the force under colonel stedman should return to burma by the southern passes to toungoo, and that mr. scott with the troops accompanying him should remain at or about möngpai until the main body joined him. owing to some military exigencies this plan was changed, and the expedition was ordered to return by the route by which it came. captain pulley with mr. scott's escort was recalled at once to fort stedman. mr. scott had to withdraw, leaving unsettled many matters, more especially the quarrel between möngpai and the karenni chief pobye, and without waiting for several headmen of neighbouring districts who were on their way to meet him. this was unfortunate. after the return of mr. scott and his escort to fort stedman on the th of march, , a long halt followed, during which voluminous correspondence was carried on with the various chiefs who held aloof and with the limbin prince, who it was hoped might be induced to surrender and thus dissolve the confederacy. the prince was reported to be at hopong. letters were sent to him and to möngnai, and to möngpawn, inviting them to meet mr. hildebrand at hopong on the th of march, and preparations were made for the march. the difficulties of transport had been overcome, the pack-bullock baskets loaded up; the coolies collected, and everything ready for a start, when letters were received from möngpawn saying that he could not meet the superintendent. möngnai was at gantarawadi, the capital of eastern karenni, witnessing the marriage of his nephew to a daughter of sawlapaw, the karenni chief. möngnai's sister-in-law had died. she could not be buried until möngnai returned. until the funeral was over möngnai could not attend to business, and without him the others could do nothing. royalties are governed by conventions. it was obvious that möngpawn's object was to gain time. to countermand the march, now that all preparations had been made and the forward movement widely made known was open to many objections. the yawnghwè sawbwa argued strongly against a change of plans, which he said would certainly be misinterpreted. mr. hildebrand, however, decided to countermand the march. he wished to give the confederacy full time to consider the alternatives before them. he held that a voluntary acknowledgment of british supremacy made from a conviction that it was the best course for their own interests would be more valuable even if it were delayed than an immediate submission enforced by arms. this waiting policy was not free from some disadvantages. the delay in taking action was sure to be attributed to weakness. the time was used by sawlapawgyi, who was hostile to the british, to urge the other karenni chiefs and those shan sawbwas with whom he could communicate to hold aloof. in the neighbourhood of yawnghwè and in the myélat states generally signs of unrest and trouble were manifest. for the first time since the occupation of fort stedman mail-runners were stopped and robbed. the sawbwa of lawksawk, who remained openly and uncompromisingly hostile, was thought to have instigated these outrages. it was resolved to strike the first blow at him. he was warned by letter that the superintendent was coming to lawksawk and ordered to remain at his capital to meet him. the difficulty of collecting transport had to be overcome again. the yawnghwè sawbwa for some cause was not zealous in assisting the expedition. for one reason he desired to make the most money he could out of the opportunity, and made a very persistent effort to extort exorbitant rates for the carriage furnished. it was not until the th of april that the force began to march for lawksawk. it moved by very easy stages. the various bands of marauders posted along the route to harass the march fled as the expedition advanced. these ruffians had been working in concert with dacoit gangs in the districts below the hills, who had thus been able to resist the british troops; but now, finding themselves liable to be taken in the rear, very soon surrendered to the military post at wundwin, an unexpected but very useful result of mr. hildebrand's action. before the column reached lawksawk the sawbwa saw waing fled. the town was occupied on the th of april. temporary arrangements were made for administering the state by putting in charge a burman, bo saing, who had held office under the king's government and was acceptable to the people, and the force turned its face towards hopong. meanwhile fighting had been renewed in the south-east. möngnai returned from karenni with some men lent to him by sawlapaw and drove twet nga lu out of kengtawng. laikha, möngkung, and kehsi mansam, who had been invited by mr. hildebrand to come to hoypong to meet möngnai and möngpawn with a view to their reconciliations, put their own interpretation on this invitation and attacked möngpawn in force. peremptory orders were sent to them to withdraw. when the force entered hopong on the th of april, the day appointed for meeting möngpawn and the limbin prince, the town was found in ruins and all but deserted. the limbin had not come, and möngpawn was occupied in defending himself against his enemies. the intelligence received showed that laikha and his allies had not obeyed the order to withdraw their men. finding that an engagement was in progress a few miles off, mr. hildebrand and mr. scott with forty mounted infantry and fifty punjabis under major swetenham rode for the scene of the fight, which went on for a short time unchecked by the arrival of the british party. the opposing forces had stockaded positions on the opposite slopes of a small valley, and were firing briskly on each other. möngpawn was induced to cease firing. the assistant superintendent, mr. scott, went up to the stockade of the attacking party, and the leaders were soon persuaded to withdraw their men, who for their part were only too glad to go to their homes. when the british retired to möngpawn in the evening, they left the opposing leaders mingled together in good-humoured talk, bragging of the desperate deeds of valour performed in the combat. [illustration: padaung ladies--shan states.] a few days were spent at möngpawn. the sawbwa hkun ti is described as a man of strong character, "the moving spirit in the limbin confederacy." he was quite ready, however, to give up this coalition and to transfer his allegiance to the queen-empress. he advised the despatch of a party to möngnai to hoist the british flag and to bring in the limbin prince. the rains were now well on, and marching had become very difficult. it was decided, therefore, not to take the whole force but to send the assistant superintendent with fifty rifles under lieutenant wallace to möngnai. the superintendent with the main body marched back to fort stedman. mr. scott was detained for some days in möngpawn waiting for rations. the time was well employed. two of the minor chiefs, naungmawn (a brother of möngpawn) and möngsit (möngpawn's son-in-law, and half-brother of mawknai), came and tendered their allegiance. others offered their submission by messenger and promised to meet the assistant superintendent at möngnai, which they said was the place of assemblage for the shan states from ancient times. more than this, very friendly relations were established during this halt between the people and the troops. the _myozas_ (headmen) from the neighbouring villages came round every evening for rifle-practice with the officers; and it is recorded that möngpawn and his brother made very good shooting. the troops were paraded and manoeuvred for their entertainment. notwithstanding these courtesies, however, no promise to surrender the limbin prince could be obtained from these chiefs. "it must depend," they said, "on his own decision." they suggested that better terms should be offered to him. "this was an instance," says mr. hildebrand, "of the way in which the shan chiefs cling together, and of the sanctity they attach to an oath." although the limbin's cause and the ideas on which it was based were hopelessly lost, they would not coerce him to surrender. on the nd of may mr. scott's party began their march, and entered möngnai on the th, having suffered from heavy and incessant rain all the way. after crossing the mewettaung range, they entered a level valley which extends to kengtawng on the south-east and up northward as far as laikha. the altitude of this valley is about , feet. it is the centre of the silk cultivation, the eggs and larvæ being imported periodically from the chinese provinces of yunnan and szechuen. when the party passed through the whole district had been ravaged by men from laikha, and only a few almost empty villages survived. twet nga lu from kengtawng had also been at work, and on the last march of seventeen miles into möngnai most of the villages were found in ruins. they had been burnt by his marauders two months before. the description of möngnai at this time is worth quoting (mr. hildebrand's report, june , , par. ). "from the north there is a long avenue-like approach to möngnai. the walls of the ancient city still exist in a very dilapidated state. they are about feet high and machicolated. the city was about , yards square, and there remain signs of extensive suburbs. everything, however, has been destroyed. of ten thousand houses only three hundred (mostly recently built) remain; out of one hundred and twenty monasteries only three are left standing. the sawbwa himself lives in a bamboo house, instead of the former teak-wood _haw_ (palace). the interior of the city walls is all jungle-grown." it is as well to put on record some description of the condition in which the british found the shan states. a few years hence we shall be denounced as the ruthless destroyers of a country which we had found wealthy and prosperous. the sawbwa of möngnai came in unpretentious fashion to see mr. scott the day after his arrival. his superiority in breeding and character to most of the chiefs was marked, he made no difficulty about accepting british supremacy, and proffered all his influence to induce the other chiefs to follow his example. the typical character of the shans as a race of traders came out in his request that his submission to british authority should be made known in moulmein. in former times there was a good trade in timber with the moulmein merchants. when they were informed of the establishment of peace this trade he anticipated would revive. it remained to induce the limbin prince to submit and to accompany mr. scott to fort stedman. this was not a question of very high diplomacy, but it required some skill, tact, and patience to induce the prince to make a voluntary surrender. it would have been very easy to have arrested and removed him by force. such action, however, would have been distasteful to the shan chiefs and might have rendered it more difficult to dispose of other pretenders still remaining in the northern states. the prince showed himself to be a poor creature, whose chief characteristic was an immeasurable conceit. he was, after all, only the illegitimate son of the ein-she-min, or war prince, who was the brother of king mindon. but burmans and shans, like some other people, if a man is a prince, do not ask too curiously what sort of a prince he may be. when he left möngnai, mounted on an elephant, with his gong beating, great numbers of people knelt down by the roadside as he passed, and similar respect was shown to him at other places. notwithstanding his conceit, he did not put a very high price on his submission. this descendant of kings, who had left his refuge in british burma to become the head of a great shan confederacy to be formed on the model of the german empire, was glad to barter his lofty ambition for a stipend of £ sterling a month and a house at rangoon, or moulmein, or elsewhere. while the prince was making arrangements for the journey, the assistant superintendent with lieutenant wallace, th punjab infantry, and lieutenant jackson, r.e., rode to mawkmai, some twenty-five miles over rolling country covered with scrub-oak forest. they found mawkmai situated in a fine valley miles in extent, irrigated from the nam nyim river, and well cultivated; the main crop being paddy. the town was in good order, well built and prosperous. "the one town," records mr. scott, "in the shan states that has not been destroyed in the inter-state wars." the trade relations between mawkmai and moulmein are close; the salween in the rainy season being navigable and affording good means of communication. the british officers were received with courtesy and hospitality by the sawbwa and his officials. the suzerainty of the queen-empress was accepted as a matter of course. the only anxiety of the chief was in respect of the duty likely to be imposed on exported timber, which had been severely taxed by king thebaw. on the th of may the party returned to möngnai. the attitude of the sawbwa kun kyi was excellent. he assured mr. scott that he would be able to promise the submission of the trans-salween states, who all looked to him as their leader, and to möngnai as their place of assemblage. he asked as a special favour to himself, and as a confirmation of his authority, that he might be allowed to fly the british flag over his residence. this request was granted. in the evening the british officers with a small guard of honour went to the sawbwa's _haw_, or palace, where a flagstaff had been prepared, and the union jack was run up by mr. scott, the bugles sounding a general salute and the troops presenting arms. a great number of people from möngnai and the neighbouring villages were present. they saluted the flag in their customary attitude of respect, on their knees, and when the troops marched off the sawbwa's band struck up. what march it played has not been recorded. the limbin prince had now made his arrangements for the journey, and on the th the party started for fort stedman, which was reached on the th of may. the route lay over a road which had not been used for a year and which the contending parties had endeavoured to make impassable. four sepoys and several camp-followers were spiked in the feet. but for this mishap the three weeks' march from möngpawn round by möngnai would have been accomplished without having a single man on the sick-list; and this although there had been much rain, especially on the return journey. after five days' rest the limbin prince was sent under escort to the plains, and passed into obscurity. on the nd of june the superintendent was able to report from fort stedman: "the southern shan states have now all given in their submission; caravans of cattle and pedlars move about from state to state with perfect freedom and confidence, a condition of things which has hardly existed since the accession of king thebaw in ." (mr. hildebrand's report, june , , par. .) footnotes: [ ] "yunnan," by major h. r. davies. [ ] ibid., p. . [ ] sir a. p. phayre, "history of burma," p. . [ ] he was grinding wheat or paddy in a hand-mill. [ ] general sir edward stedman, g.c.b. [ ] sir herbert white, k.c.i.e., late lieut. governor of burma. chapter xvi the shan states (_continued_) the narrative in the last chapter took the history down to the end of june, , when comparative peace had been established in the southern states. the northern states up to this time had not come under the influence of the superintendent at fort stedman. the chief commissioner had decided that no expedition should be sent into those states until after the rains of , unless it became absolutely necessary for the support of the friendly sawbwa of hsipaw. the chief had been able, as has been explained (p. ), with the alliance of san ton hon to hold his own and to defeat their opponents headed by naw möng and the chaunggwa prince. if he had stopped at that point much misery and destruction would have been saved. but hkun saing's vanity had been inflated by the reception he had received at mandalay when ten years' revenue had been remitted to him and the states of möngtung, manglön, and hsumhsai made over to him, and he cherished visions of further aggrandisement. san ton hon was very much of the same mind. after defeating the prince they turned their forces southward and made an attack on hsenwi alelet, where comparative peace had been maintained by the pa-ôk-chok at möngyai. san ton hon led his troops down by the east while hsipaw's men, under the sawbwa's father-in-law, went by the west. mr. hildebrand had heard of their designs and sent them orders to desist. the allies persisted, however, alleging that they were acting under instructions from mandalay. möngyai was occupied. the pa-ôk-chok and naw möng, who was with him, escaped to möngnawng and sent messengers to fort stedman praying for redress. they were ordered to remain quiet until the superintendent should come to hsenwi. san ton hon remained in möngyai making arrangements for administering the district. he then left for the town of hsenwi in obedience to a further order from mr. hildebrand. by the end of august, , peace had been restored, that is to say, active fighting had ceased in the northern states, and the contending parties awaited the coming of the superintendent to settle their claims. little harm would have resulted from the turbulence of hsipaw and san ton hon if they had restrained their followers from ravaging the country. these bandits, san ton hon's kachins at the head of them, had burnt and destroyed everything. thus the autumn of saw the cessation of bloodshed in both the northern and southern states. all were beginning to look to the british representative at fort stedman as the final arbitrator of disputes, and trade began to revive. meanwhile the objects to be aimed at and the measures to be taken in the ensuing open season of - were occupying the chief commissioner. mr. hildebrand was invited to mandalay, and the subject was fully discussed and settled in consultation with him. the main lines of the policy to be followed in relation to the states were defined. the conditions upon which the chiefs were to hold their states under the british government were determined and embodied in a patent, or _sanad_, to use the indian term, for the greater chiefs, and in a letter of appointment for the lesser. by the _sanad_ the recipient was recognized as a feudatory chief and empowered to govern his territories in all matters whether criminal, civil, or revenue, and was authorized to nominate for the approval of the government a fit person according to shan usage to be his successor. these privileges were made subject to certain conditions, one of which was the payment of a tribute, settled for five years at the amount previously paid to the king, and liable to revision thereafter. the forests and royalties on all minerals and precious stones were reserved to the government. order was to be maintained by the chief, the rights and customs of the people were to be respected, and trade protected. all disputes arising between one state and another were to be referred to the superintendent, at whose headquarters the chief was to maintain an agent or representative. the order of appointment given to the lesser men bound them to pay the revenue assessed by the superintendent, and in all matters connected with the administration of their districts to conform to the instructions and orders issued by the chief commissioner or the superintendent. it was decided that each chief or ruler, whether known by the title of sawbwa or some lesser designation, should be required to appear in person, to make a declaration of allegiance, and to subscribe to the terms of his _sanad_. where there were rival claimants, weight was to be given to the _fait accompli_, and to considerations of expediency rather than to those of abstract right or justice. it was not held incumbent on the british government to go behind existing facts or to inquire how the man in possession came by his power, provided he appeared to be a person capable of maintaining order. some matters of importance hitherto unsettled were decided by the chief commissioner at this time. the important state of lawksawk had been left in temporary charge of a burman myoôk (_vide_ page ). there was a man named hkun nu who had been the (hereditary) myoza of a small state called tabet by the burmans, tamhpak by the shans. he had been deposed about by the burman government because he could not raise the revenue demanded from the state. he lived in great poverty in mandalay until the deposition of the king. his case coming to the chief commissioner's notice, a small allowance, enough to keep him alive, was made to him. hkun nu proved himself useful in giving information about the shan country and in taking letters, not without some personal risk, to various potentates. he accompanied the expedition to the shan states early in , and was found by mr. hildebrand to be both intelligent and trustworthy and to be a person of some influence in the shan country. on mr. hildebrand's recommendation, and with the goodwill of many of the notables of lawksawk, and of some of the principal sawbwas such as möngnai and möngpawn, he was appointed by the chief commissioner to be sawbwa of lawksawk, a territory of , square miles and paying a gross revenue of rs. , . thus from being the dismissed magistrate of a petty district, earning a small wage as a guide and messenger, hkun nu became the ruler of a considerable and wealthy state by a sudden turn of the wheel of fortune. it may be recorded here that the state prospered under him. on his death in he was succeeded by his son, who was summoned to rangoon in , and presented to their royal highnesses the prince and princess of wales. he received the decoration of k.s.m. on the st of january, , and has done much in the way of road-making and otherwise to improve his country. another matter that came up was the sawbwa of möngnai's claim to the adjacent state of kengtawng, which had been made over by the burmese government to twet nga lu. orders were now passed confirming the sawbwa's title to administer kengtawng as a state subordinate to him. many important questions remained, which could not be settled until the superintendent was able to visit each state with a sufficient military escort to mark his authority and to render opposition improbable. hsenwi was in a disturbed and distracted condition and had to be pacified and arrangements made for its administration. the method in which the group of smaller states on the western edge of the plateau known as the myélat was to be administered had also to be considered and decided. the nearness of these states to mandalay had resulted in diminishing their independence. their position was in fact not much different from that of a purely burman district. then there were the trans-salween states, with which communication had not as yet been established. five of the smallest of these had been claimed by the siamese. another very difficult matter was the attitude of the karennis, whose relations with the british government it was necessary to define. in the case of every state, big or little, the amount paid as revenue during the king's time had to be ascertained, the tribute payable to the british government to be determined, and engagements to be taken for its regular payment. in mr. hildebrand's expedition in the beginning of only one force had been employed. experience showed that the area to be dealt with was too large for one column. while the force was in the south, fighting and disturbances were going on in the north. the appearance of two expeditions, one starting from mandalay and visiting the north, the other from fort stedman, taking the southern states and then moving up to combine with the first, would make a greater impression than a single force of much larger strength. rumour would magnify the numbers of each, and if opposition were contemplated by any of the chiefs, he would not know where to direct his attack. for these reasons it was decided to employ two columns. the larger, under command of major swetenham, th p.i., was composed of:-- guns - eastern division, r.a. rifles--west surrey regiment. rifles-- th p.i. british } native } mounted infantry lances-- st bombay lancers. it assembled at fort stedman, and was called the southern shan column. the smaller column was commanded by major yates, - eastern division, r.a., and included the following troops:-- guns - eastern division, r.a. rifles--royal munster fusiliers. rifles-- g.l.i. (bombay army). rifles--native } mounted infantry. rifles--british } this column was designated the northern shan column. its starting-point was maymyo (pyinulwin), forty miles from mandalay. to mr. hildebrand, as superintendent of the shan states, was given the chief political charge, and, within certain limits laid down by the chief commissioner, the movements of the columns and the measures to be taken for the pacification of the country were left to his discretion. he was to accompany the southern column, and mr. j. g. scott was appointed to go with him as his assistant. lieutenant h. daly was posted as civil officer with the northern column. in all political matters he was placed entirely under mr. hildebrand, and was told that he was to act, and only to act, under his instructions. the relations of mr. hildebrand to the military officers in command of the columns were carefully defined. the primary object of the expeditions was to establish peace, decide disputes, and lay the foundations of orderly rule for the future. the need of warlike operations was not anticipated. the military officers commanding were instructed therefore to give to the civil officers every assistance in carrying out the wishes of government that could be given with due regard to the safety and well-being of the troops. in the event of hostilities becoming necessary, then the civil officer was to stand aside while the soldiers became solely responsible for the planning and carrying out of the necessary operations. the maintenance of the strictest discipline was enjoined, and the most scrupulous exactitude in paying for labour and supplies. troops and followers were made to understand that they were operating in a friendly country. instructions were given to mr. hildebrand as to the route to be taken by each column, the matters demanding his attention, and the principles by which he was to be guided. mr. daly with the northern column was to move through hsipaw to northern hsenwi, then to tawngpeng, the chief of which state was still recalcitrant; and thence returning to hsipaw, he was to march to möngyai in central hsenwi. mr. hildebrand with the southern column was to go to möngpai, thence to mawkmai, thence to möngpan, and then to möngnai, which was a convenient centre for the settlement of many matters. after a halt there, which it was anticipated might extend to several weeks, the column was to turn northward and march through the intervening states to möngyai, which it was to reach about the same time as the northern column. the idea was to bring the two columns together in hsenwi, where the contending parties of san ton hon, naw hpa, naw möng and nga aw the pa-ôk-chok, whom san ton hon and the hsipaw sawbwa had expelled from möngyai, were expected to give trouble. at möngyai, the settlement of the large state of hsenwi--the most difficult, perhaps, of the duties entrusted to mr. hildebrand--would have to be taken in hand. the southern column started on the nd of november, , on its five months' march through the states. before it moved, the chiefs of the myélat and the sawbwas and myozas of states in the neighbourhood of fort stedman, were called in; the revenue to be paid by each was fixed, and the drafts of their _sanads_ and letters of appointment given to them. there was no difficulty with any of them except saw Ôn, the sawbwa of yawnghwè, who owed his position to the support afforded to him by the british government. he objected to the payment of revenue, and feigned illness to avoid appearing before the superintendent. he made it almost impossible to get coolies or bullocks, except directly through him and at most exorbitant rates. he exhibited, in fact, a fine example of a swollen head. but it may be that he partly believed in the truth of some absurd stories respecting the withdrawal of the british from burma, which he was found afterwards to have spread abroad. the first halt was made at kaung-i, the residence of the möngpai sawbwa. the settlement of the chronic feud between him and pobye, the karenni chief, was the main business here. pobye appeared, and the superintendent heard both parties. after vainly endeavouring to bring them to an agreement, mr. hildebrand induced them to pledge themselves to abide by the chief commissioner's decision, and meanwhile to keep the peace. at a later date, they submitted their case at rangoon to the chief commissioner, who settled the dispute.... at möngpai every effort was made without success to induce sawlapaw, the powerful chief of eastern karenni, to come in and arrange a _modus vivendi_ with the british authorities. he remained obstinately hostile, and had to be chastised later on. [illustration: a jungle camp in the shan states.] at this halt, where several chiefs were assembled, the principle of succession ruling in the shan states was discussed. it appeared that as a rule succession devolved on the eldest son of the chief wife: failing her male issue, on the eldest male issue of the next wife. failing heirs in the direct line, the succession went to collaterals. this was shown to be the ancient custom not to be departed from except in the case of obvious unfitness of the heir for the duties of his position either from incapacity or from vice. in loilong and hsahtung some questions relating to minor chiefships were settled. it was found that on this south-western frontier of the shan states the inhabitants were mostly karens and kindred races split up into small tribes speaking different dialects, timid and shy people submitting to the tyranny of dacoits and outlaws who sought a refuge in their hills from the pursuit of the police and troops in the low country. the column marched through the mawkmai territory to möngpan. no special matter had been marked for settlement in mawkmai. but it was noted that the villagers in the south stood in great fear of sawlapaw, and paid blackmail to him. work in the forests of southern and south-eastern mawkmai had been stopped on account of the hostility of the karenni chief. the adjacent country was practically deserted, and the complaints against sawlapaw were loud. mawkmai, however, at this time was the most wealthy and prosperous of the shan states, and the sawbwa seemed powerful enough to hold his own against any of his neighbours. from mawkmai the column went on to möngpan. here they met the siamese commissioners and mr. archer, his majesty's acting vice-consul at chiengmai (zimme), who had come to discuss the claim made by the bangkok government to some small states east of the salween. möngpan had been taken and burnt by the filibuster twet nga lu, who had so far recognized british authority that after his expulsion from kengtawng by kun kyi, the möngnai sawbwa, he came to fort stedman and laid his claim before the superintendent. it was considered and rejected by the chief commissioner. thereupon he collected a regiment of _bravi_, as numerous in the shan states in as in italy of the middle ages, and descending on kengtawng burnt whatever had escaped former devastations. compelled to retreat by the sawbwa's men, he retired south on möngpan, and captured it in december, . again driven out by the möngnai troops, he fell back beyond the salween, the möngnai men following him. but as the pursuit led them into the territory of möngtung and möng hang, which were claimed by the siamese, they were ordered by the superintendent to retire to the right bank of the salween. twet nga lu was left encamped close to möngtung, where a small siamese garrison was stationed, and he thus escaped for the time. he was proclaimed a rebel and dacoit and every chief in the shan states was desired to treat him as an outlaw. this was the situation at möngpan when the southern column met mr. archer and the siamese commissioners at that place. the four states in dispute with siam were möngtung, möng hang, möng hta, and möng kyawt. they were claimed by the british government as part of the undoubtedly burman state möngpan, but had been occupied secretly by the siamese. a fifth, möng hsat, was also claimed by them, but no garrison had been placed in it. it was and always had been a dependency of kengtung, with which the siamese could not pretend to have any connection. the siamese claim had its origin in the conduct of the local rulers (_phayas_) of these little territories in the disturbed times following the overthrow of king thebaw. the mawkmai sawbwa made a successful attack on möngpan in the cold season of - . earlier in the same year the siamese had moved up a large force from chiengmai, ostensibly to assist the british in maintaining order: more probably in the hope of picking up some fragments for themselves when the burman government went to pieces. under these circumstances the local rulers, threatened with burning and robbery by mawkmai, with invasion and slavery by siam, sought the protection of the more powerful siamese and drank the water of allegiance to chiengmai. this was the only foundation for the claim made by the bangkok government. their assertion that the states had been under siam for a century had nothing to support it. the population was admittedly shan. a report of the facts was drawn up and sent to the chief commissioner. meanwhile a _modus vivendi_ was arranged by mr. hildebrand with the siamese commissioner on the basis of maintaining the _status quo_, preserving peace, and abstaining from working the forests in the states until the dispute was settled by the governments of the two countries. it may be stated here that a decision in favour of the british claim was announced in and effect given to it. four states were restored to möngpan, and possession of the fifth, möng hsat, confirmed to kengtung. the state of möngpan contains a broad area of good paddy land, and in former times exported large quantities of paddy. when mr. hildebrand visited it he found the lands devastated. with the one exception of laikha it had suffered more than any other shan state. the town had been repeatedly burnt by filibusters. the great bulk of the population had fled over the salween and scattered through the smaller states, some even going as far as chiengmai (zimme) and kengtung. leaving möngpan, the column reached möngnai on the th of january, , and halted there for some weeks. möngnai had been the place of assemblage of the cis-salween chiefs in the king's time. all of them had been warned in advance to meet mr. hildebrand at möngnai, and all except the sawbwa of laikha, the myozas of möng kung and kehsi mansam, who had started too late, were present. the chiefs assembled at möngnai were:-- the möngnai sawbwa. the möngpawn sawbwa. the möngpan sawbwa. the mawkmai sawbwa. the wanyin myoza. the nawng wawn myoza. the hsahtung myoza. the möngsit myoza. the möngnawng myoza. the hopong myoza. the keng hkam myoza. the nam hkok myoza. naw möng, son of naw hpa, who was claimant of hsenwi, and kun aw, who was pa-ôk-chok of möngyai in hsenwi alelet, and had been ejected by san ton hon and hkun sa, the exiled chief of möngtung, were also present. the question of tribute was one in which all took a keen interest, and it was fully discussed. the right of the british government to demand tribute was not contested. but the manner of it, whether it should be in the form of annual presents or of money to be raised from the people by a house tax, was the subject of dispute. the exemption for ten years which had been given to the sawbwa of hsipaw caused much heartburning and led to demands for a similar indulgence. eventually, however, all agreed to pay tribute, the amount for the next five years being that which had been paid yearly in king mindon's time. the trans-salween states from various causes did not appear at möngnai. but a dispute between mawkmai and möngnai regarding the right to a small trans-salween state of möng pu was settled satisfactorily in favour of möngnai. mawkmai's claim had no strong foundation, and after the facts had been set forth, the sawbwa accepted them and yielded in a peaceable and graceful fashion. it was evident that already the authority of the british government had been acknowledged by all, and that its decisions would be obeyed. on the th of january mr. hildebrand held a durbar, which all the chiefs, and a very great number of the smaller folk, attended. the draft patents and letters of appointment were given to the chiefs, along with suitable presents, and the advantages of the peace which would follow the establishment of british authority were pointed out to them by the superintendent in a speech. a march past and a sham-fight by the troops gave them an opportunity of comparing british disciplined and trained troops with their own disorderly and ill-equipped followers. sports followed the durbar, affording amusement to all and giving a common ground on which all could unite. the wisdom and the excellent results of holding these meetings cannot be denied. on the nd of january, , the column left möngnai and started on its way to möngyai, where it will be recollected (p. ) it was to meet with the northern column and mr. daly. the route to be taken on this march had been left by the chief commissioner to mr. hildebrand's discretion. is has been seen that the laikha group of states were not represented at the durbar. the superintendent, therefore, instead of taking the route to the east through möngnawng, which was reputed to be the shorter, took a western road leading through laikha, möng kung, and kehsi mansam. it proved to be the easiest route that could have been followed, and showed the troops to as large a number of states as possible. on the second march out the sawbwa of laikha and the myoza of möng kung were met coming to meet the superintendent. they turned and marched with the column. they said that difficulties in procuring supplies had delayed them, and the truth of this statement was proved by the appearance of the countryside when the next march brought the force into laikha territory--a wide billowy plain not long ago closely cultivated and well peopled: now deserted and waste. "the face of the land," wrote the superintendent, "was deserted and desolate as an american pampas or a russian steppe. we marched along the main north road which had clearly been not long since a wide thoroughfare travelled over by many men and many cattle. now it was narrowed to a mere path which encroaching bushes and rank grass threatened at no great distance of time altogether to obliterate. marks of tigers were seen here and there on the clay trodden hard by the feet of many wayfarers now no more to be seen. the few householders who remained were gaunt with hunger, and had not energy enough left to pull up the bamboo spikes which had been placed in the ground during the fighting which was the primary cause of all this misery, emphasized by the famine which succeeded as a necessary result. the hsen (local headman) spiked his foot coming out to meet the column." the description of the town of laikha is not less melancholy. it has been on the decline for years. "civil wars and local disturbances have ruined it slowly but surely." it was one of the finest and wealthiest places in the state, and there were many splendid monasteries and elaborate pagodas. these were found deserted and falling to pieces, the shrines left to moulder away without a single pious offering, the jungle coming up to their very thresholds and creepers tearing the bricks asunder. leaving laikha on the th of january, three marches brought the column to möngkung, a state blessed with very fertile soil and good streams. but here also local dissension and burman interference had brought ruin. on the death of the chief (designated _myoza_), one hkun saing was able by bribery or intrigue to procure an order from mandalay giving him the succession. the people, however, clung to the rightful heir, the son of the deceased myoza, a boy of ten or twelve. hkun sang persuaded the neighbouring state of möngnawng to take his part. kehsi mansam took the boy's side. nearly every village in both states was burnt, and the able-bodied men were too absorbed in the fight to till the soil. ruin and famine followed in the track of the fighting, which did not cease until our troops arrived on the shan plateau. the only villages to which any prosperity remained were those in the hills inhabited by tribes of a karen origin who held aloof from shan politics. at möngkung the minor chief of möngsang and mönghsu came to see the superintendent. here also news came that mr. daly with the northern column had reached hsenwi and had received from san ton hon a promise that he would come to möngyai. this hopeful information regarding san ton hon enabled the superintendent to issue a proclamation in shan to the monks, headmen, and elders of hsenwi, assuring them that a settlement of their affairs would certainly be made and ordering them to attend at möngyai. from möngkung to kehsi mansam was four marches through a country marked by the ravages of war. nevertheless the myoza, "an undersized, insignificant-looking creature, addicted to the use of opium," was not too depressed to come out fifteen miles to meet the column, which he played into the town with a band of local musicians and dancers leading the way. matters relating to some minor states were discussed at kehsi mansam, and the peaceful settlement of hsenwi seemed not distant. but it was sanguine to expect that people who had been engaged in petty wars for years would take suddenly to the ways of peace. the lion does not all at once lie down with the lamb, nor it might be said more appropriately does the jackal make peace with the wild dog. two days after the arrival of the column at kehsi mansam it was reported that an attack had been made on möngyai and san ton hon's deputy driven out. the men who headed this adventure were nephews of the pa-ôk-chok and gave out that they were acting for that personage with the superintendent's approval. as the pa-ôk-chok and naw möng had accompanied the force ever since it marched from möngnai, it was feared that this story might seem probable to san ton hon and might prevent him from coming to möngyai. letters, therefore, were sent to reassure him and to explain that the expulsion of his man from möngyai would not influence the decision of the superintendent. from kehsi mansam, passing through the alelet or central division of hsenwi, the column reached möngyai on the th of february, . mr. daly, with the northern column, joined mr. hildebrand on the st of march. kun san ton hon came with him. meanwhile all the headmen of various denominations, uncouth to english ears, myozas, heins, seins, ta möngs, and kin möngs, had collected in obedience to the superintendent's summons, and were busy no doubt in discussing the situation and the best methods of settlement and comparing the present condition of the state broken up into petty divisions, none of them powerful enough for self-defence, with the comparative order which had prevailed when it was under its hereditary sawbwas, who could show an unbroken succession for two hundred years. on the st of march, when san ton hon arrived with mr. daly, all the hsenwi claimants were assembled at möngyai. naw möng--representing his father, naw hpa, who was a refugee with the kachins in the north; sang aw, the pa-ôk-chok, who claimed the central division; and san ton hon, who claimed the whole state. naw hpa was pronounced on all sides to be too old and infirm to rule. naw möng claimed as his heir and representative the whole of hsenwi, excepting some of the southern subdivisions, which had been given independence in the king's time. his attitude was most reasonable. he confessed his obligations to the british government. unless they had occupied mandalay and removed thebaw, he and his sister would have been lying still in hopeless imprisonment. he was ready to bow to the superintendent's decision, whatever it might be. the pa-ôk-chok was even more accommodating. he was an old worn man whose only title to be considered in the matter was that he had preserved the peace in the central division at a critical time. he would be quite content if he were permitted to administer möngyai. san ton hon, who had no rightful title to any part of hsenwi, not unnaturally laid claim to all the country that was or had been known by that name. on reflection, however, he adopted an attitude of greater humility and declared his willingness to abide by the decision of the superintendent. the points to which the superintendent's inquiry should be directed had been laid down by the chief commissioner in the instructions given him. amongst other points, such as the history of the several claimants, their sources of influence and their ability and power to govern, the chief commissioner had laid stress on the real wishes of the people of hsenwi as a whole or of such parts of it as should be separately considered. "you should then," he wrote, "pending a full reference to the chief commissioner, make such arrangements for the administration of theinni [hsenwi] as you deem most fitting, bearing in mind that the great object to be attained is peace in the country. you must not be guided either in your provisional arrangements or in your recommendations solely by considerations of abstract right or abstract justice. you must give great weight to considerations of expediency and keep prominently before your mind that theinni [hsenwi] must have strong permanent government in order to ensure peace and prosperity; and that the chief or chiefs must be both friendly to the british government and ready and able to give proof of friendship by prompt and powerful action should such be necessary." the question whether the policy should be to unite the country into one large state, or to recognize the divisions into which it had been broken up, was left to mr. hildebrand's discretion, but an inclination in favour of the large state was indicated. it was decided to hold a conference of all the persons interested in this matter and to ascertain, so far as might be possible, the views and wishes of the people. a large (_mandat_ or) temporary hall was constructed by the pa-ôk-chok for the assemblage. on the date fixed, the rd of march, , "about fifty headmen of circles, many superiors of monasteries, monks, sidesmen, almoners, and village elders were assembled, while outside gathered great numbers of the common people from all parts of the country. there were also present beside the claimants, representatives of all the chief southern states and of hsipaw." in fact, it was an assemblage of all the estates of the realm in the shan country--the lords temporal, the lords spiritual, and the commons. they had come together to assist in deciding by whom and how the hsenwi territory should be governed. and they had come at the call of a government which had taken a visible form in the shan country only a year before, which only two years previously had displaced the king of burma to whom the shans had been subject for centuries, and which was still fighting in burma proper against the adherents of the king. it was certainly an achievement not easily matched in the history of conquests or annexations, and showed the confidence in our power and our justice which a very short experience had been able to create. it was not a mere show; the people had not assembled themselves to register a foregone decision. the superintendent was making an honest attempt to ascertain the wishes of all classes. the machinery was rude. but it was quite as likely to succeed in its object as the elaborate devices of advanced democracies which give free play to the arts of false-tongued demagogues and afford them every opportunity of bamboozling electors, most of whom are more ignorant of the issues than the shans who assembled at möngyai. the method adopted for taking the votes was to call upon each head of a circle to record his opinion, and then to take the opinion of the assembly. the first question put was whether hsenwi should be reunited or whether it should remain divided, and if divided, into how many parts. the opinion against reunion into one state was manifested unmistakably. on the second point there was much discussion, but the result showed a balance, and a large balance, of opinion in favour of two states, north and south. the great majority, when the question of the rulers to be appointed was put, gave the north to san ton hon, and the south to naw möng. the pa-ôk-chok did not press his claim. "on the whole," the report says, "considerable intelligence and a shrewd appreciation of the novel idea of an open election were displayed, and a member of the outside crowd created some amusement by his vigorous championing of san ton hon. this unexpected interlude had a very good effect in putting most of the headmen at their ease and in persuading the entire assemblage that the election was a perfectly open matter, and that any one present might give his opinion and his reasons for holding it." the shans were evidently a primitive people in election matters at least, and had to learn the art of breaking up meetings and silencing opponents. after electing the sawbwas of northern and southern hsenwi, the boundary to be fixed between the two divisions was discussed and settled with the acquiescence of san ton hon and naw möng, but against the views of some of the latter's people, who thought that southern hsenwi was shorn of some territory which ought to belong to it. further disagreement between the naw möng and his people followed when on the second day of the durbar the amount of revenue to be paid by the two divisions respectively came to be considered. the naw möng offered spontaneously to pay the sum formerly paid to the king by the alelet division, without making any deduction on account of the circles which the boundary now adopted had given to the northern territory. this easy attitude of their newly appointed chief caused acute discontent, which afterwards manifested itself. san ton hon was a man of different stamp. the naw möng had offered a revenue of rs. , . san ton hon made a stand against paying more than rs. . he agreed, after much talking, to pay rs. , . the northern division of hsenwi was no doubt much poorer at the time than the south. still the amount was considerably less than the state ought to have paid. the superintendent, however, thought it wiser to accept it than to risk a rupture with san ton hon. the unequal treatment was impolitic as well as unfair and bred trouble in southern hsenwi. a month after the column left möngyai a rising against naw möng was organized by the discontented party, and he had to make his escape by flight. mr. daly, who was at hsipaw, rode out at once with a small party and summoned all the heads of circles to möngyai. an inquiry was held, the leaders of the revolt were arrested and tried by the sawbwa of south hsenwi, and were sentenced to terms of imprisonment. new headmen were appointed in place of those condemned. mr. daly returned to hsipaw, and the naw möng had no further trouble to contend with. the settlement of hsenwi made at the möngyai durbar has stood the test of time and is a monument to the officers concerned in bringing it about. leaving möngyai on the th of march, the column marched to lashio by easy stages. nothing has been said hitherto as to the northern shan column which accompanied mr. daly. mr. daly had preceded the force to hsipaw and made arrangements for its progress. he had despatched letters to the northern chiefs announcing his coming, and reassuring them as to the nature of the movement. the route laid down for the northern shan column by the chief commissioner was from hsipaw to the northern part of hsenwi; thence westward to namhsan, the chief town in tawngpeng; then back to hsipaw and from hsipaw on to möngyai to meet the southern column. no independent powers were given to mr. daly, who was to place himself in all political matters under mr. hildebrand's orders. he was to act as the precursor of the superintendent, summoning the chiefs and headmen and explaining to them the objects of mr. hildebrand's coming. he was also to collect information as to the state of affairs and the position of the various factions in hsenwi. he was given authority, however, to insist on the cessation of fighting, and empowered, if the necessity should arise, to use force in maintaining peace. he was empowered also to take action in tawngpeng for securing the submission of the sawbwa, and to require him to pay tribute for the past year of such sum as he (mr. daly) might judge reasonable, explaining that this payment was exacted because the sawbwa had harboured disaffected persons. the northern column left hsipaw on the th of december, , and crossed into tawngpeng territory. all the villages were deserted, and on the th of december the advance- and rear-guards were simultaneously fired into. two mules were killed and a driver wounded. a few volleys into the bush dispersed the attacking party. the town of namhsam was reached on the st. all the inhabitants had disappeared. mr. daly remained eight days, in the hope of inducing the sawbwa to come in, but without success. he was able, however, to restore confidence. the townspeople returned to their houses, and on the march of the column to hsenwi the villagers on the road watched the troops without concern. the attack on the column was afterwards explained. there was an old standing feud between tawngpeng and hsipaw, dating from a treacherous massacre of tawngpeng officials by the grandfather of hkun saing, the sawbwa of hsipaw. mr. daly had been several weeks in hsipaw, and a number of hsipaw bullock-drivers were with the column. this aroused the suspicions of the tawngpeng officials, and orders were given to oppose any armed men from hsipaw. however this may have been, the misunderstanding was only for a time. mr. daly then went on to the town of hsenwi, or rather to the site of the town, for the town had been destroyed, to meet san ton hon, who after some hesitation came in to see him and arranged to attend the conference at möngyai. the northern column then marched east to the kunlon ferry on the salween, to mansi, where san ton hon joined mr. daly and accompanied him to möngyai. except that the submission of the tawngpeng sawbwa had not been obtained owing to his timidity or hostility, the task appointed to the northern column had been executed with complete success. but to go back. after the durbar was over at möngyai, the southern column, according to its wont, gave a display for the popular delight. on the first day there was a sham-fight, which was viewed with much interest by chiefs and followers; and on the second, garrison sports, which it is related "proved a great attraction and tended in no small degree to bring the troops and the people together and to produce good feeling on both sides." all hope of meeting any of the great trans-salween chiefs was now past. various causes had prevented them from coming in, amongst others a raid made across their track to möngnai by the irrepressible twet nga lu, and some mischievous lies spread by saw Ôn of yawnghwè regarding the withdrawal of the british forces. trans-salween affairs had therefore to be laid aside for a more convenient season. but much useful information was gathered and recorded by the superintendent and mr. scott. from lashio the column moved to panglon, a village on the eastern borders of tawngpeng territory, to which place the chief had been summoned to meet the superintendent and make his submission. he did not obey the summons, but sent excuses for his absence alleging age and infirmities, and saying that he wished his son to be accepted as sawbwa in his room. two days afterwards this son, entitled the naw möng, accompanied by most of the chief officials, came in, and with humble apologies for the attack made on the northern column, tendered his allegiance to the british government. as it appeared that the old sawbwa was nearly eighty years of age, it was decided to accept the naw möng, hkun kyan, as chief, and to draw out the _sanad_, or patent, in his name. this was done, and the amount of revenue to be paid by tawngpeng was determined. it may be recorded here that hkun kyan administered the state for seven years until , when he resigned on account of ill-health. a cousin succeeded him but proved incompetent, and in a government officer was put in charge of tawngpeng. at present, the sawbwa is administering the state satisfactorily. having settled this matter, the column marched into hsipaw. it is worth noting that hkun saing, the chief of hsipaw, had obtained greater favour from the british government than any other of the shan chiefs. the more prominent of them bitterly resented the concessions made to hkun saing, namely: the remission of his revenue for ten years and the conferment on him of the three states of möngtung, mönglong, and hsumhsai, to which he had no right. his services to the british government consisted in this, that he came down to meet the chief commissioner at mandalay and was the first to make his submission to the queen-empress. it might have been expected, therefore, that he would have made some show of providing shelter and supplies for the troops. he did nothing. the extraordinary favours which he had received led him to think that he must be necessary to the government, and he made no effort to prove his gratitude. the gift of möngtung to hkun saing was resented by the inhabitants of that state, who claimed independence and wished to be ruled by their hereditary chief, who had been dismissed by the sawbwa of hsipaw. similar were the feelings of the people of mönglong, whose hereditary ruler, nga maung, gave great trouble to our administration. mr. hildebrand worked hard to arrive at some settlement by which peace might be assured. he was unsuccessful, and möngtung as well as mönglong was torn by dissension for some years. at length in , owing to this and other administrative failures, a british officer was appointed to advise and guide the sawbwa hkun saing, and by this means peace and order were restored. on the th of april, after a tour of four months and nineteen days, the southern shan column, under colonel swetenham, accompanied by mr. hildebrand and mr. scott, marched into mandalay. the expedition had done its work well. every chief, big and little, in the cis-salween states had been met and his formal recognition of british supremacy obtained. long-existing feuds had been set at rest, and claims the subject of prolonged fighting peaceably adjudicated. the revenue payable by each state had been ascertained, and with one or two exceptions definitely fixed. the southern column had marched upwards of seven hundred miles, and had passed through the territory of every important chief. the few minor states untraversed by it had been visited either by captain jackson, r.e., of the government of india survey, or by lieutenant stanton, d.s.o., of the intelligence department, accompanied in each case by small parties of troops; and by their labours a map had been constructed on which the position of every important place in the cis-salween states was scientifically fixed. moreover, a mass of information regarding the shan country, its main features and products, and the character and politics of the people, was collected, invaluable to those engaged in administering this wide country. [illustration: pagodas at mang kao--shan states.] if the shans generally on the west of the salween have accepted british rule and learned to trust our good faith and moderation, the credit must be given to the work done by the two columns. although that work was in the main of a civil character, and the military force was there as an escort and a protection in case of need, yet the soldiers deserve quite as great a share of the blessing promised to the peacemaker as the civilians. in building the indian empire, soldiers and civilians have always worked hand in hand. in burma and the shan states the old tradition was not belied. the civil officers with the columns recorded their gratitude to colonel swetenham and his officers for their unwearying efforts to assist the superintendent in his communications with the chiefs and the people. but more than that: "it remains to be noted," writes mr. scott, "that this desire to aid the superintendent in his duties was no less conspicuous among the native officers, and the men, alike of the nd queen's, the battery, and the th punjab infantry. the native officers in particular took a most intelligent and evidently real interest in the objects of the expedition. they not only succeeded in suppressing all crime and ill-treatment of the people by the sepoys and followers, but they were foremost in showing the example of friendly and social intercourse with the people. nearly every one in the regiment had picked up during their two years' stay in burma a certain amount of burmese; to this was added a few words of shan; and these used freely on all occasions, whether apposite or not, never failed to break down the nervousness and awe with which the population was at first disposed to regard us. whenever we halted for any time, friendships were struck up between the troops and the people, and that the goodwill and esteem thus created was not merely superficial or assumed was more than once proved in the most satisfactory manner. followers were lost or strayed away from the camp. in every case these animals or men were taken care of, fed, and in some cases clothed and physicked and eventually sent on to join the column." a further proof of the friendliness of the people was the immunity of the mails from detention or pillage. although sent without guards by native runners, they were invariably delivered after passing sometimes through many states and many hands. "if, therefore," concludes mr. scott, "as there can be no doubt is the case, the cis-salween states have definitely and thankfully accepted our suzerainty, no small share of the credit of our success is due to the exertions of the officers of the shan column." in dealing with semi-savage and ignorant races, the power of rumour and misrepresentation can hardly be overestimated. when the shans saw that the southern column left no detachment behind it at möngnai, and instead of returning from hsenwi to fort stedman marched down to mandalay, rumour began to be busy and the ignorant imagination of the people to seek reasons for this movement. ready at hand to supply food for fancy was saw Ôn, the yawnghwè sawbwa. an intriguer and gossip by nature, he sat down to write letters to all the greater chiefs, informing them that the garrison at fort stedman had been reduced to forty men. this advanced person had already begun to take in some of the rangoon papers and to read the telegrams, which he could not understand but from which he contrived to extract the notion that there was going to be a european war and that the british were withdrawing their troops from burma, to which the notices in the papers of troops leaving in the course of the ordinary reliefs seemed to point. these letters reached men even more ignorant than himself. the impression gained ground that the british power was passing, and the disappointed claimants, the adventurers, and the men with a grievance saw an opportunity for action. it will be remembered that the chief of eastern karenni had not met mr. hildebrand at möngnai. the country of the karenni, or red karens, has an area of nearly five thousand square miles, much of which is hill and forest. on the east it is bounded by siamese territory; on the north by the shan states; on the south by lower burma; and on the west by a hill tract which separates it from the level country of burma proper. it is divided into eastern karenni and western karenni. we are concerned at present with the former, which consists of one single state, gantarawadi. the ruler of this state was sawlapaw. he resided at the chief place, saw lon, and he is aptly described by mr. scott as a stubborn man from his youth, who had grown old in the belief that his country was impregnable and his people in their hills invincible. he was confirmed in this unfounded belief by the extraordinary timidity and cowardice of the shans, who habitually submitted to be raided and robbed, and to see their people carried away into slavery by this overbearing savage and his men. now sawlapaw had a long-standing grievance with the adjoining shan state of mawkmai. the cause, or the alleged cause, was the seizure by the sawbwa of mawkmai, twenty-two years before, of a number of elephants and timber in karenni forests. he had endeavoured to get redress from the burmese government twice, but without success. the burmese government had disappeared, and now he had seen a british force come and go, he was told for good and all. he thought his opportunity had come, and advanced on mawkmai. the sawbwa of that state, by name hkun hmon, had a bad conscience. his father, ne nwe, the man whom sawlapaw accused of robbing him of his elephants, had died some time back. according to shan custom hkun hmon ought to have buried his father and divided the personality amongst certain relations who were entitled to it. shan custom demanded that the burial should precede the payment of the legacies. hkun hmon disliking the idea of parting with the property, put off the burial indefinitely, making, it may be hoped, some sort of decent, if temporary, shelter for his father's body, by placing it, for example, in a coffin of teak with a generous covering of honey. now the principal legatees were in möngnai, and were connections of the möngnai sawbwa. hence the "smock-faced" hkun hmon, as mr. scott dubs him, when he heard of the karenni force advancing upon him, knowing that möngnai and the karenni chief were allies, became conscience-stricken; and, imagining that a combined attack would be made on him, fled without raising a finger to defend himself. the karenni entered mawkmai on the nd of march without let or hindrance. they proceeded to burn the town and ravage the country. they destroyed everything. even the monasteries and bridges were burnt. the mawkmai valley, which up to that time had escaped devastation and was the only part of the shan states that had been spared, was completely ruined. sawlapaw then appointed a man of his own to be sawbwa of mawkmai, and declared the state to be annexed to karenni. hitherto eastern karenni had been treated with much forbearance by the chief commissioner--more, perhaps, because it was inconvenient to move against it just then than from a desire to spare sawlapaw. mr. scott, after returning to mandalay with the southern shan column (see p. ), had hurried back by the natteik pass to fort stedman. late in april the chief commissioner sent him orders to clear the karenni out of mawkmai and restore the rightful sawbwa, hkun hmon. he left fort stedman on the nd of may, with a party under colonel sartorius of the beleuchi regiment, to execute these orders. the same influences which had led sawlapaw to go on the warpath, at this moment had operated on the energetic mind of twet nga lu. since his expulsion from kengtawng by the möngnai troops (vide p. ) he had remained on the east of the salween, and had collected a number of his ruffianly followers who had been able to get arms and powder from chiengmai. crossing the river he took the town of möngpan on the th of march, the day after the karenni's seizure of mawkmai. the news of these disturbances had reached mr. hildebrand at hsipaw. he had sent orders to the möngnai sawbwa to collect men to expel twet nga lu and to reinstate hkun hmon in mawkmai. hkun kyi raised what men he could and attacked twet nga lu's position, but he was defeated, followed up by the bandit, and had to seek safety in flight. this happened on the evening of the rd of may. on the th of may fugitives from möngnai brought the news of this catastrophe to mr. scott, who was _en route_ to mawkmai with colonel sartorius. there was no hesitation. the direction of the march was at once changed to möngnai. mr. scott saw at once the lucky chance offered to him of making an end of twet nga lu. on the th of may a halt was made at kanglu, nine miles west of möngnai. the morning of the th of may was very wet, which rendered a surprise of the enemy more possible. mr. scott had studied the ground when he was with the southern column, and felt able to guide a mounted party in the hope of capturing the noted filibuster. there was no mounted infantry with the column. all the officers' ponies were requisitioned. six men of the rifle brigade and one man of the beleuchi regiment were thus mounted; and under the command of lieutenant fowler of the beleuchis, and led by mr. scott, the little party started on the adventure. following bypaths over the hills, they escaped notice, and the heavy rain falling kept most of the peasants under shelter. the town was entered by the south. mr. scott, knowing the ground, led them straight to the sawbwa's haw--palace is too grand a name--a teak and bamboo structure with a stockade round it. evidently the brigand felt quite secure. hardly any one was about, and twet nga lu himself was in bed in the verandah. he was seized and secured before he quite knew what had happened. this could not be done, however, without some noise, which brought in an armed crowd of his chief retainers. mr. scott ordered them peremptorily to sit down, which is the burmese equivalent of "hands up!" they hesitated. a straight blow between the eyes dropped the foremost. the rest sat down at once, and before they had time to count their opponents or take stock of the situation, the riflemen had collected their arms. an anxious and rather bad time followed until firing was heard, and the gallant little advance party knew that their supports had come into action. colonel sartorius entered the town from the north, and after a slight engagement, in which four of the ruffians were killed, the town was cleared of the armed rabble which had held it. along with twet nga lu were taken six notable captains, the chief of whom was hkun sang möng cheng, his most trusted bravo, for years a terror to the hillside for his cruelty. he and twet nga lu were famous for their powers of tattooing and charming, and all of them were universally believed to be proof against bullet or steel. mr. scott decided to let the möngnai sawbwa try them, all except twet nga lu, according to shan custom. the sawbwa sentenced them to death, and after the superintendent had considered and confirmed the sentence, they were shot on a crowded market-day in möngnai, by a firing-party of beleuchi rifles. the executions were carried out in the presence of british officers and with every regard to humanity and decency. no greater scoundrels have ever met with a more deserved punishment. "all these malefactors," records the superintendent, "were charmed against bullet and sword wound, and news of their death spread like wildfire throughout the states, and has done much to reform previously incorrigible murderers." twet nga lu himself was sent into fort stedman, presumably as being too noted a personage to be dealt with by a sawbwa. the shan states, on the annexation of upper burma, had been swept into the net and were constituted a part of british india before accurate information had been gained of their political conditions and their relations to the king's government. on this account there were technical difficulties in the way of a trial by the superintendent. the chief commissioner's orders to the assistant superintendent were in these words: "as to the prisoners, including twet nga lu, send such as are siamese subjects or natives of doubtful states in custody to fort stedman; make over natives of british shan states to möngnai sawbwa for trial and punishment according to shan custom--but do not allow any cruel or barbarous punishments. take care that twet nga lu does not effect his escape. if the möngnai sawbwa sentences any prisoner to death for an offence other than murder, suspend execution until you get orders on this point." mr. hildebrand was instructed therefore to send twet nga lu back to möngnai to be tried by the sawbwa. on the way he attempted to escape, and was shot by the beleuchi guard escorting him. the men returned to fort stedman and reported what had happened, saying that they had buried him on the spot. it was desired to verify this statement, as there might have been trouble if the brigand had escaped, or even if the shans had not believed him to have been killed. unfortunately mr. scott, who was at möngnai, was too unwell to go to the place, and did not visit it for some time. when he was able to go he found the marks of a very shallow hole, but no human remains of any kind except a long lock of hair, which might have been twet nga lu's. the shans, however, all believed that twet nga lu was dead, and there was no reason to discredit the report of the beleuchi sepoys. all doubt on this point was removed afterwards. the scene of the brigand's death was in the wooded hills which border möngpawn. the day after he was shot a party of shans from möngpawn disinterred, or rather lifted, the corpse from its shallow grave, and shook off the loose earth. the head was cut off, shaved, and sent to möngnai, and exhibited there at the north, south, east, and west gates of the town during the absence of the assistant superintendent at fort stedman. the various talismans were removed from the trunk and limbs. such charms are generally small coins or pieces of metal, which are inserted under the skin. these would be doubly prized as having been enshrined in the flesh of so noted a leader, and no doubt were eagerly bought up. the body was then boiled down, and a concoction known to the shans as mahè si was obtained, which is an unfailing charm against all kinds of wounds. so valuable a "medicine" did not long remain in the hands of the poor, and soon found its way into some princely medicine-chest. the value attached to the fat of the tiger, and the demand for it by men of greater culture than the shans could or can boast, are known to all indian sportsmen. such was the end of twet nga lu. it was certainly, so far as the body is concerned, most complete. chapter xvii the karennis, or red karens, and sawlapaw it has been told how mr. scott was on his way to mawkmai, when twet nga lu's enterprise caused him to turn his course to möngnai. he now returned to the original object of his expedition, namely, the expulsion of the karennis from mawkmai and the restoration of the sawbwa hkun hmon, whom they had expelled. he reached mawkmai with the force under colonel sartorius on the th of may, , and found that the karennis had not awaited his coming. mawkmai was occupied, and sawbwa hkun hmon reinstated. colonel sartorius returned to fort stedman with the main portion of his command, leaving, in accordance with the instructions given to him, a hundred and fifty rifles, under lieutenant fowler, at mawkmai, which was considered to be the most fitting post for the civil officer and his escort. mawkmai being only a long march of twenty-five miles from möngnai, a detachment of twenty-five rifles was thought enough to support the sawbwa, and in june, hkun hmon reported that the karennis had quitted his country. all seemed to have settled down. the superintendent did not hesitate, therefore, to call mr. scott to fort stedman for various business matters. mr. scott reached fort stedman on the th of june, and reported that all was well. lieutenant fowler was at that time in mawkmai. on the st of july he moved his headquarters to möngnai, leaving the detachment of twenty-five rifles to garrison mawkmai. the karennis, it may be presumed, were watching his movements, for on the rd of july, in the evening, a body of karennis attempted to rush the town. they were repulsed, but kept up a fire on the defenders until long after dark. the twenty-five beleuchis, seconded by the sawbwa and his armed rabble, returned the fire and inflicted some loss on the enemy, who had withdrawn to a short distance. considering it unsafe, after this experience, to leave mawkmai with so small a detachment, lieutenant fowler moved his headquarters back to that place. the monsoon was now in full force. with roads of the most primitive kind and swollen rivers, rapid travelling was difficult. mr. scott left fort stedman as soon as the news of what had happened reached him. leaving his baggage to make what speed it could, he rode on and arrived at mawkmai half-starved and dressed in some shan garments which he had borrowed on the way to replace his dripping clothes, only to find that the fighting was over. lieutenant fowler, learning that the enemy had taken up a position within a day's march of mawkmai, went straight for them, carried their entrenchments at the point of the bayonet, and drove them out with a loss to them of sixty men. this experience ought to have diminished the arrogance of sawlapaw. he was very little moved by it. he wrote on the th of july in the most royal style, requesting the withdrawal of british troops from mawkmai lest they should be "accidentally harmed" by his men when he attacked hkun hmon. this letter was returned to sawlapaw's messengers by the chief commissioner's orders. a letter written in august, in which he explained his claims against mawkmai, and asserted that he did not know the relations of that state to the british government, was dealt with in the same way. both these letters were written in a style that was inconsistent with the position of the karenni chief, and they meant defiance. in july, , the matter was referred to the government of india, and their sanction was received in august to demand from sawlapaw compensation for the damage done to mawkmai and securities for his future good behaviour, and to enforce these demands if they were not complied with. in september, as the karenni chief showed no signs of yielding, or willingness to meet mr. hildebrand, the chief commissioner prepared and placed in the superintendent's hands an ultimatum in the following terms: sawlapaw was required firstly to come in to fort stedman, and there make in person his submission as a chief subordinate to the queen-empress. secondly, to pay an indemnity of two lakhs of rupees to cover the damage done to mawkmai and the cost of the expedition sent to relieve that state; thirdly, to surrender five hundred serviceable muskets; lastly, to covenant to pay annually a tribute of five thousand rupees to the british government. this ultimatum was placed in the superintendent's (mr. hildebrand's) hands, but he was instructed to withhold it until november, and meanwhile to endeavour by all possible means to persuade sawlapaw to come to terms. in october it seemed as if the karenni chief was beginning to have some misgivings. he adopted a tone of humility and apology, which led mr. hildebrand to hope for a peaceful ending. to make it easier for him, a reduction of the indemnity and of the number of the guns to be surrendered was allowed to sawlapaw if he made his personal submission without delay. later on, at mr. hildebrand's request, the chief commissioner allowed mawkmai to be substituted for fort stedman as the place to which the chief should come, so that he should have a very short distance to travel beyond his own borders. on november th, as the obstinate chief showed no signs of yielding, the ultimatum was despatched. on the th a letter was received by the superintendent bearing the date of november th. this letter, which had been written in a much more friendly tone, had been delayed _en route_. in it sawlapaw proposed that mr. hildebrand should meet him at loikaw on december th, accompanied "by a small escort," so that the people "should not be alarmed." "the reason," he added, "why i propose loikaw is that at present i am like a mother with her child in her arms; she has to be with it always in order to prevent it crying; my people will feel my absence if i go to fort stedman." mr. hildebrand was permitted to accede to this request, provided sawlapaw brought with him the two lakhs of rupees and the five hundred muskets required by the ultimatum. as an alternative the chief was told that if before the th of december he sent in the money and arms to fort stedman, to prove his good faith, the date for his personal submission at loikaw would be postponed to the st of january, . these concessions, which were made in the hope of avoiding a conflict, led to nothing except, perhaps, the hardening of sawlapaw's heart. to leave the shelter of his own territory, and present himself before a foreign potentate whom he is conscious of having offended, was a hard thing to ask of a half-civilized ruler. but there was no evidence that sawlapaw had any honest intention of submitting. he was said on all sides to be preparing to resist us. it is just possible that if the superintendent had been allowed further latitude he might have persuaded the karenni to make some sort of apology. to the chief commissioner it appeared absolutely necessary, as an example, to insist on open and unmistakable personal submission. [illustration: group of red karens.] during all these negotiations, preparations for the expedition had been going on. it was expected that the main strength of sawlapaw's resistance would be on his northern boundary. he would in all likelihood raid the districts of lower burma on his south; or, if he were hard pressed, he might try to escape in that direction, or he might cross into his own territory on the east of the salween. it was settled, therefore, that there should be two columns. the main force, which was to make the real attack and to occupy sawlôn, the capital of eastern karenni, was to concentrate at saga, thirty-six miles south of fort stedman, on the th of december. the other was to travel up by the salween _viâ_ papun, and march on bawlaké in western karenni. its duty was to cover the districts of lower burma, and at the same time to distract the attention of the enemy and also prevent his retreat southward. the command of this force was given to colonel harvey. to meet any attempt on sawlapaw's part to escape eastward, a suggestion made by the british representative at bangkok that the siamese might be asked to co-operate had been accepted in august, and no further measure in this direction was thought necessary. with colonel harvey were one hundred rifles of the cheshire regiment and one hundred and fifty rifles of the th madras infantry. fifty rifles of the latter regiment had been advanced to papun early in november, and the frontier posts of that district, which were held by gurkha and karen (lower burma) police, were reinforced. at the same time, in order to bring pressure to bear upon sawlapaw and the karennis, who depend to a large extent on imported food, a blockade was established and all exports from british territories stopped. on the th of december mr. hildebrand reported that the mawkmai sawbwa had received letters from sawlapaw announcing his intention to fight. on the th of december he telegraphed from mobye that there was no hope of a peaceful solution. lest an advance from the south should endanger a settlement, colonel harvey had been held back by the chief commissioner's orders. on the receipt of mr. hildebrand's telegram from mobye, he was ordered to cover the