Henty George Alfred
On the Irrawaddy: A Story of the First Burmese War
Ten days after he had finished the work, he heard the sound of men's voices and, peeping out, saw a Burmese officer with a party of eight armed men going to the Phongee's cell. It was possible that they might have come on other business, but it was more probable they had come in search of him. Some of the women who had come up to the hermit had seen him at work; and might have mentioned, on their return, that the priest had a man at work clearing away the bushes. The matter might have come to the ears of some officer anxious to distinguish himself, and the idea that this was the prisoner for whom a search was being made occurred to him.
Stanley shrank back into his cell, took up the bundle of clothes that served as his pillow, got on to the bed and, standing on it, was able to get his fingers on to the top of the wall. He hoisted himself up, made his way through the boughs of the roof, and dropped on to the ground outside. Then he went round by the back of the temple, until he stood outside the priest's cell, and could hear the voices within without difficulty.
"Then you know nothing whatever of this man?"
"Nothing whatever," he replied. "As I have told you, he came to me and asked for shelter. I gave him such poor assistance as I could, as I should give it to anyone who asked me. He has been no burden upon me, for he has killed enough snakes for my food and his own."
"You know not of what part he is a native?"
"Not at all; I asked him no questions. It was no business of mine."
"Could you form any idea from his speech?"
"His speech was ours. It seemed to me that it was that of a native of the lower provinces."
"Where is he now?"
"I know not."
"You say that, at present, he is away."
"Not seeing him in front, I thought he had gone out; for he comes and goes as he pleases. He is not a hired servant, but a guest. He cut down the bushes here, in order that he might more easily kill the snakes; for which, indeed, I am thankful to him, not only for the food that they afford, but because they were in such abundance, and so fearless, that they often came in here, knowing that they had naught to fear from me."
"Then you think that he will return soon?"
"As he told me not of his intention of going out at all, I cannot say. He is away, sometimes, for hours in the forest."
"Well, in any case, we shall watch here until his return. It may be that he is some idle fellow, who prefers killing snakes to honest work; but it may also be that he is the escaped prisoner of whom we are in search."
"I hear little of what passes in the town," the priest said, quietly. "News would disturb my meditations, and I never question those who come here to ask for my prayers. I have heard of the escape of no prisoner."
"It was a young English officer who got away. There has been a great stir about it. Every house in the town has been searched, and every guard boat on the river has been warned to allow no boat to pass, without assuring themselves that he is not on board."
"This was a brown man, like ourselves, clad only in a petticoat of rough cloth, like other peasants."
"He may have dyed his skin," the officer said. "At any rate, we will stay until he returns, and question him. Two of my men shall take their places just inside the entrance, and seize him as he enters. Has he arms?"
"None, save his knife and the stick with which he kills the snakes. It may be that he has seen you coming hither and, if he has committed any crime, he would flee, and not return here at all."
"If he does not come back before it is the hour when I must return to the town, I shall leave four men to watch for him; and they will wait here, if it is for a week, until he comes back again."
"You can do as you please," the priest said, "only I pray you withdraw your men from the neighbourhood of this cell. I would not that my meditations were disturbed by their talk. I have come hither for peace and quietness, and to be apart from the world and its distractions."
"You shall not be disturbed," the officer said respectfully, and Stanley heard a movement of feet, and then the closing of the door.
Thinking it probable that the officer might make a search round the temple, he at once made off into the wood behind the temple. As soon as he was well among the trees, he exchanged his cloth for the disguise he had worn in the town and, folding it up to be used as a blanket at night, he went further into the wood, sat down, and proceeded to think what his next step had best be. It was evident that he could not return to the temple for the present; and it was clear, also, that the search for him was still maintained, and that it would not be safe to attempt to descend the river. He regretted that he had been obliged to leave the place without saying goodbye to the priest, and again thanking him for the shelter that he had given him; but he was sure that, when he did not return, the old man would guess that he had caught sight of the officer and his party entering the temple, and had at once fled. Had he not known that the guard would remain there, he would have waited until they returned to the town, and would then have gone in and seen the priest; but as they would remain there for some days, he thought it was as well to abandon all idea of returning, as the suspicions that he might be the man sought for would be heightened by his continued absence, and the watch might be continued for a long time, on the chance of his coming back.
