Recollections of Thirty-nine Years in the Army

On either side the country changes gradually in appearance; at first an uninterrupted level, then undulating, the inequalities greater and greater as we proceed. Now the dim outline of the Arracan Yoma range looms in the distance; we reach the high bold promontory of Akouk-tong, round the base of which the Irawaddy rushes violently. On its river-face several rude carvings represent Buddha; on its summit and landward declivity stand pagodas of various sizes, the whole connected with each other by winding pathways. During the war of 1852 the Burmese erected a powerful battery upon the summit of that promontory, for the capture of which a party, under command of Captain Gardener, was landed from the Enterprise. Unhappily it fell into an ambuscade, its commander beheaded, his head carried away as a trophy of victory. More and more distinctly the hills of Prome came into view; forests of teak, interspersed with patches of custard-apple trees, were seen clothing their sides, tracts of underwood everywhere. Now we obtain glimpses of a well-made military road, to be used if need be by troops from Akayab to this place.

Prome is a city or town of considerable importance; its chief products, lac, petroleum, silk, and lacquer. Occupying an elevated site is “The Holy Hair Pagoda,” smaller in dimensions than its counterpart the Shoay Dagon at Rangoon; like it, approached by an extensive flight of steps, on either side of which is a long series of mythological figures. A variety of bells, large and small, swung from stands, at short intervals among the buildings connected with the temple proper. These bells, when struck by a mallet of deer’s horn, suspended from their stands for the purpose, emit a sound of surprising sweetness. In the second Burmese War, namely that of 1852, Prome was taken possession of by our troops on October 11.

Thyet Myo is reached after a few such mishaps as are incidental to travel on the Irawaddy; among them breaks-down of machinery, leaking of steam boilers, running “fast” upon sand-banks, getting doubled up in the coils of rafts, and so on. As on the occasion of our departure from Madras, so on disembarking here, a guard of honour, with regimental band and colour, salutes the chief; hospitable friends330 invite us to their houses; our party is comfortably and well provided for.

Thyet Myo, otherwise “Mango city,” has a history which dates back to A.D. 250. In 1854 cantonments for British troops were erected near to it, on a site so situated as to command the passage of the Irawaddy. In 1857 the river deserted its old bed, making for itself a new one at least a mile and a half distant, thus destroying the purpose originally in view.

A tedious ride through thorny jungle, then along what was intended to become a main line of road to Mendoon, took us to a series of petroleum wells at Pendouk-ben. Regarding them great expectations were entertained, and energetic endeavours were in progress accordingly; but so far, their produce was limited to the oozing in small quantities of “oil” from the sides of wells in course of formation in the schistoze rock. Subsequently, that industry, there and elsewhere in the country, has attained great importance.

Official duties over at Thyet Myo, our journey was resumed, all arrangements made beforehand for an expected interesting if somewhat arduous progress through the extensive forest that occupies the tract of territory between the rivers Irawaddy and Sitang, including what is called “the great Yoma range” of mountains, or more properly speaking, hills. Our first move was to cross the first-named river and encamp on its further bank. Next morning, we four331 began our real trip, all mounted, the large body of “followers” of all sorts composing our escort making their way on foot.

Our progress during the next four days was along “roads” the roughness and other difficulties of which rapidly increased as we went on; villages and patches of cultivation became smaller and less frequent; the people showed themselves curious to see the kalas, or white foreigners, their own state of raggedness and dirt offensive to look upon.

We had reached the densest part of the forest, at a point whence our further progress was to be by elephants, a track being made in the jungle by a number of men sent before us for that purpose. We reached a stockaded village, such a defence in this secluded spot being very necessary against marauders. The forest resounds with the voices of birds, from the resplendent plumage of some of which the sunlight is reflected in flashes. Later on all becomes silence, save from the voices of our own party, and so we reach, as afternoon advances, the halting place of Mengee Sekan.