frontier of the salween district, arranging to reach bawlaké on the date on which the northern column hoped to occupy sawlôn. colonel harvey arrived at papun on the th of december. two days previously kyaukhnyat, a village on the salween river north-east of papun, was attacked by a considerable number of karennis. the village was burnt and the bazaar plundered under the eyes of the police, who were content to defend their own post. the delay, intended to avoid bloodshed, resulted, as often happens, in encouraging the enemy to strike the first blow. another post was also attacked about the same time. as a precaution colonel harvey was strengthened by the addition of fifty british and one hundred madras rifles, and moved from papun to bawlaké on the th of december. pazaung, a stockade held by karennis, was taken without difficulty, and as that place offered a favourable position for covering the frontier of lower burma, colonel harvey remained there until he heard of the occupation of sawlôn. the bulk of his column then returned to their quarters, leaving some madras rifles to strengthen the police outposts for a time. the northern column was commanded by brigadier-general h. collett, c.b. it was composed of the following troops:-- guns, no. mountain battery, bengal. rifles, st battalion rifle brigade. rifles, st beluchi light infantry. signallers and mounted infantry, rifle brigade. mounted infantry, st beluchi light infantry. queen's own, sappers and miners, with medical and commissariat staff. on the th of december final orders were communicated to mr. hildebrand by wire. they prescribed the course to be followed in each of the possible cases that might arise, while at the same time allowing him a wide discretion in arranging the details. the main points on which the chief commissioner insisted were that the east karenni chief should make his submission in an unmistakable fashion, and give substantial guarantees for his future good conduct. accordingly, whether sawlapaw met mr. hildebrand at loikaw or not, the superintendent, with the column, was to proceed to sawlôn, and there arrange the conditions on which he was to retain his position as a feudatory chief, of which open personal submission was the most essential. the instructions then proceeded as follows: "if your march is opposed by armed force, the nature of the measures to be taken will be a military question, to be decided by the officer commanding; except on purely military grounds of urgent necessity, the chief commissioner does not wish villages to be burnt; in no case must villages be sacked. your object should be to show the people that our quarrel is not with them, but with sawlapaw. loikaw should not be destroyed, unless the officer commanding thinks it necessary on military grounds. you should remain at sawlôn till the future administration is settled. if you are forced to turn out sawlapaw, it will be necessary for you to stay there till you receive the chief commissioner's orders on your recommendations; this may involve delay, but it cannot be avoided. it is desirable to humble sawlapaw, and ensure his peaceful behaviour in future; but very undesirable to cause him to fly and leave the country in confusion. the object is to keep him in a friendly, subordinate alliance. you have liberty, if he submits, to mitigate the terms to such extent as you may think necessary to secure his future friendship, and to let him see that we have no desire to harm him. if he does not submit, it will be necessary to punish him." the terms and tenor of these orders will suffice to show that although the chief commissioner had little expectation of the peaceful settlement still hoped for by mr. hildebrand, he was anxious to avoid a conflict. it appeared to him that further delays and concessions could only result in encouraging karenni arrogance, and would be misunderstood by others. there were military reasons, moreover, for finishing the business quickly and letting the troops return from the field. general collett, having assembled his force at saga, left that place on the th for sawlôn, sawlapaw's capital. his route lay by loikaw. as far as nga kaing, a village one march from that place, a good road had been cleared and bridged by the sawbwa of yawnghwè, the myoza of saga, and in that portion of it which passed through sawlapaw's territory by karennis acting under the instructions of the mobye sawbwa. on the part of the peasantry there was no enmity towards us. the road for some way before reaching nga kaing passed through scrub jungle, which gave an enemy every chance of annoying the troops. nothing, however, occurred, and on the st of january, , the force debouched into the wide open paddy plain of karenni without being molested. while the camp was being pitched, the beleuchi scouts, who were exploring some wooded ground near the village, were fired upon. they were immediately joined by the beleuchi mounted infantry, under lieutenant tighe. the enemy, driven through the wood and compelled to break cover, attempted to make for the high ground; but, our men getting between them and the hills, forced them into the plain. they numbered two or three hundred, most of them shans under two of sawlapaw's officials, and were not without courage. several times they turned and stood to face their pursuers; but, ill-armed and without discipline, they had not a chance. the threescore of mounted infantry broke them up, rode them down, and drove them almost up to loikaw, eight miles distant, inflicting heavy loss. some of them, seeing escape to be hopeless, turned fiercely on their enemies, and the beleuchis lost four killed and seven wounded in the pursuit. there was little chance for a combatant soldier to gain distinction against such a foe. captain crimmin, of the indian medical service (surgeon-lieutenant-colonel john crimmin, v.c., c.i.e.), was awarded a victoria cross for gallantry in this action. general collett pressed on at once with a portion of his force, in order to complete the rout. he reached loikaw after dark, and found it deserted. loikaw consisted of two parts, inhabited by two separate communities, the one of shans, the other of karens. the latter was quite deserted. but the shans sent out a mission with green leaves, the equivalent of a flag of truce, to welcome our people, and did what they could to make the bivouac on the ground north of the village comfortable for them. thus the night of new year's day saw general collett with mr. hildebrand and a part of the force occupying loikaw, while the remainder of the troops and the baggage were in the rear at nga kaing. on the next day, the nd of january, general collett halted, to allow the rest of the column and the baggage to come up. the difficulty of moving even five hundred men in this country, destitute as it was of supplies for british and indian soldiers, and equally destitute of roads, was great. the transport bullocks numbered thirteen hundred; there were ponies and elephants and camp followers innumerable. the rd of january was taken up in getting the column ferried across a stream named the balu, which runs below loikaw, and is eighty yards wide and unfordable. while the soldiers were thus occupied the superintendent used the delay to distribute a proclamation issued by the chief commissioner, explaining why the force had entered the karenni country, and promising that the peaceful inhabitants should suffer no harm. the result of this was that some of the elders came in to ask for flags or other tokens which they might use to show that their villages were not hostile. the peasants generally had left their homes, they said, and fled to the hills, and would not return unless they had some assurance of safety. mr. hildebrand, therefore, having found in the baggage some red cloth, made flags and gave them to the elders for distribution. before the evening of the rd people were returning in numbers to their homes, and applications for red flags came in from all sides. when the force continued its march flags were found placed on the paths leading up to villages from the main track. sawlôn was found to be four marches from loikaw. on the th general collett began to move, and encamped at kawpiti, where trees had been felled and thrown across the road, and the advance-guard of mounted infantry was fired on. our men replied, and the enemy, having suffered some loss, retreated. some villagers came up with a red flag to warn our men that the jungle on either side of the road had been spiked, as sawlapaw had taken measures to oppose us. the warning was useful, and only one pony was injured. on the th the ferry on the pon chaung river, at a place called tilanga, was reached. there had been no opposition hitherto, but directly the scouts appeared on the river bank fire was opened on them from the other side, a distance of one hundred and fifty yards. there was a village on the far bank from which the shots came. our men returned the fire, but, as it seemed, with no effect. the guns were brought up, and two shells were dropped into the village, and set it on fire. all resistance then ended; but the river had to be crossed. empty rum casks had been brought with the force, and the sappers began to make rafts. the river, however, was deep and rapid, and the attempt to cross the force on rafts had to be given up. the enemy had removed and concealed their boats. a close search was made for them, and six or seven were discovered. a ford at some little distance was found practicable for elephants, and amongst the shans who followed the force sufficient skilled boatmen were found to man the boats. on the next day, the th of january, general collett began to cross his men, and by the evening the whole force was on the other side of the pon chaung. the elephants and boatmen were exhausted, and could do no more that day, while all the commissariat bullocks and their loads still remained to be brought across the stream. on the th, leaving a guard for the bullocks and baggage which had not crossed, the main force pushed on. the road now became very difficult. it narrowed down to a steep path, on the east side of which rose abruptly a range of rocky hills, on the west side ran the pon chaung, with its tangled jungle, affording the best of cover to an enemy. the ascent was sometimes severe. small parties of the enemy were concealed on the slopes of the hills at short distances, and occasional shots were fired from the opposite bank of the river. an enemy with more knowledge or better arms might have made the advance very difficult. as it was, the hillsides on our left had to be searched and cleared before the main body could pass. it was dusk before sakangyi, about six miles from the last bivouac, was reached. the casualties were one man in the rifle brigade killed and one wounded; two beleuchis severely wounded; and surgeon manders shot through the thigh. during the night the baggage came slowly in. the last bullock was not in camp until several hours after sunrise. the enemy made no attempt to annoy the baggage or the rear-guard. leaving on the th, as soon as the men had breakfasted and the rear-guard was in camp, the force worked its way on in the same manner as on the day before. firing went on incessantly, but the flanking parties of beleuchis did their work perfectly. the woods within range were thoroughly beaten and cleared of the enemy, and the force passed through the defile (capturing two guns, both mounted on carriages, on the hilltop) and entered the more open country without a casualty. sawlôn was now in view. the beleuchis, under colonel sartorius (colonel george conrad, c.b.), were sent forward at once to occupy the town, which stands on a plateau some three hundred feet above the river. it was found to be quite deserted. the rest of the column encamped on the bank of the river below. it may be well here to give some account of sawlôn, the capital of the red karen country, as it was in january, . it stands on some high ground about a mile to the east of the pon chaung. the hills at this point rise by three steps, the first and second of which open out into two small plateaux. the town is on the first step. to those looking at it as the force left the defile, it appeared to consist of a few huts. on ascending the hill, however, it was found to be well laid out, and to contain some really fine houses. three broad streets ran through the town parallel to each other, and were crossed at right angles by connecting roads of lesser width. there was an excellent water-supply. a stream from the plateau above the town had been led down the face of an almost perpendicular rock, and formed a very picturesque waterfall. on reaching the level it flowed through the town from east to west. the channel which carried the main supply was substantially bridged in each of the main streets. on both sides of every street in the town were smaller channels, fed from the parent stream. the watercourses were all carefully lined with teak to prevent erosion. posts with glass lamps stood before the houses of the better class. here and there in the main street a perambulator was seen standing, where it had been left when the people fled. a box in sawlapaw's storehouse was found full of babies' bottles, together with a very large stock of arrowroot. evidently the younger generation of the karennis inclined towards the luxuries of the west. the chief, however, was said to stand on the ancient ways, rarely quitting his house, except to climb to his paddy-fields above the town, which he worked with his own hands like an ordinary peasant. his haw, or palace, however, gave some signs of his rank--a large old rambling house of teak, inside a teak palisade, with a smaller house for his wife in the same enclosure; a stable close by, with loose-boxes for four ponies, well built of teak, with iron-barred windows, and raised about three feet above the ground. teak timber, which formed the wealth of the state, was lying about everywhere. the road leading up from the river to the town was littered with fine logs. it seemed that there would be little difficulty in recovering the indemnity demanded from sawlapaw. near the palace was an immense timber-yard with four sheds; in each shed were four saws. the yard was full of timber sawn and in the rough. the converted timber was methodically stacked in wooden frames round the yard, each frame containing the same cubic measurement of timber, so that there was no need to count the pieces. the palace was by no means the finest house in the town; that of sawlawi, the kya maing, or heir-apparent, was especially good. a monastery and a rest-house, of great solidity and excellent workmanship, with very good carving, stood a little way off. with the occupation of sawlôn the active military operations ended. the work of mr. hildebrand was only now beginning, and it was difficult and perplexing. sawlapaw had disappeared, and if the people knew his whereabouts, none would tell. little was known of the inner politics of the karenni state. if the old chief chose to hide himself and let the case go against him by default, who was to be appointed in his room? it will be remembered that in the instructions given to mr. hildebrand, the possibility of having to supersede sawlapaw was contemplated, and mr. hildebrand was definitely told that he was to remain in sawlôn until the future administration had been settled and the chief commissioner's orders received. in a private letter the chief commissioner wrote: "in the alternative of sawlapaw running away and leaving the country without a governor, you must find some one to take his place. i do not want karenni left on my own hands. you have had so much practice in king-making that i need say no more." mr. hildebrand's difficulties were much increased by the announcement of the general in command, that the column must leave sawlôn on the rd of january, to return to fort stedman, as the rations were insufficient for a longer stay. the task before him was no easy one in any case. that he should be able to effect a settlement of karenni affairs in a fortnight was too much to hope. there was a risk that the object of the expedition might be frustrated, and that the work would have to be done over again. general collett consented to send for a supply of rations to meet the column at mobye, to enable him to remain at sawlôn until the th of january. it is not known on whom the responsibility rested for arrangements which might easily have made the expedition fruitless. there was no possibility of laying the matter before the chief commissioner and obtaining his orders. mr. hildebrand, therefore, took the risk on himself and set to work at once to find sawlapaw if possible; failing that, to select some one in his room. as a first step a proclamation was issued calling upon sawlapaw to appear before the th of january, and stating that if he did not come in a successor would be appointed to take charge of his state pending the chief commissioner's orders. at the same time the people generally were invited to come to sawlôn to confer with mr. hildebrand and advise him on the choice of the man to be appointed, in case sawlapaw did not appear. meanwhile it was as well to acquire some knowledge of the feelings of the people. the superintendent's camp was moved up to the (pongyi kyaung) monastery, and by constant intercourse with monks and people their confidence was won, and an idea of the causes that had led to sawlapaw's flight was formed. the disaster suffered by his men at nga kaing village on the st of january had convinced sawlapaw that further opposition to our advance was hopeless. but there was a war party in the state of which one naw maing of loikaw was the head. the measures taken to resist the force were the work of this party. on the th of january the smoke of the tilanga village on the pon chaung was seen at sawlôn. the chief then made up his mind. he told those who wished to remain to do as they pleased. for himself he would leave sawlôn and would never come back. he took his wife and a few followers, and, forbidding any one else to come after him, he went to the upper plateau above the town, where he had another house, and was not seen again in sawlôn. no one would tell whither he went. thereupon the shan villagers (there was a shan community in sawlôn) went to the pongyi and moved him to head a deputation to the officers with the british force. on the morning of the th, with two red flags and the customary green boughs, the party set out to meet the british who were expected to arrive at sawlôn that day. when they did not arrive, thinking the delay was on account of sunday, the deputation returned to the town. on the evening of the th general collett's force was encamped beside the pon chaung. a few beleuchi mounted infantry scouts were sent on to reconnoitre the road. at the entry of the defile they were fired on by some karennis, and one of the ponies was killed. they retreated without stopping to recover the saddle. the karennis, taking the saddle from the dead pony, went back to sawlôn in triumph, displaying their spoil and declaring that the enemy were few in number and had retreated. this put new spirit into the war party, and the peace deputation dissolved. on the th, when it was reported that the british were advancing in force, every one left the town, and it was found deserted, as has been already told. in two or three days, however, most of the people, shans and karens, had returned to their homes. there appeared to be little chance of inducing sawlapaw to make his appearance. the day fixed for sawlapaw's surrender was the th of january. on the th a deputation representing the chief men of three of the largest communities came to mr. hildebrand and begged for further days of grace and a written safe-conduct for sawlapaw. both requests were granted. furthermore, a promise was given that if he would come in and fulfil the conditions of the ultimatum, he would be confirmed in his position as head of the karenni state. the date for the appearance of sawlapaw, or, failing this, the election of his successor, was postponed until the th. mr. hildebrand was assured that the kya maing, or heir-apparent, who was a nephew of sawlapaw, would appear as a candidate for election. the th, the th, and the th passed, but no kya maing. the long-suffering patience of the superintendent was exhausted. fate, in the form of commissariat supplies, demanded a settlement before the th. just as arrangements were being made for an election, a note was brought in from the kya maing to the effect that he was on his way to sawlôn from his hiding-place in the jungle, but had broken down, footsore and weary. he promised to appear on the next day. as the people earnestly besought that his prayer might be granted, and as it was evident to the superintendent that this man, as heir to sawlapaw and acceptable to the people, was the right man to take charge of the state, and as moreover one of the wealthiest men in the state gave security to the amount of rs. , that he would produce the kya maing, the proceedings were postponed until the morrow. the remaining time had now dwindled to twenty-four hours, and the th of january was a day of anxiety for mr. hildebrand. it was a relief when the arrival of the kya maing was put beyond doubt. he made his appearance at an early hour, a man (by name sawlawi) of about thirty-eight years of age, intelligent-looking, and evidently popular in karenni. the election was held at noon. there were twenty-nine electors, of whom six were heins, or chiefs of divisions, four were the chiefs or representatives of the western karenni states subject to sawlapaw, the rest were headmen of villages or groups of villages, and traders in timber and other goods, many of whom were men of wealth and influence. each man gave his vote, with the result that sawlawi was unanimously elected. fourteen of the wealthy electors entered into a joint bond to pay the compensation of two lakhs and the five hundred muskets specified in the ultimatum, and a further sum of one lakh as war indemnity; the money to be paid before the end of december into the moulmein treasury, and the muskets to be lodged in fort stedman before the end of the following march. the order of appointment given by mr. hildebrand to sawlawi was as follows:-- "i, the superintendent of the shan states, hereby appoint you, sawlawi, kya maing, to be chief of the state of eastern karenni, on the following conditions:-- " . that you shall govern your state in accordance with established custom, and as a tributary to the british queen whom you acknowledge to be your suzerain. " . that you shall enter into no negotiations, treaties, or agreements with any other state than that of england. " . that you shall pay as tribute the sum of rs. , yearly. " . that you will in all matters obey the orders of the superintendent of the shan states. " . that in case of dispute with siam about territory east of the salween, you will refer the matter to the superintendent of the shan states for arbitration. " . that no shan, or burman, or british subjects of any race shall be detained in any part of eastern karenni against their will, but that they shall have free liberty to go where they please. "given under my hand and seal this th day of january, . "a. h. hildebrand, "_superintendent of shan states_." [illustration: sawlaw:--gantarawadi sawbwa. (red karens.)] the sixth clause was inserted to provide for the abolition of slavery. it will be noted that the terms of the order did not make the state of eastern karenni part of british india. experience of the difficulties arising from the position of the shan states as part of british india, and of the absence of such difficulties in the case of the feudatory states of the central provinces, induced the chief commissioner to leave the eastern karenni state in the position of a feudatory chiefship. the fifth clause needs explanation. it has been told above (p. ) that a suggestion made by the british representative at bangkok for inviting siamese co-operation had been acted upon. at the time no hint had been given by the siamese, so far as was known to the administration of burma, that they had ulterior views, or claims to advance. it was supposed, naïvely perhaps, that as a friendly nation, anxious on many grounds to ensure the protection of great britain, they had agreed to act partly to help the british government, partly to protect their own border. it was not until the th of november, , that mr. gould, h.m.'s representative at bangkok, intimated that in return for their co-operation the siamese would probably wish to establish their territorial rights over the karenni possessions lying east of the salween. that was the first notice of the siamese intentions which reached the chief commissioner, and he had dispatched his ultimatum to sawlapaw before its receipt. mr. gould was informed that the ultimatum could not be altered to include the siamese claims. at the same time mr. hildebrand was instructed to reserve those claims in his settlement with sawlapaw. hence the insertion of the fifth clause in the order of appointment given to sawlawi. as a matter of fact, the siamese co-operation was purely nominal and valueless, too late to be of any use. on the th of december bangkok was informed that the columns from the shan states and papun would reach sawlôn about the th of january. on the th of december the vice-consul at chiengmai was told of the attack by the karennis on the police post at kyaukhnyat, and was asked to move the siamese to act. on the th of january the result of the fight near loikaw was telegraphed to bangkok and chiengmai. on the th they were informed of the occupation of sawlôn. while mr. hildebrand was arranging matters after the occupation, a detachment of troops went to reconnoitre ywathit, a village on the right bank of the salween, about thirty miles south of sawlôn. from ywathit a party went out to see the salween, some three miles away. this was on the th of january. on the evening of that day the advance-guard of the siamese force appeared on the east bank of the salween, at the mouth of the mèpai chaung, and the officer commanding this party was visited by the assistant commissioner, mr. barnard, on the st of january. it was known from the vice-consul at chiengmai that the siamese had taken no action until the middle of january. this, however, is a digression. on the day following the election, a durbar was held in a large hall in the rest-house in the grounds of the monastery, near which the superintendent had pitched his camp. the place was well fitted for the occasion and was more ornate than one would have expected to find in the wilds of karenni. a spacious chamber "built of the best sawn teak with venetians and folding doors of good workmanship, and a floor which might have been made for a ball-room, the whole," writes the superintendent, "both inside and out being very highly finished with panelling and carving and gilding." here the notables, who had met for the election of the new chief, and all the townspeople assembled, and the superintendent (as the representative of the british government), supported by the general commanding and all the officers of the force, opened the durbar. a broad, sturdy figure of a man, with a face that bore the marks of work and climate, a determined man, patient and considerate, but nevertheless a man accustomed to be obeyed. there were no bright uniforms, no show of gold or scarlet. civil and military were all in the working-dress of the field, soiled and stained with dust and sweat; for the last few marches through the wooded defile of the pon chaung had been very toilsome. amongst the shans and karens assembled, some spots of gay colour might be seen, and smart white jackets here and there. in a few words the causes which had led to the expedition were explained and the consequences, namely, the subordination of the karenni chief to the british government, and the payment by him of an indemnity. this might be unpleasant to some of them. on the other hand, to the karenni people at large, it meant a better government, the cessation of raids and petty wars, the extension and protection of trade, and undisturbed peace. the order of appointment (provisional, as subject to the chief commissioner's approval), was then read and given to sawlawi. thus the karenni territory, which had been hitherto independent and had been protected by us from the designs of burma, became practically part of the empire. it may be noted that mr. hildebrand acted as the representative of the british government on both occasions. on the first, when he secured the independence of karenni by negotiation with the burmese king; on the second, when he made karenni subordinate to the government of india. what was the first use made of his new power by sawlawi? his first thought was to rid his territory east of the salween of the siamese troops now occupying it. the superintendent gave him letters to the siamese commander, announcing the fall of sawlapaw and the appointment of kya maing sawlawi in his place; informing him that matters had been arranged with the karennis, that the british force was withdrawing on the th of january, and that siamese co-operation was no longer necessary. at the same time the vice-consul at chiengmai was asked to use his influence to procure the immediate recall of the siamese troops. on the th of january the british troops left karenni and marched back to fort stedman. sawlawi was left to his own resources. prophets of evil had foretold the immediate reappearance of sawlapaw and the vengeance to be executed on his successor and his supporters. excited journalists published tales in rangoon of wholesale executions in sawlôn under the old chief's orders. as a matter of fact, the ex-sawbwa never attempted to disturb the settlement, and the new sawbwa, sawlawi, carried out his engagements punctually. the indemnity was paid and the fire-arms surrendered. to the day of his death, in , he governed his people in an upright and capable manner. it must be confessed there was some risk in leaving the country the day after sawlawi's instalment. the chief commissioner's instructions were clear that the superintendent should remain in sawlôn until he received orders on his proposals. mr. hildebrand, however, had no choice, and the risk had to be taken, because of the defective arrangements for feeding the troops, which made it impossible to stay. in taking the responsibility he did his duty well. the only difficulty in eastern karenni arose from the action of the siamese government in continuing to occupy the territory east of the salween, which had been long held by the karens, was vital to them, and had never been in the possession of the siamese. this was a matter which threatened at any moment to disturb the peace and gave anxiety to those responsible for maintaining it. the first act of sawlawi, as has been said, after his appointment was to ask the assistance of the superintendent to procure the withdrawal of the siamese from the territory east of the salween. the british vice-consul at chiengmai and the siamese officer in command of their troops were notified that peace had been made and that the british troops were leaving the field; the withdrawal of the siamese was therefore necessary. the siamese claims had been reserved for settlement in the terms of sawlawi's appointment. the chief commissioner prohibited the karenni chief from attacking or making any forcible resistance to them. when month after month passed and they made no show of retiring, but on the contrary began to appropriate the timber and even the elephants of the karenni traders, the local government of burma was placed in a very uncomfortable position. sawlawi urged that he had accepted our terms, made his submission and acknowledged himself to be the subordinate of the queen-empress. he looked in return for the advantage of british protection; apparently he was not to have it. he knew well enough that it only needed a firm order and a small display of force to cause the retirement of the siamese with more alacrity than they had displayed in their advance. why was nothing done? if he began to doubt our good faith, it was no wonder. as a matter of fact--a fact to him unknown, and unintelligible if it had been known--the chief commissioner could do nothing but put the case to the government of india. this was done in as strong words as possible. the government of india could do nothing except through the secretary of state; the secretary of state could not act except through the british foreign office; the foreign office was obliged to work through the siamese embassy in london and the british resident in bangkok; the king of siam had to consult his local lieutenants at chiengmai. the situation demanded patience, and much of it. it has been said above that the territory occupied by the siamese was vital to the karennis. their best and most extensive forests, the main source of their wealth, lay there. the only way of getting timber to the market from the forests was (and is) by floating it down the salween, the mouth of which is in british territory opposite to moulmein. the logs are stopped and collected at kado, a short distance from the mouth of the river, and a duty levied by the government of burma. every owner of timber has his stamp with which he marks his logs, and a register of these stamps is kept by the forest officer. the logs which had been seized by the siamese were easily distinguished, and orders were given to the forest officer to detain them. by this means a check was put upon the rapacity of the siamese, and the loss of the karenni timber dealers restricted. in the course of time, the matter was arranged between the siamese and the foreign office, and the karennis were restored to possession (_vide_ chapter xviii, p. ). the history of this matter shows the difficulties which the government of india and their subordinates on the spot meet with in dealing with a boundary dispute, even of a simple kind, with a foreign country. the facts have to be gathered locally and placed before the government of india, who then have to negotiate through the foreign office, with the risk of misunderstanding and the certainty of long delays. it is unavoidable. fortunately, on the north-western frontier, where the delays and hesitation which caused inconvenience in the disputes with siam might breed serious trouble, the action of the government of india is less trammelled. [illustration: trans salween] chapter xviii the trans-salween states with the capture of twet nga lu and the subjugation of the red karens all serious trouble in the shan states west of salween ended. writing in july, , the superintendent of the southern shan states was able to say:-- "during the year under report, which extends from the beginning of june, , the shan states have been perfectly quiet. nowhere have there been any revolts, nowhere any insubordination or sedition; hardly anywhere, except along the frontier with burma, any dacoities or gang robberies." (report on the shan states for - by mr. (now sir george) scott.) pretenders had become convinced that they could not succeed against the chiefs who had been confirmed in possession by the sovereign power, and they settled down to make the best of things. the floating army of ruffians who had supplied the fighting material in past times had disappeared, and contrived to pick up a living in more peaceful ways. "they make very good show-figures in a sawbwa's processions, with their tattooing from ankle to throat and their chest and arms bossed all over with armlets and charms let in below the skin. they are also admirable letter-carriers to distant states. they know all roads, they are afraid of nobody, and they seem to be able to trudge from dawn to sunset for an indefinite number of days.... it is certain, however, that the states are infinitely quieter than they have been at any time since the death of king mindon, and probably quieter than they have been at all." (_ibid._) the year therefore offered a good opportunity for attending to trans-salween affairs. early in this year the question of the frontier line which was to limit our responsibilities eastward was anxiously considered. some of the states west of the salween which had already come under our protection held or claimed ground east of the river. there were others lying wholly east of the salween which had been subject to the dominion of burma although they had been loosely held. of these the most important, kengtung and kang hung, held, or claimed to hold, territory east of the mekong. it will be easily understood that the government was not eager to lay hold of more territory than it was bound in honour to accept as the successor of the burmese dynasty. we had already taken as much as we could administer or garrison with efficiency. our authority was now definitely established up to the salween. the country lying between that river and the mekong was known to be mountainous, unhealthy, and unprofitable, destitute of roads, a succession of steep mountain ranges which made travelling most laborious. to maintain even a handful of troops in that region would be costly. revenue, there would be none. it was asked where were our responsibilities to end? it was not easily answered. the problem had several sides--the military, the political, and the administrative. from the soldiers' point of view the arguments in favour of making the salween our eastern boundary had considerable force. the river gave a clear and definite frontier drawn from north to south. the advance of a possible enemy through the country between the mekong and the salween could not, from the nature of the ground, be made without much difficulty; whereas the defence would have, in the wide plateau with its rolling prairies on the west of the salween, an admirable position, with easy communications open to the irrawaddy valley. looking at the matter, moreover, from a broader point of view, it was doubtful whether the british dominion in india was not outgrowing its strength. in the annexation of upper burma added, roughly, , square miles to the area for which the government of india was responsible. of this, roughly speaking, , square miles lay across the salween. before upper burma was added to the empire it had been argued by a great military authority that if we were seriously threatened by an enemy beyond the frontier of india, it would be necessary to recall the garrison of british burma and to let that province go for the time. if there were any foundation for this opinion the difficulty in the event supposed would be very much increased by the addition of the new province. for no addition had been made to the army in india since the annexation. there were strong reasons, therefore, for not going a yard farther than was necessary. the advance beyond the salween meant the inclusion of some , square miles of very difficult country and the possible neighbourhood of a troublesome power. in support of the military arguments it was urged that the salween was designed by nature for a boundary. it cut its way, in a line running almost due north and south, through steep mountains and rocks. it was not navigable in its upper reaches; the mouth and the navigable portion of the river were in our hands. but as a matter of fact, however adapted by its natural formation for such a purpose, the salween has not been able to limit the spread of any race or power that has settled on its banks. on the north the chinese hold both banks. the shans have settled indiscriminately on either side. it proved no obstacle to the extension of the burmese power to the eastward. in short, so far from having been "an uncompromising natural boundary," as it has been called, it has not been a boundary at all except for a short length of about sixty miles where it divides the lower burma salween district from siamese territory. moreover, it is a timber-floating river. the teak cut on either bank must be rafted down to moulmein; and hence disputes would be sure to arise. rivers, as a rule, are held to be bad boundaries, and the salween is no exception. at first sight the strategical objections to crossing the salween appeared to derive support from a consideration of the relations to foreign powers which might follow. it was not desired to take any step which might in the near future bring us into contact with france, and thus add a new factor to the frontier problems of our indian empire. the government was even more anxious to avoid action which might give offence to siam, or have the appearance of want of consideration in our dealings with that somewhat unreasonable power. further examination, however, led to a doubt as to the soundness of these views. supposing that the british government, influenced by these motives, decided to decline responsibility for these trans-salween states, what would become of them? even kengtung, the most powerful, could not stand alone. china and siam might be invited to absorb them, and thus a belt of territory might be placed between our boundary and that of french dominion in tonquin china. but china, it was believed, had no wish to increase her responsibilities in these regions, where her authority was very weak. siam might be willing enough, but her rule would be feeble and unstable, and not welcome to the shans. both countries on this frontier were more likely to lose than to gain. if, with the view of avoiding the inconveniences that might arise from becoming conterminous with a great western power in these distant countries, we should invite siam or china, or both, to relieve us of the charge of the trans-salween country, what security was there that either of these powers would retain the territory given to them? we might be creating the very conditions we wished to avert. the result of a cautious policy of this kind might be to make our dominion conterminous with that of france, not on or beyond the mekong but on the salween itself--an intolerable position. looking at the matter from an administrative and local point of view, the chief commissioner was against stopping short of the frontier claimed by the king of burma. it was argued that our new subjects, whether in burma proper or in the shan states, would not understand such a policy, and that it would have a bad effect on their feelings towards us. we might dignify it by the names of prudence and forbearance; they would ascribe it to fear and weakness. to them we should seem to have lifted a burden too heavy for our strength. we were afraid of going into places which the king had held and prepared for us. this, however, might be disputed, or treated as a question of sentiment. but the practical objections were evident and insuperable. [illustration: the easternmost point of the british-indian empire. reach of the mé khong where our boundary marches with french indo-china.] looking to the character of the country lying between the salween and the mekong, it was certain to be the refuge of all the discontent and outlawry of burma. unless it was ruled by a government not only loyal and friendly to us, but thoroughly strong and efficient, this region would become a base for the operations of every brigand leader like twet nga lu, or pretender such as saw yan naing, where they might muster their followers and hatch their plots to raid british territory when opportunity offered. to those responsible for the peace and order of burma such a prospect was not pleasant. these arguments prevailed, and it was decided to accept without flinching the full burden of responsibility which fell on us as standing in the king of burma's place. the states east of the salween which were under the king of burma came under two categories: those which were governed directly by their own chiefs or sawbwas, and those which were subordinate parts of certain cis-salween states. kang hung and kengtung came in the first class, and were the most important of the burmese possessions east of the salween. their position may be roughly judged by the tribute paid to the king and the contingent they were bound to supply to the royal army. the tribute consisted of gold blossoms and cups, candles, bales of silk, ponies, and embroidered pillows; and it was due not only to the king and the heir-apparent, but to the members of the hlutdaw, or cabinet. kang hung sent tribute every third year, while kengtung sent nearly thrice the value every year. the former state furnished a contingent of , men, half musketeers and half spearmen, and maintained seven posts on the southern frontier of from to men. the latter's contingent was of the same strength; but seven guards, with garrisons of from to men, had to be maintained by kengtung on the southern frontier. kang hung was the largest in area of the trans-salween states connected with burma. the greater and the richer part lay to the east of the mekong, and was overlapped on the north-east and east by chinese territory. it was divided into twelve "panna," or townships, six of which lay on the east and six on the west of the river. the six _panna_ on the east were more under the influence of china than those on the west. nevertheless, it is said that when upper burma was annexed there were no chinese settlers in the eastern _panna_, and no interference of any kind by china with the administration of the country. although in the king of burma, in his secret treaty with the french, purported to cede kang hung to france, he had lost hold of kang hung altogether at that time, and he had no power then or previously to dispose of it without china's consent, although china did not meddle with the local government. kengtung, which adjoins kang hung on the south, has had something of a history. about the middle of last century the siamese invaded it. they were routed, and did not care to try a second venture. later on it was the first state to revolt against thebaw's exactions. the people, led by their chief, attacked the burman resident, and put him and his escort to the sword. the similar revolt at möngnai about the same time gave king thebaw as much as he could do, and kengtung was left alone. it has been related in chapter xv how the shan chieftains met at kengtung and formed a confederacy under the limbin prince. the chief of kengtung had intrigued previously with the myingun prince with the object of inducing him to be their chief. as he was unable to come, the limbin prince was invited to lead. it was not the burmese dynasty, but the person of king thebaw they wished to be quit of. when the limbin confederacy dissolved and möngnai and the leading cis-salween states came under the british flag, the kengtung sawbwa should have come with them. there were, however, influences which kept him aloof. the chief who had taken the lead against thebaw had just died. his son, who was sawbwa in - , was a mere boy, only thirteen years of age. the country between kengtung and möngnai, through which he would have had to pass to meet mr. hildebrand, had been much disturbed and was unsafe. it was well known that his father had invited the myingun prince to head the revolt against thebaw. as the party of resistance to british rule in burma regarded the myingun as their leader, it was possible that kengtung might not be welcomed by the british authorities. these apprehensions, however, would have had little force had it not been for saw waing, the ex-sawbwa of lawksawk, who, with an armed following, had taken refuge in kengtung, and had obtained much influence over the young chief. if a representative from the chief commissioner could have gone immediately to kengtung he would have submitted at once; for he had no chance of standing alone, and he knew it. but it took time to decide our policy, and determine the course to be followed regarding the easternmost dependencies of burma. it was not wonderful that the boy-sawbwa and his advisers should await events. south of kengtung, lying partly between it and the mekong and partly across that river, was a small state called chieng kong. this state was believed at the time to be subordinate to kengtung and to follow the fortunes of the larger state. the small districts which were formerly governed directly by burma had been annexed by kengtung about the time of his revolt against the king. they were not of importance, except that one of them, hsenyawt, contained the chief ferry over the salween and included land on both banks of the river. the other, hsenmawng, was a small circle entirely surrounded by kengtung land. these two little tracts had in the king's time been administered by burmese officials, probably in connection with the customs levied on the ferry traffic. kengtung had also appropriated the district of möngpu, which had belonged to the möngnai sawbwa, and an adjoining tract known as mönghsat, which möngnai also claimed. so far the questions concerned only the interests of our own feudatories. farther to the south, down the east bank of the salween, lay four small states--möng tang, möng hang, möng kyawt, and möng hta. these four districts belonged to the cis-salween sawbwa of möngpan. owing to the action of the siamese officials, who attempted to take possession of them, there was trouble in , and the superintendent had been sent across to arrange the disputed points with representatives of the siamese authorities. the siamese, however, did not choose to appear. they thought, it may be presumed, that having a bad case, or no case at all, they had a better chance of success by diplomatic action. on the spot, and with local evidence at hand to rebut them, it would have been difficult to prove their assertions. nothing could be done under the circumstances but to inquire and report the facts. this was done. the government of india were satisfied that these divisions belonged to burma, and were part of the territory of the möngpan sawbwa. the chief commissioner was authorised to put möngpan in possession. accordingly mr. scott visited the districts and formally installed the sawbwa. he found that the residents were without exception möngpan shans. there were no lao inhabitants. until the dissolution of the burmese authority in , there had been no thought or talk of siamese interference. at that time, seeing the chance of advancing their frontier to the salween, an ambition they had doubtless cherished, the chiengmai officials had ordered the headmen of these states to appear to swear fealty to siam. they obeyed the order as the only means of escaping destruction. they returned gladly to their hereditary chieftain. for five weeks after mr. scott's visit there was perfect quiet. how it came about that this settlement was again disturbed is not quite clear. the siamese were bent on advancing their frontier to the salween up to the southern boundary of kengtung. seeing that mr. scott had returned and had left no evidence of british authority in the shape of official or garrison, the former game was repeated. the headmen of the four states were again summoned "to drink the water of allegiance." three of them obeyed. the fourth, möng tang, sent a representative and wrote at the same time to the möngpan sawbwa excusing his conduct on the ground of _force majeure_, and promising to return to his lawful lord when order was finally restored. it was not until some time afterwards that the siamese made overt demonstrations by sending armed parties to the states, but the people were very much alarmed and ceased all communication with the west of the salween. this reopening of the matter was not comprehended by the shans, and it did not help to enhance our reputation in the shan states. south-west of these trans-salween possessions of möngpan, and separated from them by a siamese district called mueng fai, lie two districts, mehsakun and möngmau, forming part of the territory of mawkmai. the history of these tracts illustrates the fluid state in which the country on the borders of the shan states and siam was in - , and for some time previously. perhaps neither burma nor siam had any established and acknowledged authority in these regions. in the chief of mawkmai, né noi by name, who was distinguished by the appellation of the kolan (nine fathom) sawbwa, was cast into prison in the burmese capital. he escaped, and returned to his country through eastern karenni, in much the same way as the hsipaw sawbwa at a later date. but he could not withstand the burmese power; and crossing the salween, with the aid of shans from mawkmai he "carved," to use the words of mr. scott's report, "the two states of mehsakun and möngmau out of the jungle," and settled down there with his own people. here he lived for twenty years, until in he obtained a pardon and went back to mawkmai, leaving a nephew to govern the trans-salween acquisitions. while he was at mawkmai he was no peaceful neighbour, but made himself feared by the karennis on his south border and by the laos on the south and east. so far from being in any way subordinate to the siamese officials at chiengmai, he attacked the siamese district of mehawnghsawn and drove out the shan, named taiktaga san, who had been placed there by the chiengmai authorities. he bestowed the district on his niece, by name nang mya. she was a lady with much force of character, who in england, in the reign of king george v. would have been a militant suffragette, and would have made short work of the ministry by marrying them all out of hand. nang mya, probably feeling the need of local knowledge and connections, dismissed her first husband, who bore the not very imposing name of pu chang se, recalled her predecessor, taiktaga san, from exile, and made him her consort. when the kolan (nine fathom) sawbwa returned across the salween to mawkmai, she and her new consort transferred their allegiance to the siamese governor at chiengmai, without opposition on the part of the mawkmai sawbwa. mehawnghsawn, it may be explained, is farther from mawkmai than from chiengmai, and the salween flows between. this transaction, however, did not affect the districts of mehsakun and möngmau, which remained under mawkmai territory without question until . when the red karen chief, after the old kolan's death, attacked mawkmai, kun noi, who was governing mehsakun on his uncle's behalf, behaved disloyally to his cousin, the rightful heir to kolan, and induced the karenni to make him master of mawkmai. how kun hmon was restored to his position in mawkmai by a british force has been told above (chapter xv, p. ). he was unable, however, to regain the two trans-salween districts, and it was not convenient at the moment to send a party across to reinstate him. kun noi, having been ejected from mawkmai by the british, turned his thoughts to siam and opened communications with the chiengmai authorities through his cousin, the lady nang mya, who governed at mehawnghsawn, with the view of placing himself under their protection. this was the origin of the siamese pretensions to the trans-salween districts of mawkmai. they had no foundation in right. it had been for some time their ambition to advance their frontier to the salween, but as long as burma had a remnant of strength, they could not. they thought the time opportune when the burmese power had gone and the british had not yet made good their hold. on the th of march, , a band of men, some of whom were militia from chiengmai, came and occupied tahwepon, the chief ferry on the salween in mawkmai territory, and hoisted the elephant flag of siam, claiming the whole of the borderland lying east of the river for the king of siam. the position of eastern karenni has been explained in the chapter concerning events in that country. the people are numerous and all karen. in the thirty-eight villages in which they live there are neither shans nor laos. the territory had been for many years in the hands of the karenni chief, and was colonized by his people, just as the two districts north of it had been colonized by mawkmai. it formed the most profitable portion of the karenni state, by reason of its extensive and valuable teak forests. the capital required to work the timber was found by british subjects from moulmein, the karennis furnishing the labour. the timber trade was completely stopped by the siamese; the elephants employed on it seized and carried off. the floating of the timber which had to be sent down to moulmein by the salween was prevented, and communication between the east and west banks prohibited by them. such a state of affairs was most galling to the karennis and injurious to the dignity and to the revenues of their chief. such was the condition of affairs in , and it became necessary to take action to prevent further mischief. it was decided by the government of india, in communication with the foreign office, to appoint a commission to survey the frontier and settle disputed points with representatives of the siamese. accordingly, as soon as the season permitted, a commission was formed under mr. ney elias, c.i.e., as chief. the members of the commission were mr. w. j. archer, her britannic majesty's vice-consul at chiengmai, mr. j. g. (now sir j. george) scott, major e. g. barrow (now sir edmund barrow), captain f. j. pink (now colonel francis j. pink, c.b., c.m.g., d.s.o., queen's royal west surrey regiment). a survey party from the government of india, under captain h. m. jackson, r.e., was attached to the commission. surgeon j. k. close was appointed to the medical charge, with dr. darwin as his assistant. the escort, commanded by major clarke, o.l.i., was composed of two companies of the oxford light infantry, two guns of a mountain battery, and a few rifles of the shan (military police) levy. early in december the commission met at fort stedman, and marching down through loikaw and sawlôn, the karenni capital, encamped near ywathit, at the ferry on the salween called ta sanglè. here they had expected to meet the commissioners who, it was understood, had been appointed by the bangkok government to represent it. no one appeared, however, with credentials from siam. whether this was a deliberate act of discourtesy, or only a failure caused by the general debility of the siamese administration, may be questioned. most probably it was an instance of the common policy of orientals and others with a weak case, who prefer to plead before a distant and necessarily more ignorant tribunal, rather than to submit their statements and evidence to a well-informed officer on the spot. perhaps, also, the advisers of the siamese government avoided taking part in the inquiry in order that they might refuse to be bound by an unwelcome finding. under these circumstances, mr. elias was forced to proceed in the absence of the other side. the working season in these latitudes is short, and to have delayed action would have played the siamese game and given them more time to harass the karennis and appropriate their property. although no final decision could be arrived at, the commission could ascertain the facts, survey the country, and place the matter in a clear light before the government of india. at least we should acquire an exact knowledge of the case, and be able to say what we were fighting about. the business, therefore, was allowed to proceed. a standing camp was formed at ta sanglè, and three parties, led by mr. ney elias, mr. archer, and mr. j. g. scott, respectively, started to examine and survey the karenni country. ten months had passed since the siamese had appeared in these parts. the time occupied unavoidably in a triangular correspondence between the chief commissioner in burma, the government of india in simla, and the foreign office at whitehall, had not been altogether wasted by the siamese, who had endeavoured to get the proverbial nine points of the law on their side. they had established a series of posts along the salween, all of them stockaded and flying the white elephant flag of siam. in each of these posts were fairly large garrisons of from fifty to one hundred men, some of them well armed siamese troops, others laos and shans--men, these latter, from the west of the salween, who had sought refuge in siamese territory from the troublous times of the past years. it was found that the frontier of trans-salween karenni was clearly defined by a range running from north to south, from fifteen to five-and-twenty miles from the salween. the inhabitants, almost all karens, had built their villages on this frontier range. as they live by the rude method of cultivation known as _taungya_, they frequently move from one site to another to get fresh ground. the forests are rich in teak, but the timber was worked not by the karens, but by shans, or by burmese traders from moulmein. everything went to show that the country had been settled and opened up by the red karens, and that the siamese neither had nor pretended to have any rights over it until the time of our expedition against sawlapaw. from inquiries made and from the number of their villages the karen population was estimated at between three and four thousand. the siamese had taken a very practical method of marking them for their own. all adult males without exception had been tattooed on the forearm with the emblem of an elephant, with a running number added below. at first it was thought that this might help us to compute the number of people in the country. but the tattooing had not been done systematically at the villages where the people lived, but at markets and ferries as they chanced to come from the villages around, to sell their produce or make purchases. thus while one man in a village might be branded with the number one hundred, his neighbour in the same village might be numbered four hundred. without visiting every village, therefore, it was not possible to learn the highest number reached, and for this there was not time. going north to the districts of möngmau and mehsakun, claimed by mawkmai, mr. elias was met by a major in the siamese army, who claimed to be a member of the commission representing siam. this gentleman begged the question in dispute by welcoming mr. elias to siamese territory, but made no further contribution to its settlement. the inquiry having convinced the commission that the mawkmai sawbwa's right to these districts was beyond doubt, he was permitted to resume possession. he brought in his officials with an escort of his own shans, and the siamese officers thereupon retired. mawkmai's possession was not disturbed again. in the four states claimed by möngpan events took a similar course. an official representing siam was found encamped close to möng tung, with about one hundred and fifty men. he was requested to leave, as these states were undoubtedly british territory and had been formally so declared. he left without delay or reluctance, and the möngpan sawbwa was put in possession, his nephew being appointed governor of the four states, and entrusted with the task of restoring them to order and prosperity. so far the commission had completed their task. as the siamese had failed to co-operate, the decisions could not be regarded as final. they were left, as the bangkok government may have intended, to be reopened and disputed in london. much information, however, had been gathered about a country hitherto unknown, and a solid foundation laid for a lasting settlement of our frontier with siam. captain jackson's party had worked with the energy for which he had already won a reputation in three preceding seasons in the cis-salween states. "in this his fourth season," wrote the superintendent of the southern shan states to the chief commissioner, "he had an exceedingly difficult region to survey, and he has fixed on our charts an area which would probably have exceeded the powers of any one whose physique was not in equal proportion to his zeal." before the commission had finished the settlement of this strip of country from the south border of eastern karenni to the northern frontier of möng tung, it had become evident that if they were to complete their task the whole body could not visit kengtung. mr. scott, therefore, was deputed for this purpose, and left early in february. he decided to start from möngnai, where he proceeded in order to procure transport. the lateness of the season made it above all things necessary to march quickly, impossible with pack bullocks, the ordinary transport of the shans, which make thirty-four stages from möngnai to kengtung. the panthays (chinese mohammedans) with their mules, do the same journey in twelve days. they march from daylight to midday, and after a couple of hours' halt go on till sunset. mules have the advantage of bullocks in the matter of gear as well as in speed and endurance. the loads are fastened not to the saddle, but to a light wooden frame which fits into grooves on the saddle, and can be lifted off in a minute and as easily replaced. the process of loading and unloading is therefore greatly simplified, and much labour and time saved. moreover, baggage of all sorts and shapes can be loaded on mules, whereas bullocks cannot carry any that will not fit into their baskets. then a mule will walk almost as fast as a man in heavy marching-order, and will cover twelve or fifteen miles while a bullock is doing his five; so that instead of waiting for their food after a twelve-mile march until the bullocks hobble in when the sun is low, the men will get their food half an hour after they reach camp. but mr. scott has led us away from the business in hand in his enthusiasm for mules. panthay mules are not to be found waiting on a stand like taxi-cabs. it is not easy to get them for casual work. mr. scott, therefore, was kept some time at möngnai waiting for mules, and then could not get enough and had to fill the gap with elephants. from möngnai he went up north by the nam teng valley, crossing the nam teng at ko-up, where a bamboo bridge had been built over the river. the villages on both sides of the river had been raided by the brigand twet nga lu, whose story has been told elsewhere (_vide_ chapters xv and xvi). east of the nam teng river in the state of keng tawng, "the country for nearly twenty miles at a stretch," mr. scott reported, "is practically a desert. yet all along the road old wells and ruinous monasteries and the grass-grown skeletons of former paddy-fields, to say nothing of hill-clearings, showed that formerly there must have been a large population here.... the handful of people who have so far returned to keng tawng have settled twenty miles farther south, round the site of the old capital. there is a magnificent banyan-tree, known far and wide as mai hung kan, at maklang.... the adjoining monastery was burnt by twet nga lu's brigands, and not even the sanctity of the tree which twenty men could not span, under whose branches a fair-sized village might be built, has yet been able to persuade the monks to return. there are not, in fact, enough of the pious in the neighbourhood to support them." of the next state entered, keng hkam, the same story has to be told. the nam pang, a stormy river which rises in the north near lashio, flows into the salween near keng hkam. the valuable portion of this district consists of an extensive plateau extending along the right bank of the nam pang, where tobacco and sugar grow well, and very fine rice-fields and extensive groves of palms made the country rich. the state suffered greatly in the twet nga lu's disturbances. the old capital was absolutely destroyed, and nothing now remains but the ruins of fine teak monasteries and some ornate pagodas absolutely falling to pieces. the chief had moved to a new town three or four miles off, but intended, now order had been restored, to build again on the old site. many families had emigrated to the east of the salween. this chief, styled _myoza_, accompanied mr. scott to kengtung. his avowed object was to improve his mind by travel, and to learn english modes of procedure. it afterwards, however, appeared that he was attracted more by the fame of the charms of a lady of the kengtung royal family than by a craving for knowledge. "he was successful in his wooing," wrote mr. scott, "and it may be hoped that his bride will put an end to the habit which he is developing of making inconsequent set speeches. otherwise he is in great danger of becoming an intolerable young prig." it is not possible here to follow the journey to kengtung march by march. it must suffice to give some idea of the country through which the party had to go. from keng hkam to the kaw ferry on the salween, the road was easy enough, the only difficulties being caused by the passage of the nam pang, across which, owing to the nature of the bed of the stream, the pack animals could not swim, and had to be ferried over. the nam teng, which was one hundred paces wide and twelve feet deep under the eastern bank, would have been a cause of delay had not the shans thrown a bamboo bridge across the stream. this bridge built by the villagers, in six days it was said, was crossed easily and safely by the loaded transport mules. the bamboo is worth more to the peasants than gold and silver and precious stones. with it a burman or shan can do almost anything. for offence or defence, for house or furniture, for carrying water or making a raft, the bamboo is equally good. mr. scott's party crossed the salween at the kaw ferry, which is in the small state of hsenyawt, which is described as a simple chaos of hills with probably not above a couple of hundred acres of flat paddy-land in its whole area. the village, which exists for the ferry rather than for any other reason, can hardly find room for more than two or three houses in a cluster, and is consequently scattered over a square mile or so of broken ground. on the other side of the salween it is uninhabited, and the road for some distance is very difficult, climbing along the side of a gorge through which the nam leng runs. mr. scott tells us that the panthay traders carry picks and spades to make the road as they go, and it is only their labour which has kept the route open. from the ferry the road runs north-east to hsenmawng, which is another small state and town under the same man who governs hsenyawt. there are two routes to kengtung from this place. one, the northern, through möng ping, bears the proud title of _lammadaw_ (the royal road), and was always used in burmese times; but landslips had made it dangerous for animals, and fighting between rival leaders, for men. the other road, which kept more to the south, passing through a district named möng pu awn, was perhaps longer but better, and was followed by mr. scott. it follows a zigzag course. first north-east, to hsenmawng, then south-east to möng hsen, then north-west again to kengtung. "east of hsenmawng," writes mr. scott, "is a simple sea of hills, range behind range all the way to kengtung. the main ridges run nearly due north and south, and they with their spurs and sub-features, can hardly be said to be broken by the valleys of möng pu awn or of möng hsen. it is a constant succession of ascents and descents the whole way to kengtung." the mountains crossed were often of some height, and between the altitudes of , and , feet were covered with pine forest. the main range of loi[ ] pè möng, the great divide between the salween and the mekong valleys, which averages , feet, and rises in many places to more than , , carries no pine forests. "on the spurs and sub-features, which stretch far away to the west, forming what may be almost called a plateau--a very uneven one certainly, cut up by gigantic gullies, and sprinkled with numerous eminences, but still a rough sort of tableland--pine forest is the prevailing growth, and seems to give place to oak and chestnut above , feet, which, however, is about the average of this high-land plain. notwithstanding the ruggedness of the country which is very much like a brobdingnagian ploughed field, the road is not by any means bad. it is very fatiguing, but for a mule-track it is very much better than the roads at many places in the western states, where the path climbs straight up the hillside with a roman directness of purpose, or follows stream beds and rocky gorges with a pertinacity born of an ignorance of shoe-leather. beyond the salween the track follows the line of the spurs, with the result that one very seldom has a back-breaking climb. the credit of this natural engineering eye seems to belong rather to the panthay and chinese merchants than to the natives of the country; for farther south, where the panthay caravans pass but seldom, the paths follow the usual shan system of going straight from point to point." it was through a country of this sort that the little party which was to receive the submission of its chief, and settle his relations with the sovereign power, made its way. with scott were two other white men, captain pink, of the queen's royal west surrey regiment, who was a member of the commission, and dr. darwin, a civil surgeon, in the service of the burman government. the escort consisted of eighteen old soldiers, sikhs of the shan levy which had lately been taken over by the army, and as many untrained recruits of the same corps. there were besides a few burmese clerks on mr. scott's staff, some servants and camp-followers, the transport mules with their panthay drivers, a few elephants--which were more imposing though less agile than the mules--and lastly the princely wooer in the shape of the myoza of keng hkam, with a tail of rough spear-men to give a touch of romance to the cortège. not a very imposing embassage, certainly, to represent the majesty of england, and to require the allegiance of a chief who ruled over twenty thousand square miles of country. but the leaders had the right spirit, and not a man with them, from the trained soldiers to the rough mule-drivers, but marched with his head high. the town of kengtung is about ten miles as the crow flies from the pass over the loi pè möng. "it lies in a plain about twenty miles long and perhaps fifteen broad. to the west and north this is perfectly flat and under paddy cultivation; to the east and south are low grassy hills with swamps in the hollows. the town is built on the western edge of this rolling country and overlooks the paddy-lands. it is surrounded by a wall about fifteen feet high, and machicolated at the top." (the wall and a moat were constructed by the burman king alompra in the eighteenth century.) "the bricks are insufficiently burnt, the wall is old and therefore crumbled away in many places, so that it is picturesque rather than formidable; moreover, some hills to the south-west would enable field-guns to drop shells wherever they pleased over the _enceinte_. the wall follows the line of the rolling ground, and to the north and south towers above the plain. to the west it has not this natural advantage, and jungle affords admirable cover up to the dry ditch which protects it on this side. to north-east and south swampy ground covers the approach. the walls measure four and three-quarter miles round, and have ten gates, which used to be covered by semicircular arches. only two of these arches, however, now remain, both on the eastern face. there is very little level ground within the walls, and only the northern half of the walled town is inhabited. even this portion is so overrun with trees as to be almost jungle, and there are several large swamps among the houses. these supply the people with water to drink and small mud-fish to eat. there are probably seven or eight hundred houses within the walls, and many of these are very substantial. some are entirely built of brick; some have brick basements and plank walling; and the number of bamboo houses is very small. all the better-class houses are roofed with small tiles made locally. to judge from the sawbwa's audience-hall, these tiles are not a very satisfactory protection against rain, but they at any rate prevent the fires which do such frequent mischief in other shan towns. the monasteries are numerous, and some of them are adorned with elaborate carving and wall paintings. they are much like the ordinary burmese or shan kyaung (monastery) in general architecture, but there is an indefinable suggestion of tartar influence about them. this is particularly noticeable in the massive gateways which immediately suggest the _paifang_ of china." there was a very large colony of shan chinese to the east of the town. they had large gardens and kept innumerable goats, pigs, ducks, and fowls. "their houses are all built of bamboo, and their villages, like those of china, are inconceivably dirty, though in their person the inhabitants are clean enough." to the industry of these people is due the manufacture of tiles and of the pottery work, which is sold cheap and of great variety in kengtung bazaar. the inhabitants of the plain in which the city lies were, mr. scott estimated, about twenty thousand. there were some military surveyors in his party, but owing to the very critical state of affairs for some time after the city was entered, it was thought better not to send them out to survey. such, briefly, was the city of kengtung when the small british party entered its gates on the th of march, . the elephants, although they marched slowly, and may have been execrated at times on that account, undoubtedly added pomp to the somewhat insignificant procession which entered the city. what followed is best told in the words of mr. scott's report. (report on southern shan states for the year - .) "we were met at the edge of the plain by the tawphaya, the sawbwa's cousin and chief minister, along with a number of the principal officials, and marched in procession to the town. great part of the road was lined by villagers, who stood in many places three or four deep to see us pass. we camped on the site of the old burmese post, and were visited almost immediately after our tents were pitched by the sawbwa and his half-brother, the kyem meung (heir-apparent). the sawbwa is sixteen, and looks older. the kyem meung's age is a matter of dispute between the ministers, his mother, and himself. dates vary over three years, but he looks a good deal younger than his brother. "a formal return visit was paid to the sawbwa next day. he is building himself a new brick _haw_ (palace), and the old palace, which is a dingy wooden erection, is said to be so rickety that it would have infallibly collapsed with the number of people who were to be present at the reception. we were therefore received in the court-house, which looks rather like a railway goods shed outside, but has been rather highly decorated within. the gilding is now, however, worn and tawdry. there is a large gold throne at the farther end, enclosed within a railing, and reached by folding doors from behind, like the mandalay _yazapalin_, which it otherwise resembles in construction. the sawbwa and his brother sat on chairs in front of this, outside the railing, and we were placed between them. there was an enormous gathering of officials both of the town and the neighbourhood, and of the prominent merchants of the town, and the conversation was kept up by these and by the kyem meung, for the sawbwa had never a word to say beyond yes or no. the merchants all talked of the opening up of communications with the west, and particularly of the construction of a railway. trade at present is entirely with china. the old chiengmai trade is greatly interfered with, and almost put an end to by taxations, restrictions, and imposts levied at the siamese frontier posts. the general impression received was that the merchant class and the bulk of the ministers were delighted with the establishment of british authority in kengtung. there is a huge drum near the door of the audience-hall. it is made of hide stretched on a wooden frame, and is about the size of a puncheon. this is said to have been made by the 'hill-people,' but by what hill-people and where, nobody knew. one stroke on this _sigyi_ announces that the sawbwa has ascended the throne; two, that he has left the palace to go through the town; and three strokes summon all officials and armed men within hearing to the palace without an instant's delay. we heard three strokes on this drum a good many times during the next few days. "on the night of the th of march, the second day after our arrival, there was a _pwè_ (a posture dance) inside the sawbwa's enclosure. eight of our panthay mule-drivers, who had been out searching for stray mules, went in after dark to buy cheroots at the usual bazaar. they were set on by the sawbwa's men. most of them escaped, but one man was seized, held with his face to the ground and shot in the back by the sawbwa himself. he was then set free and went back to his camp. two other shots were heard, and one of the panthays has never since been seen. the panthay camp was some distance away in the plain, and before i had got more than the excited account of one of the panthays, who fled from the palace to our camp, i had demanded, next morning, an explanation from the sawbwa, and the production of the man who had fired the revolver. i got no explanation, except that the sawbwa had issued an order that none of our followers were to be allowed to go about in the town wearing arms. in a country where every male above six years wears a dagger, this was an absurdity. the order had not, moreover, been communicated to our people. i therefore demanded the surrender of the offender, and had issued this order before the panthays managed to summon up courage enough to denounce the sawbwa himself as the murderer. it was impossible to recede. it was necessary for british prestige and for our own personal safety to settle the case. our followers expected to be massacred in their beds; the sawbwa feared that he would be seized in his palace, and filled it with armed men. for two days the suspense was rather trying. i then announced that if my orders were not complied with, i would march down to the _haw_ the next day. this brought up the tawpaya and several other ministers, with a petition that i would decide the case as it stood. they produced no witnesses, and did not deny that the sawbwa was the offender. i therefore sentenced him to pay rs. compensation to the wounded man and rs. , if the missing man was not produced within five days alive and well. this sentence, i informed them, was a concession to the low state of their civilization and the ignorance of the sawbwa. the rs. were paid a couple of hours afterwards, and the rs. , a few days before we left. "the incident was all the more embarrassing, because none of the details of the sawbwa's relations with the british government had been settled. he had been reduced to such a state of fear that it was only by again threatening to march down to the _haw_ that i was able to persuade him to come and discuss the terms under which he received a _sanad_ of appointment from the british government. when he did come, however, his manner was much more satisfactory, and he accepted in every detail the terms of the _sanad_ and promised to attend future durbars of the shan chiefs. other matters which had to be arranged with him concerning his western frontier were also easily put in train for settlement." it is impossible to read this brief account without doing homage to the well-considered audacity of mr. scott's action, which ended once for all any inclination on the part of kengtung to resist the british government. during the next few days the terms of the sawbwa's patent of investiture were finally arranged. in his leisure time a wealth of information regarding the province and its wonderful variety of races was acquired by mr. scott, which it is regretted for the reader's sake cannot be given here. on the th of march, three days before the time fixed for leaving kengtung, a durbar was held for the purpose of formally presenting the chief with his patent of appointment. it was attended by all the officials connected with the kengtung state. the only foreigners present were the princely wooer from keng hkam and the brother-in-law of the möngnai sawbwa. but so large is the area of the state that the assemblage was as numerous as if it had been a general durbar of the shan states at fort stedman. mr. scott improved the occasion by impressing on them that british supremacy meant peace and trade. "as is usual with a speech in the shan states, a running comment was kept up in different parts of the audience on the various points enumerated, and on the whole it seemed that their comprehension was satisfactory and their resolution praiseworthy. the ministers promised by the sawbwa complete obedience to the chief commissioner in all matters connected with the state; and the sawbwa himself was divided between admiration for the repeating carbine which he received as a present and a laudable desire to be amiable." the party left kengtung on their return journey on the st of april, and marched back by a southerly route through the four small states belonging to möngpan, where some disputes had arisen which required mr. scott's orders. these questions were finally settled for the time at least at möngpan, and mr. scott then returned to fort stedman, which he reached after an absence of six months, on the th of june, . he had been away on this distant work all the open season of - . although the shan states in his immediate charge had not been visited by the superintendent, there had been no trouble. the sawbwas as well as the british administrators were putting aside warlike things, and devoting their energies to the things of peace. the lawksawk chief had done us good service in by capturing the setkya mintha, a pretender who had been a nuisance since the annexation. in he broke up and captured most of the gang that followed a noted leader kyaw zaw. the growth of wheat and other crops occupied the minds of other sawbwas, while the chief commissioner was devising a procedure code to guide the shan rulers in administering the law. it was necessary to frame rules which should secure substantial justice and at the same time should not be beyond the powers of the shan judges to comprehend. communications between the states and burma were vigorously pushed on, although not quite as fast as the superintendent wished and in his enthusiasm thought possible. the work done in - was good and lasting. although, owing to the failure of the siamese government to take part in the inquiry, a further commission had to be appointed to settle and demarcate the boundary, the decisions arrived at by mr. ney elias were practically confirmed, when the final demarcation was made in - to some extent by mr. hildebrand, but for the most part by mr. h. g. a. leveson, of the indian civil service and of the burman commission. the only difference of importance was that the minor state of chieng kong, which bestrode the mekong and was supposed to be more or less tributary to kengtung, was, as regards the eastern or trans-mekong portion, of which möng hsing was the chief town, assigned to siam. but before the government at bangkok had had time to receive the homage of the möng hsing chief, the french crossed the menam and obtained the treaty of chantabun from siam, by which everything east of the mekong passed to france and möng hsing became french. as to kang hung, in arranging matters with china we transferred all the rights in this state on both sides the mekong--the whole, in fact, of the sibsong panna (or twelve provinces)--to china, on the condition that she should never cede any part of it to another power. with an almost indecent haste, china gave up a portion of the kang hung country to france. as a protest, we refused to pay the decennial tribute of gold flowers, which had been conceded to save the face of china after the annexation, and demanded a revision of the eastern frontier of burma agreed with china in . a new agreement was made in which gave burma a better boundary. it is not likely that new difficulties will arise on this side, although the boundary has not been demarcated. trouble is more probable on the north, where no openings should be left. china does not forget her claim to burma. kengtung showed a proper sense of his duties after mr. scott's lesson to him. the present sawbwa, who was at the delhi durbar in , is reported to have said to one of the officers from burma, "we thought we were great men, but now we see that we are only monkeys from the jungle." so durbars, like other forms of adversity, may have their uses, and quite as sweet. footnote: [ ] loi in shan means "mountain." chapter xix bhamo and mogaung when upper burma was annexed the first step towards the constitution of a well-ordered province was to parcel out the country into districts of such a size and with such boundaries that they could be conveniently administered. the wise course was followed of preserving the old native divisions, which had probably resulted from the teaching of experience and the nature of the country and differences of race. for few innovations vex a people more than changes in the boundaries of the units of jurisdiction which touch their daily life. hence it came to pass that all the country between ° ' n. and the undefined line dividing upper burma from china and thibet, somewhere about ° n., was constituted the charge of a single deputy commissioner, with the china frontier as its eastern boundary, and as its western limit the hukawng valley, the upper chindwin district, and further south the katha district. the headquarters of the deputy commissioner and of the military garrison were placed at the town of bhamo, from which the district took its name. the irrawaddy cuts the district in two from north to south. the town of bhamo lies in a plain along the left bank of the river, midway between two defiles, usually spoken of as the first and second defile, through which the waters rushing down from the region of mountains in the north have cut their way. the river is open all the year round, as far as bhamo to large river-steamers. but the first or northern defile is always difficult, and when the river is in flood, impassable. hence bhamo is the gate of upper burma, and the port for the trade which has existed for centuries with western yunnan. in a very small way it is the peshawur of burma, and for the purpose of raids and such like the kachin tribes play the part of the pathans on the north-west frontier of india. the greater part of the district is hilly and covered with forest; and the kachins, who form quite a third of the population, live in the hills. [illustration: bhamo mongmit etc.] it is said that trade follows the flag. in this case the reverse is true. the irrawaddy flotilla company had prepared the way for us here. bhamo had been the northern terminus of their steamers since , and for some time the government of india had kept a resident there to protect the trade. but no attempt had been made to navigate beyond bhamo. in december, , a force was sent up by river to occupy the town, and an officer of the burma commission, captain cooke, accompanied it, and began to establish a civil administration. no opposition was met with. the population of the town was not in a position to resist us. mixed with the indigenous burmans and shans was a considerable colony of chinese traders--some of them cantonese who had filtered up from the coast, others hardy and adventurous men from yunnan, engaged in the jade and amber and rubber trades in the northern part of the district. these foreigners, although they disliked exceedingly our interference with the opium and liquor traffic, and even more our attempts in the interests of the troops to improve their methods of sanitation, were not actively hostile. the peasantry of a mixed shan-burman race, who cultivated the level country round and below the town, were peacefully inclined, though shy and timorous. but the kachin tribes soon began to show their teeth and to do their best to make things unpleasant. the policy laid down from the first for the guidance of the local officers in their dealings with the kachins was one of patience and conciliation. perhaps too much stress was laid on this. in one case, certainly, the deputy commissioner's anxiety to adhere to this policy was carried to an extreme, and caused mischief. it will be convenient to take the northern portion of the district first--that part, namely, which begins from ° ' n. and goes right up to the chinese boundary. it now forms a separate charge, known as the myitkyina district, but at the time we are writing of, was the mogaung subdivision of the bhamo district, and contained about , square miles of country, of which two-thirds were, and still are, forest. the level and valley lands along the irrawaddy and its tributaries, mostly on the right bank, are fertile, yielding rice as the main crop; but even now, after twenty years of peace, the area cultivated is very small. it is given in the _burma gazetteer_ (vol. ii., p. ) as twenty-eight square miles. the area in the hills tilled, after a primitive method, has not been estimated, but as there are between twenty and thirty thousand kachins who live on its produce, it is probably larger. of the wide forest area, part is in the low hill ranges, part in the plains. twenty-five years ago, when there was not a road, the dense undergrowth and bamboo jungle, and in the lower lands the wide seas of elephant-grass, made the passage of men and transport animals most difficult and laborious. from a fiscal point of view mogaung was supposed to be the most important part of the bhamo district. the collection of a royalty on jade was farmed in the king's time for about rs. , , and there was also an income from the rubber-trees, mostly wild, but to a small extent cultivated. in march, , a force accompanied by captain cooke, the deputy commissioner, made its way to mogaung. the deputy commissioner reported that the "country was then, for the most part, brought under control and settled administration." this was a figurative and official way of saying that a person of local influence, by name maung kala, had been recognized and put in charge as a magistrate in the british service. after a very brief visit the deputy commissioner with the troops went back to bhamo, and left maung kala to carry on the government as he best could, without police and with no military support nearer than bhamo, which is at the least miles from mogaung, whether the journey is made by water or land. even a handful of troops, lightly equipped, could not have been sent up in less than a fortnight. there was no telegraph to mogaung. maung kala belonged to a family of great local influence, which had held office for several generations, and was reputed to be of chinese descent. but whatever his influence, he was sure to make enemies in his endeavours to keep order and to collect revenues, and there was no visible force behind him. his reign was short, and he was soon assassinated.