True to his word, the Seray chief departed the next day, leaving the message that he would return as soon as we were rid of Ponline; and the next news was that the Ponsee chief had threatened Sala with instant vengeance, and that our friend and protector had decamped to his own village, taking with him all the presents entrusted to him for the officials of Manwyne, &c., and forcibly carrying off our Burmese interpreter Moung Mo.
The tsawbwa and pawmines of Ponsee, who now came to the front, as self-appointed arbiters of our destinies, so far as progress was concerned, have not yet been introduced.
The tsawbwa was a youth of eighteen, who possessed no influence. What natural intelligence he might possess was obscured by his habits of continual intoxication and debauchery, in company with a number of “fast” young Kakhyens. He had hitherto preserved a sort of sullen neutrality, occasionally, however, conveying to us useful warnings, but acting neither for nor against us. The real power seemed to be exercised by his pawmines, four brothers who had generally shown themselves friendly. The eldest was a good-for-nothing merry-andrew, in a chronic state of intoxication. The next in age was a quiet, sensible man, who seemed fully to appreciate the advantages that would accrue to his people from the reopening of the trade between Yunnan and Burma, and he frequently declared that he was ready to give us all the help in his power. He was nicknamed by us the “Red Pawmine;” and his next brother and constant companion, a little spare man, with high cheek-bones, deeply sunken eyes, and features sharpened and worn by bad health, was appropriately styled “Death’s Head.” He was by far the ablest, but his quick, nervous temperament and violent temper rendered him a difficult man to deal with. The youngest, as excitable, but far less intelligent, was regarded with jealous eyes by his three elder brothers.
The young tsawbwa for about a week subsequent to Sala’s departure professed himself our friend, and a few days of tranquil and almost patient expectation ensued, during which we endeavoured to extend our acquaintance with the hill country about us, of which we had as yet been able to see no more than the outskirts of our camp or rather prison.
Accordingly, Stewart and I started on our ponies to ascend the mountain, taking Deen Mahomed as interpreter and a native boy to act as guide. No sooner had the party passed the tsawbwa’s house than a hue and cry was raised by one of the pawmines, who shouted orders to the lad to return at once. Disregarding the outcry, we pushed on along a narrow bridle-path, but were delayed by the obstinacy of a pony who declined to face a difficult bit of road, and the villagers overtaking us, the guide was dragged away by the pawmine. The tsawbwa was appealed to, but he declared that it was not safe to go up, as there was a village of “bad Kakhyens” on the mountain, and Deen Mahomed was warned with gesture symbolical of throat-cutting of what would happen to him if he got another guide. We consoled ourselves for this failure by a visit to a burial-ground, on the top of a thickly wooded height, which lay to the east of the camp. The path leading to it was sprinkled at intervals with ground rice, as an offering to the nats, and on two of the graves, which were quite recent, lay a little tobacco and a small cylindrical box containing chillies, while outside the surrounding trench the skull of a pig, with some more tobacco, had been placed. The conical roof of bamboos and grass was decorated with a finial of wood cut into two flag-like arms, painted with rosettes in black and red, which ridiculously resembled guide-posts.
The tsawbwa proved more obliging a day or two afterwards, when a request was sent to him for a guide to conduct us to the Tapeng river. The path led along the saddle of the long spurs running down to the valley, and the climate as we descended changed from temperate to tropical; the upper forest consisted of oaks, cherry, apple, and peach trees, especially in a magnificently wooded glen, while a large mountain stream made its way over a rocky channel, forming at one place a splendid waterfall over a perpendicular cliff of gneiss. Along the tops of the fruit trees a large troop of monkeys (Presbytis albocinereus) were leisurely wandering.
In descending we could only keep our footing by clutching at the overhanging branches, as our feet slipped on the fallen leaves and bamboo spathes which lay heaped in the steep and narrow path. The roots which projected every now and then were another and even worse impediment. Where, as often happened, the path turned a sharp angle on the crests of the precipitous spurs, great caution was needful, for if one had lost his equilibrium in such a place, he would have certainly sent all in front of him down the almost perpendicular declivity. As the lower level was reached, the trees became essentially tropical, intermixed with musæ, bamboos, ratans, and splendid ferns, while huge cable-like creepers intertwined their leafy cordage, and orchids of various and novel species displayed their fantastic beauties, and loaded the air with perfume.
After a long scramble down, we climbed over a secondary spur, and at its foot reached a sandy strand shaded by a magnificent banyan covered with the fragrant blossoms of a large yellow orchid (Dendrobium andersoni, Scott). Before us the roaring Tapeng rushed in a torrent forty yards wide, over a rocky bed, in a succession of foaming rapids and deep smooth reaches. At this point its bed was about thirteen to fourteen hundred feet above the plains at Tsitkaw, twenty miles distant, so that its descent is nearly seventy feet in the mile, the water mark indicating the highest rise of the flood to be twelve feet above its present level.
The only birds visible were two water wagtails flitting from boulder to boulder in the middle of the torrent. The rocks in position were gneiss, with veins and large embedded oblong pieces of quartzite; the quartz often standing out in bold relief where the gneiss surface had been worn away by the action of the water. Huge boulders of the same rock and pure white crystalline marble were strewn along the river bed. Along the bank a footpath led to a spot where a raft lay ready, in the deep smooth water above a rapid, to ferry over passengers to the silver mines. The raft was attached by a loop to a bark rope, stretched across the river. Our guide expressed his readiness “for a consideration” to conduct us across, but not “that day;” so we made our way back again, and if the descent had been difficult, it may be imagined how much more so was the return journey, which, however, was safely accomplished.
A few days after this trip, we started, accompanied by two of the Ponsee pawmines, for a visit to the silver mines. We reached the river by the next spur, to the west of the path followed on the former excursion, and, leaving the servants to prepare breakfast under the banyan tree, made for the raft. The guide rope was fastened to a fallen tree, six feet above the river on the opposite bank, while on our side it was carried over forked branches, firmly fixed in the ground and secured to a huge boulder. The raft proved to be on the other side, and one of the Burmese followers caught hold of the rope, and hand over hand succeeded in making his way across the strong current. He was followed by one of the pawmines, who evinced a careful dexterity which argued him to be well accustomed to what seemed a dangerous task. The raft was then brought across, one man in front running the loop along the rope, and the other sitting behind with a paddle to keep it stemming the stream. It was a simple wedge-shaped platform of bamboos lashed together, presenting a sort of prow which is kept against the rush of the stream. Bamboos at each side supported seats of split bamboo, and when the raft, which carried six persons, was loaded, the “deck” was a couple of inches under water.