On one occasion, proceeding up the river with the Commissioner, the late Sir A. Phayre, I was roundly abusing this native delicacy; he fetched a stone jar and begged that I would taste the contents. When I had done so and reported favourably, he informed me to my astonishment that it was a superior quality of the compound I had been vilifying. Had he not been so perfect a gentleman, and so considerate to all that had the pleasure of acting under him, I should have suspected that he inwardly enjoyed my obvious discomfiture at having so erroneously condemned anything in toto.
He was certainly far above the ordinary run of rulers in all those qualities that adorn a man and a Christian. It was my good fortune to be near him for weeks together, when heavy responsibilities weighed upon him: we had to traverse wild tracts of country with dangers at every turn, and the end—if ever reached—bristled with difficulties. To be acquainted with him was a matter for congratulation; to serve under him was a privilege; to know him was to love him.
When circumstances had parted us, I had very undesirable occasions for studying the reverse of the medal—egotistical, fussy, fault-finding men, to please whom was beyond the range of human attainment; men primed with theory, but worse than useless in practical administration, whose one object seemed to be to offend and estrange their fellow-countrymen, and to oppress and outrage the natives.
The one type elevated the service; the other lowered both the service and all concerned therein, causing the tide to ebb to a very low mark.
The words of the Bard concerning the good and evil deeds of mankind have no application to the lamented Commissioner; he left no evil deeds to survive him, nor were his many good ones lost with him, for as long as Burmah is inhabited—and there is not at present any very startling prospect of a decrease in its population—his memory will be revered by Native and European alike, a monument more lasting than stone or brass.
For a conquered race the Burmese certainly held their heads remarkably erect, looking the usurper straight in the face without any shame for their own position. The fact was, a very superficial acquaintance with our habits and mode of living had convinced them of our superiority in every respect—save one.
It is very curious that every Eastern native looks down on our music with undisguised contempt. Our bands might discourse the gems of Chopin, Beethoven, and Balfe, but only the veriest loiterer would stop to listen, and, to judge by his expression, it fell as flat on his ear as a penny trumpet would on ours.
Real music was too refined and complicated for nerves accustomed throughout generations to coarser measures in harmony. This was the same all over Hindostan; and it is therefore surprising that our regimental native bands were remarkably good before the Mutiny.
A Burmese band consisted of a number of drums in a circle, and diverse brass instruments, awful to look upon, and still more awful to hear; though what they lacked in harmony they certainly made up for in noise. With the exception of the ubiquitous and irrepressible mosquito, the whole of the lower creation fled before it; and only a sense of dignity prevented many of us from following suit.
The performers must have been animated by extraordinary zeal, if the manner in which they hammered on the drums and blew through the wind-instruments be any criterion. As I invariably hastened in a direction opposite to that which was taken by the performers, I never witnessed the climax of the celebration; but if it continued for long on the same crescendo principle as that with which it passed me, I should think it must ultimately have resulted in rupture of the drum-heads and explosion of the remaining instruments.