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A day or two after Christmas we halted at My̆otha in the middle of the Ava subdivision and there held the first gymkhana in the jungle of Upper Burma. Pony races and other sporting events for officers and men and for local Burmans made up the programme. It was a characteristic episode. The people of My̆otha were very friendly and joined with enthusiasm in the proceedings. Here I confirmed in his office the My̆othugyi.105 I am told that he still holds the appointment. After leaving My̆otha, we had our third and last encounter with dacoits. Captain Clements and Mr. Rainey took a few sowárs106 to escort a telegraph working-party a few miles from our camp. So unexciting seemed the prospect that the rest of us stayed behind. Some of us walked unattended to a neighbouring village and sat for a long time talking with the headman and his people. The working-party and the escort were met by a hostile line of Burmans armed with muskets. Followed by the sowárs, the officers charged and routed the enemy, but Clements fell with two holes in his chest. No wonder the surgeon looked grave. A bullet in each lung, God shield us, is a most dreadful thing. However, a fortnight afterwards I found Clements quite active at mess at Tha-yet-my̆o. I infer that his pony swerved at the volley and that the two holes were made by the same bullet. In Burma Clements got another wound and two brevets. He served with great distinction in South Africa, and after passing through many campaigns was cut off by appendicitis at Quetta in the midst of a brilliant career. A fine officer, a perfect horseman, with a frame of iron, even in youth he gave promise of future eminence.
Another unfortunate incident was an outbreak of cholera in our camp, which brought us to a halt for some days and cost valuable lives. A stalwart young sergeant of gunners was specially regretted. A halt on account of cholera is one of the most gloomy and depressing experiences, particularly for the men. It was with somewhat chastened feelings that we marched into Myingyan. Our one consolation was that we had accomplished our purpose and reopened telegraphic communication with Rangoon.
Meanwhile the Kinwun Mingyi, who had gone with the ex-King, had returned to Mandalay, and the Taingda Mingyi, the evil genius of the dynasty, had been sent to Hazaribagh. Mr. Bernard was convinced of the Taingda Mingyi’s active disloyalty. It was notorious that, in the King’s time, he fomented disorder and shared the spoils of dacoity. There were reasonable grounds for believing that he continued these practices and that his power was exerted against the Government. To retain this man in a leading position on Colonel Sladen’s Council, or even to allow him to stay in Burma, deprived of office, in a private station, was fraught with grave risk. In Mandalay his influence was supreme. His speedy removal without previous warning seemed clearly desirable. This was dramatically effected. As the Mingyi sat in the midst of the Hlutdaw, Mr. Pilcher entered and summoned him to the Chief Commissioner’s presence. Arriving there, he was told that he was to be sent to India. His request for permission to go to his house before leaving was refused. Seated with Mr. Pilcher in a bullock-carriage, he was driven to the shore. As he passed out of the West, the Traitors’, Gate, there was a block, and the carriage halted. “Is this where you are going to kill me?” asked the old man. Under the provisions of the beneficent Regulation III. of 1818, the Mingyi was detained for several years. Long after the country had been at peace, he was allowed to return and end his days in Burma in receipt of an allowance from Government. He was a man of much force of character, comparatively uneducated, and, unless his face and common fame belied him, of harsh and cruel nature. That protruding under-lip and that glance, stern even in old age, were signs of a fiery and turbulent soul. After his return he did no harm, and, having lost his wealth in foolish speculations, he died a poor man. I helped to get a small pension for his widow, an innocent old lady, who was, I believe, sincerely grateful. The pension was granted as an act of grace, not out of respect for the Mingyi’s memory.
