Читать книгу Life and Travel in Lower Burmah: A Retrospect - C. T. Paske - Страница 7

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“Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!

He makes a solitude, and calls it peace!”

Byron.

Just as I was getting more reconciled to the new order of things it was ordained that I should move farther south; move, too, in light marching order, for the dogs of war were already astir in a land flowing with milk and honey, the inhabitants of which professed that wonderful faith that takes its name from Buddha, about which I shall have more to say anon.

A week’s steaming brought us to Rangoon, the then head-quarters of the conquering army, which was located within a stockade several miles in circumference, protected by a deep, broad ditch, then upright massive timbers backed by earthwork eight feet broad. The story of its capture is too well known to bear repetition.

I now found myself confronted with a new phase of Eastern life, and on the whole infinitely preferred it to what I had just quitted: the one was civilization grafted, so to speak, on an alien stock; the other was to all appearance still the abode of “primeval primitiveness.”

There were, of course, many—those especially with wives and children far away—who thought otherwise; and while some regretted the comforts of civilization, which they never appreciated until they had experienced the want of them, there were others who pined for the soothing influence of female society.

The space enclosed by the stockade was sufficiently large to accommodate all the barracks, besides affording room for short walks and rides. It was also possible to venture a short distance beyond, though the unsettled state of the country rendered it the height of imprudence to travel far; indeed, a friend and myself, who had ridden on one occasion to a native village beyond the vast plantation of Jack-fruit and pine-apples, gathered from the unmistakably hostile proceedings of the inhabitants that discretion was the better part of valour, and urged our ponies somewhat precipitously homeward.

I have called Burmah a land “flowing with milk and honey,” in allusion to Nature’s prodigality in the animal, vegetable, and, in all probability, mineral kingdoms, though the resources of the underground wealth had at that time but little prospect of speedy development.

In comparison with its area, the country was very sparsely populated, the majority of its inhabitants living on the immediate banks of its many rivers, and leaving hundreds of square miles in undisputed possession of the most luxuriant forests and the creatures that lived therein.

There was only as much in the way of cultivation as just ministered to their immediate wants, which were the most modest, the more so, as they were for the most part vegetarians, and the soil and climate brought forth abundantly with a minimum of trouble.

Then, too, the ubiquitous bamboo furnished material for their dwellings, for holding water, and a host of other purposes. The bamboo stands, indeed, in much the same relation to the Burmese as coal to us, and any cessation in the supply would be attended with consequences scarcely less calamitous.

The pine and custard-apples, plantain or banana, and Jack-fruit grow to perfection.

A well-grown and thoroughly ripe custard-apple, eaten when just ready to fall to pieces on the slightest provocation, is certainly a pleasant and enticing fruit, which may be eaten with impunity, but which, like the rose, is not without its thorn, in the shape of a very unpleasant after-taste. The hills on the right bank of the Irrawaddy, opposite Prome, were celebrated for them, and the plantations, tastefully laid out, formed quite a feature in the landscape.

The plantain of the East, or banana of the West, grows to perfection in Burmah; those of Bengal are vastly inferior, while those grown under glass in this country are sickly exotics, forming but a very poor substitute for that which they pretend to be.

The Jack-fruit did not commend itself to the palate of Europeans: in smell and taste it closely resembles the durian, which abounds in the Malay Archipelago. The taste of both resembles that of the Jargonelle pear; and both, strange to say, smell like rotten eggs.

There was a perfect forest of Jack-fruit trees extending many miles to the west of the stockade. This was a favourite resort, both on account of its numerous shady groves, in which the pine-apple grew in wild luxuriance, and by reason of the number and variety of birds, reptiles, insects, etc., which it afforded to the observant naturalist.

To ride or walk there required, however, some degree of caution. Below lurked scorpions and snakes; above, running along the branches, were numbers of very large and fierce black ants, furnished with formidable nippers, which they did not hesitate to use most effectually whenever they chanced to alight on the nape of one’s neck.

The fruit of these trees sometimes attains to an enormous size; one suspended at either extremity of a bamboo being as much as a strong man could carry.

Another creature that abounded in these forests was the kalong, or flying fox, a large bat, which sleeps the whole day, hanging head downwards from the branches, to which it clings with hooked claws.

Nothing could, perhaps, be more marked than the differences, both physical and mental, that exist between the Burmese and the Hindoos and Mohammedans of India. They have not a single feature in common—customs, religion, ways of thinking are equally different. Burmah, as it was—for I know not how far the conquering hand may have altered the spirit of its dream since I knew it—was infinitely preferable. The pages of history furnish us with proofs as abundant as they are sad, that no nation can advance as long as the hand of the conqueror weighs it down; there may be a spasmodic and artificial progress, but in reality the conquered races recede, since there is in the East no possibility of their absorbing and assimilating their conquerors, as did the Greeks and Saxons of old, which is the only chance of their deriving lasting benefit from the victors.

