[10] At this time about one million viss of salt were annually exported up the river from Shienpagah, finding its way chiefly to Bhamô and to Tsitkaw, for the supply of the Kakhyens and Shans. Lately, however, English salt is beginning to take its place, and on my last voyage up the Irawady, one flat from Mandalay carried nothing but salt. In order to proceed to Tsitkaw, it is transshipped at Bhamô into small boats, which carry only five thousand viss each, as the Tapeng is a rapid river, and rather shallow during the dry weather. On salt from Shienpagah, a duty is levied at Malé, Yuathét, and Bhamô, in addition to a boat tax, and when it proceeds up the Tapeng, an additional impost has to be paid at Tsitkaw, and a boat tax at Haylone and Tsitgna. (A viss = about 3 lbs.)
[11] Hannay, ‘Selection of Papers,’ Calcutta, 1873.
[12] In the ecclesiastical translation of the classical localities of Indian Buddhism to Indo-China, which is current in Burma, Yunnan is represented by Gandhara or Kandahár. Yule’s ‘Marco Polo,’ ii. p. 59, edition of 1874.
[13] Colonel Yule remarks that “Tartars on the Indian frontier in those centuries are surely to be classed with the Frenchmen whom Brennus led to Rome” (‘Marco Polo,’ i. p. 12).
[14] Wallago attu, Bloch and Schn.; Callichrous bimaculatus, M’Lelland; Macrones cavasius, H. B.; Macrones corsula, H. B.; Labeo calbasu, H. B.; Labeo churchius, H. B.; Cirrhina mrigala, H. B.; Barbus sarana, H. B.; Barbus apogon, C. and V.; Carassius auratus, Linn.; Catla buchanani, C. and V.; Rhotee cotio, H. B.; Rhotee microlepis, Blyth; Notopterus kapirat, Bonn.
CHAPTER II.
BHAMÔ.
Arrival at Bhamô—Our quarters—The town—The Woon’s house—The Shan-Burmese—Kakhyen man-stealing—The environs—Old Tsampenago—Legendary history—The Shuaykeenah pagodas—The Molay river—The first defile—Delays and intrigues—Sala—The new Woon—Our departure—Tsitkaw—Mountain muleteers—The Manloung lake—The phoongyee’s farewell.
We found some difficulty in steering the long steamer through the channels, but anchored about 5 P.M. on the 22nd of January off the river front of Bhamô, in a very deep and broad channel. Our arrival attracted crowds, but the whistle and rush of steam drove many into a precipitate retreat. We had now reached our true point of departure. Whatever had been the uncertainties of the untried navigation of the river, the real dangers and difficulties of the attempt to penetrate Western China were now to begin. We bore the proclamation of the king commanding all Burmese subjects to aid us. But there was no governor of Bhamô to execute the royal orders, and the secret intentions or inclinations of the Burmese were yet to be tested. The difficulties of the unknown road over the Kakhyen mountains, the hostility or friendship of the mountaineers, and of the Shan population between them and Yunnan, were equally untried. Moreover, though it had scarcely been realised in all its bearings by our own British officials, Yunnan was no longer a well ordered province of the Chinese empire; it was disorganised by the successful rebellion of the Mahommedan Chinese, called Panthays by the Burmese, who had established a partial sovereignty, extending from Momien to Tali-fu. The frontier trade had been materially interrupted, partly by the desolation caused by the internecine warfare, and partly by the depredations of imperial Chinese partisans. Of these, the most dreaded leader was a Burman Chinese, known as Li-sieh-tai, a faithful officer of the old régime, who had established himself on the borders of Yunnan, and waged a guerilla war against the Panthays and their friends. His name is Li, and his so-called small name is Chun-kwo, while from his mother having been a Burmese, he is also known as Li-haon-mien, or Li the Burman. As having been raised to the rank of a Sieh-tai in the Chinese army, he was called Li-sieh-tai or Brigadier Li.[15]
In Bhamô itself there were a number of Chinese merchants, who were unlikely to favour any project which threatened to admit the hated barbarians to a share of their monopoly and profits. This may give some idea of the state of things which we found on our arrival. Our illusions as to a speedy or easy progress were soon dissipated, and after a formal visit from the two tsitkays, or magistrates, ruling the northern and southern divisions of the town, it became evident that we must prepare for a long stay at Bhamô. The royal order to provide transport had only been received by the Woon on the eve of his departure on his fatal expedition to Momeit. Nothing, therefore, had been done; nor could they venture to act until the new governor arrived. The next best thing was to insist on their carrying into effect the royal order to build a house for us, which had not been done. This they reluctantly performed, and in a few days a bamboo edifice was run up close to the Woon’s house, consisting of a central hall, with three bedrooms on either side, and a verandah at each end of the house. A small outhouse accommodated the servants and baggage, and the guard was quartered in an adjacent zayat; a tent pitched in front of the house served as a refectory. Till these quarters were prepared, we remained on board the steamer, receiving crowds of visitors. In the press a heavy log of timber fell on a little girl and fractured her thigh; she was at once carried on board, and the broken limb duly set. This incident speedily established the reputation of the foreign doctor, and for the rest of our stay patients flocked in every day, some coming from long distances, and blind and lame eagerly expecting to be made young and whole. A great deal of blindness had resulted from small-pox. Ophthalmia was also prevalent. A common affection was a form of ulcerous inflammation, chiefly on the legs, amongst those whose occupation led them into the jungles. This was so intractable as to incline one to attribute it to poisonous thorns; but subsequent personal experience proved that slight bruises and abrasions are most apt in this country to become painful and tedious. During the whole time no case of fever was treated, nor did any occur among our party of one hundred men. This speaks volumes for the salubrity of the place during the dry season. The highest temperature experienced was 80° Fahrenheit, the average maximum being not more than 66° Fahrenheit, while the nights were very pleasant, cooling down, if we may put it so, to fifty or forty-five degrees. Fever is rather more prevalent during the rains, when the Irawady rolls down a huge volume of water, a mile and half broad, and the low lands are submerged twelve to fifteen feet.[16]
But this is a digression somewhat professional, and it is needful to revert to the narrative and try to give the reader some notion of our surroundings and proceedings until we got away fairly on the march.