FOUR YEARS IN UPPER BURMA.

SACRED BUILDINGS OF THE BUDDHISTS.

FOUR YEARS
IN
UPPER BURMA.

BY
W. R. WINSTON.

“Spread it then,

And let it circulate through ev’ry vein

Of all your empire; that where Britain’s power

Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.”

The Tusk.

London:
C. H. KELLY, 2, CASTLE STREET, CITY ROAD, E.C.;
AND 66, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
1892.

Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.

PREFACE.

I had certainly no intention of writing a book when I commenced to put together the information contained in these pages. All I purposed to do was to prepare a short report of work done. But I found that the interesting material at hand was too abundant to be compressed within the limits I had originally intended.

The need for a better knowledge, on the part of our English people generally, of the distant dependencies of the British Empire is undeniable, if they are to discharge at all intelligently the duty of governing the many races, which the circumstances of an ever-widening empire, and the extension of the parliamentary franchise, have placed in their hands. The story is told of a member of Parliament who did not know Burma from Bermuda; and as I have myself found the very same confusion of the two places, in three separate instances, by gentlemen that might have been thought fairly well educated, to say nothing of a respectable alderman who asked whether Burma was an island, and frankly admitted he was very ignorant about it, I can quite believe the story to be true.

Not only is there a need for more knowledge of the countries and races we govern, there is also a demand for it. The events of recent years, especially those resulting from the annexation of King Theebaw’s country, have drawn Burma into much closer touch with England; and many people, by no means ignorant of Burma before, now feel a much deeper interest than formerly in all that pertains to that interesting country, whose destinies are henceforth so intimately bound up with our own.

I have endeavoured to draw as faithful and accurate a picture as possible of the country and people, and I have tried to show, from the standpoint of a sympathetic but impartial witness, what the annexation of an Oriental country like Burma really means, what are its immediate results, and what are the many strong points and the few weak points in our rule.

In seeking to raise the condition of a heathen people no remedy can be regarded as a substitute for the Gospel. We value civilisation very highly, with all that it implies in our case—in the way of good government, material prosperity, the amelioration of the conditions of life amongst the people, the progress of knowledge, and the introduction of the arts and conveniences of life—but the only true basis for the highest type of civilisation is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The best instances of a civilisation without the Gospel are in the East, but even the civilisation of the East is, at its best, an arrested civilisation. Those races are “civilised but not enlightened”; they always stop short of that capacity for constant progress which characterises only the nations that have embraced the Gospel; and they achieve that capacity when they have embraced it. Hence the carrying on of evangelistic work in Burma is a matter of great importance, and my earnest desire is that this little work may do its humble part in deepening that prayerful interest upon which missionary effort depends for its support and continuance.

In addition to those authors that I have consulted on Burma, and have quoted here and there in the course of this work, I would especially mention my indebtedness to that most appreciative and sympathetic observer of the Burman, Mr. J. G. Scott (Shway Yoe), whose work, in two volumes, entitled The Burman: his Life and Notions, gives perhaps the best and most complete account of the Burmese people that has yet appeared. I have availed myself of his extensive information to confirm or supplement my own in points where it is obvious that four years was not a long enough period upon which to form a reliable judgment.

W. R. Winston.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS.

Transcriber’s Note: Map is clickable for a larger version.

Province of BURMA
East Indies

FOUR YEARS IN UPPER BURMA.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.

The annexation of Upper Burma on January 1st, 1886, opened up to England a large and valuable addition to her foreign possessions, whilst it perceptibly widened the ever-increasing area of her responsibilities, both political and moral. Including the Shan States tributary to the kingdom of Burma, the annexation added to Lower or, as it was then called, British Burma, a territory as large as France, thus making all Burma a compact province of our Indian Empire, as large as France and Great Britain together, and bringing British India right up to the frontiers of China.

The resources of Burma are very considerable. Its mineral wealth includes gold and silver, iron and tin; its mines of rubies and sapphires are noted all over the world; its coal and earth-oil are likely to prove of great value; jade, a green stone much prized in China and Japan for the manufacture of bracelets and trinkets, is found in large quantities in Upper Burma, and amber is met with in the northern parts of the country. As the country and its productions become opened up, these treasures are sure to receive the attention they deserve.

The soil of Burma is generally very fertile, and with its diversified elevation and climate of mountain, plain and tableland, almost every variety of tropical productions can be grown, as well as many belonging to the temperate zone. Lower Burma, especially the great delta of the Irrawaddy, affords unrivalled scope and suitable climate for the growth of rice, the staple food of so large a part of the human race. The area under cultivation for rice in Lower Burma is 4,339,000 acres, and for other crops 474,000 acres, and besides all local consumption, there is the enormous total annual export of rice by sea of 1,145,000 tons.

The dry climate and rich soil of Upper Burma render it more suitable for the growth of wheat, maize, cotton, and many native grains, vegetables and fruits than for rice. On the mountains indigenous tea is grown, is manufactured by natives, and can be bought in any bazaar. Burma is the chosen home of the teak, that prince among timber trees. The reserved forests are under the care of a Government Department for forest conservation, and are the property of the Crown. They cover an area of several thousand square miles, and yielded in the year 1889-90, 260,074 tons of teak, beside other valuable timbers and forest productions, including indiarubber and cutch. Cutch is the common commercial name for a product of the Acacia Catechu tree, very valuable as a dye. These forests brought into the public revenue, when all expenses were paid, a net surplus of 3,388,400 rupees for the year 1889-90. The export of teak timber, chiefly for the European market, amounted to 184,431 tons, and the average value was about £10 a ton. Thus Burma is already a country of great material wealth, with vast possibilities of growth and development.

According to the census of 1891 the population of Burma, including the Shan States, is 8,098,014. This total is made up as follows:—

With regard to the population of the towns, Mandalay stands first with 188,815. Next to this is Rangoon, the capital and the seat of Government, with 180,324; Maulmein has 56,000. The rest of the towns are considerably smaller.

The population of Burma is scanty in proportion to its area and resources; in fact, population is the great requisite for the development of the country. The quickening touch of British rule and commerce is effecting much in the direction of supplying this need. Every district, without exception, in Lower Burma shows an increase in the last ten years, an increase of 22 per cent. on the whole. The Indian Government is disposed to make the rich province of Burma an outlet for the congested populations of some of the provinces of India, and the great steamer companies are accomplishing this by conveying many hundreds of natives every week from the Indian ports to Rangoon, thereby enriching themselves, enriching Burma, and giving to these people a sphere and a chance in life, where their humble energies may receive their due reward. It is in manifold ways like this that civilisation and a firm and enlightened rule bestow such blessings on these teeming Oriental populations. The number of these immigrants from India into Rangoon, the chief seaport of Burma, during 1890 was 86,609. Owing to the customs of the natives of India, and their reluctance to break entirely away from home and country, there were in that year 65,055 who returned to India. This leaves a balance of over 20,000 for the year, which may represent approximately that very welcome addition to its population which Burma receives from India year by year. Rangoon itself is largely Indian in population, and Indians are to be found all over the country in great numbers.

Both Upper and Lower Burma have yet large tracts of waste land, unoccupied territory that would well repay cultivation, and it is to be hoped that an agricultural population will be attracted from India. Should the railway system of Burma, now being rapidly developed, be united to that of India, that will no doubt be brought about in course of time. As the price of labour, roughly speaking, is 100 per cent. more than it is in India, and as the cost of living is not more than 50 per cent. higher, the balance is decidedly in favour of the immigrant.

Burma is watered by magnificent rivers. Chief of these is the Irrawaddy, with Rangoon near its mouth, and chief among its tributaries is the Chindwin. Both these rivers are great arteries of trade, being navigated not only by great numbers of the quaint-looking Burmese vessels, but by the large and powerful steamers of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company, which, since 1867, has been trading on these rivers. Their steamers now ply regularly several times a week up the Irrawaddy to Mandalay, 500 miles, and even as far as Bhamo, some 250 miles farther, and up the Chindwin as far as Kendat. These steamers are splendidly built of steel, with flat bottom, and lower and upper deck, with ample accommodation both for saloon and deck passengers, and are fitted throughout with the electric light. Some of them will carry considerably over a thousand passengers besides cargo.

Historically Upper Burma is a land of great interest. It was all that remained of the once powerful Burmese empire, which in the early part of this century was strong enough to menace our Indian territory, and extended from Siam, in the south, to the confines of Bengal, in the north, and from China to the Bay of Bengal.

Each of the three Burmese wars has arisen in a similar way, and has been marked by the same features on the part of the Burmese Government,—viz., an unwillingness to listen to reason, with much bluster and ignorant self-sufficiency at the outset, and inferior military qualities in the performance,—and each has resulted in the annexation of some part of the kingdom to British territory. Arakan and Tenasserim were acquired by treaty after the first Burmese war in 1824-26; the province of Pegu was occupied and retained, consequent on the second war in 1852-53; this gave us the command of the Irrawaddy, with Rangoon for a seaport; the third and last war, in 1885, took away all that remained of Burmese rule, and the kingdom of Burma became a thing of the past.

Much may be said against war in the abstract, and against wars of this description in particular. It would be easy to represent such a war as this, so far away from England, as aggressive and unjustifiable. I am no advocate for war of any kind, and I am not anxious to defend this action of England in conquering and annexing the last remnant of the Burman kingdom. But I can see that a question of this kind is not to be so summarily settled as may appear on the face of it.

England long ago embarked in India on a career of empire, prompted rather by the force of circumstances than of set purpose; and now it often seems difficult to decide when to go forward and where to stop. I will not attempt to unravel this tangled skein, but will merely say that, leaving aside the questions of how England came by her vast power and influence in the East, and whether she ought ever to extend it, and if so under what circumstances, it seems to me that ultimately and finally the verdict must turn on the use she makes of this unique position, and what she accomplishes with her unrivalled opportunities in the material, intellectual, social and moral advancement of the many races and nations that she rules or protects.

Coming now to the immediate causes of the Burmese war of 1885, the following is the official account of them from the British standpoint:—

“Complaints against the Burmese Government meanwhile multiplied, British subjects suffered insult and violence at the hands of local officials, and no redress could be obtained. Trade monopolies were created in defiance of the express terms of the Treaty of 1867. The disorganisation of Upper Burma infected with disorder the adjacent districts of the British province. Negotiations were carried on by the Burmese Government for the purpose of contracting close alliances with other European countries, to the studied neglect of England. These causes had contributed to make the situation very unsatisfactory to the British Government, but were not such as to demand active interference. A casus belli arose, however, out of a specific act of the Burmese Government, who raised a large claim, amounting to several lakhs of rupees, against the Bombay-Burma Trading Corporation, a company of merchants, mainly British subjects, who had a large business in Upper Burma. In view of the magnitude of the claim, and of the interests of British subjects involved, mediation was attempted by the British authorities in order to ensure an impartial investigation. The mediation was ignored; and the company, without being allowed reasonable opportunity for defending themselves, were condemned by the Burmese Council to be mulcted to the amount of 2,300,000 rupees. The British Government protested against this arbitrary act; and their demand to have the proceedings stayed until the matter had been referred to an arbitrator was peremptorily refused. It was on this refusal that the British Government decided to send to the King of Burma an ultimatum, which should be designed to adjust once for all the relations between the two countries. The ultimatum required the king not only to suspend proceedings against the corporation, and to receive an envoy with a view to the settlement of the matter at issue, but also for the future to permit the residence at Mandalay of a British agent, who should be treated with due respect. It was added, too, that the external relations of Burma should in future be regulated in accordance with the advice of the British Government, and that facilities should be given for opening up trade with China. This ultimatum was dispatched on October 22nd, 1885, and a satisfactory reply was demanded by November 10th. On November 9th the reply was received, containing an absolute refusal of the proposed terms. Moreover, on November 7th a proclamation had been issued by the King of Burma, calling on his subjects to rally round him, that he might annihilate these heretic foreigners, and conquer and annex their country. The ultimatum had thus led to war. The expeditionary force, already prepared, crossed the frontier on November 14th, and within a fortnight from that day Mandalay had been occupied by General Prendergast and his troops, and the king was a prisoner. The only serious resistance met with had been at Minhla.”

Such were the events leading up to the war. The demands of the British Government seem not unreasonable, but the stubborn folly of the King of Burma refused them. One cannot but regret that the resources of modern civilisation have as yet established no alternative in such a case of a petty Oriental monarch and a great power like England but an ultimatum and war. King Theebaw was such a ruler that it was in vain to think of reinstating him; no other likely ruler was to be found; annexation was the only way to meet the case. The king was removed to India with his family, his retinue, and his chief astrologer, and there he has been in gilded seclusion ever since. On January 1st, 1886, the proclamation was made that Upper Burma was annexed to our Eastern possessions, and the fact came home to the British mind that a large, valuable, interesting country was now open to British enterprise and incorporated with our Indian Empire.