He concluded that, at any rate, his best course would be to endeavour to make his way for a considerable distance down the country; and then to try and get a boat. He knew that the country near the river was comparatively thickly populated, and that the distances between the villages were not great, so that he would find no great difficulty in purchasing provisions. The dress he had brought with him was not altogether unfavourable for such a purpose, as he could easily pass as a sub-officer, whose duty it was to inquire whether the villages had each sent all their able-bodied men to the war. The only drawback to it would be that, if instructions for his arrest had been sent down to the villages along the road, as well as those by the river, they would have probably been directed to specially look for one clad in such attire. However, it would be open to him, at any moment, to take to his peasant's disguise again.
He at last determined to make a start and, by nightfall, had traversed several miles through the great forest stretching along by the side of the Panlaung river. He had asked many questions of his friend the officer, as they went up to the temple, as to the roads. He was told that there was one running almost due south to Ramuthayn, by which he could travel down to Rangoon, by way of Tannoo. This, however, would take him a long distance from the main river, and he decided that he would presently strike the road that ran about halfway between the hills and the Irrawaddy. He would follow that for a time, and would try and strike the river somewhere between Meloun and Keow-Uan.
Below this point there was a network of rivers, and but few villages, and the country was swampy and unhealthy. He infinitely preferred the risks of the descent by the river to those by road; and it seemed to him that, if he could but obtain possession of one of the small native fishing boats, he could drop down at night, unnoticed, as the width of the river at Ava was upwards of a thousand yards and, below that town, often considerably exceeded that breadth.
When it became too dark to proceed further, he sat down at the foot of a tree. He regretted that he had no means of lighting a fire; and determined that, at any risk, he would obtain the means of doing so at the first village that he came to–for he knew that there were both tigers and leopards in the jungles. He thought, however, that they were not likely to be numerous, so near the capital; and the old priest had never alluded to them as a source of danger though, indeed, it had never occurred to him to ask.
In the morning he continued his way. He had gone but a mile when he heard a sudden scream in the wood, a short distance to his left. Feeling sure that it was a human being, in great fear or pain, he drew his knife and ran, at the top of his speed, in the direction of the cry; thinking that it might be some man, or woman, attacked by the robbers of the forest.
Suddenly he came upon a small open space, some twenty yards in diameter. He hesitated, when his eyes fell on a group in the centre. Two men were lying on the ground, and a leopard stood with a paw on each of them. They had guns lying beside them, and a fire was burning close by. He guessed that the animal had sprung from a tree, one of whose boughs extended almost as far as the centre of the opening. Probably it had killed one of the men in its spring for, at the moment when he saw the animal, it was licking the blood from the shoulder of the man on whom its right paw rested. The other was, as far as Stanley could see, unhurt.
His tread in the light Burmese shoes had been almost noiseless; and the leopard, which was keeping up a low growling, and whose back was towards him, had apparently not noticed it. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to endeavour to save the man who was still alive. Creeping up stealthily, he gave a sudden spring upon the leopard, and buried his knife to the hilt in its body, just behind the shoulder.
With a terrible roar, it rolled over for a moment, and then struggled to its feet. The time had been sufficient for Stanley to pick up and cock one of the guns and, as the leopard turned to spring at him, he aimed between its eyes and fired. Again the beast rolled over, and Stanley caught up the other gun, thrust the muzzle within a foot of its head, and fired. The leopard gave a convulsive quiver, and lay dead.
Chapter 5: With Brigands
Stanley uttered an involuntary hurrah as the leopard expired; and at the sound the Burman, who had been lying motionless, leapt to his feet. He looked at the leopard, and then at his rescuer, and exclaimed in a tone of astonishment:
"You have slain the beast alone, and with no weapon but your knife!"
