Rejoining after short leave at the end of 1896, I became Commissioner of the Irrawaddy division, and after many years again saw Bassein and even Pantanaw. Seen in the light of larger experience, and from the melancholy mound of advancing years, Bassein seemed quite different from the gay station of our giddy youth. Really, it was much the same, and in some ways it had improved. I found many old friends among Burmans, officials, advocates, and traders. Every greybeard wagged his head and welcomed me as contemporary. Seriously, I was very glad to see these old gentlemen, and not to find myself forgotten. But I could not disguise from myself, perhaps not from others, that my heart was in Upper Burma; that I found the Delta folk, at least in the larger towns and villages, sophisticated and with too large a mingling of Kalas, and that I pined for Mandalay. The work was substantial but not overwhelming; there was still time for the judicial part of it. We were in Irrawaddy only for the dry months, and were able to make some pleasant tours. Conditions of travelling by water were vastly better than in early days. There was already one house-boat, which, towed by a launch, was an agreeable substitute for the rice-boat of our youth. The Commissioner had not yet a house-boat of his own, such as that enjoyed by the present pampered official; but on occasion we borrowed one from the friendly Deputy Commissioner of Maubin, Major Macnabb. In the northern part of the division travelling by land was easy in the dry weather. One exceedingly enjoyable tour in that part lives in my memory. We rode from Henzada to Ngathaing-gyaung traversing subdivisions held by two native officers, Maung Tin Gyaw and Maung Ba Bwa.
Much has been said and written about the corruption of Burmese officials. To hear some people, you would think there was no such rare bird, if indeed he be not fabulous, as an honest Burman in Government service. I am happy to say that my experience enables me to place on record a far more favourable judgment. It would be absurd to pretend that corruption did not exist, even that it was very unusual. It has been my fortune many times to recognize, expose, and punish corrupt officers. Both in Upper and in Lower Burma we inherited the traditions of a feeble Oriental Government, and it was impossible that evil practices should not abound. Township officers and their subordinates, all natives of the Province, exercised great power, often free from constant and close supervision. To the mass of the people, in their daily life, the township officer and Thugyi, even more than the Deputy Commissioner, represented the Government. Furthermore, in early days the native services were ill-paid and had poor prospects of advancement. Till an honourable tradition was established, it could not be expected that all would resist the many temptations in their path. Recognizing and admitting all these grounds of reserve, I am satisfied that very many Burmese officers have been perfectly honest and have faithfully justified the trust reposed in them. Men there are in whom I have such confidence that, were it shown to be misplaced, my faith in human nature would be shattered. In recent years the pay and prospects of Burmese officers have been improved (quorum pars exigua fui). They now have fair wages and many roads to dignity and honour. Partly for this reason, partly from higher motives, a sound tradition is gradually becoming crystallized, and year by year the standard of morality is being raised.
Of those[248] who, in comparatively early times, set a shining example of probity and efficiency, Maung Tin Gyaw was a fine specimen. Of good Talaing stock, he was one of the ablest native officers I have known. His father and uncle, whom a flippant but kindly, experienced, and appreciative Deputy Commissioner used to call Romulus and Remus, were Circle Thugyis, when I knew them venerable white-haired men of distinguished appearance. One of them bore honourable scars of wounds received in action in the troubles of 1885. Maung Tin Gyaw himself, then in the prime of life, was a man of courage, resolution, and independence. Well educated as a boy, but only in the vernacular, in adult life he had succeeded in teaching himself enough English to enable him to read the Gazette with moderate ease. With lighter English literature I fear he was unfamiliar. In his subdivision, which he managed admirably, he had boundless personal influence (awza), that intangible quality which makes the administrator. Throughout his career he preserved a reputation for spotless integrity and honesty. Riding with us through his charge, Maung Tin Gyaw was a very agreeable companion, prompt in all courteous attentions, always at hand when required, but never obtruding his society unsought.
At one of our halts he found a wandering monk who had caused some commotion elsewhere, and was regarded with suspicion as a potential cause of political trouble. As I have said before, the wandering monk, who gathers crowds, practises magic, and heals the sick by charms and incantations, is always distrusted by the district officer. When he begins to tattoo his followers, it is time to put him on security or send him to jail. This monk proposed to walk through the subdivision and proceed to Ngathaing-gyaung. Maung Tin Gyaw regarded this proposition with disfavour. He forbade the monk to go by land. “In fact,” said he, “that’s a very tedious and uncomfortable way. Go back to Henzada, where you will find a steamer which will take you far more quickly and easily.” “Please tell me,” replied the monk, who was of the order of sea-lawyers, “by what law you will prevent me from going by land.” “The law,” said Tin Gyaw, “I will show you in Henzada. But back you shall go.” And back he went under the friendly escort of a couple of constables, and so far as I know he gave no further trouble. No doubt a high-handed and illegal proceeding, but conducive to the peace of the district, and therefore explicitly approved by the Commissioner. Some years ago I had to mourn Tin Gyaw’s loss. Till his death he was one of my most trusted and valued friends. Maung Ba Bwa, our other companion on this tour, I am glad to say still serves the State. I am therefore precluded from saying more of him than that he, too, was an officer of distinction, who for some years managed an important subdivision never before, I think, placed in charge of a Burmese officer. That these subdivisions should be entrusted to native Extra Assistant Commissioners is an indication of the advance made in twenty years.
Early in 1897 I was once more in Mandalay, well pleased to be again among my friends in Upper Burma. In the short period of my charge of the Mandalay Division occurred the inevitable rising for which the time was ripe. In Burma a small rebellion breaks out with almost seasonable regularity. One evening, as I was on the point of going to the Club, then sumptuously housed in the western halls of the Palace, Mr. (now Sir George) Scott came in. Instead of going to the Club, we drove round Mandalay Hill. It was October, and the festival which marks the end of Buddhist Lent was being celebrated. At the Kuthodaw[249] Pagoda we alighted and mingled with the crowd. Pwès were being played, and the scene was vivid with a gay and giddy throng of men, women, and children, decked with jewels and clad in rainbow-coloured silks. We met several friends, among them the Shwehlan Myowun, with whom Mr. Scott renewed an old acquaintance.[250] This was not the time of year when disturbance is expected. The October festival is one of peace and good-will, when the shadows of Lent have departed, when merry lights go sailing down the river, when the prospect of harvest is in sight. It is, moreover, a sure sign that no trouble is apprehended when women and children are seen in swarms at pwès and public assemblies. So with cheerful hearts we resumed our drive, while with unconscious irony I explained to Mr. Scott the profoundness of our security, our firm hold on Mandalay, my confidence that nothing untoward could happen without timely warning. We sat down to dinner, and got as far as coffee and cheroots. Sir George Scott still regrets that he never tasted that coffee. For at this moment in ran Mr. Snadden, the Superintendent of Police, saying: “There is an insurrection. You had better come and see about it.” When we arrived on the scene, the insurrection had been suppressed. A very agèd monk had announced himself as the coming King, the reincarnation of a Prince dead some centuries ago. He possessed the power of making his followers invisible and invulnerable, always an advantage, especially to a small force contending against superior numbers. Perhaps his forces would not be so small, for presently he would throw leaves into the air and they would come down as armed men. His occult power he proved by walking thrice round his monastery and disappearing from sight. “Of course,” said the Kinwun Mingyi, as he related the story afterwards, not wishing to impose upon my simplicity, “he hid himself somewhere.” With such old wives’ tales, and with promises of place and power, he beguiled a score of wretched dupes, mostly as old as himself. They sat and plotted beneath the humble mat-and-thatch monastery where the monk lived. My confidence that we should be warned in time was not misplaced. The local police inspector was told by a woman that a conspiracy was being hatched. The cry of “Wolf!” had been so often raised that he was mildly incredulous. When she led him to see the conspirators, and he found a lot of old men telling their beads, his unbelief was confirmed, and he declined to listen to the story. His want of faith cost him his appointment.