To the Christian public of England the announcement of the annexation came as a call to duty in regard to the spread of the Gospel amongst a people who had long been suffering from a cruel and tyrannical ruler. From time immemorial the palace of the Burman rulers, chiefly owing to the general practice of polygamy on the part of the kings, and the consequent troops of queens and princes and princesses, has been the scene of much intrigue and corruption, and occasional bloodshed and revolution. Absolute monarchy is almost inseparable from occasional acts of cruelty and tyranny, even if just and kind in the main. But a weak ruler with an insecure title, like the last of the Burmese kings, cannot afford to be lenient, and is more likely to be cruel than a stronger man would be. The disorders of the reign of King Theebaw had made a deep impression on the English mind. He had gained the throne by a court intrigue, for he was not the rightful heir, so that he had to keep by force what he had got by fraud. The result was the massacre of about seventy of the royal family, who were put to death as possible rivals of the new king. That was in 1879, but a greater massacre occurred in 1884, when, owing to the intrigues of certain Burman officials, an attack was made upon the jails of Mandalay, and over three hundred persons were put to death, including some inoffensive princes.

As a very striking proof of the fact that the country was in a most wretched state, bordering on anarchy, by reason of misgovernment, extortion, bad trade and dacoity, it may be mentioned that in a few years no less than ten thousand people of Upper Burma had crossed the border and taken up their abode in British Burma, in order to escape oppression, and live in security under a more beneficent rule. The tide of population has since the annexation been flowing back to Upper Burma.

Naturally much interest was felt in England over the altered condition of things, and thousands of Englishmen, on seeing the news of the annexation, felt that no time should be lost in securing to the Upper Burmans the liberty of British subjects, and that security to person and property enjoyed by all who are under British rule; and many felt, above all things, that it was a call to give them the Gospel.

CHAPTER II.
THE JOURNEY TO MANDALAY.

It was in the month of January 1887 that I left Calcutta, in company with my old friend and former colleague, the Rev. J. Brown, of Calcutta, for Burma. We were on a prospecting expedition with a view to the establishment of a Mission in Upper Burma. On reaching Rangoon we were cordially received by the members of the American Baptist Mission, and spent a few days there. Rangoon is one of the most remarkable cities in the East for rapid growth and commercial prosperity. It was only after the second Burmese war in 1852-53 that it became British territory. Since then it has grown to be a city of 180,324 inhabitants. This population is by no means all Burman, but is largely English and Eurasian, Indian and Chinese. Its railways, steam tramways, public buildings, sawmills, ricemills, the shipping at anchor in the river, its banks, warehouses, public buildings and shops, at once proclaim it the busy capital of Burma, and in all probability a place destined to see a still greater and more prosperous future as the resources of the country develop.

After a day or two spent in Rangoon and a visit to Toungoo, we proceeded by rail to Prome, which is some 150 miles from Rangoon, and there we embarked on the Irrawaddy by one of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company’s splendid river steamers for Mandalay. It was then a time of great demand for transport, on account of the military operations for the pacification of Upper Burma, so that there were, in addition to a large number of Burman and Indian passengers, many military men coming and going. On that occasion we had over a thousand passengers on board. Not long after leaving Prome we passed what was formerly the British frontier station and port of Thayetmyo. Henceforth the contrast between the trim neatness of the towns under British rule and those of the Upper country was sufficiently apparent; and for many a long day after, the frequent sound of the bugle, and after dark the challenge of the sentries, together with the very warlike state of the news, and the constant sight of soldiers and police, always fully armed, and of gangs of dacoits being brought in manacled, kept us in mind of the fact that we had come to a land where the security of life and property we were accustomed to was only in course of being established.

Towards sunset we reached Minhla, on the right bank of the Irrawaddy; and as we made fast for the night right opposite, we had time before it was dark to step ashore and climb the precipitous bank and look over the redoubt, the taking of which was the only action worth mentioning in the expedition. It is a square-built stone fort, and was well manned with Burmese troops. The British force went round by the jungle, and got to the back of the fort, where there was a way leading up to the ramparts; and having fought their way up to the summit, the Burmans inside were at their mercy, as the machine guns in the armed steamers on the river covered the exit by the front. Thus the place was taken.

Next morning saw us steaming away again up the river. The scenery varies much. Now the banks of the river are flat, showing the country for miles, and again high banks and rolling hills diversify the scene. Further up, near Bhamo, in the defiles, the mighty river has forced its way between high mountains which rise suddenly from the water’s edge, and the scenery there is majestic. Numbers of villages and small towns are seen on the banks of the river, for here, as elsewhere, the fresh water of the river means life to man and beast, and verdure and freshness to the crops irrigated from it.

Almost every hill and knoll for much of the way has one or more of the dazzling white, bell-shaped, brickwork pagodas so common all over this Buddhist land, in most cases surmounted with the “htee” or “umbrella,” a large iron framework of that shape, richly covered with gold leaf; and at various points the pagoda is hung with numbers of bells, that tinkle musically with every breeze. The number of pagodas is truly astonishing, and the amount they must have cost is one of the marvels of this strange and interesting country.

Pagodas are seen everywhere and in large numbers. Not only is there hardly a village without them, but they are to be seen on lonely hillsides and hilltops in abundance, and sometimes in almost inaccessible places, on some crag or ledge of rock overlooking the plain. The reason for this vast multiplication of pagodas is not far to seek. Of all works of merit none is so effectual as the building of a pagoda.

A VILLAGE ON THE IRRAWADDY.

The following day, in the early morning twilight, we passed Pagân, a most remarkable place on the left bank of the river. It is one of the many former capitals of Burma, being the Royal City in the thirteenth century, but is now practically deserted, except for a few hundreds of pagoda slaves—an outcast class, condemned under Burmese rule to lifelong and hereditary service about the religious buildings.

“It is practically,” says a recent writer, “a city of the dead; but as a religious city, it is certainly the most remarkable and interesting in the world, not excepting Mecca, Kieff or Benares. For eight miles along the river bank, and extending to a distance of two miles inland, the whole surface is thickly studded with pagodas of all sizes and shapes, and the very ground is so thickly covered with crumbling remnants of vanished shrines, that according to the popular saying, you cannot move foot or hand without touching a sacred thing. A Burmese proverb says there are 9,999. This may or may not be true; but in any case it is certain that an area of sixteen square miles is practically covered with holy buildings. They are of every form of architecture and in every stage of decay, from the newly built fane glittering in white and gold, with freshly bejewelled umbrella on its spire, to the mere tumulus of crumbling brick, hardly to be distinguished now from a simple mound of earth.”

They are also of very various sizes, some of them being fine and imposing buildings, and others very small. What a weird sight it was, in the dim twilight of the early morning, to see from the upper deck of the steamer, passing before us like a panorama for eight miles, the towering growths of many centuries of vain offerings, of useless and unavailing endeavours. All was dark and gloomy; mist and the dim twilight covered everything. It was the abode of the dead. Those pagodas were the memorials of a dead faith, and all the self-sacrifice that produced them was but elaborate self-seeking. The buildings seen in the distance put me in mind of a cathedral city, but it was a chilling thought that amid all that grim and solitary vastness there were neither worshippers nor worship—nothing, in fact, but a dreary waste of pagodas, most of them in various stages of decay. A subsequent visit to Pagân, and the more leisurely survey of this marvellous place, made one feel still more the sadness of the spectacle of this untold expenditure of property and labour, and the result neither honour to God nor benefit to man. Such is human “merit,” and such are all attempts to accumulate a store of it.

ENTRANCE TO A BURMESE PAGODA.

It is a curious feature about pagodas that though so many are seen going to decay they still continue to build. The explanation of this is that the work of special merit is to build a pagoda, and no special merit attaches to the work of restoration or repair, except in the cases of the few pagodas of great renown, which are greatly resorted to by worshippers and pilgrims.

On the morning of the fourth day from Prome we reached Mandalay. Here we met the Rev. J. H. Bateson, who had arrived three weeks before, having come out from England in the capacity of Wesleyan chaplain to the Upper Burma Field Force.

The first thing to attend to after we had looked round a little was to find a place to lodge. This matter was soon settled by our Army chaplain taking us to the quarters which had been assigned to him by the military authorities. This lodging was novel, for it consisted of one of the buildings belonging to a large Buddhist monastery, substantially built of teak, and with the usual highly quaint, ornamental and fantastic-looking roof, richly decorated with most elaborate carving all over, and tapering at one end into the form of a spire. There were many other buildings of a similar kind around us, some of them really grand and imposing. Within a very short distance of us, in buildings of a similar kind, which are quite different from the ordinary Burmese houses, the whole of the 2nd Battalion of the Hampshire Regiment, several hundreds strong, were lodged. It was said by the chief Buddhist authorities about the time of the annexation that there were close upon six thousand monks in Mandalay, but there are monastery buildings to accommodate many times that number. In addition to all the monks, the entire British force of English troops, Native Indian Sepoy troops, and military police in Mandalay, altogether several thousands strong, were lodged in monastery buildings, and still there was plenty of room to spare.

Mandalay has been well styled the Vatican of Buddhism. So numerous are the religious buildings they seem almost endless, and it is evident that no small portion of the resources of the country must have gone in these works of merit. Within a day or two of our arrival, when we began to look about, we found that we were in close proximity to many remarkably fine religious buildings, and many startling contrasts were brought into view by the exigencies of the times. Close by the quarters of the Hampshire Regiment was a pagoda of fantastic shape. Being a brick building, and not liable to catch fire, it had been put in use as the armourer’s shop, and there the regimental blacksmith was at work with his anvil and tools, his portable fireplace and bellows, and close beside him, as he worked, was the beautiful marble image of Buddha for which the pagoda was erected.

The regimental canteen, from whence proceeded of an evening the loud laughter of the soldiers in their cups, and the singing of many a long-drawn-out song in the true English vernacular, was originally a building consecrated to Buddhist meditation, asceticism and prayer. The regimental guard-room—and in those days they had to keep good watch and ward, for the country was in a state of great disturbance—was a Burmese zayat or resting-place, built by the piety of some one for the benefit of frequenters of these holy places, who little imagined that his zayat would ever be used as a place of detention for drunken and refractory British soldiers.

But the great sight of the place is the “Incomparable Pagoda,” as the Burmans proudly style it, situated close by the guard-room, and directly facing the beautiful monastery building then used as the officers’ mess. This remarkable structure is a huge pile of building raised upon vast masonry pillars. It measures fully 300 feet in length, is proportionately broad, and rises in the form of a pyramid to such a height as to be visible several miles off. Its sumptuously carved and gilded teak-wood doors, forty-four in number, are quite a sight to see in themselves, as is also the magnificent decorative plaster work all around and over the building, and rising to its very summit. At that time, in the absence of churches and chapels, for want of a better place with sufficient space for hundreds to assemble together, the Hampshire Regiment used to have “church parade” in the vast expanse amongst the pillars at the basement of the Incomparable Pagoda. It was a cool, airy, comfortable place, and open on all sides to the breeze, so that it answered very well in such a hot climate.

There also many other meetings were held in those days of “Field Service,” when we had all to be satisfied with such accommodation as we could get. It was there our prayer-meetings and class-meetings were held for the soldiers, and there, amidst that wilderness of pillars, under that vast heathen shrine, we had the joy of directing anxious penitents to the Saviour, and there, too, we held, in company with Major Yates of the Royal Artillery, the first temperance meeting ever held in Mandalay.

Leaving this Bethel of ours at the basement of the Incomparable Pagoda, and ascending by one of the fine broad flights of steps, the visitor comes to the wooden platform of the pagoda, and on being ushered in by the polite old abbot or presiding monk, he sees a very fine, spacious building, very lofty, with many images of Buddha, sheltered under great white canopies, besides some curiosities of European manufacture, such as mirrors of vast size, and gigantic coloured glass chandeliers, that must have been imported at immense cost.

But the sight of the place is the hall which contains the marvellous wood carvings in relief, all of Burmese workmanship, representing most clearly all manner of sacred histories and incidents, the whole of this elaborate and ingenious work being overlaid with gold leaf. Truly Mandalay is a wonderful place for religious buildings.

Close beside the Incomparable Pagoda are to be seen the Ku-tho-daw or Royal Merit pagodas, forming a unique and truly wonderful piece of work. They consist of a triple square of sets of little white pagodas, each of which is amply large enough to form a shrine for one large slab of Burmese marble, which stands up in the middle, like a cemetery headstone, enshrined each in its own neat, bell-shaped pagoda building. Each slab of marble is covered completely with a most accurately executed inscription in the Pali language, in letters about three-eighths of an inch in length. I have never counted these pagodas, but I am told by those who have that there are 730 of them in all. They are arranged in perfect symmetry, forming three squares one within another, each square being surrounded by a wall with handsomely carved gates. In the centre of the innermost square is a large pagoda, and ascending the steps of that the spectator can obtain a good view of the whole, extending over many acres of ground. The whole space between the rows of pagodas is carefully paved with bricks. Every part of the work has been most thoroughly carried out, utterly regardless of expense, and everything is of the best. There is no crowding, but ample space is given everywhere. Is there to be found anywhere or in any religion a more striking, impressive and unique example of thoughtful devotion and loving care of those writings supposed to contain the sacred truth? These 730 pagodas contain 730 tables of stone covered with inscriptions, and it is considered to be the best edition extant of the text of the three Pitakahs, and the three Pitakahs are the scriptures of Buddhism, acknowledged as authoritative wherever Buddhism is the people’s faith.

