Part 20 (2/2)
All the way along the edge of the river, where there are not trees, there is Kaing or elephant gra.s.s--gra.s.s that waves some eighteen feet high and runs far inland, and here and there are bits of tree jungle.
Every now and then we see some bird or beast which we have not seen before outside of a Zoo; a grand eagle is in sight just now, no vulture this fellow; he looks twice the size of our golden eagle, and sits motionless on a piece of driftwood in the middle of a sandbank. I can only just make out his or her mate soaring against the woods on the hills behind. On a bank to our right there's a whole crowd of large birds--as we get closer I can count their feathers with my gla.s.ses; they are not beauties--vultures of some kind, and gorged at that, to judge from their lazy movements; their plumage is a grey, chocolate colour; their lean bare neck and heads are black or deep plum colour. On the very edge of the sandbank there's a string of white sea-swallows, sitting each on its own reflection. There are several kinds, and they rise as we pa.s.s, and I see, for the first time, the Roseate Tern, a sea-swallow with deep lavender and black feathers, rather telling with its scarlet bill. To complete this menagerie's inventory we pa.s.s four elephants bathing; two on the bank are dry, and blow sand over themselves from their trunks, and are the same dry khaki colour as the banks; the other two lie in the water, their great tubby sides, big as a whale's back, are black as sloes. Through the gla.s.s we see them rise slowly and stalk up the bank, getting their little feet all sandy again.
We went aground about five or six P.M., and are aground, and will probably take root here. The Chittagong crew are _talking_ and working like n.i.g.g.e.rs to kedge her off, and she won't budge. I'm sorry for the Captain; it seems running things rather fine to expect him to take his s.h.i.+p drawing four feet, over a bar only covered three feet.
In the pause, with the gla.s.ses I spy geese on a distant point, so with the steward as interpreter, engage a dug-out that came alongside to trade to take me in pursuit, but as I get out the gun, a Burman's boat comes down and pa.s.ses within a few yards of them and they s.h.i.+ft. The boatman tells me there are deer about--points to woods and jungle within a mile on the river's right bank, but time will not allow us to go after them. So we make a shooting engagement for the ”morn's morn” if we are still on the sandbank.
The crew struck work and singing at ten and left things to Providence; the captain didn't believe in this; he remarked ”All things come to those who wait, but I know a plan much slicker; for he who bustles for what he wants, gets things a d----d sight quicker!”--and called on them in their quarters--he had a whole stick when he went in--and they got to work again. He believes that if the river was buoyed by a white man instead of a native we wouldn't be fast now. I should think it is just the sort of work that would need a European, but I rather think after watching the soundings we made, that there was no deeper channel over the sand anywhere--at any rate none could be found from our small boat.
They kept at this kedging till midnight, and later, dropping the anchor ahead from the small boat, then hauling the s.h.i.+p up to it by the chain and steam windla.s.s--with the variations splendid exercise for all hands.
At first the flat, as it drew less than we did, was left behind a little, and our s.h.i.+p did this fighting with sand and water alone. They started again to the work early in the morning and by breakfast time, by constant steaming ahead and backing, had burrowed a channel in the sand; then went back and clawed on to the flat and steamed away for Chittagong distant a mile or two. As we went the anchor chains were unshackled and overhauled to get the twists out of them; and both anchors and chains were bright as silver from their rude polis.h.i.+ng in the sand.
It is peris.h.i.+ngly cold at Chittagong, _i.e._, in shade in the early morning, but it is bracing, A.1. weather for doing things. Last night I had three blankets and two sleeping suits and felt cold at that. The sides and windows of our cabin being made of open lattice woodwork we fix up some newspapers and a mat or two we have over these, which makes all the difference.
We had only half-an-hour for the bazaar at Chittagong. By the way I can't vouch for the spelling of this or any other names of places en route, but this is the way our First Mate spells it. We have no good map on board to give the names, but there are a number of books, and a piano, and many other comforts that one would hardly expect on a cargo steamer, so I think the Company, having done so well for their pa.s.sengers, might run to a framed map of Upper and Lower Burmah.
At Kalone the people stood in splendid groups at the jungle edge waiting for the arrival of the market. It was absolutely a Fete Champetre, but more brilliant and cla.s.sic than Watteau ever can have seen. There were no houses visible, just the steep sandy bank with roots dangling out of it, and splendid trees above like sycamores and ash, some with creepers pouring from their highest branches. Against the green depths were these groups of happy people in delightful colours, some sitting and others standing, some in the full sunlight, others further in the jungle amongst the shadowy trunks and fern palms.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
My Conscience p.r.i.c.ked me and said ”draw,” but I said, ”I'm bothered if I do, let's get into the jungle, if it's only for an hour, and see more new things, close,” so we did, got a guide, and arranged to return at first blast of the steamer's horn, and away we went _ventre a terre_ to a jheel said to be near, and had not more than enjoyed a glance at this pretty watery opening in the woods when up got a snipe with its old sweet song, and along with the snipe were any number of other waders--what a place for a naturalist! The first wisp went straight towards some paddy workers so I only got one flanker, and just as I was in the middle of them, beginning a record bag the horn sounded--the vexation of it! We turned and hoofed it back; under shadows of grand trees, over brown fallen leaves, past sunbeam lit girls in velvet sandals, coming from the s.h.i.+p, with bundles of purchases poised on their heads, and on board by the last plank of the gangway, muddy and hot and desperately annoyed at having to cut short a good morning's shooting.
Some of the snipe were larger and deeper in colour than those I am familiar with--Painted snipe I believe.
