CHAPTER XXII

IN THE JUNGLES OF BURMA

The next morning we went to call on an American missionary. He lived in a handsome bungalow set in a wooded park on a hill just outside the town. The first persons we saw when we reached the place were a native gardener clipping away at the shrubbery on the grounds, and another servant following two very little girls who drove about the house a team of lizards harnessed together with reins tied to their hind legs.

When we told the missionary that we were looking for work, he quickly found something to put us at. Among other things, I repaired the floor and several windows, and made two kitchen benches. James put a new cover on the missionary’s saddle, cleaned and oiled his fire-arms, put new roosts in his hen-house, and set his lumber-room in order.

We found some work in the city also, and, with some four dollars in silver and copper, set off once more. A jungle trail led eastward through a dark forest. We walked as fast as we could, for the hour was late and the next village was fully fifteen miles distant. Not a hut or a human being did we pass on the journey; only the path showed that someone had been there before us.

Black night had fallen when we reached Kawkeriek. The town was only a collection of those same one-story bamboo huts standing in uneven rows in the square clearing which its inhabitants had won after a hard fight with the wilderness.

We had heard that a commissioner lived at Kawkeriek. We wandered among the huts, asking passers-by to direct us to his bungalow. The few whom we came upon in the darkness listened with trembling limbs to our question, grunted something that we couldn’t understand, and hurried noiselessly away.

The hour was late when we came upon one who must have been made of bolder stuff than his fellow townsmen, for he agreed to guide us. Beyond the last row of huts, he plunged into a pathway that led into the woods, and, climbing a low hill, stopped before a bungalow almost hidden in the trees. We turned to thank him, but found that he had slipped silently away.

The commissioner was reading in his study. To our surprise, he was a brown man—a Burman from “over Mandalay way.” He said he had not dined, and for that we were thankful; for to have missed the dinner that he invited us to share would have been a misfortune indeed.

We watched the commissioner with interest; for it is not often that England honors a brown man by making him a ruler over one of her districts. In appearance he was like other Burmans of the wealthier class. He wore the usual flowing robe, though his legs were dressed and his feet were shod. His long, thick black hair was caught up at the back of his head in a graceful knot. But in manners and speech he was like an educated European. He spoke English so well that if we had entered the bungalow blindfolded we should never have suspected that his skin was brown. We were much surprised to learn that he was still a bachelor; for people of Asia usually marry when they are very young. When we gave expression to our astonishment, he answered: “I have been too busy in my short life to give attention to such matters.”

There was a dak bungalow in Kawkeriek. The commissioner’s servant showed us the way, prepared our bath, and arranged the sleeping-rooms for us. In the morning we took breakfast with the governor. Later that morning he called together his council of eight wise men for no other purpose than to talk over with them our plans for traveling to Siam on foot. Toward noon they called us in to tell us what they thought about it. One speaker said that the country east of the city was a trackless jungle overrun with savages, poisonous snakes, and man-eating tigers. Even the people of Kawkeriek dared not go far into it. However, if we were determined to risk our lives and go, there was outside the door a “wild man,” chief of a jungle village, who was going our way, and he would guide us for one day’s journey.

We answered that we must start immediately. A servant stepped out on to the veranda and summoned the _boh_, as they called the “wild man.” He came into the council-chamber, a tall, thin, bony, awkward wild man. His skin was a leathery brown, his hair short and standing up like bristles all over his head. His eyes were small, and moved about so restlessly that he made us think of a leopard. His cheek-bones were high and his forehead sloped backward to his hair. The chewing of betel-nuts had made his teeth jet-black. We began to fancy that we had seen him before, playing and chattering in the tree-tops.

His clothes, nevertheless, were brilliant. Around his head was wound a strip of pink silk; an embroidered jacket, having no buttons, left his chest bare to the waist-line; his hips and legs were clothed as far as the knees in many yards of bright red stuff draped to look like bloomers. Below the knees he wore nothing. At his waist was fastened a bag for betel-nuts. He carried a leather sack of the shape of a saddle-bag, and—an umbrella.

He spoke a Burmese so different from that used by the commissioner and his council that their words had to be translated for him by another native. We knew that they were telling him that he was to be our guide through the jungle. He listened carefully, and gave a grunt now and then to show that he understood, bowing so low each time he spoke that his head all but touched his knees. From time to time, when he wished to show unusual politeness, he sat down on his heels. When he left, he backed toward the door, bowing almost to the floor with every step, and forgetting his leather sack until he was called back by a member of the council.