"No," Stanley replied; "I began the fight with my knife, only; but caught up one of those guns when I wounded him, and fired as he charged me. Then I finished him with the other."
"Comrade," the Burman said, "you have done a great deed, with courage. I, who am esteemed no coward, would never even have thought of attacking that great leopard with but a knife, and that to save the life of a stranger."
"I saw the guns lying on the ground. Had it not been for that, I should not have dared to attack the leopard, for it would have been certain death."
"Certain death, indeed. But tell me, first, how you did it. It seems to me well nigh a miracle."
"I was passing along, not far distant, when I heard your cry," Stanley said. "Thinking that it was some person in distress, I ran hither, and saw you both lying, with the leopard's forepaws upon you. The beast's back was turned to me and, as it was growling, it had not heard my approach. Seeing the guns lying there–and having no doubt that they were loaded–I stole up, sprang suddenly on the leopard, and drove my knife into it behind the shoulder. The blow rolled it over, and gave me time to pick up the gun. The rest was easy."
The man, without a word, examined the body of the leopard.
"It is as you say," he said. "It was well struck, and would probably have been fatal; but the animal would have torn you in pieces before he died, but for the guns.
"Well, comrade, you have saved my life; and I am your servant, so long as I live. I thought all was over with me. The leopard, as it sprang, threw its full weight on my comrade, here. We had just risen to our feet; and the blow struck me, also, to the ground. I raised that cry as I fell. I lay there, immovable. I felt the leopard's paw between my shoulders, and heard its angry growlings; and I held my breath, expecting every moment to feel its teeth in my neck.
"I had but one hope, namely, that the beast would carry off my comrade–who, I was well assured, was dead–to the jungle to devour him, and would then come back to fetch me. I managed to breathe once, very quietly, when I felt a movement of the leopard and, hearing a low sound, guessed that he was licking my comrade's blood; but slightly as I moved, the leopard noticed it, and stood straight up again over me. I dared not breathe again, but the time had come when I felt that I must do so, though I was sure that it would be the signal for my death.
"Then I knew not what had happened. There was a sharp pain as the leopard's claws contracted, and then there was a loud roar, and its weight was removed from me. Then I heard it snarl, as if about to spring. Then came the sound of a gun, a fall, and a struggle; and then the sound of another gun. Then I heard your shout, and knew the beast was dead.
"Now, sir, what can I do for you? Shall I first skin the leopard?"
"I care not for the skin," Stanley said. "It would be of no use to me."
"Then, with your permission, I will take it off, and keep it as long as I live, as a remembrance of the narrowest escape that I ever had."
"Is your comrade dead?"
"Yes," the man replied. "The leopard struck him between the shoulders as you see; and the force of the blow, and the weight of the spring, must have killed him instantaneously."
"Then I will take his sword, gun, and cartridges."
So Stanley undid the sword belt, and buckled it round him; put the bandolier of cartridges over his shoulders; and took up the gun and reloaded it, while the man was at work skinning the leopard. This operation the man performed with great speed. It was evidently one that he had done before. As soon as the beast was flayed, he rolled up the skin and placed it on his shoulder.
"You are an officer, sir?" he asked.
"No; I am a fugitive."
While he had been watching the man, Stanley had debated over whether he should confide in him; and thought that, after the service he had rendered him, he could do so with safety.
"I am an Englishman–I was captured by Bandoola, at Ramoo, and sent a prisoner to Ava. I have escaped, and want to make my way down to Rangoon; but I heard that orders had been sent along the river to arrest me, and I do not, at present, know how to make my way down."
"Come with me," the man said. "I have friends in the forest, some distance from here. They will receive you gladly, when I tell them what you have done for me; and you will be safe until you choose to go. We are outlaws but, at present, we are masters of the forest. The government has its hands full, and there is no fear of their disturbing us."
Stanley thought over the matter, for a minute or two. Doubtless it was a robber band that he was asked to join, but the offer seemed to promise safety, for a time.