When the eventful evening came, armed only with swords and short spears hidden in the sleeves of their jackets, without a firearm of any kind, the little band marched to the taking of the walled city of Mandalay, garrisoned by two or three regiments. Their goal was the Palace where, said the monk, “when I take my seat on the throne, Burma will be my kingdom and the heretic kalas will flee.” Almost at the outset, they were diverted from their purpose. Crossing the moat by the South Bridge, they came upon a British soldier walking with an Englishwoman. “Behold the enemy; slay them,” cried the mad monk. Hotly pursued, the luckless pair ran through the South Gate.[251] I regret to say that the police guard at the gate fled. Close by, in a large compound, stood the house of Major W. H. Dobbie[252] of the Indian Army. The woman ran along the garden fence, while the man darted in and gave the alarm. Then this nameless hero, alone and unarmed, went back to help his companion and met death unafraid. The woman, grievously wounded, survived. With his revolver, and supplied with cartridges by his gallant wife, Major Dobbie ran out and met the rebels at his gate. Single-handed, he held them at bay, doing much execution, till some other officers, attracted by the firing, came to his aid and completed the rout. In the city gateway a running fight ensued. The white walls were splashed with blood which long remained a memorial of that stirring night. One officer received a cut on the head. Of the rebels, five, including the leader, were killed and most were wounded. If the band had pursued its original intention and made straight for the Palace, it would have come upon a few peaceful gentlemen sitting at dinner in the club with no weapons of defence handier than chairs and table-knives. The attempt was an isolated affair, of no political significance, confined to the few fanatics actually engaged. Patrols were sent out and rewards proclaimed. Within a week we picked up all the surviving rebels. After trial, ten were hanged in the presence of many spectators; the rest were sent to transportation. In the jail I spoke to one of the leaders, a man of fair position, somewhat past middle age, the Kappiya-taga[253] of the dead monk’s monastery. He explained that he had no enmity or cause of enmity against Government. Ambition was the motive which impelled him. He was to be the new King’s Chief Minister. The fortune of war being against him, he submitted to the penalty without complaint.
The story is pitiful enough. These petty risings are of periodical occurrence, and seem to be peculiar to Burma. Three or four have broken out in the last few years. They are never of sufficient importance to cause any anxiety to Government. The sorrow and misery fall on ignorant, misguided peasants who are led astray by some soi-disant Prince. Always a pretender to royal blood, a Minlaung or embryo Prince, with power to work marvels, to bring fire forth from his arm, to kindle mystic lights, or cause gilding to be laid by unseen hands on a pagoda; always fairy-tales of charms against death and wounds. It seems impossible to cure this insane disease of flocking to a pretender’s standard. For the sake of the people themselves, these outbreaks must be suppressed with severity. We used to regard crimes against the State as crimes of the worst character, not as venial offences to be treated tenderly. This is the only kind of sedition which has hitherto troubled Burma. The mass of the people, no less than the educated classes, are too proud to follow demagogues from Bombay or Bengal. They seem to be too intelligent to hanker after representative institutions unsuited to the genius of the race. Recognizing that they already take a great part in the administration, they feel assured that as they show themselves fit, higher offices will be thrown open to their ambition. Enlightened Burmans see that the good of the people is the sole desire of Government, and that this is promoted by due submission to constituted authority, not by liberty of fluent rhetoric. While, therefore, other parts of India were seething with sedition, Burma alone remained unmoved, pursuing its steady march of progress. The speed of the march would be accelerated if Burma had more of its own money to spend, and if it were not often hampered by being made to conform to Indian precedents. All that we knew of sedition was the deportation of certain ring-leaders to Burma, where they were not likely to be regarded with any interest or sympathy.
Towards the close of this year I relinquished charge of the Division on appointment to be Her Majesty’s Commissioner for demarcating the boundary between Burma and China. The settlement of this boundary had long been under discussion between the two Governments. In 1893 had been concluded a Convention fixing a boundary-line very unfavourable to Burma. As already mentioned, Sima went to China and farther south the frontier was drawn perilously near Bhamo. Fortunately, an opportunity of revising this Convention occurred. The new Agreement laid down a line more practical and more in accordance with historical evidence. In the winter of 1897 a Joint Commission was appointed to ascertain and demarcate on the ground the frontier defined in the revised Convention. Mr. E. C. S. George was Assistant Commissioner. My Chinese colleague was General Liu, with several Chinese assistants and a telegraph clerk as interpreter. The Commission assembled at Bhamo as arranged. A few days were spent in settling preliminaries and exchanging courtesies. General Liu and his officers dined with us and we in turn were entertained at a Chinese feast. With some confidence, we set out for the frontier. Mr. George, with one of the Chinese Commissioners, was deputed to demarcate north of the Taiping as far as the high conical peak in latitude 25° 35′, the extreme point mentioned in the Convention. With his customary vigour and decision, overcoming many difficulties, he accomplished his task. General Liu and I proposed to demarcate south of the Taiping. Of the party were Mr. W. Warry[254] of the China Consular Service, Major F. B. Longe[255] of the Survey of India, Captain E. W. M. Norie[256] of the Middlesex Regiment, Intelligence Officer, and Mr. D. W. Rae of the Provincial Service, an officer of tried experience in the Kachin Hills. Captain J. W. L. ffrench-Mullen[257] commanded the modest escort of a hundred rifles of military police.