Close by the Ku-tho-daw we found another marvel. In a tall brick building is an immense marble sitting figure of Buddha, 25 feet high, scores of tons in weight, and thought to be perhaps the largest monolith in the world.

But it is time we returned to the three men who, after a long, hot and tiring day in the dusty streets of Mandalay, had taken refuge in the little monastery, and were preparing to pass the night. Though little was said about it, we were well aware that we ran some risks in being there at that time. Upper Burma was still in the throes of the revolution which had taken place, and life and property were unsafe. Any day a rising might take place. We were practically in an enemy’s country. The military were then, and for more than a year after, on the footing of a Field Force, and had constantly to patrol the country in small columns, and to go in all directions in pursuit of dacoits. Conflicts with dacoits were of daily occurrence, and bulletins were published daily by the military authorities describing what took place.

With all this military and police activity there were still bands of dacoits of considerable numbers; crimes of violence and dacoit raids were constantly taking place, often with circumstances of revolting cruelty and outrage. The state of the country was such that English ladies and children were in official circles forbidden to come to live in Upper Burma, and in unofficial circles dissuaded from it as much as possible; the authorities could not undertake to protect them. No Englishman was allowed then, and for two years after that time, to travel outside the towns without military escort. Those were days when everybody who possessed a revolver kept it handy in case he should need to defend himself, and Government was glad to supply to every Englishman in the country a rifle and ammunition to be ready in case of need.

Under these circumstances, with so much that was new and strange, it is not much to wonder at if we committed ourselves that night to Divine protection with more than usual fervency of petition. Our monastery was not built to meet such an emergency, and had no proper fastenings to the doors. Our carnal weapons consisted of one revolver and several stout bamboos, which having disposed to the best advantage, we lay down on our camp beds, and rested as well as the circumstances permitted.

Happily this state of things has now passed away, and Upper Burma is as quiet as any other part of our Eastern possessions. During the few days Mr. Brown remained with us in Mandalay we came to the conclusion that this city, from its size and population (about ten times as large as any other town in Upper Burma), and from its general importance, was by far the best place to fix upon for the headquarters of the mission. Having settled this point, we reported to the committee in London accordingly, and Mr. Brown returned to Calcutta. After spending a fortnight in our monastery we found that, as it was on the extreme east of the town and a couple of miles from the centre, it was a very inconvenient place to live in. We therefore moved to a more central position, and rented for the time being a house belonging to an elderly Italian, who had been settled in Mandalay for many years as a weaver of velvet in the service of the king. Here we lived for a period of a year, by which time the new mission house was built, and we removed to our permanent quarters.

CHAPTER III.
MANDALAY IN 1887.

It was with feelings of no common interest that we disembarked from the steamer at Mandalay, and took our first glimpse of the place. The bustle of so many passengers disembarking created a very busy scene, and dense clouds of dust arose, so that we were glad to get away as soon as possible. We proceeded to charter one of the conveyances we found there waiting for hire, a peculiar kind of vehicle, resembling in size and appearance a dog kennel set on a pair of high wheels, and it proved a marvel of inconvenience. You climb up with difficulty, thrust yourself through the small aperture as best you can, for it is no easy matter, and then you stow yourself away, sitting down on the floor of the conveyance with your knees about your ears. It is quite impossible to preserve a dignified demeanour in one of these bullock gharries, and yet, sad to relate, it was found that this was the only kind of conveyance available for His Majesty the King, when he was removed from the palace to the river on his way to India.

The matter created quite a difficulty. To have mounted the king on such an occasion on a horse or an elephant would have been cruel mockery. At that time there were no horse gharries in Mandalay. They brought a dhooly first, but the king declined point blank to enter it. The bullock gharry was the best arrangement they could devise.

One of the first things that attracted our attention was the inordinately gorgeous appearance of some things, and the very primitive and mean condition of others. This mixture of grandeur and shabbiness is quite an Oriental trait. The royal city and palace, the pagodas and the monasteries, were most sumptuous in style of building and decoration, but everything else looked very poor in comparison. The bamboo houses of the people looked small and frail and cheap. The roads, which we consider amongst the first essentials of civilised life, were as bad as they could be. They were of mere mud, which became dust several inches deep in dry weather, and a quagmire when it rained. The dense clouds of dust that rose wherever there was much traffic formed an experience truly distressing.

Mandalay has been said to be remarkable for three things, Phoongyees, Pagodas and Pariah dogs. The phoongyees are the brethren of the yellow robe, the Buddhist monks, who are to be seen in Mandalay by thousands, and all through the country in like proportion to the population. The pagodas form here as everywhere in Upper Burma a feature in every landscape. The pariah dogs are uncommonly numerous. You might guess at once you were in a Buddhist country from the thousands of homeless, poor, emaciated, mangy creatures, nobody’s dogs, that roam over the city, eating anything they can pick up, the vilest refuse, and acting as the scavengers of the place. They are never on any consideration killed by the Buddhists, but suffered to multiply to any extent. As you walk about you often come upon eight or ten of these dogs at a time, and they seem as if they would tear you to pieces; but though they seem so savage and so numerous they prefer to keep at a safe distance.

Passing through the streets of the town, a drive of about two miles brought us to the moat outside the walls of the royal city. The city is in the form of a square, each face of which is over a mile in extent, and is surrounded by an enormous brick wall twenty-six feet high, many feet in thickness, and with battlements on the top. Outside the city walls is a broad open space of ground all the way round, and outside of that is a deep, broad moat, intended to serve the double purpose of military defence for the city, and of supplying drinking water to the inhabitants.

For the purpose of communicating between the city and the town outside are five gateways, two on the townward or west side, and one on each of the others, with gates of enormous size and strength. Over each gate is a lofty and handsome tower built of teak wood, and rising to a point. Here and there along the walls at stated intervals, and facing the ends of the streets of the town, which run at right angles to the wall, are smaller towers of similar style, that serve to adorn the great wall of the city, and give it quite a handsome appearance.

At the time I speak of the walled city was inhabited by a large population of Burmans, chiefly people who had been in close connection with the palace; but owing to the decision of Government to make this place the military cantonment, the five thousand houses within the walls have been all cleared out, compensation being paid according to the value, and a very handsome cantonment has been made of it, with barracks for European and Indian troops. As the great majority of the houses were of teak or bamboo, this was not nearly so serious a matter as it might seem. The cantonment is now known by the name of Fort Dufferin.

The royal palace consists of a square enclosure in the centre of the large square city. It was at that time surrounded and defended by a strong stockade of teak logs set on end in the ground, and inside of that, as a second line of defence, was a strong brick wall; but both stockade and wall have since been removed by the British as unnecessary. Passing inside these two defences, the visitor found himself in the spacious grounds of the palace, part of which were prettily laid out as gardens, with artificial canals of water, rockeries and summer houses. Part of this space was devoted to the king’s arsenal; on the eastern side were the treasury and the mint.

In the centre of all, raised on an earthen platform about eight feet high, and pretty well covering an area of perhaps a couple of acres with a miscellaneous and irregular collection of handsome lofty buildings, with much carving in teak, and abundance of the inevitable gold leaf, is the royal palace of the kings of Burma. Some of the buildings are of brick, but the majority are of teak. There is something decidedly impressive, unique and highly interesting about the palace, as a specimen of an Oriental monarch’s residence, but from a European standpoint it is wanting in unity of design and symmetry of arrangement. The buildings are so huddled together that they lose much of their appearance, and you have to find your way about among these fine buildings by queer narrow little lanes and wooden platforms, and by many sudden and unexpected turns, that to a Western mind take off considerably from the majesty of the place. But then we must remember the character of the Burmese court, notorious for back-stairs influence, corruption, intrigue, conspiracy and the like. That being so, it is only natural that the palace buildings should allow proper facilities for the same, and be in keeping with it.

ONE OF THE GATEWAYS OF THE ROYAL CITY OF MANDALAY

The only approach to anything like the dignity of a palace from our point of view is the front or eastern side, where there is the throne room or audience hall, surmounted with the great spire which rises roof over roof to a considerable height and almost to a point, terminating with the usual gilt umbrella. This was considered to be the centre of the universe by the Burman courtiers, and it is still facetiously called by that name by the English. It was here that the king used to appear on his throne on special occasions. It is said that King Mindohn, the father of King Theebaw, used to gaze at his people from his throne through a pair of binoculars. The people would all be down on their knees in his presence, and not only on their knees, but crouching on their elbows too, for that is the attitude for special reverence in Burma.

There was one point of contention between the English and this very haughty and conceited Court of Burma that never was settled. That was the reception of our envoy. It was not sufficient for them that he observed all the forms of respect known in European etiquette, but they required from him also their own, even to the removal of his boots in the king’s presence. Now an English gentleman does not like to doff his boots in public, and to a military man it would seem particularly outrageous to expect it of him. Hence it was a difficulty. Had King Theebaw accepted instead of rejecting our ultimatum in November 1886, he might have kept his throne and his palace; but the proper reception of the British Resident would have been one of the articles he would have had to agree to.

It was in the great throne room that we held at first our Sunday morning parade services for the troops, the preacher taking his stand just by the foot of the throne: an interesting circumstance, and not without a touch of romance,—the Kingdom of Jesus Christ set up on the final downfall of this antiquated, corrupt and cruel Oriental despotism. But though we may hopefully take this as a figure and prophecy of the triumph yet to come, the fact itself is a political rather than a religious one, and indicates just this, and nothing more—that Britain has conquered Burma, and is now able to do what she likes with Burma’s most sacred and venerated places. We are not for that reason one inch nearer the real spiritual triumph of Jesus Christ in the hearts of the Buddhists of Burma. That work is but just begun.

Some idea of the large extent of the palace buildings may be gathered from the fact that for many months they provided dwellings for the general and his numerous headquarters staff, and for many other officers, besides barracks for an entire battery of artillery, officers and men. In addition to this, quite a number of departments, civil and military, had their offices there, including a postal and telegraph department.

Near the front of the palace is the great tower, now used as a fire look-out station. On the top of this a native sentry is always on the watch, and the moment he sees a fire anywhere, either in the cantonment or in the town, he gives the alarm, and the fire-engines are soon on the spot. This is a matter of no small importance in this great city of 188,000 inhabitants, where the houses are of such a highly inflammable material as bamboo, and where in one year 35 fires occurred, destroying 9 monasteries and 724 houses, of the total value of 310,000 rupees.

Close by the front of the palace was the residence of the famous Lord White Elephant, to whom royal honours were paid. He was regarded as the king of elephants, and therefore none but the king could mount him. His trappings were of the most sumptuous and valuable description—silk and rich cloth, ornamented with gold, rubies and emeralds. All his vessels and utensils were made of gold. None but the king and the white elephant might enjoy the dignity of the white umbrella, for that is the chief emblem of royalty. This august quadruped had his own retinue specially told off to do him service; his attendants and all visitors took off their shoes when they entered his quarters, and the people bowed and did obeisance when he passed through the streets. Not that he was white. No elephant is anything near a white colour; but besides the lighter colour of the animal there are other tests which, according to the Burmese science on the subject, settle the matter of a white elephant; and it is a science of considerable gravity and importance. He must have five toe nails on his hind feet instead of the usual four; and when water is poured upon him, if he is a true albino, he will turn red and not black.

The reason why so much superstitious and absurd reverence was paid to the white elephant was that the possession of an undoubted specimen was supposed to be a sign and symbol of universal sovereignty, so that it was deemed very lucky for the King of Burma to possess one. In the sixteenth century the kingdoms of Pegu and Siam fought over one for many years, till five successive kings and thousands of men were killed, which shows the importance attached to this possession by both nations. How often nations have fought over that which was only a white elephant when they had gained it!

It was a singular coincidence that within a few days of the capture of Mandalay the white elephant died, and was buried with some display, the troops being turned out on the occasion. It was as well he did die, for had he lived he would have been to the English a veritable white elephant in the English colloquial sense of that term. We can come quite as near to universal sovereignty as we wish to be, or as is good for us, without the magic aid of a white elephant.

The principal building to the front of the palace, and just within the stockade, is the Hloot Daw, a fine large hall where the four chief ministers of state, with their subordinates, used to meet for the transaction of their business. After the annexation in 1886, there was an attempt made to govern through the medium of the Hloot Daw, but it turned out a failure. These high Burmese officials, it was found, needed to learn the very A B C of honest, fair and disinterested administration, and as they were too old to learn they were pensioned off.

