An English Girl's First Impressions of Burmah Part 14

At last our leader judged that we had penetrated far enough; he halted the party, and a.s.signed to each gun its position. We ladies were each confided to the care of a good shot, and repaired with our respective protectors to the trees appointed for us by our leader. After some original research into the difficulties of tree climbing (especially tree climbing when the tree has no branches within five or six feet of the ground), and the unpleasant sensation of missing one's footing and slithering down the trunk,--I at length, with the aid of much pulling, pushing, and other forcible a.s.sistance from my companion, attained my perch, and my protector climbed to a position in a tree close to mine.

We had no platform to sit upon, but perched on the most convenient branches available. A branch of a tree is not the most comfortable seat in the world, and before the day was over I had ceased to envy "the birds of the air, who make their habitations among the branches."

After all the sportsmen were settled in their relative positions, about a hundred yards apart, a weary time of waiting ensued. No one spoke.

Everywhere around us were the mysterious humming, rustling sounds of the jungle, and far away to the westward we heard the faint noise of shouting and belaboured "tom-toms," which told us that the beaters had commenced their work. The strain of excitement was terrible.

I measured the distance between my feet and the ground, and calculated that, my tree not being very high, the tiger would experience little difficulty in reaching me. I mechanically drew up my feet, and tightened my hold on my sun umbrella; I remembered my board ship companions had a.s.sured me that poking an animal in the eye is very effective, but I didn't feel much confidence in this advice. Nor did I feel much confidence in my oft-tried, and much vaunted presence of mind; absence of body would have comforted me more. I peered up among the branches, and decided where I would place my feet if a sudden flight to higher regions should be necessary. Then I came to the conclusion that I didn't like tiger shooting at all.

I glanced at my protector; he looked cool and alert. He was one of those men who appear absolutely uninterested in all that is going on until the supreme moment arrives, when they wake up suddenly and distinguish themselves, after which they relapse again into their former indifference. I regained my courage at sight of his coolness, and listened.

Intense stillness around and behind us; even the jungle had ceased to whisper. Everything seemed waiting in eager expectancy. But, before us, drawing ever nearer and nearer, were the beaters, rattling sticks and cans, whistling, shouting, and playing on "tom-toms," while between them and us, aroused from its heavy sleep, slinking away from the noise and disturbance was----what? The possibilities of a jungle drive are endless. Suddenly the high gra.s.s beneath my tree parted, "Now for it," I think. But no! it is only a gyee, hurrying away with scared eyes from the unknown danger behind. It may escape to-day; its enemy, man, is after bigger game.

Ever nearer drew the beaters. "Will it never end?" I whisper. But what was that? A loud report close to my ear; something flashes past in the gra.s.s below, there is a loud roar of pain and fury, and then "all is over except the shouting."

For a few moments we waited in astonishment that it is all over so quickly, and in doubt if the animal be really dead. Then everyone tumbled simultaneously from their perches and hurried to the spot.

There lay the tiger, quite dead, but looking so lifelike that while I put my hand in his mouth or felt his cruel claws, I was conscious of a half fear lest he should be only shamming, and should come to life again with a sudden spring. The beautiful skin was uninjured, save where the bullet had entered the spine, and as we looked at him, the very emblem of strength and beauty lying there, slain without even a fight for life, I think we all felt a little pity.

But pity soon gave way to triumph. The beaters arrived and crowded round the tiger, laughing and chattering; mocking the animal which had held them in such terror while he lived, and trying to steal his whiskers, which the Burmans value as charms.

But we soon found we were hot, thirsty, and tired, so we set out on our return journey to Remyo, the beaters carrying our victim in triumph fastened on a long bamboo. News of our success had preceded us, and as we approached the village we were met by an immense crowd of admiring natives, in that condition of giggling and jabbering excitement to which only a crowd composed largely of Madra.s.sees can attain. So persistent were the attacks made upon the tiger's whiskers, that it became necessary at last to tie his head up in a bag, and in that undignified condition he was borne home and deposited safely in the club compound, where during the day, he was visited and admired by every inhabitant of the station.

Thus ended my first and only tiger shoot. How I wish I could electrify my readers with descriptions of expeditions wherein I myself would appear as the heroine, shooting tigers, and performing other moving exploits by flood and field. But it may not be. The eager search after truth which has been so noticeable lately among the British public, restrains such interesting flights of fancy, and in these days, romancers who would display their quality to an appreciative audience, must address themselves to the Marines, or to the British a.s.sociation.

There is endless variety of game in the neighbourhood of Remyo. Snipe are almost as common as sparrows at home; partridges, peac.o.c.ks, jungle fowl, gyee, and hares all abound, and many an enjoyable shooting expedition is undertaken, sometimes with, sometimes without the excuse of "business" in the district.

Well provided with ammunition, food, drink, rugs, and bedding, the Anglo-Indian sets out for two or three days sport, wandering from place to place, sleeping in the open sided "zayats," near the hpoongyi kyaungs, and spending the day in the jungle, in eager search after the Englishman's great desire "something to kill."