A delightful country this would be for a holiday in a native river boat.
What a pity it is so far from home; with a party and a boat I believe one could have a splendid time drifting down, there would be fis.h.i.+ng, walks, rowing, sailing, shooting, sketching, and all in a delicious climate, and all the sport bar elephants free, and amongst courteous people with all the supplies of ”the saut market” at arm's length from the Flotilla Company's steamers. Why not charter a big native dug-out up the river at Bhamo--sink it for a day or two--for reasons--then drift and row down. You could get up to Bhamo in a week or less, or in two or three days shortly, when there's a railway, and take, say three weeks down to Mandalay.
Kalone to Katha is interesting all the way. At Katha the mountains on the west come closer to the river. There is a short railway branch from this place to the line to Mandalay. I hardly like to mention a railway up here, it sounds so prosaic and so una.s.sociated with any of the wild surroundings; but there--it's a solid fact, you can come up here from Rangoon in next to no time and see nothing on the way, by train. We walk past the little station, the first piece of blackened ground we have seen for many a day--a ballast truck, ashes, and coals--impossible! From the wire fence round the station-house and from its wooden eaves hang numbers of orchids, nameless and priceless--impossible again!
It is a pleasant country round Katha, once you get away from the line.
There is low ground cleared for crops then knolly wooded hills within easy reach, and higher hills beyond. The air was still and wisps of wood-smoke from distant village fires hung in level bands above the plain. Miss B. and G. went to see the paG.o.da, I did the same, and also took my gun in case of a wet place and snipe. They saw a procession to a priest's funeral--one of the regular shows of Burmah, I only saw jungle, and brakes of white roses with rather larger blossoms than our sweet briar, growing to about twenty feet high. These grew many feet below the level of the river in the wet season, so I gather they spend several months in the rains under water: I also saw vultures, eagles, hawks, and a big kind of lapwing and snipe; but the snipe here were cunning, and got up wild and flew far, so I only got a small bag. But putting the afternoon's stravaig and the morning's ramble together made quite a decent day's exercise; and I believe the two or three hours in the jungle with its strange sights and sounds, flowers, birds, and beasts, were as interesting as a Phoungies' funerals.
CHAPTER x.x.xI
2nd February.--There was a river mist this morning, the sun s.h.i.+ning through, and we ”slept in” for there was no engine to awaken us. When we did awaken, it was to the tune of reed instruments like our pipe chanters. These headed a single and double file procession to the paG.o.da along the top of the river bank. The arrangement might have been taken from the procession of the Parthenon. Most of the people were women, some carried offerings in lacquer bowls on their heads, others carried between them paG.o.das and pyramids in wicker-work hung with new pots and pans and, odd bits of pretty colours and flowers. Others carried round palm leaf fans, the whole effect through the sunny morning mist was exquisite in colour and perfectly decorative. I think it was part of the Phoungie funeral of last night. We got fairly cold looking at it from the deck in dressing-gowns.
... It gets cold truly--morning tub makes one gasp, but the Burmans are bathing and soaping themselves this morning alongside, apparently enjoying the cold water as much as they do down south.
The fog lifts and we swing out and into the current at eight o'clock; the mail boat that came up last night just ahead of us, and we go surging up in her wake, two mighty fine children of the great Cleutha; Glasgow owned, Clyde built and engineered--900 horse-power has this Mandalay, and she has twenty years behind her, and the engines run as smoothly as if she were new: and the whole s.h.i.+p fore and aft is so well kept, she might have come from the makers yesterday! I don't say that the mail boat in front exactly adds to the beauty of the scenery but it gives a big sense of successful enterprise. How gratifying it must be to Germans and other foreigners to have the use of such a fine line of steamers for their goods.
The cottages on your left after Katha are rather pretty. They are on piles of course, on account of the floods in the monsoon, not ”because of ye tygers which here be very plentifull,” as the old travellers had it. Their silvery weather-worn teak or cane showing here and there, is a pleasant contrast to the rich green foliage. We pa.s.s so close to the bank that we can see the bright colours of the women's tamaines inside them and through the trees we get glimpses of the blue hills to the west-- d---- we are aground again--and my snipe shooting at Moda won't come off--horrid sell! No--I believe she's over. No, she's stuck!
... But we got off--and have arrived at Moda; and I think the show of native beauty crowding down the white sand here is even more effective and exquisite than any village crowds we have seen so far on either of the two sides of the river.
The girls are pictures; one has a yellow orchid between her golden coloured cheek and jet black hair, another a Marechal Niel rose above her forehead. There are old and young; Shans, Burmans, Chinese, Kachins--the young Burmese beauties vastly set off by the various northern tribes. Up the sand I see, for example, a group of three, an old lady and two young things sitting under a pink parasol, each with knees tucked up in a red purple and lemon yellow silk tamaine or tight skirt. Imagine the soft rose light from the parasol over the white jackets and silk and the sharp shadows on the sand. How graceful the owner of the parasol was when she stood up! I think it was her duenna who toppled off the edge of the gangway with one of the Chittagong crew in the push to come aboard. The old lady's face puckered as she went over, but she was out in a second, and came aboard with the jolly crowd, smiling like the rest. The pretty girls drop their red and blue velvet sandals with a clatter on to our iron deck when they come up the gangway, shuffle their toes into them and waddle off to the stalls with an air. No--waddle is not the word, its a little body twist rather like that of our French cousins, and their frank look is Spanish, but with less langour and a little more lift in it for fun! Leaving all this grace and colour behind, we marched away with a gun and two men, a native and a Burman, which surely proves the vandalism of our upbringing.
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