Altogether apart from the great walled royal city, now Fort Dufferin, was the still greater town of Mandalay. It is now constituted a municipality; but in Burmese times, when the city was all in all, it was merely in Burmese phrase the Anouk-pyin, i.e., the western suburbs. The town of Mandalay lies, more or less, on all the four sides of the city, but mostly on the west, filling on that side all the space between the city and the river, and from north to south extending five or six miles. The Mandalay municipality covers, more or less densely, an area of eighteen square miles. Some portions of that space are thinly populated, and a very little of it is under cultivation as fields and gardens; but most part of it is pretty well studded with houses, and some of it densely populated, so that it is a very large city. It is uncommonly well laid out. The streets are straight, very wide, run at right angles to each other, and many of them are planted with shady tamarind trees. Some of the streets are now metalled and made serviceable for traffic, but five years ago, though so well planned and broad, they were in a most deplorable state; and those of us who look back to that time have amusing recollections of the straits we were put to in order to get about in the rainy season.

The southern end of Mandalay touches the northern limit of Amarapoora, which was the capital up to 1860. Here are to be seen the remains of a great royal city nearly as large as that at Mandalay, and after the same model exactly,—square; set so as to face the four cardinal points; the ruins of a great wall around; a deep moat outside, now dry; the palace in the centre; pagodas and other sacred buildings here and there, scattered over the place; and everywhere broken bricks strewn about; some of the ground now cultivated, and the rest covered with dense tangled jungle; but not a single inhabitant.

PART OF THE PALACE OF MANDALAY (SOUTH SIDE).

This changing of the capital from place to place, once in a while, seems a strange, extravagant freak on the part of the Burmese kings, especially in such a case as this, where it involved the founding and building of a new city only four or five miles from the existing one, and all the people had to transfer themselves and their houses and property as best they could at the king’s command. Superstitious fear was probably the chief if not the sole reason for all this useless waste. There are, within a circle of a dozen miles, four places that claim the honour of having been sometime capitals of Burma, viz., Mandalay, Amarapoora, Ava and Sagaing, all within little more than a century, and the three latter all show the crumbling remnants of their former glory. There are, besides these, other towns scattered up and down the country that have formerly been capitals.

Sagaing, twelve miles from Mandalay, was the capital in 1762, and the remains of the city wall are still to be seen. Amarapoora was founded in 1783. In 1822 it was almost totally destroyed by fire. It is said, too, that a vulture alighting on the royal spire of the palace caused great uneasiness to the king. The court astrologers were summoned to explain this omen. As, in their estimation, it foreshadowed evil, a new palace was built at Ava, and the capital was removed there in 1823, but only remained there till 1837. Those of us who are now in middle life will remember learning in our geography, “Burma, capital Ava,” whereas this fugitive capital, though it appeared so in our school books, had long before our day left Ava and gone back to Amarapoora, where it remained till 1860, when the king and his court made their last removal to Mandalay.

One thing is clear: the country that can afford to gratify its superstitious fear of omens in this spendthrift way, lightly undertaking to build a new capital every now and then, and whilst sparing so much on pagodas, monasteries, monks and other works of merit, yet look so plump and well favoured as Burmans usually do, must possess considerable sources of wealth, and there is no doubt such is the case with Burma.

Between the religious buildings and the dwellings of the people the contrast is great, but it was greater in Burmese times than it is now. It was very significant indeed to observe the rage for building brick houses that took place in Mandalay, when once it was known for certain that the Burmese Government was no more, and that it was to be the English Government henceforth; and equally instructive was it to observe how the value of property went up by leaps and bounds. One needs no better proof than that of the reputation British rule enjoys even in the remote East, and of the enlivening touch it gives to commerce and all that is free and enterprising. And how the natives of India of different races flocked into the upper province after the annexation! They knew what British rule was in India, even though many of them knew not a word of English. Even the Upper Burmans, who were quite new to our government, seemed at once to enter into the spirit of the change that had come. The sumptuary laws were removed, of course, now the king was gone; that is, such laws as regulated to a nicety what style of house a man might build, and what kind of an umbrella and how many of them he might carry on state occasions; and the Burmans who had money now no longer feared that if they let it be known they would have to part with it. Hence, for various reasons, the building of substantial brick houses went on at a great rate, and almost all the brick houses now seen in Mandalay were built at that time.

CHAPTER IV.
THE PEOPLE OF MANDALAY.

Mandalay is very cosmopolitan. As with many cities in the East, the modern facilities for travel and the prospects of business have brought together people of many nations and tongues. As regards the Burmans themselves, who of course are the great majority of the inhabitants, future chapters will afford opportunities for describing them. It is rather of the multifarious foreign element of the population that I wish now to speak.

In the streets of Mandalay it is no uncommon thing to see a people evidently of the Mongolian type, and not unlike the Burmans in appearance, but slightly different in features, different in language, and in dress. These are the Shans, the inhabitants of the elevated country to the east of Upper Burma—a fine country by all accounts, and likely to grow greatly in prosperity and to attract population, now that it has come under firm and settled rule. They are distinguishable by their dark, baggy trousers in place of the Burmese loin cloth, by the very large pliable straw sun-hats which they wear, and by a larger amount of tattooing on the body than is usual with the Burmans. The Shans are great gardeners and great traders. Caravans of pack bullocks loaded with produce from the Shan Hills are frequently seen coming into Mandalay, accompanied by Shans armed to the teeth, as well as men on foot carrying loads; and now that the land has rest from incessant tribal war and dacoity, this trade is on the increase. In 1888-89, according to Government returns, the number of laden bullocks was 27,170, and the value of the goods 730,279 rupees; nearly double the returns of the previous year. The Shans, after disposing of their loads, purchase in the bazaar goods of European manufacture for the return journey. A few Shans are permanently resident in Mandalay.

There were scarcely any English people in Upper Burma, especially during the reign of King Theebaw; but now, of course, they are the leading race, and are to be found in all the highest posts. In addition to those belonging to the army, the leading civilians and officials of Government are English gentlemen; and to them is committed the control of the revenue, the administration of justice, the police, the Departments of Public Works and of Survey; whilst some are there in business of their own, and others find employment under the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company as officers or engineers on board the river steamers.

The Eurasian element—i.e., of mixed descent, European and Asian—is of course also to be found, some having come over from India, others belonging to Burma, and they mostly find employment as clerks or in some similar capacity. French, Italians and Greeks were there before we were, and some of these nationalities found employment in various capacities in the service of the king.

The Armenians are a small but very respectable class. They are similar in dress and habits to Europeans, and speak English. Many of their number are to be found in Calcutta also, and in Rangoon, quite settled and domiciled in the East. In Mandalay they have a church of their own, and the priests of the Greek Church, to which they belong, pay occasional visits.

Of Parsees we have a few; and here, as in their native place about Bombay, they are an enlightened and very respectable people in good positions.

There is quite a numerous section of the population belonging to the Zarabadee community, as they are called. They are half-caste Mahomedans, the descendants of Mahomedans from India settled in Mandalay, by Burmese mothers. They supply an interesting example of the growth of a religious community merely by the natural process, and apart from proselytising efforts, when the natural increase of numbers is all absorbed by that religious community. They are Mahomedan in religion, but largely Burman in dress and appearance. They speak Hindustanee and Burmese.

“THE SHANS ARE DISTINGUISHABLE BY THEIR DARK, BAGGY TROUSERS, AND THE VERY LARGE PLIABLE STRAW SUN-HATS THEY WEAR.”

There is a class of people called Kathays about whom there appears to be some special interest. They are the descendants of people from Manipur, brought over formerly as the result of some conquest by the Burmans, and long since settled in the capital. Their condition, at least as it was originally, reminds one of the exile of the Jews in Babylon. They have a language and religion of their own, but speak Burmese too. They are a peaceable and industrious community, mostly employed in weaving the pretty, bright-coloured, figured silk cloths worn by the Burmese women.

Another class not native, but long resident in Upper Burma, are the Ponnâs or Brahmins from Manipur. To one accustomed to meet with that caste in India they look very degenerate, and although they still wear the sacred Brahmin thread over the shoulder as in India, they seem to have become very much less fastidious about mixing with other castes than their brethren of the great continent. They seem to enjoy a position of considerable standing and influence in the country of their adoption, and gain a good livelihood by the two apparently not very kindred occupations of dairy-keeping and fortune-telling. It is their reputation for the latter that gains them their position of importance with a light-hearted, casual and very superstitious people like the Burmans. This soothsaying seems to be quite a recognised function, that makes the Ponnâ welcome throughout Burmese society, and nowhere more so than at court. In their literature, the Ponnâ constantly figures as an honoured and indispensable personage at the palace, whose business it is to study the stars, consult the horoscopes, make known lucky days, and, in fact, decide the thousand and one important affairs of life wherein the Burman considers it necessary to appeal to the occult.

Coming now to the mercantile classes, we have some interesting specimens. First, the Suratees, keen business men, merchants and shopkeepers, men capable of large transactions, Mahomedans in religion, Oriental in dress. The leading member of this community in Upper Burma, a very wealthy man, did a good deal of financing for the king, and no doubt made it pay well. When the downfall of the Burman kingdom took place he came to no harm. Amongst other transactions he was the lessee of the Great Bazaar, and as the lease had still some years to run, he continued to hold it, and profited greatly by the enormously improved trade.

The Marwarees are another class of traders hailing from India. They are Hindus from Gujerat, wholesale dealers in piece goods, and very smart business men.

The Moguls are Mahomedans from Persia, with a complexion almost as fair as a European’s. They are the only people of all the many nationalities I have met with in the East who dress exactly like the pictures that are drawn of Bible scenes and characters. The special shape and size of turban, and the long loose outer garment some of them wear, put one in mind of the pictures exactly.

A cosmopolitan place would be incomplete without some Jews. We have them in Mandalay of various nationalities, European and Oriental, and they seem to be all shopkeepers. One firm hail from Baghdad, very near the dwelling-place of our first parents, and speak a vernacular which they call Hebrew.

The principal native bankers are the Hindu Chetties from the Madras Presidency. They are a remarkable class of people, very wealthy, very keen at business, men of their word in all transactions, being fully alive to the value of keeping their credit by an unstained reputation in finances; and if one firm of their community find it difficult to make their payments, the rest of the Chetty firms will usually come to their help, to save the reputation of the whole. Yet with all this they dress, eat and live as if they had a very meagre income, and have the appearance of mere savages. The vast array of naked skin they show is almost black in complexion, and they have almost no education beyond the bare necessities of finance. Their food is of the simplest; their houses, all on the two sides of one street to be near each other, are substantially built to protect them from thieves, but almost devoid of all furniture. They are not negligent of religion, for as soon as they came they secured land and built a Hindu temple. Their dress, consisting of two pieces of thin white cotton cloth, one round the waist and the other loosely thrown over one shoulder, could be bought for three-and-sixpence; the closely shaven head has no covering, and the feet none. Such is the Tamil Chetty, the very last man in all Mandalay you would take for a wealthy money-lender; but he is in great request with the improvident Burmans who possess any property upon which it is possible to borrow. The Chetties came over to Mandalay when the country was annexed; their keen business instincts telling them two things—one, that there would now be plenty of business doing; the other, that it would now be safe to come and do it. The prospects of those who get into their clutches are not bright. The price of money is very high in the East. The late Earl of Beaconsfield speaks somewhere of “the sweet simplicity of the three per cents,” but the Tamil Chetty considers twenty-five per cent. per annum much simpler.

Leaving the mercantile and moneyed classes, and coming to the rank and file, there are in Mandalay some thousands of natives from many different parts of India, speaking many languages, and engaging in a great variety of callings. Europeans often think of India as a country, but it is really a continent, and has as great, if not a far greater, variety of peoples and tribes than Europe presents. There is the Bengalee Baboo, probably a clerk, the Hindustanee doorkeeper or messenger, the Tamil overseer or coolie. Even in our Sepoy army in Mandalay one sees great variety. There is the tall hardy Punjabee, the wild Pathan and the still wilder Beloochee. There is the jolly stout little Goorkha, who stands in such good repute as a fighting man; the somewhat weedy-looking Madrassee, whose name does not rank high for valour; and there is the brave, fierce-looking Sikh, with a national-religious scruple against cutting his hair, who curls the two ends of his beard up round his two ears when it becomes too long to hang down. What tact it must require to mould out of these diverse elements “the finest body of disciplined Asiatic troops in existence,” and yet we are told, and it is true, that the real strength and safety of our Indian Sepoy army lies in the judicious blending and balancing of these diverse elements, a lesson which the great mutiny unmistakably taught us.