"I agree," he said, "so that you do not ask me to take part in any deeds of violence."
"About that, you shall do as you like," the man said; "but I can tell you that we make good hauls, sometimes. Our difficulty is not to capture booty, but to dispose of it.
"Have you a turban? For that helmet of yours is out of place, in the woods. The rest of your dress has nothing peculiar about it, and would attract no attention."
"I have a turban. I have been, lately, in the dress of a peasant. The cloth I wore lies fifty yards away; I dropped it as I ran. It will be useful to cover me at night, if for nothing else."
Stanley exchanged the helmet for the turban that he had before worn, and fetched the cloth.
"Will you bury your companion?" he said.
"It would be useless. He will sleep above ground, as well as below and, if we are to reach my comrades tonight, it is time for us to be moving."
They at once set out. After five hours' walking, they came upon the river Myitnge, the tributary that falls into the Irrawaddy at Ava. It was some four hundred yards across. The Burman walked along its banks for a short distance, and then pulled from a clump of bushes a small boat, that was just capable of carrying two. He put it in the water. They took their seats, and paddled across to the other side; where he carefully concealed it, as before.
"That is our ferry boat," he said. "It is not often used, for our headquarters are in the great forest we shall presently come to; but it is as well when, occasionally, parties are sent out to hunt us, to have the means of crossing to the other side."
Another two hours' walking, through cultivated fields, brought them to the edge of the forest.
"Here you are as safe as if you were in Rangoon," the Burman said. "In another hour we shall reach my comrades. As a rule, we change our headquarters frequently. At present there is no question of our being disturbed; so we have settled ourselves, for a time."
"Why were you and your comrade on the other side of the river?
"His village lies five miles beyond that forest," the man said. "At ordinary times, he dared not venture there; but he thought that, at present, most of the able men would be away, and so he could pay a visit to his friends. He asked me to accompany him and, as I had nothing better to do, I agreed to go. A convoy of traders, too strong to be attacked, had passed down from the hill country the morning before we started. There was not much probability that anyone would come again, for a few days."
"They bring down rubies from there, do they not?"
"The mines are the property of the emperor," the man said, "and the gems are sent down, once every two months, under a strong guard; but for all that, many of the traders bring rubies down from there–of course, secretly. The men who work the mines often conceal stones that they come upon, and sell them for a small sum to the traders; besides, sometimes the peasants pick them up elsewhere–and these, too, make haste to sell them for anything that they can get. We do not care for them much, for it is a risky business going down to Ava to sell them; and the traders there, knowing that, at a word from them, we should be arrested and most likely executed, will give us next to nothing for them. We prefer silver and lead for money; and garments, arms, and set jewels.
"Each man takes his share of what is captured and, when we have enough, we go home to our villages. A pound of silver, or two or three pounds of lead, are generally quite enough to buy the goodwill of the head man of the village. We give out that we have been working on the river, or in Ava, since we left; and everyone knows better than to ask questions."
In another hour, they reached the encampment. It was now dusk, and some five-and-twenty men were sitting round a great fire. A number of leafy arbours had been constructed in a circle beyond them.
"What, returned so soon!" one of the men said, as Stanley's guide came near enough for the firelight to fall on his face; "but where is Ranji, and whom have you brought here–a new recruit?"
"Not exactly, Parnik, but one to whom I have promised shelter, for a while. Ranji is dead. I should have been dead, too, and eaten; had it not been for my comrade, here. Here is the skin of the beast who slew Ranji and, when I tell you that the leopard stood with one paw on me, you may guess that my escape was a narrow one."
"The brute was a large one," one of the other men said, as Meinik–for such was the name of Stanley's companion–unrolled and held the skin up. "I see it had a bullet between the eyes, and another just behind the ear; and there is a knife cut behind the shoulder. It must have been hot work, when it came to knives, with a beast of that size."
"Give us some food, and cocoa; we have eaten nothing today, and have walked far. When we have fed, I will tell you my story."
