Ascending the steps—and they were legion, giving me a far better idea of infinity than any professor of mathematics had ever succeeded in demonstrating—I found myself on a level platform extending all round the pagoda proper, at the edge of which stood the European and native barracks, that accommodated the detachments from various regiments of which the garrison was composed.
There were samples from Bengal and Madras, including some of the 1st Madras Fusiliers, the finest men I ever set eyes on. Cabin’d, cribbed, confined as they were in this limited space, all looked well, contented, even happy, though I was at a loss to imagine how they managed to pass such long days with so few duties to perform, and such slender resources, in the way of books and other amusements, at their command. The secret of their health lay, without doubt, in their being unable to obtain more than the authorized allowance of “grog.”
Some there were too who, a few years later, took an active part in suppressing the Mutiny, being especially conspicuous in the operations that centred around the theatre of the most important engagements of the whole movement, Benares and Lucknow. I need not dwell on their exploits, for they are written in imperishable letters throughout the chronicles of that mighty upheaval. My intercourse with them was marred by one unfortunate and unlooked-for circumstance, over which I prefer to draw a veil, for the person concerned succumbed after performing miracles of valour; and then and ever since I regretted my inability to be near him before it was too late.
After having reported my arrival, and mentioned our adventures en route, I was conducted to the abode I was to occupy, nothing more or less than a huge pon-gyee house, large enough to accommodate half a dozen. It was constructed of teak, supported by massive pillars, and substantially roofed; moreover, it was open at the back, where it abutted on the pagoda, and innocent of doors.
The flooring, composed of split bamboo, was rather more than two feet from the ground, and was covered with mats of the same material.
But for this raised flooring I should, when the floodgates of the upper regions opened upon us, most probably have lost all my available furniture, which, though scarcely worth insuring, certainly sufficed for my modest requirements, comprising, as it did, a camp bed, table, and chair; two bullock trunks, a brass washing basin and stand, and a strip of carpet.
My new lodging was not by any means as snug as my old quarters in the Rangoon stockade; nor was my “factotum” slow to perceive the difference, though with that practical common sense that went so far to atone for his afore-mentioned ugliness, he at once set to work to make matters as straight as possible. In the first place he swept the place out, above and below, the vigorous application of a vis a tergo, in the shape of a birch, giving sundry frogs and scorpions summary notice to quit their old homes on the ground-floor.
Then, having next dislodged from the interstices of the upper storey a vast accumulation of dust, ants, and spiders, he arranged my furniture as his own judgment approved. Most of all I missed the verandah, to which I had always been accustomed, a place where, in sunshine or rain, one could always obtain some sort of exercise and enjoy the beauties of nature. Here they were all hidden from view, though I could hardly bemoan the want of ventilation, since the wind searched out every nook and cranny of the house, blowing at times so hard as to create no little difficulty in the matter of keeping one’s lamps alight.
A breeze was, however, generally more welcome than not, for the direct rays of the sun, and reflected heat from the pagoda, induced a temperature very trying to Europeans in general, new arrivals in particular. A hot mist, the result of evaporation of the surrounding water, stretched as far as the eye could reach in every direction. The average rainfall during the monsoon was, as far as I remember, some 120 inches; and whenever Jupiter Pluvius checked the flood, the clouds would roll away, the sun shine forth in all his might, and even the crows would pant in comparative silence.
As the sights of the place could be disposed of in a quarter of an hour, consisting of barracks above and water below, and as it was moreover impossible to move a step beyond the terrace, life soon narrowed down to the routine of daily duties, occupying the early morning and evening, and leaving the day to be disposed of with such resources as individuals possessed in themselves. To those destitute of such, life must have been as slow as a twice-told tale; day after day, week after week, month after month, the same ordeal, the same familiar faces, identical surroundings, and nothing to do; everyone glad when the rain fell, equally pleased when the sun shone; anxious to rise, still more so to go to bed. Yet in spite of this almost intolerable “nuy”—as I once heard a soldier pronounce it—I never had charge of a healthier garrison. They were, it is true, cut off in toto from all sources of dissipation; but, even allowing for this, I was unable to account for the unusual immunity from illness, the more so that even among the native population it was equally noticeable.