Four years in Upper Burma

by W. R. Winston

And here I must utter a strong protest against those illicit connections which so many of our countrymen, of almost every degree, form in Burma. It seems to many of them that because the marriage bond amongst the Burmans themselves is lax, and more or less of the nature of a temporary arrangement, and because the standard of social morality is low, it gives them the licence to make it still lower, and the union still looser, by forming still more temporary companionships with Burmese women. In the case of the Englishman I say still looser, for there is this difference between the Burman and the Englishman—that in the former case it is to all intents and purposes a marriage, and is not unlikely to prove lifelong, though it may terminate earlier, whereas the Englishman would scornfully refuse the title of wife for his native companion, or “housekeeper,” as he is pleased sometimes to call her, and he never intends the union to be anything but temporary. It is vain therefore to defend this practice from the standpoint of Burmese custom. It is mere concubinage, and in the name of the Christian religion, to which they nominally belong, I protest that no man has the right to inflict such a degrading position upon the mother of his children.

As regards the children of such unions, the result is still more cruel. They find themselves in a most invidious position. Of mixed descent, they belong neither to the English nor the Burmese race, and they suffer serious disadvantages accordingly. Moreover, the English are never permanently resident in Burma, and when the father is tired of the girl, his companion, or when his work, or his official duty, calls him to leave and go to a distant station, or when he goes “home” on furlough, or retires altogether from Burma, or when he marries an English wife in proper legal form, it ends in his paying off the mother and the children, if indeed he prove sufficiently honourable to do that. If she takes all this with a light heart, as she probably may, Burman-like, that does not lessen the guilt and the cruelty involved in such base desertion of his own helpless offspring. That such children are very often left in this way by their fathers, and that they become a charge on missionary bodies for their education, out of sheer pity for their English descent, and that these individuals often go eventually to swell the community of “Poor Whites,” a class very difficult to provide for—all these are facts too well known in Burma, and in India, to be disputed. These facts should make the young Englishman pause before he follows this evil but prevalent example, surrenders himself to his appetites, and foolishly surrounds himself with ties which are degrading and unworthy, and which he cannot fairly justify or defend, and which he would never think of acknowledging to his mother and sisters “at home.” These considerations ought to make him consider whether he had not better, by early frugality, save his funds, so that he may the sooner be in a position to woo and provide for a wife of his own nation and people, who can be a true companion for him. This evil is one of considerable dimensions in Burma, and holding up social evils to the light of day is one means of seeking their removal.

One day I received a letter from a godly man in Ireland, who wrote asking me to go and see his son, a sergeant in the regiment then stationed in Mandalay. He was under an assumed name, a thing not unusual in the army. His father had not heard from him for ten years, but had just received a letter. It was a sad case—the old story—formerly in a very good position in the Excise in Ireland; drink his ruin. He lost his position, and finding himself at length in distress, enlisted. Being well educated he was soon promoted, but again and again got into trouble through drinking. This went on for years, until at last by sheer desperate effort he managed to pull himself together, feeling sure that if he went on much longer at the rate he was going, he would soon be in his grave. He admitted to me that though he had not, when I saw him, tasted liquor for over a year, the craving that came upon him sometimes was almost insupportable. I urged him to seek the converting grace of God, and get Divine help, which alone could keep straight one in his dangerous position, but he could not see it. I sat with him over an hour that afternoon, and he wept freely; we wept together as we talked about his home, his father, and the days of childhood and innocence, and as he recounted to me the story of his life. Soldiers and sailors are amongst the most candid and approachable of men with the chaplain, and I never find the least difficulty in getting at their hearts. But there was a peculiar difficulty in his case in another respect. He believed in his father, and there was much tenderness in his mind with regard to sacred things, but he seemed to be utterly sceptical as to Divine grace ever reaching him; and it was only with the utmost difficulty that I could get him to kneel in prayer. There seemed to be some hindrance that I could not remove. He came by invitation to my house, and spent an evening with us, but with a like result, and he steadily refrained from attending any of our services. Very shortly after I became acquainted with him, his regiment left for England, and I saw him no more. Let us hope that the scenes of home life once more, and other kindred influences, led to the completion of that work of grace and reformation, the beginning of which was evidenced by his long abstinence from liquor, his writing once more to his father, and the evident feeling he manifested when conversing about home and sacred things.

Where the habit of drinking has become confirmed it is often very difficult to effect a radical cure; consequently looking after such cases as I am describing, where the drink appetite and other gross sins have complicated the situation, is never so hopeful and encouraging. Nevertheless we have no reason to lose hope of any; and cases occur sometimes of the complete reformation of persons who have sunk very low indeed, and long seemed hopeless. In this connection I should like to acknowledge the very satisfactory results that have attended the universal establishment, throughout the British Army in our Indian Empire, of that society known as the Army Temperance Association. This society owes its origin to the efforts of a Baptist missionary in India, the Rev. Gelson Gregson, who started the movement some few years ago. Its working is similar to other temperance organisations, with the exception that it is purposely and specially adapted to the idiosyncrasies and the peculiar circumstances of Thomas Atkins in a tropical climate, far away from “home,” and with much spare time on his hands. The great reason why it flourishes is that it really offers counter attractions, such as a soldier can appreciate, to the canteen as a place of resort, with its hilarity and good fellowship, and without any temptation to intoxication.