It would be about as easy “to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear” as to bring aborigines round to our way of thinking and acting; they acquire the vices of the dominant power, but unhesitatingly eschew its virtues.

In the days that I am recalling, the Burmese were by no means faultless, yet they acted up to their own idea of the eternal fitness of things; and were, I doubt not, happier in their way, under their own form of government, bad as we profess to consider it, than under ours.

Men and women were alike characterized by an independence of spirit, the like of which I have never yet encountered in any other race; they absolutely scorned any form of menial employment, so that Burmese domestics were then unknown. This was sheer love of freedom, and not merely the pride attaching to caste, which has no existence in Burmah; their independence was visible in every action, so the yoke must bow these haughty necks very low.

In average intelligence, too, they are infinitely above most of the inhabitants of Hindostan: while the latter would merely pass one by with a “salaam,” the Burmese used frequently to stop and speak, perchance asking for a light, and always evincing the most undisguised gratification if you but let them have a peep at the mechanism of your watch.

The physical advantages are scarcely less striking; the men are not handsome, and the women may be far from pretty, but the former were sturdy, muscular specimens of humanity, and the latter possessed a good figure and a striking head of raven hair, and were besides extremely graceful.

Both were seen to the best advantage when trooping en masse to the pagoda with offerings to “Gautama,” the most imposing sight of its kind that I ever witnessed in the East.

All were scrupulously clean, and dressed in their best, while the women set off the blackness of their hair by interlacing with it the blossoms of a white, waxy flower.

A little in advance of each group marched a Pongyee, a priest or monk, sounding a loud gong; otherwise the silence was unbroken. One remarked a total absence of the drumming, shouting, dancing, and general turmoil that characterize most religious rites in India, rendering them an unmitigated nuisance, for they necessitate police supervision and sanitary precautions on an extensive scale. On these occasions the sexes were separated, the men and women marching on different sides of the road, both going and returning.

Their code of morality was said to be of a not very exalted order; but, I blush to own it, this has become much a matter of opinion—

“And two in fifty scarce agree

On what is pure morality.”

Anyhow, they can in all probability compare very favourably in this respect with any other Oriental nation, and, for the matter of that, with many a European one.

Their detractors, or rather the preachers of the disinterested process of civilization, have made capital out of their practice of parting with their daughters for a pecuniary consideration; but this came into vogue only when the European arrived on the scene and offered prices for the girls that to their simple fathers appeared fabulous.

Nor, in their opinion, did the transaction cast the slightest slur on the young lady’s character, since she was always at liberty to return home and resume her old place in the family, if such were the desire of the principal parties concerned. Moreover, Anglo-Indians are—I apologize, were—unfortunately among those who, in some encounters at all events, could not afford to throw stones; it used to be emphatically impressed upon young ladies that a civilian was worth so much, “dead or alive;” while the market-value of a military man was fixed at considerably less.

Marriage was represented to them as a mere matter of £ s. d., a form of social barter; they were to pass by the “red coat” on principle, concentrating all their blandishments on the “black” one. In our insufferable egotism, which drivelling patriots dignify with the name of insular pride, we are very apt to lay down a code of ethics for others, without thinking it at all necessary to practise the morality we preach.

As is customary in the East, most of the work fell to the lot of the women, their lords and masters only condescending to lend a helping hand whenever resources threatened to fail. The besetting vice of the Burmese was gambling and betting, as much, in fact, a part and parcel of their nature as with “Mr. John Chinaman;” on the whole, indeed, I am of opinion that they cast the Celestial into the shade. At a certain popular boat-race I remember sitting beside a Burmese of some position, whose proceedings were veritably those of a lunatic; he danced and cried, he undid his long black hair and tried to pull it out.

I too, so he deigned to inform me, should have behaved likewise, if I had had such a bet on the race as he. In reply to my interrogation as to the extent of this wonderful bet that appeared so to affect him—“What have I betted? Oh! only my wife, children, house, clothes and furniture!” He positively lost all, and disappeared.

Cock-fighting was another amusement at which large parties would gladly assemble. The birds came of a good stock, were large, heavy, well-spurred, and carefully bred, with, as I suspected, a strain of the “jungle-fowl,” a shapely bird, which abounds in the jungle, though difficult to get at on foot, and which, if hung for the proper time, eats as well as pheasant.

The fanciers, each with his bird under his arm, would resort of an evening to any convenient shady spot, clear a ring, and set to work amid prodigious excitement. One never, perhaps, thoroughly grasped the utter brutality of this sport until he had seen it practised by those poor “savages;” in this case, however, it would have been too glaring a case of “glass houses,” etc., etc., to have even criticized it!

The one physical exercise of which the Burmese had but a very imperfect idea was the art of horse-riding. As they used very short stirrups, and consequently kept their knees right above the saddle, their seat was extremely insecure, only practicable indeed at the “amble,” a pace peculiar to their ponies, horses being unknown.