We marched due east, through the pleasant hill-station of Sinlumgaba, past terraced rice-fields watered by ingenious irrigation works, over shallow streams. With more than the wonted vigour of Chinese officials, General Liu exchanged his sedan-chair for a rough pony, and rode at the head of his ragged escort. The result did not justify the promise of the beginning. Almost at the outset, in circumstances with which I need not weary my readers, we came to a deadlock. Though the case was obviously one for compromise, General Liu, most courteous and most obstinate of men, declined to come to terms. There was no alternative but to refer the matter to our respective Governments, and await their orders. So after a very few days we settled down on the banks of a stream which up to that time had marked the provisional boundary.
Four weary months we spent beside that miserable stream, our escort on the Burmese side, the Chinese escort on the farther bank, occupying our time in sending urgent appeals to Government, and in holding endless conferences with our Chinese colleagues. Our men, disciplined and well equipped, were under canvas, properly rationed and cared for by our medical officer. Among them were a few Kachins recently enlisted, very smart and proud of their new uniforms. Boots were to them at once a source of glory and of pain. Most of them marched bare-footed, carrying the precious but weary burden slung on their shoulders. In a village they put them on and swaggered about for the admiration of the girls. Hardy and brave, these mountaineers are likely to prove excellent material for military police, perhaps even for the regular army. This season they were blooded in a small affair which Mr. H. F. Hertz had with an intrusive body of Chinese. They were among the first to scale the enemy’s stockade. There are now several companies of Kachins in the battalions at Bhamo and Myitkyina. General Liu had his hundred Chinese braves, clad in picturesque rags, undisciplined, armed with the latest thing in rifles, which they had no idea how to use. They carried no tents, and had to house themselves in huts of leaf and bamboo. The comfortable arrangements made for our military police filled them with envy, and they gratefully accepted the attention of our surgeon. We could have enlisted as many as we pleased if we had wished to raise a Chinese battalion. They impressed us as being good raw material and quite well behaved, but in their existing conditions entirely useless as a fighting force. The futility of Chinese troops against a disciplined army has been abundantly exemplified on this frontier. Notwithstanding warnings and alarms in the Press of the presence of formidable arrays trained by German or Japanese instructors, and armed with rifles of the very newest pattern, we have never encountered from Yunnan a Chinese levy capable of standing up to our military police, far less to a British force of all arms.
General Liu was a sturdy old man, who had seen service in the field. Although he succeeded in wasting the whole season, and broke solemn compacts with a serene smile, our relations on the whole were friendly. He wrote me innumerable despatches, adorned with the noblest moral sentiments, but in substance quite inconsequent. This was in accordance with established tradition. Very often he crossed over to our camp and talked for hours, probably for the benefit of his assistants and the egregious telegraph clerk. After drinking a liqueur, he would return to his own side of the stream, conscious of a morning well spent, and sit under a tree, cooling his head after the heat of argument. Among interesting visitors to his camp were Sawbwas of the Chinese Shan States, which lie along the border. These chiefs occupy very much the same position as those of our own Shan States. At times they enjoy greater freedom, at times are more severely repressed, than their brothers in Burma. One of them cherished a beard which Shagpat might have envied; except on occasions of display, he kept it encased in a bag. Incidentally we were surprised by the arrival in our camp of two English travellers, who announced that they had travelled through China, and had just come from Lasa. Their report was received with derision by a correspondent, who thought that Lasa was the storied capital of Tibet, then untrodden ground. Their Lasa is one of the Chinese Shan States. In the course of the season we had a very effective eclipse, and were privileged to witness the Chinese beating gongs and making an incredible noise to frighten away the dragon devouring the sun, a custom of which we had heard, but hitherto had only in part believed to exist.
Such were the trivial incidents which helped to pass the weary days, as we sat in our tents pitched in the midst of bare rice-fields, on a plateau some four thousand feet above the sea. Till the middle of March the climate was cold and bracing, with a sharp frost that covered buckets of water with ice an inch or two thick, at first an object of surprise and admiration to my Burman boy from the plains. We diverted ourselves as best we might, and from first to last were all good friends. By the camp-fire at night many a story was told. But that it was a monotonous time cannot be gainsaid. Even the resource of shooting was almost entirely absent. The hills swarmed with guns, old-fashioned muskets for the most part, and the Kachins very successfully kept down the game. We rode about the country for relaxation, visiting Kachin villages, and making the acquaintance of many Duwas. The most interesting was the blind Chief of Matang (Matin), a man of real influence, who had been of service to Colonel Sladen on his mission to Yunnan in 1868. Once or twice we visited Sinlumgaba, already mentioned as a budding hill-station, and were cordially welcomed by the gunners out for practice at the neighbouring hill of Imlumshan. Somehow or other the months passed, in daily expectation of orders from Government enabling us to make a start. I do not know what was the cause of the delay. At last, at the end of the season, the long-awaited orders came. But it was too late. We parted from General Liu with mutual protestations of respect and affection. In spite of his obstinacy, duplicity, and pious dissertations, I could not help liking the old man.
After writing my report and forming plans for the ensuing season, I acted for a time as Judicial Commissioner of Upper Burma. Towards the end of 1898 the permanent appointment became vacant, owing to the lamented death of Mr. Burgess. I was given the option of succeeding him or of retaining the office of Boundary Commissioner. I accepted the post of Judicial Commissioner. The demarcation of the boundary was successfully carried out in the next two seasons by Sir George Scott and Mr. George.
Judicial work in Upper Burma, which occupied me for the next two years, was interesting but not exciting. The volume of work was sufficient, not beyond the pursuit of zeal and industry. The forensic part was varied and often entertaining, involving many studies of Buddhist law and indigenous customs. Though not a very litigious people, Burmans hate being treated, as they think, unjustly. I have known a case where only a few pence were at stake carried through all the Courts up to Mandalay. Besides hearing appeals and revisions as a High Court, the Judicial Commissioner had to supervise, and, where necessary, instruct the subordinate judiciary. The judicial system was less elaborate than in other Provinces, and many magistrates and Judges retained characteristics acquired under Burmese rule. They did their best, and administered what was perhaps at times a wild kind of justice. They had the Civil Procedure Code thrust on them, me judice, at too early a date, but they bore the infliction with resignation. The Judicial Commissioner’s duties involved a fair amount of administration and a good deal of inspection. With the members of the small but efficient Bar his relations were friendly and cordial.