Hitherto we have taken advantage for accommodation overnight of such buildings as we found, in the shape chiefly of deserted Buddhist monasteries, in various stages of decay. It became necessary to extemporize a hut or bower in which to pass the night. Such a place was quickly prepared for us by natives attached to our party, who, by means of their dahs– half-knife, half-sword – cut down branches of bamboos and trees; these they arranged and secured by ropes made of bark and creepers: thus they made quarters in which we were by no means uncomfortable.

Our elephant steeds carry us onwards, along the half-dried bed of what in the rainy season is a mountain torrent, confined on either side by precipitous cliffs, our progress at times interrupted by deep pools, at others by boulders singly or in masses in the river bed; these obstacles having to be circumvented as best was practicable, but always causing much delay and inconvenience. Coming upon a pathway, evidently used by wandering Karens, and made passable for us by our dah-men already mentioned, our elephants have to scramble as best they can upwards along the steep face of a mountain spur of the Yoma range. We gain the summit, and from it obtain a wide and extensive view of rich dense forest stretching far away, around, below the level of the point from which we took our survey. We pass the watershed that divides the tributaries to the Irawaddy and Sitang. Our descent is rough and precipitous; we arrive at the Kyat-Moung creek, and for some miles travel eastward along its bed; the forest on either side dense as before, the brushwood and lower vegetation consisting chiefly of ferns and stemless palms. After a day of somewhat arduous toil we reach an open space, and there a bower being quickly prepared for us we rest for the night.

Our journey resumed, the roadway we take is once again the bed of a mountain stream, the banks high and steep; vegetation still dense, huge creepers stretching from branch to branch, masses of parasitical plants hanging from the highest arms. Soon the forest becomes less dense; isolated houses, then villages, surrounded by patches of cultivated ground, are reached. Such a village is Pyagone. It is under the jurisdiction of Tonghoo, from which place letters have been sent for us, and so we hear of those we care for. Here we part with our elephants and other establishments belonging to Thyet Myo, exchanging the former for small Burmese ponies, on which the remaining part of our journey is performed. Several more marches were performed, differing in no particular characteristic from those already alluded to. Then, glittering in the sun, but still a long way in front of us, the pinnacle of a gilded pagoda indicates the position of Tonghoo. As we plod along the dusty way, we overtake a caravan of Shans, their bullocks laden with merchandise to market. We reach the remains of what was once the fortified wall by which the city was surrounded, but is now a series of dilapidated fragments. Friends332 come out to receive and offer us hospitality; baths and good cheer soon set us up; we look back amused at such small discomforts as we had recently undergone.

Tonghoo marks the eastern limit of what was, three centuries B.C., the empire of Asoka. The modern town, however, dates only from the tenth century of our era; its position, upon a peninsula round which winds the river Sitang. At a distance eastward, the Karenee range of mountains some four thousand feet in height, their sides thickly covered by forest; the general aspect of the locality and its surroundings forlorn and unattractive.

At the time of our visit a political “complication” with the king of Burmah was considered likely to be the outcome of a different interpretation as to the boundary line between Native and British Burmah entertained by the Indian and Burmese officials; while the Karens lay claim, in opposition to both, to a tract of territory said to have been occupied by them from time immemorial. Some months subsequently this matter was amicably arranged.

Our duties performed, our homeward journey began; we start away to Tantabin, where long, narrow boats lie moored to the bank, awaiting to take us on board, and so down the Sitang River. But the hospitality of friends at Tonghoo333 has yet another demonstration to the Chief and his party ere we finally take leave. A sumptuous and costly déjeûner awaits us in the zyat, or travellers’ rest-house at the ghat. When the meal is over and we get on board each his particular boat, many expressions of mutual good-will exchanged, much waving of hands and handkerchiefs, and then – our river trip begins.

The kind of craft in which the next few days and nights must be spent is peculiar. Mine consists of the scooped-out trunk of a tree, its inner arrangements fitted up according to Burmese ideas of comfort, or it may be, luxury. The measurement of the boat, or rather canoe, is three tons, itself so narrow and crank that practice is needed to move without tilting it over to a dangerous degree; yet on further experience this became sufficiently easy. The crew comprised six Burmese, active in body, cheery in disposition, well acquainted with their particular work; ready to joke and chaff with brother boatmen, as we glided pleasantly down the stream.