[ ] a burman official was sent up from bhamo by the deputy commissioner to succeed the murdered man. he soon found that he was not wanted at mogaung and he retired to sinbo, whence he could at least make a show of controlling the river-side villages. po saw, the son of maung kala, was then appointed by the people to his father's post, and whatever order or show of government there was in the country was due to him. subsequently, in consequence of his having summarily executed a pretender who had endeavoured to impose himself on the people, the deputy commissioner recognised po saw's authority and withdrew the burman. nevertheless, it cannot be said that the british government had jurisdiction in mogaung. no revenue was collected--at least, none was paid into the bhamo treasury. in this respect, however, mogaung was little worse than the southern portion of the district which was administered by the deputy commissioner himself, supported by the garrison at bhamo. in september, , major cooke reported: "this district has, i believe, been one of the quietest districts in upper burma. the tranquillity of the district is in a great measure due to the fact that no real attempt was made to collect the revenue until july or august." even the tranquillity so purchased was, however, only comparative, and the soldiers had quite enough to do. in the open season of - it was not found possible to give men for an effective expedition to the north. things had to be allowed to take their own course for the time. the administration had no choice. early in , however, the military police began to arrive from india, and in the spring of that year five companies, mainly gurkhas, under the command of lieutenant o'donnell, were posted to bhamo. this strengthened the hands of the civil administration. it was then too late to start an expedition to mogaung. but lieutenant o'donnell was sent up to sinbo, a village of some importance on the right bank of the irrawaddy, just above the first defile. here a strong stockade was built and a gurkha garrison posted in it. an assistant commissioner also, mr. twomey, was sent to watch the course of events in the north. there were three routes by which mogaung could be reached from bhamo. one was by going up the irrawaddy and turning into the mogaung river, on which lies the town. this was quite possible for a very small force which had not to carry all its supplies and transport. the object, however, was not merely to reach mogaung, but to go to the jade-mines and explore the country. since an explorer (lieutenant bayfield) made his way to the mines in , no european had visited them. nothing was accurately known of the nature of the country, of the supplies it afforded, or of the numbers and temper of the kachin tribes which dominated it. all that could be gathered from the chinese and others showed that there would be much difficulty in all these matters. it was suspected that the chinese were disposed to magnify the difficulties. nevertheless it was necessary that the force should be prepared for all emergencies, and should be in every respect self-sufficing. hence the river route was considered impracticable. another way was to land the force at katha and march up through mohnyin. our knowledge of the route between mohnyin and mogaung also was imperfect. it was not under our control, and a force passing up would have to take everything with it. the third route was by the left bank of the irrawaddy. it had this advantage, that although the marching would be difficult, boats could follow the force up the river, could meet it at fixed points, and could carry a large quantity of the supplies, certainly as far as sinbo and probably in the smaller craft as far as mogaung. after much consideration it was decided to send the expedition by this route. a fortified post was to be established at mogaung, to be held by the military police, to serve as a base for the advance of the force to the jade-mines and other parts. much care was given to the composition and equipment of the force[ ] by the general commanding in upper burma, sir george white. it was necessary that it should be prepared for all emergencies; that it should carry with it supplies for the whole time of its absence from bhamo; that it should be able to move, as occasion required, either by land or water, and be ready to make its own roads and bridges. it must be strong enough to fight its own way and repel attacks; and at the same time the numbers of the force were limited by the necessity of carrying its own food and of keeping the transport train from becoming too large. the chief commissioner selected major adamson, the deputy commissioner at bhamo, to go with the force. to him was entrusted the task of dealing with the kachins and of establishing the authority of the british government. he had served for thirteen years in lower burma, and was known as one of the best officers in the commission. he fully justified the confidence placed in him. some time before the expedition started, major adamson summoned po saw from mogaung to meet him at sinbo. he came accompanied by many of the chief shan residents and chinese merchants. he promised to obey the deputy commissioner's orders. the deputy commissioner then formally appointed him to be magistrate of mogaung in his father's room and from the date of his father's death, and paid him a large sum as arrears of salary. he was then dismissed, with orders to clear the roads of jungle and collect supplies for the troops. he was instructed also to summon all the kachin chiefs connected with the jade-mines to meet the representatives of the british government at mogaung. all this po saw readily promised to perform. major adamson went back to bhamo well pleased with his willingness to help and believing in the loyalty of his intentions. all preparations having been completed, the expedition marched from bhamo on the th, by the north gate of the town. it was for these parts an unusually large and well-found force, and impressed the townspeople who crowded to witness its departure. it consisted of the following troops: cheshire regiment, rifles, under captain armstrong; kelati-ghilzai regiment, rifles, under lieutenant morton; mounted infantry, rifles; bhamo military police (gurkhas), rifles, under lieutenant o'donnell;[ ] mountain battery (bengal), guns, under captain triscott,[ ] r.a. captain clements was in charge of the commissariat. the land transport consisted of pack-mules with drivers and two elephants, who were sent back after a few marches, as they proved to be useless. a fleet of three steam launches and thirty-three large country boats, with supplies, was sent up by river, with a force of sixty-six native infantry, under a native officer, on the launches. captain triscott, r.a., with lieutenant williams, r.a., as his staff officer, was in command of the whole force. a roman catholic missionary who spoke shan and kachin accompanied the expedition as interpreter. a survey party to map the country, a forest officer to report on the forests, and mr. warry, the chinese adviser to the chief commissioner, made the staff complete. the march up the left bank of the irrawaddy was difficult. there were two considerable streams, the taeping and the molé, affluents of the irrawaddy, to be crossed in the first few marches. these rivers, however, caused comparatively little delay. the track kept as near as possible to the course of the irrawaddy. sometimes it crept along close to the river-bank, across numerous spurs separated by small streams flowing into the main river. the ascents and descents were very steep, and to make them passable for laden animals much jungle-cutting and road-making had to be done. sometimes the gradients were so steep as to necessitate the cutting of zigzag paths. at times the animals had to be taken up the steep banks and into the forests in order to find a road. on the nd of january the camping-ground was on a sandy spit by the river-bank, at a village called nanti. here the steam-launches and the thirty-three boats met the land columns. on the th the march lay along the side of the first defile, where the river flows between rocky banks. the laden animals found easier going here, as there was no rank vegetation; but it was slow work, as paths had to be cut for them on the steep sides of the beds of dry streams which had frequently to be crossed. on the th, after leaving the defile behind, the force debouched on sandy level ground close to the stream, and halted at the village of manhé, where the column had to cross the irrawaddy. the headman of sinbo, with some fourscore men and half as many boats which he had brought down by the deputy commissioner's orders, to help in the work, was waiting. next day was devoted to the crossing. at a.m. it began, and by half-past p.m. the last man was landed on the right bank. the irrawaddy at this place and at this time of the year is three hundred yards wide, with a current of about two miles an hour. the formation of the river-bed, the broad sloping banks of sand and gravel, and at places the depth of water close to the side, made the work simple enough, however laborious. the two launches could come alongside the bank, and the artillery and infantry, with arms and ammunition, were taken over in them. then came the baggage animals, who were made to swim the river in batches of four or five at a time. a canoe, with one burman boatman in the bow, was drawn up alongside the bank, with the bow against the stream. then four or five men, each leading an animal, passed round to the stern of the boat and seated themselves in the canoe holding the animals by their leading-ropes. as soon as they were seated a second boatman took his stand in the stern. the bow was shoved off and the canoe punted across the river by the two boatmen. thus the animals were swimming up-stream astern of the canoe, and were not in danger of being forced by the current against it. three hundred and fifty animals swam the river in this manner, and not one was drowned or hurt. the column was now on the right bank of the irrawaddy. the next march brought them to sinbo, where a garrison of military police was already established in a stockade, near to which a large camping-ground had been cleared for the troops. supplies from bhamo had been landed and stored, and the commissariat staff was busied in arranging for their transport to mogaung. the fleet had also arrived before the column. the launches being unable, owing to the shallowness of the river, to get up beyond sinbo, were sent back to bhamo. the next two marches, partly through forests partly across plains cropped here and there with rice, brought the force to the bank of the mogaung stream. the water was deep and the current ran very strong. the crossing of this little river gave more trouble than the passage of the irrawaddy. for po saw's promises proved false. he had made no preparations and sent down neither men nor boats. however, three or four boats were found at a village higher up the stream. teak logs were lying about. rafts were made; and the guns and commissariat stores taken over. there were not enough boats to tow the large number of pack-animals across. mules and ponies were driven into the water in herds and forced to make their way to the other bank, which unluckily was very steep with a muddy bottom. nevertheless they all got over except one, but many were very spent and were brought up the bank with difficulty. the road now lay on the left, or east, bank of the river, and entered a country of which nothing was known. it was dominated by the kachin chief of the neighbouring hills, from whom the inhabitants had to purchase protection--in plain english, immunity, to some small extent, from murder and robbery. as they had been forced at the same time to pay taxes to the burmese officials, they had suffered much, and many of the villages were deserted. the failure of po saw to carry out major adamson's instructions gave rise to some anxiety. treachery was feared, and precautions were taken against surprise. the road was now in parts very difficult, over steep forest-covered hills running down close to the mogaung river, and intersected by many steep ravines. progress was slow, as the way had to be cleared of bamboo and other undergrowth before the pack-animals could pass. in places on reaching the proposed halting-place it was found to be a small, confined spot, and the ground had to be cleared before the camp could be pitched. a party of chinese shans on their way to mogaung joined the camp at night, and were engaged to accompany the force and help to clear the road, for which they were well paid. after some sixteen miles of difficult ground, which was covered in two marches, the column struck the river again near tapaw. here the headman advised major adamson to cross to the right bank again, as the land road to mogaung was only five or six miles, whereas the river made a detour of double that distance, first going north and then coming back to the south-east. there were no boats to be had here. after some consideration captain triscott and major adamson decided that it was advisable to send to mogaung and summon po saw. they had heard from a kachin sawbwa whom they met on the road that the chinaman who farmed the jade-mine revenue had been murdered, and they were now told at tapaw that an englishman had passed down-stream in urgent haste. here we must go back to mr. warry's movements. it has been said above that mr. warry, the adviser on chinese affairs, had been appointed to go with the expedition. he belonged to the chinese consular service, spoke chinese well, and understood that difficult people as well as an englishman can. he was on most friendly terms with the chinese in burma, and could trust himself to them without fear. it appears that instead of marching with major adamson, as it was intended, he had gone by himself with some chinamen by the river. when the expedition arrived at sinbo it was found that warry had gone on in his boat, meaning to travel up the mogaung stream. his attempt to go ahead of the expedition, if that had been his purpose, was foiled by the refusal of his chinamen to attempt the ascent of the mogaung until they had learnt that the column had preceded them. hence on the th of january he was in his boat on the mogaung, some seven or eight miles in rear of the marching column, when he met mr. rimmer, a commander in the irrawaddy flotilla's service, coming down the stream as fast as his men could paddle. rimmer had in his boat a chinaman very badly wounded in the head. it was lon pein, who had been at one time the farmer of the jade-mine taxes under the king's government. rimmer's story was that he had pushed on to the town of mogaung alone, for the purpose of examining the waterway. he reached the town on the th of january, and having accomplished his object was about to return at once when lon pein came to him and told him that he feared an attack by po saw's men, who sought his life. he implored rimmer to stay and help to defend him until the troops should arrive. the people of the town appeared to be friendly enough. but believing that lon pein's life was in danger, he chivalrously agreed to stay. he took up his quarters in the chinaman's house, and they made ready in such manner as they could to resist an attack. rimmer was armed with a rifle, and lon pein, it may be presumed, had fire-arms of some sort. they had not long to wait. at midnight of the th a body of ruffians besieged the house with more vigour even than the police led by the home secretary against the house in sidney street. the house was of the kind usual in the country, raised on piles with a floor none too closely fitted. the assailants got underneath and fired through the floor, and thrust spears wherever they could find an opening. early in the fight lon pein fell wounded in the head, and never recovered consciousness. rimmer's rifle was shot in two, and his knee was grazed by a ball. however, he continued to hold out until dawn, when the assailants made off. next day he managed to find his boat and, with the assistance of some town's-people, to carry lon pein to it. the inhabitants expressed their sympathy and regret, but did not explain their failure to help him. po saw, it appeared, had left mogaung the day before, but rimmer believed that lon pein had good cause for holding him responsible for the attack. [illustration: kachin women and children of the upper irrawaddy.] warry persuaded rimmer to return with him to the protection of the troops, and they joined the column on the th, before it left tapaw, and entered mogaung with it on the th of january. evidently there was mischief on foot. the leaders of the expedition, on hearing the story, decided that before advancing further it would be wise to make po saw show his hand. the difficulty was to get a trustworthy man to carry a message to mogaung. there was a mussulman, a native of india, who had come up as an interpreter, with the force, safdar ali by name. he might have been a descendant of sinbad the sailor, for he had led a life of travel and adventure. he had traded in jade, and was familiar with many parts of the country. he spoke burmese, shan, and kachin, in addition to his native hindustani, and he had taken wives of the daughters of heth in most of the bigger places. in consequence, or in spite, of these alliances he was on good terms with the people about, and could obtain intelligence of local affairs. safdar ali volunteered to take a letter to po saw, and with a native to show him the shortest road, he departed. meanwhile captain triscott and major adamson, with some mounted infantry, had gone out to examine the track, and found that for four or five miles it crossed a rice plain cut up by numerous muddy ditches which the baggage animals could not get over. beyond this rice-ground rose some hills, at the foot of which was a morass, which the column would find very difficult to pass. they turned back to the camp, therefore, to collect labour to make the road passable. safdar ali, on his way back from mogaung, overtook them, and reported that po saw had disappeared after the chinaman's murder, and had gone, it was said, to raise the kachins nearest to mogaung. this was not cheering news, as po saw's influence with the kachins had been relied upon as the means of establishing peaceable relations with them. however, the other officials of the town had been helpful; boats had been sent down to tapaw, and before the day ended, the _nakan_, or deputy magistrate, attended by the kyaung tagas and payatagas (builders of monasteries and pagodas), arrived to pay their respects. they were reprimanded by major adamson for their neglect, and were directed to take steps at once to make the road passable. the poor men were evidently in fear and trembling, dreading the vengeance of po saw on the one hand and the wrath of the british government on the other. however, the march next day was made without great difficulty: the ditches were filled up or bridged. the swamp proved a greater obstacle. luckily there was an abundance of elephant-grass hard by. this was cut, and being spread thickly on the surface of the swamp, made a passable road. after climbing the hill, the pagodas and monasteries of mogaung became visible; and when the level ground round the town was reached, a number of the chief people were seen, who had come out to meet the british force and make their submission. on reaching the gates a conference was held with these, while the town was reconnoitred by the soldiers for a suitable camping-place. the burgesses were evidently suffering from great fears. they dreaded the kachins, to raise whom was the design of po saw. under these circumstances it comforted them to learn that the british had come to stay, and that their town would not be left again without an english officer and a sufficient garrison. major adamson then proclaimed the offer of a reward of , rupees for the discovery and arrest of the murderer of lon pein, the chinaman. he told them to have no fear of the british soldiers, and assured them that if the myo-ôk po saw would return to his duty even now, he would be forgiven and restored to office. by this time, a good site having been found on a sand-bank at the upper end of the town, the whole column marched through the main street, that all might see its strength, and established the camp there. mogaung[ ] was once the capital of a considerable shan principality. in it could count only about three hundred houses. standing on the bank at the confluence of two streams, it is washed by water on two sides. on the other two sides it was defended by a teak palisade in bad repair. the town is well planned, being, like rangoon and mandalay, laid out in squares, with brick-paved roads at right angles to each other, one main road, likewise paved, running through the middle. many pagodas, substantial structures of brick, and large and handsome monasteries of teak, ornament the inside of the town and also the spaces outside the walls. a buddhist bishop, with jurisdiction over the whole of the north part of the bhamo district, had his seat at mogaung in - . in the centre of the town were some very good houses belonging to the wealthier residents, and at the upper end the chinese--who formed, as they do now, a large and important class of the inhabitants--had their quarters and their temple. most of the trade in jade and rubber was in their hands, and their houses were as uncleanly here as in other towns of burma. one of their chief employments was the manufacture of arrack, which they sold to the town's-people. the shops in their quarter reeked of it. whatever the indian temperance society may think, we cannot be accused of introducing alcohol or the vice of drunkenness into these regions. orders were at once issued against selling liquor to the british soldiers. these orders were treated with indifference until a chinaman was caught in the act. he was promptly flogged, and there were no more cases of the kind. another race found at mogaung was the cross-breeds between chinese and shans. "we noticed," says major adamson (short account, p. ), "very many chinese shans.... they are strange, wild-looking people, as a rule rather short in size, but often strong and wiry. they are invariably dressed in a blue cotton jacket and loose blue chinese trousers, and they wear their hair in a sort of long tail behind, more or less after the fashion of chinese. they are each armed with a long sword, and as a rule each carries a bag, in which he keeps his eating utensils, food, and blanket." in the river in front of mogaung is an island, where the boats which bring jade and rubber from the north, and all sorts of miscellaneous merchandise from bhamo, were moored. a small bamboo bridge gave connection with the mainland. "the island is looked upon as a place of safety in the event of the kachins attacking the town. many of the villagers keep their valuables in boats for protection, and some women and children go nightly to sleep in the boats, where they consider they are safer than in their houses (_ibid._, p. )." it was major adamson's duty to get into touch with the people, and procure the necessary intelligence concerning local politics and conditions. there was a man of influence in the town called shwè gya, who had been appointed by major cooke to be the _nakan_, or deputy, when maung kala was recognized as myo-ôk. he could not get on with po saw when that person succeeded to power, and retired into private life. shwè gya was a man of some note and of strong individuality. he was a cross-breed between a kachin father and an assamese mother. but he had adopted the dress, habits, and religion of the burmese shans. he had been a soldier at one time, and understood kachin tactics well. being able to appreciate the power of the english, he threw in his lot with them. this man major adamson took into his confidence, and found him most useful and most loyal. it was necessary for adamson to be open to all comers and at all times. as this was not possible within the camp, he moved his quarters to a rest-house in the town, taking a small british guard for his protection. on sunday, the th, his mind was relieved by learning that po saw had returned. a durbar was arranged, to which all the notables were summoned. the officers of the force being present, major adamson received po saw formally, and after explaining the objects of the expedition and the general policy of the british government, namely the establishment of peace and the encouragement of trade, he censured the myo-ôk for his conduct, and called on him to explain it. po saw alleged that fear of being called to account for lon pein's murder had been the reason of his flight. major adamson accepted the excuse, and restored him to office. at the same time he assured the people that no one should be prosecuted for offences against the british government committed before the arrival of the expedition, except those who had been parties to the murder of the chinaman. o'donnell and his police, who had fallen behind the column owing to the boats with their supplies having been delayed, had now arrived, and the work of building a fort for their occupation was begun. a site was chosen on a piece of ground in the middle of the town, bounded on one side by the river, of which the banks were very steep and formed a natural defence, leaving the other sides to be protected by palisades. the mornings now were very cold and foggy, the thermometer falling to ° or °. about nine o'clock the fog cleared off, and the climate was delightful. the soldiers were naturally eager to move. they were eating up their stores, and if the kachins meant mischief the less time they had to prepare it, the better. a council of war was held. major adamson wished to wait until the kachins had had time to arrive. his instructions were to avoid hostilities with the kachin chiefs if possible. po saw had not summoned them to meet him as he had been ordered; the letters from the british representative were only now reaching them. the chinese, through mr. warry, also strongly urged delay. moreover, nothing was yet known about the road to the jade-mines; and as it was found that, contrary to expectation, paddy for the transport animals could be procured from the villages in the neighbourhood, the arguments against delay lost some of their force. the council decided, after discussion, to halt for ten days. during the next few days the chief work was the collection of materials for the fort and its construction, which was rapidly pushed on by captain o'donnell. houses were also put in hand for the officers who were to remain in mogaung, namely the commandant of military police, the assistant commissioner, and a surgeon. surveys were made of the neighbouring country, information about the roads and villages collected, and in short every preparation made for the advance. on the nd of january, shwè gya reported to major adamson that the myo-ôk po saw had disappeared once more. his conduct since his reinstatement had not been good. it was decided to capture him if possible, and keep him a prisoner. he was reported to be in a village about five miles away. taking fifty men and some mounted police, under the command of captain armstrong, of the cheshire regiment, adamson descended on the village, surrounded it, and searched every house. there was no trace of po saw; but a man known to be in his service, and another who was recognized to be bo ti, his right-hand man, were made prisoners. the final disappearance of po saw upset major adamson's plans. it was idle to expect that the influential kachin chiefs would now come in. it was necessary to appoint a man to carry on the duties of the myo-ôk. shwè gya was the best man, but he was not a shan and the people would not have accepted him. with the consent of the townsfolk another member of maung kala's family was chosen and placed in authority, with shwè gya as the deputy and real working man. all this was done in public, and explained to the people. at this time some letters of a friendly tone came in, with presents from some kachin chiefs whose hills were on the road to the jade-mines. the time had come now for an advance. the fort was ready for occupation, and was defended by a substantial bamboo palisade, captain o'donnell, with all his police except a detachment of seventy-five, who formed part of the expeditionary force, were left to garrison it. mr. twomey, assistant commissioner, was placed in administrative charge, and orders were left for the despatch of bo ti and the other prisoner to bhamo. on the th of january the march began. the troops forming the column under captain triscott's command were:-- khelati ghilzai regiment rifles gurkha military police " cheshire regiment " bengal mountain battery guns. [illustration: yawgin with crossbow. (mountains north of myit kyina.)] [illustration: kachin women. (northern irrawaddy.)] a field-hospital, under surgeon-major barron, and a train of transport animals with provisions and commissariat stores for seven days, completed his equipment. mr. warry, a survey party, a forest officer, the roman catholic priest who acted as interpreter, safdar ali, and the new myo-ôk, poh myah, with shwè gya, the deputy, and some armed followers, accompanied major adamson. supplies were forwarded up by river to kamaing, the first principal halting-place, thirty-three miles from mogaung. before the force left a reconnoitring party had been sent up to kamaing, and had reported the road to be very difficult. the report was not found to be exaggerated. marching through elephant-grass and thick forest, which hid everything except the immediate neighbourhood, a hardly visible path, obstructed often by huge fallen trees; camping-grounds which had to be laboriously cleared of elephant-grass[ ] and undergrowth, before standing-room could be found for the animals or resting-place for the men, with sometimes heavy rain which drenched every one, made the march anything but pleasant. all hardships, however, were born with cheerfulness; and as the country was new and unexplored, and there was a chance of a fight at any time, the men were full of spirit. they and their officers were true soldiers. on the th the stream on the opposite bank of which lay kamaing was reached. it ran deep, and the banks were precipitous. fortunately, it was only about the width of a cricket pitch. trees were felled and elephant-grass cut, and with the aid of a big trunk found sticking up in the bed of the river, a bridge was made, over which the whole force, laden animals and all, safely crossed. "kamaing," writes major adamson, "is splendidly situated on a small hill, close to the river, at the point where its two main branches unite, the larger branch, the nampoung, coming from the indawgyi lake in the south-west" (ibid., p. ). it had been a flourishing town, as the still remaining monasteries and pagodas proved. these religious buildings were, however, deserted, the last monk having died a year before. of the whole town only a few houses remained. the place had shared the fate of all this country in the kachin rebellion of . there were still a few shops, however, where manchester goods could be bought, and articles of food for daily use were to be had. country spirits and opium were also on sale. here letters came in from the two brothers who ruled the hills in which the jade-mines are situated. they were called kansi naung and kansi hla. their tone was friendly, though they wrote with the hope of preventing the advance of our people from mogaung. answers were sent by mounted messengers, saying that the force was already at kamaing and would continue its march next day, and assuring the sawbwas of our peaceable intentions. starting from kamaing on the st of january, the bank of the indaw river was reached after some of the most difficult marches made during the expedition. the path was passable for men but not for a long line of laden animals. it was very swampy, with tall elephant-grass on each side, which had been set on fire to make the track passable. the men had to force their way through the charred stalks, and as there was a heavy fog at the time "the faces and clothes of the whole column were speedily as black as if they had been down a coal-mine." (short account, p. .) for some distance every yard of the road had to be made by cutting down the tall, coarse grass and spreading it on the surface of the swamp until it would bear the weight of the animals. so they made their way, always through the tall grass, until the indaw river was struck. here it was decided to form a defensible camp, in which all superfluous animals, stores, and tents should be left, with a sufficient garrison to guard them, while the main body pushed on to the jade-mines. after their experience of the country, it was held to be dangerous to move with the whole train if there was any likelihood of fighting. two days were occupied in preparing this camp, in getting some portion of the road cleared in advance, and in holding communication with a neighbouring kachin sawbwa. on the rd of february the reduced column, in light fighting order, left kamaing with seven days' provisions, loaded on some hundred and twenty-five mules. each man carried two days' rations besides. everything that could be done without, including tents, was left in the camp. it was as well, for the road continued difficult, and every bit of ground at the halting-places for the night had to be cleared. the march was sometimes in the bed of a stream sometimes through dense cane jungle growing in swamp. hard work in deep mud, from which all sorts of noxious vapours rose, caused the men to sweat profusely, and exhausted the animals. fortunately, through the medium of shwè gya, major adamson persuaded some of the kachin villagers to approach him, and their services were hired for road clearing. [illustration: bhamo battalion drawn up for inspection.] [blank page] [illustration: chin hills etc.] on the th messengers from the jade-mine sawbwas, kansi naung and kansi hla, were met, carrying letters for the deputy commissioner. the letters were quite friendly in tone, and invited the british force to halt on the bank of the uyu river, where there were grass and water in plenty. major adamson was much relieved to get this communication, as it seemed to give promise of a peaceable visit to the mines. the road ascended now through forest and thick bamboo undergrowth, and was very fatiguing. for the first time men were met carrying down loads of jade stone. the watershed between the chindwin and the irrawaddy was crossed, and the road then descended into an open plateau, out of the dense and dismal forest through which our march of seven miles had been. from a.m. till p.m. we had been steadily marching, but we had only been able to accomplish seven miles. heavy rain fell that night and turned the camping-ground into a bog, and made the road for next day (february th) very heavy. the mud and water reached to the bellies of the mules, and in places the column was forced to leave the path and cut a new way through the forest. the namthein, an affluent of the uyu, had to be crossed several times, the water being up to a man's knee and the bed of the stream yards broad. at midday the weary force encamped on a tongue of land at the junction of the namthein and uyu rivers. the camp was on a lovely spot. it faced southwards, and commanded a view of the junction of the two streams. on the right was the uyu, a beautiful stream of from to yards from bank to bank, "as clear as crystal, and alive with fish, which kept rising to the surface in the evening, like trout in an english stream. the bed was generally rocky, full of large water-worn boulders; but for a short distance above our camp there was a very deep pool under the opposite bank, while the shore on our side was sandy and gravelly, and sloped very gradually towards the deep part.... the spot which we selected for a camp was a beautiful triangular piece of ground, covered with short grass and a few bushes on the northern portion, and with a long tongue of shingle and sand stretching southwards to the place where the streams met." in this pleasant place came a further letter to the leaders of the expedition from kansi naung, saying that he had given orders that the english should be treated well, and promising to come himself with presents. next day, however, brought only disappointment. a letter came from kansi naung saying that illness prevented him from keeping his promise. other signs indicated that all was not right, and shwè gya, who had been hopeful hitherto, lost heart. the military leaders were for good reasons in favour of immediate action. major adamson, however, took the responsibility of giving kansi naung more time, and wrote to him peremptorily, saying that they could not wait, and that he must come in. on the th of february news came that kansi naung was at a village on the opposite side of the river, not a mile off. shwè gya was asked to go across to see him. but he declined, saying that he knew kachins were on his track to murder him.[ ] from two men who came across from the sawbwa's camp, one of whom major adamson had met in mogaung, it was learnt that emissaries from po saw had arrived, and were urging the kachin chief not to visit the british. the right course was now clear. adamson told the men publicly to go back to kansi naung and tell him that if he did not appear before ten o'clock next day the column would advance to the jade-mines by force if necessary. later in the day the polyglot and polygamous interpreter, safdar ali, volunteered to go to the kachin camp to see if he could influence the kachins, or at any rate find out what was in their minds. his offer was accepted. at the same time all was made ready for a fight. next day (february th) safdar ali returned with a message from kansi naung that the sawbwa would come, but that ten o'clock was too early for him. captain triscott fixed the advancing or attacking force at one hundred rifles and one gun; the rest were not more than sufficient to defend the camp. the numbers of possible enemies might be large, and if the advance was opposed the camp also would probably be assailed. by nine o'clock the men had fallen in and were waiting for the order to march, when a large party appeared on the opposite side of the river. the leading man carried a fine pair of elephant tusks. it was evidently a friendly visit, and proved to be kansi naung with twelve other chiefs. the troops drawn up for a hostile advance were at once turned into a guard of honour. the military and civil leaders sat in chairs in front of the hut in which they had sheltered, and the kachin sawbwas on their arrival were seated on the ground in front of them. the tusks were presented and all the chiefs made their submission. major adamson assured them, shwè gya interpreting, that the british government would respect their rights in the mines. they were warned against listening to po saw, who had been dismissed from the british service. presents were given to each of them, and they were dismissed. on their departure the troops immediately fell in and started for the jade-mines, which were reached after an uneventful march on a rough forest path, which rose to an altitude of fifteen hundred feet. there was not much to see. "a collection of about fifty houses and what appeared to be a large quarry, while all over the place were blocks of white stone of all sizes, some of which were tinged or streaked with green." the main object of the expedition, to obtain the submission of the kachin chiefs and assert the authority of the government and its right to the revenue from the mines, had been attained. as no water was to be had, and there were no rations for the men, the force, after a short rest, marched back to camp. everything had gone well during their absence from the camp. but disquieting letters had come from mogaung, telling of a kachin assault on the stockade. it remained now to explore the indaw country. taking only a small party from the camp, adamson went in boats up the indaw river to the lake, a very fine piece of water, about sixteen miles long from north to south by six broad. he found the country round it to be naturally fertile and bearing marks of much former prosperity. but it had been the scene of the kachin rebellion of , which had its rising here, and here also the rebels had made their last stand. it had been devastated with all the ruthlessness of an asiatic conqueror. it bore the marks of recent prosperity and a thick population. good roads still united the ruined villages; nearly every little stream was crossed by solid teak bridges; sites of old villages still showed gardens of mango, jack, tamarind, and other fruit trees growing amongst monasteries and pagodas all absolutely deserted, amidst great stretches of splendid rice plains showing signs of recent cultivation. yet only one small patch of land, about ten acres under tillage, and only in a few places some poor huts which, surrounded by double and treble stockades, showed the conditions under which the few surviving peasants lived. it was hoped that with unlimited rice plains, a magnificent lake swarming with fish, a government that would enforce peace, with open water communications and in the near future a railroad, this beautiful country would recover prosperity. all that can be said after a generation has passed is that "it is only beginning to recover from the devastation caused by the kachin rising of " (_burma gazetteer_, vol ii., p. , edit. ). so much easier is it to destroy than to restore. the indawgyi country being now explored, the party rejoined the main body at the sakaw camp, and the force set out on its return march to mogaung. they had left mogaung on the th of january, and had marched for four weeks through jungles and marshes most favourable to a savage enemy skilled in ambuscade. yet not a shot had been fired. po saw, however, had been busy with the kachins. mogaung had been attacked on the rd of february, and the report of this had reached major adamson. they were prepared, therefore, for hostilities, and before they reached mogaung, on the th of february, they were attacked and lost several men. the state of affairs at mogaung was not very reassuring. the people were in much alarm. women and children were sleeping in the boats. the road was unsafe, and communication with the irrawaddy was interrupted. the last boats, four in number, which left the town with the mails and some prisoners under a guard, had been fired on by kachins; and a boatman and one of the gurkha police were hit. no chinese boat had ventured up the river for three weeks. the resident chinese were putting their temple in order of defence, and every one expected that there would be fighting. the expeditionary force had, however, to return to bhamo. they had accomplished the work for which they had been detached. major adamson also was obliged to resume the charge of his district, which had been left more or less during his absence to a subordinate officer.[ ] mogaung, the town and the subdivision, were placed in the hands of mr. twomey, the assistant commissioner, supported by captain o'donnell and the military police, who were quite able to defend the stockade and the town, but were not strong enough to keep the country around in order, if the kachins came down. the arrangement was that captain triscott should march back by the land route through mohnyin to katha and open up the country which had not been explored. it had been intended originally to send a small force up from katha to meet him. this proved impracticable, but a party of military police had occupied mohnyin. accordingly the expeditionary force marched back by this route. they were opposed several times by bodies of kachins, who had fortified themselves in positions across the road. these enemies, however, were easily dislodged by the guns, and a junction with the military police was effected at mohnyin. the rest of the return march was made without incident. it was hardly to be expected in any case that major adamson's expedition should result in the immediate establishment of peace in the mogaung country and in placing our relations with the kachins on a friendly footing. to secure the submission of a wild people divided into as many tribes as there are hills in their country, and to bring them under a civilized system of government, is not the work of a few weeks. but it was hoped that more than a beginning had been made, and that time and the residence of british officers at mogaung would do the rest. some untoward events had occurred to render this hope vain. the conduct of po saw in leaving mogaung and taking refuge with the kachins was the main cause of the difficulties which began to be felt early in . if major adamson had been successful in capturing po saw when he made bo ti a prisoner, and if bo ti had been securely detained, much of the trouble which followed during the subsequent years and , and even later, would have been avoided. unfortunately the advantage accruing from bo ti's capture was soon to be lost. he was sent down to bhamo and confined in the jail there. the jail, like other buildings in upper burma, was made of wood. it had a stout teak palisade round it, secure enough if the guard had been trustworthy. it happened that just at that time an attempt had been made to assassinate the colonel commanding in bhamo. while he was dressing for mess his body-servant crept up behind him as he stood at the glass and stabbed him in the back. the servant, a native of india, was arrested at once and locked up, pending trial, in the same jail with bo ti. these two conspired to escape. they scooped away the ground from the base of some of the big teak posts which formed the palisade and contrived to loosen them. the guard being either asleep or in collusion with them, they got away. bo ti soon made his escape felt by our people at mogaung. he joined po saw somewhere in the kachin hills, probably at thama, and helped to raise the tribes. the influence of both these men over the kachins was very great. in po saw's case it was probably more hereditary than personal. he was descended from the former ruling family, and with the kachins as well as with the burmans a drop of royal blood counts for much. personally po saw seems to have been a treacherous and cowardly character. bo ti, on the contrary, was a bold leader and had some military capacity. the two together were powerful for mischief; and it would have saved much hard work to our men and many lives if they had been shot in the beginning. however, there they were, and they had to be reckoned with. the assault on mogaung and the attack on the column returning from the jade-mines (_vide_ p. ) were, in fact, the work of po saw. for a short time after major adamson left with the expeditionary force there were no disturbances. but signs and rumours of po saw's activity were frequent. the attempts to stop the column on its way from mogaung to mohnyin were organized or instigated by him. in the latter half of april the rumours began to take shape, and the kachins were said to be on the warpath. in the third week of april the headman of a group of villages in the rice plain south of mogaung reported to the assistant commissioner that bo ti and three chiefs of the ithi kachin tribe had ordered him to join a party which they were organizing for an assault on mogaung. if he refused, they threatened to destroy the village of taungbaw in which he lived. they required him to meet them at a given place to settle details. at this time mr. twomey, owing to an accidental wound, had taken leave, and lieutenant l. e. eliott, a young soldier who had been appointed to the commission, held his place. the headman proposed that a strong party should be sent from mogaung to ambush bo ti and his friends when they came to the trysting-place. this proposal seemed to lieutenant eliott to be treacherous dealing which a british officer ought not to countenance, and he refused to join in it; a piece of high-minded chivalry somewhat misplaced under the circumstances. the headman having been advised by lieutenant eliott not to keep the appointment with bo ti lest treachery should be intended, left the fort. early next morning he ran in to report that before dawn bo ti, with some hundreds of men, had come to taungbaw and were stockading themselves in the village. taungbaw is four or five miles from mogaung. captain o'donnell and lieutenant eliott, taking the mounted men and a company of gurkhas, started at once for the scene of action, ordering reinforcements to follow. they met fugitives who confirmed the headman's report, and said that bo ti was in strong force and was fortifying his position. taungbaw is on a small hill rising abruptly from the plain, detached and about yards distant from the main ridge, and about the same distance from a village called zédi, which was occupied by friendlies, burmese and shan peasants, from the plain. bo ti had been too busy in strengthening his position to pay attention to the movements of these people. when o'donnell and his men were about six thousand paces from the hill, a signal shot was fired by the enemy's outpost. advancing to within yards, our men delivered several volleys. each volley was answered by a kachin cheer. evidently they meant to make a stand. at this moment the reinforcements from mogaung came up and it was decided to attack the kachin position. the hill was steep and covered with thick bamboo jungle, very difficult to get through. the enemy could not be seen. dividing his men into three parties, o'donnell sent the mounted men round the left flank to form up in rear of the hills. part of his infantry were sent round the right flank and told to get well under the hill. the remainder, led by the two british officers, then worked round the right flank, which seemed to offer the best openings for an ascent. as they crossed a narrow causeway in a paddy-field and a small bridge they drew the kachin fire. on coming into touch with the first party it was told to go farther on round the hill. the order was then given to advance with fixed bayonets. the bamboo jungle prevented the men from getting on fast. a heavy fire was kept up by the kachins, but owing to the steepness of the ascent the bullets flew high and there were no casualties. beyond the bamboo jungle was the village stockade, which was within yards of bo ti's position. but when the kachins saw the gurkhas forcing their way through this stockade, they did not wait for the bayonet, but after firing a few shots bolted down the hill, our men chasing them. at the bottom the mounted men took up the running, and it was a case of every man for himself, unfortunately when the firing began some of the mounted infantry ponies were scared and broke away. owing to this mischance the pursuit was less effective than it should have been. even so the affair was well managed and gave a lesson to the kachins, who left eighteen dead near the village and on the line of flight, and several prisoners were also taken. the friendly villagers lay low during the fight. when it was all over they came to the front and began mutilating the dead in a barbarous fashion, and were driven off with difficulty and not without force. some anxiety was felt by captain o'donnell and mr. eliott lest po saw, learning that the greater part of the garrison had gone out, should attack the mogaung stockade. only sixty-six men, some of them sick, had been left in the fort--enough, perhaps, to hold it, but not to defend the town. fortunately no attempt was made by po saw. at the time of the fight he was on his way to the jade-mines. he had attempted, as it was learnt afterwards, to come to bo ti's assistance, but he could not reach the scene of the fight in time. the next month showed constant activity on the part of po saw and bo ti and their kachin allies. frequent attacks were made on boats going down or up the mogaung river. it became necessary to send them in convoys with police guards. villages near mogaung were raided, and early in may nanpapa, near sinbo, was attacked, many villagers killed or carried away, and the village destroyed. po saw himself took up a position at kamaing, where he could harass the traders on the route to the jade-mines and indawgyi, and from which he could also threaten mogaung. it was not possible for captain o'donnell to drive him away or to act on the offensive at any distance from the fort. hence the enemy became more daring. on the st of may, under cover of night, a large body of shans, under bo ti, got into the town and took up positions within the low brick-wall enclosures of the pagodas, which, as has been described, were scattered about in and outside the town. the garrison, under captain o'donnell and lieutenant eliott, turned out against them. a really good fight followed, in which the enemy lost forty-nine men killed and many wounded, and were driven in confusion out of the town. they were nearly all shans, some of whom had come from the uyu country beyond the jade-mines. the garrison lost twenty-three men killed and wounded. the gurkhas were gallantly led, and behaved grandly, and on that day the mogaung levy won a name for itself. the situation at mogaung caused some anxiety. the garrison was too weak. its strength was now only two hundred and ninety-two men, many of whom were sick, not enough to allow a force to leave the post for a day. two hundred men were ordered up from bhamo, and with that addition the garrison would be able to hold their own, but it would not suffice to enable them to punish the kachins. bo ti was occupying a place called nyaungbintha, in the midst of the ithi tribe of kachins, by whom he was strongly backed. at kamaing on the north was po saw, supported by the thama sawbwa of the lepei tribe, who appeared to be most hostile. there could be no permanent peace until the strength of these tribes should be broken. at the earnest request of the chief commissioner two mountain-guns, with the necessary equipment, were given to the mogaung levy. there was some not unnatural reluctance on the part of the military authorities in india to trust an irregular force with artillery. but the excellent conduct of the men in the late fights, and the proved capacity of the gallant young soldier commanding them, overcame their unwillingness. it was impossible to allow captain o'donnell to attack stockades and to turn large bodies of the enemy out of strong positions without artillery. with only one british officer, or at the most two, a chance shot or a bamboo spike might deprive the force of its commander and cause a disaster. the chief commissioner pressed this argument, and asked to be allowed to raise the garrison of mogaung to ten companies. sanction was given in october. it took time, however, to raise and train the additional companies of gurkhas; and in any case the expeditions which the conduct of the kachins had rendered necessary could not have been undertaken until the rains had passed. in the meanwhile, until the guns and reinforcements reached them, the mogaung officers were instructed to concentrate their men in mogaung, not to attempt to occupy outposts; to move about patrols of fifty men when the weather permitted it; to strike at the enemy when they saw a good opening and could inflict real punishment; while leaving always enough men in the fort to defend it and the town. they were forbidden to make small and hasty expeditions into the kachin hills in order to retaliate on raiders. these restrictions were galling, no doubt, to captain o'donnell and to the assistant commissioner, lieutenant l. e. eliott, who was a keen soldier as well as a promising administrator. the chief commissioner, however, could not risk a catastrophe. moreover, he held that spasmodic action of this sort, while exposing small parties of our men to much risk, only embittered the wild hill-men without impressing them with our strength, and was transient in its effects. the plan of subsidizing those chiefs who were not in arms against us, and could help to guard the trade routes or carry the mails, was recommended. present needs having been provided for, a plan of operations to be undertaken during the coming open season was framed by the chief commissioner, in consultation with sir george white, and early in november it was sanctioned by the government of india. four separate operations were to be undertaken. . against the lepei tribe north of mogaung, the leading chief being the sawbwa of thama, po saw's main supporter. . against the ithi tribe south of mogaung, who were under the sawbwa of panga. . against the sana kachins of the lataung tribe, who had raided near mogaung in may. . against the makau and other tribes in the neighbourhood of sinbo, who were responsible for the destructive attack on nanpapa in may, and for another in august on trading boats at hlegyomaw on the mogaung river. the control of these operations was taken by sir george white at the chief commissioner's request, the military police in the subdivision being placed at his disposal. while the necessary preparations were being made, letters of the nature of an ultimatum were sent to the sawbwas of thama and panga and other tribal chiefs, requiring them to make formal submission to the subdivisional officer at mogaung, to pay for the damage done by them to traders, and to surrender po saw and bo ti, who had lately added to their crimes the murders of shwè gya, the best friend the british administration had in mogaung, and of the loyal headman of kamaing who had always helped us. on the th of january, , the force[ ] detailed for these expeditions left mogaung under command of captain o'donnell.[ ] the first step was to occupy kamaing, after a very slight opposition by the thama sawbwa's men, and to establish a permanent military police post there. unfortunately smallpox broke out amongst the gurkhas of the levy, and captain o'donnell found it necessary to halt at kamaing until the th of february, and thus a whole month of the most favourable season for military operations was lost. on the th of february, the men's health having been restored, the force fell to work with energy, and engagement rapidly followed engagement. on the th of february three villages were taken after some resistance. on the th the kachins were encountered on a strongly stockaded position, which was taken and destroyed. on the th thama itself was taken. the enemy here showed more fight. three men of the hampshires received gunshot wounds, and two officers and eleven men were injured by bamboo spikes. captain o'donnell's report gives the following account of this engagement, which shows the nature of the fighting in these expeditions:-- "my guide, who had done splendidly up to this, lost me four valuable hours in finding the road. he struck it at last, and after a severe climb of ½ miles, we came out near the village of thama. on arriving at the crest of the hill lieutenant eliott, assistant commissioner, received a letter, stuck in a stick on the road, from thama sawbwa, in which he said we might come and burn his village, he would do nothing but hide in the jungle, &c. this put us on our guard, and we went on cautiously over the crest, and then saw what appeared to me through my glasses, a garden paling. i examined it well, but found nothing suspicious about it. however, i ordered the advance with all caution. the hants were in front, the gurkhas forming flanking parties in rear. when about sixty yards from the place we could not make out that it was more than a paling, when suddenly we were saluted by a volley from many guns. three hants men fell under this badly wounded, but the remainder walked off the road into the jungle and poured in some very steady volleys. the gurkhas were quickly up on the right flank, and the guns were brought up and two rounds fired at the stockade, and then with a wild cheer it was rushed and taken, the rebels not waiting.... "blood was found here. i went on, leaving the rear-guard to bring on the wounded. we came before a second stockade; we were again saluted, but no casualties occurred, and one round from a gun and another charge made us masters of this also. in this charge much damage was done us, two officers and eleven rank-and-file being spiked by bamboo spikes. captain macdonald and i were both spiked through the foot. after this no more opposition was met with and thama was entered and destroyed. a search in the jungle was made, but nothing found. after the sick had been attended to i returned to camp, meeting no opposition _en route_." on the st of february a place called muklon was assaulted and taken. here lieutenant hawker, of the hampshire regiment, fell badly wounded--spiked in the thigh. he was sent down to bhamo, where he died of the wound. by the th of march the operations against the lepei tribe had been completed, all their villages or stockades taken, and large quantities of grain captured. our losses amounted to twenty-one officers and men killed and wounded. the kachin loss is not known; it was probably very small, as they made no firm stand. after little more than a day's rest captain o'donnell moved out again, this time against the ithi tribe to the south of mogaung. he established a post at nyaungbintha, in the centre of their territory. by the th of march ten villages of this tribe had been taken with very little fighting. the village of waranaung, of which the chief had been loyal in every respect since the occupation of mogaung, was carefully preserved from injury. on the th of april a move was made against sana, which fell without an effort. the column now turned south to sinbo, and from that base moved out to punish the villages concerned in the barbarous raids on nanpapa and hlegyomaw. the villages concerned having been taken after some resistance, the task assigned to captain o'donnell was completed on the th of may. in these four expeditions our casualties amounted to one officer and three men killed, and five officers and thirty men (including followers) wounded. the column was engaged with kachins thirty-two times, and took forty-six stockades. owing to the loss of a month by the sickness at kamaing, the work was more hurried than the chief commissioner had designed. the results, however, were very good, and had been obtained with more ease and less bloodshed than had been expected. by the occupation of kamaing, the trade route to the jade-mines was opened and made safe. the marip tribe who dominate the jade-mines, and the sassum tribe who adjoin the amber-mines, were freed from po saw's pressure and their loyalty assured. villages from the kachin tribes came in by scores to make formal submission to the assistant commissioner at mogaung. of the thama sawbwa's villages only thama and two others held out; the ithi tribe, the kachins round sinbo, and the lakun tribe south of the ithi country all submitted. in short, the peace of the district was secured and the authority of the government established. from the number of casualties it might be inferred that the service was one of little danger. the inference would be wholly wrong. the column was engaged in bush or jungle fighting with the enemy almost every day, and if our casualties were not greater it was due as well to the precautions taken by the leader and to his skilful tactics as to the failure of the kachins to defend their stockades. the heaviest part of the work fell on the gurkhas of the mogaung levy (military police), who furnished the flanking parties. without them the force must have lost heavily. "the flanking done by the gurkhas was splendid indeed, and it is entirely owing to their jungle work that i had not more casualties."