About this time I went on one more little daur, perhaps hardly worth mentioning. Dacoits were entrenched in the Kaung-hmu-daw Pagoda, not very far from Sagaing. A column, with Colonel Lowndes as civil officer, was sent against them. Another column, which I accompanied, started at the same time and went up the river. We were to hold a defile in the hills and cut off the retreat of the dacoits dislodged from Kaung-hmu-daw. The arrival of the main body at Sagaing was marked by the lamentable incident already narrated.107 Next morning, as arranged, the pagoda was attacked and the defenders driven out. The rest of the plan miscarried. Our intelligence was grievously at fault. The only pass in the hills, we found, ran from east to west. Through it we marched at the mercy of any hostile force which might be crowning the heights. Emerging scathless from this gorge, as no one took advantage of so fair a chance, we reached a wide champaign over which an army corps might have scattered without coming near us. That Sunday morning we had a pleasant picnic on a breezy down, and towards nightfall we marched back, having seen no one worse than ourselves.
CHAPTER IX
LORD DUFFERIN’S VISIT: MANDALAY ONCE MORE
Early in 1886 Mr. Bernard returned to Rangoon. As I was not in Lower Burma for any length of time from December, 1885, to March, 1887, it does not fall within the scope of this book to attempt a description of events in that part of the Province in the months following the occupation of Mandalay. It was a time of stress and anxiety. Insurrections, excited no doubt by emissaries from the Burmese Court and headed in more than one case by monks, broke out all over the country. For a time Lower Burma was a seething mass of disorder. With inadequate military and police forces, Commissioners and district officers bravely faced the situation, and by strenuous efforts suppressed rebellion and gradually restored peace. In the early months, in the Chief Commissioner’s absence from Rangoon, the general direction of operations was in the hands of Mr. Symes, then an officer of ten years’ service. With what nerve, resolution, and judgment he discharged this great responsibility only those who served in Lower Burma at that time can properly appreciate. No one could have done better and more valuable work in a very serious crisis. Those early months showed Mr. Symes to be an administrator of the highest class, and won for him the reputation which he enjoyed to the day of his lamented death.
At the beginning of 1886 Lord Dufferin came to study on the spot the problem of Upper Burma and practically to decide its destiny. At the same time came Sir Frederick Roberts, then Commander-in-Chief in India. With the Viceroy were Mr. Durand,108 Foreign Secretary; Mr. Mackenzie,109 Home Secretary; Mr. Mackenzie Wallace,110 Private Secretary; and Lord William Beresford, Military Secretary, a galaxy of talent. Lord Clandeboye, afterwards Earl of Ava, in the flower of his youth and beauty, was among the aides-de-camp. Sir Frederick Roberts’s staff was hardly less brilliant. It included Major W. G. Nicholson,111 Major Ian Hamilton,112 Captain Neville Chamberlain,113 and Colonel Pole-Carew.114 Besides being the best-known man of his time in India, Beresford was probably the best Military Secretary in history. He was thoroughly conversant with every detail of his office. Equally at home in the direction of a Durbar or the management of a social gathering, with singular charm of manner, he had the delightful gift of being all things to all men. At a garden party he might be seen in close converse with a pillar of the Church, or hanging on the lips of an American Missionary, as if this idyllic communion was the one thing for which he lived. After this visit, the Bishop of Rangoon confided his opinion to a friend: “I am glad to see that the tone of the Viceregal Court is so good. Do you know? I think this high standard is in a great measure due to the influence of Beresford.” In Rangoon the usual festivities were held. At a ball I was deputed to interpret between His Excellency and Burmese ladies and gentlemen. Lord Dufferin’s embroidered compliments, addressed to some fair ladies, severely taxed my homespun vernacular.
After a short stay in Rangoon Lord Dufferin and Sir Frederick Roberts went up to Mandalay in the steamer Mindoon, fitted out and placed at the Viceroy’s disposal by the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company. Stopping at various places on the way, the Viceroy made the acquaintance of the local military and civil officers. The visit to Mandalay was an unqualified success. Their Excellencies, for Lady Dufferin lent her gracious presence to the occasion, were welcomed by the military and civil officers and all the Burmese notables. They were installed in the finest rooms in the Palace, visited all scenes of interest in the town and city, and received the members of the royal house and the most eminent Burmese officers and their families. On the eastern terrace of the Palace the Viceroy held a levée, the first and only instance of that ceremony being held in the Nandaw.115 Just before his departure, in a mandat116 erected on the shore, he addressed a meeting of Burmese Ministers and high officials. His speech was interpreted by an Extra Assistant Commissioner, Maung Pyi. Failing to catch one sentence, the interpreter vainly tried to induce his Excellency to repeat it. Nothing daunted, Maung Pyi, with perfect assurance, evolved and uttered an elaborate sentence of his own. The incident passed unnoticed. Lord Dufferin’s name will always be associated with Upper Burma. From Ava he took one of his titles, and he acceded to the request that the cantonment of Mandalay, embracing the city as well as an area without the walls, should bear his name.