The Burman's recital of the adventure with the leopard excited great applause, and admiration, from his comrades.
"'Tis wonderful," one said, "not so much that our new comrade should have killed the leopard, though that was a great feat; but that, armed only with a knife, he should attack a beast like this, to save the life of a stranger. Truly I never heard of such a thing. Has he all his senses?"
Meinik nodded. He had received permission from Stanley to say who he was. Stanley had consented with some reluctance, but the man assured him that he could trust his companions, as well as himself; and that it was much better to tell the truth, as it would soon be seen that his features differed altogether from their own and that, therefore, he was some strange person in disguise.
"He is in his senses," he said, "but he does not see things as we do. He is one of those English barbarians who have taken Rangoon, and against whom our armies are marching. He was captured at Ramoo; and sent by Bandoola, as a prisoner, to Ava. He has made his escape and will, in a short time, go down the river; but at present the search is too hot for him. So you see that he is, like ourselves, a fugitive."
"What is his age?" one of the men asked, after a silence, during which they all gazed at the newcomer.
"He is but a lad, being as he tells me between sixteen and seventeen; but you see his skin is stained, and his face marked, so as to give him the appearance of age."
"If the men of his race are as brave as he is, Meinik, our troops will truly have harder work than they think to drive them into the sea. Does he speak our tongue?"
"Yes," Stanley answered for himself. "I have been more than two years in the province of Chittagong, and learned it from one who was in our service."
"And would many of your people risk their lives in the way you did, for a stranger?"
"Certainly. Many men constantly run risks as great to save others."
"One life is all a man has," the Burman said. "Why should he give it for a stranger?"
"I don't think that we stop to think of that," Stanley said. "It seems to us natural that if we see another in danger of his life, we should try to save it; whether it is a man or woman, whether it be from fire or from any other fate."
"You must be a strange people," the Burman said gravely, "and I should scarce have credited it, had I not heard that you had done it, yourself. But it is wonderful; and you, too, a lad who has not yet come to his full strength.
"We should be glad to have such a man for our comrade, my friends. Whether he be Burman or English matters little. He has risked his life for one of us; and he is our brother as long as he likes to stay with us."
There was a warm exclamation of assent, round the circle; and Stanley felt that he had no cause for uneasiness, as long as he remained with them. In the evening the men sang many songs and, at their request, Stanley sang some English ones, choosing some with lively airs. The Burmese were much pleased and surprised at these, and joined merrily in the chorus.
Half a dozen of them then set to work with their knives, cut down some saplings and boughs, and constructed for Stanley an arbour similar to the others; and he lay down well satisfied with the results of his adventure, and feeling that he could remain with these merry fellows, criminals though they might be, until it would be safe to make his way down the river.
In the morning the men started early, leaving him in charge of the fire. They went off in parties of four or five, to watch the various roads leading to the capital; two or three of them, dressed as peasants, going to towns where travellers would halt, so as to gain information as to any party coming down. When they gathered again, at dusk, one party only had had any success. They had met six merchants coming down with horses laden with spices, indigo, and cotton. These had offered no resistance, and they had taken as much as they could carry, and then allowed them to go on with the rest of their goods. There was a general feeling of regret that the party had not been more numerous; and some expressions of anger, at the spies on the road by which the traders had come, for not letting them know beforehand, so that they could have placed their whole force there and carried away all the goods.
"These are the things that suit us best," Meinik said to Stanley. "You see, one can go down with a parcel of cinnamon or pepper, or a bag of dyes, or fifty pounds of cotton into the town; and sell it in the market, at a fair and proper price. Of course, one dresses one's self as a small cultivator; and there is no suspicion, whatever, that all is not right.