The brilliant clothes that this jungle chieftain wore while calling on the governor were not his traveling costume, of course. As soon as we were outside the city, he signed to us to wait, and stepped inside a hut. When he came out again we hardly knew him. His fine clothes had been packed away in his sack. The broad strap of this sack was his only covering save a strip of cotton which he wore about his hips.

He turned at once into the jungle, moving with little mincing steps, while we stumbled along awkwardly over the uneven ground. The path was so narrow that the outstretching branches whipped us in the faces. It was overgrown with tough creepers that entangled our feet. None but a human being who had lived in the jungle all his life could have followed that wandering, often hidden path through the thick maze of vegetation. Had we been alone we should certainly have lost it. Flocks of brilliantly colored birds flew away before us, screaming shrilly; now and then we heard a sudden crashing in the underbrush as some wild animal fled from our path.

Our guide was the most silent of creatures. Never once during the day did a sound escape him. Where the path widened a bit, he raised his umbrella and trotted steadily forward. Even swollen streams did not stop him—he hardly seemed to notice them. With never a pause, he splashed through the first as if there were nothing in his way, and galloped carelessly on along the branch-choked path. We hallooed to him as we sat down to pull off our shoes. If we let him get out of our sight we should be hopelessly lost in the jungle. He halted a moment, but set off again before we had waded ashore. We shouted once more, and he turned to stare open-mouthed while we put on our shoes. He could not understand why we strange creatures should wear garments on our feet, or why we should stop to put them on when there were other streams to wade through. When we had overtaken him, he made signs to show us that we should do better to toss aside the foolish leather things that made it necessary for us to stop so often. He could not understand that a mile over sharp stones and jagged roots would have left us crippled.

As we neared the mountains we came across stream after stream, rushing past with increased swiftness. By the time we had waded through thirty-six of these we grew tired of halting every hundred yards to pull off our shoes and shout after the _boh_, who always forgot to wait for us.

When we reached the next stream, James tried crossing it on a few stepping-stones without removing his shoes. But he slipped, lost his balance, and sprawled headlong into the water. I followed more carefully, and reached the other bank without falling. After that we waded through streams that for the most part were over knee-deep, and marched on with the water gushing from our shoe-tops. It mattered little in the end, for a sudden storm burst upon us.

He who has never bowed his back to a tropical storm at the height of the rainy season cannot know how violent they are. With a roar like the explosion of a powder-mill, a furious clap of thunder broke above us; then another and another, in quick deafening blasts. Flaming flashes of lightning continuously chased each other across the heavens, blinding us with their sudden glare. We half expected to see the mass of plant life about us burst into flame.

In the falling sheets of water we plunged on; the biggest trees could not have sheltered us from it. The _boh_ had raised his umbrella. It kept the storm from pounding him, but could not save him a drenching. What cared he, dressed only in a cloth the size of a handkerchief? The water ran in little rivers down his naked shoulders and along the hollows between his outstanding ribs. Between the crashes of thunder the thud, thud of the storm drowned all other sounds. Only by speaking into my companion’s ear as into a trumpet, and shouting at the top of my lungs, could I make him hear me.

The storm died down slowly at first, then suddenly, and all seemed quiet except our voices, which continued to be shrill and loud. Quickly the sun burst forth again, to blaze fiercely upon us—though not for long. All that day the storms broke upon us one after another so rapidly that we had no idea of their number. More often than not, they caught us climbing a wall-like mountainside by a narrow, clay-bottomed path down which an ever-increasing brook poured, washing us off our feet while we clutched at overhanging bushes.

The _boh_ led us on by zigzag routes over two mountain ranges before the day was done. At sunset we were climbing down into another valley, when we came suddenly upon a tiny clearing in the jungle, and a tinier village. “Thenganyenam,” the natives called it. There were four bamboo huts and a dak bungalow, housing thirty-one “wild men” and one tame one. It was easy to see how many there were, for the natives poured forth from their hovels to meet us before we had crossed five yards of the clearing.

At their head trotted the tamed human being. Among all the shrieking, staring band of men, women, and children, there was no other that wore clothing. He was a babu, the “manager” of the public rest house. With a low bow, he offered us welcome, turned to wave back the gazing crowd, and led the way to the dak bungalow.

“Look here, babu,” I began, as we sank down into wicker chairs on the veranda. “This is a splendid little surprise to find a dak rest bungalow and a man who speaks English here in the jungle. But we’re no millionaires, and the government fee is two rupees, eh? Too strong for us. Can’t you get us a cheaper lodging in one of the huts?”