On the voyage and after his arrival in Mandalay the Viceroy and his advisers conferred with Mr. Bernard concerning the future of the newly acquired dominion. With the sanction of the Secretary of State, his Excellency, at a dinner given on the eve of his departure, announced the decision that the country was to be administered as part of British India. It was on this occasion, and by Mr. Bernard, that the familiar term “annexation” was first publicly used. Then, having accomplished the purpose of his visit, the Viceroy re-embarked for Prome. Just opposite Pagan, whereat the state of the district did not invite a landing, the Mindoon stuck fast on a sandbank for nearly twelve hours, a really characteristic incident on the Irrawaddy. Lord Dufferin was not in the least disconcerted or annoyed; he professed to be pleased to have one day’s entire rest. Towards evening the whole party were on the point of being transferred to some small craft in attendance, but luckily the steamer floated off in time, and this inconvenience was avoided. The return to Rangoon was saddened by the tidings of the death of Mr. H. L. St. Barbe, one of the most rising men in the Province, whose very remarkable personality gave every promise of distinction.117 He was killed in the Bassein District, one of the first victims of the dacoit bands which harassed Lower Burma for three or four years.
By their charm and courtesy Lord and Lady Dufferin won all hearts, and left the happiest impression on the people of the Province. Still a junior officer, naturally I was not brought into close or frequent contact with them; but on the voyage to and from Mandalay I was near enough to come under the spell. Lord Dufferin was no doubt an admirable Viceroy. His dignity and presence, as well as his brilliant gifts, were specially fitted to adorn that illustrious office. He did not condescend to detail or profess to be industrious in small things. Industry, it has been said, is the tribute which mediocrity pays to genius. Often, I have heard, it was difficult to induce him to attend to matters of routine. But a really important case inspired him with enthusiasm, and on it he shed the rays of an illuminating mind; to its polished completion he devoted infinite pains. His visit in the early years of his Viceroyalty was greatly to the benefit of the Province. During the rest of his life in India his warm and friendly interest in Burma never failed.
The annexation of Upper Burma has been criticized not only by those who regard with disapproval every extension of the Empire. A very distinguished officer, whose best years had been passed in Burma, and who was familiar with both parts of the Province, suggested to me as one grave objection that the annexation extinguished a nationality, a thing which had not before been done in India. I have no doubt that, especially from the point of view of the good of the Burmese race, the annexation was an unmixed advantage. So far from extinguishing a nationality, we reintegrated it. Up to 1885 Burma was in a state of disunion. Part flourished under British rule; part languished under native tyranny. Some Burmans were British subjects; some served their own King. The conquest of Upper Burma reunited the severed fragments. Once more Burma became a solid country, the Burmese a nation under one undivided control; and as such it began a career of almost unexampled prosperity. Although there are differences and distinctions between the two sections, due to the varied course of their past history, Burma now forms one Province, and every part shares in the fortunes of the whole. The annexation did far more than this. It restored peace and order to a distracted people, and secured to every man the free enjoyment of the fruits of his labours. To all men were given the protection of equal laws and the assurance of even-handed justice. The grasping avarice of officials was restrained, and corrupt practices were discountenanced. Burmans are not excluded from a due share in the administration. To aspiring youths, promising careers have been thrown open. The second Burman as yet enlisted in the higher branch of the Accounts Department is an Upper Burman, the first to take the degree of Bachelor of Arts. On those Burmans who loyally accepted the new Government, office and honours were freely bestowed. The Kinwun Mingyi became a Companion of the Star of India, U Pe Si of the Indian Empire. The real patriots were those who recognized that the new order meant peace and prosperity, with no suppression of native religion or customs, and who risked obloquy, and often life and property, in loyal service to the State. These were truer friends of their people than men who, by ineffectual revolt and resistance, plunged their country for years into bloodshed and misery.