[ ] the column marched over six hundred and fifty miles, fighting continually, and the men's clothes and boots were torn to pieces. it was a fine display of patient endurance, courage, and persistence, in face of great difficulties, by officers and men. the commander, captain o'donnell, was one of the soldiers to whom the administration of burma in those days owed so much. and he was greatly assisted by lieutenant l. e. eliott, to whom fell the difficult duty of providing good guides and correct information. captain o'donnell concluded his report on the results of the operations with a notice of lieutenant w. hawker, of the hants regiment. "he was spiked through the thigh while gallantly leading his men in a charge at mukton on the th of march, . he was attached to the mogaung levy for these operations. he was senior to lieutenant benson, and might have taken command of the levy from that officer." but he showed "a sincere spirit in the welfare of the service" in refusing to supersede lieutenant benson, who belonged to the indian army and knew the men and their language. "he volunteered to take charge of the transport on the line of march, and this he did until captain macdonald was wounded. he was commanding the hants men when he received his death-wound." footnotes: [ ] a lesson enforced by many examples in upper burma was that until a country in the process of annexation can be held permanently, it is useless and sometimes cruel to occupy it and leave it after a time. the following is taken from a report on the ava district: "myotha is a large village which had previously welcomed and aided british detachments, and had as a consequence been plundered by the rebels on their departure. most of the inhabitants were in hiding in the jungles; they came in on hearing of the arrival of the troops, but were much distressed at their leaving." [ ] _vide_ a short account of the expedition to the jade mines by major c. h. e. adamson, c.i.e., deputy commissioner of bhamo (j. bell & co., newcastle-upon-tyne, ). [ ] colonel hugh o'donnell, d.s.o. he raised the mogaung levy, and served all through the burma business, - , and did excellent work. [ ] colonel charles prideaux triscott, r.a., c.b., d.s.o. [ ] present population something under , . the myit kyina railway has a station at mogaung. [ ] at some places the grass had to be trodden down by marching the men backwards and forwards. [ ] this was not a mere suspicion. he was marked down and assassinated soon after this (_vide_ p. ). [ ] it must be remembered that we had not a spare man in these years; while the overworked civil staff, especially the best of them, were often disabled by sickness and compelled to leave. [ ] { capt. macdonald. hants regiment-- rifles { { lieut. richards. mountain battery } } guns, capt. fuller, r.a. no. bengal } mogaung levy { lieut. benson, munster fusiliers, commanding. (gurkhas and { lieut. hawker, hants regiment. sikhs) { lieut. manning, south wales borderers. mr. crowther, inspector of police. lieut. clements, staff officer. lieut. eliott, assistant commissioner, political officer. col. cronin, senior medical officer. mr. ogle, india survey department. [ ] under military regulations captain o'donnell, being in command of troops called military police, would have been unable to command regular troops, and thus his experience and ability would have been lost. this difficulty was easily avoided by sir george white. [ ] captain o'donnell's report. chapter xx bhamo, the southern townships, and mÖng mit south of bhamo when we took the country was a shan state known as möng leng, and adjacent to it and separating it from the district of the ruby mines was another shan state named möng mit. the two together covered a large area, including the lower valley of the shwèli and stretching from the southern boundary of bhamo to the northern and north-western limits of the northern shan states of tawngpeng and north hsenwi. neither of them was included in the list of shan states proper. they were much mixed up with the adjacent british districts bhamo katha and the ruby mines. they were little interested in the politics of the shan states; and being more easily accessible to the burmese and very open to kachin raids, they had not much cohesion or independence. for these reasons they were not placed under the jurisdiction of the superintendent of the northern shan states, but were dealt with by the commissioner of the northern division. at the time of the annexation the sawbwa of möng mit had died. his heir, a minor, was under the tutelage of the _amats_, or ministers, who formed a council to rule the state; which, as well as its neighbour, möng leng, was in great disorder. the diverse races which people this country, kachins and palaungs[ ] in the hills, burmans and shans in the more open parts, make it hard to govern. in möng leng there was in - no central authority. in möng mit the administration was very feeble. the kachins were in the ascendancy. they were ousting the palaungs, and trampled on the more peaceful villagers of the plains. but even the kachins had no cohesion and obeyed no central authority. each chief did what seemed best in his own eyes; he raided and blackmailed every village that lay within reach of his hills. the formation of the country, a jumble of hills covered with dense jungle, through which the drainage of the higher ranges forces its way naturally, produced an unruly race. the only open tract of any extent is the valley of the lower shwèli from myitson to the irrawaddy at pyinlebin. [illustration: getting a dhoolie up an awkward bit.] [illustration: climbing up the steep chin hills. chin campaign.] early in one hkam leng came to the deputy commissioner of the bhamo district which touches möng leng on the south, and claimed to be recognized as the chief of both möng leng and möng mit. he was told that his claim would be inquired into, and that meanwhile he should remain quietly in katha. towards the end of the year, however, growing impatient, he went to möng mit and presented himself to the people as their sawbwa. but they rejected him without ceremony. he applied to the deputy commissioner for assistance without success, and then became irreconcilable and a centre of disturbance. the ministers of möng mit, on the other hand, were loyal and helpful. to the extent of their power--not much, it is true--they gave active assistance to the british force which occupied the ruby mines in - . in april, , the chief commissioner being at mogok, the headquarters of the ruby mines district, received the ministers of möng mit there and inquired into the facts. finding that the title of the young sawbwa was good, he confirmed him in his position. it was decided to appoint a regent, assisted by the ministers, to govern the state until the young chief should come of age. the boundaries of möng mit territory were defined, and hkam leng was formally warned against overstepping them, while at the same time he was assured that if he came in and made submission to the government he should be recognized as chief of möng leng. in despite of this he attacked villages in möng mit and endeavoured to establish himself by force of arms. during he continued in open hostility. several small expeditions had to be made against him; and the southern border of the bhamo district, as well as the möng leng country and the kachins in all the hills about, were kept in a restless state. as it was found impossible to reconcile him, hkam leng was outlawed and the möng leng country partitioned. the northern part was added to the bhamo district as the upper sinkan township; the remainder was made over to möng mit, to which it had at one time been subject. hkam leng, however, was by no means disposed of. he lurked for the most part in the kachin hills to the east of the möng leng country, and was frequently in the villages along the upper reaches of the sinkan. to him another restless spirit was soon allied. in the two sons of the hmethaya prince, one of king mindon's numerous progeny, had made themselves prominent in resisting the british government. their cause was taken up by a notable guerilla leader, shwè yan, who raised their standard in the ava district. driven out of ava at the end of , they took hiding in mandalay, where a plot was hatched for supporting their claims. the conspiracy was discovered and the leaders arrested. the younger prince was captured and sent to school in rangoon. the elder, saw yan naing, escaped to hsenwi, and failing to get help there retired to the mountainous and very difficult country on the borders of tawnpeng and möng mit. there he made his quarters in a strong position not easy to approach, and gathered round him a band of discontented and desperate characters. no attempt was made during - to dislodge him, and he contented himself with threatening möng mit. he was invited to surrender, and favourable terms were offered to him. the only wish was to relieve the country from his presence. but he would have no truck with us. early in reports came in from bhamo and other sources that saw yan naing and hkam leng had agreed to unite forces and make simultaneous attacks on various points in the north. they were reported to be enlisting the aid of kachin tribesmen, chinese bandits from across the border, and burmese outlaws. risings were to be organized in the upper sinkan township and a descent made on möng mit. even the date for the rising was fixed. whether there was any systematic concert or not was never ascertained, but a good many outbreaks occurred without any visible connection and of no great magnitude, but enough, taken all together, to harass both soldiers and police, as well as those responsible for the administration. from the ruby mines district as early as the last week in december had come reports of a gathering, headed by saw yan naing, at manpun, in the hills, three marches from the town of möng mit. a detachment from the hampshire regiment was sent from bernard myo, the cantonment of the ruby mines, to möng mit, to garrison the town, while the state levies went out to act against the body of rebels at manpun. meanwhile lieutenant nugent, who was in command at möng mit, hearing that there were some dacoits a few miles off, went with sixteen men of the hampshires to attack them. the dacoits were strongly posted. lieutenant nugent and one private were killed and six men wounded. the remaining nine men, encumbered with the wounded, had to retire. this disaster happened on the th of january. lieutenant nugent was a young officer without experience of the country, and he ought not to have been left without some one capable of advising him. it was promptly retrieved. the deputy commissioner, mr. archibald colquhoun, getting together troops and police, renewed the attack on the enemy's position and drove them out with much loss. on the th of january the village or town of twingé, on the irrawaddy, was taken and burnt by one of hkam leng's adherents. no attempt was made on möng mit after that date, and no formidable bands were encountered, although the ruby mines districts and the adjacent parts of möng mit were harassed by small gangs of robbers. a feeling of anxiety, however, prevailed and begat alarming rumours. the imagination of shans, burmans, and perhaps of other nervous persons, is fertile in the matter of numbers, and loves to deal in large figures. at the end of january hostile gatherings at different points, amounting to nearly two thousand men--a quite impossible number--were reported from mogok, the headquarters of the ruby mines district. with a view to allaying these apprehensions the garrisons there and at möng mit were strengthened. the chief commissioner thought it best, under the circumstances, to place the control in the hands of one man, and at his request sir george white appointed colonel cockran, of the hampshires, to command all the troops and military police in the disturbed area, with orders to take the measures necessary for the peace of the country and for the destruction of such gangs as might be found. up to the end of march, however, no important action was taken, as no large body of the enemy had been located. on the th of march a column under major garfit, of the hampshire regiment, was dispatched against saw yan naing, who was still at binbong, near manpun. four stockades were taken without loss on our side, and saw yan naing and his following fell back for the time. the chief commissioner intended, and had arranged with the major-general commanding, that this column should remain in binbong and the neighbourhood at least till the middle of april, in order to make our influence felt in these wild parts and to co-operate with a police force which had been sent through mönglong, a sub-state of hsipaw, lying south-west of möng mit, and also to join hands with lieutenant daly, the superintendent of the northern shan states, who was ordered to come with military police through tawnpeng. unfortunately the officer commanding misunderstood his instructions, and leaving binbong on the th of april returned to möng mit. the expedition consequently was not very fruitful of results, and saw yan naing returned to the neighbourhood and took up his quarters at manton a little farther north. unluckily, lieutenant daly was unable to leave his headquarters at lashio until the th of april. he then proceeded to tawnpeng in accordance with the orders he had received from the chief commissioner, directing him to co-operate if possible with the force acting against saw yan naing. lieutenant daly had been instructed also to get into communication with the prince, and to renew the offer of terms if he would surrender. in january, when at hsipaw, lieutenant daly had met a shan who had been with saw yan naing in july and august of the year preceding ( ); this man undertook to take letters to the pretender. he arrived at möng mit soon after the defeat of the band which had gathered near that place, and heard that the prince had left manpun after that encounter, in which one of his chief followers, besides many others, had fallen. the messenger, therefore, was unable to deliver the letters. however, in march lieutenant daly, being at hsipaw, again met this man, and sent him off with fresh letters to the prince. again fortune was adverse. major garfit delivered his attack just before lieutenant daly's man reached manpun, and the prince had gone. however, he had not gone far, and was found by the messenger in möng mit territory, in a palaung village. he had a following of one hundred men, more or less, of whom twenty were burmans, the rest shans and kachins; none of them men of note. as saw yan naing had been attacked only two or three days before by the column from möng mit, he was not disposed to trust the promises made to induce his surrender. nevertheless, he behaved as a prince should. the messengers were allowed to stay four days in his camp, and were hospitably treated. they were then dismissed with a polite letter, to the effect that "he had not plotted against the government, but that on account of his past offences he feared to come in, that he had no wish for government alms" (an allowance had been offered to him); "and that he would take to flight if lieutenant daly came near his camp." he had married the daughter of a kachin chief. it may be that beyond allowing himself to be made the centre of disturbance he had taken no active part in the movements made in his name. none the less his presence in british territory was the cause of trouble. while these events were passing in möng mit a watchful eye had to be kept on other parts of the district. towards the end of december, , the deputy commissioner of bhamo received news of the appearance of a mintha, or prince of some kind, on the molè river, north-east of bhamo. this prince gave out that he was in concert with saw yan naing, and his plans may have been conceived with the design of acting with saw yan naing and hkam leng. the rising appeared to be somewhat formidable. it was promptly met. mr. segrave, the superintendent of police, was sent out at once with a strong detachment of military police. he encountered the band, which was made up mainly of chinese brigands and deserters from the chinese army, on the th of january, , and punished it severely, killing more than fifty men. the rest dispersed and escaped, probably over the chinese border. the peace of the district north of bhamo was not disturbed again during the year. the connection of this band with saw yan naing was not established. in their camp were found papers showing that they were in communication with the leaders of the mogaung malcontents, namely, the sawbwa of thama and po saw. hitherto it had been found impossible to post military police in the upper sinkan township. the difficulty of communication, especially in the rains, was great, and the climate very hurtful. the best possible arrangement was made by appointing a kachin of much influence to act as magistrate and executive officer, and this man had been able to keep order, at least on the surface. his headquarters were at sikaw. in december, , mr. shaw, the deputy commissioner, visited sikaw and also si-u, an important village near the head of the sinkan stream. he learnt that hkam leng, who was allied by marriage to the kachin chiefs of the lweseng and tonhon range in the east of the township, was harboured by them, and from time to time came down to si-u and levied contributions from the peasants. the kachin magistrate had followed the burman plan of shutting his eyes to that which it was inconvenient to see, and, lest he should incur his superior's displeasure, he said nothing about it. he was warned against permitting hkam leng to enter his township, and ordered to send speedy information to bhamo if he should reappear. this warning had a good effect. early in january, , he reported that hkam leng had returned to si-u, and was corresponding with a pretended prince at hpon kan, a hill range thirty miles from bhamo, a very nest of hornets. at the same time information was received from other sources that a large gathering of chinese and burmese, said to number five hundred men, were at hpon kan. the chief commissioner was at bhamo at the end of january. he arranged that a patrol of troops should visit sikaw and si-u at least once a month. unfortunately something prevented the despatch of the military patrol, and on the rd of february the duty was entrusted to a party of fifty military police. on the th of february, at malin, a village on the sinkan river, about twenty miles from si-u, the police came on a large body of rebels strongly stockaded. they attacked the stockade, but were repulsed, losing two men killed and ten wounded and all their baggage. a strong column, consisting of rifles of the hampshire regiment, of the th bengal infantry, and two guns, left bhamo as soon as news of this disaster came in. on the th of february, after driving in their outposts, this force engaged the enemy at malin, where they were holding a strong position. they stood their ground with more than usual courage, and were not dislodged without some severe fighting, which cost us the loss of one officer and four men killed and eighteen wounded. the pursuit was carried for some distance, but they did not rally, and dispersed over the country. it was ascertained that this rising had been organized by hkam leng and saw yan naing. in fact, the nucleus of the gang was a body of eighty or ninety men from the prince's headquarters at manpun joined by large numbers of villagers, some of their own free will, some under compulsion. the villages that furnished contingents were fined, the police force increased at the cost of the township, and the population as far as possible disarmed. no attempt was made to punish the individuals who had taken part in the business. hkam leng retired to his kachin wife and allies in the hills. late in may an attempt was made to capture him, but it was frustrated by his kachin supporters, who afterwards came down in force and occupied si-u. on the nd of june they were attacked by troops and police and driven out, losing twenty-one killed. the police force in the upper sinkan was reinforced again. the rains being now at hand, further action had to be postponed. everything united to obstruct the work of bringing this part of the country into order. the hills and forests, the neighbourhood of the chinese frontier, the character of the people, kachins and palaungs, who had to be dealt with piecemeal hill by hill, and had never submitted to any central control, all combined to make it a very hard task. the burmese officials may have had some control over the tribes. but probably so long as they did not make too much disturbance the hill-men were left to do as they liked. when there is no government things arrange themselves, and a limit is automatically fixed which the raiding tribes cannot exceed without exhausting their preserves. the advent of the british cut the weak bonds by which the hill people had been held, and the appearance of saw yan naing and hkam leng as active opponents of the foreign invaders gave them a rallying-point. the first step towards peace was the capture or expulsion of these two leaders, both of whom, it may be noted, following the example of more enlightened princes, had cemented their alliances by marriage with kachin ladies of rank. it was decided, therefore, so far as the northern part of the province was concerned, to devote the open season of - to the complete subjugation of this tract of country. if possible, the two leaders were to be got rid of. in any case the recalcitrant kachins and others were to be reduced to obedience and the authority of the möng mit state over its outlying parts affirmed. in the district north of bhamo nothing called for immediate action. a strong body of seasoned gurkhas from the mogaung levy under captain o'donnell could be detached to strengthen the column of troops provided from the bhamo garrison. it was arranged accordingly that one column should go to si-u and move early in december against the lwèseng and ton hon kachins and then move on to manpun; and that a second, starting from möng mit, should join the first at manpun, while at the same time the superintendent of the northern shan states (lieutenant hugh daly) should move with some of the shan levy (indian military police) through hsenwi and act with the first two columns; and a fourth column, also of military police under mr. h. f. hertz, assistant superintendent of police, should work up from the south-east through möng löng and along the tawnpeng möng mit boundary. [illustration: bargaining with haka chins.] instructions were given to the sawbwas of tawnpeng and north hsenwi to take measures to stop the passage of fugitives through their states. there was a reasonable hope that these measures, although they might not effect the capture of the leaders, would establish the authority of the british government and bring home to the people of this difficult tract the inconvenience of resistance. the bhamo column, commanded by major blundell, accompanied by mr. g. w. shaw, the deputy commissioner, left bhamo on the th of december, , for sikaw. the tribes began to take in the situation. twelve hills or groups of the lakun tribe came to sikaw to make formal submission, and one of their leading men volunteered to guide the force against lwèseng. this was a good beginning. major blundell, sending forward a detachment to si-u to keep the road open, left sikaw on the th of december and marched on lwèseng. a party of gurkhas under captain o'donnell was ordered to take up a position at the ferries in the rear of the lwèseng range, which were said to be the only places where the shwèli river could be crossed. several other such points, however, were found, and at one of them were signs that the fugitives had already crossed over. while making this reconnaissance captain o'donnell's men were exposed to kachin fire from the hills, and a very distinguished gurkha officer (kala thapa sing) fell. the main body reached lwèseng on the nd of december. a stockade across the road a mile from the village was defended by kachins, and in taking it a native officer was killed and five men wounded. the village was found deserted, and was occupied by our men. there was some sniping from the hill-slope afterwards, and two were wounded. next day the force advanced to ton hon. two stockades erected across the road were defended, but were turned, with the loss of two men wounded, and ton hon was occupied without further fighting. but again the kachins fired from the hills into the village, and one gurkha was killed and another wounded. a halt was made at ton hon for some days in order to open communications with the kachins, in the hope of bringing them to terms. the elders of lwèseng and ton hon and other neighbouring villages came in. the deputy commissioner selected seven villages which had opposed the troops and harboured rebels, and imposed on them a fine of money (rs. , ) and guns ( ). by the th of december all the villages belonging to these tribes had submitted and part of the fine had been paid. the chiefs, however, still held aloof. on the rd of january, , the column left for manton, leaving a burmese civil officer, supported by a detachment of the th bengal infantry, to collect the balance of the fine. manton was reached without any fighting on the th of january; and the column from möng mit marched in on the same day. the village was found deserted, and saw yan naing had fled. he made his escape, it was said, into the chinese territory of chefan. on his road through northern hsenwi he just missed falling into the hands of mr. daly, who arrived at manton on the th of january. thus the three parties met and were able to exchange information. after a few days' halt mr. daly continued his tour through hsenwi territory, while the möng mit and bhamo columns waited at manton for supplies. some villages which had been hostile were visited; and as a large body of kachins and palaungs was reported to have gathered at lanchein, a few miles south of manton, where saw yan naing had stayed on his flight, two detachments were sent out to disperse them. stockades had been built across the road and were stubbornly defended by the enemy. here major forrest, in leading one of the detachments, was severely wounded. the village was taken and destroyed, while the troops returned to manton. it was now decided that the möng mit party under major greenaway, with mr. daniell as civil officer, should move south to manpun, while the bhamo column remained at manton. on the way mr. daniell was met by the headmen of the villages between manton and manpun who had come to tender their submission to the british government. they were told that if saw yan naing was with them he must be given up, and fines were imposed on those groups or circles of villages which were known to have given the rebel leaders active help. by the th of january all the headmen of the five hills or circles comprised in the south-western quarter of the möng mit state had made formal submission. on the th of january mr. hertz, who had marched from the south-east through möng löng with his military police, arrived in manton. the rough country along the taungbaing border had been entrusted to him to search--a duty he performed well, while as a by-work he constructed a very useful map of the ground. the möng mit column moved to yabon, a village nearer to möng mit, and from its position a better base for operations. news was now received that hkam leng was in hiding in sumput, a village north of the shwèli. major greenaway, accompanied by mr. shaw, marched with a part of his force for sumput by way of molo, which ferry was reached on the st of february. hkam leng, however, had left sumput, and major greenaway moved across the shwèli to kyungyaung. convinced by the experience of these operations that the mere movement of troops through the country was ineffectual, the chief commissioner decided to take rougher measures to bring home to the people of this tract the power of the government, and to convince them that they could not support these disturbers of the peace with impunity. orders were issued, therefore, to arrest and deport the headmen of the villages which aided and sheltered the two leaders. these orders reached mr. shaw at kyungyaung and were executed at once. the headmen of twelve villages who had been most active were arrested and sent into bhamo, and at the same time monthly fines were imposed on their villages. similar measures were adopted under mr. daniell and mr. hertz's supervision in the circles which had befriended saw yan naing. but in spite of the efforts of the civil and military officers, who spared neither themselves nor their men, the capture of saw yan naing and hkam leng was not effected. the open season was now drawing to a close. it seemed unlikely that further action on the lines followed hitherto would have much more success. the chief commissioner asked brigadier-general gatacre to visit the country with mr. shaw and see if they could advise any other measures more adapted to the nature of the case. early in march, with a strong force, general gatacre visited si-u ton hon and lwèseng, north of the shwèli, and then went southward through molo to manton. he reported the country through which he passed to be quiet and the people to be submissive. leaving a party of one hundred rifles, including forty mounted infantry, at sipein with mr. shaw, to work the circles north of the shwèli, and mr. daniell with one hundred rifles at manton to work south of that river, he withdrew the remainder of the troops. proclamations were issued, with the chief commissioner's approval, warning the people of the consequences of opposing the troops and promising reduction or remission of the fines that had been imposed if the leaders of the revolt were surrendered. on the th of march the headmen gave mr. shaw a formal engagement to observe the terms of the proclamation, and he was able to withdraw the troops and return to bhamo. before the close of the operations the headman of manton, who was one of the most obstinate adherents of hkam leng and had hitherto evaded arrest, was captured by the kachins of the neighbouring circles and delivered to mr. daniell. he was deported to mogok, the headquarters of the ruby mines district. all this country, it should be remembered, known as the myauk-kodaung (the northern nine hills), estimated to contain , square miles, belongs to the möng mit state. on the withdrawal of the troops an official of that state was left in charge with a force of the sawbwa's militia to keep order. before the british troops left the kachin sawbwas entered into solemn engagements to keep the peace, to shut their hills against saw yan naing, and to obey the möng mit sawbwa to whom they are subject. some progress had been made by the middle of towards the establishment of order. the root of the trouble, however, lay in the weakness of the möng mit administration. the most effectual measure undoubtedly would have been to place the state directly under the administration of a british officer. this method of meeting the difficulty was considered and set aside by the chief commissioner. in the earlier years of our rule there were strong reasons against absorbing any of these quasi-independent territories. it was our settled policy to maintain the shan states in the position they enjoyed under the burmese government. the absorption of one of them would have alarmed the others just when we were striving to win their confidence and to bring them peacefully into the fold. for this reason mainly the chief commissioner refused to wipe out the kalè state, although in that case there were much stronger reasons for adopting this course (_vide_ chapter xxi., pp. , ), and a desire not to depart from this line of policy led him to treat wuntho with forbearance. in the present instance, moreover, the möng mit chief was a minor; his ministers might be accused of incapacity but not of dishonesty or hostility. it was sought by other means to improve the administration of möng mit. saw möng, who had been ejected by his enemies from his hereditary state of yawnghè (_vide_ pp. - ), at the time of the annexation was selected as a man of some power and of known loyalty and placed as regent in möng mit. the experiment did not succeed. whether from want of sufficient governing power or because, not being their hereditary chief, he met with little support from the people, saw möng[ ] failed, and in it was found necessary to place the state temporarily under the deputy commissioner of the ruby mines, who governed it as part of his district until the year , when the young sawbwa came of age, and was entrusted with the administration of his state. he is doing well. saw yan naing and hkam leng did not appear on the scene again. what has become of them is not known, and it is hardly necessary to inquire. it is hard to see what use they served except to try the endurance of our people and to harass the souls of their compatriots. the narrative as regards möng mit and the territory once called möng leng, now known as the upper sinkan township of bhamo, has been brought down to the year - . it is now necessary to go back a year or two and deal with the range of hills known as hpon kan, lying about thirty miles to the south-east of bhamo. the kachins in these hills began to harass us from the first. early in they attacked sawadi on the irrawaddy and exacted tribute from the sinkan villages. they raided the open country near bhamo several times, and on one occasion even made their way within our lines, killed some indian soldiers and burnt some of the barracks. they were in reality not of great account. but the first attempts to deal with them were unfortunate, and after a time they began to be regarded with a seriousness quite unmerited. two military expeditions went from bhamo in , the objective being karwan, the village of the most important chief of the tribe. the first expedition failed to reach the village and returned without doing anything. the second in the same year was well managed from a military point of view, and had forced its way against some opposition to a point close to karwan, when the civil officer with the column, under some misunderstanding of the orders he had received from the chief commissioner, sir charles bernard, stopped the advance, and the column retired without effecting the object for which it had been sent. the result was that the karwan chieftain and his tribe were persuaded that the british were afraid to meet them. the chief would neither submit nor deign to visit the deputy commissioner, and his hill became a rendezvous for the restless and evil spirits around. gatherings of burmese and chinese were reported, and it was apprehended at one time that they would join the rising in upper sinkan. they confined their action, however, to some small raids on insignificant villages below the hills. in the beginning of march, , they again descended to the plains and stockaded themselves at a place named kyawgaung, killed the headman and carried off his family. some troops, sent out to cover a fatigue party building a post for the police at mansi, about fifteen miles from bhamo, were fired at from the jungle, and the village of mansi, consisting of a few houses, was burnt by the kachins, and two of the military police killed. [illustration: marching into the klang klang country. chin-lushai campaign.] the necessity of punishing the hpon kan kachins for all their misdeeds had long been admitted. the country round bhamo was kept by them in constant alarm, and the failure to deal with them led to excitement and want of confidence in the bhamo bazaar, peculiarly ready to believe absurd rumours and subject to panic. more urgent matters had hitherto delayed action, and the garrison of bhamo had been so weakened by the despatch of troops to mogaung, that it could not afford men for other work. the chief commissioner, therefore, was compelled to wait. towards the end of march the return of troops from the north made it easier to find a force for the hpon kan business; and the opportunity was at once taken of destroying this nest of hornets, or, to describe them more accurately, mosquitoes. sir george white arranged a plan of operations at the chief commissioner's request, and the commander-in-chief of the madras army, being at the time in upper burma, gave his approval at once. the force was of such a strength as to ensure the complete reduction of the refractory tribes, it was hoped, without fighting. it consisted of two guns of a mountain battery, fifty sappers, two hundred and fifty british, two hundred and fifty native infantry, of whom one hundred were gurkhas, and was commanded by brigadier-general george wolseley,[ ] c.b. the civil officers with the force were mr. shaw, deputy commissioner of bhamo, and mr. warry, of the chinese consular service, with whose name the reader is acquainted already (_vide_ chapter vii.). regarding the work of the expedition and the manner in which it should be carried out, the chief commissioner gave full instructions. the punishment of the sawbwa of hpon kan and of his people, unless they made timely submission, was the duty imposed on the force. notice was to be given to the kachins that villages which helped the advance of the force would be protected; villages from or near which any opposition was offered would be destroyed; and on those kachins who would not submit as much damage as possible would be inflicted by destruction of their houses and property. in any case, the village where the sawbwa had his residence was to be occupied; and a fine in money and guns was to be exacted from him. the amount of the fine was to be fixed by mr. shaw with reference to the sawbwa's means and to the amount of damage done in his raids. all captives held by the kachins were to be surrendered. if this was impossible the fines payable by the custom of the country in such cases were to be exacted. in the event of the sawbwa rejecting the terms his village was to be destroyed. in view of the former failures, strict orders were given that negotiations with the sawbwa were not to be opened until karwan, his capital village, was occupied by the british force. there, and nowhere else, were the terms of surrender to be settled. and it was added that "under no circumstances should mr. shaw advise the return of the force or the suspension of operations until the objects of the expedition should have been accomplished and the sawbwa's village occupied." the chief commissioner added that "if it were possible the force should remain in the sawbwa's village for some days so as to make his humiliation apparent to his people and to the neighbouring tribes." orders were issued by the commander-in-chief of madras, sir charles arbuthnot, at the chief commissioner's request, for the troops to remain at hpon kan until the chief commissioner should be satisfied that they could be withdrawn without bad results. the troops were divided into two columns, and, avoiding the direct road where the kachins might be prepared to oppose us, they took different routes, and after very slight opposition karwan was occupied. our loss was two killed and three wounded. the sawbwa did not make his appearance. karwan and several other villages were therefore destroyed. on the rd of april the sawbwa of washa, a neighbouring village of another tribe, and the elders of neinsin, one of the hpon kan villages, the headman of which was detained as a hostage in bhamo, came forward and volunteered to bring in the headmen of hpon kan. they were given two days to make good their offer. [illustration: haka slave woman. smoking a pipe.] [illustration: haka braves.] on the th of april they came back with two of the karwan elders, who accepted the terms imposed by the deputy commissioner, and promised to bring in the sawbwa and other elders. the terms imposed were that fines for various murders and for the burning of mansi should be paid and fifty guns surrendered and captives restored. the money fine was paid in full and the guns delivered. the chief commissioner thereupon sanctioned the withdrawal of the troops, and the main body left karwan on the th of may. before the evacuation of the place the headmen of the hpon kan villages entered into a solemn agreement to cease from raiding. this promise has been kept. the objects of the expedition were thus accomplished, and these tribes did not give trouble again. while general wolseley was at karwan, mr. daly, the superintendent of the northern shan states, accompanied by mr. sherriff, a representative of the rangoon chamber of commerce, came to nam kham, on the left bank of the shwèli, the chief town of a small state subordinate to north hsenwi. it was a good opportunity of joining hands and examining the road between hpon kan and nam kham.[ ] taking a sufficient escort, general wolseley went by a circuitous route, to avoid a neck of chinese territory which runs down between the bhamo district and north hsenwi. leaving karwan on the nd of may, wolseley made nam kham on the th. after two days he returned to bhamo with the troops. it may be added, before closing this chapter, that the kachin tribes, whom it was necessary to subdue with such severity, have been for many years furnishing excellent recruits to the military police; and kachin detachments, officered by men of their own race, can now be entrusted with the charge of frontier outposts. footnotes: [ ] palaungs are a mon-anam tribe, found mostly in the uplands of the northern shan states (_upper burma gazetteer_, vol. iv., p. ). [ ] in justice to saw möng it should be noted that he has been restored to his own state of yawnghwè, and has shown much administrative power. [ ] general sir george wolseley, g.c.b. [ ] nam kham is the place where mrs. leslie milne resided for fifteen months to gather materials for her charming book, "shans at home." writing of the northern shans states she says (page ): "before the country was annexed to great britain, in , each chief governed his own state, and the king of burma was his overlord, to whom he was obliged to pay a heavy tribute. burman officials terrorized over the shans, and, owing to heavy and unjust taxation, the people were in a perpetual state of rebellion against their chiefs. the chiefs were constantly fighting amongst themselves, and were also trying to free themselves from the burman rule." the condition of the country under burma has been described in the historical chapter of her book, written by the rev. wilbur willis cochrane, of the american baptist mission. she goes on: "i should like to draw attention to the unhappy state of the people under the invasion of the kachins, who were slowly but surely taking possession of the hill country." then mrs. milne quotes from "parliamentary papers for - ." it is sufficient to give here only a part of the quotation: "they (the kachins) have ousted many shan tribes, and wherever they appear they assume the same character of 'lords of all they can reach,' only to be appeased by some form of 'blackmail.'... they inspire such terror that in the neighbouring plains no burman or shan will venture alone, or even in company, unarmed along the roads within their reach." "this state of affairs," mrs. milne concludes, "lasted until the british annexation, and our government have worked what one might almost call a miracle; for, the first time since the beginning of shan history, peace prevails all over the country." chapter xxi the chins general faunce's expedition the seventeenth chapter told the story of the sawlapaw expedition, which covered the time from the spring to the second month of . the western frontier of the province was the scene of equally interesting and much more difficult operations during the same period. when upper burma was annexed it is doubtful whether the difficulties, that might arise from the wild tribes which would become our neighbours, received much consideration. the burmese government thought very little of raids and disturbances on their frontiers. a british administration could not show the same indifference. along the west of the upper burma districts of the upper and the lower chindwin, of pakokku, and of minbu, lies a wild region of hills, inhabited by semi-savage tribes known to us as chins. this mountainous region forms a wedge very long in comparison to its width. the broad end marches with the south of manipur, the naga cachar, and east sylet hills, and the point rests on cape negrais. it is formed of high, narrow ridges and deep valleys, all running from north to south, and the people are split up into numerous tribes and clans speaking many different dialects. the only system of government was that of headmen of villages, or at the most of a small group of villages, and consequently negotiations with the chins as a people were impossible. the principal tribes, with which the present narrative is concerned are, on the north, the siyins, including the sagyilains, and the sokte tribe, including the kanhows; in the centre of the country the tashons and hakas (nicknamed by the burmese baungshès); and, southward of them, a number of tribes, chin-boks among others, who are less formidable as border neighbours. between the hills and the chindwin, and forming an enclosure in the upper chindwin district, was the little shan state of kalè. like the states on the shan plateau, it was governed by a sawbwa who had a measure of independence. owing to its position, practically, on the chindwin, kalè was much more in subjection to the government of burma than the more distant shan chiefships. it was, moreover, exposed to raids from the hill-men, and for a long time past had suffered much from the siyin group, who were the most frequent and barbarous raiders, burning villages, slaughtering the peasants, and carrying off many as slaves into the mountains. at the time of the annexation the sawbwa of kalè was an old man, by name maung ket, incapable of administering his country. on the st of january, , the chief commissioner, finding that he could neither keep order within his territory nor protect it against enemies from without, caused him to be removed with some of his officials to mandalay, and appointed his nephew to rule in his stead. in november, , maung ket escaped from mandalay with his followers and took refuge with the tashon chins, who in former years were on friendly terms with the kalè state. in march, , the deputy commissioner of the upper chindwin (captain raikes) met representatives of the tashon tribes at indin and explained to them that raiding must be stopped. his warnings seem to have influenced them; for a whole year few villages were attacked. several circumstances, however, had tended to unsettle the minds of these wild tribes. the ex-sawbwa of kalè had a disturbing influence and endeavoured no doubt to persuade them to help him to regain his position. in the open season of - a project for opening up the chin country from the bengal boundary in the west to the frontier of burma proper on the east was started in india, prematurely so far as we were concerned. it was proposed that roads should be made through the hills, communications established, and the hill people subjugated. the phrase "from the salween to the sea" was invented and had some effect. [illustration: on the chin hills--arranging a plan of attack. chin-liushai campaign.] in the winter of captain raikes with another officer went up the myittha river and arranged a meeting with the tashon chiefs. sonpek, the principal man of the tribe, came down from the mountains and met captain raikes on the rd of january, . he was courteous, even friendly in his manner, but guarded in his speech. his fears were excited by the close questioning (concerning the routes through his country eastward) to which he was subjected, so much so that he would hardly accept the presents offered to him by captain raikes. the meeting, however, ended in outward friendliness on both sides. no action was taken by the government towards entering or approaching the tashon country, and nothing indicated that the chins had been seriously alarmed. other events followed which added to their uneasiness. captain raikes had visited indin in march, , and had found two persons in the ruling sawbwa's service whose intrigues were causing trouble in the kalè state. one was maung tok san, the other maung tha dun, styled "chingeh," or "minister for the chins." these two men were removed by captain raikes from kalè and confined at alôn. after some months they were released on security. they made use of their freedom to escape to the chin hills, where they joined the old sawbwa who had preceded them, and helped him to excite the tribes. it happened at the same time that part of the pakokku district on the lower chindwin was very much disturbed. the guerilla leader, known as the shwègyobyu prince, had been able to collect a considerable following and to raise a small revolt (see chapter viii., pp. , ). expelled from the low country, he also sought safety with the tashons. the arrival of a burman prince, whether genuine or pretender, did not matter, a man with a certain amount of prestige, a good deal of energy, and a bitter hatred of the foreigners, gave the tashons heart, and they determined to take action. on the th and th of may a body of sonpek's tashons, numbering some hundreds, descended on indin, made the sawbwa prisoner, and took him to chingaing (a village near the foot of the hills), where he had interviews with sonpek and the shwègyobyu prince. he promised to join them in their resistance to the british, and on that condition was allowed to return to indin. the sawbwa, however, kept faith with us. getting some men together, he sent them to attack the shwègyobyu prince in chingaing, and despatched urgent messengers to the deputy commissioner (mr. ross) asking for assistance. this sudden raid by the chins on the kalè state, and their readiness to assist a pretender like the shwègyobyu prince, had not been foreseen, and took the authorities by surprise. the messages received at headquarters were alarming. eleven hundred tashon chins were reported to have surrounded indin and carried off the sawbwa. several thousands were said to be on the warpath; five hundred had occupied indin, three hundred were marching on taungdwin, three hundred on kalewa--all these of the tashon tribe. of the siyins, five hundred were making for kalemyo, six hundred threatening the kabaw valley, and so on. the numbers were obviously much exaggerated. nevertheless, as the men on the spot thought the situation serious, measures of precaution had to be taken. a force under major gleig, consisting of rifles, cheshire regiment, madras infantry ( th) and two guns, were sent up the chindwin river in steamers to kalemyo. at the same time mounted infantry ( british, native), accompanied by captain eyre, the deputy commissioner of the district, were despatched from pakokku, viâ pauk and gangaw, to take the raiders in the rear. a party of military police from the kabaw valley battalion, with two guns, were moved down to kalewa. these dispositions sufficed to restore order for the time. major gleig's force disembarked at indin on the th of may; captain eyre with the mounted infantry was at chingaing, a few miles from indin, on the th, the rifles and guns from the kabaw valley arrived at kalemyo about the same date. the party, accompanied by captain eyre, marched up through the yaw country without meeting with any opposition. they covered miles in eight days and hoped to surprise the shwègyobyu, who, with a mixed following of burmans and chins, had continued to hold chingaing; but as soon as the alarm was given by his scouts he fired the village and escaped into the hills. the enemy were encountered only on one occasion. on the th of may a police officer making a night march with rifles of the military police (indians) was attacked by a body of men under bo saga, a noted dacoit leader. the men lately enrolled were unsteady and fell back, and the party retired, losing two men wounded. the officer reported that he had found the villages on his march deserted and that the insurgents were collecting men and arms. several burman villages had been burnt; men, women, and children had been killed, and many carried off into the hills. the measures taken may seem in the recital out of proportion to the danger. but it was by no means a false alarm. the rains had now set in, and the kalè and yaw country in that season does not tempt the hill-men to raid. they returned to their mountains. the disturbances ceased almost as suddenly as they had begun. the troops returned to their quarters, a guard of military police being left at indin to protect the sawbwa. although order had been restored for the present, it was evident to the chief commissioner that the chins had yielded to the climate rather than to fear. they had escaped punishment; and as they had burnt villages and returned home with many captives the campaign in their eyes must have seemed successful. it was necessary to protect the yaw valley which was our territory, and the kalè country, the sawbwa of which was our dependent and too weak to help himself. a proposal was made by the local officer to simplify matters by taking the kalè state under direct administration. it was argued that as we were obliged to defend kalè, we might as well administer the country and receive the revenues. looking, however, to its effect on the minds of the people, this appeared to be a mistaken policy. every sawbwa in the shan states might have been degraded on similar grounds. the kalè man, so far as was known, had not been disloyal. in the early part of he had acted well, and in the present affair he had not acted badly. if he had not been well informed regarding the movements of the chins, he was no worse than the british officers in the district. he was suddenly surrounded and seized. in procuring his liberty by consenting to join the insurgents he took the best course, or what he thought the best course, for himself. he lost no time in sending information to the nearest officer, and he attacked the rebel gathering with his own men. to remove him under such circumstances would have been unfair, and might have alarmed others whose fears it was not good policy to arouse. it was decided, therefore, by the chief commissioner not to absorb kalè, but to leave a military or police guard at or near indin, with supports at kalewa. an ultimatum was sent to the tashons, ordering them to deliver up the shwègyobyu prince and other leading rebels, as well as the leaders of the chins who captured the sawbwa of kalè and raided his villages. on the st of july, , the chief commissioner (in a minute submitted to the government of india) recounted the events which have been narrated, and gave his opinion that there could be no peace until the chin tribes had been subdued. he asked permission to take the matter in hand as soon as the dry weather set in, and to subjugate the chins once for all. the first step in the plan of campaign was to occupy in force and permanently the difficult country lying below the chin hills, and to bring it under efficient administrative control. for this purpose the chief commissioner in june, , asked the government of india to raise a frontier battalion in india for the yaw valley. it was assumed, in framing the plan of campaign, that this battalion would have been ready before the rains ended, and that it would have been possible to hold this district firmly. to have attacked the chins and to have withdrawn the troops would have been to leave the villages in the plains exposed to the vengeance of the hill-men. the next step was to march an expedition into the chin hills. the force was to be divided into three parts. the siyin and sagyilain tribe was to be invaded from the kalè valley by a force of the kabaw valley military police, brought down for the duty. the tashon country was to be entered simultaneously by a column of regular troops with two guns, having its base at sihaung on the myittha river, to which place the men, their baggage, and supplies, could be brought by water. at the same time a force collected at gangaw was to threaten the yokwa haka and thatta chins, to prevent them from helping the tashons. [illustration: haka chins.] [illustration: a chin "zu" drink.] the subjugation of the tashons was judged to be the most formidable task. the object was to reach and, if necessary, to destroy their chief village in burmese ywama. there were no roads, only difficult hill-paths. hill-coolies and mules were necessary for transport. there were no supplies in the country. the work, therefore, would have to be taken in hand leisurely, the road cleared and made practicable for mules, supply-stations established, and nothing left to chance. a slow, determined advance, it was held, would have a greater moral effect than an attempt by forced marches to surprise the enemy. if it were possible a simultaneous attack should be made from the arakan or chittagong hills on the west to take the tashons in the rear. in reply to the ultimatum sent to them (see above), the tashons released the captives taken in the raids on the th and th of may, but declined to give up the shwègyobu prince and other burman rebels. they put forward counter-claims on their own part, and threatened further raids if their demands were not complied with. in august an order was sent to the chief of the siyin and sagyilain tribes to surrender the captives taken by them from several villages in the preceding april and july, and they were warned that if they did not comply with this demand punishment would follow. early in september raiding began again. while the government of india were considering the chief commissioner's proposals the chins acted. they put their threats into execution. a village near sihaung was raided by the tashons on the th of september, and an alliance was formed by a large number of subdivisions of the haka tribe. on the th of september a village in the gangaw circle of the pakokku district was attacked, it was reported, by tashons. it was clear to the local officers that the anticipation of serious trouble would be realized. the government of india were pressed, therefore, to allow the immediate enlistment of the military police levy for the protection of the chin frontier, which had been asked for early in june. in october the reply of the governor-general in council to the chief commissioner's minute of july st was received. it was a refusal to sanction the proposed expeditions. about this time the local officers reported that sonpek, the tashon leader, was inclined to give up the burman refugees, but that he would not surrender the old sawbwa of kalè. it was just possible that through the latter's influence sonpek's inclination might be translated into action. the old sawbwa, therefore, was informed that he would be pardoned for his part in the disturbances if he brought about the surrender of the burman rebels by the tashons. at the same time, as a precaution against the attacks which were anticipated, kalewa and sihaung were garrisoned, and endeavours made to prevent the chins from getting their usual supplies of salt and other necessaries from the plains. the country lying between the chin mountains and the chindwin and irrawaddy rivers is, speaking generally, what would be called in india "terai"; covered with large stretches of forest and intersected by numerous watercourses and streams, with a heavy rainfall and intense heat. it is very unhealthy and a difficult country for troops to work in. the main river in this track is the myittha, which rises from the southern part of the chin mountains; it runs almost due north for a hundred miles or more, and then turning suddenly to the east for fifteen or twenty miles joins the chindwin at kalewa. during its course northward it receives by many affluents the drainage of the eastern slopes of the chindwin. three ranges of thickly wooded hills, called the pondaung ranges, run parallel to the myittha on the east, with intervening valleys which are fertile and cultivated. east of the third range of hills lies the pagyi township of the lower chindwin district. in the west of this township, bordering on the hills above mentioned, is the country known as shitywagyaung--"the valley of the eight villages"--of which the most important is thitkyidaing. west of this village lie saga and kyaw. the country lying between the myittha river and the range of hills on the east is known as the yaw country, in the southern part of which is the yaw river, which rises in the same hills as the myittha, but, turning in a south-easterly direction, makes its way to the irrawaddy below pakokku, the river-port of the district in which the yaw country lies. gangaw is the chief village in the yaw country, and is more than miles from pakokku. the road to it passes through pauk at about the twentieth mile, and the yaw river, which has to be crossed, is unfordable when in flood. in the country about thitkyidaing had not been thoroughly reduced, chiefly on account of its unhealthiness and the scarcity of civil officers. mr. carter and colonel symons worked this tract in - , and brought it to order after the disturbances raised by the shwègyobyu prince, in which major kennedy and captain beville, assistant commissioner, met their deaths. many of the dacoit leaders were captured or killed at that time, but the country was not thoroughly controlled. there was so much to do in the early years of the annexation and so few to do it, that outlying tracts like the yaw country were neglected for a time. this tract had, it is believed, even in the king's time, been left very much to itself. in the deputy commissioner of pakokku (captain eyre) visited it. the people received him well. an arrangement--the best possible at the time--was made with the local officials, who undertook to pay the revenue and to be responsible for the order and protection of the territory. hitherto the people had defended themselves against the chins; and, to encourage them, five or six hundred muskets were distributed to villagers who in the opinion of the burman officials would make good use of them. in some cases a subsidy was given to pay for the maintenance of a rude militia or irregular police. this arrangement had worked well until the time of the events now to be told, and it had the recommendation of economy in money and men when economy was more than usually imperative. the refusal of the government of india to allow an expedition into the chin country in no way absolved the chief commissioner from the duty of protecting the people against these savages, for which purpose he had sufficient means at his disposal. he therefore took counsel with the major-general commanding in upper burma (sir george white) as to the measures necessary. it was resolved to move a body of troops up from pakokku through gangaw along the whole line of the frontier subject to raids, and to establish a chain of posts, tilin, gangaw, kan, sihaung, kambalè, and indin. general faunce, who commanded the military district in which the disturbed tracts were situated, was given the control of the operations. major raikes, who was at the time in charge of the lower chindwin, and had had more intercourse with the chins than any other of the civil officers, was associated with general faunce and entrusted with the political duties. a force about strong was ordered to move up along the frontier with general faunce, while three companies of gurkhas were to be sent by river to kalewa. no preparations were made for attacking the chin strongholds in the hills, as the government in india had forbidden it. raiding parties were to be followed up and punished whenever and so far as it might be possible. the chins began to act before these arrangements had been completed. reports of raiding came tumbling in fast. on the th of october homalin was attacked by followers of the shwègyobyu, assisted by chins from the tashon country. on the th chitpauk, in the kabaw valley, was raided by siyins, who killed seven and carried off forty-five villagers. on the th of october kambalè was surrounded, two villagers were murdered and six kidnapped. on the nd of october the siyins attacked kantha, north of kan, and made off with thirty-two villagers. on the th of october a large body of the hill-men came down on kalémyo, the principal village in kalè. they burnt part of it, killed three of the villagers, wounded four, and carried forty into slavery. on the same day khampat, in the kabaw valley, was raided by a party of kanhows, seven men were killed and twenty-seven taken away. these occurrences gave the chief commissioner a text for again preaching the need of punishing these unruly mountaineers; and, meanwhile, such measures as were possible and within his powers were taken. on the th of november the government of india intimated that they were inclined to reconsider the proposal of the burman administration. on the th their orders came, giving the chief commissioner a free hand to do what he could with the troops at his disposal, and with the transport to be had within the province. general faunce had left pakokku on the th of november. captain eyre, the deputy commissioner of pakokku, went with him. his orders were to give all the help possible to the general, especially in procuring transport. he was to retain charge of the pakokku district, and was not to go beyond its limits. the force accompanying general faunce consisted of men of the th madras infantry, mounted infantry of the th bengal infantry, and lances of the st madras lancers. as they went forward posts were established at chaungu, - / miles north of pauk, at tilin, at gangaw, and at kan on the myittha, miles north of gangaw, and at sihaung, between kan and indin. the garrisons at gangaw and at kan were strong, rifles at each place, all of the th regiment madras infantry. at sihaung the strength was rifles. hitherto, as has been explained before, the task confided to general faunce was to protect the frontier, to stop raids, and, if possible, to pursue and account for the raiding parties. the sanction given by the government of india on the th of november completely altered the character of the movement. it became primarily a punitive expedition against the chins. the st bengal mountain battery, strong, with guns, madras sappers, and three companies of the th gurkhas, were sent up by steamer to kalewa; and by the time the general arrived at kambalè, which he made his headquarters and the base of his expedition, he had a force of twelve hundred men ( being gurkhas) under his orders, besides between and military police (indians), who held indin and kalewa, and were placed at his disposal. as a consequence of the change of policy, transport became an urgent question--in fact the main question. the military authorities asked for two thousand coolies, men that could carry loads in the hills. the deputy commissioner, captain eyre, believed that he could get the men, and at the instance of the general commanding, the chief commissioner consented to allow captain eyre to go with this large body of coolies if he could enlist them, and an officer was ordered up to pakokku to take charge of the district and to set captain eyre free for this purpose. this fact is mentioned, as it explains in a measure how the deputy commissioner's attention was somewhat distracted from his immediate duty--the administration of the district for which he was responsible. captain eyre accompanied general faunce as far as kan, near the northern boundary of the pakokku district. he then left him, meaning to return to gangaw for the purpose of collecting coolies. he had information of several gatherings of dacoits, under known leaders, in the hills north-east of gangaw, and at mozo, north of kan, and some time was spent in looking after them. he heard of a body of dacoits in position in the bed of a stream, between two thickly wooded banks in a strongly stockaded camp. the dacoits were taken by surprise, and their camp was rushed and destroyed. pursuit was impossible, owing to the nature of the country, and there was nothing to be done except to return to kan. the enemy harassed the retiring party all the way, and our men had continually to turn and drive them off. next day reports came in that the villagers were joining the dacoits, and that a body of some hundreds were collected at chaungzon. after arranging with the officer commanding at kan that a party should be sent to attack this gathering, captain eyre returned to gangaw to collect the coolies wanted by general faunce. he reached gangaw on the th, and busied himself with this duty. on the th of december, hearing that three of the dacoit leaders were in considerable strength at kunze, north-east of gangaw, a force of rifles, th madras infantry, attacked and dispersed them, but without inflicting serious loss. from that date the garrison of gangaw may be said to have done nothing. they sat still and allowed the rising to gather strength. seeing the dacoit bands active and gathering strength, while the british officers and the garrison were apparently helpless, the villagers, to whom guns had been given, the quasi-militia men amongst the foremost, joined the insurgents. it was another object-lesson in the folly of arming the burmese peasantry, and the still greater folly of allowing an asiatic foe to think you are afraid to attack him. the town of gangaw was defended by a stockade of teak. the military post had been so placed as to rest on this stockade, and would have become untenable if the enemy had succeeded in occupying the town. the garrison of men had therefore to defend the town stockade, nearly a mile in extent. it was not considered strong enough to hold the town and at the same time to move against the hostile bands, who had now gathered in considerable numbers, and were occupying a village called shonshé on the south, and three villages on the north-west. on the th of december a convoy with supplies left gangaw for kan, which was the next post to the north. it was fired upon soon after leaving gangaw, and lost two men killed and two wounded. from kan this party went on to sihaung, from which place it returned. it was again attacked on the march back, between sihaung and kan, and lost heavily. meanwhile the enemy, who had been strengthened from the peasantry around, attacked gangaw on the th of december, and again on the st. they were reckoned to number men, but their attacks inflicted no loss on the garrison. some sort of council of war, in which both civil and military officers joined, now took place, and it was held that if a determined attack were made on gangaw or kan it must succeed. the garrison of kan, therefore, was ordered into gangaw, and they obeyed the order, to say the least, without reluctance. they met with no opposition on the way, but they brought with them reports of the loss suffered by the detachment which went to sihaung, which helped further to depress the dispirited garrison. in gangaw itself, although it was assaulted daily until the th of january, when a relieving force arrived, there were no casualties. the enemy was contemptible, and even his numbers were, it is believed, exaggerated. the danger was created by the inaction of the defence rather than by the number or the enterprise of the assailants. the chief commissioner was in rangoon during the early days of december. the first news of the trouble came to him in a telegram from major raikes, who was on special duty on the chin frontier; it was dated the th of december, from gaungu on the myittha, and was received in rangoon on the th. it reported the attack made on the dacoit camp by captain eyre on the th of december, and recommended that troops should be sent against this gang. in reply, major raikes was reminded that all the troops and military police on the frontier were under the general's orders and were close to the scene of action, while it would take a fortnight or more to send troops up from pakokku. on the th of december a second telegram came from major raikes, reporting the affair at chaungzon on the th of december. he explained that general faunce had ordered the officer commanding at gangaw to deal effectively with these gatherings; that two attempts, both unsuccessful, had been made to disperse the band near chaungzon; that a third attack was about to be made, but the force ordered to make it could only be spared for a few days, as the general wanted all his men for frontier patrols and for the expedition into the hills. he therefore pressed for reinforcements as necessary for the destruction of these gangs. orders were then given for a small column of military police and troops to march up at once from pakokku. the deputy commissioner of the lower chindwin was told to send all the police he could spare across from alôn to the disturbed area. the state of things was communicated by telegram to sir george white, who was on the chindwin on his way to kalewa, and the despatch of reinforcements from pakokku was suggested. on christmas day the first reports from captain eyre himself came in. he described the insurgents as increasing in numbers rapidly, and begged for more troops. this was the first intimation received by the chief commissioner that the local officers were unable to cope with the rising and that it was of a serious character. the commissioner was thereupon ordered to pakokku to hasten the dispatch of the small column previously mentioned; and lest there should be difficulty in finding sir george white, the officer commanding at myingan was asked to get a force ready for immediate despatch. on the th a message came from sir george white, dated from mingin on the chindwin, that he had ordered the despatch of a force strong from pakokku _via_ pauk, and major kingston with rifles, troops and military police, from alôn, to hasten to gangaw. at the same time colonel macgregor, with rifles of the th gurkhas, who were with general faunce, was ordered down from sihaung to gangaw. meanwhile the chief commissioner had sent up rifles of the pakokku military police, under lieutenant phillips, by forced marches by the kyaw valley route. major kingston and lieutenant phillips joined hands at kyaw on the nd of january. on the th they attacked the insurgents in shonshé, south of gangaw, and drove them out with considerable loss. at the same moment colonel macgregor with his gurkhas fell upon the bands who were occupying a village north of gangaw, and handled them roughly. no stand was made by these people, who had kept nearly madras infantry shut up in gangaw. the duty of restoring order in the yaw country was entrusted to colonel w. p. symons, who had displayed great ability in dealing with dacoit gangs in sagaing. he was assisted by mr. d. ross, as civil officer in charge of the district. the country was cleared of dacoits, partially disarmed, and reduced to order. the rank and file of the insurgents were allowed to return to their homes, the guilty villages being punished collectively by fines. the yaw country has been peaceful ever since. the gangaw episode was, in the language of the boer war, "a regrettable incident." the garrison at the outset may have been unable to face the insurgents in the field, but, after the kan detachment had been called in, it numbered rifles--a sufficient number of disciplined troops to deal with a much larger number of dacoits, a mere rabble, armed, when they were armed at all, with old muzzle-loading rifles, or still more ancient muskets. the incident was not, however, barren of good results. it sufficed to convince even the most devoted admirer of "the old coast army" that a portion of the madras troops was unfit for active service--a fact which had more than once been brought to notice by the chief commissioner. the disbanding of the regiment responsible for the failure was the beginning of a large measure of army reform that had been too long delayed. hence these events, trivial in themselves, may be worth recording. the narrative may now return to the central business, namely, the expedition against the chins. general faunce arrived at kambalè and assumed command of the operations on the rd of december. on the th the fighting began. a working-party sent to establish a post between kambalè and the foot of the hills was fired on, and lieutenant palmer, r.e., who commanded the madras sappers, was killed. on the th of december a strong body of chins of the tashon tribe suddenly issued from the hills, and attacked the camp of the nd gurkhas at sihaung, and a simultaneous attack was made on the village. they paid dearly for their audacity. the gurkhas drove them off, followed them up, and inflicted heavy loss on them. on the same date indin, the capital of the kalè sawbwa, was fired into, and the military police post of kangyi, twenty miles north of kalemyo, was attacked. it had been intended to limit the operations of the season - to the siyin and sagyilaing tribes. in dealing with savage people it is not possible to lay down a line beyond which you will not step. in view, therefore, of the probable necessity of taking action against the tashons, rifles of the norfolk regiment, madras sappers, and the remaining companies of the nd gurkhas from their quarters at bernardmyo, were ordered to the front. sir george white himself arrived at kalewa on the th of december, but left to general faunce the immediate command of the force in the field. matters were further complicated by the appearance of another section of the chins. in october, a village in the kubo valley had suffered from a raid by kanhows. a large body of this tribe came down in december and attacked kangyi, north of kalemyo. it was held by military police, who repulsed them. further investigations made it clear that these kanhows were so closely related by position and ties of kindred to the siyins and sagyilains as to make them indistinguishable. a proposal, therefore, to include them in the operations against the latter was sanctioned. it was proposed also to send at the same time a column to minlèdaung, on the borders of the tashon country, but this was not found convenient and was dropped. [illustration: kachin hills, bhamo, katha.] an ultimatum was now sent to the siyins and sagyilains, demanding the restoration of all their captives, the surrender of a certain number of fire-arms, and the payment of a fine. in default of the acceptance of these terms, general faunce was told to destroy the villages of the tribes and by a rigorous blockade to prevent food supplies from reaching the hills. during december and january preparations for the advance occupied the attention of the general and his staff. transport coolies were obtained from manipur. a road was begun, and step by step the base of operations advanced towards the goal of the expedition, the main village of the siyins, called koset by them. on the rd of january, , sir george white and general faunce made a reconnaissance to the summit of the letha range, to an altitude of , feet above sea-level. the force then advanced steadily up the hills in the face of a continued but unsuccessful opposition; the sappers, assisted by coolies, making a road as the men climbed up, and constructing rough stockades in which the men slept and rations were stored. the advance was obstructed by formidable stockades, generally held by the enemy, but not firmly defended. day and night the chins ambushed our men, taking advantage of every suitable position. the following telegram from sir george white to the chief commissioner, dated the th of january, , describes one of the skirmishes: "enemy yesterday attacked our working-party on road above this, and held our covering-party, british and gurkhas, from till , when i arrived and ordered their positions to be charged. we carried all, driving them entirely away, getting off ourselves wonderfully cheaply--only one norfolk dangerously wounded. enemy in considerable numbers, using many rifles and plenty of ammunition. they fired at least , rounds, standing resolutely until actually charged, even trying to outflank us. their loss probably about eight or ten, but they were carried down the khuds at once. most difficult enemy to see or hit i ever fought." on the th of february the village of koset was reached, and after a slight resistance, occupied. it was fired by the siyins before they retreated, and was reduced to ashes before our men reached it. the enemy harassed the camp every night, firing into it from the higher ground, and at several villages they ineffectually opposed us. they opened communications at one time with the political officer, but as they continued ambushing and firing on the troops and refused to surrender the burman captives, it was evident that they were fooling us. step by step, therefore, the advance was made good, until the siyin territory had been overrun, and by the th of march all their villages were in our hands. the site of the village of tôklaing was chosen as the headquarters of the chin expeditionary force, and its name was changed to "fort white," and a post was built there with materials taken from the village. the chastisement inflicted on the siyins had some little effect on the kanhows, who had made similarly insincere overtures. on the th of february a deputation of them came to fort white, bringing presents and asking that their villages might be spared. with the chief commissioner's approval, terms were offered to them, namely: to surrender all the captives in their hands, and a portion of their fire-arms; to pay a fine of , rupees, and to engage to pay a light annual tribute as a token of submission. ten days were given them to consider and accept these terms. on the th of march they returned, bringing six of the captives and presents, but failed to comply with the other conditions. their presents, therefore, were refused, and on the th of march general faunce moved against them. the force was actively engaged against them until the th of march, when it returned to fort white. the operations were well planned and executed, and imposed great labour on the troops, as the mountain tracks were most precipitous and difficult. most of the villages were destroyed, in many cases by the chins themselves, and large stores of grain and other food-supplies were taken. april was occupied in negotiations with the tashons, and the troops rested. [illustration: in the second defile of the irrawaddy below bhamo.] as it was ascertained that the siyins had built a new gurkha village at tartan, which had been taken in the earlier operations, a force consisting of rifles of the nd battalion norfolk regiment and rifles of the nd gurkha light infantry was sent to drive the chins out. the village was strongly stockaded and obstinately defended. one of the two stockades was taken. the loss on our side was one officer (second-lieutenant michel) and two men of the norfolk regiment killed, one gurkha killed, and two officers and six men wounded. in this action captain le quesne, of the army medical corps, showed conspicuous courage in attending to lieutenant michel, and was awarded the victoria cross. the troops retired to fort white without completing their work. a few days later they returned and destroyed the village and stockades unopposed. the rains, which begin early in this region, had now set in, and active operations ceased. in this business, from first to last, including the engagements of gangaw and kan, our loss amounted to killed and wounded; the enemy's loss can only be conjectured--it was probably light. the main object now was to secure the peaceful submission of the tashons. towards the end of march they showed an inclination to parley, and sent letters purporting to come from six of their chiefs. it was decided to give them as much time as possible to consider the terms offered to them, and in the meanwhile no movement was to be made against their villages or certain settlements of the kanhows which were within, or close to, the borders of the tashon tribe. one of the kalè officials, maung nwa, was selected to take a letter to the chiefs, giving them twenty-one days to decide on their course of action. maung nwa succeeded in reaching falam, the ywama, or mother-village, of the tashons. on the th of april he returned to fort white, bringing letters from the chiefs and from the ex-sawbwa of kalè. a minor chief accompanied him, and on a subsequent day another tashon chief came in with messages to major raikes. this beginning of personal intercourse was encouraging, and on our part concessions were made in respect of the surrender of the burmese refugees, while the release of the captives was insisted on. later on some overtures were made on the part of the siyins and a few captives delivered to our officers. on the nd of may men from the kanhow tribe came in; they brought the fine of rs. , , which had been imposed on them, and the tribute, and tendered the submission of their tribe, but no captives. they clung to their captives as to life. later on, however, they released some and brought them to fort white. it was believed at the time that they had given up all; it was discovered later that they had held back a considerable number. the siyins surrendered seven captives; but they made no further steps towards submission. at the end of the open season of - the situation was this: severe punishment had been inflicted on the offending tribes, and of the burmans carried off by raiding parties had been recovered. the siyins and sagyilains, notwithstanding the destruction of their villages, had not given in; the kanhows had made a show of submission, and had partly complied with our terms; the tashons had exchanged messages, but had given no proof of penitence. it was necessary to show the chins that the arm of the british government was long enough to reach them even in their mountain fortresses, and that our soldiers could remain in their country. it was decided, therefore, to keep the troops at fort white during the rains and to prevent the chins, who had not submitted, from rebuilding their villages or cultivating their fields. a rigorous blockade of the routes from their hills to the plains was ordered, in the hope that it would help to overcome their obstinacy. nothing more could be done until the season for taking the field again came round. general faunce's column had done all that men could do in a very difficult and unknown country against a very difficult enemy, pronounced by a man who had seen some fighting to be "the most difficult enemy to see or hit i ever fought." the expedition was late in starting. the reason has been explained. that the next season's operations were more successful with less severity is no reproach to the general commanding the first expedition or to the political officer. their work had made our power felt, and had given us some knowledge of the people. if a garrison had not been established at fort white in - , it would have been scarcely possible to have acted against the tashons on the plan which ensured success in - . chapter xxii the chin-lushai campaign general faunce and his men had worked hard and well. by may, , the advance had been made good as far as tôklaing, called fort white. but although that place was only a short distance (thirty miles) from falam, the main settlement of the tashons, we had not been able to reach it. this tribe was known to be the most numerous and the most influential of the chins in these parts, and their subjugation was essential. the character of the country which was the scene of operations has been described in the preceding chapter. for a successful effort to conquer it much and timely preparation was necessary. several circumstances had made this impossible. it will be remembered, in the first place, the government of india had viewed the enterprise askance. the head of an indian province looks mainly to his own affairs; and not having a free hand, and being without direct responsibility for the financing of a military expedition, he presses hard for what he wants. to the supreme government, far from the scene of raids and disorder, and less directly concerned with the causes and consequences of them, the financial aspect looms largest. the government of india were beginning to take alarm at the heavy burden with which the annexation of the new province was loading them. they were aware of the very wide extent of territory under the nominal sway of the dethroned king, and of the distant boundaries, ill-defined and seemingly endless, marching not only with china and siam, but with savage peoples of whom hardly the names were known. they feared, naturally enough, that the local authorities might allow their zeal to push them on too hastily if not too far. little was known about the relations of the king's government to the wide region lying between the irrawaddy valley and the mekong. the northern and north-eastern boundaries were very indistinctly defined, and no thought had been given to the great wedge of mountainous country between burma proper and bengal. the end of found us engaged in all these outlying regions. active operations were going on in the shan states, in the difficult hills east of bhamo, and in the rugged country about the ruby mines. in the far north there were disturbances all around mogaung, which was inadequately garrisoned and difficult to get at. added to this, there were still districts of upper burma which were harassed by gangs of guerillas. there was more than enough work for every soldier and every civilian in the country and for every penny that the treasury could afford. facts, however, had proved strong, and the chins themselves forced us to act. but general faunce's force started too late, and therefore without adequate preparation for a big campaign. added to this came the unfortunate gangaw affair, which interrupted his supplies and called off some of his best troops. in the summer of the position at fort white was hardly encouraging. the place had proved very unhealthy, and the garrison had few men fit for service. not only had we failed to touch the tashons, who had been chiefly responsible for the troubles of the past year, but we were far from having come to terms with the siyins and kanhows, on which tribes our hand had been heavy. the political officer, indeed, still believed that hunger would bring them in. the kanhows had made a partial and half-hearted submission, retaining, however, most of their burman captives. the others would have no truck with us, and treated our demands, as well as our advances, with obstinate silence. their courage was higher, and the pressure on them less than had been thought. the baungshès, moreover, to the south of the tashons, including the yokwa haka and thetta clans, had been continuously on the warpath, and had had no communication with our officers since the winter of . there were only two courses open--either to make a well-prepared systematic advance into the chin hills and bring these people under british rule, not necessarily administration in the full meaning; or to retire altogether and leave an _enclave_ of savagery between burma and bengal, trusting for the protection of the burman villages to frontier posts and spasmodic expeditions. the long history of the dealings of the bengal government with the lushais and nagas, very similar people, had proved the futility of the latter course. the inclination in burma was all for the former, and this met with the thorough approval of the supreme government. the work was to be undertaken in a whole-hearted manner that would ensure success. during the inactive season of , the scheme of operations was carefully worked out. the plan of campaign approved by the supreme government was very much on the lines sketched in the chief commissioner's minute of the st of july, . the central object was the tashon tribe. on their north we already had in fort white a footing in the hills with communications secured to kalewa, on the chindwin. it was decided to make the attack from the burma side in two strong columns. the northern column was to gather at fort white, and was to deal in the first instance with the still refractory tribes in its immediate neighbourhood. the southern column was to muster at pakokku and, making its base at kan in the myittha valley, to move up deliberately into the hills to yokwa and haka, subjugating