We depend very much upon Indians for the supplying of our wants in Burma. The butcher, the baker, the washerman, the cook, the railway porter, the writer, the messenger, the soldier, the cabman, the postman, the farrier, the sweetmeat vendor, the sweeper, are in almost all instances natives of India, for the easy-going Burman lets all these employments slip past him.

The place is quite a Babel for languages. The names of the stations on the railway indicate the polyglot character of the population. It is of course out of the question to attempt to represent even the half of the tongues commonly spoken, but they select the five which we may presume are in most common use, English, Burmese, Hindustanee, Hindi and Tamil, and the name of the station is painted in all these.

The Chinese in Burma are worthy of special mention as forming an important community in every great centre of population. In Mandalay they are numerous, occupying almost entirely both sides of one long street, called after them China Street, as well as other localities in the town. They seem to settle down and marry Burmese women and live very happily. They are keener business men than the Burmans, more knowing, more enterprising, more persevering, more industrious. The Burman is as good at carpentry as he is at anything; that is, in fact, one of his strongest points, but John Chinaman ousts him completely at that. Leaving the little petty carpentry to the Burmans, he carries all before him in large building contracts. Though John’s rates are higher he does the work better, and what is important to the English mind, he finishes the work in the time stated. Some of the Chinese are shopkeepers. Whilst many Chinamen are thus a boon to the country, and valued as a useful class of workers, others again do much mischief, corrupting the people wherever they go—keeping liquor shops, diligently spreading the opium-smoking habit, and pandering to the natural love of the Burmans for gambling. The offenders against the excise laws—cunning secreters and workers of illicit stills—are usually Chinese.

With the mention of so many different nationalities of foreigners in the place, it will at once occur to the reader that the carrying on of all kinds of work and business depends very largely upon the foreigners and very little upon the Burmans. That is true. Somehow the Burmans, though they are in Mandalay considerably over 100,000 strong, and multitudes of them are very poor, fail to take up very many of the duties of life and the needs of society, and allow themselves to be ousted in many employments by immigrants from other countries where the conditions of life have taught them to bestir themselves. The Burman is easy-going, casual and satisfied with a little. When a great increase of the population of Burma has rendered the struggle for existence much more urgent than it is now, the Burman will either have to bestir himself or go to the wall.

CHAPTER V.
THE PACIFICATION OF UPPER BURMA.

It has already been stated that Upper Burma, at the time of the annexation, and for some time after, was politically and socially in a state of serious disturbance and disorder. It may be well to inquire a little more closely into this matter, that we may the better understand the circumstances of the country as we found it, and the better appreciate what has been done by way of remedy.

A state of disturbance was, under the circumstances, inevitable. An invasion, followed by an annexation, is seldom a very quiet and peaceable process, and this was no exception. But in this case there were features that greatly complicated the matter, and made the task of pacifying and governing much harder. When the expedition under General Prendergast went up the Irrawaddy at the close of 1885 it was an easy victory, and there was no resistance worth mentioning. Mandalay, the capital, yielded without a blow. This easy conquest proved the inefficiency of the Burmans as a Government, and led to the belief that very little trouble would be experienced in governing the country. But this proved to be by no means the case. For four years it has been one constant and strenuous battle with the forces of disorder; and whatever has been done in the way of pacification and improvement of the country has been done in the teeth of difficulties of no ordinary character.

If the question be asked how it was that the country was so easy to conquer yet so difficult to pacify and restore to order, the answer is not far to seek. In the first place, the weaker a Government is the stronger are the elements of crime and disorder lurking about, and having overthrown the one you still have to reckon with the other. King Theebaw’s was a weak Government, and crime and disorder had increased so much that their reduction had become a formidable task.

The territory over which King Theebaw ruled, or professed to rule, was of immense extent, and very sparsely populated, and the vast tracts of jungle with hilly, broken country afforded ample cover for the numerous bands of dacoits. Dacoity is the word used in India for gang robbery, and it is usually accompanied with murder and various forms of cruelty. It had always flourished in Upper Burma, and was unfortunately regarded not as a cruel, brutal and detestable crime, to be put down by the united efforts of the government and the people, but more as an acknowledged and unavoidable institution.

We may find some parallels to this in brigandage in Southern Europe, in the Border warfare so well described by Sir Walter Scott, and in the state of things prevailing formerly in the West of England, as set forth in Lorna Doone. The dacoit leaders were a kind of privileged freebooters, who spared those who paid blackmail, and wreaked their vengeance on others, and there was, in the opinion of the people, some air of romance about the life. No Burmese Government had ever been strong enough or resolute enough effectually to stamp out this plague. When the English took the reins of government at the annexation, this naturally gave a fresh impulse to dacoity under the notion of patriotism; and for some time the leaders who had large gangs occasionally tried conclusions with the small columns of police and military sent out to patrol the country.

The Government official report of affairs in Upper Burma gives the following summary of the first year’s work of pacification, viz., up to the end of 1886.

“The pacification of the country has been a prolonged work of much difficulty. Dacoity on the largest scale has been rampant; and military operations have been necessary in almost every part of the country in order to suppress it. To the end of the year 1886 about 180 encounters had taken place with these lawless bands. They seldom offered serious resistance, except when fighting in bush or jungle. The loss they caused to the British troops between November 17th, 1885, and October 31st, 1886, amounted to 11 officers and 80 men, killed or died from wounds. But greater difficulties than the armed opposition were found in the dense jungle, the want of roads, and the unfavourable, in some cases deadly, climate. The result of these difficulties during the period above mentioned was a total loss of 3,053 officers and men, who died from disease or had to be invalided. The average number of troops employed in Upper Burma during 1886 has been 14,000, but at the end of 1886 the number in the country was 25,000.”

So deep-rooted is the habit of dacoity in Burma that it easily breaks out afresh whenever disorder spreads, or whenever any daring fellow thinks fit to try his luck as a boh or leader. The people are easily deluded with his boast and swagger; and having implicit faith in the special tattooing and charms which are warranted to render them bullet and sword proof, they readily follow his standard. Hundreds of bohs have had their day during the last five years, and pursued a successful course of robbery, murder and rebellion for months together, eluding the police and the military. But owing to the tenacity of purpose, and the inexhaustible resources of the British Government, they have to succumb in the end. Many have been killed or taken prisoners in engagements fought; others treacherously murdered by their own followers, to get the reward set on the head of the notorious outlaw; others, after months of a hunted life in the jungles, have come in and surrendered. There has been always ample opportunity given by the British for those who wished to abandon that bad way of life to do so, and more than once a free pardon has been offered to all those who might give themselves up, provided that they had not been guilty of murder. Many, from time to time, have availed themselves of that arrangement.

DACOITS IN PRISON, WITH INDIAN SEPOY GUARD.

Several princes—in Burma princes are fairly plentiful, notwithstanding that so many were massacred by order of King Theebaw—have tried their hands at it, with vague ideas of getting the mastery of the country in due time. One, known by the title of the Sekkya Prince, established himself in the hill country about Kyaukse, only thirty miles from Mandalay, and as late as 1889 gave an immense amount of trouble, setting the military police at defiance for months, and committing many murders and depredations. He had an armed following of several hundreds, and several fights took place between them and the police. Though the dacoits were each time defeated and scattered, the ground was so difficult for pursuit, that they could never catch the leader. At length he was taken in the Shan States, brought to Kyaukse, tried, convicted and hanged. This is a specimen of the kind of guerilla warfare going on in every district all over the country at that time.

Another matter, which still further complicated the situation and gave strength to the forces of disorder, was the sanction which dacoity had received through the corruption of those high in office in the Burman Government before we took it over. A British civil officer of high rank, the commissioner of a division, writes as follows, as late as the middle of 1889, more than three years after the annexation:—

“The task of reducing my own division to order I find a gigantic one. The Burman nature is simply saturated with lawlessness, and it takes the form of dacoity. Since King Mindohn’s death [i.e., from the accession of King Theebaw in 1878] it is a fact that most of the official classes in Upper Burma made large incomes by dacoity. Men high in office in Mandalay actually kept dacoit bohs, and shared with them loot, or the subsidies which were paid by the villagers for protection from other dacoits. The dacoit bohs were actually the governors, and paid some of the mingyees [ministers of state] in Mandalay regular sums, on condition of being let alone! Each boh had a large immediate gang or body of men around him, and a militia at any time available from the villages. We have had to break up this system of boh government all over Upper Burma, a system which had been running for the last ten years. The villagers themselves have become so accustomed to the government by dacoit chiefs, that they are actually afraid and even unwilling to help in getting rid of them. It will be admitted that difficulties like these are enormous; sometimes they seem to be insuperable, and one is often inclined to despair. We have not only to deal with the thousands of lawless ones who think we are encroaching upon their rights, but we have to try and educate the people to believe that these dacoits are not their rulers, and are not to be so. The villagers do not yet realise this, and it is this process of education, slow and painful, that impedes us so terribly in the work of subjugation and pacification. But the progress made has been very great.”

The following is given as a specimen of the encounters which for the first two or three years were of constant occurrence. This affair was perhaps exceptional in the amount of resistance offered, but in other respects quite usual and ordinary. It is quoted from a newspaper dated May 1888:—

“On the night of the 21st inst. 400 dacoits, principally Shans, with people from Mogaung district, under the leadership of Boh Ti, took up a position outside Mogaung. Lieutenant O’Donnell, Battalion Commandant, and Lieutenant Elliot, Assistant Commissioner, with 75 Goorkha military police, patrolled outside the fort the whole night. At 4 A.M. they attacked the dacoits, who held a strong position in a series of pagodas, which they had fortified during the night. The dacoits tenaciously held the position, and the consequence was that a fierce contest ensued, each pagoda being taken in succession. The last pagoda, when taken, was found to be choked with dead. The Goorkha police behaved splendidly. Our casualties were 8 killed and 15 wounded, while 49 dead dacoits were counted, and over 100 were reported as wounded, most of whom escaped. The struggle at the last pagoda was hand to hand over a four-foot wall, and bayonets and spears were used. It was here that 6 out of the 8 police killed fell.”

The mention of these fights deserves a place in any record of those times, for it was through this hard, rough police and military work—this continuous pounding at the mass of crime and lawlessness that would not yield to gentler measures—that the land now enjoys peace and quiet throughout its length and breadth. There was manifestly no other way of quelling the disorders and curing the miseries under which the country groaned.

This was a specimen of the fighting of our Indian military police; now for a specimen of that of our English soldiers, who also were incessantly employed in patrolling the country, and often met with dacoit bands. The instance given here does not by any means stand alone; similar affairs often occurred at that time. It illustrates the courage and dash our men have shown throughout this very laborious and difficult campaign. Often called to go out in very small parties, they usually carried the day against all odds; and even when, as in this instance, they met with such an unusual number of casualties as to debar them from getting the victory, their coolness and presence of mind have staved off defeat and disaster, and enabled them to get through so well that the reverse was, considering the circumstances, as creditable as a victory would have been.

“On January 14th, 1889, information reached Lieutenant Nugent, in charge of a small force of the Hants Regiment, that the advanced guard of a certain rebel prince was stockaded in a village ten miles away. He at once decided to attack. He marched out with Sergeant Bevis and 15 privates, preceded by some of the troops, such as they were, of the Sawbwa of Momeit. On turning the corner of a jungle path, their stockade was observed with the gate shut, and white flags (emblematic of royalty) flying at the gate. The dacoits, on seeing our men, at once began to blow horns and beat tomtoms. Our Burmese auxiliaries at once made off, firing their weapons in the air. Nevertheless Lieutenant Nugent and the 16 Englishmen promptly charged the stockade, 16 against 200! When about thirty yards from the stockade the dacoits delivered such a heavy and well-directed volley that 8 out of the 16 were hit. Private Roberts was killed on the spot, and Lieutenant Nugent himself was wounded. Seeing that himself and half his party were disabled, and further assault was out of the question, Nugent gave the order to get the wounded from under fire and retire. It is at this point that the soldierly qualities of these men specially appear. The few men who were able had meanwhile got under cover of a slight inequality in the ground, and were keeping up a fire on the stockade. While himself assisting Private James, who was dangerously wounded, Lieutenant Nugent was again struck a little below the left breast, this time mortally.

“Sergeant Bevis now took the command, and rallied his small party round their fallen officer, and seeing that the dacoits, now emboldened by observing the small number opposed to them, were coming out at the gate, he ordered his men to fire a volley. This caused the enemy to retire inside the stockade, and our party was molested no more. Stretchers were improvised with rifles and bamboos for Lieutenant Nugent and Private James, the other wounded managing to walk. The party made a halt at the village which they had passed marching out; and here the gallant Nugent breathed his last. By dint of much pressure and promises of reward Sergeant Bevis obtained assistance from the Sawbwa’s troops to carry the body and the bad cases to Momeit.”

Sergeant Bevis was much commended for his good management. He was promoted at once, and received the decoration of the Distinguished Service Order. Five days after a small force of Hampshire men and military police surprised and carried the stockade.