The Judicial Commissioner held sway within the limits of his powers over all Upper Burma save, mercifully for them, the Shan States and the Chin and Kachin Hills. Inspections included many parts of the Province by me before unvisited. Of these brief visits, full of interest at the time, it were tedious to write at length. A sample may be given. Early one morning I landed at a wayside village to inspect the township court. A graceful little pandal[258] had been erected wherein I was invited to witness a pwè before beginning work. Innocently consenting, I took my seat and the performance began. Dancers came, not single spies, but in battalions. Every village in the neighbourhood had sent its troupe, each eager in succession to display its skill and grace. Except one, all the companies consisted of quite young girls, not professionals, but daughters of the village. The last turn was given by a band of small boys delightfully dressed in green jackets and knickerbockers. This was much more amusing than turning over dusty files and registers. But all good things come to an end, and after some pleasant hours I had reluctantly to obey the call of duty. In the end, I breakfasted at 5 o’clock tea. There is a sequel to the story. On my return to Mandalay I received a petition signed by the girls of one of the troupes. It was more clement than the petition of Salome. The memorialists had danced, and I had been pleased to look and express approval. Such poor skill as they had was due to the training of their saya.[259] This worthy man had fallen on evil days. By the craft and subtlety of his enemies, he had been wrongfully prosecuted for embezzlement, unjustly convicted, and barbarously sentenced to imprisonment. If he stayed in durance, his lessons would be forgotten, and his pupils would be able to dance no more. Would I kindly, as a personal favour to them, order his instant release? The impulse of the natural man was to grant on the spot this ingenuous gracefully worded request. Hardening my heart, I yet examined the record of the trial with every desire to find a reason for intervention. Alas! I could not convince myself that the saya was an injured innocent. All that the girls got by their memorial was a civil answer, in which I tried to explain why their request could not be granted. I hope they gave me credit for the wish to help them.
It should be a truism, but is too seldom recognized, that the less the higher Courts interfere, especially on technical grounds, the better. Now and then, however, it was pleasing to be able of one’s own motion to throw open the prison gates. Very gratifying it was to set at liberty a man sentenced to a long term of imprisonment for exceeding the right of private defence against an armed robber. To me he seemed deserving of reward rather than punishment. I doubt if any act of my official life gave me greater pleasure than restoring a young woman to freedom. Inspecting a gaol, I found a young Burmese girl, the solitary occupant of the woman’s side. In an agony of grief at her husband’s sudden death she had tried to commit suicide. For this heinous crime she had been sentenced to imprisonment for three months. On her ready promise not to do it again, I was able to release her at once.
For a few weeks in 1899, by arrangement with Mr. F. S. Copleston, C.S., who, solely for my convenience, changed places with me, I held the office of Judicial Commissioner of Lower Burma, a thankless post, of which the work exceeded my capacity.
In 1900 the Chief Court of Lower Burma was established, Mr. Copleston becoming the first Chief Judge. The selection was vehemently criticized, the local Bar and Press clamouring for the appointment of a barrister and for Mr. Copleston’s head on a charger. I should like to explain the reasons which may be urged in support of the appointment of a civilian. The judicious skipper will perhaps be warned, and avoid the next page or two. It is open to argument that there should not be any civilian Judges; that, as in England, all Judges should be barristers trained in forensic practice. This argument is not seriously advanced by anyone conversant with the conditions, and need not be traversed at length. But the situation may be briefly stated. From the beginning of their service, civilians are constantly doing judicial work, always criminal, generally civil. In the five-and-twenty years or so that pass before they are likely to enter a High or Chief Court, those who have any aptitude or inclination for legal studies have had abundant experience and have acquired a good stock of learning. Where there is a division between the executive and judicial branches, certain officers specialize almost exclusively. Civilians of my own standing had even an earlier training. During their term of probation law formed a prominent part of their reading. Periodical examinations tested their proficiency, and they had also to attend Courts and prepare notes of cases. They saw in practice the daily working of Courts under the presidency of the best Judges and magistrates in England. A selected candidate who failed at the Final Examination to qualify in law was ruthlessly rejected, excluded for ever from the paradise of the Civil Service. It is thought by some not unintelligent persons that in the trial of civil and criminal causes it is an advantage for the Judge to have knowledge of the language, customs, and character of the people concerned. Apart from this, every High and Chief Court in India has civilian Judges, by common consent as well qualified as their barrister colleagues. So much for the appointment of any civilians as Judges. Now for the question of the Chief Judge. In the Chief Court of Lower Burma, with which we are immediately concerned, in forensic business the Chief Judge has no more weight or authority than any of his puisne brothers. Only when all the Judges are sitting as a Bench, and when they are equally divided, has the Chief Judge a casting-vote. As yet that instance has not happened. Ordinarily, in court the Chief Judge is on terms of exact equality with his colleagues. As a member of a Bench he can be outvoted by his juniors. His decision as a single judge can be considered, modified, or overruled by a Bench, of which he may or may not be a member. So far as judicial work is concerned, every objection to the appointment of a civilian as Chief Judge can be urged with equal force to the appointment of any civilians as Judges. But the work is not exclusively judicial. It includes also administrative functions. The Chief Court initiates or advises upon many matters connected with the judicial administration. All subordinate Judges and magistrates, most of them Burmans, are under its supervision. In this branch of the duties of the Court the leading part is necessarily taken by the Chief Judge. It is therefore desirable that he should have administrative experience, and, if possible, good knowledge of the people. For these reasons public interest is better served by the selection of a civilian as Chief Judge. I do not care to discuss the vulgar suggestion, not seriously made by any decent person, that civilian Judges are more likely to be subservient to Government than barristers. No one believes this; nor would it apply particularly to the Chief Judge, who, as I have said, has no more power judicially than his colleagues. The only sound rule is for Government to appoint as Chief Judge the man believed to be best qualified for the office, whether civilian or barrister, bearing in mind that administrative as well as purely legal qualifications are requisite.
Some time ago there was an agitation for the establishment of a High Court for Burma in place of the Chief Court and Judicial Commissioner. No doubt Judges of the Chief Court should receive the same pay as Judges of a High Court. They do exactly the same work, and are of the same standing. Apart from this, in my humble judgment, the establishment of a High Court would be an unmixed evil. Upper Burma is not ripe for even the mild sway of the Chief Court. For both litigants and Judges it is better to remain under the sympathetic control of the Judicial Commissioner, whose learning is tempered by sympathy with the people. It would also be disastrous for suitors from Upper Burma to have to come to Rangoon, practically a foreign city, instead of Mandalay, where they are at home. Besides these objections, the establishment of a High Court would involve the appointment on every occasion of a barrister Chief Justice, which I hope I have shown to be inexpedient. As puisne Judges, barristers would be sent from England. One need not believe spiteful stories of political jobs, and one may respect many Judges of High Courts; but it cannot be contended that an Indian career now attracts the pick of the English Bar, men in first-class practice or with good prospects. Recent experience has, I trust, quenched whatever desire there may have been for the establishment of a High Court in Rangoon. But enough of controversy.
At the end of 1898 Lord Elgin visited Burma, on the very eve of his departure from India.