A short halt is made at Shoay Gheen, an important town, at which in due time we arrive. Here we find the remains of a stockade, held in considerable strength against our troops by the Burmese in 1825, though surrendered by them without a struggle in December of that year. There are two respects in which Shoay Gheen is famous: the one, that from here direct to Yunnan a trade route extends; the other, that in the district to which the town gives its name is the chief habitat of that most dreaded of poisonous snakes, the hamadryad (Ophiophagus elaps).

Another day and night and we are at the town of Sitang; its streets and houses are arranged in regular order, the streets wide, sheltered, boulevard like, by a row of spreading trees on either side; everywhere flocks of poultry, large and small, especially of the particular breeds for which Burmah is famous. On the more prominent points are pagodas, several undergoing repair and being regilded. Near each is a group of hideous stucco figures of nats;334 among these, people in attitudes of devotion, presenting to the images offerings, sprigs of sacred flowers, jasmine and jonesia (the asoka tree), and other plants.

In the first Burmese War a strong position was taken up by them at this place. On January 7, 1826, it was unsuccessfully attacked by our forces, who sustained severe loss, including their commander; on the 11th, however, the attack was renewed, the position captured, with a loss to the enemy of six hundred in a strength of four thousand defenders. In 1852, after peace had been declared, a British detachment was stationed here, and so remained for some time.

Time presses; tide waits for no man. Our boatmen, aware of the latter fact, press on by means of sail and paddle throughout the night; we arrive at Kadouk soon after daylight. Considerably to our surprise, our boats are quickly turned from the main stream into a narrow creek, and there made fast. But the detention is only for a little; our boatmen resume their work; our boats re-enter the stream, and for a time keep close to the right bank. A rushing sound comes upon us from the distance; it increases; the tidal wave of the Sitang is upon us; not in its full volume, however, for from a point just ahead of us it breaks with a roar, and then, curling with foam as it advances, it rushes irresistibly to the opposite bank. It was to avoid this “bore,” for so the wave is named, and being probably swamped by its force, that our boatmen had pushed on.

Communication between the Sitang and Pegu rivers was by means of the Kyatsoo creek, and that only during the three days of spring tides at the present season of the year. A canal was in progress of construction, and railways were being extended in various directions; yet neither was usable for our purpose. One suggestive circumstance, however, we learn: that, anticipating enhanced value of land as a result of such works, a precocious native agriculturist is making extensive purchases along the line of the new waterway. Our passage along the Kyatsoo creek was marked by nothing more stirring than a succession of groundings, bumps against other craft, and such trifles. On either side of us cultivated fields extend away to the distance; on some of them the blue flower of the flax plant is bright and fresh. Isolated huts and small villages occur at small distances from each other, and high up in the azure firmament a lark pours forth its volume of song, as in our own island.

As we proceed, the tapering summits of pagodas are seen reflecting the sunlight ahead; they indicate the site of the once important city of Pegu, capital of the Talain kingdom. A little further and we experience the tide as it comes from the river so named, to meet that from the Sitang, by which so far we have been conveyed. A little more and we are back in Rangoon, the members of our small party hospitably received by newly-made friends, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson kindly taking me to their house.

The next few days were passed mostly in the performance of official duties, spare intervals being taken up in visiting places of interest previously passed over from want of time. Our journey and observations made during it supplied subject alike for official and for ordinary talk, giving zest to forecasts variously expressed in regard to the probable issue of events which may follow upon the death or deposition of the king. The prevailing view was that Government will place upon the throne the legitimate heir, and having done so will carry on administration by means of a Commission. In such an event, it is anticipated that Burmah will be one of the best fields for British energy and capital, that communication will be opened up, and resources of the country developed.

