A Civil Servant in Burma

by Sir Herbert Thirkell White

In the early days of April, 1886, there seemed to be a lull in the storm. The time of the Burmese New Year approached, always a time of some anxiety, when, if ever, disturbance may be expected. Perhaps this had not yet been realized. The exact moment on which the New Year began was calculated by the Pônnas,[151] who, besides officiating at weddings, were also the royal astrologers.[152] The time was to be announced by the firing of a cannon from the Palace enclosure. On that April morning the astrologers assembled in the courtyard of the Palace. The head seer drew a line in the dust, planted a small stick, and declared that when the shadow of the stick reached the line the auspicious moment would have come. At the precise instant I made a preconcerted sign, and the cannon was fired. It might have been arranged as the signal of revolt throughout the country. On that day all the principal military posts in Upper Burma were attacked, doubtless in pursuance of a definite plan. Next morning my servant woke me rather early with the intimation that “the enemy were at the gate.” At dawn there had been a serious attack on the city of Mandalay, swarming with troops, by a band of some twenty or thirty rebels acting in concert with a few confederates within the walls. Inside the city two unlucky medical subordinates were killed, and within and without incendiary fires were lighted. The fire spread even to the Palace enclosure, and we were in some anxiety for the main buildings, which, once alight, would have burned like matchwood. To the roof of the Hlutdaw mounted the faithful Thwethaukgyi[153] Tun Baw and his subordinates, with chatties[154] of water and bamboo poles, to quench and beat out flying sparks. Luckily the fire in the enclosure was mastered, and we returned, grimy and thirsty, relieved to find our quarters still standing. As the Palace was crowded with military and civil officers and their establishments, and contained all the records, its destruction would have been very inconvenient.

The fortnight which followed was the longest fortnight of my life. It was crowded with incident, attacks and risings, above all, incendiary fires. Since those days I have ceased to take interest in fires. On the Queen’s Tower[155] stood a sentinel, day and night, to sound the alarm. The easiest way to the tower was through my bedroom. Nightly I went to sleep in expectation of being aroused by the fire-bugle and the tramp of men, and I was hardly ever disappointed. Every night we climbed the wooden tower, and saw the blaze of conflagration in town or city. Once I asked the sentry if he had heard any sound of firing. “Well, sir, I thought I did hear one of them there brinjals,”[156] was the unexpected answer. Once, again, fire broke out within the Palace fence, but did not spread. This also was well, as close to our quarters were considerable quantities of gunpowder and dynamite. With the early rains at the end of April fires ceased, and Mandalay enjoyed comparative rest.

It was certain that some of the Burmese officials in Mandalay were fomenting seditious movements in the country. Suspicion fell upon the Shwehlan Myowun[157] and the Hlethin Atwinwun.[158] The Myowun was removed to India in virtue of a warrant issued under the invaluable Regulation III. of 1818. He was taken from his house by Mr. J. G. Scott,[159] who had joined the Commission and was on general duty in Mandalay. Their next meeting was at a pwè in Mandalay, on a memorable night in 1897, long after the Myowun had been allowed to return.[160] The Hlethin Atwinwun, most plausible and bland of miscreants, believed to have been deeply involved in the massacre of Princes, from whose hands one expected to see blood still dripping, was moved to visit Calcutta of his own accord in response to a general invitation given to Burmese Ministers by Lord Dufferin. He stayed in Calcutta for some years, much against his will, but solely under pressure of peaceful persuasion. He returned much chastened, and lived on good terms with the officers of Government till his death early last year.

In accordance with precedent not always observed, King Mindôn had moved his capital from Amarapura to Mandalay in the late fifties, transferring thither many of the inhabitants and all the entourage of the Court. The site was not in all respects well chosen. Much of the town was below the level of the river in high flood, and had to be protected by an embankment. In the rains of 1886 the Irrawaddy rose to an abnormal height, causing grave anxiety for the safety of the bund.[161] One night in August the disaster came. The embankment was breached, and the low-lying parts of the town, as far as the great bazaar (zegyo), were inundated. It was a night of peril and excitement, which taxed to the utmost the energies of the officers in charge of Mandalay, Captain Adamson, Mr. Carter, and Mr. Fforde. Till the river began to fall the town remained under water, and we all went about the streets in boats and launches. As the Burman is an amphibious being, and the people in the area menaced by the flood had ample warning, the loss of life was comparatively small. Searching inquiry established the conclusion that twelve persons were drowned. An even more melancholy loss of life occurred in connection with the distribution of rice to people rendered destitute by the flood. In a crowd in a narrow passage someone fell; the throng pushed forward unknowing, and many people were trampled to death before the press could be stayed.

