The Shan States occupied the whole of the east of Burma, stretching even beyond the Mèkong River. They constituted an integral part of the Burmese Empire, but were administered by their own hereditary chiefs, puny folk who grovelled before the pinchbeck Majesty of Burma, and were on a footing quite inferior to that of native rulers in India. The first of the Shan chiefs to open communication with us was the Sawbwa[164] of Hsipaw, or, as the Burmese called it, Thibaw, the State from which the late King derived his title. This enlightened chief had a romantic history which will bear retelling. Some years before, having quarrelled with the King, he fled for his life to Lower Burma. With a few attendants he took up his residence in Kemmendine, a suburb of Rangoon. Presently he came to believe, very likely with good reason, that at the King’s instigation two of his servants were plotting his death. Accustomed in his State to exercise the power of life and death, he tried them in his own mind, found them guilty, and executed them with his own hand, shooting them both. He was tried by the Recorder of Rangoon (Mr. C. F. Egerton Allen[165]) and a jury, convicted, and sentenced to death. The capital sentence was at once commuted to transportation for life, and the chief began to serve his term in the Rangoon jail, where he was at first set to do the usual hard labour required of prisoners. Mr. Crosthwaite, who was acting as Chief Commissioner, found him in this sad condition, and ordered material alleviation of his lot. The Sawbwa’s faithful Mahadevi,[166] who had accompanied her husband, besieged the Chief Commissioner with petitions for his release. Before long Mr. Crosthwaite yielded to her importunity and set free the Sawbwa on condition that he never returned to British territory. He went to the independent State of Karenni. At or about the time of the occupation of Mandalay he made his way back to Thibaw, and after a brief struggle regained possession of his State.
Quite early in 1886 the Sawbwa wrote to me, as Secretary to the Administration, saying that he had received much kindness from the British Government, and desired to be on terms of friendship with us. It has always seemed to me that this was a very magnanimous act. I agree that it also showed much wisdom. The Sawbwa was a man of great intelligence. He had seen and experienced the power of the British Government. No doubt he realized that he was dealing with a Government immeasurably stronger than that which it had displaced, and he saw his interest in being on good terms with it. I think, too, that he had a shining vision of becoming an independent Sovereign in alliance with India. After all these deductions are made, it implied true greatness of soul for a semi-civilized chief to remember the clemency which had spared his life, to forget the dock and the prison cell and work-yard. The correspondence begun by the Sawbwa was continued on cordial terms. Early in 1887, in spite of the passionate entreaties of his advisers, who were filled with gloomy forebodings, Kun Saing came down to Mandalay. This again showed courage and foresight. There was not a British officer or soldier in the length and breadth of the Shan States. Mandalay was full of troops. Though he brought a fairly large retinue, the Sawbwa knew that he was placing himself entirely in our power. His confidence was more than justified. He was received with some ceremony, Mr. J. E. Bridges, C.S., and I, as representatives of Government, meeting him at Aung-bin-le with a squadron of cavalry and a military band. Under this escort the Sawbwa made a triumphant entry into Mandalay, and was allowed even to ride through the Palace grounds. In the King’s time he might sooner have hoped to fly over them. Sir Frederick Roberts and Sir Charles Bernard were among the many spectators of the procession. Accompanied by the Mahadevi, the Sawbwa was suitably lodged in a Win[167] outside the city walls. The ladies in his train were somewhat scandalized at being photographed by an enthusiastic amateur before they had time to change out of riding kit. The Sawbwa’s amáts[168] continued in a state of alarm all the time they were in Mandalay. Their terror rose almost to frenzy when one day the Chief was taken for a picnic on the river in an Indian Marine vessel. Even the Chief was somewhat relieved when he landed safe and sound on the Hard.
