The capital of the Tenasserim provinces is situated on the left bank of the river, about half a day’s steaming from its mouth. It is, if anything, even more picturesque than Prome; and, at that period, civilization had made considerable strides, calculated to enhance its beauty, in the shape of good roads and tasteful houses. The site on which it was built was of an undulating character, with imposing hills in the background, between which intervened a swampy belt, inundated during the monsoon, and under cultivation when the waters had subsided.

From motives of convenience and salubrity, the native and European residences were built parallel to the river, in a line extending over several miles.

Once again my eye rested on houses built on piles, and they appeared so familiar, that I could scarcely realize the fact of having for the past four years been associated with any other. The European houses boasted roomy verandahs, protected from the prevailing glare by luxuriant creepers.

Teak and bamboo entered largely into their composition, while the roofs were covered with “shingles,” or flat, thin boards cut into fixed sizes and laid on after the manner of tiles. They resisted water wonderfully, but whenever it poured—it never rained!—the noise was such as to drown all attempts at conversation. Perchance a shower would descend in the middle of a meal, and the hush would then be as great as if a punkah had suddenly given way in the hot season, or a steamer with heated bearings had suddenly come to a standstill in the Red Sea.

In the native quarters too, the houses were more substantially built than anything I had seen elsewhere, and the excellent sanitation was a bright feather in the cap of the Commissioner, as well as those under him, who had to deal not only with Burmese, but with a medley of Chinese, Malays, Karens, Shans and Madrasees, who had settled in the place and were conspicuous by their industry.

Of these, I found the Chinese by far the most amusing; and it was a right down pleasure to ransack their shops for curios. They certainly appeared to me a unique race, what with their strange physiognomy, style of dress, their independence and way of rendering English.

The cream of our intercourse lay in the process of bargaining, wherein they displayed much temper, which I fear I encouraged rather than otherwise.

By way of a set-off, however, I found to my dismay, when I came to pack, that I had accumulated more china than I knew how to dispose of. And I may here mention, by way of warning to others, that ere long it was all “lost, stolen, strayed or broken.” Such a collection in my possession at this time would be exceedingly valuable, for every item was of its kind genuine, and not the rubbish which passes muster nowadays.

A considerable number of Chinese, attracted to Moulmein by the shipbuilding carried on at the docks, had settled down as carpenters, in which capacity they have earned golden opinions in every quarter of the globe.

Even in exile, away from the Flowery Land, the Celestial clings to his pig, that white, sleek, well-bred animal, which has so improved our own stock. M. Huc was among the first to enlighten us with regard to the inhabitants of China and Tartary; and some of his remarks about the Chinese border on the marvellous; as, for instance, their expertness at telling the time of day or night by the appearance of a cat’s eyes, and their method of preventing a donkey braying by tying a weight to his tail.

And these are not mere travellers’ tales.

At midnight, a cat’s eye is at its fullest stage of dilatation, gradually contracting till midday, when it represents no more than a longitudinal slit.

By patient observation—and who can beat the Chinese for patience?—the stage of dilatation or contraction constitutes a very fair index; not perhaps for those who are dependent on trains, but for all daily purposes in less sophisticated lands than our own.

It was also demonstrated to M. Huc’s entire satisfaction, that in order to bray, a donkey must have his head, ears and tail erect, so that if the last named be kept down by a heavy weight, he has not a bray in his composition.

During one of my evening walks, I met a Chinese funeral procession; the coffin, as customary, was large and ponderous, and the unfortunate bearers seemed to stagger under the load. All the followers were busy throwing pieces of tissue paper into the air, which were carried here and there by the wind. Greatly perplexed as to the meaning of this strange proceeding, I made inquiries, and found that their object was to cheat the devil, the papers being imaginary bank notes, for which his satanic majesty had, they believed, a great weakness; while he was engaged in collecting them, the body could be buried in safety, and, once in the earth, he had no power over it.

They passed me on their way back, rejoicing exceedingly at the success of their stratagem, laughing and joking, as if they had been assisting at a wedding rather than an interment.