“The government,” returned the babu, pronouncing his words very carefully, “the government have made the _dak_ bungalow for Europeans. Why, you may not ask me. In two years and nine days that I am living in Thenganyenam there are come two white men, and one have only rested and not sleep. But because the dak bungalow is make, all sahibs coming in Thenganyenam must stop in it. When I have see you coming by the foot and not by the horses I must know that you have not plenty money. Every day we are not everybody rich. How strong you have the legs to come from Kawkeriek by the feet. The two rupees you must not pay. If you can give some little to the cook, that he make you a supper—”

“That’s the word,” burst out James. “Of course we pay for our chow. Where’s the chowkee? Tell him to get busy.”

“But,” apologized the _babu_, “this is a very jungly place and we have not proper food for Europeans.”

“Great dingoes!” shrieked the Australian. “European food? We haven’t had anything to eat for a day! Bring a pan of rice, or a raw turnip, or a fried snake—anything. Ring up the chowkee.”

“The other day,” said the _babu_ dreamily, “there was a chicken in Thenganyenam; I shall send the cook to hunt him.”

A few minutes later we saw the population of Thenganyenam chasing the lone fowl. He was finally run to earth with a great hubbub, and put to death while the crowd looked on. After that all was quiet for so long a time that we became uneasy, wondering if some one else was enjoying our dinner. Finally, when our overgrown hunger had become very painful indeed, the chicken appeared before us as tongue-scorching curry in a generous setting of hard-boiled rice.

Meanwhile we had pulled off our water-soaked rags, rubbed down with a strip of canvas, and put on our extra garments. The change was most agreeable. It was not until then that we knew how useful those squares of oil-cloth were. They had kept our baggage dry. Supper over, we stretched out on the canvas cots and tried to sleep.

The swamps and streams through which we had plunged that day had swarmed with leeches, commonly called bloodsuckers. One of these had fastened itself in a vein of my right ankle. I could not pull it out. A tiny stream of blood trickled along my toes. When I awoke in the morning I seemed to be fastened to the cot. The blood, oozing out during the night, had grown hard, gluing my right leg to the canvas.

Before I had dressed, the Hindu cook and care-taker wandered into the room, and, catching sight of the long red stain, gave one shriek and tumbled out on to the veranda. James, who was sleeping in a room next to mine, was awakened by the scream, and, hearing the Hindustanee word for “blood,” sprang to his feet in the belief that I had been murdered while he slept. I was explaining the matter to him when the cook, looking very frightened, returned with the book in which we had written our names the night before. Waving his arm now at the book, now at the cot, he danced about us, screaming excitedly. We could not understand his chatter, so we stepped past him out to the veranda. The “manager” was just coming up the steps.

“Here, babu,” demanded James, “what’s wrong with our friend from the kitchen?”

The Hindu turned to the manager, talking so rapidly that he almost choked over his words. Tears were streaming down his yellow-brown cheeks.

“He says,” cried the babu, when the cook became silent at last, “in the charpoy is much blood. Have you become wounded?”

“It was only a blood-sucker,” I explained; “but what does he say about the book?”

“The cook asks that you will write all the story of the blood in it, very careful.”

“What nonsense!” I answered, when James had stopped laughing. “I’ll pay for the damage to the charpoy.”

“Oh! It is no dam-magé,” protested the babu, “no dam-magé at all. He is not ask for pay. But when the inspector is coming and seeing the much blood in the charpoy, he is thinking the cook have kill a man who have sleep here, and he is taking him to Kawkeriek and making him shot. Very bad. So cook cry. Please, sir, write you the story in the register book.”

I sat down at the veranda table and wrote a long story for the visiting inspector. Only when I had filled the page below our names, and half the next one, was the Hindu cook satisfied. He then carried the book away for safe keeping.

We wrapped our dry garments in the oil-cloth once more, and put on the rags and tatters we had stretched along the ceiling the evening before. They were still clammy wet. As for our shoes, we almost gave up the hope of getting into them. When we managed to pull them on at last we could hardly walk. Our feet were blistered and swollen to the ankles, the shoes wrinkled and shrunken until the leather was as hard and unbendable as sheet-iron. However, we hobbled down the veranda steps and away. For the first hour we walked as if we were crossing a field of hot coals. Once James slipped and stumbled over the stones like a man learning to skate. We suffered at every step of our journey from Thenganyenam to Siam.