In March, 1886, Sir Charles Bernard returned to Mandalay. On April 1 the provisional administration of the Hlutdaw came to an end. Sir Edward Sladen retired, and the Chief Commissioner assumed direct control of Upper Burma. At the same time the Burma Field Force was broken up, Sir Harry Prendergast returned to India, and Sir George White took command of the troops. While retaining general control of the whole Province, Sir Charles Bernard left Lower Burma under the immediate direction of Mr. G. J. S. Hodgkinson118 as Special Commissioner, devoting his own energies mainly to the settlement of the new Province and the modelling of its administration. An entirely separate Secretariat was formed, of which, as Secretary for Upper Burma, I was in sole charge. My office was in the Hlutdaw building, within the Palace enclosure. We had our own little printing-press, modestly but efficiently equipped by Mr. Regan, and we published our own Gazette. My only qualified assistant was Mr. Taw Sein Ko,119 then in his early youth, to whom I am indebted for invaluable assistance during those busy months as well as in later years. Of the clerical staff, the less said the better. It was, perhaps, a unique Secretariat, with no records of previous years and no precedents. Whatever the Secretary might forget, the Chief Commissioner remembered. Besides myself, the only member of Sir Charles Bernard’s immediate staff was the Personal Assistant. This office was filled first by Andrew Thomson, C.S., a man of brilliant ability and exceptional gifts. Later came Sir Charles Bernard’s elder son, J. H. Bernard, C.S., endowed with many of the qualities of his family. Andrew Thomson died in the flower of his youth, multis bonis flebilis. James Bernard died in Bengal, in tragic circumstances, midway in a career of promise. Never were two pleasanter or more helpful comrades.
Though the Hlutdaw was dissolved, seven or eight of the principal Ministers were retained on moderate salaries as a consultative body. They had their own office in the Hlutdaw building, with a few clerks, and were in charge of the old State records. The handwriting of these clerks was most elaborate and beautiful. Such writing is now, I fear, a lost art. In the King’s time Court writers were kept up to the mark by fear of heavy penalties. For wrongly dividing a word at the end of a line (like thi-
s) the punishment was amputation of the right hand. It seems almost excessive. The Sayedawgyi were of a higher class than ordinary clerks in Government offices. Some of them were related to Ministers, or even to members of the royal family. And often enough they blossomed into Wuns or Ministers. Among them were men of ability and character. I instance my friend Maung Tin, A.T.M., Extra Assistant Commissioner, long resident at Pagan as township officer, now subdivisional officer, a recognized authority on the antiquities of that historic city. Another, also Maung Tin, A.T.M., Extra Assistant Commissioner and subdivisional officer, has written a learned history of Burma. Both are men of good family and have attained responsible positions under our Government. The Ministers had no powers, but were often consulted on matters of which they had special knowledge or means of information. Punctually at noon every day, a chaprási120 came into my office and announced the Minister’s approach.121 At the ensuing conference public affairs were discussed and the opinions of Ministers invited. If the stock of references was low, the conversation turned to Burmese history and family affairs, of which their knowledge was extensive and accurate. One day we were all bidden to the wedding of the late Shwepyi Mingyi’s daughter. A peculiar custom prevailed among the wealthier classes of having marriages celebrated by Pônnas, Hindu descendants of captives from Assam or Manipúr. It has already been explained that Buddhism, as understood in Burma, provides no ceremony of marriage. The custom of inviting Pônnas to celebrate marriages of Buddhists with some sort of Hindu rite, the binding with a thread and the eating out of the same dish, is a curious anomaly for which I can find no parallel. This was a wedding of the Pônna type. All Mandalay attended, including many European officers. To complete the quaint mixture of foreign ceremonies, the health of bride and bridegroom was drunk in champagne by those of the company who allowed themselves that indulgence. Late in the morning, as I was about to leave, one of the Ministers said with a sigh: “Well, I suppose we must be getting away to office too.” The suggestion that such a festal day might be spent as a holiday was accepted with effusion. There was something pathetic in the thought of these men, all of mature and some of advanced years, who had exercised almost absolute sway over a kingdom, regarding themselves as under the orders of an officer so much their junior in age. I did my best to make the position as little irksome as might be. As I retained the friendship of every one of them as long as he lived, I hope my efforts had some measure of success.