the villages as the force advanced and securing the release of the captives. then, leaving a garrison in haka, it was to move northward and, in combination with the fort white column, to make a simultaneous attack on falam, the tashon capital, from both sides. meanwhile, a third force was to enter the hills from bengal territory and open communications or, if necessary, join hands with the burma columns. for the operations of this last force the burma administration had no responsibility. to protect the villages in the plains from raids and to keep open communications while the expeditions were in progress, it was decided to establish ten posts along the more northern portion of the chin-burman frontier. the force to be employed from burma was to be nearly four thousand fighting men, besides some military police. the number of transport animals and of coolies necessary for such a body would be very great. carts were useless after the first few marches from the irrawaddy. some fodder for ponies and bullocks might be procurable, but it was certain that once in the hills almost every ounce of food for man and beast would have to be sent up from the irrawaddy valley. the success of the campaign, therefore, was a question of transport and supply. kan, which was to be the base of the southern column, was to be fed from pakokku on the irrawaddy, distant miles through difficult and sparsely inhabited country. work had been begun in on the road; but labour was scarce and the cart-track was not open for more than half the distance. provisions for fort white and its communications, as well as for the frontier posts, could be sent up by steamer to kalewa on the chindwin. the difficulty was to move them thence to kalemyo within reach of the troops. if the myittha were navigable, it would be invaluable; all the frontier posts from kalemyo to kan were on that river, but its waters were unknown. mules and coolies in large numbers, men from assam and from the northern punjab able to carry loads on hill paths, were promised by india. arrangements for collecting some eight or nine hundred carts at pakokku were put in train; and contracts for the hire of country boats, of which pakokku is the great building centre, were given. in august i went up the chindwin to kalewa to meet major raikes, who had been stationed at fort white since the close of the active operations, and had been busy acquiring information of the people and country and endeavouring to induce the chins to come to terms. i brought with me two naval officers--captain wilson, r.n., then port officer at rangoon, and commander holland, of the royal indian marine service. these officers were deputed to ascertain how far the myittha could be navigated; and, as their inquiries gave reason for hoping that the river might be navigable, the task of exploring it was entrusted to commander holland. the results of his work were encouraging, and he was directed to organize a transport service of boats. but to return to kalewa. the chief commissioner, after discussing matters closely with major raikes, resolved to inform the tashons that the british representative, with an armed force, would proceed to falam, their head village, and there receive the submission of the tribe, and if necessary enforce it. a proclamation to that effect was sent to the chiefs in the following terms:-- "a british army will march to the tashon ywama. the british government wishes to preserve your tribe, and does not desire to punish you as it has punished the kanhows and siyins who have resisted the british forces. "the british government desires from you only two things: first, that the captives taken from burman villages shall be released. secondly, that you shall in the future behave peacefully, and cease to attack the subjects of the government. "therefore the chief commissioner hereby declares and promises that you will be excused from punishment for the past if you comply with the following terms:-- "(i) that you shall assist the british troops in their march through your country to your ywama, and that you will neither attack nor oppose them; "(ii) that you shall to the utmost of your power compel the siyin and kanhow tribes to surrender their captives. "(iii) that the chiefs shall meet the officer in command of the british forces at the ywama, and deliver up to him all the captives in the possession of your tribe and pay a fine of , rupees. "(iv) that you shall render annually a tribute of two elephant tusks and ten silk pieces to the british government. "if you comply with these terms your lives and property will be spared, and the former orders requiring you to deliver up the shwègyobyu and other rebels will not be enforced. "on the other hand, if you will not comply with these conditions the chief commissioner will direct the troops to punish you severely." up to this time the surrender of the burman outlaws had been made a condition of peace with the tashons. it was now said by those who knew them best that the surrender of the refugees was repugnant to chin honour; and in the hope of making it easier for them to yield, the chief commissioner consented to waive this demand. permission was also given to major raikes to reduce the fine, if it would make negotiations more hopeful. but on the other points, especially the condition that the troops should march to falam, their capital, and there receive the formal and public submission of the chiefs to the british government, no concession whatever was to be made. negotiations on this basis continued between the political officer and the tashons without result. in the beginning of december the chiefs agreed to meet major raikes at sihaung. the terms of the proclamation were explained to them, and they were made to understand that they were final and would be enforced. the chiefs were impracticable. they affirmed that if our men advanced they could not control their tribesmen. the ex-sawbwa of kalè was present at this meeting, having come down with the chins. he wisely took the opportunity of surrendering to major raikes, and was sent to pakokku, where he lived afterwards in receipt of a pension from the government. his surrender exploded a theory which had been started, that the tashons were holding out in order to procure his reinstatement in kalè. a proclamation in similar terms was sent to the haka and yokwa chins. meanwhile the work of collecting transport and forwarding stores was pushed on; the boat service on the myittha was organized, and was worked by commander holland with great energy and success. brigadier-general faunce had left burma. he was succeeded in command of the brigade by colonel w. p. symons (well known as general sir w. penn symons), who met his death in the first action of the boer war. colonel symons had made his reputation already as an active and able soldier. he was much more. he was peculiarly fitted by temper, tact, and administrative ability to conduct a difficult business like that now in hand. the command of the chin-lushai expedition was given to him by the chief commissioner's request. the question arose whether he should have also the control of the negotiations and arrangements with the chins. for some time the feeling in india had been, as it still is, against the division of authority in expeditions of this kind. no doubt, as a rule, the man who holds the military command should have control of the negotiations also. at the same time the circumstances of each case and the qualifications of the man must be taken into account. in burma hitherto it had been found more convenient, if not necessary, to divide the duties and to give what is called the political business to a civil officer acquainted with the language and customs of the people to be dealt with. in the present instance it happened that major raikes had from the beginning dealt, under the chief commissioner's orders, with the chin tribes. he had had more opportunities than any one of acquiring a knowledge of their character and politics. it was somewhat difficult to ask him now to work in subordination to the military commander who had had no part in the business. the chief commissioner was ready to brush aside this personal difficulty and to allow major raikes to resign his post if he preferred to go. he would willingly have placed the chief authority unreservedly in general symons's hands. the question was carefully considered and discussed. finally, by general symons's desire it was arranged to leave to the civil officer the negotiations with the chins and the arrangements to be made with them when they submitted. it happened, however, that before the advance into the hills had well begun, major raikes was compelled by illness to go away. general symons was then put in undivided control of the whole business, under the chief commissioner's orders. two civil officers were selected to serve as his assistants, absolutely in subordination to him. mr. d. ross was posted to the southern column and mr. b. s. carey to the northern. this arrangement worked admirably. the rains of were unfortunately late. the southern column, , [ ] strong, was concentrated at pakokku. from pakokku to kan, which was to be the base for the operations, was one hundred and sixty-five miles. shelters had been erected at the halting-places, and such provisions as could be procured were gathered and stored by the civil district officers. the troops began to move on the rd of november, and the march was successfully carried out in fifteen days, by detachments of one hundred fighting men with followers marching in succession daily. the first detachment left pakokku on the rd of november, and the leading columns were only just able to get through the falling rivers and the drying country. the ground was heavy and the heat great. nevertheless, troops and followers arrived at kan in good condition, with only a nominal sick list. by the middle of november the northern column, , [ ] strong, was ready at fort white and was waiting for the hill-coolies who were to form the transport, before it should move out. the garrisons for the ten posts which were to protect the frontier were sent up the chindwin to kalewa, and had to march down the myittha valley. late rains had flooded the kalè valley, and as late as the end of november the country was impassable to anything but an elephant. on the th of october it took fifteen hours to get one hundred and seventy fresh mules, with elephants to carry their saddles and gear, through the bogs and swamps on the last five and a half miles of the road into kalemyo, which was the distributing base for supplies for fort white and for the posts in the kalè valley. by the end of december these ten posts were built, occupied, and rationed--a testimony to the qualities of the officers and men who overcame such difficulties. by the end of january, , five hundred and fifty-one tons of stores had been sent by road to kan, and six hundred and thirty-eight tons landed at kalemyo by water. the river transport service not only did this, but also provided, as a by-work, carriage for many men joining their corps and for sick sent down to the rear. from the beginning of february, when the country had become dry, all supplies for the southern column were brought in carts from pakokku to kan and on to haka on hired pack-bullocks and government transport animals. to add to the difficulties, virulent cattle disease broke out in the myittha and kalè valleys, and caused enormous loss. one-third of the pack-bullocks had died. the sickness was not confined to the transport animals. it was said that the villagers in the kalè state lost per cent. of their buffaloes. the first troops of the southern column reached kan on the th of december. on the th the sappers, with a covering escort, commenced work on the road to haka, which was sixty-four miles distant. every one thought that our men would be in haka in ten or twelve days, and all calculations were based on this estimate. it was sixty-six days before the leading files entered haka, and the mule-road did not reach that place until the seventy-seventh day. this, although the whole strength of the force was devoted to road work: every man who could dig was set to it. the country opposed to the engineers a tumbled network of steep hills and deep ravines. the climate proved deadly. soldiers and coolies were ill with fever. out of seven royal engineer officers, at the end of december six were lying ill. in comparison with the difficulties caused by the nature of the country and the climate, the fiercest opposition of the chins was insignificant. "this disappointing delay," wrote general symons, "was not without its compensating advantages in dealing with the chins. they expected us to make a quick advance, do some damage, and retire. the steady, persistent advance, together with the pains that were taken to get into touch with them and to explain our objects and intentions, paralysed their spirits and efforts for resistance, and thus tribe after tribe submitted and yielded to our terms." this is, no doubt, the true way of dealing with savages. they are like children. they are terrified if they see a person approaching them steadily, with measured steps and outstretched arms. but it is much more difficult and requires more resources in money and men and transport to advance into a difficult country, making each step good and permanent, than to rush in, burn, slay, and retire. the latter method of warfare the savage understands. his enemies appear suddenly, set fire to his village, kill those they come across, and are away again. he flees into the jungle at the first alarm, and comes back little the worse as soon as the other side retires. that the better method was not followed in - , and that the more barbarous system was adopted, was not voluntary. circumstances forced it upon the authorities in burma, as the only means at their disposal for protecting the peaceful population in the plains. besides, it is only fair to say that the tribes dealt with the former year, the siyins and kanhows, were by far the most warlike and bloodthirsty of the chins. the severe chastisement inflicted on them, and the maintenance of the garrison in fort white during the year, had brought home to all the folly of trying conclusions with disciplined and well-armed troops. on the th of december the advance-guard of the southern column occupied taungtek on the road to haka. from that date to the th of december the chins from time to time made feeble attempts to resist, harassing the troops by firing into camp. on the th, near taungtek, they had a considerable number of men in action; according to their own account five hundred men, of whom three hundred had fire-arms. but they could do nothing. from that day they gave up the fight and made no further opposition. on the th of january two yokwa chins came into camp. the objects of our coming and the conditions of peace were explained to these two men, and they were sent back to repeat them to their chiefs. but therein lay the difficulty. who were the real chiefs? there were numbers of chiefs, each with his own following, each bitterly jealous of his fellows. to negotiate under such conditions required the tact and patience which general symons fortunately possessed. the most intelligent and influential of the rivals had to be discovered, and his position strengthened by dealing through him. henceforth affairs progressed well, and there was no combined opposition to the advance. one unfortunate incident, however, occurred. some chins lying in ambush shot lieutenant foster, of the king's own scottish borderers. the tribes had been fully warned that acts of treachery would meet with punishment. the nearest village was destroyed. this, happily, was the sole occasion on which the southern column was compelled to use violence. a few days afterwards yokwa was occupied, and this section of the baungshès yielded. the terms imposed on them were the surrender of the captives, the payment of a fine and of an annual tribute, and an engagement to keep the peace in future. the mule-path, meanwhile, was being pushed forward on to haka, the headquarters of an important section. the same tactics soon led to their submission. the subjugation of the whole baungshè clan was now complete, for the minor sections followed the lead of the premier communities. the headquarters of the expedition were fixed henceforward at haka, and negotiations for the surrender of the captives were begun. this was not an easy or speedy business. nominal rolls of the persons held in durance by the chins had been prepared, and it was known by which tribe and by which village the captives had been taken. but some of the raids had been committed months before. slaves were current coin in the hills, and passed from hand to hand as easily as a bank-note in more civilized regions. their value was fixed with reference to the customary ransom paid by their burmese relatives, and seems to have averaged ten or twelve pounds sterling. in barter, according to mr. carey, a slave would exchange for three or four head of cattle, a good gun, a dozen pigs, or a wife. however willing the tribe or the village, or even the original captor, might be to keep faith, it was often difficult to trace the slave and obtain his release from the present holder, who had bought him with a price and did not see why he should be at a loss. a view not unreasonable from a chin point of view, but quite inadmissible from our side. while these negotiations were proceeding at haka, and the mule-road was being completed to that place, reconnaissance parties were sent out to the west, the country was explored, the submission of a western tribe, the klanklangs, was secured, and communication with the chittagong column, under brigadier-general tregear,[ ] was opened. the advance parties of general symons and general tregear's forces met on the th of february, at tao village, fifty-two miles west of haka. this meeting was notable for the recovery of the heads of lieutenant john stewart, of the leinster regiment, and the soldiers (two british and one indian) who had been killed by hoswata shendoos on the rd of february, , when surveying in the chittagong hill tracts. their skulls had decorated the village of some chin chief at haka ever since. as to how they came to haka nothing is known. the chief may have taken them himself, or he may have purchased the trophies from the real heroes. no inquiry was made, and no retaliation was inflicted on the accomplices in the murder of our fellow-countrymen. the southern column being thus engaged, the northern column, under colonel skene, with mr. bertram carey as civil officer, had not been idle. mr. carey had to do with a very difficult position. the tribes with whom he was immediately concerned were as defiant in december, , as they had been a year before; and he had no medium of communication with them. gradually, by patience and skilful handling, the sagyilain chins living in the nearest villages were induced to bring supplies of eggs and fowls to market. trading led to closer intercourse. mr. carey established himself at yawlu on the road from fort white to falam, the chief tashon village, and very soon tashons as well as sagyilains came to yawlu daily to sell their produce, and the situation became less strained, while the troops procured better food. after a little manglön, the chief of the sagyilains, came to see mr. carey, and made his submission to the british government. this was a most welcome event. manglön became a medium in all negotiations with the siyins, and remained loyal and trustworthy in subsequent troubles. no progress, however, was made with the siyins, who promised to surrender if the tashons made peace. the best months for active operations were passing. but it was thought inexpedient to adopt rough methods against them until a settlement had been made with the tashons.[ ] after some negotiations with the chief of mwebingyi (an important village), who promised to surrender and invited a visit, mr. carey, with colonel skene and a small force, guided by sagyilain men, marched to mwebingyi. three miles from the village they were fired on by chins from all sides. a sharp skirmish followed. the chins, driven back to their village, set it on fire and took to the hillsides. we lost two men severely wounded owing to this treacherous attack. the time had now come when the much-delayed advance of the southern column made the combined movements of the northern and southern columns upon the tashon ywama possible. the reduction of this tribe was the main object of the campaign, to which all the other operations were leading. it was important to avoid a hostile collision with it. it would have been easy enough to harass and punish the tribe village by village, but at the cost of life, destruction of property, and misery. general symons's instructions were to accept no surrender and to conclude no negotiations except at falam, the tashon head village; and his purpose was to make resistance hopeless by placing the forces from haka and fort white simultaneously on the north and south of the ywama. accordingly, on the th of march a force strong, with one gun, under colonel skene, left fort white. on the th general symons, with rifles and two mountain-guns, marched from haka. the southern column had suffered so much from sickness that its strength in fighting-men and transport coolies had been seriously reduced. without the aid of the northern column, it could not have given enough men to garrison haka and at the same time to deal with the tashons. it was a matter of moment, therefore, that the two columns should operate in concert. a successful and rapid reconnaissance to within eight miles of the ywama was affected, and the two forces arrived on the opposite banks of the manipur, or nankathe river, within an hour of each other on the th of march. the tashons had not intended to yield without a fight. "innumerable stockades, breastworks, and obstructions, extending over some nine miles of country, but chiefly intended against an enemy advancing from the north, had been freshly erected at every commanding point. large numbers of armed men watched both columns as they advanced, but there was no collision. it is difficult to estimate their numbers; but on the south of manipur river near the ywama there were not less than , men, of whom two-thirds were armed with guns, the rest with spears."[ ] disregarding the protests of some of the chiefs who came out to meet him, general symons marched his men to a spot within one thousand yards of the ywama, and fixed his camp there. the chiefs were assembled and asked if they agreed to our terms. with the inconsequence of savages, after allowing us to advance unopposed, they rejected our conditions, refusing firmly to pay tribute and demurring even to the fine. general symons warned them of the risk they were incurring and dismissed them. the scene on this occasion was dramatic, and is thus described by mr. bertram carey, who was present:-- "the whole valley, in which formerly lay the original village of falam, was full of armed chins, numbering not less than , men, gathered from all sides; the host seemed to settle itself in groups of from to men. they were quiet in demeanour, but held their heads high and seemed quite prepared for whatever might be the result of the negotiations. the crowd was a motley one, the tashon chiefs dressed in the gaudy tartan of the tribe, well armed with bright guns, vermilion and black parti-coloured dah scabbards, and beautifully inlaid powder-horns. the whenohs were conspicuous by their chignons, which contrasted with the lofty head-dress of their neighbours, the yahows, who were present carrying the strange _shendu_, chopper-shaped dahs in basketwork scabbards. scattered around in bunches were the scowling siyins, the half-breeds from tawyan and mintèdaung, the semi-independent clique of kwungli, and the trans-nankathè tribesmen of sokte and 'poi' origin. the congregation was armed with a variety of weapons; spears and flint-lock guns predominated, but bows and quivers of barbed arrows were carried by not a few. each man bore his food-supply for a few days on his back."[ ] the next two days were spent in wearisome negotiations which might have driven a less patient man to the use of force. his forbearance was rewarded, and the chiefs gave way. the tribute for was delivered, and five thousand rupees, the amount to which he had thought right to reduce the fine, was paid. the tashons admitted that until a few days before the forces reached falam they had intended to fight. their position as head of the chin tribes and the fear of losing prestige impelled them to resist. when they found their enemies coming from two sides, they began to lose heart. all their outlying villages, who knew they must suffer first and most, prayed them to make peace. it is evident that the rough handling of the siyins by general faunce had given a salutary lesson to these people. the event proved also the wisdom of marching to the headquarters of the tribe, and there compelling the public submission of their leaders. the object of the combined march having been attained, the columns separated, the southern returning to haka and the northern to fort white. during the remaining months of open weather general symons was occupied in gathering in the captives, improving his relations with the chins, and in exploring the country. in april, accompanied by the haka chief, he visited many villages to the south and was everywhere well received. on the th of april general tregear met him at haka, now linked up with fort tregear by a mule-track, which was brought into haka, a distance of eighty-one miles, on the th of april. the chittagong column had met with no opposition. their work was mainly road-making, reconnoitring, and surveying--work of the first importance in securing permanent peace. the lushai country was as difficult as any on the burma side. "there is the dense jungle, which prevents one seeing a dozen yards ahead; rocks extending over large portions of the hillside are constantly met with, and when it was found impossible to avoid them much time was taken up in blasting operations. range upon range of precipitous hills, running at right angles to the line of advance, had to be crossed, and the question of a sufficient supply of water at the different camps had to be considered in determining the trace of the road."[ ] two large rivers had to be bridged. it is not within the scope of the present narrative to describe the work done by the chittagong column. its approach from the west had beyond doubt made general symons's task easier, and success more certain. on returning to fort white, mr. carey resumed his immediate duty of bringing the siyins within the fold. they had promised to submit if the tashons made peace. he called upon them now to keep their word. only one chief came in, and, as he brought no captives, mr. carey sent him away. so far from submitting, they cut the telegraph wires daily and annoyed our people. a policy of waiting and conciliation had failed. several of the worst villages were therefore singled out and destroyed, not without some fighting, in which several sepoys were killed. unfortunately, in two cases, in which some troops from kalemyo were engaged, the bodies were allowed to fall into the enemies' hands. the chin braves were able to return with two heads, more expressive of victory than guns or standards, and no doubt published in their fashion jubilant bulletins. the triumph was short-lived. a month afterwards a detachment of the nd gurkhas, marching down on their way to india, destroyed the villages concerned. before the end of april all the siyins had made outward submission and had accepted our terms, which were that a yearly tribute should be paid and that the captives should be surrendered. each clan was to be allowed to rebuild its villages when the captives held by it had been released, and not before. the cut telegraph wire and the two heads were brought in, and the captives were being gradually surrendered. the results of the campaign were good and permanent. the foundation was laid for an effective control over these troublesome hill-men, and peace with security was given to the burmans in the plains and to the chins themselves. raiding and slavery as institutions were condemned, and were soon to disappear altogether. before the troops left the field one hundred and thirty-eight captives were liberated. there were a few raids made after general symons finished his task, but they were promptly punished. there were some disturbances among the chin tribes. they were easily checked, and systematic disarmament here, as in burma proper, changed the temper and habits of the people. this success had been achieved almost without bloodshed, but at a great cost to our men of suffering and loss of life from disease. the sickness among troops and followers was appalling, and the transport animals perished by hundreds. nine men, of whom two were officers, were killed in action; two hundred and seven, of whom seventy-two were fighting-men, perished of disease. and two thousand one hundred and twenty-two were invalided, of whose seven hundred and nine were fighting-men--one-fifth of the whole force. a permanent post was built at haka, which was found to be a healthy place; and the headquarters of a civil officer, with control over the baungshès and tashons, was established there. fort white continued for some time to be the headquarters of the civil and military staff in the north. but the garrison was reduced, and as the site was always sickly, the fort was moved back to the letha range, retaining the name which it had received from sir george white. falam, the chief village of the tashons, is now the headquarters of the civil administration of the chin hills. [illustration: burmese ladies making a call.] it is worth while, perhaps, to give some account of the chins in these the first years of british rule. at the time of general symons's expedition the chins were a savage race. they had arms in abundance, flint-lock guns of english make, and spears. they were armed not so much against strangers as against each other. in former times, when they were ill-provided with fire-arms, the burmans used to oppress them; but for a long time the position had been reversed. intertribal feuds, however, and feuds between villages and families of the same tribe, were very common and made it unsafe to move without arms. no man who owned a gun ever left his house without it. while the fields were worked by women and slaves, armed men stood guard. so it was even less than a century ago in parts of india. what caused the feuds was a matter for speculation. apparently disputes about debts were the most frequent; commerce, in fact, as among western peoples, led to quarrels. as for government, even the most primitive form of tribal or village organization appears to have been imperfect. there were many chiefs, and if any one of them, as jahoota,[ ] for instance, was pre-eminent, he could not count on the obedience or support of the others. their jealousies interfered with everything. of their manners and customs not much was put on record in the earlier reports, which were necessarily more concerned with military matters. they made forays on the burmans for heads and slaves. they were much given to sacrifices, and sometimes to human sacrifices. for example, it was usual to sacrifice slaves at the funerals of persons accidentally killed. of their marriage-customs nothing is said in the early reports. the country was not rich. there were no forests that it would pay to work, and no minerals had been discovered. the cultivation was of the primitive kind--"taungya," or "jhoom"--that is to say, felling the trees, burning them when dry, and sowing hill-rice and other crops in the ash. in the forests they had plenty of game, and much fish--mahseer and other kinds--in the rivers; and the jungles were rich in fruits and roots that would support life if the grain failed. metal of all kinds was very scarce. the hills produced none, and the burmese government had forbidden the export of metals from the plains. the trouble the chins gave by cutting the telegraph wire was caused by their desire to procure metal, rather than to cause annoyance. mr. carey compared the attraction felt by the chin for the unprotected wire to that felt by an english boy for an unfenced apple-orchard. the insulator spikes were beaten into hoes and the wire melted to make bullets, or bangles for the damsels. their wants were blankets, cottons and other cloths, iron and steel for tools, lead for bullets, needles and thread and salt. in exchange they were able to offer honey, beeswax, chillies, mats, and a little lac. the reports of were more concerned with the measures carried out for their subjugation than with descriptions of the people and their manners. in the main, what is written in the _burma gazetteer_ published in is true of the chins of twenty years ago:-- "they are a sturdy, warlike, hospitable people, slow of speech, grave of habit, paying great regard to rank and to the ties of clan, but spoilt by their intemperance, their vindictiveness, their treachery, their greed, their lack of persistence,[ ] and their personal uncleanliness." there is a quaint humour about this description which is refreshing in a gazetteer. a race would have to be good indeed if, with such an array of vices, there was anything left to spoil. their villages are described as built on the hill-slopes, some of them fortified; and their houses are often solid, elaborate structures. their dress is the reverse--a loin-cloth, none too ample, and a blanket for the men; a short skirt and jacket for the women. home-woven check plaids are seen in a good many costumes, and some tribes have distinctive plaids, as in scotland. the people are mainly vegetarians, but they will eat anything, from a dog to an elephant. they smoke tobacco in pipes, and they make a liquor from fermented grain, presumably rice, which is called _zu_. they suck up this, in the most approved fashion, through a hollow reed, out of the original still-pot. enormous quantities of _zu_ are consumed at chin entertainments, which usually end in disgusting orgies. the chinbÔks and chinbons. tribes called the chinbôks, claiming to be of the same stock as the hakas but speaking a different language, are found at the head-waters of the maw and yaw rivers. farther south, at the sources of the saw and salin and on the eastern slopes of the môn valley, live the yendus. below them, and southernmost of all the chins, are the chinbons, who from the môn on the east extend along the border of the mimbu district into the akyab and kyaukpyu districts of lower burma. these three tribes were less fierce than their kindred to the north, and possessed only the arms of savage warfare--the bow and arrow and spear. some of them, those on the borders of the tilin township at the headquarters of the maw river, were noted for cattle-lifting. but the chinbôks on the yaw and the yendus on the saw and salin rivers rivalled the siyins as slave-raiders. at the commencement of the winter of there were twenty-one captives in the possession of these tribes. they had made twelve raids since december, , in which five villagers had been killed and sixteen carried off. many had been wounded in resisting or escaping, and large sums had been extracted as ransom. it was decided, in making up the account against these savages, not to go back behind december, . in that month a notable raid had been committed on taunggyo in the pauk township, in which thirty-two persons were carried off and held to ransom at nine pounds sterling each, which appears to have settled down as the sum beyond which the ability or affection of the burman would not go (see p. ). after this crime trade with the plains had been prohibited to the chinbôks, so far as lay in our power. the difficulty in dealing with them lay in their want of cohesion and the absence of any sort of tribal bond. with the shans there were the sawbwas; with the chins to the north there were the tribal divisions, more or less marked, with chiefs who could speak, or at any rate profess to speak, for their people. but with the people with whom we were now to come in contact there was an absence of political organization beyond the village, which was usually very small. it was necessary to visit as many as possible of the villages concerned in the raids, to receive the submission of each, and to impose fines for misconduct; and as an obligatory condition to insist on the surrender of captives, and the repayment of ransoms, not going back farther than december, . substantial guarantees for the future were also to be exacted. it had been intended to make the dealings with these three tribes part of the operations under general symons's control, and to give to mr. ross, under his orders, the immediate conduct of the negotiations. when the full proportions of the task assigned to general symons were seen, it became plain that he could not undertake the chinbôks; and in consequence of major raikes's illness, mr. ross had to remain with the southern column. fortunately the chin frontier levy had now been raised, and had had a little time to fit itself for service. their posts at kalemyo, kan, and gangaw were wanted by the regular troops of the southern column. this freed the levy opportunely, and gave the chief commissioner a sufficient force for the expedition into the chinbok country. an admirable officer was at hand to conduct it, in lieutenant r. m. rainey (now colonel rainey-robinson), the commandant of the levy. to him was entrusted the conduct of the business. lieutenant rainey began, on the th of december, , by dealing with twenty-one chinbok villages, consisting of two hundred and eighty-three houses, situated on the maw chaung, the southernmost affluent of the myittha, on which tilin, the headquarters of the tilin township, is situated. the claim against them was for cattle stolen. but cattle thefts and slaves were mere questions of accounts. they set up and proved a counterclaim for the price of slaves sold to the plaintiffs before the british occupation. lieutenant rainey thought it best to admit the counterclaim and let bygones be bygones, but to provide for the future. he induced the twenty-one villages to appoint a chief as their spokesman and agent in dealing with us, and to agree to pay a small tribute in kind leviable from each village as an acknowledgment of fealty to the british government. so far there had been no opposition. lieutenant rainey then moved his headquarters from tilin to chaungu or yawdwin, some twenty miles south. this village is situated on an affluent of the yaw river, and made a good base for the next part of the business. the chins in the valley of the yaw and its tributaries were raiders. they attempted to harass the force, and captain willcocks (now lieutenant-general sir james willcocks, k.c.m.g., c.b., d.s.o.), the intelligence officer, who was surveying and reconnoitring for a further move to the south, was attacked. this compelled a resort to punitive measures, and several offending villages were destroyed. a defensible advanced post was established at chaungzon, in the heart of their hills. these methods brought the hostile chins to reason. from this until the close of the operations the work progressed, bloodless and unopposed. the villages submitted, captives were delivered up, headmen were appointed, and fines exacted from all villages which had raided since december, . lieutenant rainey then returned to chaungu; and moving his base still farther south to laungshe, came into contact with the yindus and chinbons. by the exercise of tact and patience he succeeded in bringing these sections to submit to the british government and to release their captives. as before, headmen were appointed, the payment of tribute was promised, and guarantees for good conduct given. the work was thoroughly well done. general symons, in his despatch on the chin-lushai campaign, wrote:-- "the chinbok operations, though in no way under my direction or command, but ably, even brilliantly, conducted by lieutenant rainey, commandant of the chin levy military police battalion, have squared well with our work and settled an adjoining belt of country beyond our capability to touch." lieutenant rainey was another of the young soldiers who aided the civil administration in difficult times and showed their fitness for affairs. the country which submitted to him was made a separate civil charge, known as "the pakokku hill tracts," the headquarters of which were for some years at yawdwin and are now at kanpetlet on mount victoria. it is noticeable that the chinbôks and their confrères had been excluded from trading and from all intercourse with the plains since the beginning of . on making their submission they begged that the blockade might be raised. it was evidently a useful weapon. if it had failed in the case of the tashons and the more northern tribes, it was because it had not been effective. we had now made ourselves felt by most of the tribes. there remained unvisited a stretch of hills separating the minbu district of upper burma from arakan. the chins dwelling in this tract preyed on the peasantry in the neighbouring districts. during the preceding two years sixteen villages had been raided in minbu, twenty-one persons killed and thirty-nine carried into slavery. of these captives sixteen had been ransomed by their friends at a very heavy price. in the adjoining township of the pakokku district there had been several forays, and seventeen persons had been captured and carried off. it was not possible at this time to find men for a comprehensive expedition against these chins. civil officers from the three districts of akyab, kyaukpyu, and minbu were deputed, with small bodies of police, to meet at a central point. they assembled the chiefs and village headmen. the chins were peaceful and submissive, but very few of the captives were restored. these clans belonged to the akyab district geographically, and had not yet realized that their eastern borders had come under the british government and were no longer to afford a happy hunting-ground for the pursuit of human game. they were found to be by no means formidable, badly armed, and little inclined to fight. the following year ( - ) saw the beginning of the systematic control of the chin tribes. for administrative purposes they were roughly divided into three parts. the northern tribes were governed from fort white, the central tribes from haka, and the southern from yawdwin. captain f. m. rundall commanded the garrison at fort white, and also held charge of our relations with the chins when mr. carey had to take leave. our knowledge of these people was at first far from accurate, and the then recognized divisions of the tribes controlled from port white were roughly as follows:--[ ] . the siyins and sagyilains who lived in five villages, of which koset, sagyilain, and tôklaing were the chief. the first port white was built on the site of tôklaing, which was afterwards given back to them when the fort was moved. . the kanhows, inhabiting between thirty and forty villages north of fort white, of which tunzan, on the left bank of the manipur river, is the capital. . the mobingyis, as they were called from the burmese name for their chief village, molbem, which lies on a spur overlooking the manipur river on the left bank, and was a very large village. . the nwi-tes and other minor tribes akin to the kukis of manipur. it is now known that the right name of the mobingyis is sok-te, a very large tribe, of whom the kanhows are only a powerful clan. . the ngwite and late, who occupy the hills between mwelpi and manipur. . the haitsi lope, who live on the eastern slope of the letha range bordering the kabaw valley. at the end of the last season's operations mr. carey had reported the submission of the siyins and the acceptance of our terms. at the same time he had little trust in their good faith, and when captain rundall succeeded him at fort white their attitude was more or less hostile. they continued to cut the telegraph wire and to give petty annoyance to the troops. the capture of some of the wire cutters gave some help to diplomacy. the siyins submitted in order to get their brethren released. they surrendered their captives and agreed to pay tribute and keep the peace. the kanhows proved more difficult. captain rundall took advantage of a dispute about the succession to the leadership of the tribe to open communication with one of the claimants. but before anything came of it the kanhows raided a burman village, killing eight persons and carrying off twelve. they were ordered to restore all captives, to give up the heads taken in the raid, to pay a fine of rs. , , to submit to the government, and to bind themselves to pay an annual tribute of rs. . these terms were not complied with. captain rundall, therefore, marched with three hundred rifles and two guns against the village of tungzang. the chins fought, and lost twelve men killed and twenty-one prisoners, including some of their chief men. they had now tried conclusions and were satisfied. thirty-nine captives were surrendered and the fine and tribute paid in full. some of the chiefs were sent to rangoon, and shown over some large steamers, mills, and the like, and, it is said, were impressed by the sight. however that may be, they have not given much trouble since. some useful road work was done during this year by the madras pioneers. a road from fort white to falam, the tashon mother-village, was constructed. as the old site of fort white still continued to be very unhealthy, the garrison and headquarters of the civil officer were moved back to a post hitherto known as no. stockade on the letha range. the chins to be controlled from haka were found to be divisible into five tribes:-- . the tashons, a large tribe having their headquarters at falam, half-way between haka and fort white. . the hakas, lying south of the tashon country and round about haka. . the klanklangs, to the west of the haka tribe and between them and fort tregear, on the chittagong side. . the yokwas, who lie to the south and east of the hakas; and lastly, . the independent tribes, known generally by the nickname of baungshè, in the hills south of the yokwas. mr. d. ross,[ ] the assistant commissioner who had accompanied general symons's expedition, held haka until march, , when he had to leave on account of his health. he was succeeded by mr. d. j. c. macnabb,[ ] assistant commissioner, a young soldier of a well-known stock. friendly relations with the chins were maintained. the road from kan, in the myittha valley, to haka, was kept open by chin labour, and the regular postal service was performed by chins. the myittha valley was not raided, and generally the haka yokwa tribes were well behaved. trouble, however, came from the independent baungshès, with whom, owing to their want of cohesion, it was difficult to deal. general symons had left one weak spot in his work. there was a powerful village called thetta, eight miles south of yokwa. of it he wrote:-- "it has resisted all our efforts to bring it to complete submission, although some captives have been given up and a fine paid.... it is a blot on our work to have left this village unsettled, but it commands the kan to yokwa road, and i considered it better to leave it to stew in its obstinacy and isolation rather than resort to drastic measures which would have had the effect of driving the inhabitants into the jungles and making the road unsafe. the boon of convoys and traders and others being able to use safely and freely the road between kan and haka without escorts was too great to risk the loss of it for the satisfaction of an exercise of our power which, at the best in my opinion, would have had but little effect in bringing about the desired result." at the same time he recorded his opinion that unless the thetta people gave in, the political officer would have to visit and compel them. it was the old story. the thettas thought forbearance was the sign of weakness and fear. in november, , they became openly hostile. they committed a series of outrages, and at last brought matters to a head by killing mr. wetherell, a young police officer, and attempting the life of the political officer, mr. macnabb. in january, , a force of one hundred and forty rifles started from haka to punish the village. they had no guns. the village was strongly stockaded. lieutenant james, r.e., and two gurkha sepoys were killed, and the officer commanding decided that he could not storm the defences without heavy loss. the chins were invited to a parley, and they agreed to pay a small fine for their misconduct and to yield an annual tribute in future. such an arrangement was for us equivalent to a defeat. it was decided to take up the coercion of the baungshès in a businesslike manner. two strong columns, with guns, were despatched, one from haka with mr. ross as political officer, the other from gungaw with mr. macnabb. they met at thetta without opposition, and recovered the fine which the thetta villagers had promised to pay, and traversed the baungshè country, receiving the submission of the villagers. thetta, however, was not yet subdued. they had defied us, killed our men, and escaped with a small fine. in they began to rob and murder, and when they were called to account they behaved themselves proudly. on the st of january, , a force under major keary, d.s.o., of the th burma rifles, with mr. h. n. tuck as political officer, occupied the village, arrested the chiefs, and disarmed the villagers. the chiefs were afterwards degraded in open durbar. but the year was not to close without further difficulty. general symons, reporting to the chief commissioner from haka, dated the st of may, , wrote (para. ):-- "the klanklangs are almost a separate tribe, but they are baungshès and live on fairly good terms with the hakas. the yokwas do not march with the klanklangs, neither are they friendly with them. ( ) the klanklangs, finding themselves at the beginning of the year between the burma and chittagong columns, made haste to submit to the troops entering their country, and readily agreed to easy terms imposed. ( ) the settlement with the klanklangs and their chief, ya hnit--whom, to suit the convenience of the chittagong officials, we are now agreed to call 'jahoota'--was very rightly left to me as the representative of the local government of burma. the klanklang ywama (chief village) is only sixteen miles from haka, and jahoota and other head chiefs live there.... i do not think this tribe will give us any more trouble. the meeting of the eastern and western columns in their territory, and the continual passing of troops backwards and forwards without committal of harm or excess, has had the best effect." in march, , mr. macnabb, with lieutenant mocatta and one hundred rifles, set out to visit the klanklangs and to meet an official from port tregear at tao. the tribe, which had surrendered to general symons, was held to be friendly. the road passed through their hills, and there was no thought of interfering with them. they had, however, been raiding on the lushai side, and it was intended to warn them to abstain from this. on the outward march to tao the klanklang chiefs did not appear. they were said to be occupied in propitiating their _nats_, or guardian spirits, and to be very drunk. mr. macnabb, therefore, postponed his interview until he came back from tao. on the return march a large body of chins, said to have been seven or eight hundred, suddenly fell upon the small column, which fought its way on to klanklang with some difficulty, losing five men killed and ten wounded, and one british officer (lieutenant forbes) wounded. reinforcements from haka, under colonel mainwaring, met the returning column at klanklang and saved them from further loss. officers and men had behaved admirably. a fine of guns and money was imposed on the tribe, and preparations were made for enforcing it. before the preparations were complete jahoota came suing for peace. he proved that he had been away and had had no concern in the treacherous attack, which had been organized by two subordinate chiefs in his absence. he brought in guns and other valuables in part payment of the fine, and was ordered to produce the two offenders and to raze their houses to the ground. as the culprits were not surrendered, the political officer, with three hundred rifles, visited klanklang in may. he found that the houses had been destroyed, but the two men had fled. some of the villages paid their shares of the fines; but others held out, and owing to the lateness of the season and want of transport, it was impossible to coerce them. jahoota, in proof of his good faith, gave up his eldest son as a hostage, and he was left to re-establish his authority. there has been no difficulty since in managing these baungshè tribes, and in the years - they, as well as all the southern tribes, were disarmed. the control of the rude southernmost chins, known as chinbôks, chinbons, and yendus, was exercised at first by a subdivisional officer stationed at yawdwin. from lieutenant rainey's expedition up to january, , no disturbance occurred. in that month a very daring raid was made on yawdwin itself, and the place looted under the eyes of the police garrison. further raids followed, and a strong force of regular troops had to be sent to restore order. a military post was established within the hills. in this post also was attacked. the country was then placed under efficient administrative control. posts were established in suitable places. a civil officer with sufficient powers was appointed to live in the hills and govern the people. his headquarters are now at kanpetlet, on the slopes of mount victoria, some , feet above the sea-level. and a small force of gurkha military police under a british officer is maintained there. raiding has ceased, and the people have been disarmed. in other respects twenty years have not changed them much. in the _burma gazetteer_ (of , vol. ii. p. ) it is recorded:-- "the inhabitants of the tract are practically all animists. the chinbok men wear a very scanty loin-cloth, and are seldom seen without their bows and arrows. the women's dress consists of a smock and a short skirt. the females have their faces tattooed." it may be doubted whether western civilization will make them happier. tattooing is more lasting and more conducive to domestic peace than paint and powder. it is cheaper in the long run. footnotes: [ ] st battalion king's own, scottish borderers rifles no. mountain battery " no. company queen's own, sappers and miners " nd battalion th gurkhas " nd madras infantry " burma company queen's own, sappers and miners " ---------- total , rifles [ ] st battalion cheshire regiment rifles nd gurkha light infantry " no. company queen's own, sappers and miners " th bengal infantry " th bengal infantry " ----------- total , rifles [ ] now major-general sir vincent william tregear, k.c.b., indian army, retired. [ ] it was understood at this time that the siyins were quite subordinate to the tashons, whose control, however, proved to be limited. [ ] brigadier-general symons's despatch, dated the st of may, , from haka. [ ] "the chin hills," vol. i., p. . government press, rangoon, . [ ] brigadier-general tregear's despatch, may , . [ ] regarding jahoota, or ya hnit, see pp. - _infra_. [ ] it may be questioned whether, in view of the obstinate resistance shown by some tribes, they can be fairly charged with lack of persistence. [ ] for accurate and most interesting information regarding the chins, their manners, customs, and history, i must refer the reader to the "chin hills," by bertram s. carey, c.i.e., and h. n. tuck ( vols., rangoon government press, .), which can be seen at the india office library. [ ] mr. ross, after excellent service, died at rangoon in . [ ] mr. macnabb is now major macnabb, commissioner of the sagaing (formerly called central) division of upper burma. chapter xxiii internal administration of burma of the many other parts which go to make up the working machinery of a great province nothing has been said, as the object of this account is to show how peace and order were restored, or rather given, to burma. along and step by step with this rough work, however, every part of an advanced administration began to take shape. there was none which was not, at the very least, called into existence. the revenue of upper burma increased from £ , in - to £ , , in the year - . no new taxes were imposed. the revenue grew by careful administration. from the year i had the assistance of mr. fryer as financial commissioner in dealing with this branch of the work, and the subject of the land revenue of the upper province was examined more minutely than had been possible before. in a regulation declaring the law relating to rights of land and formulating a complete system of revenue law for upper burma was framed in burma, and passed by the governor-general in council. in it provision was made for the gradual survey and assessment of the land; and before the end of the cadastral survey had broken ground in two districts in which the cultivated area was largest. the forest department had been busy from the first, and progress had been made in ascertaining the condition and resources of the great teak forests of upper burma. the government of india had treated burma with generosity in the matter of money for public works. the extent of our undertakings was limited by the difficulty of obtaining a competent staff, rather than by a deficiency of funds. the expenditure on barracks and other accommodation for troops at stations where garrisons were to be permanently kept was necessarily large. at district headquarters in civil stations, court-houses, and (where necessary) jails had been built, and court-houses had also been provided in many subdivisions. the irrigation works in kyauksè were not neglected, and the mu canal scheme in the shwèbo district had been taken in hand. the railway to mandalay was opened in march, , and the surveys for the mu valley line, which was to take the rails up the right bank of the river and through all the difficult country traversed by major adamson's expedition in - , had been completed and construction had begun. great attention had been paid to the improvement of communications, including several difficult hill-roads. a good cart-road had been made from the river to the ruby mines. another from mandalay to maymyo was being taken on to lashio; and, from meiktila to kalaw on the shan plateau, seventy-six miles, a road was well advanced. the land-locked yaw country had been opened up, and a mule-track from kalewa on the chindwin to fort white in the chin hills had been finished. roads over the yomas, which had sheltered the magwè dacoits, had been completed. the money, poured into the country for roads and buildings, apart from the railway expenditure, was nearly all spent on native labour and on material produced in the country. in the aggregate it was more than the sums received as revenue. that it, along with the railway expenditure on labour, helped largely in settling the country directly and indirectly, is certain. if indian and chinese shan coolies were employed, it was because burman labour was not forthcoming. nor had some of the refinements of administration been neglected. in the larger towns a simple system of municipal government was introduced, care being taken not to hurry a somewhat primitive people accustomed to corrupt methods and with little sense of responsibility along the slippery paths of local self-government. in the middle of a judicial commissioner was appointed for upper burma. i accepted this refinement more reluctantly than i would have welcomed a reduction of the garrison. but the character of the man appointed to the post (the late mr. hodgkinson) was an assurance that there would be no display of judicial pyrotechnics, such as lawyers sometimes indulge in, and that some regard would be paid to the conditions under which our officers were working. the provision of medical aid for the people was taken in hand energetically, under the guidance of dr. sinclair, who administered the medical department of the whole of burma. it was not possible to provide substantial public hospitals, and at first only temporary buildings were erected. excellent permanent hospitals had been built for the military police, and on their withdrawal it was intended that these buildings should be converted into civil hospitals. vaccination was introduced also, and every district was furnished with the means of protection against smallpox. the people came readily to be vaccinated, and no burman, so far as i know, expressed an objection, conscientious or other, to being protected from the ravages of a loathsome disease. but they are comparatively a backward race and still have much to learn. in the matter of education, it was not the time to do much, and i was inclined to walk very warily in upper burma. the director of public instruction was sent round the province in to examine the condition of the existing schools; and on his report a beginning was made by appointing an inspector and some assistant inspectors, more to ascertain and collate facts than with a view to active interference. later on the grant-in-aid rules in force in the lower province were introduced. the author of the _burma gazetteer_ (vol. i., p. ) writes: "missionary schools are now plentiful, and lay schools, both public and private, abound; but the bed-rock of vernacular education in burma is still monastery teaching, and with it is intimately bound up the educational welfare of the people." i am inclined to agree with this statement. the system of monastic schools has, i think, been an immense boon to the people of burma, and if only the monks could be roused to educate themselves more and to cast off some of their old ideas i should like to see it maintained. the danger is that the contact with western knowledge and ascertained fact may destroy the belief of the young burmans in the monastic teaching, and this danger is increased, if it is not caused, by the superstitious ignorance of the monks and their inability to disentangle the moral teaching of their great founder from the cobwebs of fairy tales, about the form and nature of the earth and the like. with this in mind, a beginning was made towards inducing the pongyis to employ certificated assistant teachers in the monastic schools. western teaching may, however, have less effect on eastern faiths than we think. i was visiting a lay school in burma one day, i forget where, but i was talking to one of the pupils, a very intelligent boy. i asked him about the shape of the earth, and so on. he had it all pat, the conventional proofs included. i said: "now, you know what the pongyis teach, which do you believe--what you have learnt here, or in the monastery?" he replied unhesitatingly, "what the pongyis tell me, of course." "why then," i asked, "did you say the earth was round and went round the sun?" "oh," he said, "i must say that or i should not pass the examinations; but i believe the other." there may be more intelligent students, even at a riper age, of the same mind as this boy. sometimes, perhaps, in the west, it is the other way about. on the th of december, , i surrendered my charge to sir alexander mackenzie,[ ] one of the ablest men of his time in india. in his summary of the administration report of burma, for the year - , dated december , , is written: "upper burma being now perfectly tranquil, it is not necessary to describe separately the progress made in the pacification of each district. the fact that there were fewer crimes in upper than in lower burma during the year is sufficient proof that except in certain frontier tracts the work is complete." it is pleasant to most of us to know that our work is appreciated by others. it pleased me the other day, and it may please those for whom i have put together this rough account of the pacification of burma to read this passage from the "shans at home," by mrs. leslie milne and the rev. wilbur willis cochrane (p. ):-- "at the time of the annexation, every part of the shan highlands west of the salween was ravaged with war, shans against shans and burmans against them all. to bring peace and an era of prosperity, put an end to feuds, settle the disputes of princes, re-establish the people in their homes, and organize out of chaos a helpful and strong government was no easy task. that it was accomplished with so small a force, so quickly and with so little opposition, was due to the energy, ability, and tact of the british officials upon whom the government had placed responsibility. "immediately after the annexation, began the era of improvement. twenty-four years have passed since then. the british peace officers have retired, or are retiring, but they leave behind them a prosperous and peaceful people. the towns are growing towards their former dimensions; wealth and trade are increasing beyond all expectations. population is rapidly increasing. a mother with her little child can travel alone from mogaung to the border of siam, and from kengtung to rangoon, with comfort and perfect safety." footnote: [ ] the late sir alexander mackenzie, k.c.s.i., afterwards lieutenant-governor of bengal. index a adamson, c.i.e., major c. h. e., deputy commissioner of bhamo, , - , aitchison, sir charles, , akyab, alelet (central division of hsenwi), , , , allahabad, alomphra, house of, , alôn, , amarapura, amats (ministers), american baptist missionaries, work among the karens, , amir mahomed, death of, andamans, anderson, brigadier-general, arakan mountains, , , arbuthnot, sir charles, commander-in-chief of the madras army, , arbuthnot, gillanders, archer, mr. w. j. (h.m. acting vice-consul at chiengmai), , , , armstrong, captain, assam, valley of, , atkinson, captain, killed, aung bet, ava, court of, ; training of police at, , , ; king of, ; kingdom of (subdivision of sagaing), , , , , ; invaded, b barron, surgeon-major, barrow, major (now sir edmund barrow), bassein, , balu stream, bangkok, , , , baungshè tribe (tashons), , , , baw (or maw) submitted to general east, , bawlaké, bawyethat pagoda, bayfield, lieutenant (explorer of jade mines, ), bayengan or viceroy of myingun prince, , , - bengal boundary, benson, lieutenant, , bernard, sir charles, arrival, , ; code, ; roads, &c., , ; irrigation, ; village disarmament, ; meeting with hkun saing, , ; policy towards shan states, bernard myo, , , beville, captain, , bhamo, , , , , , - ; description of bhamo, - , bigandet, bishop, binbong, blundell, major, bo cho, , bo-hmu, bo-hmumintha, bo le, death of, , bombay, ; burma company working the teak forests, , ; sappers and miners, bo nyo u, bo saga, bo saing, bo sawbwa, bo swè, story of, - , , bo ti, - bo tok, , brahmaputra, bridges, mr. j. e., deputy commissioner, browning, mr. colin, , buddha, teaching of, ; yaza, buddhists (shan), burgess, c.s.i., mr. g. d. (judicial commissioner, upper burma), , , , burma, boundaries of, burma, upper, incorporated with india, ; scheme of government, ; scheduled district, ; divisions of provinces, ; description of districts, - ; marches of, burma, lower, village organization, , ; dacoity, ; defective police arrangements, ; evil of arming villages, ; evil of mixed police, indian and burman, , ; king of, , , - , , , , burmans, country of the, ; military police, , ; special constables, buyers, mr. g. d., chief engineer, mandalay railway, byaing gyi, c calcutta, , , cambodia, carey, mr. bertram, , - , , carter, mr. g. m. s., , , ; sent with colonel symons to sagaing, , chaungwa, , ; ava district, , ; prince, chaungu, , chaungzon, , chefan, chieng kong given to siam, chiengmaai (or zimme), - china, care in dealing with, ; and upper burma, ; opium traffic, - ; rights over kang hung, chinbôks, - chinbons, - chinbyit, , chindwin, lower, , , , , , ; river, , , , , , chinese in bhamo, , ; shans, ; threaten the frontier, , ; in hsenwi, ; attitude to trans-salween states, chingaing, , chins, disarmament of, , , ; country, , ; chin-lushai, - ; expedition against the, - ; five tribes, chitpauk, chittagong hills, ; column, - clarke, major o. l. i., clement, colonel, assists in capture of bo swè, clements, lieutenant, close, surgeon j. k., cochrane, rev. wilbur willis, cockran, colonel, collett, c.b., brigadier-general h., , collins, mr. g. g., , , colquhoun, mr. archibald, cooke, captain (of burman commission), , cox brigadier-general, crimmin, captain, indian medical service (surgeon-lieut.-col. john crimmin, v.c., c.i.e.), cronin, colonel, senior medical officer, cross, lord, crosthwaite, k.c.s.i., sir charles h. t., ; former service in british burma, ; offered chief commissionership and summoned to calcutta, , ; relieves sir c. bernard at rangoon, ; arrival at mandalay, ; return to rangoon, ; leaves for upper burma, ; leaves ava for sagaing and meets sir george white, ; examination of irrigation system, ; reduction of field force considered, ; arrangements for durbar at mandalay, ; visits bhamo, ; speech at mandalay durbar, commendation by lord dufferin, ; on transferring men, , ; disarmament--letter to lord dufferin, - ; visits thayetmyo and district, ; letter to viceroy on police posts, ; administration of shan states, ; conferred with lord dufferin, , ; visit to minbu, ; visit to popa, ; meeting with general symons at magwè, ; consultations with men of the magwè district, ; transfer of mr. g. g. collins to magwè, ; return to mandalay, ; on sick-leave to nilgiri hills, ; accompanies h.r.h. prince albert victor of wales, to mandalay, ; action against dacoits, ; durbar in the shan states, , ; scheme for reduction of the military police, - ; correspondence with the viceroy, ; appointment of colonel cockran, ; appoints maung ket's nephew ruler over kalè, ; decision not to absorb kalè, ; establishes posts along the chin frontier, ; proclamation to the tashons, ; account of internal administration, - ; visit to lay school, crowther, mr., inspector of police, cumming, colonel, cuppage, mr., wounded while fighting against set kya, , custance, mr., d dabayen, dacoits, mandalay, ye-u, mu, ; sagaing, , ; government, ; measures taken against, dalhousie, lord, daly, c.s.i., c.i.e., lieut.-colonel hugh, agent to the governor-general in central india, ; assisted mr. hildebrand against the shans ( ), , - , - , , daniell, mr., - darrah, mr., assistant commissioner, killed by set kya's men, darwin, dr., , davies, major h. r., davis, captain, principal medical officer of the field force, deccan, disarmament (village regulation), - dufferin, lord, minute by, , ; meeting with sir charles crosthwaite, ; on surrender of limbin prince, ; aids sir charles crosthwaite in obtaining funds for engineering work, ; commendation on sir charles crosthwaite's speech at the durbar, ; with regard to the shan expedition, , ; writes on the action at chinbyit, ; policy as to autonomous states, ; agreement with sir charles crosthwaite's views as to police posts, ; roads through the chin country, ; on the work done in burma, ; left india, dunsford, captain, killed, durbar, mandalay, ; shan states, , ; kengtung, dyson, mr., assistant commissioner at magwè, , e ein-she-min, or war prince, the limbin prince, elias, c.i.e., mr. ney, chief of the commission to survey the frontier and settle disputed points, , ; decisions confirmed, eliott, lieutenant l. e., - , , expenditure and revenue, upper burma, army, military police force, incoming revenue, , eyre, captain, , , f falam, tashon capital, , , ; headquarters of the civil administration, chin hills, faunce, general, ; chin expedition, ; chin lushai, , ; left burma, feudatory states of india, , forbes, lieutenant, forrest, major, wounded, fort stedman, , , , - , , , , , , fort tregear, , fort white, formerly tôklaing, , , foster, lieutenant, killed, fowler, lieutenant (of the beleuchis), , , france, contact on the siamese frontier to be avoided, french, indo-china, ; dominions in tonquin china, ; secret treaty with the king of burma, ; obtained the treaty of chantabun, frere, sir bartle, fryer, mr. f. w. (now sir frederick fryer), commissioner of the central division, , , , fuller, r.a., captain, g gangaw, , , , - gantarawadi, , garfit, major, , gastrell, captain, commandant of the mandalay battalion, gatacre, brigadier-general, gaudama, legend of, gaungu, gleeson, mr., gleig, major, golightly, captain (colonel r. e. golightly, d.s.o.), gordon, major, arrives at salin with reinforcements, gould, mr., h.m. representative at bangkok, gracey, r.e., major, chief engineer, upper burma, - greenaway, major, , gungaw, h haitsi lope tribe, haka, , - hakas, , , hartnoll, mr. h. s., deputy commissioner minbu, , harvey, colonel, ; arrival at papun, hastings, captain, commandant of the military police at myingyan (major-general edward spence hastings, d.s.o.), , , , hawker, lieutenant, - hertz, mr. h. f., , hertz, mr. w. a., hext, r.n., captain john, director of the indian marine (now rear-admiral sir john hext, k.c.i.e.), , heins (karenni chiefs of divisions), hildebrand, mr., ; accepts the surrender of the limbin prince, ; at mandalay, to meet sir charles crosthwaite, , , ; visit to shan states, , ; made civil head in the expedition against the shans, - ; connection with the karennis, - himalaya, eastern, hkam leng, , , ; dacoit leader, - hkun hmon, reinstated at mawkmai, , hkun kyi, hkun nu, ; appointed sawbwa of lawksawk, hkun sa, hkun saing, first shan chief to submit to the british government, , , , , , , ; concessions made to, hkun sang möng chen, , hkun ti, hlaingdet, , hla u, sagaing district dacoit leader, hlawga, - hlegyomaw, , hlutlaw (or cabinet), hmawwaing jungles, ; gang surrenders, hmethaya prince, hodgkinson, mr., of the special commission, lower burma, ; transferred to tennasserim, ; appointed judicial commissioner for upper burma, , holland, commander, of the royal indian marine service, homalin, hopong, , , , hoswata shendoos, hpon kan, , ; kachins, hpunkan, hsahtung, ; myoza of, ; range, hsawnghsup, sawbwa of, hsen, the local headman in laikha territory, hsenmawng, hsenwi, , , - ; queen of, , , ; alelet, ; central, , ; boundaries fixed, revenue, &c., , ; northern, , hsenyawt annexed to kengtung, hsipaw, , - , ; sawbwa of, , , , , hsumhsai, , , , hukawng valley, hyderabad, ; cavalry, ; infantry, , i indaw river, indawgyi lake, indiarubber tax, indin, , , , inle lake, , ilderton, major, ithi tribe, ireland, f.r.g.s., alleyne, irrawaddy, , , , ; valley, , , ; patrol steam launches, ; flotilla company, , irrigation schemes, existing canals taken over by the british, j jackson, r.e., lieutenant h. m., , , jade duties, ; mines, farming of, expedition to, - jahoota or ya hnit, chief of the klanklangs, , , james, r.e., lieutenant, jameson, mr., inspector-general of police in lower burma, , "jhoom" or "taungya," primitive cultivation, jubulpore, jut, village of, k kabaw valley, , , , kachin hills, kachins, , , , - , , , - ; sana, ; hpon kan kachins, ; lweseng, ; ton hon, kado on the salween, timber collected, kalas, or barbarians, kala thapa sing, gurkha chief, kalè, sawbwa of, , , , ; state, , , kalemyo, , , , kalewa, , , , , kamaing, , kambalè, , , kan, - , , , kang hung, largest trans-salween state, , kanglu, kangyi, kanhows, , , , , kani, , kanlè, kanpetlet, , kansi hla, kansi naung, rulers in the jade-mine hills, , kantha, karenni, eastern, , ; western, ; states, , , , ; chiefs, , ; country, description of, karennis, ; expedition against the, colonel sartorius and mr. scott, - karens, christian, baptist mission to, ; as special constables, ; scheme to enlist, , , karwan, katha, , , , , , kaukon, kaungi, residence of the möngpai sawbwa, kaw ferry, kawlin, kawpiti, keary, major d.s., kehsi mansi, , , - kemmedine, kengcheng, keng hkam, , kengtawng, , , , , ; description of, by mr. scott, kengtung, , , , - , , , ; description of the city of, , ; sawbwa, submits, - kennedy, major, , khampat, khuds, kidderpore, kingston, major, kin le gyi, maid-of-honour to supayalat, kin möngs, headman, kinwan mingyi, minister of state, klanklangs submission of, knox, captain, kokang, kôkkozu, koset, ko-up, kubo valley, kugyo, , kukis tribe, kun aw (pa-ôk-chok of möngyai), kun hmon, kun kyi, sawbwa of möngnai, , , , kunlon ferry, , kun meik, kun noi, kunze, kyabin myoôk, kyadet, , kyannyat, kyatsakan, kyaukhnyat, , kyaukpyu, kyauksè, , , , , , , kyaw, , , kyawgaung, kwungli, kyaw zaw (lawksawk chief) gang broken up, kyem meung, heir-apparent of kengtung, kyungyaung, l lahore, laikha, , , , ; sawbwa of, lakun, tribe, lanchein, lansdowne, marquis of, made viceroy, laos, lashio, , , late tribe, lataung tribe, laungshe, lawksawk, , , - , legaing, legya queen, one of king mindon's wives, lepei tribe, , , letha range, leveson, mr. h. g. a., of the india civil service and burman commission, limbin confederacy, , - , limbin prince, , , , - lindaung, lockhart, general sir william, ; work in eastern division, ; work among dacoits, loikaw, - loilong, lon pein (chinaman farmer of jade-mine taxes), - low, g.c.b. brigadier-general sir robert cunlilfe, , , , , lugalegzi arrested, lushai country, chin-, - lweseng, , , , m macdonald, captain, , macdonnell, mr. a. p. (now lord macdonnell, p.c., g.c.s.i.), home secretary to the government of india--acted for sir charles crosthwaite when on sick-leave, macgregor, colonel, mackenzie, k.c.s.i., sir alex., lieut-governor, bengal, macnabb, lieutenant d. j. c. (now major macnabb, commissioner of the sagaing division), , , , macpherson, lieut.-general sir herbert, transferred to burma, death of, magwè, , , , , ; trouble in district of, - maingmawgyi, mainwaring, colonel, makau tribe, maklang, famous banyan-tree mai hung kan at, malin, mandalay, , , , , , , , , , , , - , , - ; and lashio railway, , , ; and shwèbo canal, _mandat_, or temporary hall, manders, surgeon, manglön, ; chief's submission to british government, manhé, manipur, manpun, , mansi, route for traders, , , , manton, marip tribe, maung an taw ni, township officer of legaing, maung ba, maung gyi, maung kala, dacoit leader, death of, maung kala, magistrate in british service, , ; assassinated, maung kan, thi, maung ket, sawbwa of kalè, maung kin, maung lat, maung nwa, a kalè official, maung ohn, maung po min, the interpreter, maung po o, maung sa, maung se, maung swè, story of, maung tha dun, maung tha gyi, - maung tok san, maung ya baw, mawkmai, trade relations between moulmein and, , , ; sawbwa of, claims möng pu, - , ; restored to möng mau and mehsakun, may, colonel, , led the troops against set kya, a pretender, maymyo (pinulwin) , mehawnghsawn, mehsakun, , , meiktila, , , mekong, river, , , , , menam, river, mèpai chaung, mewettaung range, milne, mrs. leslie, extract from "shans at home," minbu, , , , , , , , , , , , mindôn, king of upper burma, reign, character, taxation, &c., , , , , , ; wife of (legya), minhla, , , , , , minlèdaung tribe, min o, minogue, lieutenant, mintainbin, min yaung, , mobingyis tribe, mobye, mocatta, lieutenant, mogaung, , , ; expedition to, - mogok, capital of ruby mines, , - , mohlaing, , mohnyin, , molè river (tributary of irrawaddy), , , molo, môn, valley of, , möng hang, , möng hsat, , möng hsu, möng hta, , möngkung, , ; myozas of, - möng kyawt, , möng leng, mönglon, , möng löng, möngmau, , möngmit, shan states, , , - möngnai, town of, , , , , ; sawbwa, , , , , - , ; decorated, möngnawng sawbwa, ; myoza, ; town, ; state, möngpai sawbwa accepts british suzerainty, , , , möngpan, - , möngpawn, - ; sawbwa, , möngping, möngpu, appropriated by kengtung, möngsang, möngsit (son-in-law of möngpawn), ; myoza, möng tang, möngtung, , , , möngyai, , - , monywa, , moring, ltd., alexander, morison, c.e.i., mr. wm. thomson, of the indian civil service, bombay presidency, ; joined lieutenant plumer, - moulmein, , , , , mozo, mu river, ; valley line, mueng fai, siamese district of, mwebingyi, chief of, mwelpi, myat hmon, , myauk-kodaung, myélat (central division, shan states), , - ; submission of, , , myinmu, myingun prince, , , myingyan, , , , , , , , , , , myinzaing prince, , , myitkyina railway, myitson, myittha river, , myoôk, township officers and members of subordinate civil service, myotha, myothit, , myo-thugyi town mayor of pakokku, ; mother of, visited by sir charles crosthwaite, myowun, city governor of mandalay, n naga cachar, nagpur, nam pilu river, nam hkok myoza, namhsan, , namkham, route for traders, , nam nyim river, nam pang river, nam teng valley, namthein river (affluent of uyu), nang mya, niece of mawkmai chief, né noi, nang u, marriages, nankathe river, ; tribe, trans-, nanpapa, , nanti, napawng river, natmauk, natogyi, naungmawn (brother of möngpawn), naw hpa, sawbwa of hsenwi, , , ; submits to british government, , , , , naw möng, son of naw hpa, , , ; submits to british government, , , , , , - nawng wawn myoza, naylor, c.s.i., c.i.e., mr. henry todd, of the indian civil service, ; as financial commissioner of burma, ; sent to take charge of magwè district, , negrais, cape, neinsin, né noi, the kolan or nine-fathom sawbwa, né nwe, nga aw, nga kaing, nga kè, one of ya nyun's men, , nga kin, nga kway, ngapè, , nga pyo, ngathaingyaung, ngwite tribe, nilgiri hills, ningyan, afterwards called pyinmana, nugent, lieutenant commanding at möngmit, killed, nurtama, nyaungbintha, nyaungywe or yawnghwè, nwi-tes tribe, o o'donnell, lieutenant (colonel hugh o'donnell, d.s.o.), bhamo and mogaung affairs, , , , , ; report by, - , ogle, mr. (india survey department), Ôktama, story of, - , ; methods of government, defence, &c., - ; capture of, opium regulations, , ; acts, , ; buddha's teaching against, p padein, pagan, , , , , , , , , ; min, ; prince, pagyi, , , , pakangyi, pakan prince, pakokku, , , , , - , , , palaungs (northern shan tribe), , , palmer, r.e., lieutenant, panga sawbwa, panglon, panlaung, valley of the, panthays, , ; methods of travelling, , pa-ôk-chok, , , , , papun, , pathans, pauk, , , paw kwe, payagon, pazaung, pegu, annexation of, ; yomas, , ; division, peile, captain s. c. f. (later lieut.