A thousand miles on an elephant in the Shan States

by Holt S. Hallett

Dr Cushing kindly took over the commissariat from me, and we set to work to sort and rearrange the baggage. Previous to leaving Maulmain I had purchased forty pahs, or baskets made of pliable wicker-work, each being about twenty inches long, fifteen inches broad, and ten inches deep, which would fit easily into the howdah of an elephant. These, after sorting, we labelled and numbered, entering the contents of each in my note-book.

Method in packing saves a great deal of trouble and time when on a journey. I never met a more methodical man than Dr Cushing. His arrangements were admirable. Everything was kept in its place. Each elephant load was stacked separately throughout the journey. Each driver had charge of his own load, and was held responsible for it.

Stores for several weeks’ supply were packed separately, two pahs together containing what was likely to be required each separate week; and no other pahs, except those in charge of the cook, were allowed to be opened without our consent. The cooking utensils, crockery, a dozen of brandy for medicinal purposes, two dozen of whisky, and some of the medicines, were packed in straw in small wooden cases. These, together with the pahs, two waterproof bags, and a tin box for clothes and money, my office-box, rugs, bedding, chairs, and camp-bedstead, and our two selves, formed the load of the six elephants which were to convey us and our belongings to Maing Loongyee, where fresh steeds had to be procured.

The medicines, purchased by me chiefly in England, were the usual ones carried in Indo-China. They consisted of quinine, Warburg’s tincture and arsenic for fever, ipecacuanha, Dover’s powder and laudanum for dysentery, Eno’s fruit-salt, Cockle’s pills and chlorodyne for lesser ailments; pain-killer for dispelling the agony of bites from noxious insects such as the huge dairy-keeping red ants that milk syrup from plant-lice, centipedes and scorpions; Goa powder for ringworm, the most general and contagious plague in the far East; and vaseline and Holloway’s ointment for abrasions of the skin and ordinary casualties so frequent on a journey. Dr Cushing was a doctor of souls: he knew, and would know, nothing of physic; he abhorred it. His wife had been the general practitioner on his former journeys. There was no help for it; I must be the physician as well as the leader of the party.

Portow.

At daybreak on the 23d of January, having finished our packing and procured a Karen guide who could speak Burmese and Talaing to serve as my interpreter as far as Maing Loongyee, we had the elephants brought in and loaded. Here Dr Cushing’s power as an organiser became apparent. The baggage had been stacked into six loads, two smaller than the others for the elephants which were to be ridden by us. The howdahs, however, proved of unequal size, and some of them would not hold the tin boxes and cases which were intended for them. The air was filled with complaints and remonstrances. Each of the Karen mahouts, naturally, wished his beast to carry less than its portion. Each objected to have another burden foisted on him. Loogalay and Portow were worse than useless: both made confusion worse by fussing about, tugging at the Madras boys, and putting them out of temper by imperious commands mixed with abuse. Ignorance, according to the copy-books, is boastful, conceited, and sure. I never saw the proverb better exemplified than by these two men throughout the journey. It was impossible, in Portow’s opinion, that Portow could be mistaken; he knew everything; he was always ready and eager to advise, and equally ready to jeer at and snub any one else who ventured to do so: but although he had been the head-man of his village, and was an egregious blockhead and an egotistical bumpkin, he was eminently good-natured, and bore no malice when plagued, as he frequently was, by our Madras boys.

Loogalay, or Moung Loogalay, as he liked to be called, was a hectoring, swaggering blade, as gaily dressed as a game-cock, and as vain as an actor. A well-built lad of about two-and-twenty, who had been brought up in an English school, tall and good-looking, thoughtless, gay, and careless, in his gaily coloured Burmese costume he looked the beau-ideal of a dashing youth. His hair tied in a chignon on the top of his head, and festooned with a loosely arranged silk kerchief; his putso, or plaid, serving as a petticoat, with the end jauntily thrown over his shoulder; his clean white cotton jacket with gold buttons, and the flower stuck in his ear,—how could one help enjoying the sight of him, however much one might be put out by his indolence!

Madras boys, particularly those who have been attached to the officers of a native regiment, and have seen more or less of the world, generally have a pretty good opinion of themselves. Some are good wrestlers, and most of them can use their fists. Loogalay was employed as my henchman, or peon—not to do domestic service, but to attend to my wants on the journey; to pick up geological and botanical specimens, measure the depth and breadth of streams, help me when photographing, and carry instructions to the rest of the party. His salary was greater than that of the boys, and he looked upon himself as head boss over them. Anyhow, to him they were kulahs, his natural inferiors, mere savages or outer barbarians; he was a loo—a man and a Burman. Instead of giving orders as emanating from me, he constantly put their backs up by assuming mastery over them, and issuing orders as from himself.

“Heh! Kulah! put those here, not there. What are you about?—yainday!” he vociferated, as the boys were handing up the things to the elephant-drivers. The boys treated his orders with sullen disdain, and went on quietly attending to their business. Loogalay was stamping about and slapping his thighs, becoming more flushed every minute, and looking more and more like an enraged turkey-cock. I was enjoying the fun, sitting quietly smoking in my chair up in the court-house, and would have liked to have watched its further development. There is nothing like a thunderstorm to clear the air, or a good determined school-fight to put the young folk at their ease and knock sense into them. Dr Cushing, however, being in charge of the marching arrangements, put an end to the cabal by appearing on the scene and bundling Loogalay and Portow off to attend on the other elephants.