Many were the deeds of valour in this long and trying campaign. A considerable number of badges of the Distinguished Service Order were awarded, and of the highest decoration for gallantry in the field that military men can aspire to, the Victoria Cross, no less than three were given.

After what has been said about the Burmese ministers of the Crown, it will be no matter of surprise that the honest attempt of the British Government to utilise the local knowledge and experience of the Hloot Daw or supreme council of the king, as the medium of government, should entirely break down. As might have been expected, those worthies were found to be worse than useless at such a crisis. The kind of government they had been accustomed to administer was just the kind that was not wanted. They were therefore pensioned off, the pension acting in a twofold manner, as a substantial compensation for loss of office, and as a guarantee of their loyalty; they had something to lose.

During the first year or two of the British occupation there was need for very special vigilance to prevent the carrying out of plots of insurrection, especially in Mandalay. It was of course childish to think they could dislodge the British power, but many of the people were slow to believe this, and foolish enough to listen to boasting proposals of this kind. However, such a good watch was kept, and the officials kept themselves so well informed, that all such attempts were nipped in the bud. Some idea of the magnitude of the work of pacification may be gathered from a paper published by the Chief Commissioner of Burma in 1889, from which it appears that no less than 363 dacoit bohs or leaders were either killed, or surrendered, or were taken prisoners between April 1887 and August 1889.

The British Government, whilst very stern in pursuing, arresting and punishing these notorious outlaws, made every concession towards mercy where it was possible. When a gang of dacoits was broken up, and the boh killed or taken, the men composing it were usually allowed to settle down in their villages, giving some sort of guarantee for their future good behaviour. As soon as it became safe to show any considerable leniency, the cases of all who had been sentenced to terms of penal servitude for participating in dacoity were carefully gone through by an experienced and able judicial commissioner, for the purpose of remitting the punishment wherever it could safely be done, particularly in cases where men had been led, during a time of anarchy and political excitement, to take part in crimes and acts of violence, from which, under ordinary circumstances, they would have abstained. The result was that 899 prisoners were set at liberty at once, and 450 more were promised their release in the following December if their conduct in jail continued good. Only the worst and most desperate offenders were kept in jail.

It is just possible that some readers, failing to realise the full force of all the circumstances, may be inclined to think that the information given in this chapter leans too much in the direction of admiration of the military deeds described, and is lacking in consideration for the case of the unfortunate men against whom these operations were directed. I feel that it would ill become me to do anything to fan the flame of the military spirit, for militarism is without doubt one of the great curses of this age, and I have had no such design in view. I have merely described what took place. If the reader feels inclined to admire any of the actions here described, I must give him notice that he does it entirely on his own responsibility.

It may occur to the reader that perhaps after all it was the spirit of patriotism that animated these Burmans. Were they not fighting for their country and their liberty, and doing their feeble best to cast out the invader? Doubtless there was in some cases something of this feeling in their minds, enough to give a colourable pretext to their conduct at the time. But there are considerations that go to show that if we are to make any allowance on this account it will have to be very little.

Dacoity existed and was rampant for years prior to our annexation of the country.

How is the motive of patriotism to be reconciled with the gross cruelty, and robbery, and murder which all the dacoit bands continually practised?

When so many hundreds of bohs were fighting, each for his own hand, which were we to recognise? And how many? Their claims to the mastery were mutually antagonistic.

I have already said that I decline to take the responsibility either of defending or of impeaching the action of England in the invasion of Upper Burma. It involves the great and wide question of Empire, which I leave to more competent hands. I content myself with giving the facts from the standpoint of an eyewitness, and enabling or assisting wiser men to settle the greater question. I take up the question at this point—England the de facto ruler. Somehow, rightfully or wrongfully, she is there, and has undertaken the government of the country. The country is in a flame with crime and disorder. What is she to do?

There have been times, even in our own country, when certain crimes of violence, such as garotting, and certain forms of murder, have spread so as to cause almost a panic, and have needed special measures both as to detection and punishment. We are far more liable to such things in India. Take, for instance, that strange phase of crime known as “thuggee,” which prevailed to a fearful extent years ago in India, and to which, in respect of each being an epidemic form of crime, dacoity in Burma has sometimes been compared. Thuggee was a thoroughly organised system of robbery and murder, carried out with great secrecy by an association of men banded together for the purpose, and who did it not by open assault but by stealthy approaches, and, strangest of all, with religious motives. The verdict of civilised society was that the extermination of the thugs was not only a justifiable thing to be done, but the solemn duty of the Government, notwithstanding the religious motives, and special officers of Government were deputed for that purpose, and the system was finally stamped out.

So with dacoity. If men will be brutal, will set all law, human and divine, at defiance, will make human life cheap and property unsafe, and keep the whole country in terror and confusion, to the detriment of all peace and progress, if, in short, they will come to no terms, but deliberately elect to assume the character of wild beasts preying on society, then all reasonable men will feel constrained sorrowfully to admit that a civilised Government has no alternative but to treat them as such, and hunt them down; always however remembering that, as it is in the divine, so in the human administration, justice should be tempered with mercy; and wherever there is room to hope for better things, the criminal should have another chance, a provision which our Government, as I have shown, has not neglected.

CHAPTER VI.
BRITISH INFLUENCE IN THE SHAN STATES.

The previous chapter dealt with the pacification of Upper Burma proper, that tract of country which England has annexed, and in which we have assumed the full responsibility of government. In this chapter we have to consider our relations with certain states and tribes on our frontiers, which are not British territory, but for whose well-being and good behaviour we hold ourselves to some extent responsible, in proportion as our influence among them is more or less direct.

As soon as our first difficulties in the pacification and administration of Upper Burma were to some extent overcome, our Government had to turn its attention to the doings of the many barbarous and semi-barbarous tribes and races in the regions immediately adjacent to Burma.

To the east of Upper Burma, and situated between that country and the great empire of China, are the Shan States tributary to Burma, with an area about four-fifths that of England, but with a population no larger than that of Worcestershire, not one-fourth, it is said, of what it was fifty years ago. This country is a very fine one, consisting of a great plateau with a diversified climate and great natural resources, of which coal is one, though it has not yet been worked, and with every capacity for development. The Shan States are likely to play no unimportant part in the commercial development of the next few years, for it is by that route that the railway will go from Burma to China at no distant date.

At present these states are in a most backward and uncivilised condition, and as they afford such an interesting illustration of the true frontier policy of England in the East, and the kind of influence our country is so well able to exert, in the discharge of her duty as the great suzerain power amongst many little races and peoples, I make no apology for describing it with some degree of detail. Such work as England is attempting to do, and will in the end undoubtedly succeed in doing there, is so beneficent and meritorious as to be beyond the possibility of objection; and it would excite remark and applause if it were not so common—if England were not doing much the same all over her Eastern dominions.

The relation of the Shan States to the British rule is a feudatory relation. They paid tribute to the King of Burma, and were supposed to be subject to him, but although receiving tribute, Burma conferred no benefits upon them. In fact, the idea that something in the shape of government was due to the Shans, in return for the tribute they paid, probably never entered the head of King Theebaw. These states have not been annexed to British territory, and are not likely to be, unless it should be found quite impossible to get their chiefs to learn to rule properly. At present the policy is entirely in the direction of setting these native rulers on their feet, and strengthening their power as much as possible. When the English commenced to rule at Mandalay that feudatory relation to the defunct Burmese Government passed over to the English.

Politically the Shan States are divided amongst some eighteen chiefs, each ruling a greater or less extent of territory. In the early part of 1888 two British expeditions were sent to the Northern and Southern Shan States respectively, and the first steps were taken toward adjusting our relations with them.

The condition in which the States were found by the British forces was a very sad one. For want of a controlling power over them there was a state of disorder amounting almost to anarchy. Might was right, and in the struggle for mastery the Shans were fast exterminating each other. Each petty chieftain with his followers was on the look-out to extend the sphere of his rule by aggression, and dacoit raids and incessant civil war were the result.

Throughout the reign of King Theebaw the States had suffered, and the population had so seriously fallen off, by war and perhaps too by emigration, that land had fallen out of cultivation, and prosperous towns had been reduced, in some cases, to one-tenth of their former size. Added to this there had been a season of scarcity, and cattle disease had been very fatal.

The people cordially welcomed the advent of a strong power that could enforce peace amongst them; and what was wanting for the temporal salvation of this distressed country was just that kind of sovereignty and paternal rule which England was able and willing to give them. It was necessary for England to assert and maintain her rights as the suzerain power, and to discharge her duties by taking them under the broad shield of her protection and guidance.

The British representatives accordingly received the personal submission of all the principal sawbwas or chiefs, confirmed them in their positions as tributary rulers, settled their relations with Government and with each other, fixed the amount of tribute to be paid by each chief, and succeeded in placing the administration of the states on a satisfactory footing. Two British officials were appointed as Superintendents of the two divisions of the Shan States, northern and southern. Tribal disputes were henceforth to be referred to these officials for arbitration, and fighting between individual states was strictly forbidden. They were not to enter into relations with any other foreign power; and they were gradually to approximate their primitive methods of government to our standards.

In return for these conditions, to be fulfilled by the Shans, certain very substantial advantages were bestowed upon them by the British. Each chieftain is recognised and protected in the exercise of his chieftainship.

The import duties formerly levied by Burma on goods going from Shanland into Burma are abolished, to the great advantage and encouragement of their trade.

The great want of means of communication through the country is being met by the construction of roads by the British Government, at its own expense.

A preliminary survey has been made of the different routes for a railway to run through the country, and a more accurate and detailed survey of the one chosen is to be made shortly.

The navigation of the upper parts of the Salween River, which flows through the Shan States, is receiving attention with the view of utilising it for purposes of trade, if it be found practicable.

Experiments are being made under the auspices of the British in the Shan country, in order to introduce the cultivation of new cereals and other products amongst them, and to improve their breed of cattle and sheep.

In short, England is trying to do her duty by this naturally magnificent but very backward country, and it may be confidently stated that if any Government could help them on their feet it is the one they now have. The most recent information from the Chief Superintendent of the Shan States, the responsible British officer appointed to look after them, shows that he finds them in a most benighted and backward condition socially and politically, and there will be need for lengthened intervention and much patience and perseverance on the part of the British Government. It is found that there has been no such thing as law in the country, written or unwritten. Everybody does what is right in his own eyes, if he can. The hold which these chiefs have on the territories they are supposed to rule is of the feeblest description; and it will require time for the people to get out of that state of turbulence, unrest and distraction, and for the rulers to acquire power and experience for civil rule. Like incompetent rulers, they try at present to maintain their authority by inflicting most barbarous punishments for the most trivial offences.

The Sawbwa of Thibaw is reported to be the only chief among them who exercises any real and active control throughout his state, and he endeavours to enforce the rule that the power of awarding capital punishment shall be restricted to the chiefs. In all the other states the people are fleeced by the minor officials, and criminal justice is administered in a cruel and haphazard fashion. An English traveller recently found the fresh head of a so-called thief posted up in the Mangko bazaar; and in another place through which he travelled a boy of sixteen was summarily killed and barbarously mutilated, on the ground that he had been seen entering a buffalo shed, and was therefore supposed to be attempting cattle-stealing.

As a beginning in the way of much-needed reform, our paternal Government has framed for their guidance a few simple rules for the administration of criminal justice, and supplied them to each chieftain, as a sort of alphabet of government for them to learn. I wonder what they think of our notions of justice. They must appear to them unaccountably and unnecessarily lenient towards the prisoner. How it must puzzle them, for instance, to be told that an accused person must be presumed to be innocent until he is proved to be guilty!

As a lesson in revenue and finance, each chief is now required to frame a simple form of budget for his state, subject to the approval of the Superintendent, fixing the amount to be devoted to the private expenditure of the ruling family, and making reasonable provision for the administration of civil and criminal justice, police, and public works. It puts one in mind of a class of boys coming up with their lessons written out for the teacher to see; but it is evidently needed work, and it will not do to despise the day of small things. It will of course be a new idea to them that anybody else but the sawbwa himself has anything to do with the expenditure of the revenue of the state, which they have always been accustomed to consider as his private property. But Orientals take kindly to this tutelage, and will scarcely think of resenting it, though they might be tempted to neglect it if they could. And it must not be supposed that this case of the Shan States is any rarity, for this kind of inspection, instruction and guidance is only what we are called upon to do in a greater or less degree in all the protected states which are feudatory to our Indian Empire, and in other parts of the world.

The Chief Commissioner of Burma, to whom all the chiefs are amenable, commenting on the above rules, endorses the opinion expressed by one of the Superintendents, that it will probably be found impossible to effect any real reforms until a trained Dewan (Prime Minister) is appointed for each state to teach the rulers how to rule. As England is very resolute in all she takes in hand in this way, perhaps in course of time some faint sense of the responsibility of ruling may find its way into the minds of these benighted Shan sawbwas. But if it be not so, and if in the end England should find herself compelled, in the interests of humanity, to take a still larger share of the responsibility of ruling in that country, of which however there is at present no sign or mention, the foregoing information clearly shows that it will not be for want of an honest effort to get them to do it themselves.