CHAPTER XXXVI

1875–1880. MADRAS PRESIDENCY

Return to Madras – Death of Lord Hobart – Lord Pigot’s tomb and story – Interregnum – Duke of Buckingham – H.R.H. the Prince of Wales – Commanders-in-Chief – Famine – A relief camp – Ootacamund – Fever among British troops – Thebaw – Affghanistan – Sir N. Chamberlain as Envoy – Young soldiers versus old – Suggested scheme – Medical system – Inspection tours – New barracks – Calicut – Cannanore – Maliaporam – Bangalore – Bellary – Secunderabad – “Confidential” reports – Indication of illness – “New brooms” – Official demeanour – In the hills – Pleasant recollections – Back at Portsmouth – Finale.

We embark on the Mecca. A week passes; we land at Madras, bearing with us pleasant recollections of friendly hospitality received during our now bygone “Trip to Burmah.”335

The death of Lord Hobart,336 Governor of the Presidency, was an event regretted by those of us who had come to know his amiable though retiring character, and much sympathy was expressed towards the widowed Lady Hobart on her bereavement. The remains of the deceased were carried to the tomb with all the pomp and ceremony due to the high office he had occupied, and estimation in which he was generally held, the coffin committed to the tomb in St. Mary’s Church, Fort St. George.

While clearing out a place for the purpose, the workmen came upon the coffin of Lord Pigot, whose death took place in 1776, and whose place of burial, if not intentionally concealed, had long since ceased to be remembered. The story of his death was thus resuscitated, and reference made to history relating how the Council deposed him, how he was arrested by the Commander-in-Chief, placed in confinement, and there forcibly kept during eight months, at the end of which he died. No wonder that this audacious proceeding on the part of the chief actors in the drama produced astonishment and indignation at home.

An interregnum followed, during which the senior member of Council337 became head of the Government, the headquarters of which, together with those of the Commander-in-Chief, were shortly thereafter transferred to Ootacamund, where they remained until the following “cold” season, as it is called in Madras.

In the latter part of the year arrived His Grace the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos, appointed Governor. On the occasion of his landing, together with his daughters, the three Ladies Grenville, there was an immense gathering at the pier to receive the distinguished party. The assemblage comprised His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief, staff, high military officers, and heads of departments, a guard of honour, Government and municipal officers, representatives of the native princes and nobility, and, in addition, a large concourse of the community.338

The arrival of the Prince of Wales was an important event in the history of Madras. During the stay of His Royal Highness at the provincial capital, the best endeavours of all classes, official and non-official, natives and British, were directed to manifest duty and loyalty to the Heir Apparent. In addition to official entertainments and receptions given by Governor and Commander-in-Chief, the civil society, native princes and community, did all they could to do honour to him and to themselves on the occasion.

The next events of importance in reference to official affairs in Madras comprised a change in the head of the Army, Sir Frederick Haines being moved to Simla, and succeeded by Sir Neville Chamberlain. The departure of the former was much regretted by all classes, military, civil, and non-official; all honour and welcome were given to the latter, whose great military reputation and high character were known to and acknowledged by all.

In 1877 the Madras Presidency, as well as other parts of India, was visited by famine, large numbers of natives falling victims, notwithstanding the exertions by the Governor and officers acting under the orders of His Grace to combat the misfortune. Private associations and individuals added their endeavours to those by Government; missionary bodies provided for large numbers of orphans and other victims, with the result that many “converts” were added to their lists. The necessity for extended and improved systems of irrigation being shown, steps were taken in both directions. While not a few of the ancient methods had been abandoned, the modern substitutes were, in some instances, far from effectual for their purpose. Now also an important financial measure was adopted: a special fund against famine was established, the equivalent of eight million pounds sterling set aside for that purpose, and if some time thereafter that fund was otherwise absorbed, its original devisers and founders had passed from office before the change in question took place.