With the Kinwun Mingyi I contracted a close and intimate friendship, which ended only with his death at an advanced age. In early days Andrew Thomson and I were often at his house, playing with his charming grandchildren, small boys and girls of four or five years of age; sometimes on Sunday mornings we went to his garden beyond the walls for an early picnic. The Mingyi was a man of amiable disposition and courtly manners, of great learning, a delightful companion. To have had the privilege of discussing with him the doctrine of Neikban (Nirvana) is a pleasant memory. Although he could have no real love for our Government, he loyally accepted it, and did his best to support and strengthen the new order. I believe him to have been a man of high character, incapable of any base or treacherous act. His personal record was unimpeachable; he lived and died in honourable disregard of wealth. He had no children except two sons by adoption.
Another house where I was always welcome was that of the widow of the Pagan Min. She was his principal Queen, and occupied the house where the deposed King and herself had lived since the accession of Mindôn Min.122 It was interesting to meet in such conditions one who had sat on the throne and was sprung from the race of Burma’s Kings. She was a charming lady, advanced in years, with the fine manners of her rank and people. In the house of the Pintha Mintha123 I was also received on cordial terms. My friendship with his family subsists to this day.
The description already given124 of the position of women in Burma may help to render intelligible the sketch of our life in Mandalay in early days. For some months European ladies were not encouraged to come to Mandalay. Most of us were extremely busy, and lived an austere life in the Palace. For companionship we were dependent on one another and on our Burmese friends. The people of whom I saw most in rare intervals of relaxation were officials and their families and members of the royal house. Queens and Princesses were many. For a melancholy reason Princes were few. Except the Myingun Prince in Pondicherry, and the Nyaung-yan and Nyaung-ôk Princes in Calcutta, only two of Mindôn Min’s sons survived—the Kawlin and Pyinmana125 Princes.126 Educated in India, these two have now for some years lived in charming domesticity in Rangoon; each happily married to a lady of his House. Both are honorary magistrates, and duly take their turn as members of a Bench for the trial of petty cases. There were a few other Minthas, sons of the Einshemin127 and other Princes, besides more distant relations of the King. Several of the Minthas have taken service under Government, and occupy responsible positions as Assistant Commissioners, My̆o-ôks, and in other departments. Almost all the ladies of the Royal House, widows and daughters of Mindôn Min, or otherwise nearly related to the King, were in great distress and poverty. For the most part they had subsisted on meagre allowances, many of them being kept in confinement or under restraint. All these ladies received pensions from the British Government, but on so minute a scale that Sir Charles Bernard’s proposals for their maintenance excited by their moderation the surprise even of the Government of India. Yet when income-tax was, as some think illegally, levied in Upper Burma on incomes derived from Government, I am ashamed to say that these paltry stipends were subjected to deduction. From time to time the scale of pensions was raised, but it was not till many years later that I had the good fortune to enlist Lord Minto’s active sympathy with these ladies, and to secure for them allowances not utterly inadequate. Most prominent of the royal ladies in Mandalay were two full sisters of King Thebaw, the Pakangyi and Meiktila Supaya.128 Meiktila Supaya married a commoner, and died some years ago, leaving two charming daughters, of whom one is the wife of a Government officer. The Amá-daw-gyi129 brought up her nieces, and lived quietly in Mandalay till recent days. Only one of Mindôn Min’s wives of royal stock survived till our time. Wives of inferior rank were not of royal blood, but for the most part daughters of officials or chiefs. The three whom I knew best were three sisters, the Limban, Thetpan, and Thayazein Queens, daughters of a Talaing My̆o-thugyi in Lower Burma. They were ladies of dignity and refinement, with whom my family and I were long on terms of intimacy. Only the Thayazein Queen survives, living happily with her daughters and grandchildren in Rangoon. The pension list included over one hundred persons. At first the Princesses shrank from marrying commoners, but clearly most of them must condescend or remain unwed. Many of them, therefore, in the course of time took husbands of inferior rank. In the quarter of a century which has passed since the annexation, not one of the ladies of the Burmese royal family has given the slightest trouble to Government from a political point of view; none of them has intrigued or shared in any conspiracy or seditious movement. When the prominent part taken by Burmese women in public and private affairs is remembered, it will be admitted that, if for this reason alone, these ladies merit gentle treatment at our hands. I think they might at least be excused from paying income-tax on their pensions.