Besides being good carpenters, they were facile princeps as leather-workers; and once a Chinaman has encased your feet, you will be reluctant to employ any other nationality, be it even a Frenchman, though he comes second best.

Having said this, I have said all the good for John Chinaman that I can—the rest is simply nowhere!

He is steeped in independence, being very unpunctual, and exceedingly brusque into the bargain. Keeping you waiting until it suits him to bestir himself, he will come forward with, “What you want?” “Boots mended,” is the rejoinder. “Very good; I mend.” “When ready?” you ask—remember, he can only understand his own kind of English. “You come next week,” is his ultimatum. You go next week, and the boots have not been touched. “How is this?”—“Oh! I too busy; you come another time.” “But when, you old thief?”—“Next week I make ready,” and he vanishes into the back premises. For artistic and systematic thieving, too, he has gained a world-wide renown; while as for his other virtues—well, “all men are liars,” and Chinamen form no exception to the general rule.

And now I must give some little account of the wonderful vegetation, which eminently characterizes this part of our possessions.

The most conspicuous among indigenous trees is unquestionably the Jack-fruit, of which several may be seen in every garden, along the roadside, and shading the houses, in which latter capacity it is not to be beaten, for the thick, green, glossy leaves are very numerous. As an article of food, it ranks somewhat less highly, for a European needs some moral courage to approach the fruit, for a reason to which I have already alluded; though a native esteems it as honey in the comb, and will gorge to repletion on it, and then have a little more—if it is to be had!

Standing isolated, it is certainly more striking in appearance than when growing in the jungles; and one is particularly attracted by its curious tendency to grow fruit on the trunk.

The elongated mahogany-coloured seeds are, when roasted, palatable and nutritious; while its wood, which is much sought after for special purposes, takes a high place for durability.

Not nearly so common, but surpassing it beyond all range of comparison, is that crowning triumph of the vegetable kingdom, the Amherstia Nobilis.

This glorious plant, than which even a poet’s imagination could conceive nothing more beautiful of its kind, is of the Papillonaceous order, a trifle too symmetrical perhaps to be artistic; it grows to the height of about thirty feet, and on the dense mass of light green, pinnate foliage rest large racemes of bluish-purple flowers in great profusion.

Following closely on its heels is the Poinsiana Regia, a native of Madagascar, naturalized in some parts of India, but not met with here. The Amherstia is, however, indigenous to these parts, flourishing in a limited area.

I do not think the specimens introduced by a friend of mine into the Calcutta Botanical Gardens thrived particularly well, neither am I aware whether it is to be found among our exotics at home. In a lofty glass house, with a high temperature, saturated atmosphere, and rich, loamy soil, it might flourish. The finest specimen I ever beheld was in the Commissioner’s ground.

Several seeds of its near rival germinated in my own greenhouse in Herefordshire, but the heat was insufficient to carry them through the winter, though the gardener at Moor Park, to whom I gave some seeds, kept them in a flourishing condition for several years.

Various kinds of acacias and mimosas perfumed the air and delighted the eye; and the beauty of many a garden was considerably enhanced by well-kept clumps of the graceful bamboo and the elegant plantain. The display of floral wealth was also considerable, but there is a limit to my memory.

