The Road to Mandalay Part 17

CHAPTER XV

THE CHUMMERY

The chummery to which Douglas Shafto had been introduced was a rambling old bungalow, and the edge of the Cantonment, sufficiently close to offices and work. Although by no means modern, it boasted both electric light and fans, and the rent was fairly moderate; the landlord, Ah Kin, a Chinaman, called for it punctually on the first of every month, but closed his slits of eyes to various necessary repairs.

Among the three chums already established was Roscoe, a dark, well-set up man of five or six and thirty, with a clean-shaven, eager face, artistic hands, and a pair of clever eyes. Roscoe had been in turn a junior master, a journalist and actor. Dissatisfied and unsatisfactory in these situations, his friends had found him an opening where he would be at too great a distance to trouble them--in short, a billet in a Burma oil company in Rangoon. Amazing to relate, the post suited him and the rolling stone came to a standstill; well educated and intellectual, endowed with a curious eye and a critical mind, he was anxious to see, mark and learn the life of his present surroundings.

Out of business hours, Roscoe devoted himself to this task with such whole-souled enthusiasm, that at times he actually imagined that he had his finger upon the pulse of this strange, new world. The oldest and least prosperous of the fraternity, his companions liked him and spoke of Roscoe as "a queer fish, but a rare good sort."

Patrick Ormond FitzGerald, police officer, a genial native of County Cork, was about thirty years of age, handsome, generous and hot-headed, who enjoyed every kind of sc.r.a.p and sport--including chasing dacoits and smugglers. He diffused an atmosphere of good humour and confidence, was universally popular and invariably in debt. Chum number three, James MacNab, hailed from "Bonnie Scotland"--a spare, sandy, canny individual, who, far from being in debt, was carefully ama.s.sing large savings. He had a pretty fiancee in Crieff, who sent him weekly budgets and the _Scotsman_. He owned a sound, steady ambition, and seldom made an unconsidered remark. "Mac" was an employe in the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company, where he was rapidly rising, so to speak, to the surface.

Each "chum" had a room to himself, but they took their meals together in a wide, open veranda, and were catered for by a fat Madra.s.si butler, who did not rob them unduly, seeing that his accounts had to be inspected and pa.s.sed by thrifty "Mac," who ruthlessly eliminated all imaginative items.

In their large compound their cook kept game fowl--long-legged fighting c.o.c.ks from Shanghai--and other poultry, including the curly feathered freaks of Aracan. Here FitzGerald stabled his horses--a capital pair, trust an Irishman for that!--and Roscoe, a stout elderly Shan, ironically nicknamed "Later On." MacNab rode a bicycle; a useful mount that required neither oats nor groom.

The three chums soon made Shafto feel at ease and at home; they were lively companions, too. Roscoe was a capital mimic, and kept his company in roars of laughter. FitzGerald drew notable caricatures and could tell a story with the best. "The MacNab," who had a certain dry wit, took the stranger firmly in hand with regard to finance--namely, the furnishing of his room and other expenditure.

"Bide a wee; go slow at first," he advised. "Just hire a few sticks from Whiteway and Laidlaw, and wait your chance for picking up bargains at Balthasar's auction rooms; anyway, you don't want much. A bed, a couple of chairs, table, washstand and tub. I have a chest of drawers I can let you have cheap. In the rains the pictures fall out of their frames, the glue melts, rugs are eaten by white ants in a few hours--and your boots grow mushrooms."

"That's a cheerful look out!" exclaimed Shafto. "Well, I have nothing to tempt the white ants."

Shafto was adaptable and soon found his feet. At first his entire time and energies were concentrated on his new job and learning an unaccustomed task; he spent hours on the wharves along the Strand, or across the river at Dallah, standing about in the glare, and dust and blazing sun, amongst struggling, sweating coolies and swinging cranes.

He had also to supervise his Eurasian subordinates, see paddy shipped, and keep a sharp look out for their delinquencies, such as receiving "palm oil," or overlooking damages.

In the midst of his daily work Shafto was not insensible to his surroundings, but, on the contrary, acutely alive to the strange bewildering glamour of the East, where life dwells radiantly. He was interested in the ever-changing shipping, the crowds of strange craft lying by the wharves or moored to buoys in the great impetuous Irrawaddy, and the swarms of sampans darting in all directions.

Overhead was the hot blue sky, blazing upon a motley crowd, which included the smiling faces of the idle, insouciant, gaily-clad Burmans--most genial and most engaging of nations.