In obedience to orders, I visited a camp situated a few miles from the city of Madras for the reception and care of sufferers from the famine, the object being the somewhat technical one of making a report on the phenomena of starvation. In tents provided for their accommodation lay prostrated men, women, and children in all stages of absolute starvation. Carts were bringing in from the surrounding districts persons who, while proceeding along the highways in search of food and other aid, had fallen exhausted, and so lay on the roadsides. Altogether, the sights presented were very sad.

There being a prospect that Ootacamund would shortly become the permanent seat of the Presidency Government, His Grace the Governor appointed a Committee,339 of which I was senior member, to inquire into and report upon the general condition of that place. The subject was carefully gone into, the respects pointed out in which improvements were suggested, the nature of those improvements given in detail. In due time our report (written by me) was officially submitted; it passed through the usual official channels, and, having done so, was not acted upon. Years have passed away since then; the public prints record that evils have occurred at this beautiful locality which, it is safe to believe, would have been averted had our recommendations been carried out; those evils, moreover, definitely predicted in that report.

Another subject on which it fell to my lot to submit a report, related to the prevalence of fevers among our troops: a duty which caused myself much unpleasantness, inasmuch that practical experience was brought into somewhat violent collision with pure theory. All that need be noticed in this place is that, according to what is called the “scientific” school, the actual cause of those affections is dirt, and apparently dirt alone. According to the practical school, the causes are various, including the youth of the men, translation to an alien climate and alien conditions, exposure, indiscretions, etc. In accordance with the views first-named, numerous works to which the term “sanitary” was applied were undertaken at a cost to the Indian Government of many thousands, nay millions, of rupees. According to the second, many of those expensive improvements have been without their intended result, nor have they in any degree touched the root and origin of the evil, comprised in the general conditions just named.

The king of Burmah having died, the legal heir Thebaw was duly acknowledged his successor. No sooner had he attained to power than acts of maladministration and of atrocity drew upon him extreme displeasure of the Indian Government. Milder measures having proved ineffectual, a military force was sent to his capital, with the result that in due time it was captured, he himself deposed, and brought to India as prisoner of State. For a considerable time before that expedition was dispatched, preparatory arrangements for such a contingency had been as far as practicable matured – those of the department under my own supervision included.

Relations between the Government of India and the Ameer of Affghanistan had been in a more or less strained condition since 1873, when “after the return of Noor Mahomed Shah from Simla, the Ameer’s language was very unsatisfactory” to Lord Northbrook. “A sum of £100,000 placed to the Ameer’s credit at Peshawur by the British Government was allowed to remain there, and never drawn.”340 During the early months of 1878 the general state of those relations was much discussed in military society and in civil, two different views being expressed regarding it: the one by officers and others of long Indian experience and practical acquaintance with frontier matters; the other, chiefly by those of shorter Indian experience, and less practical acquaintance on the border.

Later in that year, our much-esteemed Commander-in-Chief, Sir Neville Chamberlain, was ordered by Lord Lytton to proceed as Envoy to Sheer Ali, the Ameer. He did so, and now the Madras command fell during his absence to General Elmhirst, formerly of the 9th Foot, a good officer and amiable man. After much ineffectual negotiation by Sir Neville Chamberlain, in the hope of averting armed intervention, Lord Lytton declared war against the Ameer. Forces were meanwhile being gathered for the purpose of the campaign, the 67th Regiment with some other troops being sent from the Madras Presidency. Their equipment and the general arrangements for active service had to be provided under orders of the responsible officers concerned, of whom I was one. In due time, Sir Neville was received with welcome back from the important, but unhappily futile, mission upon which he had been sent.

While the general subject of young soldiers versus old was occupying the War Office authorities, the opinions held regarding it from personal experience of certain senior officers were called for, mine among them. To a number of definite questions, definite answers were submitted by us individually; but the tone of all was identical, – namely, that for the purpose of field service in India men of mature growth, and who had already been some years in the country, were most capable of withstanding the wear and tear incidental to war. Sufficient grounds for that opinion are casually stated in reference to incidents relating to the Mutiny campaign, and to the Siege of Paris.