All this explains incidentally how it is that Empire with its responsibilities grows on our hands. In human affairs, when a man does his work well, you promote him by giving him more work to do. When the sudden emergency arises men naturally saddle the willing horse. It is so throughout the divine economy also. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” “For unto every one that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not, even that which he hath shall be taken away.”

Of one thing there is no doubt, the states now enjoy tranquillity and the beginnings of prosperity such as they have not enjoyed for many years. Not long ago, meeting a Shan who had just come to Mandalay several days’ journey on foot through the Shan States, I asked him what was the present condition of the country. His reply was, “So quiet, that even an unprotected female could walk through it.”

The chieftain mentioned above with approval as an exceptional prince, and more enlightened than his fellows, is the Sawbwa of Thibaw. He once had a curious experience, that appears to have considerably opened his mind and enlarged his ideas. Some years ago, before the annexation of Upper Burma was even thought of, he paid a visit to the great city of Rangoon. Like the Queen of Sheba, who had heard of the wisdom and glory of Solomon, he had received tidings of the great transformation that had taken place in that city, and wished to see the British power for himself. Possibly, as the Shans are Buddhists, he might be inclined also to pay a visit to the world-renowned Buddhist shrine at Rangoon, the Shwê Dagohn pagoda. To venture so far away from his remote inland state among the mountains shows him to be a man of some natural force of character, for most sawbwas would have been afraid to leave their states for so long. Whilst in Rangoon one of his retainers displeased him, and in a burst of anger he killed him on the spot. But, unfortunately for him, this had happened in British territory, where they call such actions, no matter who does them, by the name of murder; and he was accordingly arrested and put in jail to stand his trial for that crime. His plea was of course that he was a king, and that he had the power of life and death; and seeing that such was the case in his own territories, and that he had no idea he was exceeding his prerogative in doing as he did, he was released, and some good advice was given him for future use. It is gratifying to find that this experience has borne fruit, and that years after, when in course of things the Shan States have become tributary to Britain, and an attempt is being made to bring them somewhat into line with more enlightened nations, he is officially named as the most progressive and reliable of the Shan rulers.

Other operations for the pacification of our Burmese frontiers may be mentioned here. Amongst the barbarous and unlettered tribes on the mountains in the north there has been a continuance of the kind of lawlessness prevalent in the days before our rule in Upper Burma. The tribes of wild Kachins there have given considerable trouble from time to time. They are warlike and predatory, and in their mountains and jungles able to offer considerable resistance.

Occasionally, too, in the north, large numbers of disbanded Chinese soldiers have turned dacoits, and crossed the frontier into the Bhamo district to plunder. They have, however, suffered severely whenever they have tried conclusions with the British columns sent out against them. Attention is being given to the delimitation of the Chinese frontier, which will lead the way to a better protection of it on both sides. In the east the Red Karens gave trouble, while on the west the wild Chins of the Arakan Yoma mountains continued their former practice of raiding into Burma and carrying off loot and captives.

THE GOLDEN PAGODA AT MANDALAY, COMPLETELY COVERED WITH GOLD LEAF.

All this had to be brought to an end, and these lawless marauders given clearly to understand that it would no longer be permitted, but that a power now ruled in Burma that was able to keep them in check, and would protect the interests of its subjects against their acts of rapine and violence. Several expeditions were undertaken for this purpose to the different mountain tribes, and much hard, rough work had to be done; but beyond keeping these tribes in order in relation to Burma, it is uncertain yet what measures England will initiate for their internal government.

In connection with these different expeditions much valuable exploration and surveying work have been done on our frontiers, in what was formerly an unknown country.

On the whole, it will be seen that to restore order and establish good government, in a country like this, and under such circumstances, was a work of gigantic difficulty, requiring much activity and vigilance, much firmness and courage, readiness of resource, and withal a long purse. What has been spent, however, may be regarded as capital well laid out, that has already begun to be productive. Seldom, perhaps, has England undertaken a heavier task so far away from home; never has she accomplished it with more credit. Gradually, but surely, the British talent for organising and ruling has asserted itself, and the great resources at our command, despite the smallness of our numbers on the spot, have materially helped to win the victory. One cannot but admire that splendid courage, and that administrative ability, whereby our countrymen have taken over a country of vast extent, in a condition bordering on anarchy, and in five years, with the aid that India has been able to give in men and means, they have made it safer and more prosperous to live in than at any previous period of its history in modern times.

The more extended notice of the progress made in the material development of Upper Burma is reserved for another chapter.

CHAPTER VII.
FIVE YEARS OF BRITISH RULE.

British rule would have nothing to justify its presence in such a country as Burma if it did not evidently make for the well-being of the people. In this chapter we have to consider the initiation of those measures that have been adopted with this view, and to ascertain how far they are likely to secure it. Five years is not a period of time from which much can be expected by way of results, but it is long enough for us to form an estimate of the kind of beginning that has been made.

Under Burmese rule no attempt was made at a division of the work of the executive into departments. Each minister of state was considered eligible to take charge of any and every post in the state, whether judicial, revenue, military or what not, just as in England, as Macaulay tells us, until comparatively recent times, any gentleman, if he possessed sufficient interest, might aspire to command a man-of-war, and naval and military commands were more or less interchangeable. But we have got far beyond that now, and our Indian Government is a model of efficiency and business-like working, the officers of some departments being professionally educated for them, and in others, specially trained for the work.

The state of the public revenue is always some test of the industrial and fiscal conditions of a country. Beginning with the first year of the annexation, the income for the five years has steadily and rapidly risen:—

To the amount for the last year a considerable sum might fairly be added on account of the earnings of the new line of railway to Mandalay. Under the Burman king the revenue never exceeded 10,000,000 rupees, and during King Theebaw’s reign it had fallen to 9,000,000, and fully one-third of this amount accrued from monopolies and imposts on trade and industry, that the British Government has very properly abolished; so that, although we took over the country at a very great disadvantage, we have already raised the revenue, by healthy and legitimate means (excepting the excise), to an amount equal to what it ever was before. There can be no doubt that a career of prosperity awaits Upper Burma, and that the steady increase in the revenue indicates that it has already entered upon that career. The testimony of the revenue officers is that it is, as a rule, collected without difficulty, and that the taxation does not fall at all heavily on the people. The chief item is a kind of capitation or household tax, averaging 10 rupees per house per year. This is levied as a lump sum on each village, and the payment is distributed amongst the families of the village, according to their means and circumstances, by a committee of village elders—a method they are accustomed to, and that seems to work well.

The administration of justice is one of the fundamental duties of Government and one of its chief functions. Our Government undertook this duty amid special difficulties and drawbacks; for not only were crime and disorder very general, but there was a great paucity of officials with the necessary experience of the country and knowledge of the language, to fill the subordinate grades of the Civil Service, and to act as magistrates. It must have been no easy task to administer justice at once over an area as large as France. Great progress has been made during the five years, and the various courts of justice have long been in good working order after the methods of India.

The adaptation of a regular system of criminal law, as laid down in the Indian Penal Code, with British principles as regards evidence and procedure, with all our well-known safeguards of the rights of the subject and the dignity and sanctity of law, must be a great improvement on the old haphazard Burmese system, and must afford far greater protection to the innocent, and a greater probability of detecting and punishing the guilty. In point of impartiality and freedom from corruption, too, there must be a great change for the better. Since the country has begun to thoroughly settle down, and the necessity for a speedy and summary decision in criminal cases is no longer felt, a Judicial Commissioner has been appointed for Upper Burma, a trained civilian of high position and experience, whose duty it is to revise the proceedings of the subordinate courts, and, if necessary, alter the findings. This precaution Government takes to ensure that the cases shall have full and mature consideration, and that in the name of justice, justice shall be done.

An illustration of the improved methods of legal procedure, after Western models, introduced under the British administration, is the compulsory registration of deeds relating to immovable property. This measure operates to prevent fraud and secure and simplify titles. The deed being registered, and a copy of it being kept in Government records, forgery and other methods of cheating are made far more difficult. Under the Burman rule deeds were not used, the theory being that all property belonged to the king. It can readily be imagined what confusion of title resulted from that primitive method, and how necessary it was to make enactments that should minimise the risk of fraud, dispute and litigation.

The survey of the whole country has made good progress. Year by year, despite the disturbed state of the country, and the consequent danger of travelling, survey parties have been diligently employed in that important business. Triangulation has been carried over 84,000 square miles, and the whole country has been mapped on a scale of four miles to the inch.

Experimental farming is, in Upper Burma, a new undertaking which necessarily falls to the lot of Government, in the absence of the requisite knowledge and enterprise on the part of the people. With a view to increasing the products of the country, and bettering the position of the people, an experimental farm has been established in the Shan States. Various products, new to Burma, are receiving a trial; for instance, English fruit trees on some of the hill stations, and at various other places potatoes, American maize, wheat, barley, and English garden vegetables. The successful introduction of some of these new products may mean a great deal for the prosperity of the country. Attention has also been paid to the rearing of cattle, sheep and horses, and veterinary assistants are employed, at the expense of Government, in combating cattle disease, and their work has given satisfaction to the people.

There is no branch of the public service for which there is more need in a new country than that of the Department of Public Works. A country recently come under British rule presents a wide field for the talents and energies of the civil engineer. The principal public works of the Burmans consisted of the construction of reservoirs for that great necessity of life, water, both for drinking purposes and for irrigation, and the formation of channels for conducting the water to the fields. These works were found only in a few favoured places, and though not finished in first-rate engineering style, exhibited no small amount of ingenuity and skill. Beyond this their engineering manifested itself rather in religious edifices than in works of general public utility.

There was therefore great need to supplement what the Burmans had left lacking. The country was without a single good road. Even in Mandalay itself there was not a road worthy of the name. Now some hundreds of miles of good road have been constructed, the streams bridged, and communications opened up on the principal lines of travel. An extensive system of new irrigation works is under construction or in contemplation. In every principal station barracks for the soldiers and the police, and jails have been built, and in every town, market houses, court houses, public offices and hospitals provided; so that already there is not a town of any considerable size which does not show abundant outward signs of the change which has come over the country.

Railways were of course unknown in Upper Burma before the advent of British rule; and they are likely to prove a powerful stimulus to the development of the country. There was a line of railway already finished in Lower Burma from Rangoon to Toungoo, 166 miles, and the extension of this line to Mandalay, 220 miles farther, was one of the first great public works projected. It was sanctioned in November 1886; the survey was pushed on and completed by the summer of 1887; the work was begun on each section as soon as the estimates were sanctioned; and so rapidly was the work carried on that an engine ran through from Toungoo to Mandalay by May 1st, 1888. The line was finally completed and opened for traffic in March 1889. The cost was a little over twenty millions of rupees.

At the beginning the work practically lay through an enemy’s country, but survey parties and working parties were carefully guarded, and no successful attacks were made upon the many thousands of labourers on the work. The construction gave employment and wages to a large number of Burmans, at a time when the labouring classes would have been otherwise in great straits. The finding of honest remunerative work for so many people was, in itself, a great check on dacoity. Since the railway was opened the districts through which it runs have been the quietest in Upper Burma, although previously so greatly disturbed.

From every point of view this first introduction of railways into Upper Burma must be pronounced a great success. From the very first this line paid its working expenses, and in conjunction with the rest of the state railways in Burma, 4 per cent. on the capital invested. If it could do that at the outset it will do much more when other railway extensions are carried out, and roads are made as feeders to the traffic. To all this must be added the great convenience it affords to the public and to Government, and the impulse it gives to commerce, besides its strategic importance from a military point of view.

Encouraged by this result, another line, called the Mu Valley extension, is already well on towards completion. It starts from Sagaing, on the opposite side of the Irrawaddy to Mandalay, proceeds in a northerly direction, and will ultimately go as far as Mogaung in the far north of the country, some 300 miles from Sagaing. The laying of this line through the territory of the semi-independent little state of Wuntho was the last straw that broke the back of the loyalty of the sawbwa. From the first he had been awkward, and had given trouble, but the prospect of having a railway through his dominions was too much for him, and he broke out into open rebellion. There was nothing for it but to put down the insurrection, annex his petty state, and administer it. Civilisation and the general welfare cannot be expected to come to a standstill at the bidding of an ignorant little chieftain like Wuntho.

Another extension of the Mandalay line, from Meiktila to Myingyan on the Irrawaddy, is about to be taken in hand; and a second and more detailed survey is shortly to be made for that very important extension from Mandalay up to the hills, and across the Shan plateau in a north-easterly direction, to open up the rich Shan country, and eventually, in all probability, to connect Upper Burma with Yunan, the great westerly province of China, with eleven millions of inhabitants.