It may be appropriate here to notice the theory and practice of class distinctions in Burma. The King and the royal family were placed on a lone and lofty pedestal, and regarded with exaggerated reverence. In respect of royalty there was almost, not quite, a distinction of caste. An instance of respect for the sacredness of the blood royal came under my own notice. A granddaughter of Mindôn Min, daughter of his son by a minor Queen, a charming and attractive girl, eloped with the Queen’s nephew, a very presentable youth. The boy was one of the Queen’s household, son of the Queen’s own brother, a commoner. The Mipaya’s130 distress and indignation were extreme. To console her, I suggested that, after all, the lover was of her own family. “I would as soon she had married a coolie out of the street,” was the uncompromising reply. The old lady had no rest till she had worried these young people to divorce, and married the girl to a Princeling. Anomalies were necessarily recognized. Though the King took as his chief Queen one of his half-sisters, Kings and Princes might marry commoners; royal ladies might not do so. Of late, as we have seen, this rule has become less strict. But genuine respect for the royal family still abounds. To this day, whether in Upper or Lower Burma, any upstart who pretends to royal origin secures a following.131 The very sensible plan of employing them as My̆o-ôks and Extra Assistant Commissioners has done much to keep real sons of Princes out of mischief.
Apart from the royal family and monks, the only distinct class among Burmans is that of officials. There is no landed gentry; there are no county families. In most cases, especially in the higher grades, official rank was not hereditary. The Mingyi’s son did not become a Mingyi, or the Wun’s son a Wun, by succession. Occasionally one came across officers, like my friend U Pe Si,132 sprung from official families. This was the result of nepotism, not heredity. As a rule an official obtained his position by luck or by favour or by family influence, by repute for learning, or by distinction as a soldier or administrator. The royal family and officials excluded, the rest of the people were on the same social plane. False pride and snobbishness were unknown. One of the Ministers, of eminent learning, who came clad in silks and glittering with golden chains, brought his brother to see me. The brother was an old peasant out of the fields, who sat on the floor, wearing the scanty dress of the working farmer. We had a pleasant talk about crops and seasons, while the Minister sat on a chair and discussed what Prince Hassan133 used to call “country business.” It is, perhaps, to this absence of false pride, to genuine kindness of heart, and to traditional respect for elders, that the fine manners of Burmans are due. Good manners and self-respect are marks of all ranks. I have received perfect civility and courtesy from Princes and Ministers, from peasants and labouring men; always a kind word and a smile and thought for a guest’s comfort and convenience. Even contact with Western civilization has not yet spoilt the grace of manner which adorns the Burmese race.
The lack of class distinctions imports a certain want of cohesion, which does not facilitate the task of administration. Burmans are rank individualists, and so, I suppose, far behind the times. Each family is a separate entity, bound by no ties to any overlord. It is true that the hereditary principle is strong in the case of minor offices, such as those of My̆o-thugyi134 or Ywa-thugyi.135 These comparatively small but important offices passed from father to son for generations. In Lower Burma we have practically abolished the circle, and in Upper Burma the My̆o is likewise in process of decay. I for one agree that the village is the better unit. Yet some tribute of respect must be paid to the old My̆o-thugyi, a courtly country gentleman of dignity and presence, possibly more ornamental than useful.
