An English Girl's First Impressions of Burmah Part 5

But the scenery was glorious, and I had ample time to admire it. Our road wound up the side of a jungle clad hill, around and above us rose other hills covered with the gorgeous vari-coloured jungle trees and shrubs. Immediately below us lay a deep wooded ravine, shut in by the hills, and far away behind us stretched miles and miles of paddy fields and open country shrouded in a pale blue-grey mist. I cannot imagine grander scenery; what most nearly approach it are views in Saxon Switzerland, but the latter can be compared only as an engraving to a painting, the colour being lacking.

What most impressed me was the absolute silence, and the utter absence of any sign of human life. All round us lay miles and miles of unbroken jungle, inhabited only by birds and beasts; all nature seemed silent, mysterious, and void of human sympathies as in the first days of the world, before man came to conquer, and in conquering to destroy the charm. It is impossible quite to realise this awe-inspiring loneliness of the jungle

"Where things that own not man's dominion dwell."

"And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been."

We halted for breakfast at a small wayside village, where we found the usual mat "dak" bungalow, guarded by the usual extortionate khansamah, and surrounded by the usual dismal compound full of chickens.

Here it was that I made my first acquaintance with the world renowned Burmese chicken, an acquaintance destined to become more and more close, until it blossomed into a deep and never to be forgotten hatred.

The Burmese chicken, whose name is legion, is a thin haggard looking fowl, chiefly noted for his length of leg, and utter absence of superfluous flesh. He picks up a precarious living in the compounds of the houses to which he is attached, and leads a sad, anxious life, owing to the fact that he is generally recognised as the legitimate prey of any man or beast, who at any time of the day or night may be seized with a desire to "chivy."

Consequently he wears a hara.s.sed, expectant look, knowing that the end will overtake him suddenly and without warning. One hour he is happily fighting with his comrades over a handful of grain, within the next he has been killed, cooked, and eaten without pity, though frequently with after feelings of repentance on the part of the eater.

It is, doubtless, the kindly heart of the native cook that prevents him killing the bird more than half an hour before the remains are due at table; he does not wish to cut off a happy life sooner than is absolutely necessary. It is, doubtless too, the same gentle heart that induces him to single out for slaughter the most ancient of fowls, leaving the young and tender (if a Burmese chicken ever is tender) still to rejoice in their youth. If this be so, there is displayed a trait of native character deserving appreciation--which appreciation the result, however, fails as a rule to secure.

It is wonderful what a variety of disguises a Burmese chicken can take upon itself. The quick change artist is nowhere in comparison.

It appears successively as soup, joint, hash, rissoles, pie, patties and game. It is covered with rice, onions, and almonds, and raisins, and dubbed "pillau"; it is covered with cayenne pepper and called a savoury.

It is roasted, boiled, baked, potted, and curried, and once I knew an enterprising housekeeper mix it with sardines and serve up a half truth in the shape of "fish cakes."

But under whatever name it may appear, in whatever form it be disguised, it may be invariably recognised by the utter absence of any flavour whatever.

After breakfast, my brother a.s.sumed his most stern judicial expression and gave me to understand gently but firmly, that he refused to continue our journey under existing circ.u.mstances, and that if I really could not induce my pony to progress faster, I must mount that of the orderly, and leave the laggard to be dealt with by a male hand. I could not object; I was alone in a distant land far from the protection of my family; I could only agree to the proposal with reluctance, and disclaim all responsibility with regard to my own or the new pony's safety.

Accordingly, the saddles were changed, much to the dissatisfaction of the orderly, and I was speedily mounted on my new steed.

At first the exchange appeared to be an improvement. The pony had a brisk walk, and we progressed quite as rapidly as I wished. I began to feel an accomplished horse-woman, and when my brother suggested a two miles canter, I consented after but a few objections.

We started gaily, and we did canter two miles without a break, and the pony and I did not part company during the proceedings, but that is all I can say.

