“Still to be neat, still to be dressed
As always going to a feast.”
In the course of the summer, Sir Herbert Macpherson, V.C.,[144] came over to exercise general control. After his lamented death, the Commander-in-Chief in India himself, Sir Frederick Roberts, spent some months in Burma, occupying the summer-house in the Palace garden where the King surrendered, giving to civil and military administration the support of his authority, the strength of his wise counsel. Gradually, as the area of settled government extended, the country was covered with a network of small military posts, more than a hundred being in existence at the end of the year.
In these months came the first two military police battalions, raised by Mr. Loch and Mr. Gastrell.[145] The Mandalay battalion, which I knew best, attracted the flower of the Punjab. Under Mr. Gastrell’s excellent command it became a thoroughly efficient force, conspicuous among the large body of military police which garrisoned the country in subsequent years. These military police played an important part in the pacification. Their behaviour was most praiseworthy. Several battalions later on were converted into regular regiments of the Indian Army, called at first Burma Regiments.
For civil administration the Province was parcelled out into Districts, at first twelve, afterwards seventeen in number, each in charge of a Deputy Commissioner, with such Assistants as could be provided. In some cases military commandants of outposts were invested with civil powers, and did much useful work in a civil capacity. Every effort was made to enlist local Burman officials under Government, and many became My̆o-ôks and rendered valuable service. But it was impossible to induce higher officials to leave Mandalay, and to take part in the settlement of out-districts. The effort was made and failed. One of Sir Charles Bernard’s first acts was the preparation and promulgation of a set of instructions to civil officers, an admirable compilation embracing in a small compass all the rules necessary at the outset for the guidance of his subordinates. That was all the law we had in Upper Burma till the end of November, 1886. As an instance of the care taken to prevent hasty and harsh measures, it may be mentioned that all capital sentences had to be referred to the Chief Commissioner for confirmation. When Commissioners were appointed, the duty of confirming these sentences was delegated to them.
The chaos to which the country was reduced, and the confusion which prevailed under the Burmese Government, rendered the task of settlement extraordinarily difficult. The country was overrun with dacoit bands, ranging in numbers from five to five hundred. The names of the leaders, Hla U, Bo[146] Cho, Bo Swè, Ôktama, Shwe Yan, became household words. For some of the dacoit movements there was no doubt a slight political move. A few scions of the royal stock who had escaped the massacres of 1879 set up as pretenders to sovereignty, while here and there men of humble origin assumed the style of royalty and raised the standard of revolt. But as a rule, from the deeds and aspirations of these robber bands genuine patriotism was conspicuously absent. Most of the gangs consisted of dacoits pure and simple, whose sole object was plunder and rapine, who held the countryside in terror, and committed indescribable atrocities on their own people. Where-ever there was an appearance of organized resistance, Buddhist monks were among the chiefs. No political movement of importance has been without a monk as the leading spirit.
The story of the pacification has been told fully, vividly, and accurately by Sir Charles Crosthwaite.[147] It is not my purpose to attempt to tell the story again. In the first year the work proceeded slowly, but within limits effectually. Many dacoit leaders were killed or captured, and the elements of regular administration were introduced into several districts. Revenue, of no enormous amount, it is true, was collected; the country was covered with telegraph lines; useful public works were undertaken. The early months were clouded by the loss in action of Robert Phayre, a promising civilian;[148] the autumn was saddened, for me most of all, by the death from fever, in Kyauksè, of Robert Pilcher. A master of their language, and sincerely in sympathy with them, Pilcher was exceedingly popular with the Burmese. The first time I ever saw a man literally beat his breast for grief was when I told the good old Taungtaya-ngasè Bo[149] the sad tidings of his death. Since then I have seen men and boys beat their breasts and shed real tears at the recital of the tale of Hassan and Hussein[150] at the Mohurram. Pilcher was a scholar with a touch of genius; his early death was a loss to the State.
A Burmese family.
Among the homely virtues of the Burmese must be counted respect for parents. This is inculcated in the Sacred Books, and forms a really pleasing phase of family life. Two nephews of the Taung-gwin Mingyi, one of the Council of Ministers, were giving trouble in the Ava district. It was suggested to the Mingyi that he should use his influence to induce them to surrender and make peace with Government. “Certainly,” said the Mingyi; “I will send for their parents and put them in my dungeon and afflict them till their sons come in.” It was not possible to approve this crude proposal, but the Mingyi was told that he might ask the parents to stay with him, and talk kindly to them about their erring children. The young men submitted in a week, and gave no further trouble. In Sagaing a famous Bo, Min O, was captured. His life was forfeit for many crimes; but he was an old man, and two of his sons were at large, leading dacoit bands. Word was sent to them that if they did not surrender, their father would be hanged; but if they gave themselves up, his life would be spared. Both came in. It will no doubt surprise some people to learn that the promise to spare Min O’s life was kept.