"We shall keep a sharp lookout for the men, as they come back again, and relieve them of the silver or goods they may have taken in exchange; that is, if they come by the same road–but it is more likely that, after their adventure today, they will choose some other, or take a guide and travel by village tracks. No doubt they think that they have got off easily, for they have not lost more than a quarter of their goods. It is war time now, and there is no fear of a force being sent against us; but usually we do not take so much as a quarter of the merchandise. Were they to lose everything, they would make complaints; and then we should have a force sent up against us, and be obliged to move away, for a time. But as it is, they are so pleased with getting the greater part of their goods safe to market that they do not care to make a fuss about it; for they might have to pay the court officials, and others, more than the value of the goods lost."
"They do not often resist, then?"
"Not often. If a man loses his goods, he can gather more again; but when his life has gone, everything has gone. Besides, as a rule we take care that we are so strong that they see, at once, that resistance would be hopeless. Sometimes they bring armed guards with them. These are men who make it their business to convoy traders down, when the times are troubled. Sometimes we have fights with these but, as a rule, we seldom attack them unless we are so strong that they do not dare to oppose us. Still, we do have fights sometimes, for these Shan guards are brave fellows. Their convoys are generally rich ones, for it would not pay small traders to hire men to protect them.
"In times of peace, we seldom stop long in one neighbourhood for, when it once becomes known what road we are lying near, they come along in parties too strong to be attacked and, as it matters little to us where we live, we move away perhaps a hundred miles, and then settle on another line of traffic. We have not been here long; we were last down by Tannoo, and did well for a long time there; until at last the governor raised all the villagers, and hunted the woods, and we found that we had to leave. I expect we shall stay here some time, now. There is no fear of troops being sent out, and we can afford not to press too hardly on travellers; for we have done so well, of late, that we could separate and return to our homes, each with a good store of booty. Half our number did leave, when we came up from the south; and more of us would go, if it were not for this order that everyone shall join the army. It is much pleasanter to live here, free to do as we like, than to be driven down like a herd of beasts, to fight. Besides, we have no quarrel with your people. It was the officials at Aracan who began it; let them fight, if they like."
Stanley remained a fortnight with the band. At the end of that time, they heard that a party of thirty traders were coming down together, and that they had with them ten armed guards. This, they no doubt supposed, was ample protection for, as the band generally worked in such small parties, it was believed that there were but a few outlaws in the forest. All the band went out, and returned in the evening, laden with spoil. Two or three of them were wounded, but not severely.
"So you had resistance today, Meinik."
"It lasted only for a minute," the man said. "As soon as they saw how strong we were, the guard were glad enough to put up their swords and let us bind them hand and foot, while we searched the merchants. As you see, we have made a good capture, though we have not seized more than a fifth of what they brought down with them; but it will take them some time to pack their bales again, for we searched everything thoroughly, and made all the merchants strip, and searched their clothes and their hair."
"What did you do that for?"
"Well, it was this way. I said to my comrades, as we went along this morning:
"'The Englishman is going to leave us, in a day or two. I have not forgotten what I owe him, and should like to make him a present. I propose that we search all the party thoroughly, today. From what we heard, some of them come from the ruby country, and are pretty sure to have gems concealed about them, or in their baggage. I propose that all the stones we find we will give to our friend.'
"They all agreed at once for, as you know, they all like you; and rubies, as I told you, are of little use to us, for we cannot dispose of them without great risk. So they did as I proposed, and had good fortune. Twelve out of the number had gems hidden about them, and some of them a good lot. You need not hesitate to take them, for you may be sure that they bought them, for next to nothing, from poor fellows who had risked their lives to hide them.
"There they are. We have not looked at them, but just emptied the parcels into this bag, as we found them. Of course, they are all rough stones. You must take them as a present, from all of us; and as a proof that a Burman, even if he is but a robber, is grateful for such a service as that you rendered him."
Stanley felt that he could not refuse a gift so offered, even though the goods were stolen. As Meinik said, the gems were of little use to the robbers, since they were afraid to try and dispose of them; and their owners had themselves broken the law in having purchased them, and had doubtless given sums bearing no proportion to their real value. Therefore he thanked Meinik very heartily; and also, after they had had their meal, the rest of the band, who made very light of the matter.
