Life and Travel in Lower Burmah: A Retrospect

by C. T. Paske

But what first attracted my attention was the ubiquitous sparrow, just as impudent and pugnacious-looking as ever. I now came to a tract of dried-up rice-fields, as hard as brick-bats, where the trees were few and far between, and were for the most part alive with parroquets of gorgeous plumage, chattering and jabbering, as if, forsooth, they had to settle the affairs of the whole country. I therefore varied the monotony of the walk by shooting an occasional bird, which, however, proved quite useless for culinary purposes. As it grew late in the day, I turned back towards the shore; and it appeared to me a favourable opportunity for returning the kindness of the junior officers, at whose hospitable mess I had discussed many a leathery piece of salt pork and weevil-eaten biscuit, washed down with rum and water. By means of a great deal of gesticulating—for I knew not a word of the language—I became the proud possessor of a goodly store of live fowls, eggs, and plantains, for what I afterwards discovered to be about three times the correct price. I was received with thanks on board, and, from my doubtless grotesque appearance, armed with a gun and umbrella, and surrounded by my provisions, was forthwith dubbed “Robinson Crusoe.”

While anchored in the lower reaches of the river, we experienced a slight foretaste of some of the pleasures that awaited us in the land we were about to reside in; our night’s rest was ever and anon disturbed by the weird and startling cry of a jackal; and the dermic irritation caused by mosquito-bites was a source of great pain to novices.

At last the tug arrived, and we once more got under weigh, rapidly bridging over the remaining part of the voyage, and perhaps, too, the most dangerous, on account of the St. James and Mary shoals, and many others almost equally hazardous. But these were passed in safety; the river became narrower and narrower—crowded, too, with all manner of small craft freighted en route to market. The whole scene was certainly striking, rendered, indeed, still more picturesque by the setting sun; so that, as we passed up that suburb of Calcutta so appropriately called “Garden Reach,” the entire bank was bathed in a flood of light, while our ears were assailed by the chants of natives pulling at their oars—chants not devoid of a weird kind of beauty. Not far above this we dropped anchor, and the ship swung round with the tide. All was bustle and excitement; and with a shake of the hand, and a hurried “Good-bye; mind you call on us soon,” &c., &c., the passengers dropped one by one over the side; and in this wise the voyage of those days came to an end.

CHAPTER III.
THE CITY OF PALACES.

“Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other.”

Franklin.

For my own part I remained on board till the deck had assumed a less chaotic appearance, when I resolved to migrate temporarily to one of the hotels. This, however was not to be; for an old friend, anticipating my resolve, and bent on frustrating it, suddenly appeared on board with the welcome information that he had hired a room for me at his quarters. Nothing loth, I bundled my traps into the boat, and prepared to accompany my friend, bidding au revoir to the officers with no little regret; they had throughout the voyage treated me with the utmost courtesy, and I had almost grown to look upon the old ship as my home. Nor was the City of Palaces just then calculated to impress a new arrival very favourably, or to raise his spirit-barometer. Darkness was coming on apace, as it always does in the East, and the dim, weird light afforded by the few oil lamps scattered about was considerably obscured by the dense mist that was rising from a large open space, through which we drove in my friend’s “buggy.” This sombre picture was completed by the dusky figures that flitted hither and thither; and, taken altogether, I found it gruesome and depressing.

The house in which my friend resided was a boarding-establishment (with table d’hôte), very convenient for temporary sojourners of the male persuasion; we sat up till a very late, or rather, early hour, as there was much to chat about; and eventually my friend consigned me to the care of his own special valet, with the most detailed instructions—for I knew not a word of the language—and wished me “Good night.” With sundry misgivings, I followed my swarthy attendant, who glided noiselessly in front of me. The room that had been assigned to my use was evidently very spacious—one can tell somehow when one is in a large room, even in total darkness—but as it was only very dimly illuminated by a small wick steeped in oil, I was unable to ascertain its exact dimensions until the next morning. I remember that it also struck me as chilly and damp, and I wished myself back in the cosy cabin in which I had enjoyed many an uninterrupted night’s rest for the last four months. In the middle of the apartment I discerned a bed, surmounted by an enclosure of netting; on one side was a strip of carpet, and close at hand stood a chair. Now, my friend had particularly impressed on me that the mosquitoes were just now very strong on the wing, and as hungry as hunters; also that on the manner in which I got under the netting depended all my chances of sleep. He further instructed me to sign to the “bearer” when I was ready, who would, he said, just raise the edge of the curtain, when I must jump in. The eventful moment arrived: I signed to the “bearer,” and pointed to the bed, whereupon he commenced beating the air around with a kind of switch, and lifted a corner of the net.

By this time I began to realize in the whole proceeding a pleasurable element of excitement, and as he raised the net, I darted in. Alas! it was but to fall out the other side. I felt myself going, and as a drowning man will clutch at a straw, I held on to the bedclothes, dragging them along with me, curtains and all. When I had at length got clear, there was the “bearer” staring at me as if I were a wild beast or a lunatic; then he fled—returning shortly afterwards with another set of curtains, after which he once more made the bed. This entrée was successfully accomplished; but my troubles did not end here. The fact was, I felt uncommonly cold; suddenly a happy thought occurred to me, and stealthily thrusting out an arm from under the curtains, I dragged in my clothes and the strip of carpet. I slept soundly, but woke betimes—as who, indeed, even of the Seven Sleepers, would not have?—for of all the discordant uproars I had ever heard, the réveille of the feathered tribe—crows, minahs, and other villains—certainly stood first.

Shortly afterwards the “bearer” entered, noiseless as a tiger, and proceeded to open the shutters and admit the morning light. He next advanced to my couch with the evident intention of rousing me, but seeing the additions that I had made in my bed-clothing, stopped short. I pretended to be asleep, but watched him carefully. The poor fellow opened his eyes to their widest, looked round the room, thought for a moment, and then fled as before; returning this time in the company of my friend, who glanced at the bed, and immediately roared with laughter. It was all very funny, no doubt; but, not being quite able to appreciate the joke, I took refuge in pretended sleep. Later on, at breakfast, I gave a detailed account of what had happened, which my friend supplemented with the “bearer’s” version. Poor bearer! In spite of repeated explanations, he avoided me as much as possible, and evidently considered me dangerous. A day or two after I was claimed by a relation, and that domestic at least was greatly relieved by my departure! There is, gentle reader, a right and a wrong way of getting into bed as well as out of it, as I found to my cost on more than one occasion; as, for example, the first stormy night at sea, when I made use of my swing-cot.