In the last few months of my last residence in Mandalay, no suitable house being available, I occupied my old quarters in the Palace, with the White Pavilion[260] opposite. Except for the Club on the western side and a few offices, the Palace was untenanted. Burmans ranged it at will, much interested in pacing its corridors and examining its stately rooms. They certainly did not regard the Palace with awe or reverence, but were well pleased to satisfy their curiosity. On feast days crowds came to picnic in the gardens and loitered in my courtyard. All climbed up the Queen’s Tower, and all counted the steps as they descended. At night, save for a few watchmen, most of the Palace was left in solitude. Very striking was the effect as one’s footsteps sounded hollow on the boarded floors, while the tropic moon flooded the columned arcades with unearthly light. Revolving many memories and picturing many scenes of bygone days, I traversed the deserted halls.
At the end of 1900, the day after the completion of my obligatory service in India, I went on furlough, free to retire at the end of two years. Mr. Harvey Adamson[261] succeeded to the appointment.
After spending rather more than a year in Europe, I was tempted back to Burma by the offer of the post of Chief Judge in succession to Mr. Copleston, who retired from the Service. I held the office for three years, from 1902 to 1905. These are years of pleasant memory, mainly on account of the very cordial relations with my colleagues, and especially the kindness and friendship of the barrister Judges. Of the Bar also I have a grateful remembrance. Its members were pleased to speak appreciatively of me on my departure. I risk the double edge.
The most interesting event of these years was the Durbar at Delhi held by Lord Curzon on New Year’s Day, 1903, to celebrate the Coronation of His Majesty King Edward VII. I do not propose to tell a twice-told tale by describing the Durbar and its attendant ceremonies. But a brief reference may be permitted. A splendid pageant was the State Entry, with its long line of richly caparisoned elephants, its dazzling array of Chiefs in gorgeous vestments, seen by thousands from the terraces of the Jamma Musjid. Glorious and soul-stirring was the Durbar itself with all the pomp of heraldry and blazonry of colour. Perhaps the most moving incident was the appearance of a body of Mutiny veterans, conspicuous among them white-haired men of many Indian races who had been faithful to their salt. The Shan chiefs, humble folk among the stately Indian Rajas, were yet in their grotesque attire a picturesque feature of the State Entry, and attracted notice as they paid homage at the Durbar. Not soon to be forgotten was the review of native retainers, where the followers of many Chiefs displayed curious customs and equipment handed down from remote antiquity. Perhaps the most charming ceremony was the State Ball in the Diwan-i-Am (with supper in the Diwan-i-Khas), where Europeans and Indians, gleaming with gold and jewels and radiant colour, flashed and glittered in the historic halls of the Moguls. The conception of the Durbar and of the incidents grouped round that memorable scene was worthy of the great event which they celebrated. The Burma camp was, as usual, admirably arranged and managed; the griffins, which characteristically guarded the gateway, a piece of Burma set down in the Punjab plain. The guests hospitably entertained there owe a debt of gratitude to Sir Frederic and Lady Fryer and His Honour’s able and courteous staff for many pleasant days. That fortnight remains in my mind as a charming episode.
In 1905, Lord Curzon appointed me to be Lieutenant-Governor in succession to Sir Hugh Barnes, who went to the Council of India. Sir Harvey Adamson became Chief Judge.
Early in 1906 the Province was honoured by the visit of the Prince and Princess of Wales. Their Royal Highnesses were received with unbounded enthusiasm by all classes and races in Burma. Their gracious kindness and consideration had the happiest effect in exciting the loyalty of the Burmese people. To Rangoon and Mandalay, Shan chiefs and many strange folk from remote hills and valleys, Chins, Kachins, Karens, Was, Padaungs, Brès, flocked to do homage. Proceeding down the river to Prome in a steamer fitted up by the Flotilla Company, Their Royal Highnesses saw a great deal of the country in a short time. The memory of their visit will not fade from the minds of those privileged to see them, and will be handed down as a glowing tradition to posterity.
Next year the Duke and Duchess of Connaught and Princess Patricia came to Burma, and were welcomed with acclamation. Their Royal Highnesses visited Rangoon, Mandalay, and Pagan, thus seeing the most interesting places in the Province.
In 1907 the Viceroy, Lord Minto, with Lady Minto, paid us a visit, and spent nearly a month in Burma. Their Excellencies saw Rangoon, Mandalay, Lashio, Myitkyina, Bhamo, Pagan, and Prome. Coming, like Lord Curzon, early in his term of office, Lord Minto obtained an insight into the conditions of Burma, and became interested in the Province. The most memorable incident of his visit was the Durbar held by His Excellency in the Eastern Hall of Audience in the Palace at Mandalay, the first public ceremony held there since Lord Dufferin’s Levée in 1886.
Although to Lord Curzon I owed my appointment as Lieutenant-Governor, I was not in Burma at the time of his visit, nor was it my privilege to serve directly under him for many months. Most illustrious of the eminent statesmen who have held the high office of Viceroy of India, Lord Curzon left, regretted by all who had at heart the interests of the Empire and the good of the people. It is presumptuous of me to attempt any appreciation of his work or to raise my feeble voice in eulogy. Yet, having served under him, I cannot be altogether silent. Lord Curzon set the example of the loftiest ideal. Inspiring the heartiest enthusiasm in those brought into personal relations with him, he spared no pains to raise the standard of efficiency, to reform abuses, to promote the well-being of the people of India. When the dust of controversy shall have been laid, the historian will see clearly, in true perspective, how noble a task he accomplished in the years, all too few, of his Viceroyalty.
So long as Burma remains a Province of India, her geographical position will place her at a disadvantage in comparison with other Provinces. Members of Council pay sparing and infrequent visits, and seldom have any knowledge of the country and the people. Nor has the Lieutenant-Governor many opportunities of visiting the headquarters of Government. Only once, towards the end of my term of office, did I go to Calcutta. While I was at Government House, except one Member who came on a private excursion, giving me no warning of his coming, and whom I never saw, only two Members of Council, Sir Denzil Ibbetson,[262] and Mr. W. L. Harvey, came to Burma. It was a pleasure and a privilege to make the acquaintance of Sir Denzil Ibbetson. His coming, though unavoidably deferred till the last moment, was of advantage to the Province. The same may be said of Mr. Harvey’s visit. Sir Denzil Ibbetson and Mr. Harvey were lost to India soon afterwards. Both were men of character, ability, and distinction, whom we could ill spare.
Distance and the pressure of overwhelming official cares kept away the Financial Member.[263] This was specially to be regretted. For the new Provincial Settlement, cynically styled a Contract, was discussed and determined. The debate was one-sided, and recalled the schoolboys’ tag: “Si rixa est, ubi tu pulsas, ego vapulo tantum.”