Some of the native "shikarries" who accompany these expeditions are splendid men. They are very silent, very uninterested in, even contemptuous of, things not connected with sport, but devoted to their profession, and as keenly excited, as delighted at success, or disappointed at failure, as any good sportsman all the world over; and possessing moreover a knowledge of the habits and customs of the jungle folk scarcely surpa.s.sed by "Mowgli" himself.

A form of sport much indulged in by the Shan chiefs in the past, but which has been strenuously discouraged was "Collecting Heads." The last exponent of the game dwelt in the hills on the Shan State border, and was the hereditary leader of a large tribe of men as fierce and savage as himself. He was an ancient chief, proud of his race, his power, and position; proud too of his home, and above all proud of his wonderful bodily strength. Many and marvellous are the stories told of his extraordinary doings. On one occasion, unarmed, he fought and killed a tiger, clinging to its throat until he throttled it. He bore the marks of the contest, huge scars upon his head, and throat, and chest, until his dying day.

It was his custom (as doubtless it had been the custom of his ancestors, and of many of their neighbours) to descend periodically from his mountain heights alone and spend a few weeks in the neighbouring plains, engaged in his favourite hobby of collecting heads. He was not particular what heads he collected, but he preferred human ones when he could get them. He would remain in the plains for a while, way-laying, hunting, and slaying as many of his fellow creatures as he could meet with (occasionally perhaps varying the sport by killing a tiger) and at last when he grew for the nonce weary of this amus.e.m.e.nt, he would return in triumph to his tribe, and display to their admiring gaze his ghastly spoils.

The placid native suffered his hostile inroads with that fatalism with which they regard all misfortune. But one day the Chief made a slight mistake by adding to his collection the head of an Englishman (who was no doubt poaching in the Chief's country) and for this departure from the accepted rules of the game, he paid penalty.

A detachment of soldiers was despatched, who soon scattered the tribe and captured the offender. I met the subaltern who had been in charge of the escort, which brought him down to the plains, and he described to me the desperate efforts the fierce old man made to escape. He was bound hand and foot, watched night and day by four men, and his bonds were inspected every hour; on one of these inspections it was discovered that the ropes were frayed and gnawed half away. But his efforts were of no avail; though he had the strength of a giant he could do nothing against such overpowering odds.

When at length they reached the plains, he turned to have a last look at the vanishing shadows of the hills, which no doubt he had loved with that silent, pa.s.sionate love felt for their home by the inhabitants of all mountainous countries, and after a final desperate effort to kill himself, he suddenly seemed to relinquish all hope, and resigned himself stolidly to his fate.

His defiance and strength seemed to pa.s.s away with that last sight of his beloved hills, and a broken-spirited, weak, helpless, old man was all that remained. They brought him to Rangoon and banished his old, worn-out body to the Andaman Islands, but his proud, fierce spirit fled back with that last look at the hills, and haunts the wild regions where he loved to roam.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decoration]

CHAPTER XII.

THE RETURN.

"But that's all shove be'ind me--long ago and far away An' there ain't no busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay."

"For the temple-bells are callin', and it's there that I would be By the old Moulmein PaG.o.da, looking lazy at the sea."

(Kipling.)

To the stranger in this fascinating country, days are as minutes, months as days, and it seemed that scarcely had I arrived and commenced to look around me, when my visit came to an end, and sadly bidding farewell to Remyo and its many delights, all too soon I had to return home.

Alas! too, I found I was compelled to renew my acquaintance with the Burmese pony, the only alternative being a bullock cart; and let those who have ridden forty miles along an up-country road in a Burmese bullock cart----but no! I do not like to think such an experience can have befallen my worst enemy.

Once more, therefore, I mounted to the saddle, and rode, or more properly speaking b.u.mped, twenty miles the first day. At the end of that distance I had no desire to proceed further, nor, I am sure, had the pony. Accordingly, we stopped at the now familiar dak bungalow, and stabled ourselves and our ponies for the night. I do not know what were my pony's feelings that night as he thought over the events of the day, but they cannot have been pleasant. He was a strong-minded pony (possibly he had some sympathy for his rider) and having come to the conclusion that a repet.i.tion on the morrow of the past day's proceedings would be unpleasant and unwise, during the night he slipped his halter and gently trotted back to Remyo, accompanied by my brother's and the orderly's mounts.

When we arose in the morning, all we found in the little hut at the bottom of the bungalow compound were three belated looking saddles and some broken bridle reins, and the only course open to us was to continue our journey on foot.

Some people, I believe, pretend to see humour in such situations, but we were not amused. The heat was awful, the road almost knee deep in dust, and as we plodded along for several miles, losing our way in short cuts, scrambling down precipitous ravines and dry water courses, and exchanging no single word, but keeping all our breath for the exertion of clambering out again, I became, by comparison, almost reconciled to the previous day's experiences.