Down by the _G.o.downs_, where Shafto worked, the stir and press of commercial life was tremendous; on every side roared and dashed trams, motor-lorries, traction engines and--curious anachronism--long strings of heavily-laden bullock carts. Here was trade from the ends and corners of the earth; out of her abundance this rich country was shipping to the nations wood, oil, rice, metals, cotton, tea, silken stuffs, ivory, jade, and precious stones; ma.s.ses of cargo lay piled on the wharves, amid which a mult.i.tude of noisy coolies, busy as ants, went to and fro incessantly, whilst in the distance the saw-mills screamed, the steam dredgers clanked, and tall factory chimneys blackened the heavens.

All this amazing restless activity seemed strangely out of its natural perspective; the scene should have been laid in Liverpool or Glasgow, instead of displaying a background of palms, tropical trees, gilded paG.o.das, and a circle of gaily-dressed, idle natives.

Although the British and German residents did not a.s.similate, Shafto saw a good deal of their mercantile element. At ten o'clock every morning hundreds of Teuton clerks poured into Rangoon from the surrounding neighbourhood, and he could not but admire their indefatigable business activity, tireless industry, and world-wide radius of action. Long, long after British firms had closed for the day, and their employes had rushed off to amuse themselves at football, golf, or boating, the German was still sticking to it and hard at work.

But there was another feature of which Shafto was aware and could not applaud; this was the "spy" system. There were rumours of an active gang (manipulated from Berlin), whose business it was to discover what English firms were doing in the way of large contracts, and subsequently to enter into compet.i.tion, cut out, and undersell. It was said that their methods were both prompt and ruthless. It was also hinted that one or two firms winked at contraband, offered irresistible bribes, and made fabulous profits.

The individual characteristics of his fellow-inmates were soon impressed upon Shafto, and the interest they evinced in him--a mere stranger--was undeniably agreeable to his _amour propre_. MacNab, who was sincerely concerned about his financial affairs, instructed him in many clever economies, and the localities of the cheapest shops; he was also emphatic on the subject of cautious outlay--and full of warning against the horrors of "a rainy day."

FitzGerald, on the contrary, was eloquent in favour of "the best that was going, and hang the expense!"

"You'll want two horses, my boy," he announced, "if you're going in for paper-chasing and the gymkhana; you might chance on a bargain, too. I heard of a fellow who got a wonder for three hundred rupees, an ugly ewe-necked brute, but he carried off the Gold Cup and every blessed thing he was entered for. On the other hand, such a windfall is a very outside chance; then you must have a small car for the rains--I believe you would get a nice little Ford for six hundred rupees."

Shafto received this advice with a shout of laughter.

"A racer and a car on four hundred rupees a month! FitzGerald, you are raving mad. If I followed your advice----" he paused.

"You would soon be shunted out of Gregory's," supplemented MacNab, who, with impa.s.sive face, was lolling in a long chair, a silent but attentive listener.

"Ah, don't be minding that fellow!" protested FitzGerald. "Shure, he'd sell his father's gravestone, if he ever had the heart to put it up."

"Well, I pay my way, Fitz, and can walk down Phayre Street at my case, whilst you----" he paused significantly.

"Oh, well, I own a few bills, I know--six hundred rupees a month goes no way here, but it'll be all right when my ship comes in; anyhow, I'll have had a good time--I'll have _that_ to look back upon when I'm an old fellow upon the shelf. Now you," suddenly turning to stare at MacNab, "never spend a rupee; you wouldn't take a taxi to save your life, never go to a cinema or a concert, nothing that costs money; you just bicycle and drink lemon squashes and write home."

"Oh, if you want to ride in taxis and go to cinemas, you might as well be in London," put in Roscoe, who had joined them.

"I wish to the Lord I was!" declared FitzGerald; "standing at the corner of Piccadilly Circus this blessed minute, and making up my mind whether to go to the Criterion grill or to Prince's?"

"But as you happen to be in Rangoon, and _not_ Piccadilly Circus, why don't you open your eyes and see the place, and enjoy it?"

"_Enjoy_!" repeated FitzGerald with a dramatic gesture; "see it? I see a deal too much of it; while you fellows are snoozing in bed, I'm turning out filthy liquor shops, drug stores, tea houses, and stopping Chinese fights, smuggling and murder."