Those were the days in which whole forests of teak were cut down with a recklessness impossible to understand under any administration; no thought was taken of the future, which must take care of itself. Forests, instead of being thinned, were absolutely cleared on a principle of penny wise, pound foolish, which characterizes those of our own agriculturists, who refuse to replace worn-out fruit trees, because they themselves may not live to see them grow up and bear. Considering all that their forefathers did for them, such wanton selfishness is a little surprising—even in men! Day after day, huge rafts of teak, in charge of a Burmese crew, were floated down the river to the timber-yard. This had been going on ever since the monsoon set in, at which time this river, to the depth of which I have already alluded, is subject to sudden rises of twenty feet and more. One of the sights of the place was to watch the elephants at work stacking these ponderous pieces of timber; and, knowing from habit exactly what was required of them, they certainly set about it in a most intelligent and methodical manner, with little or no prompting on the part of their drivers. Anyone watching them at this occupation could also form some idea of their colossal strength, a power which they themselves are apparently incapable of appreciating, and which they willingly delegate to the service of man. Few animals are more easily tamed, and once domesticated, the desire for liberty seems to die out in them for good and all. The Burmese turn them into the jungle to browse, just as we do horses into a field; when they require one, they have but to walk a short distance and call any one of them by name, when the pachyderm leaves off feeding and follows his master like a dog. The mention of these sagacious animals brings to mind an omission. On our march to Mendoon, that I related some chapters back, we lost a number of the finest specimens; but on careful examination, I could find no specific cause beyond enormous distension of the colon. To administer poison is in itself no easy matter, for anything in the shape of medicine, however adroitly concealed, is usually rejected. Yet some powerful and subtle vegetable alkaloid must have gained an entrance, and we became positively alarmed at the frequency with which such losses recurred, for in them was our trust to carry our camp baggage.

From this emporium of teak, I went down to the docks, where I spent a considerable time. The art of ship-building has, from boyhood upwards, ever exercised a peculiar fascination over me; and only very recently I designed a five-foot model of a steamer, which I hope, ere long, to build with that most excellent of antipodean woods, the cowry pine, the chief characteristics of which are close grain and elasticity.

There were a number of fair sized vessels in different stages of construction, others in course of repair.

Chinamen predominated, as might have been expected, among the carpenters, and they certainly appeared to me to take matters remarkably easy. I neglected to inquire whether they were paid by time or by work accomplished; if the latter, their earnings must have been insignificant.

What they undertake, however, is done well; though slow and easy going, they are on occasion painstaking, accurate and steady.

The practice of opium-smoking may induce lethargy, but not impairment of the faculties as with alcohol.

One vessel, which was just receiving the finishing touches, looked so trim that I was tempted on board, and her recent history was of a nature to open my eyes to certain phases of the ways of man, of which I had previously been totally ignorant.

About six weeks before, she had sailed with a large cargo of timber, but had not proceeded far when she was discovered to be extremely leaky, and everything was made ready in case she should founder. On one occasion indeed the crew took to the boats, but as it became evident that the buoyancy of her cargo would keep her afloat, she was again boarded and brought back for repairs. The individual who took upon himself to acquaint me with these thrilling facts expressed such unconcealed disgust at the way in which she had floated when she ought to have sunk—“She’d a’ been worth a load more at the bottom!”—conjured up visions of a snug insurance, and on reading between the lines, I found it unnecessary to inquire into the origin of the leak!

Taking leave of my very outspoken companion, I emerged from the docks a sadder, yet a wiser man, than I had entered them. Already, in the old days, Shylock arrived at certain practical conclusions anent “land-rats and water-rats, and the peril of waters, winds and rocks,” but such calculated villainy as the above is one of the fruits of the grand march of civilization.

The sight of all others, upon which the good people of this place above all prided themselves, was that of the “Caves,” and I firmly believe that my newly-acquired friends and hospitable entertainers were rather nettled at my electing to visit the timber-yard and docks first. But the horizon soon cleared, when my friend and self arranged to go there on the morrow. Although not far off, they were difficult of approach at this season of the year, owing to the intervening expanse of water that had to be traversed, for the caves were located in some rocks that stood in the midst of that element.

Our intention evidently pleased our host, for besides a whole volume of instructions and warnings, every preparation was made for our comfort, and we started after breakfast with a hamper large enough for six, an extra coat apiece, an umbrella and a supply of torches. A Madrassee Jehu drove us through two or three miles of country under-timber, until we brought up at the edge of a swamp. Here occurred a pause of half an hour, after which a Burmese, who had sallied forth in quest of his elephant, returned with it.

The “howdah” was most ingeniously constructed of bamboo and cane, very light and comfortable, as much so, at least, as anything can be on the back of one of those animals. Lashing everything securely, we plunged at once into the wilderness of waters, the margin of which was surrounded by large trees, creepers, and undergrowth.

