Life and Travel in Lower Burmah: A Retrospect

by C. T. Paske

The changing scene was delightful, and I did not for a moment regret having accepted the invitation on the spur of the moment. Years of experience have shown me that such decisions turn out, as a rule, better than those arrived at after the process we are pleased to call deliberation. We are told to “look before we leap.” Cui bono? when none of us can see a hair’s breadth into the future. Moreover, thinking over anything generally confuses nine men out of every ten, and the judgment of man, in whatsoever direction he may exercise it, almost invariably arrives at an erroneous decision. No; as far as my individual experience goes, instinct, viewed in the light of subsequent events, has throughout been safer than reasoning, while I regret not having acted on first impressions on several memorable and critical occasions.

We continued our southward course for a time, when the ship’s head was suddenly turned due east, and we were evidently making for a river. For some time I could distinguish no opening, having but a landsman’s powers of observation; but at length a fissure appeared in the otherwise unbroken line of mangrove forest which marks this coast, and ere long we were in the river that flows past Tavoy. I at once noticed that it was very much narrower than the Salween, more muddy, and also more rapid, cutting its way through the web of mangroves, that alone prevented the earth silting up the river and forming the usual bar at its mouth.

I may, en passant, mention a peculiarity of the seeds of this plant; and that is, they enjoy the power of germinating while still attached to the tree; the radicle, bursting through the covering, imbeds itself in the mud, and is followed in due course by the seed.

Some species of mangroves are sweet and palatable, and the wood of some of them is hard enough to be in demand for a variety of purposes, while others are rich in an inferior quality of tannin.

The generality of rivers are characterized by the graceful curves described by their winding course; but this one formed an exception, indulging in an eccentric abruptness, depending, of course, on the lay of the land.

At one time it looked as if we were running right on to the bank; and I was expecting to hear the familiar “Let go the anchor!” when I noticed that the river turned sharp round to the nor’ard. Still we kept our course, until the bowsprit was right over the low, open land! I was on the bridge at the time, but I did not dare say a word to the captain, whose energies were concentrated on this trying and hazardous piece of navigation. I was clutching at the railing, almost unable to endure the suspense a moment longer, when suddenly the helm was altered, the bowsprit described an arc of 90°, and we were steaming up a deep channel parallel with the shore.

I could not help congratulating the captain on this masterly piece of steering; and he acknowledged that he always turned his back on the river with relief, as it was the worst he had to navigate in any of his voyages.

Tavoy was one of those small stations dotted about the Tenasserim provinces, which we held with a handful of men, so as to prevent any awkward mistake as to the actual ownership of the country. It was now occupied by part of a Madras regiment. As evening was descending upon the scene, I saw but little of the native town, and still less of the military quarters, which were so nestled among the trees as to be for the most part undistinguishable. At the best it must have been a very dreary, isolated spot, shut out from the rest of the world, and offering officers and men the dubious delights of penal servitude. It doubtless resembled Pegu in one particular, the facilities afforded for saving money, besides which it must, in the dry season, have been a veritable El Dorado to the sportsman. But then it is not everyone in whom dwells the spirit to go forth and shoot! In the days, too, of which I am writing, men were sent out to the East at sixteen or seventeen years of age, and rarely acquired a musical or scientific turn, so their resources in such a place were indeed limited. The educational structure was built on the primitive model; classics and mathematics were regarded as its foundation, plinth, superstructure, and roof; history, geography, and a smattering of French, were embellishments, and music, drawing, and science, would do at any time!

Here, as elsewhere, the twelve mail days in the year were looked forward to with longing, and their dates written up in letters of gold. One mail every month! The present generation cannot comprehend such a state of affairs; neither could we understand the conditions obtaining in Hindustan under Clive.

And yet in this matter, having to wait thirty days for each batch of news, the wind was, to some extent, tempered to the shorn lamb, for we had not yet arrived at the high-pressure age. Not only did the events of a year occupy less space and importance than do those of a month nowadays, but before the spread of steam and electricity half the events actually enacted never came to light.