Burma fared badly in this unequal contest, where the decision rested solely with the Supreme Government. The situation may be described in popular terms. Apart from local funds, revenue and expenditure in India are divided into Imperial and Provincial. All the revenue is raised in the Provinces, the Government of India having no separate estate. Imperial expenditure, including the cost of the Central Government, the army, and Home charges, has to be met by contributions from the Provinces. Certain heads of revenue are Imperial, others provincial; others are divided between the two. It is right and fair that Burma as well as other Provinces should contribute to Imperial needs. Only very foolish people believe that the Government of India depends upon Burma for its livelihood, so to speak. The poor old milch-cow has been trotted out too often, and has become a wearisome, time-worn beast. In fact, the contribution paid by Burma is actually less than that paid by the richer Provinces. At the same time it is true that the contribution from Burma is greater in proportion to its population than that of any other Province, and that from Burma alone the annual subvention tends to increase. It may be admitted, as is perhaps the case, that the settlement with Burma was made on the same lines as those of other Provinces, that the proportion of its revenues taken by India is much the same as the proportion taken elsewhere. What people in Burma feel is that this is unfair. When our settlement was made we were still in a backward state, ill-equipped with roads and buildings, with many needs as yet unsupplied. Other Provinces were far more advanced, and had less necessary expenditure to incur. Moreover, the cost of public works in Burma is twice as high as in other parts of India. If, therefore, we are to be treated like other Provinces, we ought to have more liberal terms. So much is taken from Burma that not enough is left for public works and other expenditure necessary to our expansion. We also believe that this is a shortsighted policy, and that liberal expenditure in Burma would benefit Imperial and Provincial revenues alike. Stated in few words, this is the case for Burma, based on facts available to the public, without reference to unpublished records.
Another disadvantage under which Burma labours is the application of Indian principles and precedents. While Burma is part of India, no doubt the system of administration and the main lines of policy must be the same as in other Provinces. But in details, in matters where our conditions differ essentially from those of India, it is unreasonable that we should be bound by Indian rules. A Member of Council who has never seen Burma thinks nothing of overruling[264] the Local Government on points of purely local concern. Again, general orders framed after consideration of the circumstances of Indian Provinces are applied to Burma, where conditions are totally unlike. In this way much needless labour and waste of valuable time are caused. I remember one Commission which contained no representative from Burma, and which never came near the Province. It issued an elaborate and extremely valuable Report. For years afterwards poured forth a flood of Resolutions on the Commission’s recommendations which we were required to consider and discuss, though none of them could possibly apply to our local conditions. No real harm was done, but time and labour were spent in vain. As Burma differs essentially from India, and as it is impossible that Burma should be adequately represented in all departments of the Government of India, the natural conclusion is that the Local Government should be allowed a much freer hand, and should be trusted to know what is best in matters of local concern.
While on the subject of disadvantages I may mention a real grievance. It may seem mainly to affect the Civil Service; really it is of vital importance to the Province. I refer to the very small share which Burma has in appointments under the Imperial Government. As I myself obtained in my service more than I could have expected, I shall not be thought to speak from any personal feeling. In the fifty years since Burma has been a Province she has supplied to India one Member of Council, two Deputy-Secretaries, one Agricultural Adviser (for a short term), and two or three Under-Secretaries, all within the last seven years. No civilian from Burma has ever been chosen to administer another Province. It does not seem likely that of civilians in Burma, chosen in the same way as other civilians, none has been fit for such an appointment. It is needless to conjecture reasons for this apparent neglect. I suggest that Burma should receive a fair share of high offices, so that service in Burma may cease to be unpopular, and that her needs and conditions may be properly appreciated by the Supreme Government.
During my term of office the Royal Commission on Decentralization came to us. Needless to say, Burma had no representative among its members. That could hardly be expected. Bombay had two members, Madras and Bengal one each. The Punjab and the United Provinces were omitted. Except Mr. Dutt, a Bengali civilian who served in the regular line and seems to have attained no special distinction, the Commission included no one who had any acquaintance with the system of government by Lieutenant-Governors, and only one, Sir F. P. Lely, who had served in a non-regulation Province. The constitution of the Commission was clearly reflected in the Report which regarded all India as administered under the Presidency system, and therefore in the hands of Secretaries and Members of Executive Councils. The Commission learnt little of Burma during its somewhat hasty visit. Nor was it likely that permanent benefit would result from the labours of a body which set out to investigate and reform the whole administrative system of India in the course of a cold-weather tour.
The reforms of Councils devised by Lord Morley or Lord Minto were discussed and carried into effect during these years. These reforms were not needed in Burma; there was no popular demand for them; they were entirely unsuited to the Province. But Burma must lie on the procrustean bed. I am thankful to say, that for a time at least, the Province was saved from popular elections. In a country where, after thirty years, it is rare to find Europeans or Burmans of position willing to take an interest even in municipal elections, that would be the last straw. But the Council had to be enlarged, a non-official majority secured, and the elective system introduced at least to the extent of enabling one body, the Burma Chamber of Commerce, to elect[265] its member. And all the detailed rules of procedure, of Budget discussions, of interpellations, and the like, framed for other Provinces, have been applied to Burma. It may safely be said that no one in Burma is a penny the better for these innovations, and that the great heart of the people remains unmoved. The net result is some waste of time and public money owing to the appointment of more official members, worthy gentlemen who have to spend hours in Council when they should be doing their work. We were quite as well off under the old Council and the old rules. The situation would be ludicrous if it were not pathetic.
The objects which I regarded as most important, and which, to the best of my ability, I pursued, were the encouragement of efficiency in the Services, insistence on the principle of selection to which the Government of India often drew attention, and the improvement of the position and prospects of officers of various departments, particularly but not exclusively, those manned by people of the country. I had the pleasure of making the first appointment of a Burman as a District Judge, my old friend Maung Aung Zan,[266] K.S.M., being the officer selected. Two posts of Deputy Commissioner were obtained for the Provincial Service, the first Burman to hold that office being Maung Myat Tun Aung, C.I.E., K.S.M., T.D.M. Later I appointed the first two Burman Superintendents of Police, Maung Tun Min,[267] T.D.M., and Maung Shwe Tha,[267] I.S.O., K.S.M., A.T.M. These appointments enabled us to solve a long-standing problem, the officering of Kyauk-pyu. This district was notoriously unhealthy for any but natives of the locality, so that it was difficult to keep European officers there for any length of time. With one Arakanese as Deputy Commissioner and another as Superintendent of Police, both accustomed to the climate, it was possible to have the district efficiently administered without sacrificing anyone’s health. For some time Kyauk-pyu was administered solely by native officers. The experiment seems to have been successful; both the Deputy Commissioner and the Police Superintendent having recently been decorated. I take the opportunity of reminding my Burmese friends, who justly cite me as desirous of seeing them placed in higher offices, that one essential condition is that by character and ability they should prove their fitness for advancement. I am the last man in the world to wish Burmans promoted merely because they are Burmans, without regard to their qualifications. “After these things do the Gentiles seek.”