I have frequently heard foolish people talk of the unspeakable joy of a wild gallop, the delightful motion, the exhilaration of rus.h.i.+ng through the air, with a good horse beneath you. Once I listened to such talkers with credulity, now I listen in astonishment. Our gallop was wild enough in all conscience, but after the first three minutes I became convinced it was the most uncomfortable way of getting about I had ever experienced.

I started elegantly enough, gripping my pummel tightly between my knees, and sitting bolt upright, but I soon gave up all ideas of putting on unnecessary "side" of that sort; this ride was no fancy exhibition, it was grim earnest.

I and the pony were utterly out of sympathy with one another, and I am sure the latter did all he could to be tiresome out of pure "cussedness." Whenever I b.u.mped down, he seemed to b.u.mp up, and the result was painful; whenever I pulled the reins he merely tossed his head scornfully; and I am sure the saddle must have been slipping about (though it appeared firm enough afterwards), for I landed on all parts of it in turn.

To add to my troubles my sola topee became objectionable.

It was not an ordinary looking topee; it being my first visit to the East, of course I had procured an exceedingly large one, and in addition to its great size, it was very heavy and very ugly. I fancy it was originally intended to be helmet shaped, but its maker had allowed his imagination to run away with him, and when finished, it was the most extraordinary looking headdress that ever spoilt the appearance of a naturally beautiful person.

It resembled rather a swollen plum pudding in a very large dish, than a respectable sola topee.

It was so constructed inside as to fit no existingly shaped human head, and consequently required to be balanced with the greatest care. By dint of sitting very upright I had succeeded in keeping it on my head during the earlier stages of my journey, but now I had more important matters to think of than sola topees, and consequently it became grievously offended, and (being abnormally sensitive, as are most deformed creatures) it commenced to wobble about in a most alarming manner.

On and on we went. I had almost ceased to have any feeling in my legs and body, and began to wonder vaguely what strange person's head had got on to my shoulders, it seemed to fit so loosely. We flew past the second milestone, but my brother, who rode just ahead of me, absorbed no doubt in the joys of the gallop, never stayed his reckless course. I could not stop my pony, because both hands were, of course, engaged in holding on to the saddle. I lost my stirrup; it was never any good to me, but my foot felt lonely without it. My knees were cramped, my head ached, and finally my sola topee, unable longer to endure its undignified wobble, descended slowly over my face and hung there by its elastic, effectually blocking out everything from my sight.

I would have infinitely preferred to have fallen off, but did not know how to do so comfortably.

At last, with a mighty effort I crouched in the saddle, gingerly released one hand, pushed aside the topee from before my mouth, and yelled to my brother to stop. He turned, saw something unusual in my appearance, and, thank goodness! stopped.

It could not have lasted much longer; either I or the pony would have been obliged to give way. When I indignantly explained to my brother what the pony had been doing, all he said was that he hoped to goodness I had not given it a sore back. I know its back could not have been a quarter as sore as was mine! I did not gallop again that or any other day.

We spent the night in another "dak" bungalow, consisting of three mat walled sleeping apartments, scantily furnished, and an open veranda where we dined. We dined off chicken variously disguised, and being very stiff and weary, retired early to bed.

During dinner, my brother casually remarked that on his last visit there he had killed a snake in the roof, and on retiring to my room I remembered his words and trembled.

I don't know much about snakes, save only that a "king cobra" alone will attack without provocation; therefore, if one is attacked, the reptile is almost certain to be a snake of that species.

What precautions should therefore be taken to defend one's life I have not ascertained, but I give the information as affording at any rate some satisfaction in case of attack.

The roof of my room was thatched, and looked the very dwelling place of snakes, and how could I possibly defend myself from attack (supposing king cobras inhabited that district), when they might drop down on me while I slept, or come up through the c.h.i.n.ks and holes in the wooden floor, and bite my feet when I was getting into bed? The situation was a desperate one. What was to be done?