"Yes, we know all that," rejoined Roscoe; "you look into the dark, Shafto and I see the bright side of this country."

"Oh, yes, you're a bright pair, and here, I'm off!" exclaimed the police officer, as he suddenly caught sight of a mounted orderly and thundered down the stairs.

Roscoe was neither economical, nor yet extravagant; he patronised the theatres and shows, made expeditions into the country on "Later On,"

read many books, and occasionally took a trip up the river in a cargo boat.

Shafto and Roscoe had one taste in common--a craving to see, know, understand and, as it were, get under the skin of this wonderful land.

An impossible achievement! From the first they had been drawn together; they were searching in an eager way for the same object; they had both been at a public school and once, when Shafto dropped a word about Sandhurst, Roscoe said:

"I was intended for the Army, but I couldn't pa.s.s the doctor--rather a facer after sc.r.a.ping through the exam.; when that was knocked on the head, I got a post as a.s.sistant-master, but I couldn't stick it for more than a couple of years; after that, I was in a newspaper office; then I got badly stage-struck and went on the boards. Unfortunately, I was not a success; I never could do the love parts--I neither bellowed nor whined; at last my people got fairly sick of me, I was so often 'resting,' and they made a combined effort and hustled me out here into the oil business, and here I am in my element."

"I can't say you look particularly oily," observed his companion.

"Perhaps not, but I dare say to lots of young fellows I seem a dry old stick--anyhow, I _was_ a stick in 'the Profession.'"

Occasionally Roscoe invited Shafto to accompany him of an evening, and introduced him to strange and wonderful sights--wrestling, c.o.c.k-fighting, puppet _pwes_, or plays in the Burmese character. These were acted by little figures wonderfully manipulated by strings behind the scenes; the holder of the string also supplied any amount of dialogue (not always of the most decorous description), and also all the latest and coa.r.s.est jokes from the bazaar. To the Europeans these entertainments offered scanty amus.e.m.e.nt, but to natives they proved enthralling. An audience would sit spell-bound and motionless for a whole night, soothed and cheered by the strains of the Burmese band--that unique and original collection of sounds and instruments.

"In former days," explained Roscoe, as he and his companion sat staring at the bedizened actors and shrill little figures on a long, low stage, "these plays took place in the open air, on a _midan_; all the world was welcome, and as there was no charge, naturally all the world was present! They were usually given by some rich Burman, or widow, in honour of some offering or anniversary. An uncle of mine was quartered here years ago, and I remember him saying that he suffered sorely from these _pwes_; one play lasted for three consecutive days and nights--the Burmese brought their bedding. The great _midan_ outside his bungalow was a seething ma.s.s of people; whose families were encamped--the place resembled a huge fair. Some were bartering, gambling, or eating horrible-looking refreshment, and altogether thoroughly enjoying themselves; rows and rows squatted motionless on the ground in front of the stage; of course, sleep, with such a fiendish commotion, was out of the question, and so my uncle was obliged to get up and wander about among the ma.s.ses until daybreak; he said he never could make head or tail of the play, but one of his brother officers loved it; he engaged an interpreter and squatted for hours in front of the stage, enjoying what he considered 'a priceless treat.'"

Shafto, like Roscoe's uncle, failed to appreciate _pwes_, which were now held within stated bounds; he preferred out-of-door entertainments, as the heat, the smoke, the smell of raw plantain skins, the band, and the jabber were too much for him.

Roscoe, his cicerone, had contrived to learn a little of the difficult Burmese language, and knew the town to a certain extent--including something of the vast underworld, and even FitzGerald admitted that "old man Roscoe" could tell a thing or two, if he liked.

Before he had been long in Rangoon Shafto had also a glimpse into its depths. One night, returning from a "sing-song," as he reached the bottom of the outer stairs, he was startled by a voice from the pitch dark s.p.a.ce beneath the house--a voice which said in a husky whisper:

"Is that you, Joe? Joe, for G.o.d's sake stop and give me a couple of rupees."

"It's not Roscoe," said Shafto, striking a match; "who are you?"

The flickering and uncertain light discovered a gaunt and unshaven European in the shabbiest of clothes.

"Roscoe's out; what do you want?" he brusquely demanded.

"Only a couple of rupees," was the hoa.r.s.e reply. "I'm ashamed for you to see me; I'm down and under, as you may guess."

"Drink?" suggested Shafto, lighting another match.

"No; drugs--two devils: cocaine and morphia."