One of the objects to which from the beginning the Chief Commissioner devoted the full force of his energy and influence was the continuation of the railway from Toungoo to Mandalay. By dint of constant and indefatigable pressure on the higher powers, and by steadfast resistance to the suggestion that a trunk road should first be made, he succeeded in obtaining sanction for this essential work. The survey was actually begun in the rains of 1886; construction was started early in November of that year; and in February, 1889, less than three years after the proclamation of annexation, the line was opened to traffic throughout its whole length. To those who have experienced the delay usually attending the grant of sanction to important and costly proposals, the most remarkable feature of this record is that leave should have been obtained in less than a year from the occupation of Mandalay. The construction of the line afforded work to great numbers of Burmans and others, and proved one of the most pacifying influences in the eastern districts. There were no engineering difficulties, and the climate enabled work to be carried on continuously throughout the year. The opening of the railway was hailed with joy by the Burmans, who expressed their appreciation in characteristic fashion, greeting passing trains with shouts of delight and crowding to travel in the mi-yahta.[162] It should never be forgotten that to Sir Charles Bernard alone the Province owes the inception of this work, as indeed in earlier days to his far-seeing policy it owed the construction of the railway from Rangoon to Pegu, and thence to Toungoo. Apparently Sir Charles Bernard furnished an exception to the rule that Indian civilians are persons of narrow horizon.

Among the measures taken at an early stage to facilitate the pacification of Upper Burma was the disarmament of the people. Orders to effect this were issued by Sir Charles Bernard, and some progress was made. It was, however, under Sir Charles Crosthwaite’s rule that, in the face of much opposition, the whole Province was effectually disarmed. No measure has had more excellent results in the prevention of serious disturbances. Though from time to time dacoits and robbers have become possessed of firearms, the thoroughness of the disarmament is proved by the inability of rebels in recent years to obtain guns and powder. The Arms Act has been very strictly enforced in Burma, the number of firearms in each district being strictly limited, with the most beneficial effect.

In the time of King Mindôn and King Thebaw many foreigners, mostly French and Italian, flocked to Mandalay and obtained various appointments in the King’s service. The downfall of the Burmese kingdom deprived these gentlemen of their employment. All had claims against the Burmese Government for arrears of pay, for goods sold, or for work done. Our Government naturally accepted responsibility for the lawful debts of its predecessor. The claims of foreign creditors were investigated as quickly as possible, and those established were discharged. Besides these, there were literally hundreds of other demands for payment of sums alleged to be due from the late Government. These claims were laboriously investigated and reinvestigated, and finally adjudicated upon by the Government of India. Substantial payments were made in settlement of debts sufficiently proved.

In those early days for most officers, military and civil, in Mandalay life was a ceaseless round of strenuous labour. For me it was intensely exciting. All day and often far into the night my time was fully occupied. The enthralling interest of seeing from within and from the centre the making of a new Province, of taking a humble share in the work, was a privilege which falls to few men in a generation. The receipt of reports from districts, the issue of the Chief Commissioner’s orders, daily contact with men of distinction in arms or civil affairs, the early morning ride with my Chief or with a comrade, sometimes even with the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Frederick Roberts, of whose kindness I have the pleasantest recollection, opportunities for the study of Burmese life and character, filled to overflowing the swiftly passing weeks. Bustle and excitement and good fellowship formed an exhilarating combination. All the holiday I had that year was a run down to Rangoon for a day to see my wife and family off to England. But who wanted holidays at such a time, when his work was far more interesting and stimulating than other people’s play? With Stevenson we might say that we had “the profit of industry with the pleasures of a pastime.”

It should hardly be necessary to say that in those early months the outskirts and fringes, the Shan States and the Chin and Kachin Hills, were untouched. It has been suggested that in dealing with the Shan country there was undue delay. Anyone who realizes how much there was to do in the plains, and how impossible it was to do everything at once, recognizes the futility of the suggestion. The Chins were left severely alone. The only attempt made this year to penetrate into the Kachin Hills was the luckless expedition to Pônkan,[163] which returned to Bhamo re infecta, to the extreme wrath of Sir Charles Bernard and Sir George White.