Cautious as usual, the animal threaded its way, bearing direct for the two rocks, which stood out conspicuously about equidistant from dry land on either side. The distance looked nothing at starting, though, measured by the time it took to accomplish, it must have been considerable. Of course the animal had to proceed with extreme caution, plumbing the depth with its fore foot at every step, before trusting so enormous a weight to an uncertain bottom. In our progress we perceived numbers of elephants among the trees, from which they were breaking off suitable branches, first employing them with their trunks to whisk off numerous insect tormentors, and afterwards consigning the leafy morsels to their mouths.

As we approached the rocks, the water became gradually shallower, until we again emerged on dry land and stood before the mouth of the principal cave. The entrance was by way of a short passage some ten feet high, profusely adorned with images of Gautama, but otherwise unaltered by the hand of man. This abruptly expanded into a huge, vaulted chamber, damp, cold and dark as Erebus. Here we donned our extra coats and lighted the torches. As the flames dispelled the gloom, a very beautiful sight burst upon us. From the roof depended enormous masses of stalactites of every size, over which water trickled, exhibiting prismatic colours as the torchlight fell upon them at various angles; and they seemed studded with innumerable precious stones of exceeding brilliancy, the gems of Golconda, rubies from “the mines” and emeralds from Santa FÉ. It was like being suddenly ushered into the abode of some fairy, the deception being heightened by the fantastic shapes of the rocks beneath, the result of the trickling water. Around and about the rocks were narrow paths covered with a soft substance, which took the impression of our feet, and though we could distinctly hear the murmur of flowing water, it was nowhere visible.

Moreover, it suddenly ceased, until we entered cave number two—like the first in every particular, only smaller—when it recommenced, puzzling me as much as before. By the time we had entered the third recess, it again ceased; and in extreme perplexity I asked our guide what it meant. The reply was almost as surprising as the mysterious sound itself—it proceeded from the wings of countless numbers of bats, fleeing before the light of our torches. We explored all the caves; I forget their number now, their beauty—never!

That same sound as of running water—really the gentle flapping of bats’ wings—pioneered our retreat. I was rather ahead of the others, when my torch suddenly went out, leaving me in profound darkness. I tried to grope my way, but a few tumbles over those by no means soft rocks brought me to a standstill. I sat, therefore, like Patience on a rock, until my friend came up with the guide; otherwise, I believe I should be there now!

When we finally quitted the caves the light of the sun dazzled us so uncommonly, that some moments passed ere we could regain our normal vision. We at once sought out the shady side of the rock, and proceeded to open the hamper. Everything had been thought of; and as the trip had sharpened our appetites, the cold fowls and ham soon disappeared, and the bottles of claret cup leaked alarmingly.

The elephant found no difficulty in stowing away all the bread that was left, while his master was content with a smoke. And so we chatted on, until the lengthening shadows of the rock warned us to set out on our homeward way.

That evening our glowing account of the lovely caves, and genuine praises of the contents of the hamper, reinstated us in the good opinion of our hostess. This alone was conducive to a good night’s rest; and a day’s outing under a sun removed only sixteen and a half degrees from the Equator, and the lurching and jolting on the back of a terrestrial leviathan, supplied what was wanting.

I was not sorry, therefore, when the retiring hour came round, and I could pass straight into dreamland.

Caves are exceedingly common in this part of the country, more especially on the upper reaches of the river. They are considered, in some measure at least, sacred by the Burmese, who endeavour to ornament their entrances with images, flags and other devices; but what ideas they entertain with regard to their origin and formation I never remember hearing. These particular caves were evidently formed in the ordinary way; by the action, that is, of water and possibly some chemical action on oolitic limestone. But how this solitary rock resisted the violent forces in operation when the principal mass was removed, would require an expert geologist to explain.

Even here, such a doctor might be as much at fault as his confrÈres have shown themselves with regard to those singular detached rocks at Tunbridge Wells, at which they have laboured in vain. Their grooved, fluted bases unquestionably denote the action of violent currents at some period or other; and being the fittest, they have survived the general overthrow. And certainly they have been put to the utmost use as a show place at that fashionable resort, and much ingenuity has been expended on making them appear more extensive than they really are.