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.