When at last we reached the foot of the hills, and found a "gharry"

waiting to convey us to Mandalay, we resembled pillars of dust, and were as thirsty as the desert. I was so tired that I forgot to be sentimental over the last glimpse of the hills; and as we approached Mandalay, beautiful in her bower of green, with the sun shining as ever on the "dreaming spires," the white paG.o.das, and the golden domes, my one and only desire was "Drink."

I had delayed my departure from Remyo as late as possible in the hopes of witnessing a "hpoongyi burning," one of the most characteristic Burmese festivals. The holy man had died some time previously, and in order to do his memory due honour, his body had been preserved many months, and the burning, with the many strange rites and festivities which invariably accompany such ceremonies, was announced to take place the week before my departure. But from some unknown cause (perhaps they discovered he had been more virtuous than they at first imagined) the authorities suddenly decided to preserve the body until a more imposing pageant could be prepared, so I missed the sight; and having delayed my departure, I had time only to spend a few hours in Mandalay and Rangoon before embarking on the homeward bound steamer.

It was very sad, that departure from Rangoon, where so many friends were left behind, as the last beauties of this bewitching country faded slowly from sight. The glaring noonday sunshine shed no illusory haze over the scene. The muddy brown water of the river and the ugly sh.o.r.es lined with factories and mills, seemed a foretaste of the matter-of-fact land to which we were returning; but behind rose the distant palm trees, and the golden dome; and the soft music of the tinkling bells of the paG.o.da, bidding us a last farewell, was wafted to us by the perfume laden eastern breeze.

My homeward voyage was without any extraordinary incident, and in due course I arrived at Ma.r.s.eilles. This well-known port requires no description, but I must say a few words in its favour; it is so universally disparaged.

The noisy, unsavoury Ma.r.s.eilles of the docks and harbour is very different from Ma.r.s.eilles viewed from that magnificent church, "Notre Dame de la garde." When we climb to the summit of the rock whereon stands the stately white church, surmounted by the huge golden image of the Virgin, keeping watch over the ships that enter the harbour, and shining as a beacon miles out to welcome sight to the longing eyes of the home coming sailor; when we look down from our height over the pretty little red and white houses, the graceful spires, and the cl.u.s.ters of dark green foliage nestling in the shelter of the high white cliffs which enclose the harbour; and again beyond the town, beyond the rugged brown rocks, and the placid deep blue water, to the ancient "Chateau D'If," dark and forbidding in the midst of the sunny landscape, we acknowledge that nature in the bestowal of her beauties has not, after all, confined her gifts to the dreaming East.

I think the true reason why Ma.r.s.eilles is so frequently spoken of with disfavour is on account of the "Bouillabaisse," the terrible mixture which delights the palates of the natives, and which innocent strangers are induced to partake of under the delusion that it must therefore be good for human food.

The only recommendation this dish possesses is the curious interest it arouses in one's mind as to what it is really composed of. One never knows what form of fish, flesh, or _bad_ red herring one may encounter next. The appearance of the dish resembles one's childish imaginations of a "Mess of Pottage." Its scent suggests Ma.r.s.eilles harbour, and the stoke hole of a Channel steamer. I myself was never sufficiently enterprising to taste it, but judging by the expression of haggard thought that overspread the features of some who were so venturesome, I should say the taste must be "mystic, wonderful," and that years of careful study are necessary to attain to a true appreciation of its subtle delicacy.

I think the journey from Ma.r.s.eilles to London is the most wearisome that can be undertaken. After the warmth, the quiet, and the absence of hurry to which I had become accustomed in the East, I found the bustle and noise, added to the piercing cold of a European April, almost overpowering. I shivered on deck, as our steamer ploughed her way across the Channel, through a damp clinging fog, and when at last the welcome white cliffs came into sight, I was far too miserable to wax sentimental over this return to my native sh.o.r.e, and I longed only for tea and a fire.

Yet after all, despite the contrast betwixt sunshine and yellow fog, between jungle glades and London streets, despite all the advantages which we know that every other clime and country can boast over our own, England is England still, and Home is Home.

And now let me offer a word of advice to those who, like myself, undertake adventurous wanderings far from their native land, and recount the same with many embellishments. On their return home, let them beware of introducing to the admiring circle of their friends, any who may have accompanied them on their travels.

I had been back at home some three months, had told my story, and had established my reputation, when one day a visitor from Burmah arrived.

He had not been long in the house before some uncalled-for allusion was made to the historic occasion on which I defended my sister's house in Remyo from a body of dacoits. He denied all knowledge of the incident.

Suspicions awoke in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of my friends. They questioned the visitor about my struggle with the tiger, my adventure with the bear, my heroic bravery on the occasion of the shipwreck, and about all my other best inspired narrations.

Alas! he denied them all, and my credit was gone for ever. I fancy some have even ceased to believe that I have been to Burmah at all, and some have become so suspicious as to make enquiries as to whether I really am myself. It is hard! and the recently notorious contributor to the "Wide Wide World" Magazine has my deep sympathy. Would I had lived in the days of Columbus; I would have discovered more than America, had I enjoyed such excellent opportunities as did he.

Thus ends the account of my experiences in Burmah, and of the impression left on my mind by this oft-described country.