-colonel), executive commissariat officer, ; made director of supply to outposts of military police, ; "history of burma military police," pè möng mountains, phayas, local rulers, phayre, colonel sir arthur p., , ; mr. robert, , ; death of, philippine commission, phillips, lieutenant, pin township, pink, captain francis j. (colonel f. j. pink, c.b., c.m.g., d.s.o.), plumer, lieutenant, accompanied mr. w. t. morison against maung tha gyi, , pobye, karenni chief, , , po hkine, poh myah, poi tribes, police force, gradual creation of efficient, - ; military, , ; posts and patrols, military replaced by police, - ; work of indian, pon chaung, pondaung range, , , pondicherry, pongyis, - , , ; monks and teachers, , po o, popa mountain district, , ; country, , porter, mr., deputy commissioner, pyinmana, po saung, po saw, - prendergast, general sir harry, , , prome, , public works service grants, , pu chang se banished (first husband of nang mya), pulley, captain, punjab, ; northern, punjabis, , pwehla, , pyindeik pass, pyinmana, , , , pyinulwin, , pyinyaung, q quesne, captain le (army medical corps), awarded victoria cross, r raikes, captain (afterwards major), deputy commissioner, chindwin, ; system to overthrow dacoits, , ; meeting with tashon chiefs, ; chin-lushai campaign, , ; illness of, railways, tengyneh, ; toungoo-mandalay, mandalay-lashio, ; mu valley line, &c., rainey, lieutenant r. m. (now colonel rainey-robinson), commandant of the levy (chin frontier camp), , rajputs, rangoon, , , , , , , , , , , , , reduction of field force, - revenue, richards, lieutenant, richards, mr., assisted sir charles bernard, superintending engineer of public works department, rimmer, mr., commander in the irrawaddy flotilla service, , ripon, lord, roads and communications in burma, - , , roberts, sir frederick, sanctions reinforcements, , ; search for dacoits, ross, mr. d., , , , , , ruby mines, , , ; concession to, ; military police at, ; british occupation of, ; operations in, rumai, rundall, captain f. m., - s sadaw, safdar ali, a mussulman (native of india), interpreter in bhamo and mogaung, saga, a dacoit leader, , , , sagadaung, sagaing, , , , , , , , sagu, sagyilains, , - sagyun, sakangyi, salin, , , , salween, hill tracts, ; river, , , , , , - ; trans-, , , , , , - ; cis-, , , , - samôn, valley of, sana, sang aw, , sang hai (usurper hsenwi), san ton hon, , , - , , , , , - , sartorius, c.b., colonel george conrad, of the beleuchi regiment, , , sassum tribe, sawadi, sawbwas, superior chiefs, shan states, office of, sons of, - , sawlapaw, chief of eastern karenni, , , , , , - sawlapawgyi, sawlawi, the kya maung, or heir-apparent of sawlapaw, ; appointed chief of karenni, order of his appointment, sawlôn (capital of eastern karenni), ; occupation of, ; description of, saw möng, sawbwa of yawnghwè, , , saw Ôn, sawbwa of yawnghwè, , , , , , saw waing, ex-sawbwa of lawksawk, , saw yan naing, , , - scott, mr. j. g. (sir j. george scott, k.c.i.e.), ; expedition against the shans, - ; appointed to assist mr. a. h. hildebrand, , , , ; expedition to trans-salween states, - segrave, mr., superintendent of police, set kya, a pretender, attacked by colonel may, , ; captured by the lawksawk chief, shan hills, , ; plateau or thonze, , , ; race, or tai branch, , shan states, difficulties in dealing with, , ; durbar, , , - ; expedition against, - ; at peace and policy, - shans, chinese, ; effort to win confidence of, , ; sawbwas, ; at home, quoted, shaw, mr., accompanied major greenaway, shawy, yoe (_nom de plume_ of mr. j. g. scott), sherriff, mr., representative of rangoon chamber of commerce, shitywagyaung, shonshé, shwèbo, , , shwè gya, - , shwègyin, shwègyobyu, prince of lower chindwin, , , , , shwèkinyo prince, shwèli, lower, shwè yan (guerilla leader), invades ava and kyauksè districts, , ; death of, siam, siamese, - ; claim to shan country, - ; claim to karenni, - ; invasion of kengtung, - ; methods of marking villagers, sibsong panna (twelve provinces), sidoktaya, sihaung, , sikaw, simla, embassy to, ; sir george white's despatch from, simpson, sir benjamin, k.c.i.e., surgeon-general, sinbo, , , sinbyugyun, , singu, , sinkan, , , , sipein, sittang river, ; valley, , si-u, , siyins, , , , , , ; submission of the, , skene, colonel, , sladen, colonel (sir e. b. sladen), , smeaton, mr. (the late donald mackenzie smeaton, c.s.i., m.p.), made chief secretary, ; commissioner of central division, account of cruelty of dacoits in pagyi country, , sokte tribe, , , sonpek, tashon chief, , "soul of a people" quoted, stanton, d.s.o., lieutenant, of the intelligence department, stedman, colonel e. (now sir edward stedman, g.c.b., k.c.i.e.), , , ; appointed inspector-general of police in upper burma, constitution and training of military police, supplies, &c., - , ; leader of expedition to open trade routes through shan states, - ; fort (named after colonel stedman), , , , - stewart, lieutenant john, su gaung, sumput, supayalat, queen, , sylet hills, symes, mr. e. (the late sir e. symes), , symons, colonel w. penn, expedition against maung tha gyi, - ; sent to settle disturbances in sagaing, ; plan to deport those aiding dacoits, ; succeeds the command in nyingyan and magwè, - ; chin-lushai campaign report, ; thetta report, ; klanglangs report, , swetenham, major, , , szechuen, , t tabayin, tabet, taeping river, tributary of the irrawaddy, tai, siamese branch of indo-chinese, , taiktaga san driven out of mehawnghsawn, taingda, ; mingyi, tamhpak, ta möngs (shan headmen), tao, , tapaw, ta sanglè, ferry on the salween, tashons (nicknamed baungshès by the burmans), submission of, , , , , , taungbaw, , taungdwingyi, , , , , - taunggyo, taunglet, southern portion of hsenwi, taungtek, tahwepon, ferry on the salween, tawngpeng, , - , tawphaya, chief minister of kengtung, tawyan tribe, temple, sir richard, tengyueh, thabeikkyin, thade's gang, thama sawbwa, , tharrawaddy, , , , thathanabaing, pongyi, , thayetmyo, , , , , , , , thebaw, king, rule, character, and submission, , , , , - , theinni (hsenwi), , thetta, , , thibet, thonze, or hsumhsai, thugyis (village headmen), , tohon range, tokgyi, tôklaing, tongking, tonnochy, captain, touche, mr. j. d. la (sir james la touche), ; commissioner of southern division, toungoo, , , ; and mandalay railway, , tregear, brigadier-general (major-general sir vincent william tregear, k.c.b.), , triscott, r.a., c.b., d.s.o., colonel charles prideaux, commander of the force in the expedition to the jade mines, - tuck, mr. h. n., tucker, mr. henry st. george, commissioner of eastern division, , ; meets sir charles crosthwaite, , tungzang, twet, ga lu (formerly a monk, a native of kentawng), ; leader against the limbin confederacy, , , , , ; driven out of kentawng, surrender and death, - twingé, twomey, mr., , , u u po (cadet of hsenwi house), uyu river, v victoria, queen-empress, , - , , , , , victoria, mount, , village regulations, w wa states, wales, their r.h. the prince and princess of, ; h.r.h. prince albert victor of, wallace, lieutenant, , wanyin myoza, waranaung, warry, mr., , - , washa, welaung, , , welôn, wetherell, mr., killed, whenohs tribe, white, major-general sir george, describes military difficulties, ; asks for reinforcements, ; takes command, ; upper burma subjugated, ; consultation with sir c. crosthwaite, ; question of helping hsipaw, ; meets sir c. crosthwaite, ; on communications, ; as administrator, ; expedition against dacoits in sagaing district, , ; expedition into shan states, , ; preparations against maung tha gyi, ; trouble expected with the wuntho sawbwa, - ; despatch on casualties in the army, ; equips the force for mogaung expedition, ; consultation with sir c. crosthwaite as to protection against chins, ; operations against chins, - white, mr. herbert thirkell (now sir h. t. white, k.c.s.i., late lieut.-governor of burma), ; sent with colonel stedman to open roads through hsumhsai, , ; deputation to hsumhsai, willcocks, captain (now lieut.-general sir james willcocks, k.c.m.g., c.b., d.s.o.) intelligence officer, williams, r.a., lieutenant, staff officer to captain triscott, r.a., wilson, r.n., captain, port officer at rangoon, wolseley, c.b., brigadier-general george (afterwards general sir george wolseley, c.b.), - wun, governor of kani, murdered, wundwin, , wunkadaw, ruler of pakokku, and her son, the _myo-thugyi_, , wuntho sawbwo (shan chief), , - , y yabon, ya hnit (chief of the klanklangs), , yahows, yamèthin, , , yangtze, upper, ya nyun, dacoit leader, , ; account of his doings, - ; surrenders, yan sin, dacoit leader, yaw country, , , , , ; river and valley, , yawdwin, , , yawlu, yaw mingyi, yawnghwè or burmese nyaungywe, , , , - ; sawbwa decorated, ; assisted colonel symons, yénangyaung, , , , , yendus, , , yen shwèbo, ye-u, , yokwa tribe, , , , - yoma, arakan-, ; gangs, pegu-, , , yomas, , , yunnan, , , , , , , ywama, , ; klanklang ywama, ; tashon, , ywathit, z zédi, zeittaung, zimme (chiengmai), the gresham press, unwin brothers, limited woking and london. * * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious errors of punctuation and diacritics were corrected. hyphen removed: hnaw[-]waing (index entry), water[-]way (p. ). p. : "yéuangyaung" changed to "yénangyaung". p. : "beginnng" changed to "beginning" (beginning to demand attention). pp. (twice), : "assistant comissioner" changed to "assistant commissioner". p. : "measurer" changed to "measures" (stern measures of repression). p. : "pacticable" changed to "practicable" (so far as was practicable). p. : "insigificant" changed to "insignificant" (with some insignificant exceptions). p. : "nothern" changed to "northern" (northern shan states). p. : "sang ton hon" changed to "san ton hon". p. : "arrangments" changed to "arrangements" (made arrangements for its progress). p. : "occount" changed to "account" (on account of sunday). p. : "faily" changed to "fairly" (each of these posts were fairly large). p. : "equiqment" changed to "equipment" (much care was given to the composition and equipment). p. : "peacable" changed to "peaceable" (our peaceable intentions). p. : "enlightend" changed to "enlightened" (the example of more enlightened princes). pp. (twice), : "sagyilaings" changed to "sagyilains". p. (fn): "rifle" changed to "rifles". p. , index entry: "mintèdaung" changed to "minlèdaung". p. , index entry for nang mya: "cheif" changed to "chief". an english girl's first impressions of burmah. by beth ellis. "'tis true 'tis strange, but truth is always strange; stranger sometimes than fiction." wigan: r. platt, , wallgate. london: simpkin, marshall, hamilton, kent & co., ltd. . [illustration: eastward ho! passing through the suez canal] dedicated to t. e. illustrations. eastward ho! _frontispiece_ to face page elephant moving timber burmese bullock cart native bazaar at remyo a hpoongyi kyaung contents. _chapter_ _page_ i. the voyage ii. rangoon iii. the road to mandalay iv. the journey to the hills v. an up-country station vi. the european inhabitants vii. the burmese viii. entertaining ix. adventures x. beasts and reptiles xi. sport xii. the return introduction. _towards the close of my visit to burmah i was dining one night at a friend's house in rangoon, when my neighbour, a noted member of the i. c. s. suddenly turned to me and asked me if it was my intention to write a book. at my prompt reply in the negative he seemed astonished, and asked, what then did i intend to do with my life? i had never looked at the matter in that light before, and felt depressed. it has always been my ambition to do at rome as the romans do, and if, as my questioner clearly intimated, it was the custom for every casual visitor to the land of pagodas either to write a book or to "do something with his life," my duty seemed clear. i had no desire at all to undertake either of the tasks, but as there was apparently no third course open to me, i decided to choose the safer of the two, and write a book. so far so good, but what to write about? i have considered the merits of innumerable subjects, from the exploits of the old greek heroes to green carnations, but each appears to have been appropriated by some earlier author. the only subject which, so far as i can discover, has never hitherto formed the theme of song or story, is myself, and as that is a subject about which i ought to know more than most folks and which has always appeared to me to be intensely interesting, i have adopted it as the theme of this, my first plunge into literature._ [illustration: decoration] chapter i. the voyage. "who spoke of things beyond my knowledge and showed me many things i had never seen before." "for to admire, and for to see, and for to behold the world so wide."--(rudyard kipling.) "i am not naturally a coward, except when i am afraid; at other times i am as brave as a lion." it is an unfortunate state of existence, but such it is. from my babyhood i have been known to my friends and relations as one who might be confidently expected to behave in a most terror-stricken manner on all occasions when no real danger threatened; but for myself, i have always felt convinced that should i ever be brought face to face with real danger, i should behave with a coolness and courage calculated to win the unbounded admiration of all beholders. i say advisedly "of all beholders," because, possibly, were no witnesses present, i might not feel disposed to show so resolute a front to the danger! for example, in the case of a shipwreck, i can picture myself presenting my life-belt to any one in distress, in the most self-sacrificing manner, with the neatest little speech, quite worthy of "sir philip sidney" himself, and from some commanding post of vantage in the rigging, haranguing the terrified passengers on the advisability of keeping their heads. i feel sure that no power on earth would prevent me from diving into the raging sea to rescue inexpert swimmers from a watery death, were such an opportunity to present itself to me. and yet, if i am taken out of my depth, during a morning bathe, i am paralysed with fear. though a brave and expert swimmer in shallow water, no sooner do i find myself out of reach of dry land, than all my powers forsake me. i swim with short, irregular, and utterly ineffective strokes, i pant, gasp and struggle, and unless promptly rescued, i sink. or again, i can in imagination picture myself snatching little children from under the hoofs of maddened horses, or with a plunge at the reins, stopping them in the full force of their desperate career. but in reality i have never yet had sufficient courage to enter into close intimacy with any horse, maddened or otherwise. once, when i wished to ingratiate myself in the eyes of the owner, i did venture to pat a horse gingerly on the neck, well out of reach of mouth or heels, but the animal shied away promptly, and i have never repeated the experiment. twice indeed, when a small girl, i was induced to mount to the saddle, and then my expectations were not disappointed. real danger stared me in the face, and i was brave. when the horse, for some unaccountable reason, pricked its ears, tossed its head, and began to trot, i did not scream, i did not call for help, i merely grasped the pummel with one hand, the saddle with the other, shut my eyes and waited for the end. the end was sudden and somewhat painful. but in this matter-of-fact little england of ours there are few opportunities, outside the yellow backed novel, of meeting with real adventures. picture then my delight when i received an invitation to spend the winter in burmah. i knew where burmah was; that it was bounded by siam, china, and tibet; anything was possible in a country with such surroundings. i was charmed to go. accordingly, i bought a great many unnecessary things, as is ever the custom with inexperienced travellers, and started from liverpool early in november, my mind filled with dreams of tiger shooting, cobra killing, dacoit hunting, and other venturesome deeds. after i had recovered from the effects of homesickness, brought on by my first venture into the unknown world, and sea sickness brought on by the bay of biscay, i found the ship a world of hitherto undreamt of delights. i suppose the voyage was much the same as all other voyages, but to me, naturally, it was full of enjoyments, wonders, and new experiences. everything was delightful, including the "amusement committee" and "baggage days"; even coaling, i think, for the first five minutes was full of interest. i have since been told that my fellow passengers were not uncommon types, but to me they appeared the most wonderful and interesting beings who ever lived in this work-a-day world. certainly, none could have been kinder to a lone, lorn female than were they. there were, of course, on board several other passengers making their first voyage, young indian civilians much advised and patronised by seniors of two years standing, but these were of interest only as partners in games and dances. it was in the real seasoned article, the self-satisfied, and immensely kind-hearted anglo-indian, in whom i found my real interest. and they were all very good to me. finding me young, ignorant, and eager for information, they undertook my education, and taught me many things which i did not know before, shedding new light on all subjects, from "the only way to eat a banana," to the object of creation. i learned that india was created that the indian civilian might dwell therein; the rest of mankind was created in order to admire the indian civilian. something of this sort i had already heard from my brother-in-law, a member of that service, but one does not pay much attention to what brothers-in-law say. burmah, i discovered, is a land where teak grows, in order that the "bombay burman" may go there and collect it. i have no very clear idea as to what this "bombay burman" may be, but suppose him to be a member of a society of men who uphold the principles of a late prime minister; not political, but woodcraft. there are other dwellers in india and burmah; indeed, one man proved to me that the welfare of the british constitution was solely dependent upon the efficient condition of the burmese police force, of which he was an important member, but his arguments seemed to me a trifle involved. on the whole, the other inhabitants of these countries seem to be of little use or importance, unless perhaps it be to amuse and entertain the indian civilian and the "bombay burman" in his leisure hours. further, i was instructed that ceylon is a country in which dwell the best (and the noisiest!) fellows in the world. they have innumerable horse races, eat prawn curry, are prodigiously hospitable, and in odd hours grow tea. my fellow passengers also filled my eager mind with stories of wonderful adventure. burmah, apparently, is crowded with tigers and wild elephants, of a size and ferocity which filled me with fear. but as every man on board appeared to have slain tigers and captured elephants innumerable, and that under the most surprisingly dangerous circumstances, i felt i should be well protected. i was also taught how to overcome a wild beast, should i chance to meet with one when weaponless. a bear should cause but little anxiety; it is only necessary to hit him violently over the nose; he will then stop and cry, and his victim will escape. but beware! one man was so much amused at the bear's strange cry that he laughed and forgot to run away. the bear killed him. when chased by an elephant the pursued should, i believe, climb up a clump of feathery bamboos, where the beast cannot reach him. when i saw a clump of feathery bamboos i rather wondered how anyone could climb it; but all things are possible to one pursued. a tiger presents greater difficulties. if he doesn't run away when you wave your arms and shout, you should poke your stick through his eye into his brain, or get on his back, out of reach of his claws, and throttle him. if that fails, pretend to be dead; if that even fails, you must die. all this information i accepted gratefully and stored in my memory for use when opportunity should arise. in the meantime i continued to enjoy my voyage, and turned all my energies to mastering the science of board-ship games. the one game which i never could play was "bull." to me it seemed the most foolish game ever invented. it is played by means of six flat pads, about two inches in diameter, and a large sloping black board, divided by thick white lines into twelve squares. ten of these squares are marked with numbers, the remaining two with "bs." the object of the player is to throw the pads on to the centre of the squares, avoiding the lines, which count nothing, and above all avoiding the "bs," which count "minus ten." at the end of each turn the total of the numbers scored is reckoned, and the highest score wins. in the "bull" tournament i was drawn to play with a mr. rod, whom i did not know, but who enjoyed the reputation of being an excellent player, and very keen to win. one morning i was practising, and playing, if possible, worse than usual, when i noticed a melancholy-looking man, seated on a camp stool, watching my performance. i was struck by his ever increasing sadness of expression, and enquired his name. he was mr. rod. in the tournament my score was minus twenty; i did not see him any more during the voyage! i learned that one or two people had seen a worse "bull" player than myself. her first three throws went overboard, the fourth went down an air funnel, and the fifth upset an ink-stand, showering the contents over an innocent spectator of the game. she never attempted to play "bull" again; it had made her so unpopular. great indeed are the attractions of board-ship life on a first voyage. the congenial companionship, the exhilarating outdoor life, the constant succession of games, gaieties, and amusements, the novelty of every thing, all tend to shed a halo over what, to the seasoned traveller, is merely a period of utter boredom, to be dragged through with as little ennui as possible. but the chief charm to me lay in the glimpse, though only distant, of new lands, lands which had hitherto been merely geographical or historical names, but which now acquired a new reality and interest. the first few days we saw little of the land, but after the bay was passed, our course lay more inland, and we saw the coast of spain and portugal, beautiful in the sunlight, red rocks and green slopes rising up from a sea of deepest blue. then appeared on the horizon a vague shadowy cloud, which we learned was africa. the first glimpse of a new continent, and a continent fraught with such endless possibilities is impressive; and as we drew nearer, and gazed on that dark range of wild, bare hills, i sympathised thoroughly with a wee fellow-passenger who was discovered, full of mingled hope and terror, looking eagerly at the dreary waste of land in search of lions! soon again we forgot all else, when, shaping our course round the south of spain, gibraltar broke upon our view. what a wonder it is! that great rugged rock, shaped on the northwest like a crouching lion, rising dark, cold and solitary, amid the alien lands around it. unmoved by the raging seas beneath, it stands calm and defiant, a fit emblem of the nation to which it belongs. surely no englishman can behold gibraltar without feeling proud of his nationality. we passed close to the north of corsica, where the hills were covered with snow, though it was still early winter. a dreary inhospitable looking country is this: a fit birthplace for that iron-heart the first napoleon. we passed through the straits of messina by full moonlight, and never have i beheld a scene of more fairylike beauty. the sicilian coast seemed (for all was vague and shadowy) to rise in gentle slopes from the dark water, the land looked thickly wooded and well cultivated, and here and there appeared the little white towns, nestling among trees and vineyards, or perched beneath sheltering rocks, a peaceful and beautiful paradise. on the italian coast the scenery was a complete contrast, the high, fierce hills stood up black and frowning against the clear sky, the country was wild, dreary and desolate. this mingling of peaceful homelike landscape, and weird rugged scenery, with the tender romance of the moon shining on the still dark water, reminded me, somehow, of wagner's music; nothing else can so fitly represent the scene. our course did not carry us very near to crete, but we saw mount ida rising beautiful and snow-crowned in the centre of a tumultuous land. what scorn and pity this fair mother ida must feel for the miserable dwellers at her feet! we stopped at port said for four hours. during the first two hours i was charmed with the place; it seemed just like a big exhibition, everything was so strange and unreal. the donkeys were delightful, the turkish traders so amusing, and shopping, when one has to bargain twenty minutes over every article, and then toss up about the price, is certainly a new experience. during the third hour i found that the heat, dust, and endless noise and chatter were far from unreal. i had bought every conceivable thing that i could not possibly want, and paid three times the proper price for it. the arabs ceased to be amusing; i was bored to tears. during the fourth hour i grew to hate the place and its inhabitants with a deadly hatred, and could have kissed the ship in my delight at returning to her, had she not been covered with coal dust. my first experience of the natives of port said was a long brown arm coming through my porthole, feeling about for whatsoever valuable it might find; a hearty smack with a hair brush caused it to retire abruptly. the last i saw of them was a pompous trader thrown overboard with all his wares, because he would not leave the ship when ordered. his companions in their boat, i noticed, busily rescued the wares, but seemed quite indifferent to the safety of the poor owner, whom they left to struggle to shore as best he could. it is said that one would meet everyone sometime at port said if one waited long enough; i would rather forego the meeting. the canal, i believe, is generally regarded as an unmitigated nuisance, and indeed, the slow progress and constant stoppages make the passage through it a little wearisome, but on a first voyage its shores are most interesting. on one side are several inland seas, and small collections of the most wretched and impossible looking habitations that human beings ever inhabited, with an occasional oasis of tall green palm trees. from the east bank the desert stretches away apparently into infinity. i was disappointed in the desert, though i hardly know what i expected; i suppose the very emptiness and immensity detract from its impressiveness; the human eye and mind cannot grasp them. we saw several mirages and felt quite pleased with ourselves, though unconvinced that they were not really oases in the desert; they were so very distinct. some of the glimpses of native life on the banks were very amusing. at one spot we met a camel, smiling the foolish irritating smile which is a camel's characteristic, speeding away at an inelegant trot, and distantly pursued by the owner and his friends; alas! we could not see the end of the race. camels, i was told, are unwearying beasts, so perhaps, like "charley's aunt" this one is still running. we were greatly excited by one incident. a dutch steamer passed us, and we noticed on the deck a very pretty girl, evidently very much admired by all the crew, and especially by one tall fine looking fellow who seemed on very good terms with her. shortly after the boat had passed, a small steam launch hove into sight, on board of which were several men, mostly turkish officials. as they passed, the skipper of the launch shouted various questions, and we gathered that "mademoiselle" had run away and they were in pursuit. whether it was an elopement or merely an escape from justice we never learned, but most of us adopted the former view, and hoped that the guilty steamer would be out of the canal and safe from pursuit, before the fussy little launch overtook it. we had a gorgeous sunset that night in the canal. the sky, every conceivable shade of yellow, violet and crimson, was reflected in the still waters of the canal and inland seas. the tall palm trees rose darkest green against the brilliant sky, while the sand of the desert glowed golden and salmon pink, fading in the distance to the palest green; and all the colours were softened by a shadowy blue haze. i have never seen more wonderful colouring. after passing aden we steamed uninterruptedly for ten days with but occasional glimpses of land; we had perfect weather, and the beauty of everything was almost overpowering. i know not which hour of the day was the most exquisite: the early morning, with the sun rising, a ball of fire, out of the sea, making golden paths across the water, and the distant land blushing rosy red, as it peered through the hazy blue curtains which o'erhung it; or the full noonday, with the deep blue sky and the deep blue sea fading together in a pale blue mist, till the world seems changed to a blue ball, and we the only living things within it; or the evening, when the western sky turned crimson and violet, and the sun, looking strangely oval, went down into the sea behind a transparent green haze, while in the east the crescent moon sailed silver in the blue-black sky; or the night, when one lay alone on the upper deck, fanned by the soft night breeze, soothed by the monotonous swish of the water, looking into the unmeasured heights of the star-bespangled heavens or the impenetrable depths of the waters beneath, where "there is neither speech nor language: but their voices are heard among them," and the glory of god is shown forth night and day. we had a fancy dress ball in the red sea: i suppose this is usual. ours was noted for the number of japanese present. at least, i believe they were intended to represent japanese (the costumes had been bought at port said as such), but as they were dressed chiefly in european evening dress, partially covered by a flimsy japanese dressing-gown, their appearance was unique. i suffered a great deal on that occasion. i was a peasant, and as is the custom of fancy dress peasants all the world over, i wore my hair in a long plait down my back. when my first partner approached i looked up at him in the usual polite and pleasing manner; he then seized my waist, plait included, in a firm grip and we danced off together, i with my head forcibly fixed at an angle such as is usually adopted by pictured good choir boys or "souls awakening." i endured it for a short time; but then i began to get a stiff neck, and was obliged at last to ask my partner not to pull my hair. alas! he was a sensitively shy youth, and was so embarrassed at my request that i felt i had committed an unpardonable fault. but i did not learn by experience: the same thing occurred with all my partners, and as, after the first unfortunate attempt i did not like to complain again, the agonies i suffered from the crick in my neck next day can better be imagined than described. we stayed two days in ceylon, but all attempts to describe this "garden of eden" are futile. no one, who has not seen it, can hope to realise the wonderful colouring of the place; the red roads, the red and white houses, deep blue sky, and deep blue lakes; the brilliant dresses of the natives, the large flaming red and blue flowers, the wonderful green of the palms and other tropical plants, and above all, the beauty of that long line of open coast, the great breakers glittering with a thousand opal tints in the sunlight, and beyond them the dark blue ocean, delicately flecked with shimmering white spray, stretching away into the shadowy distance, "farther than sight can follow, farther than soul can reach." we drove through the cinnamon gardens, where the still air was heavy with the delicious scent, and out to mount lavinia, where, of course, we ate prawn curry. honestly, i must confess that never before have i tasted anything so truly horrible; but i pretended to like it immensely. i suppose everybody does the same when first introduced to this celebrated dish: it is what might be called "an accrued taste." i don't think the author of "from greenland's icy mountains" can ever have touched at ceylon, or how could he have declared that "man is vile"? the singalese are the most beautiful people i have ever beheld, while the european inhabitants are surely the most hospitable and delightful in the world. perhaps, when the poet wrote those lines, he had the turkish traders in his mind: they certainly are vile. one of them sold me a sixpenny bracelet for ten shillings. they are exactly like the spider of noted memory; they stand at the doors of their fascinating, dark, poky little shops, persuading innocent passers by to enter, "only to look round;" but if the poor victim once venture to "walk into their parlour," he will be indeed clever if he escape without emptying his purse. "rickshaws" are charming; i spent every spare minute riding about in one. it is almost as adventurous and exciting as driving in a marseilles fiacre, and far more comfortable. i feared i had met with an adventure one day, for my "puller" (i don't know what else to call him) ran away with me, and stopping in a lonely road, began to assure me that i was a "handsome lady." i wondered what would happen next, but soon discovered that he only wanted "backsheesh," and assuming my very sternest demeanour i repeated "don't bus" ("bus" to stop, being the only word of the language i could remember) several times, and at last induced him to take me back to my companions. what a valuable thing is presence of mind on such an occasion! it was shortly after leaving ceylon that our first real adventure befell us. we had all retired early to bed, being weary with the long day on shore; the clatter of tongues and tramp of feet on deck had ceased, and all was silent save for the throbbing of the engines, and the quiet movements of the men on watch. suddenly i was awakened by a hurried murmur of voices in the next cabin, then an electric bell rang and i was terrified to hear the cry: "fire! fire!" i sprang up, flung on a cloak, and rushed out into the "alley way," which speedily became the scene of the wildest confusion. all the cabin doors opened, and the occupants hurried confusedly out, arrayed in the first garments that came to hand, asking eager questions, and giving wild explanations. brave men, anxious to be of use, snatched children from their mothers' arms, while the distracted mothers, having but a vague notion as to what was happening, supposed the boat to have been boarded by pirates or kidnappers, and fought fiercely to regain possession of their infants. those who prided themselves on their presence of mind, ran up and down with small water bottles to fling on the flames, or tried to organise a bucket line. others endeavoured to tie as many life-belts as possible to themselves and their friends, fastening them to any part of their persons most easily convenient. one matter-of-fact old lady began to collect cloaks, biscuits, and valuables from her trunk, preparatory to being cast ashore on a desert island, while another proceeded to wrap herself from head to foot in blankets, having heard that these offer a good resistance to the spread of the flames. some were too terrified to do aught but scream, but the majority were full of self-sacrifice and bravery, and fell over, and interfered with one another woefully, in their endeavour to be of assistance to whomsoever might require their services. meanwhile the original causes of the alarm--two girls who shared the cabin next to mine--did not for an instant cease their efforts. one, with a fortitude worthy of casabianca himself, stood firmly with a finger pressed upon the button of the electric bell, determined to die rather than leave her post, while the other fought her way wildly up the passage, turning a deaf ear to all questions, and merely continuing to reiterate her cry of: "fire! steward! fire!" at length (i suppose, in reality, in about three minutes after the first alarm, but it seemed a far longer time) a sleepy and much astonished steward appeared, and as soon as he could make himself heard, demanded the cause of the uproar. when eagerly assured that the deck was on fire over our heads, that in five minutes we should all be cinders unless we instantly took to the boats, and that the whole affair was a disgrace to the company, and the "times" should be written to if the speaker (an irascible "globe trotter") survived the disaster, the steward stolidly denied the existence of any fire at all and explanations ensued. it was then discovered that signal rockets had been sent up from the deck to a signal station we were passing, and some of the sparks having blown into the porthole of the girls' cabin, the occupants had concluded that the deck was on fire, and had given the alarm. it took some time to make the fact of the mistake clear to everyone, but the steward at last succeeded in allaying all fears, and we returned to our cabins, feeling indignant and somewhat foolish, and perhaps a little disappointed (now that the danger was over) that our adventure had turned out so tamely. on the following morning the captain organised an imposing ceremony on the upper deck, and solemnly presented two sham medals to the heroines of the preceding night's adventure, thanking them for their presence of mind, and noble efforts to save the burning ship! the remainder of the voyage passed without incident, and we arrived safely at our destination about six o'clock one lovely friday morning. the sun was just rising as we sailed up the river, tinting the brown water and the green banks of the irrawaddy with a rosy light. rangoon, a vast collection of brown and white houses, mills, towers, chimneys, and cupolas, in a nest of green, showed faintly through the blue haze; and rising high above a grove of waving dark green palm trees, glittered the golden dome of a pagoda, the first object clearly distinguishable on shore, to welcome us to this country so rightly termed "the land of pagodas." [illustration: decoration] chapter ii. rangoon. "oh! the land of pagodas and paddy fields green, is burmah, dear burmah you know." this is not a book on "burmah," but an account of my impressions of burmah; therefore, for all matters concerning which i had no original impressions, such as its history, its public buildings, the scenery, the life and condition of the natives, its resources, and its future, i refer both the gentle and ungentle reader to the many books on the subject which have appeared during the past few years. my first and last impression of rangoon was heat. not ordinary honest, hot, heat, such as one meets with at marseilles or in the heart of the desert, wherever that may be; not even a stuffy heat, such as one encounters in church, but a damp, clinging, unstable sort of heat, which makes one long for a bath, if it were not too much trouble to get into it. i remember in my youth placing one of my sister's wax dolls (mine were all wooden, as i was of a destructive nature) to sit before the fire one cold winter's day; i remember dollie was somewhat disfigured ever afterwards. the remembrance of that doll haunted me during my stay in rangoon; i felt i could deeply sympathise with, and thoroughly understand her feelings on that occasion; and for the first two or three hours, remembering the effect the heat had upon her appearance, i found myself frequently feeling my features to discover whether they still retained their original form and beauty. but after a few hours i became resigned; all i desired was to melt away quickly and quietly, and have done with it. at first i looked upon the "punkah" as a nuisance, its unceasing movement irritated me, it ruffled my hair, and i invariably bumped my head against it on rising. but after enduring one long punkahless half-hour, i came to look on it as the one thing that made life bearable, and the "punkah-wallah" as the greatest benefactor of mankind. in the early mornings and evenings i became, hardly cooler, but what might be described as firmer, and it was at these times that the wonderful sights of rangoon were displayed to my admiring gaze. i saw the celebrated "schwee dagon pagoda" with its magnificent towering golden dome, surmounted by the beautiful gold and jewelled "htee;" the innumerable shrines, images, cupolas, and pagodas at its base, the curious mixture of tawdry decorations and wonderful wood carvings everywhere visible, and the exquisite blending and intermingling of colours in the bright dresses of the natives, who crowd daily to offer their gifts at this most holy shrine. it is quite futile to attempt description of such a place; words cannot depict form and colour satisfactorily, least of all convey to those who have not themselves beheld it, a conception of the imposing beauty of this world famed pagoda. the burmese are a most devout people; the great flight of steps leading to the pagoda is worn by the tread of many feet, and every day the place is crowded with worshippers. they begin young. i saw one wee baby, scarcely more than a year old, brought by his father to learn to make his offering at the shrine of buddha. the father with difficulty balanced the little fellow in a kneeling position before a shrine, with the tiny brown hands raised in a supplicating attitude, and then retired a few steps to watch. instantly the baby overbalanced and toppled forward on its face. he was picked up and placed in his former position, only to tumble down again when left. this performance was repeated about five times; the father never seemed to notice the humour of the situation--the baby certainly did not. one of the most interesting sights of rangoon is that of the elephants. ostensibly their work is to pile timber ready for embarkation on the river, but evidently they consider that they exist and work in order to be admired by all who pay them a visit. and well they deserve admiration! they go about their duties in a stately, leisurely manner, lifting the logs with trunk, tusks, and forefeet; piling them up with a push here, a pull there, and then marching to the end of the pile and contemplating the result with their heads on one side, to see if all are straight and firm. and they do all in such a stately, royal manner, that they give an air of dignity to the menial work, and one comes away with the feeling that to pile teak side by side with an elephant would be an honour worth living for. during my peregrinations round the town i was taken to see the home of the indian civilian, a huge imposing building, with such an air of awe-inspiring importance about every stick and stone, that none save those initiated into the secrets of the place, may enter without feeling deeply honoured by the permission to do so. even a "bombay burman" could hardly approach, without losing some of his natural hardihood. [illustration: elephant moving timber] it may have been the awe with which this building inspired me, it may have been my visit to the pagoda, with its air of mysticism and unknown possibilities, but when i retired to my large dimly lighted bed-room after my first day's wanderings in rangoon, my natural courage forsook me, and i became the prey to a fit of appalling terrors. all the ghostly stories i had ever read of the spiritualism of the east, of the mystic powers of "thugs," "vampires" and other unpleasant beings, returned to my mind. for some time i could not sleep, and when at last i did sink into an uneasy doze i was haunted by nightmares of ghostly apparitions, and powerful and revengeful images of gaudama. suddenly i awoke with the feeling that something, i knew not what, had roused me from my uneasy slumber. and then, as i lay trembling and listening, out of darkness came a voice, weird, uncanny, which exclaimed in solemn tones the mystic word "tuctoo." what could it be? was i one destined to learn deep secrets of the mystic world? had the spirit, if spirit it were, some great truth to make known to me? if so, what a pity it did not speak english! "tuctoo" remarked the voice again, this time rather impatiently. i racked my brains to think of a possible meaning for this mysterious word, but all in vain, i could understand nothing. "tuctoo, tuctoo, tuctoo," it continued. and then, out of the darkness came another voice, an angry english voice, loud in its righteous indignation, the voice of my host. "shut up you beast," he cried, and perhaps he added one or two more words suited to the occasion. i lay down and tried to pretend that i had not been frightened, and in doing so, fell asleep. i was introduced to the "tuctoo" next day, but did not consider him a pleasant acquaintance. he is a lizard about a foot long, with a large red mouth, and a long wriggling tail; he reminded me of a baby alligator. he dwells on the inner walls of houses, and his presence in a house is supposed to bring good luck, but his tiresome habit of "tuctooing" in a most human voice at all hours of the day or night make him rather unpopular. we chased him down the wall with a long "shan" spear and caught him in a towel, but he looked so very pugnacious that we did not detain him from his business. of course the most important element of life in rangoon, in fact in all burmah, is the gymkhana. apparently, the european population in rangoon exists solely in order to go to the gymkhana. it attracts like a magnet. people may not intend to go there when they set out, but no matter how far afield they go, sooner or later in the evening they are bound to appear at the gymkhana. if they did not go there in the daytime they would inevitably walk there in their sleep. this renowned gymkhana is situate in the halpin road (pronounced "hairpin," which is confusing to the uninitiated) and is a large, open, much verandaed, wooden building. of the lower story, sacred to the male sex, i caught only a hurried glimpse in passing, and the impression left on my mind was a confusion of long men, reclining in long chairs, with long drinks. on my first visit to the upper regions, i fancied myself in a private lunatic asylum, for there, in a large room built for the purpose, were numbers of men and women, to all other appearances perfectly sane, waltzing round and round to the inspiriting music of the military band; dancing, in ordinary afternoon attire, not languidly, but vigorously and enthusiastically, and that in a temperature such as shadrach, meshech and abednego never dreamed of. but i soon discovered that there was method in this madness, for the heat, when dancing, was so unspeakably awful that to sit still seemed quite cool in contrast, and it was worth the sufferings of the dance to feel cool afterwards, if only in imagination. in another room of the gymkhana the ladies assemble to read their favourite magazines, or to glower from afar upon the early birds who have already appropriated them. and here i must pause to say a word in deprecation of the accusations of gossip and scandal, which are so frequently launched against the anglo-indian ladies. not that i would for the world deny the existence of scandal, but what i wish to emphasise is, that the anglo-indians (at least those of the female sex) do not invent or repeat scandalous stories from pure love of the thing, nor from any desire to injure the characters of their neighbours. they are forced to do so by circumstances. for example, mrs. a. arrives early at the gymkhana, appropriates the newly arrived number of the "gentlewoman," and seating herself comfortably in a good light, sets to work to read the paper from beginning to end. but soon mrs. b. appears upon the scene, and alas! mrs. b. has also come to the gymkhana with the intention of reading from beginning to end the newly arrived number of the "gentlewoman"; and, being human, mrs. b., on finding her favourite paper already appropriated, is filled with a distaste for all other papers, and a consuming desire to read "the gentlewoman," and "the gentlewoman" only. if she cannot procure the paper right speedily, life holds no more happiness for her. but alas, mrs. a. shows no intention of relinquishing her possession of the paper for many hours. in vain does mrs. b. spread "punch," "graphic," or "sketch," temptingly before mrs. a's abstracted eyes, she is not to be influenced by honest means. then mrs. b. has only one course left to her, and adopts it. first she seeks and obtains an assistant to the scheme, mrs. c. the two ladies then draw near mrs. a. (who tightens her hold on the paper as they approach) and seat themselves on either side of their victim. mrs. c., assuming an expression of sweet innocence, entirely disguising the craft of her intentions, pretends to be deeply interested in last week's "gazette," hoping thereby to demonstrate her lack of interest in fashion papers; mrs. b. entices mrs. a. into conversation. after a few desultory remarks, during which the aggressor still clings to her prey, mrs. b., throwing a warning glance at mrs. c. to prepare her, says in a voice fraught with deep mystery: "were you not astonished to hear of so and so's engagement last week?" no, mrs. a. was not particularly astonished. but surely mrs. a. had heard that strange story about so and so's behaviour towards somebody else? curious, mrs. a. had not heard of it. of course mrs. b. would not mention it to anyone else, but mrs. a., as every one knows, can be trusted, and really it was so strange. then calling to her aid all her powers of imagination, mrs. b. proceeds to relate some astounding invention concerning so and so. gradually, as she becomes more interested in the recital, mrs. a's. fingers relax their hold on the precious paper, and at last it is dropped, forgotten, upon the table. now it is mrs. c's. turn. in the most careless manner she draws the "gentlewoman" slowly towards her, until it is out of reach of mrs. a., when she snatches it up eagerly, and retires to another table, where she is soon joined by the triumphant mrs. b. then poor mrs. a., deprived of her newspaper must needs seek another one, but alas? they are all in use. nothing remains for her to do but to imitate mrs. b's conduct, and attract mrs. d's attention from the paper she is reading, by repeating to her the story she has just heard, adding whatever new details may appear to her as most likely to arouse mrs. d's. interest. and so the snowball grows. thus it will be clear to all that the accusations are unfair, seeing that the gossip indulged in by the ladies at the gymkhana is merely the outcome of circumstances, inventions being notoriously the children of necessity. it is obvious that were each lady in burmah provided with every magazine and paper that her heart could desire, gossip would speedily cease to exist,--in the ladies' clubs. the most extraordinary vehicle that ever existed is the rangoon "ticca gharry." for inconvenience, discomfort, and danger, it has never been surpassed. it has been excellently described as "a wooden packing case on wheels." i suppose it is a distant and unfashionable relation of the modern four wheeler, with wooden shutters in place of windows; very narrow, noisy, and uncomfortable. it is usually drawn by a long-tailed, ungroomed and brainless burman pony, and is driven by one of the most extraordinary race of men that ever existed. the "gharry wallah's" appearance--but it is scarce meet to describe his appearance to the gentle reader; we will say his appearance is unusual. his mind and character have gained him his well earned right to be counted among the eccentricities of the age. he is sublime in his utter indifference to the world at large, in the cheerful manner in which he will drive, through, into, or over anything he happens to meet. but his most noted characteristic is utter indifference to the wishes of his "fare." i have often wondered what are the secret workings of the "gharry wallah's" mind. he cannot imagine, (no man, intelligent or otherwise, could imagine) that a human being drives in a "gharry" for the pure enjoyment of the thing; and yet he never seems to consider that his "fare" may desire to go to any particular destination. 'tis vain to explain at great length, and with many forcible gestures, where one wishes to go; "he hears but heeds it not." the instant one enters the vehicle he begins to drive at a great rate in whatever direction first comes into his mind. he continues to drive in that direction until stopped, when he cheerfully turns round and drives another way, any way but the right one. no one has yet discovered where he would eventually drive to; many have had the curiosity but none the fortitude to undertake original research into the matter. it is presumed that, unless stopped, he would drive straight on till he died of starvation. occasionally, by a judicious waving of umbrellas it may be possible to direct his course, but that only in the case of a very young driver. i have sometimes wondered whether perchance the pony may be the sinner, and the driver merely an innocent and unwilling accomplice. i cannot tell. but this i can say, if you crave for danger, if you seek penance, drive in a "ticca gharry," but if you desire to reach any particular destination in this century, don't. with the exception of a few leisure hours spent at the gymkhana, the ladies of rangoon devote their time and energy to writing "chits." at first i was filled with a great wonder as to what might be the nature of these mysterious "chits." i would be sitting peacefully talking with my hostess in the morning, when suddenly, a look of supreme unrest and anxiety comes over her face: "excuse me, a moment" she exclaims, "i must just go and write a chit." she then hastens to her writing table, rapidly scribbles a few words, gives the paper to a servant, and then returns to me with an expression of relief and contentment. but scarce five minutes have elapsed, ere the look of anxiety again returns; again she writes a "chit," and again becomes relieved and cheerful, and so on throughout the day. and this, i discovered was the case with nearly every european lady in the country. i suppose it must be some malady engendered by the climate, only to be relieved by the incessant inditing of "chits." i myself never suffered from the ailment, but should doubtless have fallen a victim had i remained longer in the country. the contents and destination of these "chits" seem to be of little or no importance; so long as notes be written and despatched at intervals of ten minutes or so during the day, that is sufficient. what finally becomes of these "chits" i cannot pretend to say; whether they are merely taken away and burnt, or whether they have some place in the scheme of creation, i never discovered. nor do i know whether the male population suffers from the same malady. does the indian civilian, seated in his luxurious chamber in that awe-inspiring building of his, does he too spend his life in writing "chits"? does the "bombay burman," in some far off jungle, "alone with nature undisturbed," does he too sit down 'neath the shade of the feathery bamboo, or the all embracing peepul tree, and write and despatch "chits" to imaginary people, in imaginary houses, in an imaginary town? i know not, it is futile to speculate further upon the matter. the mystery of "chit" writing is too deep for me. i would gladly have remained longer in rangoon, but it might not be. mine was no mere visit of pleasure; i had travelled to burmah in search of adventure, such as is scarcely to be met with in the garden party, dinner party, and dance life of rangoon. and so, one hot afternoon, with anxious beating heart, i said "good bye" to security and civilisation, and set forth on my journey to mandalay! chapter iii. the road to mandalay. "i travelled among unknown men, in lands beyond the sea."--(wordsworth). "where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, in colour tho' varied, in beauty may vie."--(byron). the distance by rail from rangoon to mandalay is miles, and it takes twenty-two hours to accomplish the journey. trains, like everything else in this leisurely country, are not given to hurrying themselves. "hasti, hasti, always go hasti" is the motto for burmah. as an example of the unintelligible nature of the language i may explain that "hasti" means "slow!" it is a pleasant journey however, for the carriages are most comfortable, and the scenery through which the rail passes affords plenty of interest to a new comer. i enjoyed my journey, therefore, immensely. i left rangoon about five o'clock in the afternoon, well provided with books, fruit and chocolates for the journey, and under the protection of a hideous madrassee ayah. i believe she was in reality a worthy old creature, but she was so exceedingly ugly, so very unintelligible (though most persistent in her efforts at conversation) and so intolerably stupid, that i could not feel much affection for her, and i only consented to put up with her company as a protection against the thieves who haunt the various halting places along the line, ready to steal into carriages and carry away all the portable property of the traveller. i had heard such blood curdling stories of these train thieves that i should have felt quite nervous about undertaking the journey, had i not fortunately disbelieved them. i do not for an instant believe my ayah would have been any real protection, for whenever we stopped she was seized with an overpowering hunger, and spent all her time bargaining with the vendors of bananas, huge red prawns, decayed fish, dried fruits, cakes, and other horrible articles, who swarmed upon the stations. these delicacies, and others which she prevailed upon my tender heart to buy for her, she wrapped up in a large red pocket handkerchief, and hid under the seat; what was their final fate i cannot pretend to say, but for her sake i trust she didn't eat them. she was a much travelled lady and had visited many of the towns along the route, and persisted in waking me up at all odd hours of the night, to point out the houses where her various mem-sahibs had lived, or the bungalows inhabited by the commissioners, matters in which i was not at all interested. she kept me awake with long rambling stories about her many relations, stories which, as they were told in the most vague and unintelligible "pigeon english" i found it very difficult to understand, but the gist of all was that she was very old and very poor, and she was sure i was a very kind and generous "missie," and would not fail to reward her handsomely for her services. i failed to discover what these same services might be, for beyond fanning me vigorously when i did not require it, and at three o'clock in the morning procuring me from somewhere an unpleasant mixture she called coffee, and which i was obliged to throw secretly out of the window, she did nothing except talk. i suppose she was really no worse than the rest of her tribe, and cannot be blamed for getting as much as she could out of her exceedingly innocent and easily humbugged "missie." at the first station at which we stopped, i was much astonished to see all the natives on the platform come and kneel down in the humblest manner round the door of my carriage, and remain there "shekkohing" and pouring forth polite speeches in burmese, until our train left the station. i have never been backward in my high opinion of my own importance, but i hardly expected the fame of my presence to have spread to this distant land, and felt considerably embarrassed, though, of course, highly gratified, by such unexpected tokens of respect. i received these attentions at every station with the most royal bows and smiles, until at last, on dismounting from the train at the dining station, i discovered that the carriage next to mine was occupied by a noble shan chief and his retinue, and it was to him, not to my insignificant person, that all this homage was paid. i felt quite annoyed at the discovery. he was really such a hideous, yellow, dirty old man, and he sat at the window, surrounded by his wives and attendants, smoking grumpily, and paying not the least attention to the flattering speech of his admirers, who must have been far more gratified by my gracious condescension. the chief stared at me a great deal when i passed his window to re-enter my carriage, and shortly after the train was again set in motion he sent one of his wives to inspect me, possibly with a view to offering me a position among the number of his dusky spouses. she opened the door, and stared at me for some time, taking not the slightest notice of my requests that she would withdraw, until she had sufficiently examined me, when she retired as abruptly as she had appeared, and i lost no time in securing the door behind her. evidently her report was not satisfactory, for i have heard no more of the episode. possibly, she reported that i looked bad tempered; i certainly felt so! what a fascinating journey that was. during the first part of the route the country is less interesting, consisting merely of flat stretches of paddy fields and low jungle scrub. but all this i passed through by night, when the soft moonlight lent a witching beauty to the scene. there is something so inexplicably beautiful about night in the east, so comparatively cool, so clear, so quiet, and yet so full of mysterious sound, "a little noiseless noise among the leaves, born of the very sigh that silence heaves." the cloudless heavens sparkle with a myriad stars, the moonlight seems brighter and more golden than elsewhere, and the noisy, weary, worn old earth hides away her tinsel shams and gaudiness, which the cruel sunlight so pitilessly exposes, and appears grander and nobler under night's kindly sway. the scenery in upper burmah is exceedingly fine. the great rocky hills, each crowned with its pagoda, rise on all sides, stretching away into the distance till they become only blue shadows. everywhere are groves of bananas and palm trees, forests of teak and bamboo, and vast tracks of jungle, attired in the gayest colours. the pagodas, mostly in a half-ruined condition, are far more numerous here than in lower burmah, and raise their white and golden heads from every towering cleft of rock, and every mossy grove. as we neared mandalay we passed many groups of half-ruined shrines, images and pagodas, covered with moss and creeper, deserted by the human beings who erected them, and visited now only by the birds and other jungle folk, who build their nests and make their homes in the shade of the once gorgeous buildings. they look very picturesque, rising above the tangled undergrowth that surrounds them, but pitifully lonely. we stopped at a great number of stations en route. the platforms were always crowded with natives of every description, at all hours of the day and night, selling their wares, greeting their friends, or smoking contentedly, and viewing with complacency the busy scene. the natives of india, with their fierce sullen faces, frightened me; the cunning chinese, ever ready to drive a hard bargain, amused but did not attract me; but the merry, friendly little burmese were a continual delight. they swaggered up and down in their picturesque costumes, smoking their huge cheroots, the men regarding with self-satisfied and amused contempt the noisy chattering crowd of madrassees and chinese, the women coquetting in the most graceful and goodnatured way with everyone in turn. when they had paid their devoirs to the old chief, they would crowd round my carriage window offering their wares, taking either my consent or refusal to be a purchaser as the greatest joke, and laughing merrily at my vain attempts to understand them. i fell in love with them on the spot, they are such jolly people and such thorough gentlefolk. it was very interesting in the early morning to watch the signs of awakening life in the many burmese villages through which we passed. to see the caravans of bullock carts or mules setting out on their journey to the neighbouring town, and the pretty little burmese girls coquetting with their admirers as they carried water from the well, or chattering and whispering merrily together as they performed their toilet by the stream, decking their hair with flowers and ribbons, and donning their delicately coloured pink and green "tamehns." here we met a procession of yellow-robed "hpoongyis" and their followers, marching through the village with their begging bowls, to give the villagers an opportunity of performing the meritorious duty of feeding them. there a procession of men, women, and children walking sedately towards a pagoda, with offerings of fruit or flowers; to contemplate the image of the mighty gaudama, to hear the reading of the word, and to meditate upon the holy life. now we passed a group of little hpoongyi pupils with their shaven crowns and yellow robes, sitting solemnly round their teacher in the open-sided kyaung. anon we passed a jovial crew of merrymakers in their most brilliantly coloured costumes, jogging along gaily behind their ambling bullocks, to some pwé or pagoda feast, which they are already enjoying in anticipation. and the strange part of it all is that nowhere does one see sorrow, poverty, or suffering; outwardly at least, all is bright and happy. i suppose the burman must have his troubles like other folk, but if so he hides them extremely well under a cheerful countenance. surely in no other inhabited country could we travel so far without beholding some sign of misery. i think the great charm of burmah lies in the happiness and brightness of its people; their merriment is infectious, and they make others happy by the mere sight of their contentment. we arrived at mandalay about three o'clock in the afternoon. the last few hours of the journey were most unpleasantly hot, and i was very glad when we steamed into the station, and i saw my brother-in-law (who had descended from his "mountain heights" to meet me) waiting on the platform. the journey had been delightful in many ways, but after being twenty-two hours boxed up in a railway carriage with a chattering ayah, it was a great relief to reach one's destination at last. when i arrived in mandalay i was filled with an overwhelming gratitude towards mr. rudyard kipling for his poem on the subject. rangoon, fascinating and interesting though it be, is yet chiefly an anglo-indian town, but mandalay, though the palace and throne room have been converted into a club, though its pagodas and shrines have been desecrated by the feet of the alien, and though its bazaar has become a warehouse for the sale of birmingham and manchester imitations, yet, spite of all, this former stronghold of the kings of burmah still retains its ancient charm. when first i experienced the fascination of this wonderful town, my feelings were too deep for expression, and i suffered as a soda water bottle must suffer, until the removal of the cork brings relief. suddenly there flashed into my mind three lines of mr. kipling's poem, and as i wandered amid "them spicy garlic smells, the sunshine and the palm trees and the tinkly temple bells," i relieved my feelings by repeating those wonderfully descriptive lines; i was once again happy, and i vowed an eternal gratitude to the author. before the end of my two days stay in mandalay i began to look on him as my bitterest foe, and to regard the publication of that poem as a personal injury. the hotel in which we stayed was also occupied by a party of american "globe trotters." in all probability they were delightful people, as are most of their countrymen. they were immensely popular among the native hawkers, who swarmed upon the door steps and verandahs, and sold them manchester silks and glass rubies at enormous prices. but we acquired a deeply rooted objection to them, springing from their desire to live up to their surroundings. we should have forgiven them, had they confined themselves to eating eastern fruits and curries, wearing flowing burmese silken dressing gowns, and smattering their talk with burmese and hindustani words. but these things did not satisfy them. evidently they believed that they could only satisfactorily demonstrate their complete association with their surroundings, by singing indefatigably, morning, noon, and night, that most un-burmese song, "mandalay." they sang it hour after hour, during the whole of the two days we spent in the place. in their bedrooms, and about the town they hummed and whistled it, during meals they quoted and recited it. at night, and when we took our afternoon siesta, they sang it boldly, accompanying one another on the cracked piano, and all joining in the chorus with a conscientious heartiness that did them credit. we tossed sleepless on our couches, wearied to death of this endless refrain that echoed through the house: or, if in a pause between the verses we fell asleep for a few seconds, it was only to dream of a confused mixture of "moulmein pagodas," flying elephants, and fishes piling teak, till we were once again awakened by the uninteresting and eternally reiterated information that "the dawn comes up like thunder out of china 'cross the bay." the only relief we enjoyed, was that afforded by one member of the party who sang cheerfully: "on the banks of mandalay," thereby displaying a vagueness of detail regarding the geographical peculiarities of the place, which is so frequently (though no doubt wrongly) attributed to his nation. and here i pause with the uncomfortable feeling that in writing my experiences of burmah, i ought to make some attempt to describe this far-famed city of mandalay, the wonders of its palaces, the richness of its pagodas, the brilliancy of its silk bazaar, and its other thousand charms. but such a task is beyond me. others may aspire to paint in glowing colours the fascinations of this royal town, and the beauty of the wonderful buildings; but in my modesty i refrain, for to my great regret i saw little of them. my stay in the town was too short, and i was too weary after my journey, to admit of much sight-seeing. beyond a short drive through the delightful eastern streets, and a hurried glimpse of the throne room, i saw nothing of the place, and the only thing i clearly recollect is the moat, which i admired immensely, mistaking it for the far-famed irrawaddy! therefore i will pass by mandalay with that silent awe which we always extend to the unknown, and leave it to cleverer pens than mine to depict its charms. "i cannot sing of that i do not know," especially nowadays when so many people _do_ know, and are quite ready to tell one so. chapter iv. the journey to the hills. "old as the chicken that kitmûtgars bring men at dâk bungalows,--old as the hills." (rudyard kipling.) the horse who never in that sort had handled been before, what thing upon his back had got did wonder more and more.--"john gilpin." we left mandalay at half-past three in the morning, (our heavy baggage having preceded us in bullock carts the night before) and with our bedding and hand baggage packed with ourselves into a "ticca gharry," we started at that unearthly hour on our seventeen miles drive to the foot of the hills, where our ponies awaited us. as we left the last lights of the town behind us, and drove out into the dreary looking country beyond, i was filled with a mixture of elation and alarm, but when my brother-in-law (i knew not whether seriously or in fun) remarked that he hoped we should meet no dacoits, the feeling of alarm predominated. it would be an adventure, and i had come there purposely for adventure, but an adventure does not appear so fascinating in the dark at three o'clock in the morning, as it does at noonday. i was quite willing to have it postponed. however my companion seemed at home, and settled himself to sleep in his corner, so i endeavoured to do likewise. but somehow sleep seemed impossible. the shaking and rattling of the uncomfortable "gharry," the strange shadows of the trees, and the dark waste of paddy fields stretching before and around us, faintly showing in the mysterious grey light of the dawn, all combined to prevent me from following my brother's example. on and on we drove along that interminable road, cramped, weary, and impatient; i sat in silence with closed eyes, waiting longingly for the end of our journey, wondering what strange people inhabited this dreary tract of land, and dreaming of the possible adventures to be encountered in the wild country towards which we were travelling. suddenly the gharry stopped abruptly; there was a loud cry from the gharry wallah, a confused medley of burmese voices, and i sprang up to find we were surrounded by a large body of evil looking men, armed with "dahs." we were "held up" by dacoits! my brother started up, shouting eager threats and imprecations to the men, and sprang from the carriage. i caught a glimpse of him surrounded by natives, fighting fiercely with his back to the carriage door, while he shouted to me to hand him his revolver from the back seat of the gharry. but ere i could do so, my attention was called to the matter of my own safety. three natives had come round to my side of the gharry, the door was wrenched open, and a huge native flourishing a large "dah" rushed at me, evidently with the intention of procuring the revolver himself. at that moment all feelings of fear left me, and i only felt furiously angry. quickly i seized my large roll of bedding, and pulling it down before me received the blow in the folds; then when the knife was buried in the clothes, i crashed the revolver with all my force in the face of the dacoit, and he fell unconscious at my feet, leaving the "dah" in my possession. the remaining natives rushed at me, and i had no time to lose. pulling down my brother's bedding roll, i doubled my defence, and from behind it endeavoured to stab at the attacking natives with the captured "dah," dodging their blows behind my barricade. the door of the gharry was narrow, and they could only come at me one at a time. after playing "bo peep" over my blankets for a little time, they retired, and i was just turning to assist my brother, when suddenly, they rushed my defence, one behind the other, pushed over my barricade with me under it, fell on the top themselves, and we all rolled a confused heap on the bottom of the gharry. at that moment the man at the pony's head relaxed his hold on the bridle, and the animal, with a speed and energy unusual in burmese ponies, escaped and galloped down the road, dragging behind it the battered gharry, on the floor of which i and the two natives were struggling. faster and faster went the pony, till we seemed to be flying through the air, the door hanging open, and we three fighting for life inside. i made haste to crawl under a seat, and again barricaded myself with my bedding roll, but it was quite clear to me that the struggle could not last much longer; i was at my wit's end, and my strength was nearly exhausted. then the natives climbed on to the seat opposite, and pulled and pushed my barricade, until at last i could hold it no longer. they dragged it away, and threw it from the gharry. my neck was seized between two slimy brown hands, i was pulled from my hiding place, a dark evil looking face peered gloatingly into mine, and then i suppose i lost consciousness, for i remember nothing more until----i awoke, and found we had arrived at the foot of the hills; not a dacoit had we encountered, and the whole affair had been only a dream. i was disappointed: i feel i shall never be so heroic again, or have such another opportunity for the display of my bravery. i cannot remember the name of the village at the foot of the hills where we found our ponies waiting, and i certainly could not spell it if i did. it consisted of a mere half a dozen native huts, set down by the road side, and looked a most deserted little place. while our ponies were saddled, and our baggage transferred from the gharry to the bullock cart in attendance, we walked round the village, very glad to stretch our legs after the cramped ride. all the natives stared at us, as they went leisurely about their daily work; the girls in their brightly coloured, graceful dresses, going slowly to the well, carrying their empty kerosene oil cans, the almost universal water pots of the burman; the men lounging about, smoking big cheroots, and evidently lost in deep meditation; and the old women sitting in their low bamboo huts, grinding paddy, cooking untempting looking mixtures, or presiding over the sale of various dried fruits and other articles, for in burmah there is rarely a house where something is not sold. on the whole, we on our part did not excite very much interest. it needs more than the advent of two strangers to rouse the contemplative burman from his habitual state of dreaminess. in one hut i saw a family sitting round their meal, laughing and chatting merrily, while a wee baby, clad in gorgeous silk attire (it looked like the mother's best dress) danced before them in the funniest and most dignified manner, encouraged and coached by an elder sister, aged about seven. they looked such a merry party that i quite longed to join them, for i was beginning to feel hungry, but i changed my mind on a nearer view of the breakfast, a terrible mixture of rice and curried vegetables, with what looked remarkably like decayed fish for a relish. all this time, though outwardly calm and happy, i was inwardly suffering from ever increasing feelings of dread at the thought of the ordeal before me. as i have explained elsewhere, i have always had a terror of horses, and had not ridden for eleven years, not in fact since i was a child, and then i invariably fell off with or without any provocation. but here was i, with twenty-six miles of rough road between me and my destination, and no way of traversing that distance save on horseback. knowing my peculiarities, my brother had begged the very quietest pony from the police lines at mandalay, the animal bearing this reputation stood saddled before me, and i could think of no further excuse for longer delaying our start. accordingly, i advanced nervously towards the pony, who looked at me out of the corners of his eyes in an inexplicable manner, and after three unsuccessful attempts, and much unwonted embracing of my brother, i at last succeeded in mounting, and the reins (an unnecessary number of them it seemed to me) were thrust into my hands. i announced myself quite comfortable and ready to start; may heaven forgive the untruth! but evidently my steed was not prepared to depart. i "clucked" and shook the reins, and jumped up and down on the saddle in the most encouraging way, but the pony made no movement. my brother, already mounted and off, shouted to me to "come on." it was all very well to shout in that airy fashion, i couldn't well "come on" without the pony, and the pony wouldn't. at last he did begin to move, backwards! this was a circumstance for which i was wholly unprepared. if a horse runs away, naturally, he is to be stopped by pulling the reins, but if he runs away backwards, there seems nothing to be done; whipping only encourages him to run faster. i tried to turn the pony round, so that if he persisted in continuing to walk backwards, we might at any rate progress in the right direction, but he preferred not to turn, and i did not wish to insist, lest he should become annoyed; to annoy him at the very outset of the journey i felt would be the height of imprudence. the natives of the village gathered round, and with that wonderful capacity for innocent enjoyment for which the burmese are noted, watched the performance with the deepest interest and delight, while i could do nothing but try to appear at ease, as though i really preferred to travel in that manner. at last however, my brother would wait no longer, and shouting to the orderly and sais, he made them seize the bridle of my wilful pony, and drag us both forcibly from the village. and so we started. oh! that ride--what a nightmare it was! the pony justified his reputation, and was certainly the most quiet animal imaginable. he preferred not to move at all, but when forced to do so, the pace was such that a snail could easily have given him fifty yards start in a hundred, and a beating, without any particular exertion. he did not walk, he crawled. in vain did i encourage him in every language i knew, in vain did the sais and orderly ride behind beating him, or in front pulling him, our efforts were of no avail. once or twice, under great persuasion, he broke into what faintly suggested a trot, for about two minutes, but speedily relapsed again into his former undignified crawl. my brother at last lost patience and rode on ahead, leaving me to the tender mercies of the sais, who, no longer under the eye of his master, and seeing no reason to hurry, soon ceased his efforts, and we jogged on every minute more slowly, till i fell into a sleepy trance, dreaming that i should continue thus for ever, riding slowly along through the silent burmese jungle, wrapped in its heavy noon-day sleep, till i too should sink under the spell of the sleep god, and become part of the silence around me. but the scenery was glorious, and i had ample time to admire it. our road wound up the side of a jungle clad hill, around and above us rose other hills covered with the gorgeous vari-coloured jungle trees and shrubs. immediately below us lay a deep wooded ravine, shut in by the hills, and far away behind us stretched miles and miles of paddy fields and open country shrouded in a pale blue-grey mist. i cannot imagine grander scenery; what most nearly approach it are views in saxon switzerland, but the latter can be compared only as an engraving to a painting, the colour being lacking. what most impressed me was the absolute silence, and the utter absence of any sign of human life. all round us lay miles and miles of unbroken jungle, inhabited only by birds and beasts; all nature seemed silent, mysterious, and void of human sympathies as in the first days of the world, before man came to conquer, and in conquering to destroy the charm. it is impossible quite to realise this awe-inspiring loneliness of the jungle "where things that own not man's dominion dwell." "and mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been." we halted for breakfast at a small wayside village, where we found the usual mat "dâk" bungalow, guarded by the usual extortionate khansamah, and surrounded by the usual dismal compound full of chickens. here it was that i made my first acquaintance with the world renowned burmese chicken, an acquaintance destined to become more and more close, until it blossomed into a deep and never to be forgotten hatred. the burmese chicken, whose name is legion, is a thin haggard looking fowl, chiefly noted for his length of leg, and utter absence of superfluous flesh. he picks up a precarious living in the compounds of the houses to which he is attached, and leads a sad, anxious life, owing to the fact that he is generally recognised as the legitimate prey of any man or beast, who at any time of the day or night may be seized with a desire to "chivy." consequently he wears a harassed, expectant look, knowing that the end will overtake him suddenly and without warning. one hour he is happily fighting with his comrades over a handful of grain, within the next he has been killed, cooked, and eaten without pity, though frequently with after feelings of repentance on the part of the eater. it is, doubtless, the kindly heart of the native cook that prevents him killing the bird more than half an hour before the remains are due at table; he does not wish to cut off a happy life sooner than is absolutely necessary. it is, doubtless too, the same gentle heart that induces him to single out for slaughter the most ancient of fowls, leaving the young and tender (if a burmese chicken ever is tender) still to rejoice in their youth. if this be so, there is displayed a trait of native character deserving appreciation--which appreciation the result, however, fails as a rule to secure. it is wonderful what a variety of disguises a burmese chicken can take upon itself. the quick change artist is nowhere in comparison. it appears successively as soup, joint, hash, rissoles, pie, patties and game. it is covered with rice, onions, and almonds, and raisins, and dubbed "pillau"; it is covered with cayenne pepper and called a savoury. it is roasted, boiled, baked, potted, and curried, and once i knew an enterprising housekeeper mix it with sardines and serve up a half truth in the shape of "fish cakes." but under whatever name it may appear, in whatever form it be disguised, it may be invariably recognised by the utter absence of any flavour whatever. after breakfast, my brother assumed his most stern judicial expression and gave me to understand gently but firmly, that he refused to continue our journey under existing circumstances, and that if i really could not induce my pony to progress faster, i must mount that of the orderly, and leave the laggard to be dealt with by a male hand. i could not object; i was alone in a distant land far from the protection of my family; i could only agree to the proposal with reluctance, and disclaim all responsibility with regard to my own or the new pony's safety. accordingly, the saddles were changed, much to the dissatisfaction of the orderly, and i was speedily mounted on my new steed. at first the exchange appeared to be an improvement. the pony had a brisk walk, and we progressed quite as rapidly as i wished. i began to feel an accomplished horse-woman, and when my brother suggested a two miles canter, i consented after but a few objections. we started gaily, and we did canter two miles without a break, and the pony and i did not part company during the proceedings, but that is all i can say. i have frequently heard foolish people talk of the unspeakable joy of a wild gallop, the delightful motion, the exhilaration of rushing through the air, with a good horse beneath you. once i listened to such talkers with credulity, now i listen in astonishment. our gallop was wild enough in all conscience, but after the first three minutes i became convinced it was the most uncomfortable way of getting about i had ever experienced. i started elegantly enough, gripping my pummel tightly between my knees, and sitting bolt upright, but i soon gave up all ideas of putting on unnecessary "side" of that sort; this ride was no fancy exhibition, it was grim earnest. i and the pony were utterly out of sympathy with one another, and i am sure the latter did all he could to be tiresome out of pure "cussedness." whenever i bumped down, he seemed to bump up, and the result was painful; whenever i pulled the reins he merely tossed his head scornfully; and i am sure the saddle must have been slipping about (though it appeared firm enough afterwards), for i landed on all parts of it in turn. to add to my troubles my sola topee became objectionable. it was not an ordinary looking topee; it being my first visit to the east, of course i had procured an exceedingly large one, and in addition to its great size, it was very heavy and very ugly. i fancy it was originally intended to be helmet shaped, but its maker had allowed his imagination to run away with him, and when finished, it was the most extraordinary looking headdress that ever spoilt the appearance of a naturally beautiful person. it resembled rather a swollen plum pudding in a very large dish, than a respectable sola topee. it was so constructed inside as to fit no existingly shaped human head, and consequently required to be balanced with the greatest care. by dint of sitting very upright i had succeeded in keeping it on my head during the earlier stages of my journey, but now i had more important matters to think of than sola topees, and consequently it became grievously offended, and (being abnormally sensitive, as are most deformed creatures) it commenced to wobble about in a most alarming manner. on and on we went. i had almost ceased to have any feeling in my legs and body, and began to wonder vaguely what strange person's head had got on to my shoulders, it seemed to fit so loosely. we flew past the second milestone, but my brother, who rode just ahead of me, absorbed no doubt in the joys of the gallop, never stayed his reckless course. i could not stop my pony, because both hands were, of course, engaged in holding on to the saddle. i lost my stirrup; it was never any good to me, but my foot felt lonely without it. my knees were cramped, my head ached, and finally my sola topee, unable longer to endure its undignified wobble, descended slowly over my face and hung there by its elastic, effectually blocking out everything from my sight. i would have infinitely preferred to have fallen off, but did not know how to do so comfortably. at last, with a mighty effort i crouched in the saddle, gingerly released one hand, pushed aside the topee from before my mouth, and yelled to my brother to stop. he turned, saw something unusual in my appearance, and, thank goodness! stopped. it could not have lasted much longer; either i or the pony would have been obliged to give way. when i indignantly explained to my brother what the pony had been doing, all he said was that he hoped to goodness i had not given it a sore back. i know its back could not have been a quarter as sore as was mine! i did not gallop again that or any other day. we spent the night in another "dâk" bungalow, consisting of three mat walled sleeping apartments, scantily furnished, and an open veranda where we dined. we dined off chicken variously disguised, and being very stiff and weary, retired early to bed. during dinner, my brother casually remarked that on his last visit there he had killed a snake in the roof, and on retiring to my room i remembered his words and trembled. i don't know much about snakes, save only that a "king cobra" alone will attack without provocation; therefore, if one is attacked, the reptile is almost certain to be a snake of that species. what precautions should therefore be taken to defend one's life i have not ascertained, but i give the information as affording at any rate some satisfaction in case of attack. the roof of my room was thatched, and looked the very dwelling place of snakes, and how could i possibly defend myself from attack (supposing king cobras inhabited that district), when they might drop down on me while i slept, or come up through the chinks and holes in the wooden floor, and bite my feet when i was getting into bed? the situation was a desperate one. what was to be done? after half an hour, i was forced to abandon my plan of sitting up all night on the table, under my green sun-umbrella; the table was so rickety that i fell off whenever i dozed, and the situation became painful. at last a new plan occurred to me. i took a wild leap from the table to the bed, and succeeded in rigging up a tent with the mosquito curtain props, and a sheet. then, secure from all dangers from below or above, i fell fast asleep, and awoke next morning to find myself still alive and unharmed. i am convinced that more than one cunning serpent that night returned foiled to its lair, having at last encountered a degree of cunning surpassing its own. we made an early start next morning, as we had still twelve miles to ride before the day grew hot. the orderly objected to ride further on a snail, and had put my saddle once more on my original pony, so i finished my ride without further mishap. it was a delicious morning; the early lights and shadows of dawn and sunrise enhanced the beauty of the richly coloured jungle bordering the road. on all sides we were surrounded by the tall, dark, waving trees, and the thick green, pink, golden, and red-brown under-growth, save occasionally when the close bushes were cleared a little, and we caught tempting glimpses of shady moss covered glades, chequered by the sunlight peering through the thick leaves. everything was very still, and except for the soft whisper of the jungle grass, a great silence brooded over all. suddenly there broke upon my ears a strange sound, weird, mystic, wonderful. it was a heavy, grating, creaking noise, more horrible than aught i had heard before. nearer and nearer it came; and now it could be distinguished as the cry of some mighty beast in pain, for the first and fundamental noise was varied by shrill screams and deep, painful groans. was it a wounded elephant? no! surely no living elephant ever gave voice to such terrible, awe-inspiring sounds. it must be some far mightier beast, some remnant of the prehistoric ages, which remained still to drag out a lonely existence, hidden from human eyes, in this far burmese jungle. but now it was close upon us; the noise was deafening, making day hideous; round the corner of the road appeared four huge, horns, two meek looking white heads, and----a bullock cart. that was the sole cause of this hideous disturbance, of these ear-piercing shrieks which rent the air. as usual, the wheels of the cart were formed of solid circles of wood, not even rounded, and carefully unoiled, and from these emanated those horrible shrieks, groans, and creaks, which are the delight and security of the burmese driver, and the terror of tigers and panthers haunting the road. how eminently peaceful must be the life of the bullock-cart driver! he knows no hurry, no anxiety, no responsibility. hour after hour, day after day he jogs along, seated on the front of his cart, occasionally rousing himself to joke and gossip with friends he may meet on the way, or to encourage his team by means of his long bamboo stick, but more often he sits wrapped in a deep sleep, or meditation, trusting for guidance to the meek solemn-faced bullocks which he drives. his work is done, his life is passed in one long continuous, sleeping, smoking, and eating sort of existence; the thought of such a life of careless, uneventful, unambitious happiness, is appalling. [illustration: burmese bullock cart] i grew somewhat weary of the frequent opportunities i had of studying the bullock carts and their drivers during that morning ride. every cart jogged on its noisy way along the very centre of the road; but it is not meet that a sahib and a representative of the great queen should occupy anything but the very centre of the road when taking his rides abroad. consequently whenever we met a bullock cart both cavalcades had to stop. it was a work of time to make the driver hear the orderly's voice, above the creaking of the wheels; more time was occupied in rousing him from his sleep, and explaining to him the situation; and more time again in explaining matters to the bullocks, and inducing them to drag the cart into the ditch. it took five minutes to pass each cart, and as we met a great many that morning as we approached the village, our progress was considerably delayed. i should have preferred for the sake of speed to have ridden in the ditch myself; at the same time i am aware such opinions are unworthy of the relation of an indian civilian. my entrance into remyo, the future scene of my experiences, at half-past ten that morning was striking, though hardly dignified. picture to yourself a sorrowful, huddled figure, seated on a weary dishevelled looking pony, covered from head to foot with red dust, and surmounted by a large battered topee "tip-tilted like the petal of a flower." i had long ceased to make any pretence at riding. i sat sideways on my saddle, as one sits in an irish car, grasping in one hand the pummel and in the other my large green sun umbrella, for the sun was terribly hot. how weary i was, and how overjoyed at arriving at my destination! but even yet my troubles were not over. there was the house, there my sister waiting in the veranda to welcome me, but directly my pony arrived at the gate of the compound he stopped dead. apparently it was not in the bond that i should be carried up to the door, and so no further would he go. i was too impatient to argue the matter, too weary to give an exhibition of horsemanship, so there was nothing to do but descend, walk up the compound, and tumble undignifiedly into the house, where the first thing i did was to register a vow that never again, except in a case of life and death, would i attempt to ride a burmese pony. chapter v. an up-country station. "far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife."--(gray.) i daresay that remyo is very like other small up-country stations in burmah, but to me it appeared to be the very end of the earth, so different was it from all i had expected. it stands in a small valley, surrounded by low jungle-clad hills. the clearing is perhaps three miles long by one and-a-half wide, but there always appeared to be more jungle than clearing about the place, so quickly does the former spread. the station is traversed crosswise by two rough tracks called by courtesy roads, and is surrounded by what is imposingly termed "the circular road." this road, but recently constructed, is six or seven miles long, and passes mostly outside the clearing, being consequently bordered in many places on both sides by thick jungle. there is something infinitely pathetic to my mind about this poor new road, wandering aimlessly in the jungle, leading nowhere and used by no one. at regular distances there stand by the wayside tall posts bearing numbers. the lonely posts mark the situations of houses which it is hoped will, in the future, be built on the allotments which they represent. in theory, the circular road is lined with houses, for remyo has a great future before it; but just at present, the future is travelling faster than the station, and consequently the poor road is allowed to run sadly into the jungle alone, its course known only to the dismal representatives of these future houses. the only finished building near which this road passes is the railway station, a neat wooden erection, possessing all the requirements of a small wayside station, and lacking only one essential feature--a railway, for the railway, like the great future of remyo, is late in arriving, and so the road and the railway station are left sitting sadly expectant in the jungle, waiting patiently for the arrival of that future which alone is needed to render them famous. in remyo itself there is a fair sized native bazaar, consisting of rows of unpleasant looking mat huts, each raised a few feet from the ground, with sloping overhanging roofs, and open sides. the road through the bazaar is always very dusty, crowded with bullock carts, goats, and dogs, and usually alive with naked burmese babies of every age and size. not a pleasant resort on a hot day. besides the bazaar, the station contains the court house, the district bungalow, and the post office; half-a-dozen european houses scattered up and down the clearing, and the club. to the anglo-indians the club seems as necessary to existence as the air they breathe. i verily believe that when the white man penetrates into the interior to found a colony, his first act is to clear a space and build a club house. the club house at remyo is a truly imposing looking edifice, perched high on the hill side, standing in a well kept compound, surrounded by its offices, bungalows, and stables. about the interior of the building i must confess ignorance, it being an unpardonable offence for any woman to cross the threshold. it may be that it is but a whited sepulchre, the exterior beautiful beyond description, the interior merely emptiness: i cannot tell. at the foot of the club house stands a tiny, one-roomed, mat hut, the most unpretentious building i ever beheld, universally known by the imposing title of "the ladies club." here two or more ladies of the station nightly assemble for an hour before dinner, to read the two months old magazines, to search vainly through the shelves of the "library" for a book they have not read more than three times, to discuss the iniquities of the native cook, and to pass votes of censure on the male sex for condemning them to such an insignificant building. it has always been a sore point with the ladies of remyo that their club house only contains one room. they argue that if half the members wish to play whist, and the other half wished to talk, many inconveniences (to say the least) would arise. as there are but four lady members of the club, this argument does not appear to me to be convincing, but i do not pretend to understand the intricacies of club life. i have sometimes been tempted to believe that the ladies would really be happier without a club; possessing one, they feel strongly the necessity of using it, and though they would doubtless prefer sometimes to sit comfortably at home, every evening sees them sally forth determinedly to their tiny hut. there they sit night after night till nearly dark, and then, not daring to disturb the lordly occupants of the big house, to demand protection, they steal home nervously along the jungle bordered road, trembling at every sound, but all the time talking and laughing cheerfully, in order to convince everybody (themselves in particular) that they are not at all afraid of meeting a panther or tiger, in fact would rather prefer to do so than not. truly the precious club is not an unmixed blessing! there are a few wooden houses in remyo, but the majority are merely built of matting, with over-hanging roofs. they are often raised some twenty feet above the ground, and present the extraordinary appearance of having grown out of their clothes like school boys. the house in which my sister and her husband lived was a wooden erection of unpretentious appearance. i cannot say who was the architect, but a careful consideration of the construction of the house revealed to us much of his method. in the first place he was evidently an advocate of the benefits of fresh air and light. the house was all doors and windows, not one of them, apparently, intended to shut, and not satisfied with this, the builder had carefully left wide chinks in the walls, and two or three large holes in the roof. the front door opened directly into the drawing-room, the drawing-room into the dining room, the dining-room into the bedrooms, and the bedrooms on to the compound again. thus we were enabled in all weathers to have a direct draught through the house, and as remyo is a remarkably windy place, much of our time was occupied in preventing the furniture from being blown away. whenever anything was missing we invariably found it in the back compound, whither it had been carried by the wind. life in such an atmosphere was no doubt healthy, but a trifle wearing to the nerves. the compactness of the house was delightful. all the rooms led out of one another, and there were no inside doors, consequently one could easily carry on a conversation with those in other parts of the house without leaving one's chair or raising one's voice. the only occasion on which we found this arrangement of the rooms inconvenient was when we stained the dining room floor. the stain did not dry for three days, and during that time all communication between the drawing room and bedrooms was entirely cut off, for the only way from one to the other was through the dining room, and that was impossible, unless we wished our beautiful floor to be covered with permanent foot marks. our architect was evidently a dweller in the plains, and the uses of a fireplace were unknown to him. in each of the small bedrooms he had built large open fireplaces, worthy of a baronial hall, while in neither of the sitting rooms was there the slightest vestige of a fireplace of any sort or kind whatever. this was a little inconvenient. naturally an affectionate and gregarious family party, we did not like to spend our evenings, each sitting alone before our own palatial bedroom fireplace; being properly brought up, and proud of our drawing room, we preferred to occupy it, and often, as i sat shivering while the wind tore through the rooms, whistling and shrieking round the furniture, and the rain poured through the roof, i wondered what was supposed to be the use of a house at all; we should have done quite as well without one, except, of course, for the look of the thing. modern inventions such as bells appear unknown in remyo. if you want anything you must shout for it until you get it. when calling on a neighbour you stand outside the front door, and shout for five minutes, if no one appears in that time, you assume they are not at home, put your cards on the doorstep or through a chink in the wall, and depart. it is a primitive arrangement, but still, not without advantages. if you don't wish to find people at home, you shout softly. we were superior to all our neighbours in the possession of a bell. we hung it up in the compound near the servants' "go downs," and passed the bell rope through various holes in the walls, etc., to the dining room. i don't know where the bell originally came from, but i think it must have come from a pagoda, for it was undoubtedly bewitched. it rang at all hours of the day and night without provocation. once it pealed out suddenly at midnight and rang steadily for half-an-hour, when it as suddenly stopped. this was probably caused by some birds swinging on the rope, but it was most uncanny. the servants used to answer the bell at first when it rang in the day time, until the joke palled on them, and they became suddenly deaf to its call. they never answered it at night: i fancy they thought when they heard it then, that the house was attacked by dacoits or tigers and we were ringing for help, and they deemed it more prudent to remain shut up in their "go downs." when we attempted to ring the bell with a purpose, it invariably stuck somewhere and would not sound. we never ceased to feel proud of the possession of our bell, but ceased at last to expect it to be of any practical use. when my sister first showed me over her house, my heart sank in spite of my ostensible admiration, for where was the kitchen? did dwellers in remyo eat no cooked food; must i be satisfied with rice and fruits? however, my doubts were soon set at rest when we visited the compound, for there stood a tiny tin shed, inside which was a broad brick wall, with three holes for fires, and what looked like a dog kennel, but which i learned was the oven. a fire was lighted inside the oven, and when the walls were red hot the burning logs were pulled out, the bread placed in, and walled up. how anyone managed to cook anything successfully thus was a marvel to me. i had gone out to remyo, fresh from a course of scientific cooking lectures, intending to rejoice the palates of the poor exiles with the dainty dishes i would cook for their edification. when i saw that kitchen, and when i learned that such a thing as a pair of scales did not exist in the station, all measuring being done by guess work, i gave up all hope of fulfilling my intention, and looked upon the native cook as the most talented gentleman of my acquaintance. the furniture in remyo is of the "let-us-pack-up-quickly-and-remove" type. it is of the lightest and most unsubstantial kind, and has the air of having seen many sales and many owners. the most prominent article in nearly every house is the deck chair, faithful and much travelled chair, which has accompanied its master over the sea from england, and wandered with him into many a dreary little out-of-the-way village, where perchance he sees for months no fellow white man, and where his chair and pipe alone receive his confidences, and solace his soul in the utter loneliness of the jungle. no wonder then that the deck chair wears an important air, and regards other pieces of furniture, which probably change owners every six months, with contemptuous scorn. the impossibility of having a settled home in burmah is very pathetic. in rangoon, the interior of the houses occasionally wear a settled and homelike appearance, but in the jungle, never. everything is selected with a view to quick packing; pictures, ornaments, and useless decorations are reduced to a minimum, and only articles of furniture which are indispensable are seen. when one is liable to be moved elsewhere at four days' notice, there is no encouragement to take deep root, the frequent uprooting would be too painful. this spirit of constant change seems to enter into the blood of the anglo-indian, for the housewife is perpetually moving her furniture, "turning her rooms round" so to speak, and she never seems to keep anything in the same place for more than a week! after all, not burmah, but england is looked upon as "home." even the man of twenty-five years service whose family, friends, and interests may be all centred in burmah, who loves the life he leads there, and is proud of the position he holds, even he talks of what he will do when he "goes home," and in imagination crowns with a halo "this little precious stone set in the silver sea, this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this england," which no amount of fog, cold, monotony, and dreary oblivion in his after life here, ever dispels. however happy and prosperous the anglo-indian may be in his exile, going to england, is "going home." our most unique piece of furniture was the piano. i do not remember who was the maker of this renowned instrument, but its delicate constitution was most unhappily disorganised by the climate. when first it came to us it was quite a nice piano, rather jingling, and not always in tune, but "fit to pass in a crowd with a shove." alas! the remyo climate was fatal; the degeneration commenced at once, and proceeded so rapidly, that in three months all was over. the first indication of trouble was a serious feud between several of the notes, which would persist in making use of one another's tones, and would not work in harmony. for example, when one struck c sharp, it promptly sang out high f's tone, and high f, being deprived of its lawful voice, was forced to adopt a sound like nothing we had ever heard before. then e flat became officious and conceited, and persisted in sounding its shrill note through the whole of the piece in performance, while g on the contrary was sulky, and wouldn't sound at all. now all this was, of course, most disconcerting to other notes which had hitherto behaved in an exemplary manner. some became flurried and nervous, and sang totally wrong tones, or sounded their own in such a doubtful, apologetic manner that it was of very little effect. others grew annoyed, sided with various leaders in the quarrels, jangling together noisily, and persisting in sounding discords and interrupting each other. others again were seized with a mischievous spirit; they mocked and mimicked their companions, and vied with one another in producing the most extraordinary and unpleasant noises. chaos and anarchy reigned in the piano case, all laws of sound and harmony were o'erthrown, the bass clef could no longer be trusted to produce a low note, nor the treble a high one, and a chromatic scale produced such an extraordinary conglomeration of sounds, as would certainly have caused a german band to die of envy. this could not continue for ever, and at last came reaction. whether caused by the quarterly visit of the mandalay chaplain, or by the shocked and pained expression on the face of a musical friend who called one day when i was sounding (it could no longer be called playing) the piano, i know not, but certain it is, the piano was suddenly seized with remorse. notes conquered their thieving propensities, differences were patched up, discord and jangling ceased, and the whole community, as a sign of real repentance, took upon itself the vow of silence. not a sound could we extract from the once noisy keys, save occasionally a sad whisper from the treble, or a low murmur from the bass. after a time, even these ceased, and the once harmonious and soul-stirring tones of the piano, passed entirely into the land of silence. chapter vi. the european inhabitants. "in spite of all temptations to belong to other nations he remains an englishman"-- "h.m.s. pinafore." the european population of remyo is small, consisting in fact of but four resident ladies, and some dozen resident males; but despite their limited number they form a very friendly and independent little community. among them are to be found the usual types of anglo indian society, but they display characteristics not met with among the dwellers in larger stations. remyo is so entirely cut off from civilisation, that the inhabitants must of necessity depend solely upon themselves for amusement, and as entertainments, at which one would invariably meet the same half-dozen guests are apt to become a trifle monotonous, the ladies, deprived of this usual mode of killing time, are compelled to devote themselves to domestic pursuits rather more than is the custom of most anglo indians. the comparative coolness of the climate (remyo being , feet above sea level) is conducive to such occupations, and whereas in rangoon, or mandalay, housekeeping duties are reduced to a minimum, in remyo, the ladies, having nothing else to do, engage themselves thus with a zeal and energy worthy of a dutch housewife. but, poor souls, they are terribly handicapped! in the first place, they are mostly unaccustomed to housekeeping themselves; secondly, the servants and household are quite unaccustomed to being "kept"; and thirdly, it is practically impossible for a mistress to do her own marketing unless she possess an unusual knowledge of the language. she may resolutely keep accounts, lock up stores, walk about all morning in an apron, with a large bunch of keys, and have long confidential conversations with the cook; but in spite of all these possibilities she can only play at housekeeping; the cook and head boy are the real managers of the establishment, and they regard the well meant efforts of their mistress with the kindly amusement one would extend to a child "keeping house." a remyo lady's morning interview with her cook, usually a madrassee, is an amusing interlude. neither fish nor joints can be procured in the native bazaar, so the poor housekeeper is often at her wits' end to introduce variety into her evening menu. she begins cheerfully: "well cook, what have we for dinner to-night?" cook replies laconically, "chicken." "chicken," repeats the mistress doubtfully, "yes, perhaps that will do. did you kill it yesterday?" "no! missis, not killed yet." "oh cook!" in a tone of stern reproach, "missis told you always to kill it the day before, why have you not done so?" cook shelters himself behind an unintelligible answer in a mixture of hindustani and "pigeon english," and after an unsuccessful attempt to understand him, his mistress is forced to pass from the subject, with a rebuke which he receives with a reproachful look. "now," she continues, "what have you for soup?" "chicken" is again the prompt reply. "is there really nothing else?" demands the mistress uneasily. "no, there is nothing else." "well," hopefully, "you must make a very nice little side dish (entrée), what can we have?" "nice bit of grilled chicken," suggests cook cheerfully. "oh no cook," she cries in despair, "we can't have more chicken." "what would missis like then?" missis has not the vaguest idea of any possible suggestion, so diffidently agrees that perhaps chicken will be nice. she asks about the savoury, but seeing the word "chicken" again hovering on cook's lips, decides to make the savoury herself, and turns to receive the daily accounts. then cook rattles off a long account of his expenditure, which his mistress duly enters in her book, fondly hoping that he isn't charging her more than double the cost of each article, but having no means of discovering the truth. once or twice, on visits to the bazaar, we asked the price of various things, and triumphantly confronted the cook with the result of our researches, but he was never in the least disconcerted, and at once entered into a long, unintelligible, and quite irrefutable explanation as to why the article was cheaper on that particular day than on any other. it is quite impossible to upset the cheerful sang froid of a madrassee. native servants have the reputation of being most faithful to their master, and perhaps they deserve the character, for they allow no one else to cheat him (unless they get the lion's share of the spoil), but they consider it their special prerogative to cheat him themselves at every opportunity. a scolding from a mistress makes little impression on a madrassee servant,--he receives it with an air of gentle reproach, while he most persistently denies the offence, whatever it may be, from a bad dinner, to a broken plate or an undelivered message. it is only the master, who, by a wealth of strong language, and judiciously directed remarks, concerning the origin, parents, and relations of the guilty one, can hope to make the slightest impression upon the impervious native mind. a further difficulty for the young and ardent housekeeper is the number of servants in her establishment. one man is engaged to sweep the floor, another to dust the furniture, one to fetch the water, a second to pour it into the bath, one to lay the knives and forks, and a companion to hand the plates, and so on through every department of the household work. this divided duty is exceedingly convenient to the servants, for if anything be wrong the fault can always be laid on the absent one, or a scolding delivered to one can be passed on almost unlimitedly until everyone has enjoyed an opportunity of relieving his feelings. but it is inconvenient for a mistress; such a delay is caused in carrying out an order. for example, if a jug of water be spilled, a first servant picks up the jug, a second dries the table cloth, a third dries the table, a fourth mops up the water from the floor, a fifth rearranges the furniture, a sixth carries out the empty jug, and a seventh fetches the water to refill it. all orders are delivered to the head boy, a most important and dignified personage, and he transmits them through the various ranks of his underlings until they reach the servant whose duty it is to carry them out. during the transmission through so many channels, of course the orders become hopelessly mixed. we had only fourteen servants, as our house was not large! a few of them, such as the cook, sais, and butler had definite duties, the remainder seemed to be chiefly engaged in getting in one another's way and quarrelling. but i suppose the work of the house could not have been carried on without them, though their number was distinctly inconvenient. in rangoon, where servants abound, it would be easy to dismiss and engage a dozen a day, but not so in the remoter stations. the natives of india will not leave the plains unless a strong inducement be offered, and the burmese much prefer not to work, if they can live without doing so. burmans are usually excellent servants, but they are slow to learn to speak english, and the young housekeeper, who has probably been accustomed to english, or at least hindustani-speaking servants in rangoon, experiences great difficulty in making herself understood. all our servants, with the exception of the cook, were burmese, and when my brother happened to be away, and the cook was not at hand to interpret, we felt particularly helpless. messages brought at such a time had to go undelivered, and many a struggle have i had to understand po sin's wants, or to make him understand mine. housekeeping under such disadvantages is not a happy undertaking. another way of passing time in which we indulged, was cooking. it was cooking under difficulties, for the most important part (the baking) had perforce to be entrusted to the tender mercies of the cook, no one else being capable of understanding his intricate oven. and the cook, jealous of our trespass on his prerogative, almost invariably served up our cakes in the guise, either of soft dough, or of black cinders. the chief objects of our cooking experiments were cakes and savouries. we neither of us knew very much about cooking, but we had cookery books, and did what we could, supplying the place of the innumerable ingredients we did not possess, with any we happened to have on hand. the result was usually distasteful. i made cakes with exceeding great vigour and confidence during almost the whole of my stay, but nobody ate them save myself from bravado, the dogs from greed, and unsuspecting strangers from innocence. cake making was a fashionable subject of conversation at the ladies' "five o'clocks" in remyo, and everyone gave everyone else recipes. i was astonished to hear my sister (whom i knew to be almost entirely ignorant upon such subjects) glibly confiding recipes for all sorts of things, on one of these occasions. i taxed her with the matter later, but she explained that it was the fashion to give recipes, and so long as she was careful to include an ingredient or two, impossible to obtain, she could safely trust that no one would find her out. there is one shop in remyo in addition to the native bazaar, and the ladies usually pay it a daily visit, in order, i suppose, to add realism to their pretence of housekeeping. the method adopted on these occasions is remarkable. no one expects to find anything she really wants in the shop, as it is kept by a native of india, but she begins hopefully asking for various articles, each demand being greeted by a shake of the head. she then asks the shopkeeper what he does happen to sell, at which he appears doubtful, but suggests some useless thing such as antimacassars. the purchaser at length makes a tour of the shop, picks out the least useless article she can find, and bears it home in triumph. the unwise thing to do, is to order an article from rangoon or mandalay. one is indeed lucky if it arrives within twelve months after being ordered, and without an expenditure of all one's powers of sarcasm in letters of remonstrance, and a fortune in stamps. firstly, there will be received about a dozen letters, with intervals of four days or so between each, demanding fresh descriptions and explanations of the desired article. then, when more specific description is an impossibility, letters for money will arrive; a request for a rupee for carriage, another request for five annas for something else, for half a rupee that has been overlooked in the first account, and so on for four weeks more. then the article is announced to be upon the way, but it does not arrive. more letters bring to light the fact that it is lost; has most mysteriously disappeared; cannot be traced anywhere. new people come upon the scene. letters from carriers and agents arrive. weeks elapse, still the article cannot be found. another is in course of construction, when it is suddenly discovered that by some strange oversight the original was overlooked, never sent off at all, and is still reposing in the same tiresome shop. at length the once desired purchase arrives, but the purchaser has now long ceased to feel any interest in it whatever. the inhabitants of remyo live together in apparent peace and friendliness, but there is between them one never ending source of rivalry, _i.e._ their gardens. gardening is one of the most fashionable employments in remyo. everyone has a garden, though the uninitiated would probably not recognise the fact, and the amount of time, thought, and energy expended thereon is worthy of better results than those i beheld. for the "remyoans" are ambitious folk, and are not content with the flowers, plants and natural products of the country. their desire is to have a real english garden, and with this end in view, they sow innumerable seeds, set many bulbs, rake, dig and water (or superintend these operations) till life is a burden both to themselves and to their servants. possibly, i did not remain long enough, but the results i saw were not satisfactory; it required a great stretch of imagination to mark any resemblance between a large bare compound covered with coarse jungle grass, dotted about with flat grey-soiled beds containing a few withered looking plants (half-a-dozen violets perhaps, and a haggard sunflower), and an english garden. perhaps long absence from home had dulled their recollection of gardens in england. we were specially unlucky in our garden. had we been content to confine our efforts to plants in pots and boxes (as did some of our wiser neighbours) we might have been fairly successful. but visions of rose gardens, artistically laid out beds, and mossy violet covered dells dazzled us, and our ambitions in this direction were boundless. the coarse grass, the poor soil, and the persistent reappearances of unsightly jungle weeds in all sorts of unexpected places should have daunted us, but we had souls above such trifles. directly we had formed our plans we set to work, scorning the advice of more experienced people, and disregarding all considerations of prepared beds, manure, and seasons. we marked out several intricately shaped beds, dug them up, lightly scattered some good soil over the top, and proceeded to sow our seed with hearty good will. the first difficulty we met with was with regard to arrangement. each of us had a favourite plan, the abandonment of which no arguments on the part of the others could persuade. at length, after much useless discussion, we decided each to go our own way, sow our seed where we chose, and leave it to nature to settle the difficulty. this was so far satisfactory, tho' we felt anxious when we found that nasturtiums had been sown on the top of daffodil bulbs, and one poor little bed of pansies had a border of sweet peas and sunflowers. for some days after we had laid out the garden, my sister and i had a wearing time. the first thing in the early mornings we hurried out for an eager search after signs of life in our seeds. we divided the day into watches, that someone might always be at hand to defend the precious seed from the marauding crows and pigeons. the cool of the evening, usually given up to tennis and other amusements, was devoted wholly to the fatiguing task of watering. at last, sooner in fact than we really expected, we were rewarded by a few delicate green shoots, peering cautiously above the ground. how tenderly we cherished these first fruits of our toil; how carefully we shaded them from the sun, watered them, and protected them from the evil onslaught of the pigeons. how angry we were when we discovered they were weeds. however, we were rewarded at last by the unmistakable appearance of cultivated plants. nearly every seed sent up its little green shoot, and for a few days we were most unpleasantly proud, and treated our friends with contemptuous pity, while we visited and measured the plants almost every half-hour, to see if they had grown in the interval. but our joy was short lived, for from some cause or another, either the strong sun, the lack of water, or the poor soil, all our plants withered before they put forth flowers. at first we refused to believe our ill fortune; we told one another that it was always thus at first with delicate plants, that they must have more water and less sun. we covered them over in the heat of the day with waste paper baskets, topees, and cunningly erected tents of straw, and we risked our lives a hundred times, by running out in the hot sun to replace these, when the wind blew them away. we talked bravely of being able soon to gather bunches of daffodils, and to send our neighbours baskets of sweet peas. but we each felt all the time in our heart of hearts, that our hopes were doomed to disappointment. at last we could keep up the delusion no longer, and owned the fact of our failure to one another; and being now sadder and wiser folk, threw away the withered plants, and made a new garden, following this time the advice of our neighbours. the only plants which did prosper in this first garden were the nasturtiums (i verily believe they will flourish anywhere) and for several hours a tiny bed round the foot of a tree at the bottom of the compound veritably blazed with the colour afforded by four flourishing nasturtiums; but while we were at the club that evening, the crows pecked off all the petals of the flowers, and our only success was but a short lived one. the kitchen garden, which we consigned to the care of po sin, our head boy, was rather more successful, our radishes, and mustard and cress being the wonder of the country side. then we had good hopes for the peas too; there was one row about ten inches high which looked really promising, and as we sat on the veranda in the evenings contemplating this cheerful sight, we talked longingly of the time when we should have a dish of our own peas for dinner. but alas for the vanity of human expectations. one morning, my sister had sallied forth to inspect the garden, when i was startled by the despairing cry of "come, come at once, the peas are flowering;" and upon hurrying to the spot i found it too true; our precocious peas were already in flower, and nothing could be done to discourage them. after a few days the petals fell away, and miniature pea pods, containing microscopic peas appeared in their place. our wishes were fulfilled; we had a dish, (a very small one) of our own peas for dinner, but alas it consisted of the produce of the entire row. another source of much interest was our strawberry plant. i took strawberry runners out with me from england, but, unfortunately, only one survived, which put forth three new shoots, and appeared for a time quite healthy, but never bore fruit. still, it may yet do so; and in the meantime it is much admired by all the inhabitants of remyo. our second garden, happily, being prepared with more regard to the demands of the climate, was a success, and wiped out the stain of our first failure. it is well that the remyo ladies can interest themselves in the manner i have indicated, for between breakfast and tea time the sun is so terribly hot, as to render out-door exercise quite impossible, and in the absence of many books time is sometimes difficult to kill. ladies in england, with their hundred and one occupations, their amusements, household duties, and perhaps charities to attend to, can have but a very faint conception of how wearisomely long and lonely are some days, to their anglo-indian sisters. their husbands away, or busy much of the day, deprived of their children's society, with few books, few amusements, and practically no duties, life is far from being an unqualified joy to these exiled women. let the british matron who would accuse her eastern sister of idleness, frivolity, and worse, consider these things, and forbear to judge. the men, with their work and sport to engage their time, are less apt to find the days long; but even they at times feel the same strain. indeed, i remember one day, when there was no work to be done, my brother and sister, (who had but lately left rangoon with its constant whirl of gaiety) became so hopelessly and desperately bored, that we were reduced to revive our drooping spirits by making sugar toffee over the spirit kettle. before breakfast and after tea are the opportunities for exercise and amusement, and the most is made of these cooler hours. remyo boasts a gravel tennis court, and a nine-hole golf course, mostly bunkers. two more tennis courts, and a cricket and polo ground are in course of construction, preparatory to the arrival of the great future to which i have referred. each form of exercise enjoys about three days popularity at a time. at one time tennis will be the rage, and every one repairs to the club court, tho' so short are the evenings before sunset, that it is impossible to play more than three sets an afternoon, so we are forced to be content with about three games each. then the tennis rage dies away, and golf suddenly becomes the fashionable game. like most occupations in remyo, golf is golf under difficulties, though personally, whenever and wherever i play golf, i play under difficulties. the links are chiefly jungle, and a wood axe would probably be the most useful accessory to the enjoyment of the game. the holes are short, and a good player would probably drive on to the green every time, but at remyo we were not good players. if by some lucky chance one drove perfectly straight, there was nothing worse to fear than a tree, or a deep nullah, filled with reeds and hoof marks, a nullah where might be spent a harassing quarter of an hour, slashing at a half hidden ball, which, in sheer desperation, one was at last compelled to pick out. but if the drive were not straight, then what endless and interesting possibilities or impossibilities were revealed. heaps of stones, inpenetrable bushes, reeds, rabbit-holes, and every form of acute misery which the golfer's soul can conceive. yet the links are very popular, and are the scene of many an exciting match, in spite of lost balls, broken clubs, and lost tempers. i have seen three clubs broken by one man in an afternoon's match, and he was neither a particularly bad player, nor especially violent. the burman is not a success as a caddie. our loogalays looked upon the game at first with indifference, then with dislike. i think they imagined that we purposely drove the ball into a hopeless tangle of grass and bushes in order to scold them when they could not find it. they could never be induced to make any distinction between the clubs, and looked hurt when we curtly refused to drive with our putters. their notion of marking balls, too, is very primitive; po mya only found one during my stay, which it turned out was an old one lost some days before. in fine, they seemed to think it the greatest folly that we should tramp up and down, and in and out of nullahs, and lose our tempers so unnecessarily, because of a small white ball, when we had plenty more at home. on some afternoons everyone will repair to the new polo and cricket ground, and walk up and down the new laid turf, discussing solemnly the drainage, and general advantages and disadvantages of the position; or, feeling energetic, will practise cricket, and the knowing ones will give exhibitions of tricky polo strokes. the making of the polo ground was seriously delayed at first on account of the divergent opinions as to the best site, each declaring his selection to be the only one possible, and showering unlimited contempt upon all others. every day we were dragged off to inspect a new spot, and all appeared to me so equally lacking in points of advantage, that i had no difficulty in impressing each new discoverer with my knowledge in such matters, by disparaging (in confidence) all other schemes than his. finally, a site was chosen, and while the ground was in course of construction, those whose views had been disregarded, derived the satisfaction (always to be had in such cases) of discussing the insurmountable obstacles to the selected proposal. some afternoons were devoted to rides. the jungle around remyo is lovely, tho' not being there during the rains, i did not see it to perfection. there are delightful rides in every direction, and exquisite views from the hills, whence can be seen for miles nothing but undulating waves of jungle, every colour from deepest reds and browns to the bright pink of the peach blossom, and the pale green of the feathery bamboos. it is a wonderful sight, this unbroken jungle, bordered in the far distance by the shadowy blue hills of the shan states. sometimes we visited quaint pagodas, with their neighbouring pretty, many-roofed kyaungs where the yellow robed hpoongyis, wander in meditation, or study 'neath the shade of the palm and banana groves. the pagodas are all very similar in shape, and near to each is a tazoung full of images of gaudama, with ever the same calm peaceful smile, denoting a philosophy superior to the cares and artificialities of the world around. sometimes we rode along narrow jungle paths, bordered by a tangled mass of bright coloured bushes and undergrowth, or by the tall, waving, jungle grass, which is always whispering. these paths lead to tiny collections of bamboo huts, surrounded by high fences to keep out dacoits and other marauders, where the unambitious native leads a peaceful, contented life, under the shadow of the bamboos and peepul trees; an uneventful existence, enlivened, perhaps, occasionally by a pwé, or visit to a pagoda feast at a neighbouring village. i enjoyed these expeditions, tho' they were ever fraught with danger to my limbs. nothing would induce me again to mount a pony (i had had sufficient experience) so i accompanied the others on my bicycle. of late years many wonderful bicycle riders have exhibited their tricks to the public, but i am certain none have performed such extraordinary feats as are called for by the state of the burmese roads, most of them mere jungle tracks, ploughed in every direction into deep ruts by the bullock carts. it was impossible to ride in the furrows, as they were not sufficiently wide to allow the pedals to work round, so i was obliged to perform a sort of plank riding trick along the top of the rut. occasionally, my eminence would break off abruptly, and unless the bicycle succeeded in jumping the gap a fall was inevitable. never had bicycle such severe usage, nor ever did such yeoman service as mine; but save an occasional twist of the handle bars, or a bent spoke, i never met with a serious accident, and i soon learned the art of "falling softly." my anxieties, too, were increased by the mistaken kindness of my companions, who would persist in riding beside me and conversing. one man in particular (i have forgiven him, for i know he meant it kindly) would never consent to leave me to ride alone. he would trot along on his pony, either just beside, or worse still just behind me, when i felt i might fall at any moment, and that he could not help riding over me. he would chatter away gaily, while i, with agonised expression, struggled along, one eye on the road and one eye on the pony, scarce heeding his remarks, making the most hopelessly vague replies to his questions, and committing myself to i know not what opinions. one day we actually took a walk. we ladies grew weary of our customary amusements, and though we had none of us done much walking since we left england, we hailed the new idea with delight. the men refused to accompany us (the english civilian in the east seems to forget how to walk) so we went with only a servant or two to carry our cameras, refreshments, and other necessities. we walked about five miles thro' the jungle, to a little native village surrounded entirely by clumps of feathery bamboos, a most exquisite spot. we climbed a neighbouring hill where stood the inevitable pagoda and kyaung, and were rewarded by a perfect view. our photographic intentions were unfulfilled, for as we were about to focus our cameras, a jungle fire was set alight below, and the smoke, drifting across the valley towards us most effectually obscured our view. we were forced to be content with photographing one another, the most beautiful substitutes we could find. we examined the pagoda, peeped into the kyaung, and tried to induce the hpoongyi to come out and be photographed; but the pious man, evidently a hermit, shut himself promptly into the inner recesses of his dwelling, and continued to read in a loud voice until we had taken our departure. we thought him unnecessarily suspicious, and should have been hurt had we not felt it to be really rather a compliment to our charms. our expedition was on the whole a success, but as we arrived home very hot and tired, having lost our way once or twice, we failed to convince the stay-at-homes that we had enjoyed ourselves without them. one morning early, my sister and i were startled by a succession of shots which rang out close to the house. my brother was away in the district, making an official tour among the villages under his charge, so we were alone and unprotected. hurrying to the window, what was our astonishment to see a band of goorkhas, under command of one of the subalterns, of the detachment stationed at remyo, defending our house against an unseen enemy who lurked in the neighbouring jungle, and kept up an incessant firing. my mind first flew to dacoits, then to french or chinese (i knew there had been trouble on the border), then, on catching sight of one of the enemy, and recognising him also as a goorkha, i knew mutiny must have broken out. trouble of this kind always breaks out unexpectedly, i have heard. soon however, we were forced to suppose that it must be a revolution, for leading the enemy on to attack was the second of the two subalterns of the detachment. it was difficult to believe that this usually shy and retiring young man could be the leader of a disloyal rising, but there he was, excitedly encouraging his followers to attack the house. we hastily prepared lint and bandages for the wounded, and watched with beating hearts the progress of the fight. suddenly, both sides ceased firing, the leaders advanced towards one another, conversed amicably together, evidently settled their differences, summoned their troops, and marched them home to breakfast. it was a sham fight. this appears to be the favourite amusement of the officers who form the military element of remyo society. i was continually finding myself in the midst of desperate encounters when taking my rides abroad. it was rather disconcerting at first, but i grew accustomed to it in time, as one grows accustomed to anything, and would ride along the line of fire, with a coolness and indifference worthy of one of the old seasoned campaigners. i suppose to those who live in a military district, sham fights are ordinary affairs, but i had never seen one before, and it struck me as very ludicrous to see these men, in most desperate earnestness, crouching in ambush, dodging behind trees, and crawling along under cover to escape the fire of their foes. the little goorkhas become wildly excited, and it would not do to allow the two sides to come to close quarters, or the sham fight might develop into a real one. the other european male inhabitants of remyo, are the inevitable indian civilian and "bombay burman," whom of course i should not presume to analyse; two railway men (who seem superfluous as there is as yet no railway), a p.w.d. (public works department) man, whose work, it seems, is to make roads (from my point of view as a cyclist they don't do him credit), an engineer, and the policeman. this last was a mighty shikarri, who had hunted and shot every imaginable animal; who knew the habits and customs of all the beasts of the jungle, and after examining a "kill" would give a whole history of the fight between the tiger and its victim. he was a mighty talker too, and would converse for hours on any subject. what he could not accomplish was to speak for three minutes without giving way to exaggeration; nor could he give an unvarnished reply to a plain question, so that in remyo "if you want to know the time _don't_ ask a policeman" is the popular aphorism. the engineer possessed the most striking characteristics amongst the men of the place. i have never met a man so full of information. he was one of those men who can give information on every conceivable subject, for if he knows nothing about it, he will invent a few facts on the spur of the moment, facts of which he is always justly proud. i never quite made up my mind whether his actions were the outcome of a passion for practical joking, or a desire to be of use, but i try to believe the latter. when i punctured my bicycle tyre he insisted upon helping me to mend it. his process occupied the whole of an afternoon, and the front veranda and drawing-room; beyond this, it was too intricate to describe, except to say that it required all the available tooth brushes in the house, three basins of water, and a rupee piece, and necessitated, apparently, the cutting of a large hole in the inner tube, with a patent tyre remover he had invented out of a broken teaspoon. on another occasion, he assured us he had a splendid plan for preventing our drawing room stove from smoking. we had been obliged to put a stove in the drawing room to make up for the absence of a fire place; it was a primitive affair, with a chimney that went through a hole in the wall, and it smoked "somethink hawful." our friend tried his plan and a dozen others, each more wonderful and complicated than the last, and each necessitating fresh holes in the already perforated wall. each plan too, resulted in increased volumes of smoke, and as the furniture and carpet were being rapidly ruined, and our whilom happy home was being broken up, we finally remedied the matter ourselves. but the matter wherein our engineer excelled himself, was in the matter of rose trees. hearing us one day express a wish for a rose garden, he declared at once that nothing was easier. he was departing for rangoon in two days, and he would there procure and send to us rose cuttings, which we must plant in carefully prepared boxes of soil, follow the instructions which he would give us concerning their welfare, and we should soon have flourishing rose trees. our gratitude was unbounded, we listened and carefully noted his instructions, and after his departure eagerly awaited the fulfilment of his promise. in a few days a coolie delivered at our house, what i took at first to be twigs for fire wood, but on examining the letter accompanying them, i discovered they were the promised rose cuttings. i felt some doubts about them, but my sister had implicit faith in the engineer (the stove incident came later), and would not listen to me. so we planted the rose cuttings, and for six whole weeks did we tend them. all the instructions we carried out to the letter, watering twice daily and sheltering them from the sun by day, and from the cold dews by night, but all to no avail. dead sticks they were, and dead sticks they remained, till at last convinced of the hopelessness of attempting to restore life to the withered things, we tore them up in desperation and burnt them. my sister's faith in the engineer, however, remained still unshaken, and she protested that the coolie must have lost the original bundle of rose cuttings, and substituted these twigs in their place. for my part i believe no such thing, and when i consider what passionate care and tenderness we lavished on those unresponsive pieces of wood, i do indeed feel disposed to "speak with many words." varied though the characters and interests of the remyo inhabitants may be, in one particular they all agree, i.e. in their dislike of the casual visitor. the casual visitor is supposed to ruin the servants, to monopolise the tennis courts, and golf links, to abuse the privileges of honorary membership of the club, to unjustly criticise the polo ground, and generally to destroy the peace and harmony of the station. for the men, the advent of a lady visitor means calls, dinner parties, and the necessity of wearing best clothes, which fills them with horror. for the ladies, it means the advent of one who will possess the latest fashions from rangoon (possibly from england), who will throw into the shade their gala costumes of the fashion of two years ago, who will trespass upon their prerogatives, rival their powers at tennis and golf, and generally interfere with their peaceful and innocent pursuits. the arrival of visitors, therefore, is not welcomed as a rule, and though hospitably received and comfortably housed, they are not admitted into the inner life of the station until they have shown themselves quite innocent of the evil qualities which are imputed to them. this unexpected unfriendliness on the part of the remyoans has been brought about by the acts of two people, who once visited this happy valley, and departed again leaving deeply rooted indignation behind them. of the first, a woman, it suffices to say that she amply justified the suspicions of the remyo ladies. her name is never mentioned by them without a significant look, and she is not a safe subject for discussion. the crime of the second sinner against remyo hospitality (a man) was of a different nature, and it is perhaps difficult for the female mind to grasp the enormity of the offence. a large tiger had made its appearance in the neighbourhood, and a tiger shoot had been organised. all the arrangements were complete; the men were sure of success, and speculated which of their number would have the luck to kill. the evening before the shoot, a visitor on his way from a remote station, arrived in remyo, and obtained permission to accompany the sportsmen. as he was reputed to be a very bad shot this was readily given, and there was allotted to him a position well out of the expected line of the beat. the tiger broke near the stranger's tree, and he killed it with his first shot, the promoters of the shoot never even getting a sight of the game. the criminal impertinence of a mere stranger daring to kill _their_ tiger roused the deepest feelings of indignation among the remyoans. the laws of hospitality are above all, so the perpetrator of the crime was allowed to escape with his life and the tiger skin, but since that day strangers have been looked upon as suspicious interlopers, and prospective tiger shoots are not discussed in presence of the casual visitor. i have given my impressions of the remyo society candidly, perhaps a little too candidly; but lest any who read this book be disposed to hold the latter opinion, let me say one thing more. the first, the last, and the most indelible impression left on my mind by all the anglo-burmans whom i had the pleasure of meeting, was the impression of a kindness, friendliness, and hospitality passing belief. the anglo-burmans, while retaining the best qualities of the english nation, seem to lose entirely that cold and suspicious reserve towards strangers, of which we are often so justly accused. they appear to have adopted those eastern laws of hospitality, which lay so great a stress on the duty of entertaining strangers, and they cannot do enough to welcome those fellow countrymen who visit the land of their exile. this characteristic kindness of the anglo-burmans is so universally acknowledged, that it is really superfluous to mention it, but as i spent six months among them, without encountering a single unkind look, word, or deed, i cannot let the opportunity pass without offering my tribute of gratitude to this most kind-hearted and generous people. chapter vii. the burmese. "we are merry folk who would make all merry as ourselves."--"yeomen of the guard." on my first evening in remyo i was sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for the announcement of dinner, when suddenly, the curtain across the doorway was pulled aside, and a native peered into the room. his movements were rapid and stealthy, and betokened a desire for escape or concealment. on seeing me he slipped past the curtain into the room, and crouched down, as tho' endeavouring to hide himself from without. then in the same bending attitude, he glided past the uncurtained window, across the room where i sat lost in astonishment, and on reaching my chair, sank on to his knees, placed his raised hands together in a supplicating manner, and exclaimed in a deferential and prayerful voice "sarsiar."! for a moment i stared at him in wonder, unable to comprehend his attitude; and then in a flash i understood all. he was in terrible danger, someone was pursuing him; to escape he had slipped into the house, and was now imploring me to conceal or to defend him. i had no thought of hesitation, whatever might be his crime he must not be left to the rough justice of his pursuers, he must be protected until the matter could be properly inquired into. i sprang up and hurried to the window to reconnoitre; four natives stood in the road; no one else was in sight; perhaps the pursuers were already in the house. "sarsiar, sarsiar, thekinma," he repeated, (or something that sounded like that). "all right, all right" i said soothingly: "don't be frightened, you're safe here," and so saying i quietly bolted the outer door, fastened the windows, and proceeded to put the room in a state of defence. my presence of mind evidently astonished him, he stared at me a moment and once more took up his cry of "sarsiar, sarsiar". "it doesn't matter though a dozen sarsiars are after you," i cried impatiently: "you are quite safe here; so tell me who is this "sarsiar," and what have you done to him?" but the wretched man only became still more excited, he crouched lower than ever, he waved his arms, and burst into a torrent of burmese eloquence, in which again and again, occurred the name of his pursuer, of this much dreaded "sarsiar." at last, being quite unable to either comprehend or calm him, i called aloud to my sister to come and reassure him in his own tongue. she came, exchanged a few hurried remarks with the fugitive, and then, to my utter astonishment and indignation, burst out laughing. i angrily demanded an explanation, and when she had recovered, she gave it. the native was no terrified victim, flying from a savage foe, but the head boy announcing that dinner was ready! the stealthy walk, the crouched air of concealment, the supplicating attitude, were merely expressions of respect, it being quite contrary to the burman's idea of politeness to raise his head above that of his master. this excessive politeness on the part of the burman is highly commendable, but apt to be inconvenient. it is embarrassing to be waited on by a man who persists in scuttling about with his body bent almost double, and who sinks on his knees on every available occasion; it gives him an air of instability. some were so full of respect as to dismount from their ponies and walk past the "thekins" when they met us in the road. it must delay business immensely, but no true burman would allow himself to be influenced by such a minor consideration. the burman is much given to contemplation. he is frequently seized with a fit of meditation in the midst of most important work, and will sit for hours, immovable, gazing steadily into vacancy, puffing at his huge cheroot, and thinking. so, history relates, did socrates sit for three days and nights, but socrates, poor man, had no cheroot to soothe him. the results of socrates' meditation on that particular occasion are unknown; so too are the results of the rapt meditations of the burman. never by word or deed does he betray what thoughts occupy his mind on these ever recurring occasions, but someday, who knows? he may be moved to speak, and then where will be the wisdom of the east and of the west, when compared with the wisdom of this contemplative nation? surely it will become small and of no account, and be no more thought on! for these fits of meditation are undoubtedly inspired! they may overtake him at any time, absorbingly, unexpectedly, in a manner highly inconvenient to all with whom he may come in contact. i say he is liable continually to such attacks, but certain surroundings, and circumstances seem more conducive than others to such contemplative meditation. for example, if despatched on an important message, such an attack almost invariably seizes him, and the messenger will remain for hours, seated by the road side lost in thought, while his impatient master sits raging and fuming at home, waiting in vain for an answer to his note. on such an occasion the burman loses all sense of time, and his expression of naive astonishment, and patient martyr-like sufferance, when blamed for his delay, is utterly disarming. again, the dusting of a room is most conducive to meditation. i have frequently seen a native stand for half an hour or more, immovable, duster in hand, gazing from the window, lost in abstraction. but this trait, i am told by english housewives, is not confined to burmese servants alone. dusting, i conclude, has a soothing effect on the nerves. when the burman does work, he works with an energy and violence which is as astonishing as it is unnecessary. to see a loogalay in his energetic movements, dusting or tidying a room is a lesson to sluggards. he takes his stand in the centre of the room, and performs a series of wonderfully intricate and far reaching flag signals with the duster. then, after clearing away the broken china and other debris, he slowly makes a tour of the room, striking violently at each article of furniture once or twice with the corner of the afore-mentioned duster, and shaking the same menacingly in the face of every picture and ornament. then he turns upside down the books and papers, carefully hides his mistress's work bag, and his master's favourite pipe, rearranges the furniture and the ornaments, which have come through scatheless, to suit his own taste, and the room is finished. in the matter of floor washing the burman as a rule prefers to carry out the precepts stated in mr. chevallier's song: "what's the good of anything? why nothing." to him it appears an act of supererogation to wash to-day the floor, which must certainly be dirtied again on the morrow. but if he be induced, by the stern commands of his mistress to undertake the task, then indeed is it a day of mourning and discomfort for the whole household. no spring cleaning carried on by the most uncompromising and unsympathetic british matron, can approach the misery and upset caused by burmese floor washing. every male member of the establishment, from the coolie who is mending the compound path, to the head boy, is recruited to the work, and reinforcements of "brothers" from the village are called in to assist. every piece of furniture in the place is turned upside down, and then large cans of water are upset "promiscuous like" here and there, until the whole house is deluged. this accomplished, the concourse of servants commences to paddle about the house, rescuing books and cushions from the ravages of the flood, and flapping at the water with cloth and brooms. no definite scheme is adopted, but the chief idea seems to be to wet as much of the floor, walls, and furniture as possible. after this amusement has been pursued for about three hours, the floods are swept away through the drawing-room and out at the front door, and the damp and exhausted servants, after proudly announcing: "floor much clean now, missis," retire triumphant, to rest their weary limbs for the remainder of the day. we did not often indulge our desire for cleanliness in this respect. the burman is a great lover of ceremonies and processions. on certain festival days long picturesque pageants wind thro' the villages on their way to the pagodas; cart after cart drawn by gaily decorated bullocks and filled with brightly dressed occupants, many of whom wear fancy disguises, and dance and posture during the whole of the ride. it is a strange sight to see "grave and reverend seigneurs" from the village, arrayed in the most extraordinary costumes, reminding one of an english guy fawkes procession, standing at the front of a cart, posturing and pulling faces, in a manner that would be ludicrous, were it not so evidently full of meaning and solemnity. imitation boats, dragons and beasts of all sorts take part in these processions, which for grotesqueness, brilliance of colour, and originality of arrangement are equalled only in a drury lane pantomime or the lord mayor's show. but the soul of the burman is not satisfied with his great half yearly festivals, nor even with the smaller festivities that take place at every birth, wedding, death, "ear-boring," or other ceremonious occasion. he seeks ever for other opportunities for procession and masquerade. our burmese servants found vent for their feelings in waiting at table. they performed their duties with as much stateliness and ceremony as time, and our impatient appetites would permit. no dish, plate, or spoon was brought without the co-operation of the three loogalays who were in attendance, and the lord chamberlain himself could not have conducted the course of the meal with more dignity than did our burmese butler. but the greatest triumph was achieved at breakfast time when we partook of boiled eggs. the clink of the cups, followed by a hush of expectancy heralded what was coming. the purdah would be drawn aside by an unseen hand, and the procession would march solemnly into the room, the three loogalays, one behind the other, bearing each in his hand a very large dinner plate, in the centre of which stood a small egg in its humble egg-cup. into the room and round the table they would march, then dividing, each with a bow deposited his precious burden before the person for whom it was intended, after which the procession was again formed, and disappeared slowly behind the curtain: all this with an air of solemnity and display that would not have disgraced a royal levee. why this ceremony was confined to eggs, why the porridge and bacon were not equally favoured i cannot tell, i merely state the facts as i observed them, leaving the explanation to others more discerning than i. the greatest treat our own loogalays ever enjoyed in this respect was brought about one day by a slight mistake i made in giving an order to po-sin, the head butler. my grasp of the language being but slight, my speech was often a trifle faulty, but i gave orders with a vigorous confidence, and aided by gesture and "pigeon english" i imagined that i made myself tolerably comprehensible. on the occasion to which i refer, i had prepared my sentence elaborately, and summoning po-sin, i informed him that his master would be at home and would want tea at three o'clock. there must have been some mistake somewhere. possibly, i confused the word meaning "office" with the burmese for "three o'clock." but whatever be the explanation, about a quarter of an hour later, chancing to look out of the window, i beheld a procession winding its way along the road to the court house, and bearing with it our afternoon tea equipage displayed to the highest advantage. at the head marched po-sin, proudly brandishing the teapot, then po-mya bearing the muffins, po thin with the tray and tea-cups, and behind, in regular order, the other numerous members of our establishment, each bearing some dish, jug, or spoon. they had gone too far to be overtaken, tho' they walked with becoming dignity, so with deep foreboding, i watched them disappear round the corner of the road leading to the court house. presently i saw the disconcerted procession returning, headed this time by my infuriated brother-in-law, who had been interrupted in the midst of an important case, by the solemn entrance of the tea bearers. the servants looked depressed and disappointed. i think they had hoped the procession might be a weekly affair. like "brer rabbit," i prudently lay low until my brother's wrath had exhausted itself. the burman has the reputation of being a keen sportsman, and certainly, his excitement is intense on every sporting occasion, especially in games of strength and skill. but he does not excel in these. his intentions are doubtless good, but he lacks pluck and determination. this is especially evident when a loogalay fields for his master at cricket. he will watch the game with deepest interest, loudly applauding every hit, and when the ball speeds in his direction his excitement and pride are unbounded. he runs to meet it with outstretched arms, shouting wildly, then, as the ball nears him, and the audience hold their breath, expecting a wonderful catch or piece of fielding, he quietly steps aside, allows the ball to fly past him, and then trots gently after it, overtaking it some few yards over the boundary. his fellow natives view the performance with pride, and yell with admiration when he finally secures the ball and, carrying it within an easy throwing distance of the pitch, rolls it gently back to the bowler. the interest taken by the natives in football is overpowering, and a spectator has been known to stick a knife into the calf of one of the most active of the players on the opposing side, who happened to be standing near the "touch line." a new and unexpected source of danger in the football field. the two chief drawbacks to the burman servant are, firstly, his intense self-satisfaction and conceit, and secondly, his intolerable superstition. it is impossible to find fault with a burman. he receives all complaints with a look of such absolute astonishment and reproach that the complainant is at once disarmed. in his own eyes the burman can do no wrong, and if other folk do not entirely concur in this opinion, that is their misfortune and not his fault. he is always quite pleased with himself, and regards with a pitying contempt all who are not equally so. overpowering superstition is a deeply rooted characteristic of the race, and i rather suspect, a very convenient one occasionally. the burman will do nothing on an unlucky day or hour, and in awaiting the propitious moment, the duty is frequently left undone altogether. this is apt to be inconvenient to others, if the duty in question be the delivery of an important message, or the preparation of dinner. but i have sometimes wondered whether this particular superstition might not advantageously be introduced into england, where it would be so exceedingly useful to the school boy at the end of the holidays, and to many other folk besides. in private life the burman carries his superstition to a ridiculous extent. no ceremony can take place, no festival be held, the building of a house cannot even be commenced until the wise man has declared the hour and place to be propitious. all sorts of magical contrivances to prevent the entrance of wicked "nats" and other evil spirits, are erected outside nearly every house and village, and charms and horoscopes are believed in absolutely by all save the best educated burmans. they are a fickle people. their lives being uneventful they love to vary them by constant small changes, and to enliven them by the excitement of gambling, which is the great vice of the country. we had a burmese maid who displayed this love of change to a most astonishing degree. after being with us about two months she suddenly announced one morning that she had fever and must go and rest. accordingly she disappeared for several days, and when we sent to enquire after her we learnt that she had recovered from her attack of fever, but was coming back to us no more, as she had got married. in about a fortnight she reappeared, saying calmly that she was now tired of being married, and was quite ready to return to her work after her little change. though he strongly objects to work himself the burman likewise objects to see anyone else work. whenever i endeavoured to clean my bicycle, our loogalays were terribly grieved. they sought me out in the quiet corner to which i had retired, and stood round me with the most shocked expressions, waving brooms and dusters, and beseeching me by all their most expressive gestures to leave the task to them. sometimes they embarrassed me so much by all these attentions that i was obliged to consent, but always felt sorry afterwards; they are not satisfactory bicycle cleaners. the handle bars they polished again and again, but the rest of the machine struck them as uninteresting, and they left it severely alone. my experience of the burman was not confined altogether to our own servants, there were many in the village with whom i had a bowing acquaintance, but owing to my ignorance of the language i could not hope to become intimate with them and their families. they appeared to take a great interest in us and our possessions. two little burmese ladies in particular, wives of the chief men of the village, paid us constant visits. they would bring us presents of flowers and vegetables, offer these, and then sit on the floor and stare resolutely at us for the space of half an hour, at the end of which time they would suddenly make a profound obeisance and depart. conversation was impossible, as neither party knew the other's language, but we found this silent contemplation so embarrassing, that, after enduring it twice, we endeavoured on the third visit to entertain them by showing them pictures, trinkets, or anything we thought might amuse them. but with no great success; they admired the things and then immediately returned to their former occupation of staring, until at last i thought of the piano (which at that time was still in a healthy condition), opened it, and began to play. that interested them immensely, as they could not understand whence the sound came. they would stand happily for any length of time, gingerly striking a note, and listening to the tone with the greatest wonder and delight. but what pleased them more than anything was a china doll, belonging to my little niece, which shut and opened its eyes. such a marvel had never been seen before, and the day after our visitors had discovered it, a large deputation from the village waited upon us, with a request to see the wonder. as from that time