A successful effort was made to equalize the pay and prospects of the higher ranks of the Judicial Service, so as to attract men of at least average ability and ambition to that branch. The Provincial Judicial Service was organized on a proper basis, so that officers who chose or were posted to it might receive the same pay as those on the Executive side. The important Land Records Department was reorganized and placed on a proper basis as regards pay, and a system of recruitment and training was devised. To my lot, assisted by Colonel S. C. F. Peile, C.I.E., the experienced Inspector-General, fell the task of introducing most of the changes following the Report of the Police Commission. In this matter I think we might have been allowed more liberty to consult local conditions. After all, the Report was not verbally inspired.
I had much at heart the enactment of legislation for restraining the alienation of land and for the protection of tenants. I was unsuccessful in effecting either of these objects before my retirement. I have no doubt that gradually but surely the Burman is being squeezed off the land, and that if, as seems likely, the proposed legislation is abandoned, the land will fall into the hands of non-agriculturists and natives of India. Free trade in land as in other things may be good. From an economic point of view the position is probably sound. More rice will be grown for export; more land revenue and customs duty will be garnered. But there are other considerations. The standard of living will be lowered. The deterioration of the Burmese race which will inevitably accompany their divorce from the land will be a subject for regret when it is irremediable. Similarly, tenants in Burma are rapidly increasing in numbers. There, as elsewhere, they need protection. The solace of my disappointment was the progress of the co-operative credit movement under the fostering care of Mr. A. E. English, C.I.E. This movement will afford a great deal of help to the Burman cultivator. If it spreads to a sufficient extent, it may even obviate the need of agrarian legislation.
Among the pleasantest as well as the most beneficial duties of the Lieutenant-Governor is the making of tours in all parts of the Province. These journeys bring the head of the local Government into touch with officers of all grades and departments, as well as with the people. Not the least charming incidents associated with them are the receptions at every halting-place of importance, where the townsfolk offer a hearty welcome in their own fashion, and tender loyal addresses. Some of these receptions were elaborately and magnificently staged, with presentation of flowers, with dance and music, with triumphal arches, with decorated streets. Without meaning to be invidious, I think receptions at Mandalay, Pegu, Akyab, and Bassein, where I was charmed to meet many old friends, stand out in my memory as conspicuous. The addresses presented on these occasions were often gracefully worded. Besides a profusion of loyal sentiments and good wishes, they usually stated matters of local interest for which the benevolent attention of Government was sought, the need of a new school, waterworks, sanitation, as the case might be. In one address my wife was gratified by being styled my “august consort.”[268] Except the Chin Hills, the Hill districts of Northern Arakan and Salween, and, I am ashamed to say, Tharrawaddy, which was unaccountably neglected, I visited all the districts as well as the Northern and Southern Shan States. Kyaingtôn (Kēngtūng), across the Salween, was an object of unfulfilled desire, and a projected ride to Namkham was not realized.
To Mogôk I went for the purpose of investing the young Sawbwa of Möñgmit with the administration of his State. At a very early age the young Chief was taken in hand, and placed in charge of the Rev. J. N. Cushing,[269] the venerable head of the Baptist Mission in Rangoon, and one of the first of Shan scholars. Dr. Cushing received him into his own house, and treated him as a son. When of suitable years, the future Sawbwa was sent to a district for training in judicial and executive work. Not till he was of ripe age, and had given evidence of steadiness of character, was he allowed to assume charge of his State. He received his Sanad in full Durbar, and with it much good advice. With an experienced Burman officer as his principal Assistant, and under the effective supervision of the Deputy Commissioner, Mr. E. C. S. George, the young Chief has done well, and has shown zeal and intelligence in the management of his State. I think the impressions of his early years have not faded. At the time of his investiture his marriage was celebrated—a pleasing ceremony which I was privileged to attend. At Mogôk the usual strenuous round of duty and pleasure, incident to the inspection of a district headquarters with a vigorous Deputy Commissioner, filled days and nights. Up at six to ride round and visit local institutions, business occupied the day; at about five in the evening amusements began, and lasted till the small hours. Carrying very pleasant memories, a tired party reached Mainglôn, on the march back to May-my̆o. Most of the route lay along a well-graded hill-road, aligned and made by the Public Works Officer of Thibaw, a very intelligent Shan. At each halting-place comfortable encampments of mat and bamboo had been built by direction of Mr. Stirling,[270] Superintendent, and the Chief, my good friend Saw Hkè.[271]
A charming tour took us the round of the maritime districts, Tavoy, Mergui, Akyab, Kyaukpyu, and Sandoway, in the R.I.M.S. Dalhousie. We cruised in the lovely Mergui Archipelago, a summer sea set with countless islands, rivalling in beauty the Inland Sea of Japan. Perhaps the most noticeable sight was Elephant Island. It stands alone, its green slopes narrowing to the sky. At low water we approached the shore, our boat with difficulty and strenuous effort pushed over sands hardly covered by the shallow sea. So we came to where the water deepened, at the mouth of a gloomy cavern. Entering, we found a low, winding, rock-roofed tunnel, just wide and high enough for our boat, with a glimmer of daylight at the far end. Emerging, we reached the middle of the island, a still lagoon, encircled by smooth marble walls. A magic scene from fairyland: a snow-white ring, with an opening like the crater of a volcano; in the midst the purple lake. One pictured it as the secret refuge of buccaneers, who here might hide in safety. Our time for admiring this lovely landscape was limited; too long a stay would have imprisoned us for hours, till the tide fell and left the tunnel navigable. Working by charts nearly a hundred years old, we approached Victoria Point, the farthest outpost on the south, bordering on the Siamese State of Renoung. The revival of tin-mining had begun to make the place of some importance. Later a wireless telegraph station was established. More recently rubber-planting has been tried.
After a winding course over rocks and shoals, through unexplored Shan States and savage hills where head-hunting is still fitfully pursued, the Chindwin joins the Irrawaddy above Pakôkku. Passing between banks clad with dense forest, we desecrated with steam and smoke silent reaches glamorous with romance. The march of progress is gradually dissipating the mist which yet still clings to this river of ancient story. Here and there a court-house or a military police post marks the advance of civilization. Inland the woodman’s axe resounds in the primeval forest. A coal-mine, one of the many promising but faithless ventures of the prospector, makes a deep cavern in a hillside. We explored it for a considerable way by the light of naked, guttering candles; no Davy lamps in that mine. On the Chindwin are still current stories with an old-world ring. There you will see a little monastery at the water’s edge. Above that point, though snakes abound, they have no power to harm. On one side of the line thus marked, if a snake bites you, prepare to die; cross the line, the same snake may bite you with no worse effect than a fleeting sting. Walking through a village, to test the story we asked a man if there were many snakes. “Oh yes,” he replied; “but, of course, they do no harm. I was bitten yesterday.” And he showed on his leg the mark of recent fangs. The reason of this interesting difference is comparatively simple. Once upon a time the countryside was ravaged by a gigantic serpent. The King himself, in the fearless old fashion, gave battle to the snake, and, after a desperate struggle, slew it and cut it in half. The two pieces he flung into the river. Now, the head-piece, where are the poisonous fangs, floated down-stream; the tail-piece, where there are none, floated upwards. You see the result. If you go farther north, you will come to a village where the people have the fascinating power of turning themselves into tigers. We went no higher than Homalin, and missed the chance of verifying this attractive legend. It was poor compensation to land at Thangthut, the capital of a very small Shan Chief, to find a stack of polo-sticks in his haw,[272] and to learn that Manipuris, the originators of the game, sent teams to play polo with the Sawbwa and his staff.