The Sawbwa had the luck to be in Mandalay at the celebration of Queen Victoria’s first Jubilee. Partly in honour of that auspicious occasion, partly in recognition of his confidence and loyalty, the tribute of Thibaw was remitted for ten years, and three small adjacent States, Maing-lôn, Thônzè, and Maing-tôn, to which very shadowy claims had been preferred, were added to the Sawbwa’s territory. Sir Charles Bernard’s action in making over these States has been criticized. Viewing the case calmly after the lapse of years, I humbly think that his decision was wise. The suggestion of the risk of creating a powerful Shan State strong enough to be a menace to Government was plainly ridiculous. If all the Shan States were united under one Chief, he would not have as much power as the ruler of a second-class native State in India. Thibaw with its added sub-States could never be in a position to cause the Government of Burma a moment’s anxiety. On the other hand, a large and comparatively wealthy State is more easily managed and likely to be administered better than a lot of small tracts.
The Sawbwa of Thibaw.
Although Kun Saing was not an ideal ruler; although from time to time complaints were made against him; although, I believe unjustly, even his loyalty was doubted, he was an enlightened and intelligent chief of some subtlety. Twice in later years he visited England, where he had the honour of being received by Her Majesty Queen Victoria. The story, from first to last, has a ring of the Old Testament. The place most of all admired by the Sawbwa was the Crystal Palace (hman-nan-daw). Towards the end of his life, when the first signs of unrest in the East became dimly apparent, he is said to have contracted a secret marriage with the Pakangyi Supaya,[169] King Thebaw’s sister. Not that he meditated treason; but if anything should happen, he meant to be on the right side.
Two of Kun Saing’s sons were partly educated in England. The elder, Saw Hkè, succeeded his father, and is now the polished, courtly Chief of Thibaw. The story of Saw Lu, the younger son, is pathetic and instructive. When still a boy he was sent to England, and was for a time at Rugby. He was a studious and ambitious youth, whose desire was to be, not a King, but a doctor. Most unwisely, merely to see how he was getting on, his father recalled him, and he was turned loose in Thibaw at the age of about sixteen. The temptations besetting the Chief’s young son in his father’s capital were too strong for him, and he fell from grace. The cup of his iniquity brimmed over when he eloped with a young girl who had been selected as the Sawbwa’s Abishag. The fugitives were brought back, and the boy was cast into prison. “Is this your British justice?” he indignantly asked the political officer who came to condole with him. Presently he was released, and came to see me in Rangoon. “I don’t know what to do,” he said; “I have apologized to the governor, but he won’t forgive me.” He was an exceedingly good-looking, nice-mannered youth, like a pleasant English public-school boy. He was not allowed to return to England. Over his subsequent history it is kinder to draw a veil. The moral of this story is that if a Burman or Shan, especially a Chief’s son, is to come to England, he should be sent while still young, and should be kept at a good public school and at the University until his character has been formed. He should on no account be brought back midway in the course of his education.
Even more deeply learned in Shan than in Burmese, Pilcher would have been the first civil officer in the Shan States. After his death, I was designated by Sir Charles Bernard for that post. When the time came, another officer was selected. Speaking seriously and without reserve, I have no doubt that this was for the advantage of the Shan country. No one could have been more conspicuously successful than Mr. Hildebrand[170] and Mr. Scott;[171] no one is likely to have done nearly so well. In view of the original intention, in the cold weather of 1886 I was given a holiday from office-work, and sent as civil officer with a column under Colonel E. Stedman[172] to Thônzè. Through this State ran the trade route to the Northern Shan States, Thibaw, Theinni, and Taungbaing. Along this road came caravans of bullocks laden with letpet.[173] Owing to dissensions in Thônzè, the trade was stopped. The object of our expedition, the first sent into the Shan country, was to obtain information and to open the road for traders. Early in November, when the season should have been settled, on a fine Sunday afternoon, I rode out to join the rearguard at Tônbo. Next morning we were to catch up the main column at Zibingale. From Tônbo to Zibingale we climbed the hill in a torrent of rain, letting our ponies loose to scramble up the steep and rocky ascent, while the Gurkhas chaffed one another and laughed at the weather. At Zibingale we stayed under canvas in the rain for three days and three nights, quite comfortable in our tents, but rather aggrieved at having to wade knee-deep in mud to mess.