After half an hour, I was forced to abandon my plan of sitting up all night on the table, under my green sun-umbrella; the table was so rickety that I fell off whenever I dozed, and the situation became painful.

At last a new plan occurred to me. I took a wild leap from the table to the bed, and succeeded in rigging up a tent with the mosquito curtain props, and a sheet. Then, secure from all dangers from below or above, I fell fast asleep, and awoke next morning to find myself still alive and unharmed.

I am convinced that more than one cunning serpent that night returned foiled to its lair, having at last encountered a degree of cunning surpa.s.sing its own.

We made an early start next morning, as we had still twelve miles to ride before the day grew hot.

The orderly objected to ride further on a snail, and had put my saddle once more on my original pony, so I finished my ride without further mishap.

It was a delicious morning; the early lights and shadows of dawn and sunrise enhanced the beauty of the richly coloured jungle bordering the road. On all sides we were surrounded by the tall, dark, waving trees, and the thick green, pink, golden, and red-brown under-growth, save occasionally when the close bushes were cleared a little, and we caught tempting glimpses of shady moss covered glades, chequered by the sunlight peering through the thick leaves. Everything was very still, and except for the soft whisper of the jungle gra.s.s, a great silence brooded over all.

Suddenly there broke upon my ears a strange sound, weird, mystic, wonderful. It was a heavy, grating, creaking noise, more horrible than aught I had heard before. Nearer and nearer it came; and now it could be distinguished as the cry of some mighty beast in pain, for the first and fundamental noise was varied by shrill screams and deep, painful groans. Was it a wounded elephant? No! surely no living elephant ever gave voice to such terrible, awe-inspiring sounds. It must be some far mightier beast, some remnant of the prehistoric ages, which remained still to drag out a lonely existence, hidden from human eyes, in this far Burmese jungle.

But now it was close upon us; the noise was deafening, making day hideous; round the corner of the road appeared four huge, horns, two meek looking white heads, and----a bullock cart.

That was the sole cause of this hideous disturbance, of these ear-piercing shrieks which rent the air. As usual, the wheels of the cart were formed of solid circles of wood, not even rounded, and carefully unoiled, and from these emanated those horrible shrieks, groans, and creaks, which are the delight and security of the Burmese driver, and the terror of tigers and panthers haunting the road.

How eminently peaceful must be the life of the bullock-cart driver! He knows no hurry, no anxiety, no responsibility.

Hour after hour, day after day he jogs along, seated on the front of his cart, occasionally rousing himself to joke and gossip with friends he may meet on the way, or to encourage his team by means of his long bamboo stick, but more often he sits wrapped in a deep sleep, or meditation, trusting for guidance to the meek solemn-faced bullocks which he drives. His work is done, his life is pa.s.sed in one long continuous, sleeping, smoking, and eating sort of existence; the thought of such a life of careless, uneventful, unambitious happiness, is appalling.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BURMESE BULLOCK CART]

I grew somewhat weary of the frequent opportunities I had of studying the bullock carts and their drivers during that morning ride. Every cart jogged on its noisy way along the very centre of the road; but it is not meet that a Sahib and a representative of the great Queen should occupy anything but the very centre of the road when taking his rides abroad.

Consequently whenever we met a bullock cart both cavalcades had to stop.

It was a work of time to make the driver hear the orderly's voice, above the creaking of the wheels; more time was occupied in rousing him from his sleep, and explaining to him the situation; and more time again in explaining matters to the bullocks, and inducing them to drag the cart into the ditch.

It took five minutes to pa.s.s each cart, and as we met a great many that morning as we approached the village, our progress was considerably delayed. I should have preferred for the sake of speed to have ridden in the ditch myself; at the same time I am aware such opinions are unworthy of the relation of an Indian Civilian.

My entrance into Remyo, the future scene of my experiences, at half-past ten that morning was striking, though hardly dignified.