The next three years, with a brief interlude of privilege leave, were spent in Lower Burma. I was Chief Secretary for a year under Sir Alexander Mackenzie, for nine months under Sir Frederic Fryer, for three months under Mr. Donald Smeaton, who acted in a privilege-leave vacancy. Work was sufficient, not excessive. The Province was in order, and the Secretariat was administered on more regular lines than in the earlier strenuous years. It was no longer necessary to burn the midnight oil or to abjure exercise and recreation. Sir Alexander Mackenzie was a man of extraordinary capacity, and of abnormal, in my experience unexampled, speed of work. Throughout the day four Secretaries toiled and filled office-boxes with files; by nine o’clock next morning all came back with the Chief Commissioner’s orders noted on them. It hardly seemed as if he could have had time to untie the bundles. Yet we had frequent evidence that cases were not dealt with perfunctorily. The speed with which Sir Alexander Mackenzie got to the root of a case, however elaborate or involved, seemed almost supernatural. He left the Secretaries to do their own work, and wrote less than any other Chief I have known. A line of his writing would be the basis of a long draft. The least obstinate of men, he invited criticism and free expression of opinion, and was not afraid of changing his mind. But he was the strong man, the mainspring and motive-power of the Administration. No Secretary cherished the delusion that he was running the Province. We felt that he was the player whose organ-keys were thunders, and we, beneath his foot, the pedal pressed. Parenthetically, it may be observed that in Burma, and probably in other Provinces which do not enjoy the blessing of Executive Councils, the theory that Secretaries are supreme has no foundation in fact. The power and subtle intrigues ascribed to provincial Secretariats are the vain imaginings of people who have had no experience of their working from within. The nonsense asserted or hinted by such persons is incredible, and would be ludicrous but for its effect on others equally ill-informed. Sir Alexander Mackenzie was a genial and appreciative Chief, under whom it was a pleasure to work. As an administrator he was not in the same class as his immediate predecessor, nor did he inspire the personal enthusiasm and affection which many of us felt for Sir Charles Bernard and Sir Charles Crosthwaite. But we respected his marvellous ability, and were grateful for his uniform kindness. According to popular belief, having finished his work before breakfast, he spent the rest of the day on a sofa reading light literature till it was time for tennis.

A distinguished visitor to Burma at this time was Lord Randolph Churchill. As Secretary of State when Upper Burma was annexed, he had a close association with the Province. The recollection of this was often in his mind, and gave a personal interest to his visit to Mandalay. His coming to Burma was tinged with melancholy, as his health was broken, and it was not long before his premature death. It is a privilege to have met him, even though not in his brilliant day, and it is a pleasant thought that he was able to see the country which he was instrumental in adding to the Empire.

Again I must confess that life in the Secretariat, interesting enough to the workers, presented few incidents likely to enthrall the most sympathetic reader. The more smoothly the machinery worked, the fewer sparks were thrown off. Even in the Province, the happier the people, the less material for the bookmaker. True, there were exciting events even in that peaceful time. Two which startled us out of our equanimity may be recalled. Mr. Tucker, a member of a well-known family, many of whom have served the Crown in India, at the time District Superintendent of Police in Pegu, was an excellent shot and a notable sportsman. One night, when on tour in a country boat, he was aroused by the report of a dacoity close by. Leaping on shore at once, and calling to his boy[245] to bring his gun and cartridges, he hastened towards the scene. As he ran along the bank, he was shot dead by dacoits, without a chance of defending himself. It was one of the ironies of fate that he, better than most men qualified for resistance, should have fallen thus obscurely. One by one all concerned in the crime were brought to justice, though some years passed before the tale was complete. The other lurid incident was the plunder of the mail-train between YamÈthin and Pyinmana, when Nelson, the guard, was murdered. The miscreants who perpetrated this daring outrage are believed to have been natives of India, formerly employed on the railway and conversant with its working. Boarding the train at YamÈthin, they tampered with the couplings of the brake-van, of which one compartment was obligingly labelled “Treasure and valuables.” At a lonely place they completed the severance of the van from the rest of the train, which went on, unconscious of the act. The unarmed guard was cut down and the treasure carried off. It was believed at the time that the real criminals were brought to trial. After protracted proceedings, they were finally acquitted on appeal.

The year 1896 saw the very last of the dacoit Bos. Ten years before, Bo Cho had harried Myingyan and Pagan, the leader of a formidable gang; once, when he met Captain Eyre, he is said to have led seven hundred men. Unlike other Bos, he was neither killed nor captured, nor did he surrender. When his band melted away, and dacoity became too hazardous a sport, he simply disappeared. Either he was dead, or he had plunged into effectual obscurity in the comparatively dense population of the Delta. Actually, he was living as a peaceful cultivator in a village in the middle of the Myingyan district. There he might have spent the rest of his days, perhaps becoming in time a Kyaung-taga, or even a Headman. No one would have dreamt of betraying him even for the price set upon his capture. Did not the munificent offer of Rs. 20,000 fail to tempt any follower of Gaung Gyi?[246] But after a time, apparently weary of a life of inaction, Bo Cho became restless. With two sons, he took to the jungle and began again the old trade of dacoity. Experience of the early years of the pacification was utilized. Mr. W. R. Stone,[247] a newly joined Assistant Commissioner, with a small force of military and civil police, and with selected Burman officers to help him, was told off to catch Bo Cho. He was given full authority under the Village Regulation, and a free hand. The invaluable power of removing to a distance friends and relatives of dacoits was unsparingly exercised. In a few weeks Mr. Stone dispersed the gang and captured Bo Cho and his sons, who were duly hanged in the Myingyan Jail.

Bo Cho and his sons.