Not an agreeable mode of living, according to our notions, but then the Burmese had never known any other, and besides, being to all intents and purposes amphibious, they were endowed by nature with temperaments of the Mark Tapley order, and consequently happy under almost any circumstances. Very weird was the sound of their strange voices, as they passed us dexterously paddling their canoes, and chanting one of their barbaric songs.
They would stop and look at us as we steamed past, as would also the women and children peeping from behind the trees, wondering whether we were really children of this earth, and doubtless frightened by the noise of the paddles. Many of them probably recalled the incidents of the first Burmese war; the manner in which we fought and the weapons we made use of accounting for the rapidity with which they yielded all the important places to an organization well fitted, as they could see, to carry all before it. Now and then by carefully planned ambushes in the depths of their jungles they might score an occasional advantage, but any open encounter invariably ended in their confusion.
Temples, poles bearing all manner of flags, and images of Gautama, cross-legged and contemplative as usual, and certainly the reverse of prepossessing, met the eye wherever villages existed, and in many places where they did not.
Some of the temples and Pon-gyee houses were exceedingly elegant in their design.
Without any remarkable adventure, we arrived one evening at Prome, where we anchored, without, however, landing. It was unquestionably situated in the prettiest part of the river, which here narrowed between a range of low hills clad in verdure.
The Pagoda, some little way inland, stood out in bold relief on rising ground, while the numerous Pon-gyee houses, scattered here and there, lent an additional charm to the scene. As the sun blazed against the Pagoda next morning, we were off again, having but a short distance to traverse before forging the last link in the chain by reporting ourselves at that important frontier station, Theyetmyo.
The reunion of a regiment, that has been for some time scattered in detachments over a large country, resembles that of a large family under similar conditions; and human nature, bad as it may be, undeniably scored on the credit side in such a meeting. There is generally no lack of gaps, whereby such proceedings are duly leavened with sadness, and there may be raw recruits, uninfluenced as yet by the esprit de corps which animates the older hands.
On this occasion the absentees returned intact, which was not only a piece of good fortune, but reflected great credit on the officers in command; in a bad climate and under every disadvantage, such a satisfactory result could not have been attained without constant supervision, attention to important details, and a thorough knowledge of the conditions of a soldier’s life, and how to handle a body of men discreetly. It is to be hoped that they obtained the praise due to them. It is not always so in mundane affairs. Among notable instances of neglect in this particular that occur to me, I may mention a couple of cases in the Mutiny that appeared to me especially flagrant.
A clergyman, for instance, who bore the heat and burden of the day, was present at all the operations in and around Cawnpore, scrupulously read the burial service under a heavy fire, and nursed gallant Peel in his own quarters at imminent risk to himself. All he obtained for this heroic conduct was a scant notice in the Gazette, not even a decoration or cross.
On another occasion, a handful of officers responded to the call and charged some guns, when the Goorkhas had refused to advance; the thanks which they received were hardly worth the paper they were written on.