The European eye measured the qualities of that indigenous animal, with the result of soon placing it beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. I bought one for 3l.; in five years the price rose to 30l. In fact, one of those crazes for which our society is famous, took that direction; it suffered from “Pegu ponies” on the brain, talked of them, dreamed of them.

The enthusiasm of Phaeton the ill-starred to emulate Jehu was scarcely greater or more unfortunate than that of all sorts and conditions of both sexes to drive a pair in a well-appointed, low carriage.

They were certainly well-bred animals, yet withal most docile; many a night did mine carry me home with unerring instinct, when, owing to a darkness that could be felt, I could not see his head.

The natives looked with undisguised amazement on our cavalry and artillery horses: to begin with, the process of mounting sorely puzzled them. Later on, when it was decided to weed them out, a few, sold by auction, came into the possession of ambitious and adventurous Burmese, one of whom I watched with great amusement in his fruitless endeavours to mount. The climax was reached when, in despair, he tied the animal to one of the posts of his verandah, and climbing over the railing from inside, lowered himself into the saddle. Delighted beyond measure at the success of his stratagem, he cautiously proceeded to “cast adrift,” and doubtless enjoyed a famous ride, of which the element of excitement was by no means the least attraction.

There was a peculiar kind of football in which these people excelled, which in so far resembled our own “Association” that the use of the hands was strictly forbidden. There, however, the resemblance ceased: the ball, about the size of those used at croquet, was constructed of strips of cane, and consequently very light; some thirty players would form a large circle, and would keep the ball going from one to another, with toes, heels, and knees, with wonderful skill and accuracy.

But the most striking of their national amusements was the theatrical performance known as a “Pooay,” which was given in a kind of large “Punch and Judy” show.

Seats were literally taken early; that is to say, every one brought a brick, deposited the same according to fancy, and forthwith squatted upon it.

The dramatis personæ were dolls dexterously manipulated by a complicated arrangement of wires, while the men behind proved no mean ventriloquists; the performance, too, was as lengthy as it was excellent, for I have seen the audience assemble of an evening, and break up when I have passed that way again next morning!

Any clever joke would be received with uproarious mirth, and—let the reader be lenient in his judgment of these poor, untaught savages!—the broader the allusion, the more they relished it.

Comparisons are, as a rule, odious, but the pharisaical suppression of many native Burmese modes of recreation gives rise to reflections that will find expression ere long in the outcry of an injured people. We lay the flattering unction to our souls that we are not as others; we, forsooth, forbid the natives to bet and gamble. Why can we not at least have the honesty to admit that we hold India and Burmah solely and entirely for the sake of the “loaves and fishes,” without descending to cant about our duty as the pioneers of a religion with which such races can have but little real sympathy, and a civilization that—if, indeed, it be nothing worse—is at least no improvement on their present state?

The new arrival is at once struck by the large number of places of worship scattered broadcast over the country. They generally culminate in a pagoda, a wonderful tapering structure, very solidly built, and covered from the base upwards with gold-leaf, while the apex is generally surmounted by an umbrella, the insignia of royalty, or some other fantastic device. They were built in honour of Buddha, the labour and material being voluntary gifts of the people. If offerings of produce could be relied on as a measure of their devotion, then were the Burmese an essentially religious people. Plantains, boiled rice, curiously concocted native dishes, flowers, umbrellas—all were presented in profusion, and all—not excepting the more perishable portion of even the umbrellas—were disposed of by swarms of crows, the more adventurous of which pounced upon the good things while the worshippers were still busy with their devotions.

Of the many wondrous natural phenomena that so puzzle us Europeans in the far East, the extraordinary instinct possessed by vultures and other birds of prey is by no means the most inconsiderable. But a few moments need elapse after a bullock falls dead on the march, and one already sees black spots not far above the horizon, which soon prove to be vultures making straight for the carcase with unerring precision. Naturalists are divided in opinion as to whether this extraordinary power of perception owes its origin to some unusual development of the sense of vision, or to an equally unintelligible transcendency of the olfactory organs: one fact, I believe, speaks strongly in favour of the former hypothesis, and that is, that the birds as often as not approach from windward.

The numerous roadside temples offered unlimited opportunities for “looting,” the panacea for all military hardships; though the occasions were indeed better than the prizes, which consisted for the most part of images of Gautama covered with gold and silver foil.

All is, I imagine, fair in war; though in how far that rule admits of modification in the case of a war declared by a dominant power against a race of half-naked Orientals, I do not care to inquire. The Burmese certainly bore the pillage of their temples in a philosophic spirit, not to be met with even in a Christian country; they bowed to the inevitable, they made a virtue of necessity, they trusted to the teachings of their faith, rendering good for evil, so as to ultimately reach Nirvana, the goal of all their earthly and spiritual ambition, in the hope of which life was alone worth living.