Working my Way Around the World

by Harry Alverson Franck; Lena M. Franck

The official taster went back to his place; a silence fell over the company. We continued to shout. Suddenly a light of understanding brightened the face of the head man. Could it be because we wanted sugar that we were raising such a hubub, not because we had fancied some had been accidentally spilled on our supper? He called to the woman. When she appeared with a joint of bamboo filled with muddy brown sugar, the council men rose gravely and grouped themselves about us. I sprinkled half the sugar on the rice, stirred it in, and began to eat.

At the first mouthful such a roar of laughter went up from the group that I choked in astonishment. Whoever would have guessed that these gloomy-faced great ones could laugh? The chief fell to shaking as with a fit; his advisers doubled up with laughter. They shrieked until they were heard in the neighboring huts. Wild-eyed Siamese tumbled into the shack. Within two minutes half the village had flocked into the room to see those strange beings who ate sugar with their rice.

The head man stopped laughing, then became stern and drove all but the high and mighty among his people forth into the night. Among those who stayed was a babu. He was a Siamese youth who had been educated in Rangoon. To satisfy the head man he questioned us as to our plans, and later told the chief and his followers what we had replied. The company then talked it over for about two hours. At the end of that time they told us what they thought of the trip we had planned. They said the jungle to the eastward was so wild, entangled with undergrowth, and pathless that even the natives did not try to get through it. Certainly white men would not be able to make their way through such a place. We must not try it. There was in the village a squad of soldiers who were going to Rehang in a week or ten days—we could travel with them. Until then we must stay in the village.

James and I said we certainly could not wait for so long a time. The head man replied that we should stay, whether we liked it or not. As it was late at night, we pretended that we were willing to do as they said, and told them we were sleepy. The village chief lighted us into one of the small rooms of his palace, and left us to sleep on the bamboo floor.

We fell asleep at once. Early the next morning, long before the sun was up, we awoke, grasped our oil-cloth baggage, and tried to get away before anyone saw us. Softly we entered the council-chamber. But the chief was already astir. We hurried toward the door, thinking that he would try to stop us. All he did was to shout at us as we stepped out into the dripping dawn.

At the eastern end of the town began a faint path; but it soon faded away, and we pushed and tore our way through the jungle, guided only by our pocket compass. The war-like vegetation battled against us, tore our rags to bits, and cut and gashed us from head to ankles. The perspiration ran in stinging streams along our bleeding skins and dripped from our faces. Though we fought the undergrowth tooth and nail, we did not cover two miles an hour.

The sun was high when we reached a spot showing that someone had passed that way before. It was a clearing not more than six feet square, in the center of which was a slimy pool, with a few joints of bamboo that looked as if they had been cut only a short time. With these we drank our fill of the lukewarm water, and then threw ourselves down in the shade.

Suddenly we heard human voices. We sprang to our feet, half expecting to be attacked by murderous savages. Then our fright left us as there burst into the clearing a squad of little brown soldiers.

There were seven in the party, a sergeant and four common soldiers armed with muskets, and two coolie carriers, each bowed under the weight of two baskets that hung from the pole on their shoulders. When they saw us they gasped in astonishment. Then they rushed for the bamboo cups beside the water-hole, while the servants knelt to set their baskets on the grass. For a time we thought they had been sent to bring us back; but when they let us handle their weapons we knew that we had nothing to fear. They were on their way to Rehang, but why they had left the village so much earlier than the time set we could not find out.

They looked like boys playing war. The sergeant, larger than the others, did not come to James’s chin—and the Australian was not tall. The rest were weak-looking little runts. An average American school-boy could have tied any one of them into a knot and tossed him aside into the jungle. There was nothing war-like in their manners or their babyish faces. They were dressed in the regular khaki uniform, except that their trousers came only to their knees, leaving their scrawny legs bare. From their belts hung bayonets; and around the waist of each was tied a stocking-like sack of rice.