Talking of tigers reminds me of one or two stories which may find a place here. Real tigers are common to many parts of the Province. One day a tiger came upon two little girls in the jungle, seized the younger, and was trotting off with her. The elder sister, a girl of about twelve, took off her tamein[273] and flapped the tiger about the face till the astonished beast dropped the child and fled. The truth of this story is proved by the fact that Government gave the girl a silk tamein in recognition of her courage and presence of mind. Another time, quite recently, a woodman was seized by a tiger. He cut at him with his da[274] till the tiger dropped him and retreated. The man, enraged at being attacked, followed and slashed him again, his only weapon being a long wood-cutting knife. Another authentic story, of an earlier date, tells how a tiger was killed by a man armed only with da. We may hesitate to believe people who tell us that Burmans are not brave.
The American who declined to go to the Taj Mahal because he had not come to India to see tombs, when he came to Burma would not look at Pagan because he had not come to see pagodas. Described once for all by Sir Henry Yule in “The Court of Ava,” in its way Pagan is one of the most remarkable places in the world. The seat of an ancient dynasty, it lies along the bank of the Irrawaddy below Myingyan. Pagodas, literally for miles and in hundreds, fill the landscape as far as eye can see. All varied styles of Buddhist architecture, with many traces of Hindu influence, are represented. Here is the renowned Ananda Pagoda, among the most famous of Buddhist shrines. Here, too, are solemn, stately figures of the four Buddhas[275] who have yet visited the earth. As the ages roll by, other Buddhas will descend for the regeneration of the world.
Not very far below Pagan, illustrative of a strange mingling of ancient and modern, is the most productive of the oil-fields of Burma, that of Yenangyaung. In 1886, reviewing the prospects of mineral discovery in Upper Burma, we prophesied before we knew. We went nap, as might be said, on coal, and took but little interest in petroleum. The development of the oil-fields is the most striking feature of the economic history of the Province for the past twenty-five years. The search for coal has been uniformly disappointing. The Yenangyaung field was worked in former times by crude native methods. Into shallow wells dug by hand men went down, clad in a sort of diver’s costume, and laboriously baled out oil with a bucket. The out-turn was comparatively small. The wells were owned by a close corporation of local Burmans known as twinzas,[276] who had exclusive hereditary rights. All the oil extracted had to be sold to the King at a fixed price. Of late years the oil-fields have been exploited with all the resources of modern science by companies who, by grant or purchase, have acquired rights over wells and oil-bearing land. The Burma Oil Company were pioneers of the industry. It was under the auspices of my friend Sir Campbell Kirkman Finlay, Managing Director of the company, that I twice visited Yenangyaung. One of my visits was marked by the spouting of the most productive well yet struck in Burma. The oil-field is a busy bustling place, covered with tall derricks and giving employment to many drillers and mechanics. Side by side with modern scientific extraction may be seen the primitive native methods still practised. Over all is a Warden to enforce the elaborate rules necessary to safeguard the field against danger from fire and to prevent its premature exhaustion. From the wells runs a pipe-line conveying oil for about two hundred and seventy-five miles to the refinery at Syriam, where a populous town has sprung up. The latest report gives the total quantity of petroleum produced in Burma as 222,000,000 gallons, a very small fraction of the world’s production.
Our tours on the Irrawaddy and Chindwin were made in steamers of the Royal Indian Marine and in the house-boat already mentioned. Among Indian Marine officers I had many friends. One I may mention by name, Lieutenant H. R. Bowers, was with us on several tours. The son of Captain A. Bowers, R.N.R., long resident in Burma, who had accompanied Colonel Sladen’s mission to Yunnan in 1868, he had close hereditary associations with the Province. From the first he impressed us as an officer of great promise, capable and self-reliant. I bade him farewell on the eve of his departure, full of hope and pride, for the journey whereon he died a hero’s death among Antarctic snows. His memory lives in the hearts of his countrymen.
My final tour brought me at last to the lovely lake of Indawgyi, which I had in vain tried to reach in 1894.[277] From Hopin on the Mu Valley Railway the distance is only some thirty miles, which we rode leisurely in three or four easy stages. With us were Mr. Hertz,[278] the very able and distinguished Deputy Commissioner of Myitkyina, and Mr. W. Scott, one of his Assistant Superintendents, whose knowledge of Kachin language, folklore, and customs is extensive and peculiar. Very impressive is the panorama of the lake, lying in a semi-circle of hills, with few traces of civilized intrusion. A pagoda here and there on its green banks adds a picturesque touch to the scene. We sought but did not find the floating islands of which we had heard long ago. Indawgyi lies on the border of a fertile country once populous, but devastated after a Kachin rising not long before the Annexation. It is slowly recovering, and as population increases will once more be a rich harvest-field. Thence we paid a last visit to Myitkyina and the confluence.[279] More precious than the Commissioner, the Lieutenant-Governor was not allowed to shoot the rapids. He was induced to skirt them on a pony. Of the rise and progress of Myitkyina I have already written. Then for the last time, with many regrets, we passed through the glorious First Defile and bade farewell to it for ever.
It were ungracious to close this discursive record without expressing my grateful obligations to those who worked with me in the last responsible years of my service. No Lieutenant-Governor ever had a better personal staff or more capable Secretaries. If I take leave to mention Mr. F. C. Gates,[280] Mr. W. F. Rice, C.S.I., Mr. Lionel Jacob,[281] Mr. R. E. V. Arbuthnot, Mr. G. F. Arnold, C.I.E., Mr. F. Lewisohn among Secretaries; Major F. J. Fraser, the late Mr. D. Shearme, Captain A. F. S. Hill, R.E., Mr. C. S. Pennell, Captain E. L. Caldecott, R.A., among officers of the personal Staff, it is not that I value less highly the loyalty and good service of their colleagues. If I were to mention Commissioners, district, and departmental officers to whom I am indebted, I must name practically the whole Commission and plagiarize many pages of the Civil List.
So after a chequered career we bade farewell to Burma, fairest and brightest of Eastern lands, the memory of whose happy people will always be enshrined in our hearts.