the doll frequently disappeared for a day or two, we rather suspected the ayah was turning an honest penny, by borrowing it to hire out for exhibition at various villages round, whither the rumour of its fame had already spread. our visitors took the greatest interest in our garments, and when their first shyness had worn off, would subject our costumes to a minute examination that was a little trying. they always arrayed themselves in their best garments when they came to see us, and very dainty they looked in their bright dresses of pink, green, or yellow silk, with flowers and ornaments in their black hair. the burmese ladies are deservedly described as charming, and they understand the art of dress, and blending colours to perfection. they are reported to be very witty and amusing, as well as charming in appearance, and certainly when my brother happened to be at home on the occasion of their visits, they chattered to him very merrily, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy their talk with an englishman. another visitor of ours was the thugyi, (the head man of the village), a very fine looking old man with one of the handsomest heads i have ever seen. he was taller than the majority of burmans, and in the flowing white garments which he always wore, presented a splendid picture which i longed to paint. his manners were stately and dignified, and he treated us with the most royal courtesy, as though he were an emperor at least. the chief hpoongyi (priest) of remyo was a dear old man, with a beautifully tender expression. at his invitation we all went to visit him one day, and he showed us over the kyaung, with its numerous images, bell, and quaint pictures of saints and devils. he was an enthusiastic gardener and showed us proudly over his domain, giving us much advice on the management of plants, and offering to transplant anything we admired to our own garden. a hpoongyi's life must be very peaceful and happy, though perhaps a trifle dull. his chief occupation seems to be meditation, which to us western folk appears distinctly monotonous. visits to the native bazaar afford endless amusement. natives of all descriptions are gathered there, and the scene is most varied. the picturesque burmans, giggling chinese, chattering madrassees, stately parsees, solemn-faced shans, and many other nationalities, swarm in the narrow streets and round the stalls of the bazaar. the stalls are large platforms raised about three feet from the ground, with overhanging roofs. the seller sits in the middle of his stall with his wares spread round him, and keeps up a running flow of conversation the whole day long. there never appeared to be much to purchase in the remyo bazaar except a few silks and the most unpalatable looking foods, but i delighted to go there in order to watch the people. "bazaar day," to the burman is one big joke, and he enjoys it thoroughly. the girls wear their most becoming costumes, and seated in the midst of their lovely silks, form a picture dainty enough to attract any man's attention. they are charming, and are quite aware of the fact. i ventured down once or twice to the bazaar with my camera, but they did not understand it, and regarded me with suspicion; indeed, the mother of one little shan laddie, whose picture i wished to take, worked herself up into such a state of wrath and terror that i was obliged to desist. i fancy she thought i was bewitching the poor little fellow. my private opinion is, that in revenge for my attempt on her son, she must have induced one of their wise men to curse my kôdak, for though i took photographs with great vigour and confidence during my travels, not a single one of them developed. it is a singularly distressing employment to sit long hours in a stuffy dark room, developing photographs which steadily refuse to develop. i have met with many sad experiences in my long and chequered career, but i think this was the most disappointing. my one attempt at shopping by gesture in the bazaar was not an unqualified success. i selected an aged and kindly looking stall keeper, and proceeded to collect together in a heap the few small articles i desired to purchase. during this proceeding she watched my actions with astonishment and some suspicion, but the latter feeling was set at rest when i produced a rupee and offered it to her. she took it, and while she sought the change, i pocketed my purchases. [illustration: native bazaar at remyo] but when she returned, her face expressed the greatest consternation, and she burst into a torrent of burmese. quite at a loss to understand her, i hurriedly offered her more money, but she refused it with scorn, and continued her explanations and entreaties, in which the numerous spectators of the scene presently joined, laughing as though it were the greatest joke in the world. presently the old lady picked up a bobbin of cotton, such as i had just bought, and waved it frantically in my face; i mechanically took it and pocketed it also. at this action on my part the spectators became still more hilarious, but the old lady looked annoyed, evidently considering the matter was getting beyond a joke. at last, in desperation, i pulled out all my purchases and flung them on the stall. to my astonishment this proved to be precisely what she desired; the good lady beamed with satisfaction, gathered them together with her own fair hands, and returned them, and my change, to me with many bows and smiles. i do not know to this day what was the reason of her excitement. judging by the intense amusement it caused the spectators, i should say the story will serve as a popular after dinner anecdote for many generations of burmans. i do not think anyone but a burman could find much amusement in their dearly beloved pwés. the dances, composed entirely of posturing and grouping, are most monotonous, and the music is distinctly an unpleasant noise from a european point of view. yet these easily satisfied folk crowd to such entertainments (which occasionally last many days) and camp out round the temporary building in which they are performed. they seem to derive the greatest enjoyment from watching these interminable performances, following the inevitable dramatic "prince and princess" through their adventures, and chuckling over the vulgar jokes of the clown. the burman loves to laugh. he is as equally amused at a fire or a drowning fatality in real life, as when in the play the clown trips up a fellow actor. his proneness to laughter is annoying sometimes, especially if one misses a drive at golf, or falls down stairs (either of which misfortunes appear to him very droll) but on the whole his keen appreciation of "humour" helps him very comfortably through life. we modern europeans may think we have a higher sense of humour than these simple folk; but who is to judge? the burman is, perhaps, after all that truest philosopher who finds latent humour in all things, and makes the most of it--still, i pray that, for his sake, his keenness of appreciation may not become more highly developed, or some day he will meet a pun, and it will kill him. chapter viii. entertaining. "thou didst eat strange flesh which some did die to look on." entertaining is nervous work, as all the world knows. the anxiety is considerably increased in a small country station like remyo, because one cannot be sure that the rats will not devour the food beforehand, or that the cook will not take that opportunity of having "fever," a polite synonym for getting drunk, much in use among burman servants. the dinner party is the most general form of entertainment in remyo, but not of very frequent occurrence; the reasons being, the limited number of available guests and the restricted nature of the menu. no sane person would dream of inviting another sane person to dine upon nothing but burmese chicken, even displayed in various disguises from soup to savoury. once a week beef can be obtained, so dinner parties are usually given on "beef days." should an invitation arrive for another date, great excitement prevails as to what special delicacy has been procured. once we were presented with a peacock, and gave a dinner party to celebrate the event, the peacock itself being the chief item of the celebration. our guests arrived full of anticipation of some unknown treat; we received them "big with pride." but alas! the vanity of human hopes. during the early part of the dinner, over the chicken entrées, the conversation turned upon the relative merits as food of various kinds of fowl. one of our guests, a man full of information on every subject, interesting and otherwise, suddenly announced cheerfully: "one bird i may tell you is not fit for human food, and that bird is a peacock." thereupon ensued an awful pause, in the midst of which the servants entered, carrying the peacock in all its glory. nothing could be done. the bird was shorn of its tail, so to relieve our guest's mind we alluded to it as "goose," but no one could have been for an instant deceived. and the worst of it was, our guest was quite right, it was not fit for human food. another source of anxiety on giving a dinner party in remyo is the decoration of the table. a burmese loogalay has his own ideas about table decorations, and these ideas he will carry out, even if to do so obliges him to leave all his other work undone. in vain we may try to explain that we prefer to arrange the flowers ourselves, he looks pained, waits till we have completed our arrangements and have retired to dress, and then pounces upon the table and places his own elaborate decorations on the top of what we fondly imagined a triumph of artistic arrangement. and his decorations are indeed elaborate; round every piece of glass, china, or cutlery he weaves a marvellous pattern, sometimes in bits of bracken, sometimes in coloured beads or rice, and occasionally in rose petals. when all is finished, the table looks like a kaleidoscope, and one is afraid to move a spoon or glass lest the design be destroyed. on christmas eve a large and important dinner party was given by some old inhabitants of the station. all the europeans were invited, and it was intended that the evening should be spent in jovial and merry games like a typical christmas eve at home. but alas! never was an entertainment beset with greater difficulties. in the first place, nearly all the guests upon whom we most depended for amusement sent word that they had fever. we suspected that fever at the time, and suspected it still more next day, when we heard of a jovial bachelor gathering that same evening in the house of one of the stricken ones. then the weather was not cheering. it was a terribly cold night, and the houses in remyo, being mostly of government design, consequently the same for both hills and plains, are not calculated to keep out the cold; there are large chinks in the unpapered walls, and few of the doors and windows will shut. in this particular house there was no fire place, only a small stove which gave out about as much warmth as a spirit kettle. we all felt grateful to our host and hostess for their hospitality, and did our best to be entertained and entertaining in our turn, but it is hard to keep up a cheerful appearance and jovial spirits, in evening dress, in a mat house, with no fire and the temperature almost down to freezing point. we played games such as "kitchen furniture" and "family post" which necessitated plenty of movement, and gave every one in turn an opportunity of occupying the chair by the stove. that part of the evening which i enjoyed most was when i made the mulled claret. i had no idea how to make it, but i should obtain uninterrupted possession of the stove during the operation, so i volunteered for the task. i put the claret, and anything suitable and "christmassy," i could think of, into a saucepan, and stirred it over the stove until the other guests became suspicious, and i was forced to abandon my warm post. i did not like the result at all, and i noticed the other guests lost interest in it as a drink after the first sip, though they clung to their glasses, using them as impromptu hand warming pans. but what proved the greatest check upon the enjoyment of the evening was the great anxiety of the guests for the welfare of the furniture. our host and hostess were on the point of leaving the station, and as is the custom, had sold their furniture to the other residents, though they retained it in their house until departure. now when one has just bought, and paid for, say, a set of drawing room chairs, or china ornaments, one does not enjoy seeing the former subjected to the rough usage of a game of "bumps" nor the latter endangered by a game of ball. consequently, each and all were busily engaged during the evening in protecting their prospective possessions, and had little opportunity of abandoning themselves to enjoyment. one very amusing instance of this was the behaviour of the new owners of the carpet. it was a poor carpet, old, faded, and thread-bare, but it was the only carpet in the station and the recent purchasers regarded it with pride. they looked anxious all the evening, when chairs were dragged about over weak spots, and peg glasses were placed in dangerous proximity to restless feet. but the climax of their concern was reached when "snap dragon" was proposed. the game was hailed with delight by every one (there really is a little imaginary warmth in the flame), but the contempt of the carpet-owners was unbounded. they said nothing, but looked volumes; they did not join in the game, but crawled about the ground round the revellers, busily engaged in picking up the numerous raisins scattered on the floor, forcibly holding back feet which threatened to crush the greasy fruit, and showing by all means in their power that they considered "snap dragon" a most foolish amusement. small wonder, considering all these disadvantageous circumstances, that the christmas party was not an unqualified success, and that the cold and weary guests, plodding home in the early hours of christmas morning, mentally vowed that such wild dissipation was not good for them and should never again be repeated. dances are necessarily unknown in such a small station as remyo. an energetic bachelor did once make an effort to give one, but as the only available room was the ticket office at the railway station, the only available music the bagpipes of the goorkhas, and the only available ladies five in number, he was reluctantly obliged to abandon the project. a much enduring form of entertainment in remyo is the musical afternoon, or evening party. the inhabitants assemble in turns at one of the three houses which boast a piano; but the repertoire of the combined station is limited, and as every one expects to sing on these occasions (ignorance of time and tune being considered no drawback), and further, intends to sing one or other of the few songs most popular in the station, things are not in any sense as harmonious as they should be. this great eagerness to perform entailed much manoeuvring to obtain first possession of the piano, and it was amusing to watch the expressions of mingled indignation and scorn on the faces of others less fortunate, when they recognised the prelude to what they each claimed as their own particular song. the singer's triumph, however, was not without compensating disadvantages, his efforts being assisted by a distinctly audible chorus in undertone which would cling to him throughout the song in spite of his endeavours to throw off the encumbrance by means of abrupt changes of tempo, and variations in the air; and this professed appreciation of the performance evoked from the singer such gratitude as one would expect under the circumstances. no! on the whole we did not "entertain" much in remyo; we contented ourselves with quiet, domestic lives, enlivened but occasionally by such outbursts of wild revelry as i have described. [illustration: decoration] chapter ix. adventures. "things are seldom what they seem"--"h.m.s. pinafore." "i haven't braved any dangers, but i feel as if i knew all about it"--(rudyard kipling.) but all this time i am wandering from the real subject of this book, _i.e._, myself and my adventures, and as wandering from the straight path is an unpardonable error, it behoves me to return speedily to my subject, and recount a few of the soul-stirring incidents which befell me during some of my many bicycling expeditions alone into the depths of the jungle. this bicycling out of sight of human habitation, into the depths of the jungle, sounds rather a brave and fearless proceeding, so i will not correct the statement, but in parenthesis, as it were, i will remark that once only did i venture more than half a mile from remyo, and that whenever i had turned the corner of the circular road, which shut out the last view of my brother's house, my heart sank, and i became a prey to the most agonising fears. every instant i expected a tiger to bound upon me from the jungle at the side of the road, a cobra to dart out its ugly head from the overhanging branch of a tree, or a body of dacoits to pounce down upon me and carry me off to their lair in triumph. my mind was filled with useless speculation as to whether i and my bicycle would be swifter than a panther, and with what "honeyed words of wisdom" i should best allay the wrath of the "burman run amuck," should fate throw one of these in my way. i derived no pleasure from that lonely mile and a half of the circular road, which must be traversed before again arriving at the haunts of civilisation; i never entered upon it without a shiver of nervous expectation, or left it behind without a sigh of relief, and yet i was forced by my overweening craving for adventure, to ride out at every opportunity to explore this dreary waste of jungle! like the great "tartarin" of "tarasconnasian" memory, my "don quixote" spirit drove me to seek adventures, however gruesome, while my "sancho panza" mind ever timidly pined for home and safety. the first time my quixotic expectations were fulfilled, was one evening when i was riding later than usual. the sun had set, and the short eastern twilight was rapidly darkening into night. i was cycling along quickly, eager to reach home before being overtaken by the gathering darkness, when suddenly, on turning a corner of the road, i saw, about a hundred yards in front of me, a long black thing, presumably a python, stretching half across the road, and curving up its huge head, as though ready to attack. i do not suppose any bicycle ever stopped so abruptly as mine did at that moment, and i must confess that my descent from the machine was rapid rather than graceful. after i had sorted myself and the bicycle, i stood up, my senses somewhat steadied by the sudden contact with mother earth, and considered the situation. the python did not appear to have moved much, and had, apparently, as yet taken no notice of my appearance; could it be asleep? i suppose pythons do sleep sometimes? if i turned back, behind me lay three miles and more of jungle bordered road, full of endless possible dangers, which must be traversed before reaching safety, and it was growing so dark. in front, if i could but pass the python, i had but a quarter of a mile to ride and i should be in remyo. i felt that i positively dared not face that long, dark, ride back; but dare i face the python? it still made no sign of movement; but possibly it was shamming sleep. then suddenly there came to me in my need, not a mysterious voice, but a timely recollection. it was a recollection of one of the stories told me by the versatile policeman; a story of how he had behaved successfully under similar circumstances, except that in his case the obstacle was a leopard. i determined to follow his example. summoning all my courage to assist me in performing this fearsome deed, i mounted my bicycle, and with beating heart and trembling limbs, i rode straight towards the reptile, ringing my bell, shouting, and making as much noise and commotion as possible. straight on i rode, almost desperate with fear,----and then suddenly i ceased to shout, i stayed my reckless pace, and finished my ride in gloomy silence, for on nearer inspection the mighty python, the object of all my terror, turned out to be nothing more alarming than the fallen branch of a tree. another adventure (which but for my habitual prudence might have ended more seriously) befell me at almost exactly the same spot, but in the day time. i was riding along cheerfully, feeling particularly brave, when suddenly i beheld about a quarter of a mile in front of me three strange beasts. they rather resembled to my mind rhinoceri, but each had two horns. i had never seen them before (i have no particular desire ever to see them again) and i had not the least notion what they might be; whether wild beasts of the jungle or tame household pets, but their personal appearance rather suggested the former. i dismounted hastily, and considered the matter. i did not wish to appear cowardly, even to my bicycle; on the other hand, being of a peaceful nature, i had no desire to enter into a hand-to-hoof struggle with three utterly unknown quantities. on they came, usurping the whole of the road, with a sort of "push-me-aside-if-you-dare" look about them, which i found particularly unpleasant. their gait was rolling and pompous, but they occasionally relieved the monotony of their progress by prodding one another playfully with their horns. this engaging playfulness of disposition did not appeal to me. but i remembered the python incident, and scorned my fears, i would go on and face the beasts. i remounted, looked again at the horns of the advancing animals, thought of my family and friends, and then, somehow, my bicycle seemed to turn round by itself, and i found myself speeding as quickly in the opposite direction as any record breaker who ever rode. on arriving home, i casually mentioned what i had encountered, and learned that my friends were "water buffalos," animals of the mildest disposition unless roused, but when roused, most unpleasant to encounter. they have frequently been known to pick up a dog with their horns, and break its bones over their backs. they can pick a mosquito off their backs with the tip of their horns, in fact they are quite skilled in the use of the latter, and had i not luckily decided to ride in the opposite direction when i encountered these enterprising beasts, they would, doubtless, have experienced no difficulty whatever in puncturing my tyre! ostensibly, their duty in this life is to draw the plough, but in reality they fulfil a far higher mission. to them, and to them only, it is given to draw contempt upon the superiority of the anglo indian: to compass the fall of the mighty. for no sooner does a european appear riding in his pride by the river bed, where the water buffalo lies wallowing in the mud, than all the worst passions awake in the breast of the afore mentioned water buffalo, and he is instantly aroused to anger. he leaves the delights of the mud bath, and starts in pursuit of the white face, no matter who he may be. "tell it not in gath" but the water buffalo, being no respector of persons, has even been known to put to ignominious flight the "indian civilian" and the "bombay burman." the pursuit is long and determined, the attack almost inevitable, unless the pursued be rescued by the opportune advent of a native, for to the water buffalo the word of the burman is law, while the word of the anglo indian is a mere nothing. this then, "the scorning of the great ones," would seem to be the purpose of the water buffalos upon this earth. "how are the mighty fallen"! when the highest among the ruling race must trust for rescue to the interference of a five year old burman. one day, late in the afternoon, i sallied forth on my bicycle to a spot half a mile down the mandalay road, where i had noticed a specially beautifully blossomed wild cherry tree. my intention was to rob the tree of its treasure, and bear the blossom home in triumph to decorate our drawing room for a dinner party that evening. the place was quite deserted, so finding i could not reach the blossoms from the ground, i leant my bicycle against the tree trunk, and after much scrambling, and one or two falls, i succeeded in climbing the tree, and began to gather the flowers. so absorbed was i in my two-fold task of holding on to my precarious perch, and breaking the branches of blossom, that i did not notice what was going on below. imagine then my horror and astonishment, on looking down, to find my tree surrounded by about a dozen of the most extraordinary looking natives i had ever beheld. their clothing was most scanty and they were covered from head to foot with elaborate "tattoo." they wore tremendously large shan hats, their hair was long and matted, their teeth were red with betel juice, and most of them were armed with long burmese "dahs" (knives). they had come silently along the road out of the jungle, and now stood in a circle round my tree, pointing, staring, and chattering vigorously in an unknown tongue. evidently i had fallen into the hands of a band of dacoits, and to judge by their appearance, they were gloating over their capture. it was no dream this time--i assured myself of that by a series of violent and judicious pinches; no! it was grim, very grim, earnest. escape appeared impossible. i told them in as much strong english as i could remember, to go away, but they neither understood nor heeded. i tried to recollect my burmese, but could only remember words referring to food, and thought it better not to put that idea into their heads; they might be cannibals. i tried one or two shouts, but that made no impression on them. there seemed no hope; they still stood there, pointing and grinning savagely; they had evidently no intention of relinquishing their prey. then, trying to smile in a nervous and conciliatory manner, i slowly descended the tree. how i longed for false teeth, a glass eye, a wooden leg, or some other modern invention, with which people in books of adventure are wont to overawe the natives who thirst for their blood. alas! i had nothing of the sort. i could not, obviously, sit in the tree all night, so sadly and doubtfully i descended to throw myself on their mercy. i reached the ground, and stood with my eyes shut waiting the end. the end showed no intention of coming, so i opened my eyes, and discovered to my astonishment that not i but my bicycle was the object of all this attention. i was to them a matter of no interest whatever, but the cycle they could not understand. joyous with relief i hurriedly demonstrated the workings of my bicycle to this party of, not dacoits, but most harmless wood cutters, and then mounting rode away, followed for some distance by an awe-struck and admiring crowd. my fears as usual were unfounded, but the drawing room was not decorated with cherry blossom that or any other evening. it is difficult, for those to whom the bicycle is now as common as blackberries, to imagine the astonishment with which the natives view the machine for the first time. in remyo itself bicycles were well known, but frequently on the roads i met strangers from neighbouring villages, and the astonishment and terror depicted on their faces when they beheld me riding on this unknown thing was almost laughable. they would fall back into the ditch with their mouths open, and remain staring after me as long as i was in sight. once, i remember, i and another lady rode out to a little village in the jungle about three miles from remyo. the road, a mere jungle track, was awful, but we succeeded at last in arriving at our destination. we left our cycles in the compound of the "hpoongyi kyaung," and climbed a neighbouring hill to see a quaint pagoda, which crowned its top. after thoroughly examining the pagoda, and the numerous images which surround it, we returned to our cycles. what was our astonishment to find the entire population of the village assembled in the compound, all having apparently taken up their positions there, preparatory to seeing some entertainment. the head of the village approached us humbly, and in a long speech explained that though he (evidently a travelled gentleman) had told his subordinates all about the wonderful machines we rode, yet they would not believe him. would we, as a great condescension, mount and ride round the compound, that all might see that his words were true. willing to oblige him, i consented at once, mounted, and did a little "gymkhana business," rather cleverly, i thought, considering the rough ground. imagine my astonishment and indignation, when the whole audience became convulsed with merriment, hearty, overwhelming merriment, rolling on the ground, and shrieking with laughter. i cannot explain the reason of it; i suppose they looked upon me as a sort of travelling acrobat, and their laughter was a sign of approbation of my tricks. but i was very angry. i had not gone out to burmah to become the laughing stock of ignorant natives, so i said a hasty farewell to the "thugyi," who seemed quite pleased with the reception his companions gave me, and rode out of the compound and away, followed by the amused shrieks of my audience. i would have shaken the dust of that village from my feet, but that is a difficult thing to achieve successfully on a bicycle. the burmans are a merry folk, but methinks at times their humour carries them too far. [illustration: decoration] chapter x. beasts and reptiles. the animals came in one by one till noah, he thought they would never have done. and they all came into the ark. for to get out of the rain. rats! hamlin town (with bishop hatto thrown in) cannot offer a comparison with our sufferings from these pestilent vermin. during the day time they contented themselves with playing in twos and threes about the house, getting in the way of our feet, and generally making themselves a nuisance. but at night when we had retired to rest, they came in their hundreds, from their homes beneath the house, and to use an expressive americanism "simply bought the place." i am not naturally a "mrs. gummidge," but in this instance i am certain i suffered more than any others in remyo. why the rats should have preferred my room i know not, but undoubtedly they did. they gave balls every night on my dressing table, and organised athletic sports, chiefly hurdle races, on the floor. they had glorious supper parties on my trunks, leaving the whole place scattered with half-eaten walnuts, bits of biscuit, and morsels of cheese. they had concerts and debating societies in the still hours of the night, brawls and squabbles at all times; and true to tradition, made nests inside my sunday hats, helping themselves to such of my finery as took their fancy. as i have said, they came in their hundreds, and i was powerless against them. in vain did i sit up in bed and "shoo" and clap my hands, they would pause for an instant, as the revellers in brussels paused when they heard the cannon of quatre bras, then: "on with the dance let joy be unconfined, no sleep till morn when rats and walnuts meet," and the noise would become more deafening than ever. i think they grew to enjoy my "shooings;" "the more noise the merrier" was evidently their motto; but one night when i dozed off after making myself particularly disagreeable, a large rat sprang upon my pillow, tore aside the mosquito curtains, and hit me violently with its tail. they are revengeful creatures. and what appetites they had? poison they scoffed at, but ate everything else that was not soldered up in tin boxes, (from our christmas pudding, to the baby's pelisses, and my best gloves). their most criminal act of depredation, was in regard to my brother's pipe. it was a beautifully grained pipe which i took out from england for a christmas present. on christmas eve the rats penetrated into the drawer where i kept it, tore away the wrappings, and set to work. in the morning nothing was left but the stem, the perforated and jagged remains of the bowl, and a little heap of chawed bits of wood. my brother was very angry when i broke the news to him, but it wasn't my fault, they were his rats; he ought to have had them under better control. we got a dog, but he was useless. he was a pariah puppy, of respectable parents; a cheery, popular fellow, who had so many evening engagements among his friends in the village, that he could scarcely ever spare a night at home; and during the day time he mostly slept. my sister and i both disliked him, she because he would worry the baby's legs, i because he developed such an unbounded devotion to my shoes. he never attached himself to other shoes in this way, but mine he would not leave alone. he carried some off every day and hid them behind the furniture, or if he had a quiet ten minutes to himself, he buried them in the compound. many a long lost shoe did we discover when turning out the drawing room, or digging up the flower beds. the others were amused at this frolicsome trait, but it was rather a stupid joke really. i was assured by the inhabitants of remyo that mosquitos are unknown there during the cold weather. if this be really the case, there must have been a special pilgrimage, and obviously i was the object of their attentions. fresh from england, they welcomed me with a delight that ought to have been highly gratifying; nor could they do enough to show their unbounded appreciation of me. i obtained mosquito curtains, but i suppose i was clumsy in the manipulation of them, for i spent many a lively night in the company of two or three enthusiasts who kept me awake by their odious "ping-ping" song, and their still more odious attentions. there is a district in burmah, i am told, where the cattle are provided with mosquito curtains, and i can quite believe it, for if they can be so obnoxious in the hills in the cold weather, what must they be in the plains in the heat! all creatures have their work in this world, and i suppose the mosquito was created to subdue female vanity; one cannot well be vain with such a complexion as they gave me. but let me quit this melancholy subject; it is impossible to be jocular with a mosquito, and strong language would be out of place in this book. rats are not the only creatures in remyo with whom we were forced to share our meals. the place abounds in ants, beetles, and "creeping things innumerable," and all these must live; which necessity we recognised, but wished they could live elsewhere. on the whole, i think the ant is the most objectionable of insects. there is a burmese fable concerning an ant and a lion which tells how the ant was rewarded for assistance rendered to the lion, by receiving permission to go everywhere, and so that this prerogative may be fully exercised, the ant has, apparently, been gifted with matchless ingenuity in devising means to overcome all obstacles. amongst other accomplishments it must have acquired the art either of swimming, flying or bridge building, for even the dishes of water, in the centre of which we placed our meals, were ineffectual. the worthy dr. watts tells us to "go learn of the ant to be prudent and wise," but though it is with the most submissive humility that i venture to contradict such an authority on natural history as the gifted author of "how doth the little busy bee," yet i must confess that i do not recognise in the ants the first of the virtues indicated. they devastated a full box of chocolates in a single night, which surely was hardly prudent, unless they possess iron constitutions. it was without doubt profitable for us to have constantly before us the example of the clever and industrious ant, and we tried to profit thereby, but at times we could not help feeling that the sluggard would have been the more acceptable companion; the ant is so painfully energetic, especially in the matter of absorbing food--the sluggard, i feel sure, had more regard for his digestion. i never learned to distinguish the names of the innumerable crawling creatures whom we met at table at meal times. their sole characteristic is greed, and they kept me continually reminded of the plagues of egypt, for they came in unlimited numbers, settling on the food, darkening the air with their numberless forms, and devouring everything eatable! they are eminently objectionable, and i defy the most devout lover of natural history and "beasties" generally, to find any pleasure in their society. one evening i was dining out, and towards the middle of dinner i perceived a large, hideous object nestling among the profuse flower decorations on the table. it didn't appear to me a very pleasant table companion, but as no one else remarked it, and as i dislike appearing disconcerted by the habits of strange countries, i said nothing about it so long as the creature remained quiet. but when at last it came out from its lair, and curling up its long tail made a run at me, i left the table hurriedly. to my relief the other guests also displayed uneasiness, for the object of my dislike was a scorpion, which had, it was supposed, been brought into the room with the flowers, and had remained hidden from all eyes but mine until its unwelcome disclosure of itself. there ensued an exciting chase up and down the table after the animal, till it was at length caught between two table spoons and drowned in a finger bowl. by little excitements of this kind the entertainments in burmah are often enlivened. some doubt has been cast upon this story by sceptical europeans, but if any require proof, i can refer them to eminent members of the i. c. s., (men whom none would dare to doubt), who will assure them that such occurrences are frequent; in fact that the first place one would look for a scorpion would be among the flowers upon a dinner table! when watching the antics of a plump good tempered jim crow, as he disports himself upon a pleasant english lawn, or when listening to his peaceful "cawing" among the shady trees on a hot summer's day, one little dreams that this same harmless, law-abiding creature, when exposed to the degenerating influences of the east, becomes transformed into the most disreputable vagabond upon the face of the earth. the impudent thefts by jackdaws have long been famed, but no words can describe the unbounded presumption of the burmese crows. they are always on the watch, and if food be left for an instant in a room with open door or window, they enter, and settle on the table without a moment's hesitation, helping themselves to anything that takes their fancy, in the coolest manner imaginable. when the loogalays carry the dishes of food from the kitchen to the house, these same impish crows pounce down on them and bear away any tempting morsels, well knowing that the men have their hands full, and cannot make reprisals. they appear to know by instinct the approach of meal times, and settle in crowds on the veranda rail or the window ledge, ready to carry off the food directly one's back is turned, and in the meanwhile they pull faces at us, and make rude remarks, for all the world like a collection of vulgar little street boys. they know no fear; they only mock and mimic "shooings" and hand clappings, and would laugh, i am sure, at the most awe-inspiring scare-crow ever erected. they sometimes go so far as to deliberately settle on the table and take a peck out of the cake, while one is sitting there, and then before they can be caught, they give a cheeky "caw," bow ironically, and flutter back to rejoin their admiring comrades (who have doubtless dared them to the act) on the veranda. i do not believe there exists any other creature in the world possessed of such boundless cheek. they have a strong sense of humour of a practical-joking kind, and one of their amusements in remyo was to lure us away from the tea table by feigned attacks upon our pots of hyacinth bulbs, which they uprooted in the most devastating manner. we would fly out to the protection of our precious bulbs, and return to find our cakes devoured or carried away, by a reserve body of crows, who had been waiting in ambush behind the door. they occasionally combine forces with other thieves. the most wearing half hour i ever spent was one devoted to protecting the interest of the cake and the cream jug, from the hostile attacks of half a dozen crows and two kittens. while i lifted down the latter from the table the former settled upon the cake, and when i turned my attentions to them, the kittens returned to the charge. mercifully, allies are not usually forthcoming; only young, ignorant, and disobedient kittens would associate with the disreputable crows; all properly brought up birds and beasts avoid association with them. even the vultures, who sat all day on the trees shading the hospital, were contemptuous of those wicked "gamin" the crows. dogs abound in every burmese village, and they and the pigs are the chief scavengers of the place. their number is legion, for it is contrary to the buddhist religion to take life, so all puppies are allowed to live; and as it is further considered an act of merit to feed them, they have a fairly pleasant existence. the pariah dog performs his scavenging duties conscientiously, but he possesses few other merits to recommend him to one's esteem. he is at best a stupid, noisy, thieving brute, whose "customs are nasty and whose manners are none;" he occupies his time eating, sleeping, and fighting, and his chief amusement is to snap at the heels of the european, and lie across the road to upset the unwary bicyclist. periodically, when the pest becomes unbearable, a day of slaughter is appointed by the majesty of the law, and all dogs who have no owner are poisoned. but in spite of this rigorous measure, there never seems much diminution in the numbers. our neighbour possessed three english dogs,--two terriers and a greyhound. they had, no doubt, been well brought up, but had been led astray by evil companions, and they joined in the campaign which the rats, crows, and other creatures carried on against us. they delighted to creep into our compound, trample on the flower beds, steal my cakes (perhaps the household was not altogether sorry for that), and make away with our tennis balls. one day, they drove a herd of ponies all over our beloved garden, and then retired chuckling, to watch from a safe distance, our desperate attempts to induce the bewildered creatures to find the gate. the greyhound, i think, would have been a harmless creature, but the terriers possessed a full share of the devilry of their breed, and urged him to accompany them in all their audacious tricks. i believe it was they who persuaded three goats (the chief destroyers of our kitchen garden) to commence their raiding expeditions into our grounds, for the goats always appeared from the neighbourhood of the dog's kennels, and there was generally one terrier, at least, watching when po sin's energetic chase of the goats over the radish beds began. other animals there were in the neighbourhood of remyo, dwellers in the jungle, very different from the mischievous crew i have just described. tiger, bear, panther, cheetah, soft-eyed gyee, hares, jackals, and others. sometimes, as night drew near, i tried to picture how the inhabitants of the jungle would be waking from sleep and preparing for their busy night's work. the "jungle books" had of course inspired me with a great interest and affection for all these animals, especially "baloo" the bear, and "bagheera" the black panther, and i continued to love them so long as they remained at a respectable distance, but when, at times, they made expeditions into our neighbourhood, my admiration changed to awe. a tiger was the first visitor; he killed two ponies in the stable of a neighbour. then a black panther commenced to parade, nightly, the road between our house and the club. he snapped up a little terrier which was trotting along at its master's heels one evening; he was reported to have been seen many times about dusk, slinking along by the road side, and one man broke a record on his bicycle, followed by an innocent and admiring pariah dog which he mistook for the panther. there is no doubt that the panther really did for a time haunt the road, but he was so useful as an excuse for the men to stay late at the club till they could get a lift down in someone else's dog-cart (an excuse that appeared quite convincing to their nervous wives) that he almost became an institution. from the first i distinctly disliked jackals. my bedroom window opened upon the back veranda, and one night i was awakened by a noise, and looking out i saw two of these beasts (i did not know at the time what they were) walking softly up and down devouring some food which the loogalays had left there. for some time i watched them, fascinated by these shadowy dark forms creeping about in the moonlight. then, remembering that the back door was unfastened, that i was most probably the first person they would encounter should they enter, and that i had promised faithfully to return to england in six months, i thought it time to rouse my brother-in-law. accordingly, i crept from my room, wakened him and my sister, and told them to get up, to bring their guns, and follow me, as the back veranda was full of wild animals, who might at any moment break into the house. they were both singularly uninterested in my information (indeed my brother only sleepily murmured "let them break" and went to sleep again) but i insisted, and at last he rose in a very bad temper and came to inquire into the cause of my alarm. of course, the noise he made tumbling about and opening the door scared our visitors, and when he went out, the veranda was empty. a few scathing remarks about my powers of imagination were all the thanks i received for thus saving the lives of the family. ingratitude, thy name is brother-in-law! after that my visitors came frequently, but i felt that i would rather die than risk more sarcasm, and when i found they had no evil intentions i grew rather to enjoy watching them. their marvellous quickness, their caution, and the silence of their movements seemed to give a faint suggestion of what jungle life must be, though, of course, the jackal compared with the nobler animals, is no more than "jacala, the belly that runs on four feet." after a while, our visitors were inspired to show their gratitude by nightly serenades. gratitude is always delightful to meet with in man or beast, but i wished their's had taken some other form. a jackal's voice is powerful but unpleasant, and has a mournful effect upon the nerves. of dead beasts i saw many. the jungle round remyo seemed to be a perfect menagerie, and a noble panther, tiger or bear was often borne in triumph into the station and deposited in the centre of the club compound, to be admired of all beholders. when no time could be spared for an organised shoot, a reward would be offered for the carcase of any panther or cheetah which might have been annoying a neighbouring jungle village, and the animal, when killed, was always brought in to be shown to my brother by the claimants of the reward. it was a little startling at first to have bears, panthers, etc., casually brought and deposited at one's front door, but we grew accustomed to it after a while, as one grows accustomed to all things but hanging. on one occasion some natives brought in the body of a huge leopard which had killed and eaten a man near their village (a most unusual proceeding for a leopard), and a terrible looking animal it was, with huge claws and teeth, and a sneaking deceitful face. the whole incident was disagreeably gruesome. on another occasion we were presented with two live bear cubs, whose parents had been killed. they were dear little fluffy brown creatures, and we longed to keep them, but they generally become a great nuisance when older, as they are always treacherous, and capable any day of trotting into the village and killing half a dozen people as a morning's amusement. i was strangely lucky (or unlucky, i hardly know which to call it) in the matter of snakes, for i did not see a single live snake during my visit. i constantly expected to meet one in the compound or jungle, but i never even found one coming up the water-hole in the bath-room, or coiled up in my bed. the creatures never came near me, even though i spread out the skin of a huge rock snake in the compound, in the hopes that its relations (as is invariably the custom with snakes in books) might be induced to assemble. the most wise looking creatures (always excepting the elephants) which i saw were the burmese bullocks. their grave, thoughtful, placid faces reminded me of the images of gaudama. as they crawl along their way drawing the creaking bullock carts to the bazaar, or trot merrily through the jungle, taking gaily-attired burmans to attend a pwé, they have ever the same patient, quiet, abstracted expression, as though this menial work is to them a mere appendage to the deeper life of meditation. this is what their expression conveys to me; some think it denotes stupidity. the cattle belonging to the burmese appear to be most independent animals. each morning they wander away into the jungle at their own sweet wills, returning at night of their own accord for the milking. we were much astonished one day, when, in answer to our request that the milk might be brought earlier in future, the milkman replied with much "shekkohing" and humility that it could not be, as the cow did not wish to return earlier from her walk. the burmans are very casual in their treatment and care of the cattle, numbers of which fall victims to tigers and other rapacious beasts. this chapter would not be complete without a word or two about the burmese ponies; but who am i, who never could make head or tail of any pony's propensities, to presume to describe their character? very small and wiry are they, very devoted to polo (which they understand quite as well as their masters, and which they play with the same keenness); conceited and obstinate; but obedient and affectionate to their masters, and possessing as great a love of a joke as a burman himself. one of our ponies, "pearl," a lovely little animal, and a splendid polo player, possessed all these characteristics. with her master or mistress she was as gentle and submissive as anyone could desire, but she assumed the most unpardonable airs towards all the rest of the world. she received caresses and attentions with a haughty disdain, turned up her nose at any but the very best food, and led her poor sais a most trying time. i admired her from afar, but we never became intimate; she evidently despised me, and had the most disagreeable knack of making me feel ignorant and small. she was too much of a lady to show her dislike by kicks or snaps, and treated an enemy with scornful indifference until he attempted to ride her, when (to use a modern colloquialism) she soon managed to get a bit of her own back. "stunsail", another of our ponies, was a good old soul, of worthy character but worthless value. he had missed his vocation in life, for he ought most certainly to have been a circus pony. he was full of tricks, not frolicsome or spontaneous ones, but tricks carefully acquired by long hours of practice, such as bowing to ladies, salaaming for bananas, and lying down, pretending to be dead. it was nice of him to have taken the trouble to acquire these accomplishments, but his fondness for displaying them at all times was often very disturbing to his rider. our third pony "john" we always thought a quiet, easy-going individual, until we lent him to a lady who was paying a short visit to remyo. she was not an accomplished horse-woman, but would not for the world have confessed to the fact, for she liked to pose as quite fearless, and devoted to riding. "john's" strong sense of humour first became apparent in his treatment of her. he soon gauged the extent of the lady's equestrian powers, and enjoyed himself immensely. he did not unseat her or bolt with her: his humour was of a much finer quality; he merely consistently refused to do anything she wished. when she intended a short ride, "john" would keep her out for hours; when she was prepared for an afternoon's expedition, "john" would bring her home after a half-mile canter. if she announced her wish to visit her friends at the far side of the station, "john" would take her for a gallop through the jungle; when she donned her oldest habit to go a quiet country ride "john" would insist upon her calling upon her smartest neighbours, and would walk up to the front door and stand there until she was obliged to dismount and enter. there was no limit to the mischievous devilry of that pony. when poor mrs. f. rode out with the rest of the station, her troubles were even greater. when her companions suggested a gallop, "john" wilfully assumed his slowest walk; and when everyone was riding slowly and conversing pleasantly together, the poor lady would suddenly, without any apparent reason, break off in the middle of a sentence, and set off at the wildest gallop through the jungle, or turn round and ride furiously for home. nothing would induce her to confess that she could not manage her pony, so she was obliged to invent the wildest excuses and explanations for her conduct. others thought it was her eccentricity, but we knew it was "john." chapter xi. sport. in burmah the tiger story takes the place occupied by the fish story in this country, and is stamped, i suspect, with the same unblushing characteristics. judging from the tiger stories i heard, i could come to no other conclusion than that the anglo-indian is possessed of amazing nerve and ingenuity (qualities useful to him alike in the exploit and in the telling of it), and i heard him with ever increasing interest and wonder. the tiger is the favourite theme, though he is but of small account whose chronicle does not also embrace some experiences in the pursuit of the elephant, the bear and other fearful wildfowl indigenous to the country. most men own to being a little chary about elephant hunting i found, but our friend the policeman appeared to have shot them like snipe. at first i was rather inclined to make light of elephant shooting, they are such exceedingly large animals that i thought even i could hardly fail to bag one if i got him broadside on; but the policeman set me right on that point. from his explanation, i gathered that the elephant is invulnerable save only in one vital part, a spot behind the ear, and the sportsman (according to my narrator) must be as dead on that spot as "homocea." my informant also told me terrible stories of how the elephant will turn on his pursuer and trample on him, or tear him in pieces with his tusks, and he gave me further such blood-curdling descriptions of the terrifying noise made by an approaching herd of elephants crashing through the jungle, and trumpeting in their rage, that i felt devoutly thankful that i was visiting this particular district. the wild elephants of the neighbouring jungle, in their almost human intelligence, recognised the danger to themselves of conduct other than the most retiring and unprovocative character in a locality where the peace was preserved by such an ever threatening nemesis as our policeman. bears, too, our policeman had frequently hunted, and many a hair-breadth escape had he effected by running up hill (bears cannot run up hill, you know), or swinging from tree to tree and performing other acrobatic feats which the bear was too heavy to attempt with success. on one occasion, he said he had been overtaken by the bear, and his left arm chawed in fourteen places (i forget why the bear couldn't be content with one spot and how he protected himself from the animal's further attentions); but he didn't mind the bear so much as the well meant efforts of his companion, who, the hero of the episode complained, stood afar off and poured in a devastating fire, directed in a distracted and indiscriminate manner at him and the bear alike. many and varied indeed were the dangers through which this seemingly fearless hunter had passed unscathed. several tigers visited the neighbourhood during my visit, and caused great excitement among the men at the club, who thought nothing of sitting up all night in an uncomfortable tree, over an unsightly "kill," in hope of compassing the animal's undoing. often, alas! they were doomed to disappointment. on one occasion when my brother and a friend were awaiting a tiger's approach, a mist gathered round them, effectually obscuring everything from their sight. so there they were, obliged, perforce, to sit in darkness, not daring to descend, and of course unable to see, and cheered by listening to the tiger comfortably devouring its prey, within a few yards of their ambush. the engineer, when he heard this story was for patenting an electric flash light, which could be turned on to light the sportsman when the tiger was comfortably settled down to his meal, but this original suggestion was ungratefully rejected, much to his disappointment. but one afternoon the thugyi brought in word that a large tiger had been marked down in the neighbouring jungle, and a beat was arranged for the following day. then it was that the policeman earned our undying gratitude by proposing that we ladies, who had been behaving of late in an exemplary manner, should, for once, be allowed to accompany the sportsmen, to see the great sight of our lives, a tiger shoot. i doubt whether the suggestion met with the entire approbation of the other males, but as the policeman was organising the beat, and as we all promised to be very good and obedient, they agreed reluctantly to take us. women, perhaps naturally, are considered very much "de trop" on these occasions. a tiger shoot is a serious, sometimes a dangerous business, and female frivolities and nerves would decidedly be embarrassments. i heard a story of a girl, reputed to be a great sportswoman and a good shot, who accompanied her male friends upon one of these expeditions. platforms had been built for the sportsmen in the trees in the line of the beat, and she shared one with a man who was more accustomed to shooting and hunting than to the society of the other sex, whom he held in much greater awe than any wild animal, however dangerous. when the tiger made its appearance, the girl promptly fainted, and her poor companion spent a most unhappy ten minutes between the unconscious girl and the enraged tiger, being far more alarmed at the former. however, to return to my story, when we had given assurances that we never fainted, nor had hysterics, nor grew tired; and had promised faithfully not to move a muscle, not to speak a single word, not to disobey an order, and above all not to want to shoot, the men folk graciously allowed us to accompany them; but it was not to create a precedent. how excited we were and how nervous! a seat in a tree did not appear to me to offer much security against the tiger's attack, however high it might be. tigers, i had always been told, are near relations to cats, and i knew cats climb trees. when i nervously breathed these doubts to the policeman, he solemnly assured me that tigers will not climb, and by standing on their hind legs can only reach up about fourteen feet; but this did not convince me, for had i not seen in my nursery days (and early impressions are lasting ones) brilliantly coloured pictures of tiger shoots wherein the tiger was invariably depicted, leaping into the air, or climbing fiercely up the side of an elephant, while the nervous occupant of the howdah peered cautiously over the edge? was i to ignore the lessons of my youth? i can only explain this inconsistency by suggesting that tigers may have changed their habits with the advance of civilization. nothing was talked of that evening but tigers and tiger shooting. the policeman and other local sportsmen were in great request, and their stories were listened to with an interest and belief which i should think quite astonished them. even to the village did the excitement spread, for the love of sport is as prevalent among the burmans as among englishmen; and the natives are well paid for serving as beaters. early in the morning the hunting party assembled in our compound, and, after partaking of a cheery "chota hazri," we set out, a merry cavalcade consisting of seven men, and three women, and accompanied by a miscellaneous collection of servants and native "shikarries." it was one of those fresh, cool, delicious mornings that make one feel inclined to sing with pippa: "the morning's at seven, the hillside's dew pearled." "god's in his heaven, all's well with the world." in spite of qualms regarding the ordeal before us, we enjoyed that early ride, and were a very happy, hungry crew when we arrived at the jungle village whither breakfast had already been despatched. we found everything ready, prepared by the club khansamah, and his staff of silent, well-trained loogalays, and we breakfasted in the "hpoongyi kyaung" itself, surrounded by images of gaudama, by sacred pictures and bells; shaded by lovely groups of bamboos, and watched from afar by an interested crowd of young burmans, whose shaven heads and yellow robes showed them to be the hpoongyi's pupils. [illustration: a hpoongyi kyaung monastery] but we were not allowed to linger too long in idleness, discussing the merits of "the chicken and ham, the muffin and toast, and the strawberry jam," to say nothing of luscious pineapples, incomparable bananas (differing as much from the banana we meet in england, as chalk from cheese), the much vaunted mangostines, the objectionable (from my way of thinking) custard apple, and the hundred, other delicacies which our generous hosts had provided for our delectation. i had scarcely exchanged three words with the pineapples, and had only a bowing acquaintance with the plum cake, when the doughty policeman gave the word to start. it was really extraordinary how the presence of danger and responsibility affected the bearing of our policeman. the change came on quite suddenly, in the middle of breakfast, and was maintained till evening. he was transformed from a jovial, talkative personage, to one sombre and morose, refusing to utter a word more than was absolutely necessary, greeting all observations with a discouraging frown or a shake of the head, and, in all his movements and actions displaying the impressive characteristics of "hawkeye," and other indian hunter friends of one's youth. we ladies were immensely impressed, and did our best to imitate his severe expression and noiseless, stalking gait, as closely as possible. perhaps we presented rather a weird appearance, stealing along with harassed, stern set faces, and cautious steps, like stage pirates, but concluding that it was the proper rôle to adopt on such an occasion we adopted it. outside the kyaung we met the beaters; a picturesque group in their bright coloured dresses, armed with sticks, cans, whistles, and everything sufficiently noisy to rouse "shere khan" from his noonday sleep. these beaters were despatched, under the direction of a native "shikarrie," to commence their work about half-a-mile to the westward, while we went to take up our position to the east of the rumoured position of the tiger. by this time the sun was up, and it was becoming very hot. for about half an hour we stole along in single file through the jungle. half the men went before us to part the tangled bushes, the remainder brought up the rear, lest one of us should be lost; a possible and very unpleasant prospect in jungle so thick that it is impossible to see a yard around. we were very silent, partly from excitement, partly because silence was advisable; for who could tell what sleeping inhabitant of the jungle we might pass within a few yards. at last our leader judged that we had penetrated far enough; he halted the party, and assigned to each gun its position. we ladies were each confided to the care of a good shot, and repaired with our respective protectors to the trees appointed for us by our leader. after some original research into the difficulties of tree climbing (especially tree climbing when the tree has no branches within five or six feet of the ground), and the unpleasant sensation of missing one's footing and slithering down the trunk,--i at length, with the aid of much pulling, pushing, and other forcible assistance from my companion, attained my perch, and my protector climbed to a position in a tree close to mine. we had no platform to sit upon, but perched on the most convenient branches available. a branch of a tree is not the most comfortable seat in the world, and before the day was over i had ceased to envy "the birds of the air, who make their habitations among the branches." after all the sportsmen were settled in their relative positions, about a hundred yards apart, a weary time of waiting ensued. no one spoke. everywhere around us were the mysterious humming, rustling sounds of the jungle, and far away to the westward we heard the faint noise of shouting and belaboured "tom-toms," which told us that the beaters had commenced their work. the strain of excitement was terrible. i measured the distance between my feet and the ground, and calculated that, my tree not being very high, the tiger would experience little difficulty in reaching me. i mechanically drew up my feet, and tightened my hold on my sun umbrella; i remembered my board ship companions had assured me that poking an animal in the eye is very effective, but i didn't feel much confidence in this advice. nor did i feel much confidence in my oft-tried, and much vaunted presence of mind; absence of body would have comforted me more. i peered up among the branches, and decided where i would place my feet if a sudden flight to higher regions should be necessary. then i came to the conclusion that i didn't like tiger shooting at all. i glanced at my protector; he looked cool and alert. he was one of those men who appear absolutely uninterested in all that is going on until the supreme moment arrives, when they wake up suddenly and distinguish themselves, after which they relapse again into their former indifference. i regained my courage at sight of his coolness, and listened. intense stillness around and behind us; even the jungle had ceased to whisper. everything seemed waiting in eager expectancy. but, before us, drawing ever nearer and nearer, were the beaters, rattling sticks and cans, whistling, shouting, and playing on "tom-toms," while between them and us, aroused from its heavy sleep, slinking away from the noise and disturbance was----what? the possibilities of a jungle drive are endless. suddenly the high grass beneath my tree parted, "now for it," i think. but no! it is only a gyee, hurrying away with scared eyes from the unknown danger behind. it may escape to-day; its enemy, man, is after bigger game. ever nearer drew the beaters. "will it never end?" i whisper. but what was that? a loud report close to my ear; something flashes past in the grass below, there is a loud roar of pain and fury, and then "all is over except the shouting." for a few moments we waited in astonishment that it is all over so quickly, and in doubt if the animal be really dead. then everyone tumbled simultaneously from their perches and hurried to the spot. there lay the tiger, quite dead, but looking so lifelike that while i put my hand in his mouth or felt his cruel claws, i was conscious of a half fear lest he should be only shamming, and should come to life again with a sudden spring. the beautiful skin was uninjured, save where the bullet had entered the spine, and as we looked at him, the very emblem of strength and beauty lying there, slain without even a fight for life, i think we all felt a little pity. but pity soon gave way to triumph. the beaters arrived and crowded round the tiger, laughing and chattering; mocking the animal which had held them in such terror while he lived, and trying to steal his whiskers, which the burmans value as charms. but we soon found we were hot, thirsty, and tired, so we set out on our return journey to remyo, the beaters carrying our victim in triumph fastened on a long bamboo. news of our success had preceded us, and as we approached the village we were met by an immense crowd of admiring natives, in that condition of giggling and jabbering excitement to which only a crowd composed largely of madrassees can attain. so persistent were the attacks made upon the tiger's whiskers, that it became necessary at last to tie his head up in a bag, and in that undignified condition he was borne home and deposited safely in the club compound, where during the day, he was visited and admired by every inhabitant of the station. thus ended my first and only tiger shoot. how i wish i could electrify my readers with descriptions of expeditions wherein i myself would appear as the heroine, shooting tigers, and performing other moving exploits by flood and field. but it may not be. the eager search after truth which has been so noticeable lately among the british public, restrains such interesting flights of fancy, and in these days, romancers who would display their quality to an appreciative audience, must address themselves to the marines, or to the british association. there is endless variety of game in the neighbourhood of remyo. snipe are almost as common as sparrows at home; partridges, peacocks, jungle fowl, gyee, and hares all abound, and many an enjoyable shooting expedition is undertaken, sometimes with, sometimes without the excuse of "business" in the district. well provided with ammunition, food, drink, rugs, and bedding, the anglo-indian sets out for two or three days sport, wandering from place to place, sleeping in the open sided "zayats," near the hpoongyi kyaungs, and spending the day in the jungle, in eager search after the englishman's great desire "something to kill." some of the native "shikarries" who accompany these expeditions are splendid men. they are very silent, very uninterested in, even contemptuous of, things not connected with sport, but devoted to their profession, and as keenly excited, as delighted at success, or disappointed at failure, as any good sportsman all the world over; and possessing moreover a knowledge of the habits and customs of the jungle folk scarcely surpassed by "mowgli" himself. a form of sport much indulged in by the shan chiefs in the past, but which has been strenuously discouraged was "collecting heads." the last exponent of the game dwelt in the hills on the shan state border, and was the hereditary leader of a large tribe of men as fierce and savage as himself. he was an ancient chief, proud of his race, his power, and position; proud too of his home, and above all proud of his wonderful bodily strength. many and marvellous are the stories told of his extraordinary doings. on one occasion, unarmed, he fought and killed a tiger, clinging to its throat until he throttled it. he bore the marks of the contest, huge scars upon his head, and throat, and chest, until his dying day. it was his custom (as doubtless it had been the custom of his ancestors, and of many of their neighbours) to descend periodically from his mountain heights alone and spend a few weeks in the neighbouring plains, engaged in his favourite hobby of collecting heads. he was not particular what heads he collected, but he preferred human ones when he could get them. he would remain in the plains for a while, way-laying, hunting, and slaying as many of his fellow creatures as he could meet with (occasionally perhaps varying the sport by killing a tiger) and at last when he grew for the nonce weary of this amusement, he would return in triumph to his tribe, and display to their admiring gaze his ghastly spoils. the placid native suffered his hostile inroads with that fatalism with which they regard all misfortune. but one day the chief made a slight mistake by adding to his collection the head of an englishman (who was no doubt poaching in the chief's country) and for this departure from the accepted rules of the game, he paid penalty. a detachment of soldiers was despatched, who soon scattered the tribe and captured the offender. i met the subaltern who had been in charge of the escort, which brought him down to the plains, and he described to me the desperate efforts the fierce old man made to escape. he was bound hand and foot, watched night and day by four men, and his bonds were inspected every hour; on one of these inspections it was discovered that the ropes were frayed and gnawed half away. but his efforts were of no avail; though he had the strength of a giant he could do nothing against such overpowering odds. when at length they reached the plains, he turned to have a last look at the vanishing shadows of the hills, which no doubt he had loved with that silent, passionate love felt for their home by the inhabitants of all mountainous countries, and after a final desperate effort to kill himself, he suddenly seemed to relinquish all hope, and resigned himself stolidly to his fate. his defiance and strength seemed to pass away with that last sight of his beloved hills, and a broken-spirited, weak, helpless, old man was all that remained. they brought him to rangoon and banished his old, worn-out body to the andaman islands, but his proud, fierce spirit fled back with that last look at the hills, and haunts the wild regions where he loved to roam. [illustration: decoration] chapter xii. the return. "but that's all shove be'ind me--long ago and far away an' there ain't no busses runnin' from the bank to mandalay." "for the temple-bells are callin', and it's there that i would be by the old moulmein pagoda, looking lazy at the sea." (kipling.) to the stranger in this fascinating country, days are as minutes, months as days, and it seemed that scarcely had i arrived and commenced to look around me, when my visit came to an end, and sadly bidding farewell to remyo and its many delights, all too soon i had to return home. alas! too, i found i was compelled to renew my acquaintance with the burmese pony, the only alternative being a bullock cart; and let those who have ridden forty miles along an up-country road in a burmese bullock cart----but no! i do not like to think such an experience can have befallen my worst enemy. once more, therefore, i mounted to the saddle, and rode, or more properly speaking bumped, twenty miles the first day. at the end of that distance i had no desire to proceed further, nor, i am sure, had the pony. accordingly, we stopped at the now familiar dâk bungalow, and stabled ourselves and our ponies for the night. i do not know what were my pony's feelings that night as he thought over the events of the day, but they cannot have been pleasant. he was a strong-minded pony (possibly he had some sympathy for his rider) and having come to the conclusion that a repetition on the morrow of the past day's proceedings would be unpleasant and unwise, during the night he slipped his halter and gently trotted back to remyo, accompanied by my brother's and the orderly's mounts. when we arose in the morning, all we found in the little hut at the bottom of the bungalow compound were three belated looking saddles and some broken bridle reins, and the only course open to us was to continue our journey on foot. some people, i believe, pretend to see humour in such situations, but we were not amused. the heat was awful, the road almost knee deep in dust, and as we plodded along for several miles, losing our way in short cuts, scrambling down precipitous ravines and dry water courses, and exchanging no single word, but keeping all our breath for the exertion of clambering out again, i became, by comparison, almost reconciled to the previous day's experiences. when at last we reached the foot of the hills, and found a "gharry" waiting to convey us to mandalay, we resembled pillars of dust, and were as thirsty as the desert. i was so tired that i forgot to be sentimental over the last glimpse of the hills; and as we approached mandalay, beautiful in her bower of green, with the sun shining as ever on the "dreaming spires," the white pagodas, and the golden domes, my one and only desire was "drink." i had delayed my departure from remyo as late as possible in the hopes of witnessing a "hpoongyi burning," one of the most characteristic burmese festivals. the holy man had died some time previously, and in order to do his memory due honour, his body had been preserved many months, and the burning, with the many strange rites and festivities which invariably accompany such ceremonies, was announced to take place the week before my departure. but from some unknown cause (perhaps they discovered he had been more virtuous than they at first imagined) the authorities suddenly decided to preserve the body until a more imposing pageant could be prepared, so i missed the sight; and having delayed my departure, i had time only to spend a few hours in mandalay and rangoon before embarking on the homeward bound steamer. it was very sad, that departure from rangoon, where so many friends were left behind, as the last beauties of this bewitching country faded slowly from sight. the glaring noonday sunshine shed no illusory haze over the scene. the muddy brown water of the river and the ugly shores lined with factories and mills, seemed a foretaste of the matter-of-fact land to which we were returning; but behind rose the distant palm trees, and the golden dome; and the soft music of the tinkling bells of the pagoda, bidding us a last farewell, was wafted to us by the perfume laden eastern breeze. my homeward voyage was without any extraordinary incident, and in due course i arrived at marseilles. this well-known port requires no description, but i must say a few words in its favour; it is so universally disparaged. the noisy, unsavoury marseilles of the docks and harbour is very different from marseilles viewed from that magnificent church, "notre dame de la garde." when we climb to the summit of the rock whereon stands the stately white church, surmounted by the huge golden image of the virgin, keeping watch over the ships that enter the harbour, and shining as a beacon miles out to welcome sight to the longing eyes of the home coming sailor; when we look down from our height over the pretty little red and white houses, the graceful spires, and the clusters of dark green foliage nestling in the shelter of the high white cliffs which enclose the harbour; and again beyond the town, beyond the rugged brown rocks, and the placid deep blue water, to the ancient "chateau d'if," dark and forbidding in the midst of the sunny landscape, we acknowledge that nature in the bestowal of her beauties has not, after all, confined her gifts to the dreaming east. i think the true reason why marseilles is so frequently spoken of with disfavour is on account of the "bouillabaisse," the terrible mixture which delights the palates of the natives, and which innocent strangers are induced to partake of under the delusion that it must therefore be good for human food. the only recommendation this dish possesses is the curious interest it arouses in one's mind as to what it is really composed of. one never knows what form of fish, flesh, or _bad_ red herring one may encounter next. the appearance of the dish resembles one's childish imaginations of a "mess of pottage." its scent suggests marseilles harbour, and the stoke hole of a channel steamer. i myself was never sufficiently enterprising to taste it, but judging by the expression of haggard thought that overspread the features of some who were so venturesome, i should say the taste must be "mystic, wonderful," and that years of careful study are necessary to attain to a true appreciation of its subtle delicacy. i think the journey from marseilles to london is the most wearisome that can be undertaken. after the warmth, the quiet, and the absence of hurry to which i had become accustomed in the east, i found the bustle and noise, added to the piercing cold of a european april, almost overpowering. i shivered on deck, as our steamer ploughed her way across the channel, through a damp clinging fog, and when at last the welcome white cliffs came into sight, i was far too miserable to wax sentimental over this return to my native shore, and i longed only for tea and a fire. yet after all, despite the contrast betwixt sunshine and yellow fog, between jungle glades and london streets, despite all the advantages which we know that every other clime and country can boast over our own, england is england still, and home is home. and now let me offer a word of advice to those who, like myself, undertake adventurous wanderings far from their native land, and recount the same with many embellishments. on their return home, let them beware of introducing to the admiring circle of their friends, any who may have accompanied them on their travels. i had been back at home some three months, had told my story, and had established my reputation, when one day a visitor from burmah arrived. he had not been long in the house before some uncalled-for allusion was made to the historic occasion on which i defended my sister's house in remyo from a body of dacoits. he denied all knowledge of the incident. suspicions awoke in the breasts of my friends. they questioned the visitor about my struggle with the tiger, my adventure with the bear, my heroic bravery on the occasion of the shipwreck, and about all my other best inspired narrations. alas! he denied them all, and my credit was gone for ever. i fancy some have even ceased to believe that i have been to burmah at all, and some have become so suspicious as to make enquiries as to whether i really am myself. it is hard! and the recently notorious contributor to the "wide wide world" magazine has my deep sympathy. would i had lived in the days of columbus; i would have discovered more than america, had i enjoyed such excellent opportunities as did he. * * * * * thus ends the account of my experiences in burmah, and of the impression left on my mind by this oft-described country. perhaps distance lends enchantment to the view, and makes me forget the evils of the climate, the dangers and discomforts of life there, the slowness of locomotion, the lack of many so-called benefits of civilisation; and i seem to remember only a land where the sun is always shining and the world is always gay; where the air is heavy with delicious eastern scents, and filled with the harmonious music of the temple bells, as they are gently swayed by the whispering breeze. a land where the hues of earth can vie with the brilliancy of the sunset, and the eye is feasted with delicately blended colours. here beauty and peace hold eternal honeymoon. misery seems to have no place in this land of delight, but contentment ever reigns, and the happy burman dreams away his life in a paradise of sunshine. no one who has visited this country can ever forget it, but learns to understand too well that fascination so well expressed by mr. kipling: "if you've 'eard the east a' callin', you won't never 'eed nought else." i remember burmah, too, as a land of picturesque buildings, of rich jewels, exquisite costumes, and beautiful graceful women. a land of kindly hearts, friendly welcomes, and ungrudging hospitality. these are remembered when the last glint of the golden-domed pagoda has faded into the shadowy distance, and we sail away from the peaceful sunshine and the palm trees, westward ho! to this hurrying, bustling modern world, where, though beauty exists, we have no time to appreciate it, and where, like king midas of old, we would turn all we touch to glittering gold, and for ever destroy its charm. r. platt, printer, wigan.