Railways bring new life to a country like Burma, and arouse men from the sleep of centuries. They pay well; they civilise the people by bringing together, in an amicable way and for their mutual benefit, races and tribes that formerly were enemies; they render it easier to get an honest living than to live by robbery; they not only stimulate trade, they create it; they help to solve the difficulties of demand and supply in the labour question, by making it cheap and easy for the people to get to and fro; and when times of scarcity and famine come round, they enable the Government to cope with them, and prevent or mitigate their horrors.

The post, the telegraph and the telephone, which are now amongst the necessities of civilised life, have all been established in Upper Burma, and are now in thorough working order. In fact, so civilised has Upper Burma become, that a movement is on foot for a private company to lay down several miles of tramway in the streets of Mandalay, and start a service of trams; and another scheme has been submitted for lighting the principal streets with electricity.

A government in an Oriental country, to be successful, must, before everything else, be strong, and nothing contributes more to this than an efficient police. At the outset, the establishment of order was largely a military work, and the brunt of it rested on our British and Sepoy troops. But gradually as the country settled down, the troops were reduced, and the police took over the work of keeping order. Here was considerable scope for organisation. In most of the countries where English rule has been established, we have managed to organise a police out of the materials the country supplied. But the Burmans do not prove very tractable for this, so that whilst there has been special need for a strong police to keep matters in order, it so happens that we have a people specially wanting in the qualities necessary for this work. The police officers complain that the Burmans in the force “cannot be trusted to oppose a larger force of dacoits, or to do sentry work.” The Burman finds great difficulty in submitting to discipline or carrying out any regular routine whatever in a reliable manner. He loves to have his own way, to feel free to come and go just when he likes, and generally to go on in a careless and casual manner.

After the annexation of Pegu in 1853, an attempt was made to raise a military battalion of Burmese. By an unintentional irony it was called “The Pegu Light Infantry.” It was found that they were altogether too light and lacking in the spirit of discipline ever to make good soldiers, and the Pegu Light Infantry was accordingly disbanded.

For this reason Government has had to look elsewhere for its police, and they have been recruited chiefly from amongst the warlike races of Northern India, with a sprinkling of Burmans, who are necessary for the detection of crime, and for such work as their knowledge of their own people and language the better fits them. During the troublous times of 1886-89 there has been a force of twenty thousand civil and military police, about two-thirds of whom were natives of India. But as the number of crimes of violence decreases, it becomes possible greatly to reduce this number.

Of all the numerous innovations on Oriental methods of government which we have introduced, that of local self-government, as applied to municipalities, is perhaps the most noteworthy, not for what it does at present, but for what it leads up to. This little seedling of representative government we are sedulously planting everywhere throughout our Indian Empire, and nurturing it with patient and sympathetic care; and he would indeed be worthy of the name of prophet who could say whereunto it will grow. Never under any Indian or Burmese rule was there a vestige of representative government, but we think it well to train them up to it.

The schoolboy in India has the History of England put into his hands, and there he learns what Englishmen think of liberty and self-government; and he finds that the ruling power has broadened down in the course of ages from the one to the few, from the few to the many, and from the many to the whole population, who now really govern themselves. Our British policy is to organise municipalities in every considerable town. We, the governing power, call together a native municipal committee, as representative as we can make it by nomination, and then we say in effect, “Now we have called you in to consult with us, the leading English representatives of government, and by your votes to show your opinions on such questions as the cleaning, the lighting, the paving, and the sanitation of the town, its water supply, the regulation of its markets, and a number of other local matters, and we ask you to vote supplies of money for these things, and to levy taxes and rates accordingly.”

All these things are matters of course to the Englishman in his own country, and if any of them were conducted without consulting him through his elected representatives, he would soon want to know the reason why. But not so with the Oriental; they are to him innovations of an unheard-of character. Neither he nor any of his forefathers were ever asked to do such a thing as vote before. It is no wonder, therefore, if our worthy native citizen takes his seat as he is bidden in the municipal council-chamber of his town, bewildered at first with this unwonted experience, voting to the best of his ability as he thinks the worthy president, the English Deputy Commissioner of the district, would desire him to vote. But in course of time he comes to see what it all means, for the Oriental is by no means deficient in perception. He sees that the measures proposed and carried affect him and his kindred and his neighbours, and he begins to see that a voice and a vote mean power, and that these are questions which touch his pocket and circumstances.

By-and-by the people find that the municipal ordinance provides for the expression of their opinions in a more direct and effective way. The rule is, that “as soon as any town desires to elect its members it is permitted to do so.” In many towns in India they are now elected. We have in Upper Burma seventeen municipalities, but in no case yet is there any election of members; they are all appointed by nomination. The change from the full-blown doctrine of the divine right of kings, in its completest form, to representative government, is too sudden for them to realise where they are as yet. But it will come. All the teaching we give them, both by precept and example, is in effect this: that the true ideal of government is government by the people, and that all other forms of government are only temporary expedients leading up to it.

We cannot wonder if in time they follow the path where it logically leads them to a wider outlook than merely municipal affairs. “If in municipal why not in national affairs?” they will naturally ask. The National Congress in India is the natural sequence of all this. It is the feeling after some arrangement or institution that shall give effect to the will of the people, on many more matters than they are at present consulted upon. It may be silly sometimes, and selfish, and reactionary, and stupidly conservative, and childish, but whatever its faults, its follies, and its weaknesses, it is at all events our own bantling, the child of our own careful nurture and instruction. It is no use our attempting to frown it out of countenance; what we have to do is to take it by the hand, and guide it until it reaches years of discretion.

BURMESE WOMAN ON HER WAY TO THE WELL TO DRAW WATER.

CHAPTER VIII.
INTOXICANTS IN BURMA—THE LIQUOR QUESTION.

We have seen how much there is to admire and to be proud of in the capacity and skill of our nation as the great ruling power in India. One cannot have dwelt in Upper Burma during the last few years without observing how sincerely our rulers have sought the welfare of the people, and how ably they have secured it. The liberty of the people, their freedom from oppression, the greater security for life and property all over the country, their general comfort and well-being, the introduction of a far better system of law and justice than ever they knew before, the development of the resources of the country, and the general prosperity that has ensued, are results well worth securing.

But the countenance given to the sale and consumption of intoxicants, and the growth of these vices under our rule, when we ought to be so well able to discourage and check them, are very grave defects; and it is this matter I propose in this and the following chapters to discuss. This is just now a question which is receiving much attention. It is not a case for heated controversy, or for calling ill names, but for calmly and dispassionately looking the facts in the face, and asking ourselves in the sight of God whether we are doing right, or whether there is not a more excellent way.

A special and peculiar interest surrounds this question, owing partly to the fact that the new province was so recently annexed, and our policy is not as yet finally fixed; partly to the delicate and anomalous position in which we, as a non-abstaining race, find ourselves, in governing a race whose religion definitely enjoins total abstinence from everything intoxicating, and who earnestly desire that prohibition be continued as the law of the land; and partly from the very disastrous effects which have been found to result from the policy we have been pursuing during the many years we have been ruling Lower Burma.

On our annexing Upper Burma in 1886, we found the fifth commandment of the Buddhist religion, “Thou shalt not take anything that intoxicates,” was the law of the land, the only law on the subject the Burmans had ever known. On this point I quote no less an authority than a despatch from the Government of India to the Secretary of State, dated October 1886, in which are certain “Instructions to Civil Officers,” and it is there stated that—

“Burmans of all classes, monks and laity, very strongly wish that drinking shops and the habit of drinking should be discouraged in Upper Burma. In the time of the late king traffic in liquor was altogether forbidden. No doubt there is some making and drinking of toddy, of rice beer, and even of spirits in Burman villages. But the sense of the better classes is against the practice. No revenue was ever raised by the late king from liquor, lest he should seem to be encouraging evil. And under the circumstances, it seems expedient to meet the wishes of the people by declining for the present to license drinking shops.”

It certainly did seem expedient, with the nation on its knees begging us not to inflict drinking shops upon them, to license no shops whatever; and that not only “for the present,” but to resolve never to allow any. If ever there was a case in this world for local option, which was overwhelmingly in favour of entire prohibition, surely it was there; and under such circumstances the introduction of licensed liquor shops, on any plea whatever, was entirely unjustifiable and uncalled for. But the document proceeds:—

“Where a real demand exists for liquor to be consumed by Europeans, Indians or Chinese, shops for the sale of spirits and of fermented liquors may be licensed.”

So it unfortunately comes to this, that because there are certain foreigners in the country with “a real demand” for liquor, the whole policy of the country is to be changed for their sakes, and an excitable, volatile people such as the Burmans, peculiarly liable to fall away through drink, are to be exposed to temptations in their streets, in the shape of licensed liquor shops, such as they never had before, and such as it is well known multitudes of them will be quite unable to resist. It is true there is a clause in the law making it a punishable offence for the holder of the licence to sell liquor to Burmans. But what avails such a clause? The shops are there with the liquor for sale; that is the one all-important and damaging fact; and as for that clause, it is in theory a glaring anomaly, and in practice simply a farce. Any Burman can get as much liquor as he wishes.

A recent Government report fully admits this, and shows the futility of such a lame attempt to shield the Burmans from the effects of the temptations furnished by the drinking taverns established in their midst.

“The licences for the sale of liquor and opium are intended for the convenience of the non-Burman population of Upper Burma, and the sale of either liquor (except tari) or opium to Burmans is prohibited by law. But there can be no doubt that the prohibition is in practice inoperative.”

Now observe how we have progressed with this business during the first few years of our rule. In Upper Burma, where, before we assumed the government, there never had been such a thing as a licensed liquor shop, and where drunkenness, when it did occur, was severely punished, there are now 175 licensed liquor shops, and Burmans are constantly under temptation to indulge. In Upper Burma, where there had always been every discouragement to the manufacture of liquor, there are now central distilleries established, under Government patronage and licence, for the wholesale manufacture of spirits, and one of these turns out, as the proprietor informed a friend of mine, 500 gallons a day.

Bad as Burmese rule was, corrupt, weak and worn out, and badly in want of funds, it never sunk so low as to derive any revenue by the sale of licences, but now the excise revenue from liquor and opium licences is advancing by leaps and bounds.

It looks as though liquor and opium under the British Government were rapidly tightening their hold of the country, and it is quite time England made up her mind what she is really going to do in the matter, and whether she can reconcile this state of things with her notions of duty to a subject race.

It is urged by the advocates of the present system that there was drinking before, even under Burmese rule. No doubt there was. With the materials all around in abundance in the products of the country, both for fermenting and distilling liquors, it is not to be supposed that alcohol was unknown. It was, however, a very uncommon thing amongst Burmans to drink, and it can afford no possible justification for licensing and thereby increasing the evil.

It is also urged that it is impossible to do away with drinking entirely. “Prohibit it altogether,” say they, “and it will still go on secretly.” There scarcely could be a poorer plea than this. How many evils and crimes and vices there are in every country that cannot be entirely done away with, and yet no one in his senses would propose to license and regulate them on that ground. Our reply to this is that a Government can only do its best, and if, after we had done our best to discourage the drinking it still existed, despite all we could do, it would not be our fault. But if King Theebaw could do as much as he evidently did, with his worn-out methods of government, to keep his people sober, what might not we accomplish with the splendid machine of government we possess?

The last resort of the apologists for licensing intoxicants usually is that, good or bad, we are committed to the system, and cannot get rid of it without causing greater evils than what we now have. This is one of the arguments used with respect to India, but it fails altogether when applied to Burma, and has not a leg to stand on. We had every opportunity to have continued the law of prohibition just as we found it, and the people earnestly requested us to do so, and we ought to have done it. Even now it is not too late to retrace our steps in that direction, for the present state of things is felt to be unsatisfactory, and the law cannot be carried out.

Why cannot we end it by prohibiting the manufacture and sale of liquor throughout the country? If it be said that this would bear hardly upon the foreign residents, it may well be replied that the rights and liberties of foreigners ought not to prejudice those of the vast majority, the natives of the country; and if that were the law, and foreigners did not choose to put up with it, they would have their remedy. No one is compelled to live in Burma.

The pity is, that England should so lag behind in the matter of temperance reform. The Empire is inevitably increasing, yet England, by continuing to cling to liquor as she does, fails in this respect to fit herself for properly carrying out her duty amongst the abstaining races that come within the sphere of our influence.

The day is coming, as every one can see, when England’s own liquor question must be effectually dealt with, for the mind of the majority of the English people is rapidly ripening for it. But in the meantime, the very painful, anomalous and inconsistent position we occupy in Upper Burma—a Christian nation establishing liquor shops in every centre of population, against the strongly expressed wishes of “all classes of Burmans, monks and laity”—is a humiliating proof of the need there is for this reform to be hastened at home, so that it may be faithfully carried out abroad, and that too before it is too late.

CHAPTER IX.
INTOXICANTS IN BURMA—THE OPIUM QUESTION.