Chief among these attractions is a room set apart for the purpose, where the members of the Army Temperance Association can resort when off duty; a small concession, one would have thought, that might long ago have been less grudgingly and more frequently made to temperance, but really a great matter to the soldier. This, with the necessary refreshment bar for the sale of food, tea and cooling drinks, with a few games to occupy their spare time, and a supply of newspapers and books, forms a basis. The organisation itself is fitted to meet the case of soldiers. A small monthly fee is paid for membership; they elect their own officials from amongst themselves, there is a periodical published by the Secretary at headquarters as the organ of the association, there is a bestowal of medals and decorations, in tangible recognition of abstinence on the part of members, for given lengths of time, and the surplus funds are expended in little entertainments such as they like. It is a matter of much gratification to us in the Burma mission, that the chaplain selected by the military authorities at present, to fill the post of Secretary of the Army Temperance Association, is our former comrade and colleague, the Rev. J. H. Bateson, who in 1887-8 was with us as Wesleyan Chaplain to the Upper Burma Field Force, and we heartily wish him success in the work for which he is so well fitted.

It is a matter of great thankfulness that the Army Temperance Association is not only fully recognised in our Indian army, but that it is a standing order that a branch of it has to be maintained in every regiment and battery. Joining is optional on the part of the men. This wise course has been amply justified by the results. Sixteen thousand out of a total of nearly seventy thousand men are enrolled. It is now found that in proportion as the Army Temperance Association flourishes, both crime and sickness in the army diminish; and so far from soldiers needing liquor to sustain them, they are found far better without it, both in cantonments and in the field. In fact, it is calculated that every five thousand men in the association means a battalion of men less in prison and in hospital, and fit for duty. The wonder is not that such should be found to be the case, but that it should have taken so many years to find it out. In the mission we took our stand, of course, on the side of total abstinence, and embraced every opportunity of advocating this movement, in military and civil life, both amongst men and amongst women.

We met from time to time with cases of genuine conversion that gave us great joy. Our Sunday evening English service was always followed by an after meeting for prayer and exhortation, and made an opportunity, for any who wished to lead a new life, to give their hearts to the Saviour. Again and again it was our delight to guide those who were seeking to do so, at first in Buddhist monasteries, and pagodas, and anywhere that we could find for the meetings, often with images of Gautama, and other accessories of Buddhist worship around, and later on in our own mission school-chapel. I remember one Sunday evening in particular, the Word came home to many hearts, and that evening, and in the course of the week, I had the privilege of close conversation with several, and some of our Christian members spoke with others who had been awakened by the influence of the Spirit. Amongst the rest I had a request, through a soldier, to the effect that Corporal S. would like to talk with me. I went and met him, and conversed for half an hour in the barrack yard answering his question, “What must I do to be saved?” The circumstances of his awakening were peculiar. A certain passage of Scripture had followed him wherever he had gone. The last Sunday, just before sailing for India, his mother had requested him to go with her to the service, and that had been the text. At Malta he had heard another sermon from the same text. The first time he attended service after he landed in India it had been the same. And a fourth time had he heard it preached from at Shwebo in Upper Burma. This had naturally produced a considerable impression on his mind, which the sermon of the previous Sunday evening had developed into decision to serve the Lord. With a little instruction and prayer he was soon hopefully converted, and happy in the Lord.

It is sometimes urged, as an objection against earnest efforts for the conversion of sinners, that the results attending such efforts are not always abiding; but surely no objection could be more illogical or more ungenerous. If it applies at all, it applies with equal force against any and every attempt to save men. It may just as well be alleged against the most formal and perfunctory of ministrations as against the more direct and strenuous efforts to pluck men out of the fire. The proper logical outcome of that objection is, “Do nothing at all.” We might just as well do nothing as make the Gospel a mere “light to sink by.” A chaplain amongst soldiers must often feel a painful sense of disappointment at some results of his work, which are evanescent. The life of the barrack-room necessarily produces, especially in India, such an artificial condition of things, and involves such a departure from the Divine ordinance, which is the family, that it must needs bring with it special trials and stress of temptation to any of the dwellers there who desire to lead a godly life. Hence every chaplain has his disappointments over those who grow weary in well-doing. And yet, on the other hand, such is the principle of compensation running through the kingdom of grace, that although barrack-room discipline is bad for the weak Christian, it strengthens the man of determination, and I question whether there are to be found anywhere triumphs of saving grace more marvellous than we find in the army, or more touching examples of humble, sincere and consistent piety.

We had in the battery of Royal Artillery stationed in Mandalay a man whose career had been a peculiarly rough one, but who is now a very bright Christian. He had led a wild life. He was a blacksmith by trade, and, from his youth up, had been in the habit of spending all he possibly could in beer, and, as is usually the case, the beer often made a mere brute and vagabond of him. He first enlisted in a cavalry regiment, from which, after being often in trouble, he deserted. For a time he got work, but he still betook himself to the beer, and the beer made him talk, and let out his former connection with the army, so that he frequently had to disappear hurriedly, lest he should be arrested as a deserter. Finding himself in want, he enlisted again, this time in the Royal Engineers. From this corps he received his discharge in consequence of an illness. Recovering, and entering once more on a course of dissipation, he enlisted a third time, in the Royal Artillery. The Jubilee year gave him the opportunity to confess his former desertion, and to secure his share in the general pardon, extended by the Queen to all such cases that year; and it was not long before the King of kings granted him His pardon also. Whilst stationed at Woolwich, he happened one evening, when feeling extremely dejected, to enter the Soldiers’ Home. The Wesleyan chaplain met him there, spoke to him kindly, and invited him to a meeting. He went. It was a fellowship meeting. He heard a number of his comrades speak, but so dark was his mind in reference to religion, that he could not understand them in the least. However, he gathered that they possessed some source of comfort and joy within, of which he knew nothing. He followed it up, became truly converted, and whilst with us in Mandalay lived a most exemplary life, and exerted a very gracious influence amongst his comrades. Religion had quickened, as it often does, that once darkened and besotted nature; and I have seldom met with a better example of the transforming, elevating power of the Gospel, the power to keep and sanctify, as well as save.